Hallowed Ground

'You are trying to hide the fact that you are lying to me.'

'You do me wrong, young Benjamin.  The one thing I won’t do is lie to you.  I shall be as good as my word.  That is to say precisely as good as my word.  That is the art of the compact.  Both should leave, shaking hands on the deal, and be aware of precisely what they have traded, what they have promised and what they shall receive in return.'

'You say what I think I want to hear.  That is how it works, isn’t it?  If you return her to me exactly as she was then given time the same sickness will take her.  I am no fool.'

The devil smiled knowingly and shook his head sharply.  'Ah, you see through the riddle of the game.  I can see I will need to be alert when it comes to treating with you, Benjamin Jamieson.  Indeed, she shall return to this life, healed and whole.  I cannot say fairer than that, can I?  Would you agree that I have met all of your demands?  I have acquiesced to your desires and promised to sunder the veil between this world and the next so that Elizabeth, your one true love, can walk this world again, hale and hearty.  And in return I want your soul.  That is my price.  I have been forthright with you in respect to my desires, have not tried to fool you with tricksy words or leave you befuddled and wishing you had a law man to decipher the confounding balderdash.  Your immortal soul.  That is my price.  It is not so much weighed against all that you want from me, is it?  The doors between worlds don't open easily.  Have we a bargain, Benjamin, or have you wasted my time?'

Benjamin nodded. 'Yes.  Yes we do.'

'Good,' the devil said, flourishing the roll of parchment he clutched in his left hand.  'There are formalities that must be adhered to, you understand, an inking of the agreement so that we are not faced with buyer’s remorse or some other distressing squabble down the line.  Eternity is every bit as long as it sounds, and when you change your mind and seek to recant your trade I would have it in writing, bound in blood, so to speak, to prove that there is no wiggle room.  So, please, read, absorb, ask any questions you might have, but most of all, sign here.'

Before Benjamin could voice agreement, or dissent, there was an awful screech.  The air above them exploded with sound, and a huge, decrepit looking raven dropped through the trees.  Benjamin tried to flinch, but he was too slow.  The bird landed on the stranger's shoulder with a solid thump.  Without hesitation, the man reached up, grabbed a long black feather, and plucked it.  The bird cried out and shuffled back and forth on its perch, but made no move to go.

'This will serve,' the man said, and with a flourish he drew a shining blade from the pocket of his jacket.  He barely flicked his wrist, but when he folded his knife and returned it whence it came, he held a perfectly trimmed quill.  The man winked.

Benjamin's throat was so dry it burned.  His eyes watered, and all his strength had left him.  The stranger held out the pen with a flourish, and without thinking, Benjamin plucked it from the man's hand.

It was hot to the touch, and he would have dropped it, except he no longer had control of his hand.  He gripped the quill so tightly he was sure it would snap, but it was flexible and strong, shivering in his grip.

'There is no ink,' he said softly.

The moment the words left his lips, he regretted them.  His memory of the past hour was vague, but something floated to the surface.  Something the man had said.

'Signed in blood.'

Jeanne stepped close.  Benjamin turned at her approach, but too late to catch her intent.  She lashed out with one long nail and it bit into the flesh of his wrist.  Blood welled instantly.  She gripped his forearm and scraped the nail across the cut, cupping several fat droplets on her fingertip and bringing them to her lips.

She did not release her grip on his wrist.

'The quill,' she said.  'Dip the quill, Benjamin.'

The moment passed so slowly that the touch of the quill in the fresh cut on his wrist had passed, and the quill had pressed to the parchment before his gaze registered motion.  By the time the long swirls of his signature were etched onto the page, penned in brilliant crimson and fading to corroded, rust brown, his mouth opened.  As he completed the S and lifted the pen…he managed a whisper, just a tiny breath of sound that wheezed through dry lips and died short of sound.

'No,' he said.

'Oh, I'm afraid it's much too late for that,' the stranger chuckled.  'Signed and sealed, you see.  Very legal, very proper, and very final.  You'll find it quite binding, in and out of court.  I believe we have a deal, Benjamin.'

Benjamin licked his lips.  He needed to moisten them so he could speak.  Something felt very wrong.  He couldn't move his feet, and his balance was failing.  The only thing keeping him upright was the iron hold of the witch, Jeanne Dubois, on his wrist.  The same grip that had saved him from tumbling into the abyss earlier that night, only tighter.

He tried again to move.  This time it was more than sluggishness.  Something held him in place.  He glanced down and cried out.  The earth beneath him had crumbled.  Pale, dead hands groped at his ankles and his calves.  He struggled harder, but they held him easily, clawing their way up as if he was their ladder to the surface.  A moment later, he realized with shock that they weren't climbing out…they were dragging him down.

'Wait!' he cried.  'Wait! We have a deal.'

The stranger stood watching, a slow smile curling his lip.

'I do believe you are correct, Benjamin,' he said.  'Have you forgotten your half so soon?'

'Elizabeth,' Benjamin screamed.  He fought with every ounce of his strength, but he could no more free his legs than he could tear his wrists from Jeanne Dubois' grip.  She watched him, fascinated by his terror.  He thought she licked her lips.  He knew she smiled.

'Oh, never fear,' the stranger chuckled.  'Your Elizabeth is pulling the air back into her lungs at this very moment.  Soon she'll be fully away, crawling out from under those flowers and heading into town.  A bargain is a bargain, and I'm a man of my word.'

'My legs,' Benjamin groaned.  The claw like fingers gripping his ankles and calves dug in, nails biting bone deep, and the groan rose to a scream.

'I wouldn't worry overmuch about the legs,' the dark man said.  He leaned in conspiratorially, keeping his voice low.  'You don't really need them anymore.  I mean, in one form or another, I suppose, but once we've moved on…'

'Moved on?  What are you talking about?'  Benjamin tried to focus, but the pain was excruciating.  Despite the cold he was drenched in sweat.

'Of course moved on.  Crossed the river, descended to the dark place, whatever you like to call it.  You didn't think I was going to change my mind.'

'You promised to bring Elizabeth back to me – I offered my soul.'

'Son,' the man's eyes darkened, and all traces of false humor left his features.  'You should really learn to pay attention.  Our bargain was her life for your soul.  I don't recall telling you I was going to wait for payment.  I'm not really in the business of happy endings…a banker like yourself should understand.  Payment on delivery.'

At that moment something burst through the soil at his feet.  The hand, if it was a hand, was large enough to wrap around both his legs at once.  The fingers curled tightly, crushing his knees together, and there was a sickening crunch as his bones gave way.  With the last dying strength remaining to him, he stretched out his free hand and clutched at the witch's wrist.  He held her, as she held him.  He dug in his fingers.

'I paid you,' he said.

She met his gaze.  She turned, still smiling, and nodded to the stranger.

'The poor boy has a point,' she said.

'And what, pray tell, would that be?' the man asked.  'I'm afraid that if there's a point, I missed it.'

'Well,' Jeanne Dubois said, her voice a husky whisper, 'I had a business deal with Benjamin that preceded yours, and I'm afraid I may have been more generous.  I may have said she would come back…to him.'

'That is unfortunate,' the stranger said, nodding gravely.  'I don't suppose you signed an agreement?  A contract?  A legal document binding to and beyond the grave?'

He held out the contract and unrolled it with a flourish.

'Such as this,' he said.  'The way businessmen do business – the mark of a gentleman.'

'Well,' Jeanne said, as if considering the man's words, 'I see what you mean.  I have no such scrap of dead tree to bind my bargain in blood.  I come from an earlier time, a time of honor.  In that day, a man – or woman – spoke their truth, and they stood behind it.  The words were enough to bind.  I thought you'd remember.'