The Traiteur's Ring (32 page)

The warrior ethos.

Beneath them the black river moved like polished glass through the tunnel-like bridge of the ruins. Why this felt nothing like an insane dream escaped him completely. The face of the Indian (his brother Rougarou) watched and waited, apparently content to allow him a moment to muse despite his pronouncement that time was short. Ben reigned in his mind, ready now to get to business.

He raised an eyebrow to signal he was ready.

“The protectors have always been among us,” the Indian began, his face hard and his eyes unblinking. “Since the beginning of time we have kept the Living Sea, the Living Jungle, the Living Planet safe and protected our people who have, over time, spread out everywhere across her surface.” The Attakapa looked off now as if remembering something from long ago. “It is a great privilege to be a keeper of things. It is not from the Mother Earth that we protect our world and our people, though that can sometimes be a part of it. It is from the others – from the dark ones.”

Ben shifted uncomfortably on the hard rock surface. He thought back to his Gammy’s words – of the dark ones with the black blood. He knew that something so bizarre should sound nothing but crazy to him, but instead it felt familiar. And right.

“Where are these others?”

Give me the coordinates for the target, and we’ll get this shit done.

The Indian continued to gaze off into the distance, apparently still lost in some memory.

“For thousands of years they lived among us. Now they live in another place, but times have passed when they try again to come here – to our world – to take from us that which we protect. That is why we need the Rougarou. That time is again here, and the things you see around you in your world – the things that cause fear and suffering – many are brought by the dark ones. The men you fight are often victims of those with the black blood.”

Ben’s mind reeled around what he thought the Indian told him. Was he supposed to believe that Al Qaeda, the Taliban, maybe even back to Nazi Germany – that those things were instruments of some other-world creatures – of these dark ones? Somalia, Darfur, 9/11…all evil caused by some outside force greater than them?

He didn’t buy it –not even a little bit. He had fought against men who had inside them their own evil – and he knew evil existed in the hearts of men. He knew also the Taliban and Al Qaeda fighters he had fought and sometimes killed had believed with his same passion that they were doing what was right. That was what made them so Goddamn hard to beat.

“The evil that is in man is real and has always been with us,” said the Indian as if reading his mind. “It always will be with us. The Rougarou fight these men as a matter of routine. Sometimes the dark side of man is nothing more than what it is. Other times it becomes something larger and then it is the work of the dark ones. The Rougarou fight both, but our task is greater and more may be lost when the dark ones are here.” He turned his head and looked unblinkingly at Ben with his storm-filled eyes. “You must go back and stop the one with the black blood who inspires evil among those who do harm to our people on the other side of the great water.”

Not very mysterious that one. The Attakapa wanted him to return to Africa and face the Al Qaeda assholes who had slaughtered his village. That he would perhaps deploy there again at some point in the next few years seemed likely, but not very important.

“Relax,” Ben said and smiled. “I am part of a whole team of protectors. A whole family of Rougarou known as the Navy SEALs.  I have friends over there right now continuing the work, so don’t worry.”

The grip of the Attakapa on his wrist shot flaming spasms up his arm all the way to his chest, and he felt a whimper escape his throat like a little girl. The pain felt like a heat much more than trauma to his wrist.

“They are not Rougarou, and they cannot defeat the dark ones.” The Indian’s voice had risen in volume as much as it had sunk in tone, and the tremble Ben heard sounded like power not fear. He watched as fireflies began to dance around his arm where the powerful brown hand gripped him, and he wondered which of the two of them the blue light came from. “If the one with the black blood is allowed to arrive, the time for all of our people will be past. There will no longer be a Living Planet, do you understand?”

Ben nodded, more in hope that the gesture would release the grip on his wrist than because he understood. The heat had spread to his chest now, and he tasted metal in his throat.

“We must stop the dark ones where they are or it will be too late.”

“By eating their dead?” Ben said and pulled back his arm as the Attakapa released it. He cradled his arm in his lap. The Indian looked past him – perhaps resigned that Ben had not bought all in.

“The eating of the heart of the dead denies the dark ones a vessel to return for their spirit walk here in our world,” the Indian said flatly, but his tone told Ben he didn’t give a shit what he thought. “The heart holds the part of the spirit that the dark ones may use, and taking it traps them in the dead where they eventually die, as well. The other powers are more important to the Rougarou and to you as the protector of the Living World. You will need the Ashe that grows inside you even now.”

Ben thought of Reed and the healing power he had found for him when he needed it. He thought of Auger and his leg and of the thick paste he had used to make that wound disappear. He saw in his mind the hand of the Elder, bathed in blue light and encircled with little fireflies as he had closed the gaping hole in Jewel’s head and brain. He knew that these powers were that of the Traiteur, and he knew his Gammy had that power. He also suspected this was not what the Indian spoke of. Again, the Indian read his mind.

“The healer’s powers are important, but will not help you defeat the dark ones. The Ashe lets you travel into the minds of others and that can help you. You will not read the dark ones or the one with the black blood easily, but you will find it easy to read the thoughts of men. They will use men to carry out their work. In that way their thoughts are betrayed through the living men they inhabit. The thoughts of those will be open to you even when they are one with the dark ones.”

Well, that was sure as shit right. Ben thought of the closed space of the plane and the cacophony of voices that had painfully filled his mind there. He thought of the man with the cheating wife and wondered again if the murderous speculation had ever come to anything. He remembered the voices from the French Quarter and how he had somehow found a way to control it.

“This too will become easier as you grow with the Ashe that is inside you. Eventually you will reach out with your mind into the heads and hearts of others, instead of letting all of their thoughts invade you. Already you have learned much of this. You will also reach out with your mind in other ways.”

Ben saw the dead terrorist, his popped eyeball spilling grey, liquid brain onto his swollen face. He thought of the drunk on the street screaming at the pain in his head and eyes.

“Yes,” the Indian told him. “These are the weapons of the Rougarou, but you must learn much to be able to control them.”

“How?” Ben asked, unable to control the quivering fear in his voice.

“In your own way,” the Attakapa answered, which, of course, didn’t help at all. “You will use all of these things and more to protect our people and the Living Earth. Our people await you in the jungle and will help you if they can, but you must rely on yourself. You are the Rougarou, and you must return to the fight.”

Ben shook his head.

“I’m not sure I’m going anywhere,” he said. “It’s not really even up to me. I follow orders and go where I’m told.” He doubted very much that Viper team would be going back to Africa anytime soon. More likely they would return to Afghanistan.

“The dark ones are in those mountains, also, but the one with the black blood waits in the jungle, and so there you must go.” He looked over at Ben and then past him. “Our time is done,” he said simply. “All that you need to know is inside you. We may speak again, perhaps, but not here.”

And, he was gone.

Ben sat alone, cross-legged atop the tall ruins in the cave-like world at the end of the dark hole in his woods.

Well, this was a wasted fuckin’ afternoon.

And then the world around him exploded in white light and screaming noise and his eyes and brain filled with images, some familiar and all horrifying. The images sped through him, and he realized the screaming noise came from his own throat. He grabbed his head in both hands and fell backwards.

He must have been closer to the edge of the flat-top roof of the ruins than he thought because he didn’t land on his back, but instead fell through the hot, wet air, legs kicking and arms flailing uselessly as he watched the dead brush woven ceiling fall away from him. He realized where he headed – towards the foul, black water that moved like glass through the tunnel of the ruins. He screamed louder and flailed more desperately at the air around him. The thought of falling into the black, dead, sluggish stream seemed much more horrifying than just splattering his insides all over a hard pavement somewhere.

And then the frothy darkness swallowed him up, filled his mouth and nose with thick, acid-burning stench, and he stopped struggling, letting himself sink down into the murk as his mind faded.

*   *   *

The heavy emptiness receded slowly, like having a dark shroud pulled away from him an inch at a time and through closed eyes he sensed the world around him had lightened. A cool breeze licked the sweat from his skin, leaving behind itchy salt and a chill that raised goose flesh, making him shudder uncontrollably. It was thoughts of Christy, alone and worried for all of these hours, which finally made his eyelids flicker open.

At first he stared at the woven dead brush ceiling of the hole in the woods, but the branches of the trees were brown rather than grey and between their loosely overlapped fingers he saw sky – an azure blue sky of dry air. He turned his head to the left, gently because of the throbbing in both temples, and he laid spread eagled on the ground in the woods that had once been his home. Something warm trickled down his cheek and into his ear.  He raised a tentative and achy arm, wiping it away with the back of his hand and looked at it– blood. He then noticed the metallic taste in his mouth and the burning in his lower lip. He must have bitten it when he fell from the ruins – and pretty deeply from the taste and flowing warm tickle on the side of his face.

You didn’t fall from any ruins, you nut job. You’re in the woods by your shack – your and Gammy’s shack – and you passed out like some scared little girl.

Ben moved both legs, which gratefully worked just fine, and gently raised himself to a seated position on the hard ground, then looked around. He sat at the edge of the clearing in the woods – their yard it had been – right where he had (imagined he had) entered the bunny hole. He wiped more blood from his face – this time his chin thanks to gravity– and scanned back towards their shack.

The filthy black Charger sat in the tall grass where he had parked it right beside – nothing. Well, not nothing. One charred corner of what had once been their home remained and across from it a three-foot portion of blackened, collapsed porch, minus the rickety stairs. Between the two sat grey dirt and ash, the rest long ago carted off by others needing wood – or maybe a not-like-new pot-bellied stove. Ben realized that he looked now at what he really last remembered of home.

He struggled to his feet, stopping for a moment at a hunched over half-way point to let the swelling headache subside, and felt fresh tears in his eyes. He thought maybe he cried because he had clearly lost his fucking mind, but after a moment he knew it was for Gammy that he wept – crazy ol’ Cajun Gammy and her Witch Doctor ways. God, he had loved her.

But Gammy was gone – as was their home, consumed in fire long ago and with it his childhood. He had no need to come here to see how long ago and far away it all was now.

And no need to come here in my dreams anymore either.

Ben wondered just what the hell his crazy nightmares had meant and what the new ones tried to tell him. He thought now that just maybe his mind wanted to let it go. Maybe the dreams were what he needed to get him to this place, so he could just let it all go.

The image of the Attakapa crystallized in his mind’s eye, and the Indian opened his mouth to speak. But Ben dissolved it away before his crazy imagination told him something he didn’t want, and maybe no longer needed, to hear.

Crazy nightmares to help you tell goodbye to a crazy childhood. You can wave to it now and move along, back to your life with the best thing that ever happened to you or you can try and embrace it – and be consumed by it.

Biggest no brainer in the world.

Time to say goodbye.

His mind kept reminding him of all it had seen and heard in the last few weeks, especially in the last two days, but it finally snapped closed when his near hysterical inner voice told it to shut the hell up. Maybe he would one day need some help, some professional help, to get all this in order. He kind of thought not, however. He felt himself begin to believe that with Christy he could now move on and forget the bullshit his childhood tried to infect his life with.

Ben looked at his right hand as he shuffled toward the car. The ring looked obscene on his middle finger, and he reached for it – the second time he had decided to pull it off he realized – but he stopped before he touched it. He told himself he wanted to wait, to bury it in the sand like Christy’s thoughts had told him she wanted to do. Maybe they could do it together.

That’s the reason he gave himself at least. He ignored the thoughts of the mystical water and the ruins and moved his eyes up towards the Pathfinder watch on his wrist – only eleven-forty-eight. He had only been out a couple of minutes from his girly fainting spell, but he had fit one hell of a nightmare into those fleeting moments. He marveled again at the nature of dreams.