The Sound of Many Waters (33 page)

Chapter Thirty Four

Dominic’s eyes filled with tears and he stopped telling his story. Zane had been so entranced that he only now noticed the wail of the hurricane outside. Fear sank in as he listened to the gutters rattling and debris pelting the roof and gusts of wind ebbing and flowing as if some hulking beast were trying to blow down the walls. How much could the old house withstand?

Dominic wiped his eyes, looked at Zane and said, “If I could have foreseen the great evil I was bringing to the village, I would have stopped right there and given up. But saving my son was all that mattered, as if his life was worth more than anyone else’s. I was a selfish man. I don’t think there’s any amount of penance—not four hundred years of it or even four tho
u
sand—that can ever compensate for the suffering I’ve caused.”

“I know the feeling,” said Zane.

“Do you?”

Zane tried to think of a way to change the subject. “What happened when you got back to the village?”

Dominic looked at the floor. “Pestilence. And death.”

The whole house suddenly shook. Zane suspected thunder, but as the shaking continued, he realized it was someone’s heavy footsteps on the porch. Both he and Dominic turned toward the door just as someone on the other side kicked it open. Wind and rainwater streamed in. The animals scurried into the darkest corners of the house. The preacher stood wet and d
i
sheveled in the doorway, looking like a drowned person pulled from a lake. His eyes locked onto Zane. “You!” he said.

Dominic sprang to his feet. “Be calm. He’s a friend.”

“
A friend?
He called the police!”

“You were trying to kill me!” said Zane.

The preacher stepped inside. “No! I was trying to save your soul!”

“Enough,” said Dominic. He stepped toward the preacher. “Why are you here?”

The preacher’s eyes blinked rapidly. “Why am I here?
Why am I here?
Can you not see? The end of days is upon us!”

“It’s only a hurricane. We’ve been through hundreds.”

“No, not this one! The signs are clear! And I saw him—”

“Who?”

“The horseman!”

Fear pressed in on Zane. “You saw someone on a horse?”

“Not just someone,” said the preacher, and his voice deepened. “Behold a pale horse, and he that sat upon him, his name was Death, and hell followed with him!” The preacher’s voice eased as he continued. “Can you believe it? The fourth hors
e
man of the apocalypse, riding through these very woods! The end, my brothers, is nigh.”

“I want you to leave,” said Dominic.

“Leave? You would deny me refuge in a tempest?”

“I don’t care where you go, but I don’t want you here. We both know why.”

The preacher’s face flushed and inflated. “Oh, I know why. Yes I do. The love of money, my friend, is the root of all evil!”

“What are you talking about?”

The preacher pulled the doubloon out of his pocket and stuck it in Dominic’s face. “I know what your ship was called. You told me! Where are the rest of these? I’ve been starving out here, doing your dirty work, while you sit around and horde your gold and share it with the likes of this little pagan!” He glared at Zane.

Dominic grabbed the preacher by the collar and shoved him out the door. “Get out!”

The big man tumbled down the steps and crashed into a mud puddle. “Woe to you, my friend!” he bellowed, his voice barely audible over the roaring wind. “For tonight the Lord separates the wheat from the chaff!”

Dominic slammed the door and locked it.

Zane sat wide-eyed. “Who
is
that guy?”

Dominic eased into his chair. “That guy,” he said, “was the first stranger to ever stumble upon the spring after I became its protector. The civil war had just begun. He showed up one day, seething with gangrene. Said he was a confederate deserter. I pitied the poor man and used the water to heal him, but when he discovered my secret, I was faced with a decision. Let him stay, or silence him forever.”

“You mean kill him?”

“I was tempted. But, as I said, I made an oath to never kill another person, with my own hands at least. I have kept that oath, and I will continue to. But as for that man, I did not have to kill him. I found a use for him. You see, although
my
killing days were over, I knew that as the population of La Florida grew, more people would start finding the spring. Yes, his methods are a little disturbing—he insists on baptizing his victims before he dispatches them—but he’s prevented the secret from getting out on numerous occasions. In exchange for his services, I provide him with water from the spring and plenty of food. Unfortunately, though, I think the loneliness of etern
i
ty is eating away at his mind, as you can see.”

Zane had a look of disgust on his face. “You let him
kill
people if they find the spring?”

“What else am I supposed to do? I am not proud of it. And I have, on several occasions, insisted that he let certain ones go free. But imagine if this thing got into the wrong hands. The entire balance of the world would be destroyed. Think about it. Knowing he is destined to die, man still fears that his actions might one day be judged. Give him immortality, on the other hand, and he will have nothing left to fear.”

Zane felt exhausted from the many directions his mind was being pulled. He rubbed his eyes. “I need to lie down.”

“Of course. I have a room prepared for you.”

Dominic led him down a long hallway. They passed an open door and Dominic motioned toward it. “That is where I sleep, in case you need anything.”

They came upon another door, this one shut tight. “What’s in there?” said Zane.

“It’s private.”

“Okay.”

“I mean it.”

“I said okay.”

Dominic led Zane to a small, damp room decorated with a hodgepodge of antiques and curiosities. A bedpan sat on a wicker chair. A deerskin rug lay in the middle of the floor. A carved wooden paddle hung on the wall. Zane collapsed onto the four-poster bed and gazed at the frilly hand-knitted canopy above.

I have to get out of here, he thought. But no part of his body willed to move. He felt his motivation drain away. He watched the walls tremble and listened to the wind rustling outside but he was too exhausted to worry about the storm anymore. Sleep took him within minutes.

He dreamt about the part of Lucia’s body that he cherished the most—her smile. Perched on the edge of his skiff, her hair whipping all around, she reached out to touch a porpoise as it surfed the bow wake and when her fingers met its slick, shining skin her mouth opened in the most vibrant smile Zane had ever seen and that was how he always wanted to remember her—not splayed out on a gurney with paramedics peeling off her clothes and strangers looking at parts of her body even he had not yet seen and the loud god-awful sirens jarring the gossipers out of bed and the flashing lights turning the inlet parking lot into a nightclub in which no one wanted to dance.

The beat of hooves jolted Zane awake. It took him a moment to remember where he was and to recall why such a sound should even concern him, but his mind ignited and he jumped off the bed. He put his ear to the boarded-up window.  Despite the roar of the storm outside, he could hear the clacking of a horse.

It’s him, he thought. Miguel.

The room felt cold. He shivered. He hurried out of the room.

“Dominic?” he whispered as he walked down the dim hallway. “
Dominic?
”

No one answered. Zane stopped when he came to the door that Dominic had forbidden him to open. It was ajar. He stood there looking at it for a moment. Then he put his ear against it and listened. Despite the wind heaving outside, he could hear someone whistling a sad melody.

“Hello?” he said. “Dominic?”

The whistling stopped. Zane pushed on the door and the hinges creaked as it opened. All the air left his lungs when he saw a shadowy figure standing in the corner of the dark room. It was the woman. She wore the robe, but the hood was lowered and Zane could see her long hair and dark eyes. She put her index finger over her mouth as if it to say
shhh
.

“Who are you?” said Zane.

“Get out of there!” Zane spun around and saw Dominic approaching from the other end of the hallway.

“The door was open,” said Zane.

Dominic seemed confused. “Open?”

“Yes, and the lady…” Zane spun back to the room, his finger ready to point at her, but she was gone. “Where’d she go?”

Dominic reached the doorway and looked inside. “Where did
who
go?”

Zane rubbed his brow. “The woman, the one I saw by the spring, she was in here!”

Dominic put his hand on Zane’s shoulder. “Are you sure?”

“I’m positive!” Zane scanned the dark room. A wooden owl carving sat on the windowsill. A panther sculpture, and some kind of bone, lay on an antique dresser.

“It’s okay. I believe you.”

“You do?”

Dominic nodded. “I need to tell you what happened when I got back to the village.”

A chilling scream—shrill and high-pitched—came from somewhere outside. Dominic turned toward the back door with a look of terror on his face. “Good God,” he said, and he bolted to the door and unbarred it.

Zane followed. “Wait! I heard a horse—”

Dominic flung the door open and stepped into the full tumult of the hurricane. His shirt flapped on his body and his hair thrashed. Zane stepped outside, too, and the driving rain pummeled his body and numbed his skin. Dominic put his hand on his forehead to shield his eyes from the rain. He squinted. His jaw dropped open.

“He knows you’re here,” said Dominic.

Zane followed his gaze and was overcome with nausea. There, hanging from a rope tied to the oak tree and twitching as it spun in the wind, was the goat, its stomach cut open and its entrails piled on the ground like a plateful of spaghetti. Tiny round puddles were scattered about in the mud. Dominic knelt and splashed the water out of one of the puddles. The shape was clear—it was a horseshoe track.

Dominic grabbed Zane’s arm. “Come inside! Now!”

Chapter Thirty Five

Hope and fear filled Dominic when he heard drums throbbing through the forest like a low heartbeat. The landscape became increasingly familiar as he and Itori trudged west. They soon came to the little brook where Dominic had killed his first deer and where he had touched Mela for the first time. He and Itori leapt across and paused to listen for the Spaniards. With their clanking armor and hacking coughs and loud curses, it was easy to tell that the soldiers were keeping pace.

As the light faded, Dominic feared that the moon might rise out of the woods at any moment. Would they reach Many Waters in time? He made sure to put all of his weight into each step in order to leave deep and noticeable tracks.

Dominic and Itori soon reached the entrance to the village. They stopped and waited. The drumbeats from within the walls were jarring and Dominic could hear Yaba’s distinctive shrieking. His anger seethed. He yearned to storm into the village and save his family, but he knew he had to be patient.

Moments later, Miguel emerged from the woods on horseback, followed by ten armored soldiers carrying lances and swords. Miguel looked at Dominic and mouthed the word “morir.”
Die
.

Dominic took a deep breath and looked at Itori. “Ready?”

Itori nodded, and they headed into the village side by side. Two native watchmen sitting along the inner part of the entryway jumped up. One of them ran into the village, shouting. The other stepped in front of Dominic and put his hand up.

“Hani,” said the guard.
Stop.

Dominic slugged him in the face. The native fell back against the wall and rumpled to the ground.

“Pardon me,” said Dominic.

He and Itori approached the center of the village where a towering fire raged. Around it, natives romped to the pulse of drums. When the watchman attracted their attention with his screaming and pointing, however, the drums abated and the people stopped. Utina, standing on a platform with a shark tooth knife in his hand, turned his baneful gaze to Dominic. His eyes flickered in the firelight.

Yaba, standing beside Utina, also turned to look at Dominic. The old shaman’s face wrinkled up in a sinister smile and his chest quavered as if laughing. Red paint covered his skin and he wore a gaudy eagle feather headdress. He held som
e
thing small and squirming in front of his body. Dominic heard a sharp wail—his heart dropped. It was his infant son in Yaba’s hands. He looked around and saw Mela tied to one of the seven columns, her tears spilling onto little Isa who lay slee
p
ing in a papoose slung across her stomach. Mela’s eyes met Dominic’s.

Save him
, she seemed to say.