Blood in the Marsh

  Blood in the Marsh

  by Ciana Stone

  Copyright 2010 Ciana Stone

  Smashwords Edition

  Dedication

  To the love of my life. Like the old song says,

  “all for one and all for love.”

  Prologue

  St. Simon’s Island, Georgia

  Ebo Landing—May

  A storm was moving in from the ocean. In the distance, bright flashes of light lit the eastern sky, outlining the billowing thunderheads that were steadily creeping inland.

  The approaching storm did little to dampen the enthusiasm of the people gathered at what was referred to as Ebo Landing. Instead, it served to heighten their excitement for what was to come. The low rumbles of thunder and electric flashes of light seemed proof to those assembled that the forces of nature were aligned with them.

  In expectant silence the last of the arrivals wandered through the damp marshland to the meeting place. As they walked, they seemed to hear the ghostly song of those long dead, rising like a mist from the earth beneath their feet.

  Ebo Landing had seen more than its share of death. It was in this place, in May of 1803, that a courageous Igbo chieftain had led his proud tribesmen into the waters of Dunbar Creek. Proudly the people followed their leader, singing a hymn of praise to their god, Chukwu.

  They, like so many of their people, had been taken from their homes in West Africa and brought to this place to serve as slaves to wealthy white Southerners. But this intrepid group chose death over slavery. Into the cold black water they waded, heads held high and voices raised in song as they marched to their deaths. Death as free people was preferable to life as slaves.

  History briefly recorded their brave sacrifice, but not the truth of what led to the deed. The truth was preserved by those who were unfortunate enough to survive that fateful night, from those who were forced into slavery. The story passed from father to son, mother to daughter, steadily making its way across the island and into the future.

  Now, nearly two hundred years later, this place would witness more death. But it was not to be the undaunted determination of a people unwilling to commit to human enslavement. This time it was to be far different.

  The last arrival stopped just short of the clearing in the old oaks that hung with Spanish moss and newly budded leaves. The wind whispered in the trees, accompanying the sounds of the spirits’ song.

  Stripping off his clothes, he pulled a loose robe of white cotton over his head. After taking off his shoes, he proceeded the last few yards barefoot, the black sandy earth cool to his skin.

  Wood had been piled in the center of the clearing, half as high as a man, large enough to provide ample illumination, yet not so large as to attract undue and unwanted attention.

  The man’s attention was drawn to one of his fellow members, one charged with the task of inscribing the sacred circle. Walking in a hunched-over stance, he pressed the tip of an old sword into the earth, muttering an incantation as he carved a shallow channel.

  The new arrival watched for a moment then walked over to two men and a woman who were kneeling around a white calf. The animal’s mouth had been sealed with a white cord that was wound tightly around its head. Symbols had been painted between its eyes in vivid red and a black length of cord encircled its neck.

  “How long?” the new arrival asked as he knelt down beside his fellow members.

  The woman turned to him and smiled in anticipation. “Soon. We will begin as soon as the Seneschal arrives.”

  The man nodded and looked around. The fire was lit and soon a blaze began to dance in the darkness. All of the members gathered along the outer circumference of the inscribed circle, waiting. Through their ranks, the Seneschal walked to stand in front of the fire.

  His appearance was quite commonplace, at least to the casual observer. About six feet in height, he was lean, with light brown hair and a complexion that gave the impression he spent most of his time outdoors. His face was what might be best described as ordinary. Except for his eyes. The color of obsidian, his eyes looked at the people around him with the light of malevolence shining bright within their dark depths.

  Turning to the men and the woman kneeling beside the calf, he held out his hand. The men rose and took their places in the circle as the woman led the calf forward. The Seneschal took the rope and held the animal close to his side as the woman disappeared for a moment into the darkness. When she again entered the circle, she carried a large brass pot in her hands.

  Kneeling down beside the white calf, she reached into the pot and pulled out a long-bladed knife. The Seneschal took the knife and turned it back and forth in front of his face, inspecting the blade. Satisfied with its sharpness, he looked once more over his assembly.

  “We gather in the name of He who owns our souls, He who dies yet lives forever, He who controls all time and space, He who grants our deepest desires and punishes our tormentors. We gather to pay homage to Him whom we serve, who soon will bless us with His mighty presence. We gather to take strength in His name, to honor His power. We gather to show our eternal devotion.

  “As it has been passed down since the time of the beginning, we adhere to the rituals He has given us. Blood is life. Without blood there is nothing. It is that which gives us dominion over the weaklings we are forced to live among. With each letting of the Blood, His power is magnified and so our lives are made better. Through the Blood we offer we are granted our deepest desires.

  “The circle binds us in blood as He binds us to him by the Blood that flows through our veins. Give thanks to Him that has chosen you as His own.”

  Low murmurs of worship and praise could be heard from all points on the circle as the Seneschal took hold of the calf’s head and pulled it back, exposing the slender young neck. His hand moved swiftly; a flash of firelight on the blade and it was done.

  Blood poured in torrents from the gash in the animal’s neck. The woman kneeling at the Seneschal’s feet held the brass pot beneath the cut, gathering the warm blood. Mere seconds passed before the animal staggered and fell to the ground. The Seneschal looked down at it impassively then bent and hoisted it up in his arms.

  “Let all hear and take heed. There is but one Master. Give praise and worship your king as you have been instructed!”

  He turned and dumped the body of the calf onto the fire. The woman beside him rose and offered the pot of blood. With a smile, he accepted and turned it up to his face.

  A thin stream ran from one corner of his mouth as he lowered the pot. He smiled at the woman, displaying bloodstained teeth. She returned the smile with a seductive shrug of her shoulders and drank from the pot.

  The Seneschal touched her face, catching a droplet of blood from her lips on his fingers. Raising his finger to his face, he sucked the warm stickiness from it. The woman smiled and turned to the circle. Pouring a thin stream of blood into the channel that encircled the fire, she then offered the members a drink.

  One by one, they sampled the warm blood until the pot was empty. The woman threw back her head and twirled around, signaling the start of the dance. Bodies swayed and writhed in sensuous abandon, hands touching flesh then moving to stroke another.

  It was a dance of lust, lust for the pleasures of the flesh, lust for power, lust for perversity, and lust for blood. In silence the Seneschal watched, measuring the extent of their zeal. Soon they will be ready.

  Chapter One

  Sea Island, Georgia

  Lyra cried out in her sleep, trying to escape the nameless terror that pursued her in her dream. She felt a sizzling blast of heat on her skin and smelled the odor of burning flesh. Hands gripped her. Hands that burned wherever they touched.

  Then suddenly the pain w
as gone and in its place was emptiness, a feeling of loss and failure. With a jolt, she woke.

  Her skin was flushed and bright with perspiration. She rose from the lounge chair and moved to the edge of the pool, dangling her feet in the water. For a few moments she stared at the ripples caused by her movements. The dreams were becoming more frightening, more real. Even when she woke, the smell lingered. She didn’t understand the dreams. None of them made sense. They were a series of images unfamiliar to her and she felt as if she should know them. They had been with her as long as she could remember and never once had she been able to discern a meaning.

  She wished Lucius were there. She’d always been able to go to him with her problems, even her fears about the dreams. While not even he had been able to decipher the meaning, he’d always made her feel safe and protected. She so missed that. With him gone, she was alone.

  She sighed and splashed at the water with her feet. Perhaps coming home had been a mistake. The dreams seemed to occur more frequently since she had been there, which was almost two weeks. In that time the only people she had seen or spoken with were her best friend Chelsey and the man at the lot where she stored her Hobie Cat, her seventeen-foot catamaran.

  Now she debated whether she wanted to take the boat out or if she just wanted to curl up and read. She sighed and stood, picking up her towel to go inside. The house was silent as it nearly always was when Lexi wasn’t home. Lyra didn’t mind the silence. She was a quiet person by nature.

  She passed through the sunken den and the elaborate game room and ascended the massive curved staircase to the second floor. Her room lay at the opposite end of the long hall from Lexi’s.

  Entering her room, she headed straight for the bathroom and turned on the shower. She peeled off her swim suit and turned to hang it across the Jacuzzi to dry. Catching sight of her reflection in the mirror, she grimaced.

  Despite what others had said from time to time, Lyra had never seen herself as anything but ordinary and uninteresting. From her long dark hair to her slim legs, she saw nothing she would define as beautiful. Average was an apt turn. Not too pretty or too ugly. Just plain and average.

  Turning her back on her reflection, she got into the shower. Twenty minutes later, she was sitting on the L-shaped sofa in the den engrossed in a book. She didn’t realize how long she had been reading until she heard a noise.

  Looking up, she saw Chelsey’s face at the glass doors that led outside to the terrace. She also saw that the day had slipped away and twilight was falling. Jumping up, she opened the door.

  “Lyra! What’re you doing? School’s out, in case you’ve forgotten. You graduated, remember?”

  “Yeah, I remember.” Lyra closed the door and walked into the kitchen with Chelsey one step behind. “So?”

  “So are you going to sit around with your nose crammed in a book for the rest of your life or are you going to get out and have some fun?”

  Lyra pulled a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator and poured two glasses. “You know, Chels, if you’d paid a little more attention to your studies you’d have graduated, too.”

  Chelsey flopped down in a chair at the table. “Hey, it’s no big deal. So I’ll have to spend another year in college—another year of parties and gorgeous guys and freedom. Sounds just horrible!”

  She shuddered dramatically and rolled her eyes. Lyra couldn’t help but smile. Even after all these years, she wondered how she and Chelsey Quarterman had ever become such good friends. Chelsey was the antithesis to Lyra. Where she was shy and quiet, Chelsey was gregarious, bold, and anything but quiet. She had blonde hair and deep brown eyes and her voluptuous figure was a sharp contrast to Lyra’s dark hair and slim body.

  Lyra sat down and looked at her friend. “Come on, Chels. We’re not little kids anymore. For crying out loud, you’ve been in undergraduate classes for the last six years. You can’t stay there forever. Don’t you want to get out of school and do something with your life?”

  Chelsey rolled her eyes and fished around in her purse for her cigarettes. “Let’s not get into that old song and dance, okay? We’ve got plenty of time. At least I have. But you’re getting ancient before my eyes. Just look at you. Twenty-four-years-old and you act like you’re sixty!”

  Lyra looked away for a moment and Chelsey reached out to take her hand. “Come on, Lyra, what is it with you? I mean, when we were in high school I could at least get you to go along with everyone and try to have a good time. Even our freshman year in college you were more willing than you are now. But every year since then you’ve just withdrawn more and more into yourself and now I hardly even know you.”

  Standing up, Lyra walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a bowl of grapes. “I don’t know how to explain it to you. I know I’ve put a strain on our friendship and I really appreciate you sticking by me but I…”

  “You what?”

  “I just don’t feel like I belong when we go out. I see all the people trying so hard to have fun, but their smiles all seem so fragile and brittle, like any moment they could shatter into a thousand pieces. Everyone’s so desperate to find Mr. Right or Ms. Perfect that they’re willing to jump into any and every bed, and then all they have is another disappointment.”

  “You including me in on that assessment, Dr. Seville?” Chelsey asked in an irritated tone of voice.

  Lyra shook her head and reached for one of Chelsey’s cigarettes. “God, I really do hate these things but I can’t seem to stop myself when I’m around you.”

  “Avoidance syndrome,” Chelsey intoned gravely. “Classic symptoms of a…”

  “Okay!” Lyra laughed. “I get the picture. I’m not talking about anyone in particular, just the single society in general. And I guess it all boils down to the simple fact that I’m not interested in a string of affairs and one-night stands.”

  Chelsey sighed and got up to go to the bar. When she returned, she had a bottle of vodka in her hand. Pouring a generous amount into her juice, she sat down and lit another cigarette. “I hate to break it to you, but the kind of relationship, the kind of love you think you’re holding out for just doesn’t exist. Look around you. Can you name me one—just one person—who has that kind of thing going?”

  Stubbing out the half-smoked cigarette, Lyra shook her head. “No, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. It just means we live in a fucked-up neighborhood.”

  Chelsey laughed. “Well ain’t that the truth! Hey, did you hear about Becca’s old man? He dumped his wife—you know the young one he married a couple of years ago? She was, oh, I guess about thirty. Well, now he’s got a new girlfriend and guess how old she is?”

  At a shrug from Lyra, Chelsey continued. “Twenty one! Can you imagine? Ralph’s got to be pushing sixty. What the hell does someone twenty-one want with an old fart like that?”

  Lyra rubbed her thumb and fingers together and raised her eyebrows. Chelsey grimaced. “Honey, I wouldn’t boff him for all the diamonds in South Africa!”

  “Spoken like a true member of the rich and spoiled.”

  “Oh shit!” Chelsey squealed excitedly. “I almost forgot what I came by to tell you. I met the single most exquisite male on the planet! Becca, Deni and I went to this new club over on St. Simon’s. You know, that house that was for sale there near the village square? The one with the big porch? Anyway, someone bought it and turned it into a restaurant. And they have live entertainment, music and stuff and on Wednesdays and Fridays they have a magician.

  “Anyway, Wednesday we went over to check it out and there was this guy. God, Lyra, you should have seen him. He looked so much like that magician guy on television. You know, the really beautiful one? Anyway, I thought my heart was going to stop when I saw him. He was performing and I simply could not take my eyes off him the entire time. I don’t even know what I had to eat.”

  “And how was his act?”

  “How the hell should I know?” Chelsey grinned wickedly. “I wasn’t paying any attention to that. But I
did find out that he’s performing again this Friday. I’m dying to go, but Becca and Deni are off to Aruba with Ralph and his new honey so would you please go with me?”

  Lyra groaned. “I don’t know. I really don’t think you need me along to make eyes at this guy. Besides, I wanted to catch up on some things I’ve been putting off and I — “

  “You and school. Jesus, you’ve got a damn Masters! What more do you want?”

  “A doctorate.”

  “Okay, fine. But you don’t have to have it by Friday so will you please go with me? I mean, this could be that Mr. Right I’ve been looking for. And how would you feel if you made me lose him just because you were so stuck in your grumpy, old-maid act that you wouldn’t go with me. I mean, what if this is the guy who —”

  “All right, enough already!” Lyra held up her hands in surrender. “I give up. I’ll go with you.”

  “Oh, you’re the absolute best! I’ll pick you up at eightthirty, Friday.” Chelsey drained her glass and jumped up. “Gotta scoot!”

  Lyra followed her to the door. “How about I meet you there? That way when you and Mr. Right go off into the moonlight I won’t get stuck walking home.”

  “Good idea! Meet me there at eight forty-five—not a moment later. He does his last show at nine.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there.”

  She closed the door behind Chelsey and watched as she got in her car and left. She had never understood why Chelsey would bother to drive when she only lived a block away. Shaking her head, she went back into the kitchen to fix dinner.

  She had just taken things out of the refrigerator to make a salad when she heard someone at the front door. A moment later, she knew who it was. The unmistakable scent of Opium perfume drifted into the room.

  She made her way to the front of the house. Lexi was standing in the middle of an enormous pile of luggage, hanging onto the arm of a tall, handsome man with dark hair and black eyes.