By Desire Bound Page 18

  eyes.

  And suddenly something was there: tall, spare, as­cetic, cloaked in black, emanating an aura of depravity and ungodliness from every pore.

  It was a man—and it was an entity—possessed of sharp, black, piercing eyes that saw everything and missed nothing.

  He lifted his bony hand and Darcie recoiled from the malodorous smell that issued from him.

  He pointed at Con, and Con felt the power of his diabolic touch. He reacted violently, pushing up from the floor, and tumbling back down again as the entity lowered his hand.

  "Who are you?" he demanded sharply. "Who's

  there?"

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  "I am called Lazarin," it said, its words measured, its voice raspy and hollow. "And the power of Samael is dispersed upon the land."

  It raised his hand again and pointed to Con, and Con felt the repercussions of the heat and soul-sapping en­ergy through to his bones.

  "You have transgressed upon the holy place of Samael, and so you will be judged," it intoned, and then it lifted its leonine head for a moment, as if it were listening to some supernatural power.

  And then it nodded and turned its burning gaze back to Con.

  "I lay my hand upon you, in the name of Samael, and in his name and in the sight of The Eye of God, I offer you the gift of your vision. The judgment of the merciful Samael is as follows: that you may know there is good in evil and evil in good."

  It walked toward Con, its decaying essence envelop­ing them, making them sick.

  "The decision is yours, infidel," it whispered, making a sign over Con's head. "The hand of Samael is upon you."

  "Don't do it. . . "Darcie whispered. "Con . . . don't— you can't see it, it's a walking corpse ... a phantasm from the grave ..."

  He felt like he was dying, and like he was being reborn. He'd said it over and over—to see again, he would sell his soul. He felt fractured, the way he envisioned Karun had cleft the black stone. His own depravity cracked within him, splitting him down the middle, and he knew that he had made the decision months ago, and that now he was damned, just as the Karun had foretold. "I will have my sight," he whispered. "Con . . . !"Darcie shrieked as Lazarin laid his bony

  hand on his forehead. "The will of Samael shall be done," he intoned, sketching the sign with his thumb.

  Darcie watched, horrified, as Con slumped over at Lazarin's feet.

  And then the fog rose up around them, thick, rank, malodorous, foul. It filled the cavern, penetrating every crevice, every pore. It settled on The Eye of God, negating its powers. It rendered her helpless in its wake.

  She saw Lazarin's burning eyes, warning her, con­temning her, damning her through the billowing vapor, and it was the last thing she saw before she crumpled to the ground.

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  Fifteen

  "Memsahib . . . memsahib—" Someone was shaking her. "Please . . . please to wake, memsahib ..."

  She shook her head groggily. She had no idea where she was or who was calling to her. The hand was gentle, respectful, urgent.

  "Memsahib ..."

  She brushed the insistent hand away.

  "Please—we must go . . ."

  She didn't want to go; it seemed to her she was always going and she was tired of it. She just wanted to lie on the soft ground and fall back into her peaceful dreams.

  "Memsahib—the sahib still sleeps ..."

  She opened her eyes. Sidhu! And in this sanctuary. She shook her head again, and then struggled to sit up. Something about that was odd and she couldn't remem­ber what.

  And Con—oh God—where was Con? But no, he was right there, on the grotto floor beside her, in deep un­conscious sleep.

  And there was light—but that came from Sidhu's lan­tern.

  She was oriented now, except she couldn't quite re­member what had happened. And then she did. The horror. The evil. The scent.

  Oh dear God—The diamonds—!

  She jumped to her feet and whirled toward the ledge.

  The Stone of Samael was gone.

  Everything came back to her then full force. The fog. i he entity. The unholy bargain. Con, limp as a puppet, on the ground. And Sidhu beside him, frantically trying to rouse him.

  "Sidhu! When did you come?"

  "After a day and a night had passed, memsahib. And the sky turned black and the mountain gods became

  angry."

  She was stunned. A day and a night. They'd lost that

  much time. Always at the mercy of time.

  She rubbed her eyes. Her eyes. What about his eyes? Surely they had dreamed everything about the ungodly entity. And where was the black diamond? Or had she dreamt that too?

  But no, The Eye of God was on its resting place, the light around it extinguished. And something had com­pelled Sidhu to come.

  She got down beside him. "Con—" He was so unre­sponsive.

  Sidhu held up his hand. "All will be well, memsahib."

  "How?"

  "We will make do. I will make a pallet. Come."

  She didn't know what was more frightening: leaving Con or going with Sidhu. "I can't leave him. The thing might come back."

  Sidhu considered her words. "This is true. I will find the branches. It is daylight, we have time." He picked up his lantern and with it, lit hers. "Take courage, mem­sahib. I will return, soon."

  She wrapped her arms around Con as Sidhu disap­peared into the darkness, his lantern a faint glow in the distance.

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  She huddled closer to Con, avoiding the shadows, I

  staring at The Eye of God.

  Balanced to neutralize evil. Never to be touched or moved.

  Cursed forever—

  Samael loose upon the land . . .

  She shuddered convulsively. Whatever had hap­pened, the black stone was gone. She wondered if she had the nerve to remove The Eye of God.

  It wasn't that big. It couldn't be that heavy. She could just tie it up in a piece of her underclothing and hide it under her tunic.

  She got to her feet, took the lantern, and went over to the ledge.

  There was a scorch mark at the place where The Stone of Samael had been. The brand of the Judge of Death . . . ? And there was nothing left of the sundered stone except several minute slivers of crystal.

  She swept them up onto her fingers. All that re­mained of a horrible dream. She slipped them into the pouch in which she carried the remaining Pengellis dia­monds.

  And then she considered The Eye of God. Remembered the enfolding light, the warmth, the sense of well-being. . .

  She reached out a hand and touched it. Cool. Smooth. The object of desire. Wealth and riches at her fingertips. Did she dare . . . ?

  She took it in her hands and lifted it. Just picked it up in her hands as easily as if she were taking a piece of fruit.

  She held it up to the lantern light. Nowhere in its

  depths could she see the light, the power, or the mystical

  properties of its legend. It looked like less than it was.

  Only Con could tell her. She turned to look at him,

  still unconscious on the ground. No help there. And a decision to be made before Sidhu returned.

  She held it up to the light again, a stone the size of a pineapple in her hand. And then she set it back on the ledge, and removed her tunic, thankful that for this bone-cold journey, she wore several layers of clothing.

  Con had insisted on the trousers, and the sheepskin outer clothes. But she'd also worn a shirt and she reached for her shirttail now, and ripped it into a long oblong piece.

  That would do. She placed the stone in the center, and tied the ends of the material over it, around it, and finally around her neck and then tucked it into her bosom, w
here it hung like a third breast.

  And not a moment too soon. She heard Sidhu along the passageway, saw his light before he appeared, and then he emerged from the shadows carrying two thick long branches.

  He looked immediately at the altar ledge and then back at her and she felt his tacit disapproval.

  "It is not for me to say, memsahib," he said finally. "Come—we will remove sahib's cloak, and that, with your tunic, should make a pallet strong enough to carry him."

  They struggled through the tunnel to the steps, and there, they hauled him upright and got him up the stairs; and then over the drop, and they were careful to take the time to replace the stone at the entrance to the grotto along the way.

  With all that, it took two hours before they set him down at the opening of the crawlway to the first tunnel.

  "It will be cold tonight, memsahib. We will make a fire, and guard the entrance until daylight."

  She unwrapped the tunic from under Con's listless body and tucked it around him. She was shaking with

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  fear again. They'd come down to the valley with so little; they'd expected so much. And they'd gotten more than they'd bargained for.

  She didn't know how they were going to last the night.

  She huddled close to the meager campfire that Sidhu had made, the lump that was The Eye of God pressed between her breast and her knees, and the only warmth she felt emanating from the proximity of Con's body. But the fire and the two lanterns gave this outer cave at least some semblance of safety, and she was grateful for Sidhu's calm presence and his assurances that Con would recover.

  Recover what? she wondered as she stared at the fire. And how much had he already lost?

  "Beware of useless dreams, memsahib. They come back to haunt you."

  "What if he doesn't awaken?" "All will be well, memsahib. Sidhu assures you." Sidhu had brought some food into the Valley with them, and he was stirring up a pot of tea on the make­shift campfire. "You will warm yourself with tea. You will turn your thoughts to the future. For good and evil, you carry The Eye of God, memsahib. That alone should bless you."

  He poured the tea into a tin cup and handed it to her, and then took one for himself.

  "Why did you come?" she asked him. "I thought you were not permitted within."

  Sidhu shrugged. "Who knows by what method we are called to do anything, memsahib?"He handed her a bis­cuit. "I heard the call to come."

  And what had she heard? The call to greed. "And before—did you assist him?" Sidhu nodded. "And I owe sahib my life."

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  She bit into the biscuit. It was stale. Dry. It tasted like manna. They were blessed, alive, and removed from the grotto, and all that remained was to get through the

  night.

  "Memsahib should sleep."

  "I'll keep watch with you."

  "No one will find us."

  "But the ropes—"

  "No, memsahib—" He looked at her kindly, the beggar with wise eyes, and said, "—you can rest easy. The enemy has gone."

  Or the enemy was herself.

  She cradled The Eye of God between her breasts and wondered if she should lie. When Con awakened—if Con awakened . . .

  The tunnel was blocked now; he wouldn't be able to go back. She could just tell him—it would be so tempt­ing to tell him—that both of the diamonds were gone.

  A manipulative slicing up of the truth . . . and not the first time she'd ever done it. The stone was so warm between her breasts, so tantalizing ... as seductive as a lover.

  She never heard Con stir.

  She would have sworn she hadn't slept;

  And she was shocked to find him kneeling beside her, ruthlessly stripping away her clothes.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she gasped, batting his hands away. She reared up, half na­ked, and lunged at him.

  "You're a clever bitch, Darcie." He wrestled her back down to the ground again. "Sidhu told me, you thieving hellcat." He pinned her arms mercilessly. "And yes, I can see."

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  She sat resentfully across the campfire from him, eye­ing him warily as he cradled The Eye of God in his hands.

  His gaze was no longer blank; it was sharp, perceptive, keen. He was a different Con Pengellis from the man she had saved. Everything about him now was focused and contained and she, conversely, felt uncertain and constrained.

  She didn't like it. It was like the power between them had shifted and she was standing in quicksand and sink­ing fast.

  And she hated the way he looked at her across the campfire.

  "And what happened to the black diamond, did you say?" Even his voice was different, with a tone of con­fidence and command.

  "He had to have taken it." This was the third time she had told him and he still didn't believe her. But then, he thought she'd tried to steal The Eye of God; Sidhu told him she'd taken it, and then left her at his mercy to gather wood for the campfire, not betraying by a glance or a muscle any astonishment at the fact that Con had regained his sight.

  "He cleaved it into two pieces. And when I awoke, it was gone."

  "So convenient," he murmured, turning the dia­mond this way and that in his hands. All he had done, all he had suffered to come to this moment, to hold The Eye of God in his grasp, and to see in its depths the power and the possibilities. "The entity took it. I won­der why I don't believe you."

  He was sharp as a knife now, she thought, and deft at slicing to the quick. This was the Con Pengellis of the portrait, only more mature, honed to an edge, and fully in control.

  "And I wonder why you never mentioned it," she

  retorted. "All that mystical mumbo-jumbo about upset­ting the balance and the stones neutralizing each other . . ."

  He looked at her then, a scathing glance that would have frozen stone. "How can we know, Darcie? What do we know, after all? Well, we know how avid you are to possess this stone."

  She didn't know him—now. He wasn't in the dark anymore. She felt unbalanced and out of control, and like she'd been the one who'd been blind.

  "We know," he went on inexorably, "you don't scru­ple to lie. And we surely know you'll do anything to get what you want."

  In the dark.

  But now he was in the light, and he didn't like what he

  saw.

  She felt raw, slashed, as if he had drawn blood.

  "We wouldn't be here if it weren't for me," she shot back. "I think some gratitude is in order."

  "Where is the black diamond?" His voice was calm, neutral and laced with steel.

  "He took it." He took everything, in the name ofSamael. And she would never get it back. She remembered the sliv­ers of black stone, tucked in the pouch at her breast. "Look." She unpinned the pouch. "Hold out your hand." Oh, his hand . . . She spilled the five remaining small diamonds and the shards of crystal into his palm. "That was all that was left."

  "A careless cut," he murmured, pushing aside the diamonds, and picking up one long shard. He held it to the waning campfire light, staring at it for a long time. "But then—maybe it didn't matter." He gave it back to her. "Put it away."

  She was pinning the pouch just as Sidhu returned with an armful of wood.

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  "Dawn approaches, sahib, "he said, as he knelt to re­plenish the fire.

  "Good. There's just enough time. Get up, Darcie. We're going down to the grotto."

  She got slowly to her feet. He still didn't believe her. He picked up a lantern, grasped her arm and propelled her back into the tunnel.

  "What a pleasure to be able to see such treacherous footings."

  She wrenched her arm away. "And who got you safely through?"

  "Who had her own agenda?" "We are both still in danger," she said grittily. "S
o you say. It occurs to me, Miss Darcie, that yours is the only story we know. For example, / don't know that it was Lavinia or Roger who imprisoned me. I don't even know that you were married to Roger. I only have your word for it—watch the drop—" as she almost stepped over it and into oblivion, "and we know how good you are at spinning tales."

  "I see," she said angrily. "We're going to backtrack over everything that's happened, and then we're going to call me a liar."

  "How about a fabricator of truth?" "How nice you can see that—now." "I think I was in the dark about a lot of things, Dar­cie."

  "It's a bargain you'll regret."

  "Or you will."

  They were at the steps then, and he flashed the lan­tern downward. "You first, Scheherazade. I can't wait to hear what tale you'll tell."

  "I'm not going to say a word. You didn't see the thing. You can't know. You made a devil's bargain with an ap­parition from hell."

  "Or maybe, Scheherazade, that was you."

  She descended the steps furiously, aware that he thought her perfectly capable of sending him over the edge, and he followed her, holding the lantern low to light the way.

  And then to the right, and into the anteroom, through the stone columns and into the grotto. And nowhere was there any overwhelming sense of lurking doom.

  Nor was there that blessed light to warm and welcome them. The grotto was cold and soulless. A pagan altar, eons old.

  He stepped up to it, holding the lantern over the ledge. There was nothing to indicate that balanced there had been two mythic diamonds. Only the scorch mark, round, deep, black as a hole.

  "He couldn't remove The Eye of the God, " Con said, examining the ledge. "There are chisel marks in the stone. He tried to prise it up, and he couldn't move it. Not all the powers of Samael could move it. And yet you were able to pick it up without resistance, without any invocation."

  He turned to look at her, an odd look, an assessing look. He hardly wanted to think about it—about her, the Darcie of the dark, the Darcie of the lies, the Darcie of his dreams.

  None of that mattered now because, in spite of his plans and regardless of her schemes, they had been de­liberately brought to this place, and she had been given the benediction of The Eye of God.