David Wilson - Hallowed Ground

Benjamin nodded. He had an inkling what was to come. He was no fool. "Name your price," he said, with a confidence he did not feel.

"Ah, a man after my own heart. Chase cut to, arrow driven into the heart of the matter. Wonderful. Quite wonderful. This is how a bargain should be struck, a deal between men who know their goal and are prepared to go the distance to achieve it. My price is always the same, boy. I am nothing if not predictable. A life for a life. You want your beloved Elizabeth returned to this life, some poor soul must take her place in that other place. And when I say some other, the only soul you have the right to trade is your own, so I name my price."

"And for that you will give me Elizabeth back?" Benjamin pressed. He couldn’t believe the business he was about, the trade in souls was as far from his ken as was imaginable.

"She will be returned to this life," the man said.

"No, no, not good enough," Benjamin said, sensing the trap inherent in the Devil’s words. "She must be whole, complete. She must be living and breathing, and most importantly herself, not some rot addled thing risen out of the ground. She has to be right . You have to bring her back to me."

"As is only proper. It would make a poor bargain to trade your immortal soul for a husk of a woman, would it not? You can trust me when I say she shall be exactly as she was."

"No," Benjamin said quickly.

"Ah, you are getting into the spirit of the dickering. Good, good."

"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…"