Elusive Hope (44 page)

Thump-ump, thump-ump, thump-ump
, the pulsating sound echoed in Magnolia’s ear. As it had all night. Lulling her to sleep with its soothing cadence, while at the same time keeping her awake with the knowledge that it came from the heart of the man she loved. The man that lay beside her, his strong arm around her waist, his chest beneath her head where she had laid it after they’d become one flesh, just like the scriptures said. He’d adored her with his body and then adored her with his words of love and promises of care and affection and joy for a lifetime, until He’d finally drifted off to sleep.

The night had passed in a brushstroke of paradise as she lay ensconced in his warmth and strength, listening to his deep breathing, feeling the rise and fall of his chest, inhaling the male scent of him, and praying for God to bless and strengthen and protect this man forever. Closing her eyes against the glow of dawn creeping in through the window, she wished it would retreat, go back to the rising sun, and push it down beneath the horizon for just a little while longer. Just a little while longer in Hayden’s arms, a little while longer absorbed in his love.

A parrot screeched outside the window. Hayden stirred. He reached up to rub his nose. Propping her chin on his chest, she watched him. His mouth twitched. He groaned and released a heavy breath. Then his arm tightened around her and he snapped his eyes open, shifting them to her as if surprised to find her in his bed. A slow grin appeared on his lips. “I thought I only dreamed last night.”

“Do you often have dreams of such a”—she raised an eyebrow at him—“sensual nature?”

“Only about you, wife.” Easing a lock of hair from her forehead, he propped himself up on his elbow, his eyes drinking her in. “Last night was magical.”

Magnolia smiled, felt a blush rising, and lay back on the pillow, gazing up at him. “Let’s never leave this cot. Stay here forever.”

“Wouldn’t that give the townspeople something to talk about?”

“Let them.” She laughed, running her fingers over the dark stubble on his chin.

His gaze landed on the toad carving on the table. “So, now that I’ve spent the night with you, I suppose you must chop off my head so I can become a prince.”

“It’s two nights you must spend with me, Mr. Gale. After tomorrow, I shall have to see.” She grinned. “But I do believe you are well on your way to becoming a prince, even with your head attached.”

He rubbed his throat. “Good thing, Mrs. Gale. I’ve grown quite fond of my head.”

“I rather like it myself.” Propping herself up, she trailed kisses up his neck. “Especially this neck”—she continued on to his chin—“and this scratchy jaw”—she planted one on his nose—“and this nose and these ears”—she nibbled on his ear.

Groaning, he nudged her back onto the pillow and trapped her with his arms. “If you continue such provocative amusements, you will get your wish and never leave this bed.”

“I don’t believe you for one minute. Are you swindling me again, Hayden Gale?”

He grew serious. “Never again, for you have swindled the great swindler, Princess, and stolen his heart forever.”

“I shall take good care of it, Hayden. You need fear nothing from me. I will cherish it forever and never betray your confidence, and I will—”

His lips met hers, and the rest of her thoughts flew out the window.

E
PILOGUE

W
hat in the Sam Hill are you talking about, Doc?” Hayden shook his head. “You’re not making any sense.” Besides, the man had dragged Hayden away from Magnolia on only their second night together as man and wife. He glanced down the dark street, lit in intervals by flickering lanterns, toward their hut where he’d left her sleeping.

“I know you’re anxious to return to your wife,” Blake said, drawing Hayden’s gaze back to see him smile. “I am as well. To mine, that is.” He chuckled at his faux pas. “But let’s hear James out. He’s been translating this book Graves gave him from the tunnels, and I’m sure he wouldn’t have woken us unless it was important.”

“Yes.” James stared at the open book lying on the table in the meeting shelter. Light from a lantern perched beside it spilled onto the page littered with odd characters. The doc seemed unusually tense as he pushed from the table, took up a short pace, then stopped again. “I finally figured out what this section says.”He nodded to the book.“The Latin phrase written above the alcoves is a key to release the powerful beings.”

The impact of his ominous declaration was lost on Hayden. Just the preacher being a preacher, he supposed. But the news seemed to distress Blake. He planted a boot on a stool and leaned forward, his jaw stiff, his eyes intent.

“What powerful beings?” Hayden asked.

James gave Hayden a look as if he’d asked if the sun rose in the east. An event Hayden hoped he’d miss before he returned to his bed. “Ah, yes. Sorry,” James said. “Remember those alcoves in the tunnels beneath the temples, the ones with the poles and broken chains?”

“Go on.”

“This book tells how they got there. There was a battle. Probably on that scorched field we saw behind the temple.” His eyes lit up as if he suddenly realized the connection. “Anyway, those powerful evil beings were subdued and locked below. Four of them.”

Hayden had heard some rattlebrained tales before—had told a few himself—but this one could get a man locked in an asylum. “But there was nothing there.”

“Two were gone. Yes.” James scratched his thick hair. “I know how they escaped.” He exchanged a look with Blake. “Remember the writing on top of each alcove?”

“Yes. Latin and something else written in another language.” Hayden pointed toward the book. “Words that looked like this.”

James nodded and shifted his gaze between them. “All someone needs to do to free the beings is say the Latin phrase out loud. Here, let me read this section. When the man of darkness in whom there is no light”—he slid his finger across the characters from right to left—“speaks the key to the four winds, the chains are broken.”

Blake nodded as if James had just read facts from a scientific treatise. “But who released the first two?”

“Indians, pirates, cannibals. I don’t know. The person merely has to say the phrase, not understand it. And he or she must be evil. A bad person in whom there is no light.”

Hayden rubbed the back of his neck. “So who locked them up there in the first place?”

“I don’t know. God…good angels.”

Hayden snorted. “And you think these beings might be bad angels?”

James huffed his displeasure at Hayden’s skepticism. “I know it sounds farfetched, but yes, I believe these beings could be angels who followed Satan in the fall.”

Farfetched?
Hayden shook his head. More like pure madness. “So, why would whoever conquered them make a way for them to be released?”

James flipped back a few pages. “It’s hard to explain, but it says here that because the earth was given to mankind, fallen as he is, there had to be a way for man to release these beings. It had to be man’s choice of good over evil…free will”—he looked up at Blake—“like we talked about before. God does not want puppets. If we choose evil, He allows us.”

The excited way he spoke, the fear lacing his tone, brought Hayden’s own fears to the surface. Were His two friends becoming as mad as Graves? Perhaps if Hayden simply excused himself and returned to bed, he’d wake up tomorrow to find their senses recovered. “Fascinating, gentlemen, but I have a new bride waiting for me.” He turned to go.

“Graves is close to releasing The next being.” James’s forceful tone spun Hayden around and caused Blake to squeeze the bridge of his nose with a groan.“That’s what he’s been digging for,”James continued. “Two of them were locked in the chamber we saw. Another two were locked below them. The worst two. More evil than you could possibly imagine.” He gripped the edge of the table. “If what Graves said about sabotaging our journey was true, we know he was evil to start out with. But now, you’ve seen him. He’s not only evil, but he’s gone mad as well. If he knows any Latin at all, all he has to do is say the phrase above the open sepulcher out loud and the third being will be free.”

Graves raised the lantern over the alcove he’d just uncovered. Finally. After weeks of digging, he’d finally removed enough rocks and dirt to clearly see the curved trench that ran from the muddy floor to the craggy roof of the cave. Water dripped and hissed all around him as steam rose from cracks. Sweat streamed down every aching muscle in his body and burned over cuts and abrasions. But he didn’t care. Excitement set his hair on end. the chains were intact, suspended in midair as if still restraining something…or someone, yet now as he flooded the area with light, he could see no one there.

“I did what you said.” He wiped sweat from his face, leaving a streak of mud on his sleeve. “I did what you said.” He took a step closer.

Ah…there they were, the voices again. his friends, his companions for The last two months. Happy voices, praising him for his faithfulness, his hard work, his dedication, promising him rewards beyond his wildest dreams. Graves smiled. Finally all his work would pay off. Finally he would have immeasurable power.

Say the words. Open the chains
.

Water dripped on his face from above—steaming water that smelled of sulfur and stung his skin. He leapt on a boulder and raised the lantern higher, illuminating the Latin above the sepulcher. Squinting, he tried to make out the letters, tried to remember their pronunciation from his lessons as a child.

The words sounded foreign on his cracked lips, but he shouted them aloud with glee. Their echo magnified and bounced off the walls with a power he would soon possess. A low rumble resounded from below. Louder and louder it grew until it thundered in the chamber. The walls shook. Dirt showered over him. Stalactites speared down from above. One struck Graves’s shoulder, piercing his flesh. Crying out, he tumbled from the rock and landed in the mud. Another pierced his leg. He screamed in agony and raised a pleading hand to the sepulcher. Chains rattled. Iron split apart, and the dark outline of an immense being took form. Eyes as hot as coals stared down at Graves.

“Help me,” Graves cried, reaching toward the creature.

The being pulled a sword with a blade as long as a man from his scabbard, stepped from his prison, and raised it over Graves’s head.

Before he completely vanished.

Graves released a heavy breath. He never felt the blade on his throat until it was too late.

A loud boom like the roar of a cannon drew all men’s gazes to the jungle. The ground trembled. The lantern wobbled on the table and slivers of thatch filtered down from above.

The three men exchanged wary glances. The shaking stopped. Night birds and crickets returned to their song, and a mighty gust of wind sent the lantern flame sputtering patches of light and dark over the prophetic Hebrew book.

“So what is the name of this third being?” Hayden asked, suddenly rethinking his position.

James pointed to a word in the book then eyed them both. “Destruction.”

A
UTHOR’S
H
ISTORICAL
N
OTE

For purposes of the story, I chose the location for the colony of New Hope to be roughly one hundred miles south of Rio de Janeiro, near a wide river that flows from the mountains down to the sea. The river and the colony are fictitious and are not actual landmarks in Brazil. There was, however, a colony named El Dorado, led by Frank McMullan, that settled south of Rio de Janeiro in the São Paulo province, near the São Lourenço River. Shortly after the colonists’ arrival, Frank McMullan took sick and died, leaving his partner, William Bowen, a gruff, greedy man more interested in finding gold than planting crops, in charge. (Many legends abounded of a lake of gold near the area!) The resultant power struggle caused great dissention among the group. That division, along with sickness, lack of food supplies, money, and no way to get their crops to market caused the demise of the colony in 1870, three years after it began.