The Curse of Bloodstone. V. J. Banis

      COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

      Copyright © 1973, 2012 by V. J. Banis

      Published by Wildside Press LLC

      www.wildsidebooks.com

      DEDICATION

      I am deeply indebted to my friend, Heather, for all the help she has given me in getting these early works of mine reissued.

      And I am grateful as well to Rob Reginald, for all his assistance and support.

      CHAPTER ONE

      The black ship with its blood-red sails moved slowly toward the distant horizon, casting a shadow under the moon while the storm raged and howled.

      A young woman stood high on the cliff watching the ship as it grew smaller and smaller. She leaned into the wind, peering through her tears to catch a last and final glimpse of the ship—and found herself falling, falling, falling....

      * * * *

      Vanessa thrashed and twisted deeper into the tangle of bedclothes. Still clutched in the grip of the dream, she could feel the coldness of the sea, yet its biting wetness did not penetrate her night clothes.

      She knew it was a dream, yet she did not want to awaken from it. She had found him again, and again he had abandoned her.

      She wanted to stay in that thunder-black mist; to stand forever atop that high cliff, but the dream was ended; it always ended there with her falling into the turbulent waters.

      Vanessa stirred, but refused to open her eyes. She knew the welcome darkness would be gone and it would be daylight. The sea would be calm and clear, rolling silently under the bright blue of a sky unbroken by clouds. The black, plunging rocks of the dream would turn tan and pink and shimmer with trickles of water as they lazed at the ocean’s edge, the world changing from black to bright.

      Through her tears she saw him standing in the bow, waving his farewell. The bloodstone flashed and gleamed as his hand moved; its beam hypnotized her, as it always did. She felt herself being drawn into its depths, its ruby-black abyss. He was no more now than a shadow on the deck, but the ring continued to spark and glint.

      The tears burned on her cheeks. She knew her tears would never bring him back to her. But there would be other dreams. She only lived for and in those dreams.

      “Bloodstone.” She said it aloud. Yes, that was it, that was where the answer must lie. She would go home to Bloodstone, where the dreams had started, long ago.

      She put her arms over her head and stretched. The dream lingered, but merely as a happy memory now. She felt she had spent all of her twenty-three years searching and finding the things that made her happy, only to have them vanish. She had fled Bloodstone and her loving parents. Tutrice, her old Cajun guardian told her she was afraid of real happiness; Vanessa had scoffed and said she would know real happiness when she saw it.

      And she had encountered it. But each and every time it centered on him—the man with the bloodstone on his finger. And she always lost him.

      “You dreamed,” Tutrice said as she came into the bedroom carrying a breakfast tray of inlaid ivory and tortoise. The delicate, rose-patterned china tinkled softly in the brightness of the morning.

      Vanessa felt a tinge of disappointment at not being able to surprise her old guardian with the news that she’d had the same wonderful dream again. But Tutrice always knew everything. Tutrice was older than life itself, and being so old, knew all things even before anyone else knew them.

      “Birds will nest in that furrowed brow,” Tutrice said as she reached out and smoothed back the frown lines. “That dream is not good, my child. It makes you unhappy.”

      Vanessa picked up a piece of buttered toast and bit daintily into its edge. She tasted nothing, only the bitterness that came with the end of her dream. She wished Tutrice would go away. Her presence was unnerving. Yet Vanessa knew she could not think of living without Tutrice hovering over her, protecting her, doting on her every want and need.

      “I like my dreams,” Vanessa said, more out of defiance than anything else.

      “Ah, what is there to like about those nightmares? They always end so badly.” Tutrice stood beside the bed, leaning slightly against one of the massive fluted bed posts. “You waste your time with things that can never be.”

      Vanessa tossed the uneaten piece of bread back onto its plate. She glowered at the old woman. “It can be,” she said. “It must be.”

      Tutrice let out a sigh. “It will never be. You know it will never be.”

      “I know no such thing,” Vanessa said angrily. “Go away, you old crone. Leave me to eat and think.”

      Tutrice laughed. “You fancy yourself like the rest,” she said. “Remember this, my little one. You are not like the rest. You are not. Listen to what I tell you and do not deceive yourself. You lost your chance at happiness; you will never find it again.”

      “I will.” Vanessa tossed her serviette across the tray and shoved it roughly aside, spilling the contents of the coffee cup.

      Tutrice shook her head. She said nothing, merely took up the tray and started out of the room.

      Vanessa glared at her as she moved away. “Wait,” she said. “I want our trunks packed immediately. I am going back to Bloodstone.”

      Tutrice stood quite still with her back turned. Then her shoulders squared themselves. Slowly she turned and leveled her eyes on the young girl in the bed. “That may not be wise, child,” Tutrice said glumly.

      “Wise or not, we are going.”

      “A storm is brewing.”

      “I don’t care about your storms. Don’t try to dissuade me, Tutrice.” She glanced toward the windows. “I see no signs of a storm.”

      “Nevertheless,” the old woman said, “a hurricane is in the wind.”

      “What is that to me?” Vanessa asked as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, letting her filmy nightdress cascade down around her feet. She lifted her long, dark hair from the back of her neck and let her finger trail through the tresses, and went toward the casement windows. “There isn’t a single cloud in the sky.”

      “Just because you do not see things does not mean they are not there.”

      Vanessa spun around, her eyes flashing. “Do you always get pleasure from thwarting my plans? We are going to Bloodstone. Pack, I say, immediately.”

      “Oh, child, why do you persist in torturing yourself? Bloodstone is in the past. You cannot find what you seek in that wretched place.”

      “Wretched? Bloodstone is my home...it is your home too, remember that.”

      “No one place is my home,” the old Cajun woman said, her eyes darkening, her mouth disappearing into the mass of wrinkles. “My home is nowhere, as is yours, child. Forget Bloodstone.”

      “Never. We came from Bloodstone. We will return to it.”

      The breakfast dishes rattled on the tray. “Very well, child. We will go. But remember, I warned you against it. You will not find what you seek at Bloodstone.” She went out, her back ramrod straight.

      The old woman was incorrigible, Vanessa told herself. Yet she knew she would be completely lost without Tutrice. Vanessa had never known a moment when the old woman was not there to guard and protect her.

      It was all well and good, however, to have a devoted guardian, but Tutrice was becoming more and more her keeper. And of late, Tutrice was becoming more and more domineering. Ever since the accident.

      No, she could not think of that accident. She’d lost him and if it weren’t for Tutrice she too would be lying dead at the bottom of the sea. But at least she would have been with him, Tutrice had saved her from that watery grave but she hadn’t wanted to be saved. She would have gone willingly to her death, just so long as he was beside her.

      Thunder boomed. Vanessa glanced