He heard the sound of hoofbeats before he saw her. Coming up to him, she slowed the big black horse to a walk. She had on a padded jacket, breeches and a hard riding hat. She took the hat off and brushed back her long black hair. It had more strands of gray than he remembered. Her face was thinner, her cheekbones seemed more prominent, her skin a shade darker. Ahearn was struck by the size and fearsomeness of her mount. It was a jet-black gelding, wide-eyed…
"Your horse," he said, "looks like he eats meat."
"Island proverb," she said. "Big riders cannot ride little horses."
"Well," he said, "you know I'm ignorant of les mystères"
"Ignorant of les mystères" She mocked his accent. "But you're back safe and sound."
"And you," he said. "You too."
"I live in France now."
"I know."
"I was delivered. You could say God was good." Her horse seemed to bolt. She tightened the reins while it sidestepped to the soft shoulder of the road, righted itself and came back.
"Not to me."
She laughed at him. "Oh, Michael. But you betrayed me, eh?"
"You knew what I would do. You took me to hell."
She shook her head and then carefully dismounted. She kept short rein and touched his face with her free hand.
"Not at all. No, no."
"That was hell."
"My friend," she said. "That was the other thing altogether. You see it everywhere and that was it."
"The spirit goeth where it listeth? No thanks. It was the kingdom of hell. I'm still there."
She fished in the pocket of the padded khaki jacket and brought something out of it to show him. She had emeralds in her hand. Very big emeralds, it seemed to him, cut and shining even on this dark day.
"Eh voilà!" She held them in his face.
"Congratulations," he said. "Good for you."
"Don't you see, it's a sign. Don't you want one?" She thrust them at him. "Here, look, I'll give you half. Pick them out."
"No."
Exasperated, almost enraged, she put the stones away and got back in the saddle.
"Oh, my poor friend." The fierce horse was impatient. "What you wanted came to you."
"Came at me," he said.
"So, so, either way. Why did you ever think about it? So it came and you sold it out to save yourself. Thinking that you could."
"I don't want to think at all," Ahearn said.
"Because you were there, the mysteries opened themselves," Lara told him. "At your service until you hardened your heart."
"Were you Marinette?" he asked her. "Are you?"
"Only Lara again. Out of a bottle. As Marinette, if you had been less afraid I might have delivered you."
"It was hell," Michael said.
"Forget about it then," she said. "Don't bring such questions down on yourself. Or otherwise, learn to see clearer. Then maybe it will find you out."
"Maybe in a dream," he suggested.
"Maybe. Sure, because the questions are childish, aren't they?" Her horse stepped toward him. He moved back, out of the way. "The mysteries, the stories are for children. By the way," she asked, "how's your little boy you adore?"
"He's fine," Michael said.
"So," she said, "thank God, eh?"
He nodded.
"Courage, then," she said to him. Not mockingly but in a comradely or sisterly way. He stepped out of the crossroads to let her pass, and she rode on in the direction she had been heading. He could not imagine what could lie that way for her.
~ ~ ~
St. Trinity was conceived on a visit to Haiti with Madison Smartt Bell, the great chronicler of the Haitian Revolution. Enjoying Madison's companionship and guidance, I was able to share a number of adventures in Haiti which I passed on to the denizens of Bay of Souls. Along with him, I heard the drums and saw the fires at the crossroads.
He bears no responsibility for variations of the cult as practiced on my island of St. Trinity. The spirits lost in passage through Bay of Souls are entirely in search of their own light. They and I ask his blessing.
I also wish to worshipfully salute the memory of Maya Deren, beautiful and gallant rider to the stars, author of Divine Horsemen, which is the greatest of works on vodoun. Her insights will guide errant souls forever, all our lost brothers and sisters in pursuit of the light where the world began.
Action de grâce.
R.S.
About the Author
ROBERT STONE is the acclaimed author of seven novels and two story collections, including Dog Soldiers, winner of the National Book Award, and Bear and His Daughter, a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize. His memoir, Prime Green, was published in 2006.