By Desire Bound Read online

  She opened her eyes in reaction to the pressure of his fingers at a point on her belly. Con stood, leaning against a tree, a couple of yards away, his expression stony.

  "An—memsahib awakens." Sidhu removed his hand and pulled her coat over her. "All is well."

  "Is it?" Con murmured. "Is all well, Darcie?"

  Her answer stuck in her throat. She struggled to a sitting position, taking in the details around hen- the soft needles on the valley floor; the stones, the trees, the sense of desolation which only mirrored how she felt.

  And somewhere, in this witch's forest, riches and dreams. They were that close, and something like this was going to get in the way.

  "You didn't jar anything, Darcie? There isn't any bleeding? Any evidence of anything wrong?"

  She swallowed convulsively. Sidhu must have noticed; Sidhu must have said something. "I'm fine," she managed.

  "And how is the baby?"

  The loaded question. She could have killed the baby. She had fallen hard, on her back, and all she felt was an ache at the base of her spine. A jolt like that could have injured the baby.

  She looked up at Sidhu, whose eyes were sharp and comprehending, and she knew he knew. And something in his expression told her not to dissemble.

  "There is no baby," she whispered.

  The silence fell like a stone. Sidhu rocked back on his heels and bowed his head. She couldn't even look at Con.

  "No baby." He was looking into the darkness, and seeing the limits of her soul.

  "There was never a baby," she said stoically. "Lavinia wanted a baby. And I wanted to save my life. The lie kept me alive long enough to escape. And long enough to find you."

  He was still silent.

  She wouldn't have believed the story either. The whole thing, every detail, true as it was, still sounded like a lie. And the only lie was really the truth.

  "Scheherazade," he muttered. "Jesus God—more stories. Do you never end, Darcie? You really are something."

  She bristled. "And you are damned fortunate I found you, and even more fortunate that I wanted this ..."

  "This is all you want, Scheherazade, but you've never lied about that."

  She supposed he thought that admission gave her something. But it wasn't enough—when she was on the verge of losing everything. "They were going to kill me."

  And they'd come all the way to Srinagar to kill him, he

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  thought. What wouldn't a person do to stay alive? Who knew better than he?

  He didn't have to be so obdurate. They were rogues, the two of them, and they were not averse to using any weapon they had at hand. He understood that. He just didn't comprehend why the lie was so devastating to him.

  But everything was strange. The scents, the sounds, the feeling in the air . . . and the lie. He had no more time to deal with the lie. They could sort all that out later.

  "Lavinia could still kill you," he said brutally.

  "And she would, after I had given birth to that baby."

  That stopped him. There was something about that he knew he should consider, but he couldn't take the time. Time suddenly was more precious than diamonds. He couldn't see the light but he knew it was lowering faster than they had planned.

  And they still had to cut through the brush to the excavation.

  "We have work to do," he said abruptly. "Sidhu."

  "Sahib?''He listened to a barrage of instructions and then turned to Darcie. "Come. I will lead, you will fol­low. It is but a short distance from here. And we must think about the time—now time is fleeting."

  Of everything she had imagined, she could not have conceived of this: one nondescript stone of hundreds, backed up the valley wall.

  She couldn't have told one from the other, but Sidhu could. It was the one stone with markings cut by wind and weather, visible only to the knowledgeable eye. Now Sidhu's eyes. And that stone blocked a tunnel cleverly cut into the valley wall.

  Uncover the tomb and find resurrection . . .

  Together, they rolled away the stone to reveal the gap­ing tunnel entrance.

  Sidhu raised his hand in benediction. "It is good, sahib. And now it is time." He handed a lantern to Dar­cie. "Memsahib—please to go first."

  "Me?" She was flabbergasted. And scared out of her wits. "But—"

  "Sidhu remains on guard," Con said. "He cannot enter a place of the infidel. And we don't have that much time."

  So ... she was going to be first to crawl into a tunnel that no one had breached in seven or more years. She swallowed the clog in her throat. She'd wanted this. And she'd been in tighter places down in the mines in Colo­rado. What was here that could touch her?

  She knelt beside the entrance to the tunnel and im­mediately a flat musty scent assaulted her nose. She held up the lantern that Sidhu had lit for her. It looked to be a fairly short tunnel. She saw a sharp drop about fifty feet in. And then—what?

  Nothingness. Everything about this quest was connected to the dark and nothingness , . .

  "I'll be right behind you," Con said. "There's a place about a dozen yards in where the tunnel breaks. You'll see it. I'll talk you through it."

  That didn't reassure her.

  Going into the dark. Endless dark. On her knees and slowly pushing the lantern forward, the light reflecting back into her eyes. She might as well be blind.

  "I'm behind you," Con said as he grasped the hem of her tunic and followed her in.

  An awkward eight-legged humping monster making its way through the tunnel . . . and the aura of evil washing over

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  them a dozen feet within the tunnel entrance. Cold. Musky. Murderous.

  "Con"

  "Keep going—"

  Evil wasn't tangible; it didn't whip you in the face. And there was nothing to grasp onto. She couldn't shine her light on it. She wanted to back out of the tunnel and never look back.

  "Move, Darcie . . . !"

  He felt it too. She heard it in his voice; the evil was immutable, spreading all over and around them like a cocoon.

  "I can't. . ." she protested.

  "Darcie—we're that close. That close."

  It wasn't worth it, it wasn't. "But Con—there's some­thing . . ."

  "Defeat it."

  He knew this thing.

  He pushed her forward relentlessly, and she moved involuntarily, creeping, creeping forward, with his hand on her derriere, pushing, goading, coaxing, inch by ma­lignant inch.

  And only the pulsating dark and the bright glaring light before her eyes.

  And that terrorizing evil somewhere in the dark.

  "We're almost there," he whispered.

  "Almost where?"

  "At the drop. Be ready for the drop. Just swing your legs over. It's about four feet, and we'll be able to stand up."

  "What aren't you telling me, Con?"

  "I'd give my soul to be able to see."

  She heard the torment in his voice—and then sud­denly, silently, the evil presence laughing at them, mock­ing them.

  "Con ..."

  His voice turned to steel. "Keep going ..."

  Her knees turned to jelly. "I can't."

  "You will. You must."

  She closed her eyes, to close out the presence, to close in his voice and the motivation, the goal. To see what he saw, to know what he knew. In moments, she would see before her eyes the diamond, the mythical, mystical Eye of God.

  And nothing would prevent it.

  But nothing like this lived in a Colorado mine. She had defeated claim jumpers, robbers, outlaws, cheats. Things she understood; things she could see.

  She felt the taunting laughter of the presence, and she girded herself, and creeping slowly forward, she continued on. Lantern first, right hand, left knee; left hand, right knee, with Con creeping in tandem right


  behind her.

  She almost fell over the drop. She didn't expect it. Or the presence had distracted her from it.

  She put out the lantern and set it onto nothingness, and it fell to the ground.

  The presence jeered.

  "Quick—over the drop." Con's voice behind her, pushing her on. She swung her legs over and jumped; a moment later he followed her, and they stood crouched, and wary, and determined.

  Slowly, she eased into an upright position. The sense of evil was palpable here. She picked up the lantern, relit it, and took Con's arm, and pulled him to his feet.

  "Now what?" Her voice shook.

  "Straight ahead."

  She lifted the lantern. "There is no straight ahead.

  It's a sheer wall."

  "Then we move the headstone of the tomb."

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  She saw it then, the subtle fit of the stone against stone into the wall.

  "Help me then."

  The presence was almost unbearable as they each took a side of the stone and pushed and shifted it until it moved.

  "It doesn't want us in there," Darcie whispered.

  "It has a lot to lose."

  They stood at the entrance to the second tunnel, tempted and afraid.

  "At the end of this tunnel," Con said, his voice barely above a breath, "is the realization of your dreams."

  But even that was not enough to galvanize her. She held up the lantern and swung it around. There was nothing in front of her but darkness, and the heavy sense of evil waiting.

  "It's blocking the way."

  "We'll pass through it."

  "What if it's him?"

  "He can't stop us. He hasn't yet."

  Con leaned against her, forcing her to step over the threshold. And then they were in, past the barrier, into the evil, and moving slowly and hesitantly forward into the dark.

  The sense of evil followed, a weight on their shoul­ders.

  "There are stone steps, about a hundred feet down. Watch it."

  She held the lantern low to the ground. "All right." She thought she sounded calm, but her voice came out breathless. "Take my arm."

  She closed her eyes for a moment, again to try to imag­ine what he was seeing, what he was thinking. Darkness. The unending, unnerving silence stretching to infinity. And the air: close, dank, malignant.

  And they were so close. But she hadn't counted on this on­going unspeakable evil. She had thought they 'd just walk into a cavern somewhere and pluck the thing up and spirit it away.

  Name. Foolish. Short-sighted. Dumb. Still hadn't learned that the next big strike never never came easily. That it was always over the hill and the obstacles were almost insurmount­able.

  And it was always always always buried in the dark.

  And for Con, it always would be.

  She shivered, in spite of the close musty air.

  "Darcie." Con's voice, steely again, set with purpose, his fingers convulsive against her arm. "This is what you wanted. This is why we're here."

  "I know." But she'd never felt like this at the kill— wary, reluctant, faltering at the very moment she should

  pounce.

  The evil thing knew it; she felt it all around them, mocking them, provoking them, daring them to go for­ward and claim the treasure.

  "Then move..."

  She moved, holding the lantern in front of her like a shield, one hesitant step at a time with Con draped around her like a cloak. Moved like a snail, moved like a crone who had nothing to live for.

  What was wrong with her?

  The air was stultifying, the closer they came to the stone steps. She saw them finally just ahead. "We're al­most there."

  "Go down the steps, Darcie."

  She inched toward them, feeling her way in the light as if she were blind. There was something beyond, some­thing below. The thing was waiting. The evil was there.

  She paused at the top. The steps descended into dark­ness.

  "Just go," Con whispered.

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  They fumbled down the steps together. Steep steps, sharply angled, easy to misstep and fall to eternity. She held onto the wall, she held onto him. And she held onto the thought of what awaited them.

  "The tunnel veers to the right at the bottom," Con murmured.

  She held up the lantern. To the right, into more omi­nous darkness, and the suppurating evil.

  "You'll see columns of rock. Like guardians at the gate," he went on in an undertone as they shuffled on.

  She grabbed his hand as they came into view, a hori­zontal line of thick, coruscated stalagmites, sentinels of the divine.

  "The grotto is just beyond."

  She felt a chill down her spine. This close. Almost there. Steps away. She almost couldn't breathe. The strike of a thou­sand lifetimes . . . and nothing to stand in their way.

  And then she felt it, a violent swirl of malevolence enveloping them, and blocking their way.

  She almost dropped the lantern; no—it almost made her drop the lantern.

  "He's here," she hissed.

  "He's dead," Con said, his voice like iron. "Keep walking."

  She couldn't. She couldn't move; she felt the evil sur­rounding her, holding her immobile like the tentacles of an octopus.

  "I can't..."

  He lost patience. "Then I will..." He relinquished her arm, stretched out his arms and pushed forward in the dark.

  Immediately he felt the wall of resistance.

  "Con—!" she screamed as he merged with the fog. Oh dear God—! She felt the malevolence drain awav from

  her; her body felt boneless, powerless. But she could move. She took an experimental step after him.

  "Con . . . .'"But he'd disappeared through the col­umned portal, and all she could see by the light of the lantern was a swirl of turbulence trailing after him, and the dark unknown beyond.

  Her heart pounding crazily, she passed through the stone column, holding the lantern in front of her like a talisman.

  There—just ahead of her—light . . .

  She moved cautiously toward it, through a natural

  stone arch that framed the entrance to the grotto. The

  evil was all-pervasive here, its scent strong, awful, fecund,

  dead. She felt her throat gag, she wanted to turn and

  run away, and she resisted the impulse with all her might.

  She forced herself to creep through the arch.

  "Con ..." Her whisper reverberated in the stone. She

  was in what looked like an anteroom, and straight ahead

  of her, there was yet another arch, and beyond that, the

  glow.

  She felt the evil trying to repulse her, and she pushed against it, her heart constricted with fear. It was so strong, so wicked, so all encompassing, she almost felt she couldn't defeat it.

  And then suddenly, maliciously, it released her, and she tumbled into the grotto.

  She was enfolded by the light. It seemed to her that the whole cavernous space was infused with light, ema­nating from The Eye of God. The holy grail of a diamond, placed on a ledge that looked like an altar, side by side with a stone of similar proportions and brilliance that was black like the night.

  She stepped into the brilliance of the light, she was

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  enveloped by it, enthralled by it. She felt shocked that the stone was no bigger than a large jelly mould, and then it didn't matter at all. The stone glowed as if some­thing holy were watching over her. She felt a sense of well-being and saneness, as if everything in the world had suddenly come right.

  She moved toward it unerringly as if its power pulled her. And she walked willingly into its light.

  Con knelt on the ground before it
, and leaning over him, subjugating him was the man with the burning eyes. The sailor, the cabman, the guide they'd called Karun. The personification of the evil that saturated the air.

  If she moved one step toward the black stone, it would attack her. It would imprison her as it had Con. It wanted to. It wanted to destroy her for what she had inflicted on it

  But she knew, she felt, all she had to do was stay in the light and she would have the power to do battle with the malevolence from there.

  But it went even deeper than that entity called Karun. It felt as if it were thundering in the grotto, waiting to erupt from someplace deep in the ground.

  The thing called Karun stood over Con menacingly, with some kind of implements in its hand.

  And there was a silence like death as it awaited its command.

  "Don't move," Con breathed. "Don't say anything and I will tell you the whole story. This is the altar of the dark and the light. The black diamond is called The Stone of Samael after the Judge of the Dead. It sits in balance with The Eye of God, and they are never to be touched or moved. They neutralize each other, and bring good and evil into harmony. It is said whoever lays eyes on them will be cursed forever."

  "As were you," she whispered, stunned to the bone.

  "And now," the entity Karun intoned, "you will be damned to eternity."

  He lifted the implements and she was shocked to see he held a cleaving tool and a chisel. He whirled and in a heart-stopping moment, in the blink of an eye, he chiseled into the black diamond, set the angle, and struck it with one sharp, awful rap.

  "Jesus God . . ." Con breathed in horror. "Oh my

  God—"

  A dark dense foul-smelling fog spumed into the cav­ern and enveloped them, freezing them in place. And then it moved unerringly to the entity called Karun, and slowly and completely it devoured him.

  It hovered, fetid, putrid, all enfolding, obscuring The Eye of God and contaminating the air.

  It paralyzed them; it rendered them immobile. Al­most imperceptibly it began to re-form, the fog gather­ing into itself in eddying swirls, solidifying, elongating, transmogrifying itself incrementally before their very