Chapter One

MARCH 9, 1833, MISSISSIPPI


A CIRCLING, confused wind had pelted the earth with a slashing rain for most of the day, but as night settled its ebon shroud upon the land, the driving storm and the erratic breezes abated. The countryside grew quiet in hushed relief. The very air seemed to hang in breathless suspense as an eerie white mist formed close upon the ground. The wraithlike vapors twined in aimless questing through the marshes and black-shadowed thickets, spreading ever onward, filling low hollows and rills and curling about massive trunks. High above the invading tendrils, gnarled branches waggled their mossy beards and sent small droplets plummeting into the roiling mass. Now and again the pale moon pierced the broken, scudding clouds and, with its silvered light, created an unearthly landscape of dark shapes rising from a luminous haze. A decrepit brick mansion, hugged by a cluster of trees in an overgrown yard and bounded on four sides by a tall, sharply spiked iron fence, seemed to merge with the small cookhouse in the rear. Together they drifted in the sea of fog as time slowed its passing. For a fleeting moment nothing moved and nothing stirred.

A squeak of hinges intruded into the silence, but the sound ended almost as quickly as it began. A bush twitched unnaturally by the back door, and a shadowy form cautiously emerged from behind the shrub. A waiting hush prevailed as the phantom carefully surveyed the enclosed yard; then like a large, winged bat the darkly cloaked figure flitted through the swirling vapors to the side of the house and settled beneath billowing folds at its base. There, the latticework between a pair of stone supports had been pulled away, and gloved hands hastily struck flint to steel over a small, sheltered mound of gunpowder. Sparks splashed outward until a sudden blaze flared up and became a cloud of dense gray smoke which mingled with the mists. Three slow fuses came to life in the flash and continued to glow after the powder was spent. Burning steadily, they trailed off in different directions beneath the house, meandering ever so slowly toward shallow, gunpowder-filled gullies that led to separate piles of oil-soaked rags and dry kindling. A nervous chittering and squealing grew as the fuses shortened, and as if sensing the approaching disaster, the furred denizens of the dank crawl space fled their burrows and nests to scatter abroad in the night.

The stealthy shadow retreated from the house and quickly crossed to the iron gate. A broken chain was lifted from it, and the earth-bound specter slipped through the opening and dashed toward the edge of the woods where a horse was tethered. It was a fine, tall gelding with a white star blazoned upon his forehead, an animal made for swiftness. Once astride, the rider held him in check, keeping him on the sodden turf to muffle the sound of their passage. When the need for caution was behind them, the quirt lifted and came slashing down, setting the steed to flight. Of a common hue with the night, the pair were quickly swallowed by darkness.

A deathlike stillness followed their passing, and the lonely house seemed to moan in sorrow for its impending doom. While jewel-bright raindrops fell like tears from its rotting eaves, a low, confused murmur began to drift from the house. Soft cries, distressed whimpers, and the mad, muted laugh of some demented soul shredded the night with haunting, mindless sounds. The distant moon hid its face behind a thick cloud and continued on its arc across the sky, heedless of time and these earthly things.

The triad of hissing serpents slithered with blind obedience along their prelaid paths until bright flashes marked their arrival at their goals; then larger heaps of gunpowder sputtered alight, suffusing the nearby mists with a pale, flickering yellow light. The fires jumped and spread as they feasted on the oiled rags and dry timbers, and soon the fresh-born flames licked hungrily at wooden floors. One of the front rooms began to show a dim light in the windows, and it brightened apace until the room was filled with a growing inferno and the black bars that covered the windows stood out in gaunt relief. The heat intensified, and the crystal panes burst, spraying shards of glass outward and allowing the flaming tongues to escape and lick upward over the brick walls.

The low, disconcerted moans that had come from the upper level became high-pitched shrieks of fear and deep-chested cries of outrage. Gnarled fingers clawed frantically at the bars, while bloodied fists smashed panes of glass. A heavy pounding sounded on the locked front door, and a moment later it crashed open, spilling forth a huge hulk of a man. He shielded his bald pate with both hands as if expecting to be struck down and scurried far out into the yard before he turned and stared in awe, much like a small child viewing some great spectacular event. An attendant escaped from the rear of the house and fled into the darkness, leaving the others to fumble in haste with reluctant keys and stubborn locks. Wailing cries and sobbing pleas came from those imprisoned behind locked doors, piercing even the loudening roar of the flames. One hefty hireling sought the release of those he could easily reach, while another of a slighter build was spurred to herculean effort by the sure knowledge that no one else would free the trapped inmates of the madhouse.

Soon a living stream of straggly, pitifully confused humans began to emerge from the burning house. They were garbed in various stages of dress; some had snatched shirts and gowns before being dragged or hustled from their cells. A few had seized their precious blankets and fared better for their foresight. Attaining safety, they huddled together in scattered groups like bewildered children, unable to comprehend what had befallen them.

Time and again the dauntless attendant braved the inferno to bring the helpless to safety until timbers began falling, blocking his way. Stumbling from the burning asylum for the last time, he carried a frail, elderly man out and dropped to his knees in the yard, where he gasped air into his aching lungs. Spent and exhausted, the attendant took no notice of the creaking gate or the several forms flitting through it. The escaping inmates fled into the brush, and the shadowy blur of their garments was quickly lost in the oblivion of darkness.

A reddish aura rose from the growing core of heat and flame and spread into the night sky, while a heavy, rolling mass of choking gray billowed above it. The constant roar deadened the ears to any other sound, and the hoofbeats came unnoticed as the long-legged gelding returned to that same hill where he had earlier trod. He was reined to a halt by the darkly cloaked figure on his back. Within the deep folds of the cowl, translucent eyes shone with the reflected light of the fire as they searched the clustered groups inside the yard. For a moment the gaze was steadfast and intense; then the rider turned, as if startled, to scan the crest of the hill behind. Slim hands jerked the reins, pulling the mount’s head aside, and a thump of a heel urged him on again, this time into the dark, mottled shadow of the woods. The steed’s flaring nostrils gave evidence of their rapid flight, but the one on his back allowed him no pause. It was a reckless, zigzagging dash through the wooded coppice, but one that seemed capably directed by the rider. The gelding soared over a fallen tree that lay across their path and came to earth again, flinging damp clods of leaf and mud helter-skelter while it scattered a chilling breath of fear before its flashing hooves.

The rushing wind snatched the woolen hood away, freeing long, curling tresses from its confines and whipping them out like a waving gonfalon. Spiteful twigs plucked at the silken strands and clawed at the flapping cloak as the girl rode past. Oblivious to these minor attacks, she raced on, throwing a hurried glance over her shoulder. Her eyes swept back along the trail as if she expected to find some fearsome beast following in slavering pursuit. The sudden movement of a deer darting through the trees brought a startled gasp from her, and she urged the gelding on, not caring how swiftly they flew along the untried path.

An open field, well lighted by the moon and raggedly cloaked with drifting shreds of fog, beckoned through the thinning trees. A shallow sense of relief surged within her throbbing breast. The rolling mead held a promise of an easier path where the horse could be pressed to its fastest gait. Almost eagerly she struck her bare heel against the steed’s side, and the gelding responded with a surging bound, lifting his hooves and springing forward to clear the low spot where the mists had gathered.

Suddenly a bellowed, wordless warning, joined by the squeal of brake shoes dragging against turning wheels, broke into the rider’s consciousness. The gelding’s forefeet had not yet come to earth when she realized that she had plunged her mount directly into the path of an oncoming team and carriage. Cold, congealing horror seized her as the charging steeds bore down upon her, and for the barest instant she thought she could feel their snorting breath and see their blazing eyes. The black driver fought frantically to turn the racing team aside or stop the skidding carriage, but it was too late. A scream sprang from her throat, but it was quickly silenced by a jarring impact that struck the breath from her.

The wild gyrations of the closed landau had torn Ashton Wingate from his dozing and nearly turned him out of his seat, giving him cause to doubt his driver’s sanity, but when the conveyance careened sideways through the slippery mire, he had a clear view of the collision and its result. A flailing form catapulted away from the tumbling mount and soared through the air like an injured bird, then fell, striking the road embankment, and rolled down into the ditch. Before the carriage slid to a halt, Ashton had flung off his cloak and was out the door, swinging down. As he raced along the slippery road, his anxious gaze reached beyond the wildly thrashing horse to where the motionless figure lay partially submerged in the water at the bottom of the gully. The mists swirled about him as he slid down the slick bank. He splashed through the frigid water, heedless of the mud that sucked at his boots, and braced a knee against the embankment as he pulled the unconscious girl from the murky riverlet and propped her against the sodden, overgrown bank. Her face was half covered by a snarled mass of wet hair, and leaning close, he could not detect any stirring of breath from her lips. He freed her arm and experienced a sudden trepidation as it hung limp in his grasp. He failed to find a pulse in the finely tapered wrist, and almost in dread he pressed his fingers against the slim column of her throat. There, beneath the chilled skin, he found what he sought…the assurance that she was alive, at least for the moment.