Evil Unearthed: Chapter 38

Chapter Thirty-eight

The serpent-staff was heavy in the hand of the Conjure Woman as she leaned upon it, walking behind Kathleen as they returned to the house and to the battle which awaited them. Her friend moved ahead of her, not stopping to look back and not even seeking to take her hand. Now, she knew, was Kathleen's hour. She was only here, she at last realized, to bring that hour to pass. If it was her doom to die, to fade, to move beyond this life in service of that destiny, then she knew that this was what she must do without complaint. Besides, her limbs felt heavy as she moved, and her body, so long sustained by the strange ritual she had undergone more than three-hundred years before, now began to feel the weight of all of those centuries. Perhaps, she thought as Kathleen opened the front door and held it for her to pass inside, perhaps it was time for her to be freed from the flesh that now enfolded her, as the song of departure she had sung at Barrett's passing would have it.

"Vangie? Are you alright?" It was only at these words of Kathleen's that she realized she had been standing transfixed on the doorstep without moving for some unknown amount of time.

"I'm sorry," she said now. "Yes. I'm ready."

"Let's go in together, my friend!"

"Yes, Kat," she said, looking deeply into the other woman's eyes. "It is my honour to stand beside you at this hour!" What she saw as she looked into Kathleen's face was resolve, love, trust and strength. She could see that her friend had come to a decision of some kind, and while she envied that clarity of purpose, she also knew that it was not hers to possess. Rather, she reflected, was it her task to stand between the light and the darkness so that the light could do its work unhindered, and this she resolved to do as the two of them advanced slowly once again into the great hall.

"Good afternoon, Mesdames!" The voice from the portrait was coldly cordial as they confronted it. "I am glad you've returned!"

"Where is Stephen?" Vangie would have silenced Kathleen to prevent her engaging the presence which had led her astray the day before, but as her eyes found the painted eyes upon the canvas she found herself unable to move or to speak. As he had done in the library while working through Barrett, Jacques had managed to find a vulnerability in her defenses, and now she was caught by him once more. Kathleen, however, still held her hand and seemed yet to be in control of her faculties, though Vangie could sense the darkness reaching out to grasp her mind and to use her as a powerful weapon in its service. It had tasted her vitality, Vangie knew, and it wanted more. It wanted nothing less than Kathleen's complete and total surrender, but it had not banked on her ability to use the power which came to her hand to her own ends, for even as she herself was weakening, she knew that Kathleen was taking what strength she could give her and using it to stand against the power pulsating from the portrait.

"Stephen? You mean the little priest? Oh, he's keeping a long-appointed tryst with my fair consort! If you can find him, you are welcome to try and aid him!"

With the part of her mind which still lay untouched by the malevolence before her, Vangie began seeking for Stephen's presence, but all was chaos and confusion. The devil's darkness seemed to be fully unleashed at last and all their plans seemed smashed into ruins. Still, all she could do was try, but before anything came of her efforts, Stephen himself made his location known. A terrible scream came from overhead and all at once, Vangie knew where he must be. Using all her strength to pry her eyes away from the portrait's influence, she managed to squeeze Kathleen's hand and to give her one last bit of the power to which she was privy as Conjure Woman and to whisper three words, though it felt as though they were being wrenched from her very soul:

"North tower! Go!" Kathleen squeezed her hand in mute acknowledgement of the command, and with one last look into her eyes, turned and left the great hall, beginning to run as she gained the main staircase.

Now Vangie stood alone at last, locked in the grip of the power from which she had run when first she had encountered it. A part of her felt just as frightened and unprepared as she had forty years before, but she knew that her father's words spoken so long ago were true.

"You will get no rest," he had said as he lay dying, "until you send Jacques Eloi Des Mondes back to the eternal hell he has built for himself!" This was her task, this alone, but her father had not told her how it was to be accomplished. Not until now, now when a Desmond descendant had come to reside again at Maljardin and a relative of the Reverend Matthew Dawson had come in search of answers to his uncle's disappearance had there been such a propitious time, and now, when it came to the point, she found herself bound mute and motionless beneath the haughty gaze of those painted yet all-too-vital eyes. Was this to be the end of all her plans then? Must she die here on Maljardin with her task still undone?

As she had told Stephen, she had once done everything she could to avoid taking on her father's responsibilities, but he had told her that not only blood determined who should succeed him in his office, but also a gift, a special mark which could be recognized. Quito had borne such a gift, and though he had been made into a zombie for his betrayal of their people, Vangie had seen it in him during her stay in the house and her sojourn in the cave. He was a generous soul and one who would die for those he loved. This, she now knew, was the gift of which her father had spoken. It had not been merely for her psychic abilities that her father had chosen her to be Conjure Woman. Oh, they were an asset, it was true, but it was this gift, this thing which had lain dormant within her, this will to sacrifice herself for others which he had seen in her and which, somehow, he had known would emerge when it was needed. So, she thought now, while the darkness of Jacques's presence smote upon her mind and tried to shiver her soul into splinters, if it is my purpose to stand between this evil and those others who can truly fight against it, then that is what I will do. If he was busy with her, then at least he could not lend his strength to the real fight which was happening up on the roof of the north tower.

"Well, Vangie," said the voice from the portrait, breaking what seemed to her an eternity of silence, "your father made short work of me, or so he thought over three-hundred years ago, but then he had his silver pin and his conjure doll! What do you have? Do you not feel your strength draining from you? Do you not recall how, the last time we met, I often caused you to slip into trances? Surely you do not delude yourself into thinking that in forty years you have managed to grow stronger than I am! Or do you?"

"Jacques Eloi Des Mondes," she said, her voice now obeying her will once more, "you and I are akin. I know that now!"

"You and I? Surely not!"

"But we are," she said, stepping nearer to the portrait. "Both you and I have been afraid of death! I sought immortality and eternal youth, and you sought power which would transcend the mortal plane. We both found what we sought, but with one important difference! Your ambition led you into slavery to a great power, while mine led me, through duty, divided loyalty and unwilling obedience, to faith and true service. I offer myself to the power I serve. Your service is forced upon you! We are trying to free your descendant from the devilry which you have wrought! What if we could free you?"

"But you cannot free me," said Jacques' voice. "The devil is eternal, and I as his servant am also eternal. I seek to be nothing else!"

"Are you certain of that? Why then did you seek a mortal body in which to dwell? Why did you possess Jean Paul Desmond when he freed you from the spell my father laid upon you after your death? You spent all your time then carousing and delighting in the tastes of food and good wine! In your heart of hearts, Jacques, you wish for rest. You wish for freedom!"

"I wish for life, little girl! Do not tell me what I wish!" And suddenly from the portrait there came a beam of cold light which struck the Conjure Woman full in the chest, and before she could stop herself, she lay sprawling on her back while sheer madness erupted around her.

Heavy tables and chairs, tapestries and rugs, and even the massive sofa on which Julia had lain the last time Vangie had seen her began flying through the air. Paneling pried itself loose from the walls and pieces of masonry from the gallery above fell crashing to the floor, cracking the tiles red-veined marble into a thousand crumbling fragments. Vangie, seeing her danger but still finding herself unable to move, tried with all her might to control the movements of these objects with her mind, and so far did she manage this feat that none of the deadly missiles actually did her any harm. However, she knew that she would not be able to protect herself forever. Jacques' spirit had been given power by the one he served to do away with her, and she knew that he would stop at nothing until he accomplished his goal. Still, all she could do was try to rise above the chaos of corruption which had once been the great hall and seek a place of calm strength from which to fight. She thought of her father and wished him with her; she thought of Stephen and prayed for him to escape unhurt, and then she found herself thinking of Kathleen: Kathleen who had once been Suoko and who had sacrificed herself so that her friend and true heart's sister could try to outwit the fatal prophecy which she feared so much. Then, just as she felt her mind giving way at last under the mounting force of Jacques' power unleashed, just as she was about to give up and to let the haunted portrait itself, now seeming to dwarf even the great hall as its shadow loomed over her as it fell from its accustomed perch, crush her completely into oblivion, she suddenly felt the room grow as still as death once more, and where the ominous shadow of the deadly canvas had been was now simply nothing. The portrait, frame and all, had mysteriously vanished without a trace, and now a long, long scream of agonized rage rang through the destroyed hall and echoed in the chambers of her heart and soul. Jacques had been bereft of his prize. The darkness had now ceased to hold sway over the house, and now Vangie felt the power vouchsafed her in her role as Conjure Woman returning. Her body was weak, it was true, but her spirit felt more than equal to dealing with anything she might find on the roof of the north tower, but how was she to get there now?

Getting to her feet, she surveyed the waste and destruction around her. Where once an opulent and vast monument to high living and ancestral glory had been was now what looked like an ancient and long-decayed ruin. All the restorations to the hall had been blotted out in that last desperate demonstration of Jacques' borrowed power, but worst of all, the main staircase was now completely blocked with fallen stone and splintered paneling. She knew that she could not climb it, but she also knew that she must not delay in reaching the north tower. That was where the true battle was taking place. Still, she wondered, why had the portrait vanished? Why had Jacques' spirit seemed to blow away on the wind even as he was getting ready to stamp out her life? She would only find the answers to these questions on that lofty roof, so she knew she must set about bringing herself there as soon as she possibly could. There was only one way to do that now, she thought, so taking the serpent staff in her hand, she walked out of the house and stood below the north tower, gazing up at it and visualizing herself standing upon its top.

"Oh Great Serpent," she prayed aloud, "I must borrow your wings! As I bear the staff of my ancestors and am called the Regent of the Realm beyond Time, I now invoke your aid to lift me from where I stand now to where I wish and need to be! Raise me aloft on your mild zephyr that I may conquer the clinging shreds of mist which still ring this island round, for though a battle has been won, other hands than mine have dealt the killing blow, and now I must share in the final victory or defeat of my comrades-in-arms! Lift me, oh Great One! Lift me! Please!"

She knew that this particular act required utmost focus and control, but at the edges of her mind she could sense a rising fear and panic. Above her on the tower, she knew that something momentous had occurred. Something truly unforeseen by her had caused the chill to depart from the house, and she could sense that the souls of her companions were all in a confusion of fear, grief and anger. These impulses were so strong that she felt herself surrendering to them several times, but each time she found herself faltering, she remembered herself and marshaled her thoughts into submission to the will and pleasure of the one she served. Soon, she felt herself leaving the ground and borne aloft, but this time, it was not merely her spirit which floated on the wings of the wind, but her body as well. Only twice before had she managed this kind of levitation, and never had she managed it alone, and even now as she rose, she knew that she was not alone, for she held in her hand the serpent staff, tool of the priest. Barrett had borne it once, and so had Stephen, and so, she thought, had her father in his time. She was not alone, had never been alone. Her ancestors, her friends, all whom she loved during her long life were with her now, propelling her higher and higher, until at last she stood, no veil hiding her power now, looking down on the motionless forms of Kathleen and Stephen, and into the frightened and now no longer demon-ravaged face of Julia Desmond, the true and rightful mistress of Maljardin.