Mark The Earth With Ruin
Chapter 10
On Tortuga, the pale and watery moonlight failed to penetrate the deepest shadows of her inland forests, where the crickets grew silent as the chanting drums grew louder. A blaze leapt and spun in the small peristyle hidden in the dark center, the flames licking at the poteau-mitan that towered above the upturned faces of the faithful.
A white-haired woman, seeming older than time, sat in the center of a veve of her own design. She rocked gently, her lips forming words that none but she could hear, her sightless eyes locked on the dancing fire before her.
Mothlike ashes, white as her streaming hair, flitted to and fro in the heat. Mixed flavors of wood smoke, seaspray and beach rose hung in the heavy night air, pressing close to her coffee skin. The drummers were mere shapes in the shadows, the sound rumbling low across the damp earth like a gathering storm.
Across the sea the wind licked at a pair of white curtains, blowing them inward, across Rose's wooden bedstead. Her eyes were puffy, her cheeks red; and on the pillow next to her face a man's white handkerchief lay clutched damply in her fist.
They danced, and the day danced with them.
It was the happiest of weddings; everyone she loved was there, holding her hands, kissing her face, murmuring congratulations as she tried to hold them all close.
And then he was there, his handsome face alight, his dark brown eyes warm on her skin, on her hair. He smiled down at her, tilting her chin up with his fingers so her mouth would be easier to get at. His kiss was glorious, as it had been the first time, and Rose knew without a doubt that she was home, finally.
With Bill.
Her lips formed his name even as she slept; and the wind caught the faint sound, whisking it away.
She turned; where had he gone? Rose called his name, ran through deserted, unfamiliar halls, her dress tripping her. The light fled before her.
There was no answer.
"You has to keep him here, child. Keep him with you, else you lose him to the dark."
Rose whirled. She knew that voice. "How?" she cried out. "How can I?"
A shadow moved… there! Slipping into that doorway ahead. Rose ran forward, skidding on the polished floor. Her frantic fingers were grasping futilely at the lock, scratching at the door.
"Let me in! Bill!"
"You has to bring him out. He has to choose life, Rose. You has to make him choose life." Somehow Maman was there, but it was not the Maman Rose knew. She was young, vibrant… beautiful. Her white hair flowed over her dark shoulders, and her eyes – her eyes were too bright to look into for long.
"I don't understand. Please…" Rose went to her knees, suddenly bowed by the weight of memory.
Maman smiled. "Have faith, child. Your Bill, he been called by the dark twice now, and this time he choose death, unless you takes the choice away. You finds him. You frees him, and you takes the choice out his hands."
"Where?" Rose was frantic as oppressive darkness gathered around her, threatening to close her in. "Where is he, Maman?"
There was an eldritch chuckle. "You looks, and you waits… I shows you the way."
Rose shivered and blinked, wrapping her arms around her wet body. She blinked again, shaking her head. Where…?
Yellow streetlights flickered through the rain that dampened her cheeks and soaked her nightshift. Her feet were cold, her legs muddy. Rose looked about, bewildered. Where was she? How had she…?
This was Bill's house. Rose wiped rain from her cheeks with the heel of her hand. Will's house, she corrected herself. Bill didn't live here anymore.
Rose shivered, hard.
She'd stopped by earlier to see Will, to tell him of her encounter with Weston, fruitless though it had been; but the blacksmith wasn't home. Rose had assumed he was visiting the Governor and had gone on her way. The house looked completely deserted now. Will must be spending the night at the mansion, with Edmund and his new bride. She gave another involuntary shiver at the thought.
Then she noticed the light in the stable.
For a man who loved the sea, Bill was crazy for horses. Had been, Rose reminded herself. He'd taken some of his – what was the word? Swag, that was it. Some of his swag from the Isla de Muerta, and built a little stable, and bought himself a horse. He'd named the creature Kelpie, of all foolish things. A smile played about her lips as she remembered the elder Turner's delight in the little mare.
Why was there a light burning, though? Was she sick, and Will caring for her? Was – horrible thought – was someone trying to steal her?
Not if Rose could help it. Her brows snapped down in a frown, and without thinking further about it Rose ran to the stable, her wet nightdress stuck to her legs, her bare feet slapping on the puddled cobblestones that lined the street. Cautiously she opened the door, peering inside.
Nobody leapt out at her, but the interior of the little stable was warm and smelt of hay. With another shiver Rose slipped inside, closing the door behind her.
A gentle whickering beckoned her. "All right, Kelpie, love," she whispered. "'Tis only Rose. You know me, pretty one."
The little mare tilted her head to look at Rose through great brown eyes.
Rose smiled and reached to pet the velvet nose. "'Tis the middle of the night, love. Why've you a light burning, then?"
Kelpie nudged the young woman's shoulder and shifted restively.
"I expect you want to know why I've come to you in a wet shift. I'd give a deal to know that myself." Rose rubbed the mare's glossy black neck. "You miss him too, don't you?"
The horse gave a soft whiffle.
The candle sputtered and flickered. Kelpie pawed at the gate to her stall, neighing. Rose drew back in surprise, then went to open the stall, thinking to comfort the horse.
Instead of the hard carved surface of the gate handle, Rose felt something soft beneath her fingers. There, carelessly laced through the rough-hewn wood, was a single pink rose. And as she watched in disbelief, the rose bloomed, withered, and died away… and then bloomed again.
I shows you the way…
A hasty search of the smithy house soon revealed Belle had left nothing behind Rose could wear, so the young woman settled for an old pair of Will's breeches and a shirt that had been hanging in Bill's wardrobe. At least they weren't wet. She fiddled with Bill's largish saddle and then gave it up as a bad job, giving in to the sense of urgency that had settled in her belly and was increasing with each second. She was needed, somewhere, of that much Rose was sure. The rest would become clear when it did.
Still barefoot, Rose led the anxious mare out of the stable, carefully closing the door behind them. Grasping a handful of mane, she threw her leg over Kelpie's strong back and leaned close to the horse's neck.
"Go, then. Take me to where I'm to be," she whispered.
The little mare took off as though shot from a cannon.
~*~
Belle's steps slowed as the main house came into view. Emmy looked at her, then down at Lizbet, whose dark eyes had gone wide. "What is it?" the young Englishwoman asked.
Belle shook her head. "Something… not sure." Lizbet whimpered softly.
Emmy knelt and took the child's cold hands in her own. "Lizbet?"
"This is a bad place," she whispered, sidling closer to Belle. "I'm scared."
"But we need to get back to Port Royal. These people can help us." Frustrated, Emmy kept her voice reasonable in the face of the girl's obvious distress. With a sigh and a nod, Belle picked up the shaking Lizbet and held her close as they took a few more steps. Just the other side of the thicket they were in, Emmy could see a large clearing at the back of the house, with a tall post and – and –
She cast a glance at Lizbet, whose face was hidden in Belle's shoulder. The nanny met Emmy's gaze and nodded. "The child is right. There be no help here. This is a place of evil."
Evil indeed. Emmy's lips thinned as she looked again at the stocks, the whipping post, the dark stains on the ground around the post.
As they stood there a fierce wind came up suddenly, snatching Belle's head wrapping and pulling it free, tugging at Emmy's skirts and loosening her hair, tumbling young Lizbet's curls. The child raised her head suddenly, then rested it on her nanny's shoulder again as though exhausted. Which, Emmy reflected, she probably was. All the more reason to get back to Po—
A sudden commotion from the back of the house caught their attention. Hordes of filthy, disreputable men erupted from some unseen place below the house, shouting, cursing... Emmy winced even as Belle covered her charge's ears.
A woman's voice rose shrilly above the rest. "Find them!" she screamed. "Kill the black one, if you like, but Sparrow's life belongs to me!"
Emmy's eyes grew round. Sparrow? Jack Sparrow?
And then she saw who the woman was. Involuntarily Emmy gripped her hands together, the knuckles whitening.
Belle drew her back farther into the shadows. "I has to get the child away from here," the nanny whispered urgently. "Come, quickly."
Emmy shook her head. "I'm going nowhere," she said tightly. "Go, get Lizbet to a safe place. I'm going to find out what is going on."
Belle studied her for a minute. Emmy notched her chin up, unconsciously imitating her brother at his most resolute. Belle gave her a nod. "You be safe yourself," she said, and melted into the forest, holding Lizbet close to her side.
It seemed like hours before the furor in the clearing died down enough, or moved far enough away, that Emmy felt she could move with impunity. Jack, if it was Jack they were searching for, had led the chase into the forest that surrounded the far side of the plantation, well away from where Emmy crouched. And for that the young Englishwoman was devoutly grateful. The rough and evil-looking men chasing Sparrow frankly terrified her.
However, it was clear she'd learn nothing merely sitting here. Taking her courage by both hands, Emmy got slowly to her feet, ignoring her cramped muscles. Nothing untoward happened, nothing exploded or shouted in discovery, and she let out a small sigh.
She considered her options. After what Belle and the little one had said, there was no way Emmy was going to set so much as a foot in that clearing, even if she thought she could do it without discovery. And the main house offered little cover that she could see. Emmy nodded. Back down to the beachhead and around by the cabins, then.
She took her time picking her way through the forest back the way they'd come: the moon was well overhead by the time Emmy emerged on the beach where they'd left the skiff. She shook out her voluminous skirts, which seemed to have picked up half the detritus of the forest floor. No fear that anyone looking for her would have any difficulty achieving their object, that was for certain.
The cabins lay a short distance away, beyond the short pier, which seemed more or less deserted. After a long moment's consideration Emmy shucked her petticoat and waded into the gentle surf, electing to swim her way around the imposing ship that rocked in berth there.
The water was warm enough, but the weight of her dress nearly pulled her under more than once as Emmy struggled to stay afloat and move quietly. Eventually she staggered onto the beach beyond the ship and sat heavily in the sand. Lord, but fabric weighted one down. No wonder people drowned from going overboard.
She made her way carefully toward the cabins, staying out of the light from the fire burning inside the enclosure. No one seemed to be about; thank goodness for that.
A flutter from behind one of the small cabins caught her attention. Emmy squinted at it. Laundry, hanging on a line to dry.
Emmy looked down at her dress. Dry. Now there was a concept a girl could appreciate.
She squelched stealthily toward the clothesline, and was just reaching up to unfasten a pair of breeches when a hand fell on her shoulder.
Emmy's heart stopped briefly, and sputtered to life again as she turned to see an equally bedraggled, dark-skinned woman looking at her appraisingly. "Stealing from slaves, are we?"
Emmy looked the woman over. There was something familiar about her… Belle. She looked a bit like Belle. Suddenly Emmy knew who it was. "I prefer to think of it as borrowing. And from the look of things, you're just put out because I got the breeches first." Emmy held out a hand. "I'm Emmeline Norrington. You're Anamaria, the lady pirate, are you not?"
Ana's eye narrowed. "I thought there was only the one witch here. How do you know of me?"
Emmy grinned and took a shirt from the line, handing it to the other woman. "I've a talkative brother, at least in his letters." Her expression sobered. "Your friend Jack Sparrow is in trouble hereabouts. I expect that's why you're here."
"Aye." Without false modesty the pirate doffed her wet shirt and shrugged on the other. "My question is, why are you here?"
Emmy shrugged and tugged down another shirt. "There was something not quite right about the ship we were on, and her captain was behaving in an extremely suspect manner. Belle suggested we leave." She looked about for a place to change, shrugged again, and stripped off her sodden dress. "Belle's taken Lizbet to safety."
Ana folded her arms, visibly relaxing a bit. "My question stands."
Emmy finished buttoning the breeches and tied the shirt together. "Something is drastically wrong here. It began on the ship I came over in; I intend to find out what it is. And to stop it if I can."
Ana rolled her eyes. "Oh Lord, another one." She chuckled. "All right, lady. You're Norrington's sister, true enough. We stick together, huh?"
Emmy flashed her a smile. "Aye."