The Curse of Bloodstone. V. J. Banis
“Please, Tutrice. I want to hear it again.”
“But I’ve told you the tale a thousand times.”
“Then make this the last time,” Vanessa pleaded. “Please, Tutrice. I don’t know why, but it suddenly seems very important to me to hear the story once more.” She knelt at the old woman’s side and put her head in Tutrice’s lap. “Tell me about the bloodstone.”
Tutrice stroked her hair, smoothing out the long, silky strands. “Very well,” she said, “if it is so important. But remember, it is a child’s story and you are no longer a child; you are too old for such things, so this will be the very last time.” Tutrice paused, formulating the childish tale in her head. She took in a deep breath and began.
“Long, long ago a handsome young sea captain sailed into a strange harbor,” she said. “He met with an old man of whom he asked directions as to where the captain might find a night’s lodging. The old man told him of an inn and the captain, to express his thanks, invited the old gentleman to come and drink a tankard of ale with him.
“The old man grew to like and trust the handsome young seaman and, confident that he would not regret his trust, confided that he had a beautiful daughter whom he’d kept sheltered from the world. He invited the sea captain to his home to dine.
“The captain accepted and that evening he was surprised to see the magnificent home in which the old man lived. Once inside, the captain met the young daughter. She fell instantly in love with him.
“The captain, being a man of the world, was more interested in the fabulous bloodstone the young maid wore on a chain about her neck. He couldn’t keep his eyes from it; the old man and the maid thought the young sea captain’s ardent interest was in the girl herself.
“The captain devised a plan to steal the wonderful gem. He succeeded in getting the old man intoxicated and while the old gentleman was in a stupor the scoundrel captain seduced the young maiden and robbed her of her jewel.”
“In the morning the maiden, mad with love, ran after her beloved captain. She raced to the harbor just as his ship was leaving port. Unable to be with him, she threw herself into the sea. The young captain, filled with guilt for what he’d done, leaped from his ship in order to save the girl’s life.
“He reached her in time; and when he looked into her eyes he knew that he could not live without the maiden’s love. He put the bloodstone back around the girl’s neck. But the bloodstone had an evil curse on it and the curse added weight to the stone. It was so heavy it pulled the maiden down into the depths of the sea.
“The captain tried to save her but she slipped from his grasp. Rather than face life without his beloved, the young man let himself drift down into the waters so that he might be united with his love in death.
“He found his beloved. The bloodstone lighted his path downward. When he touched her lifeless body a strange and wonderful thing happened. Their love for each other buoyed them up.
“The old man, standing on the shore, saw them rise from the sea and stand beside each other on board the departing ship. He shouted a curse that never again would the captain be permitted to set foot on dry land until both his daughter and the bloodstone were restored to him, but the man and the woman paid no attention to him. To this day, it is said, the old man searches in vain for his lost daughter and the magnificent bloodstone.”
Vanessa suddenly stirred and looked up into Tutrice’s face. “Is that the meaning of the poem in the Bible? Was my great-great grandfather that old man?”
Tutrice huffed. “No, of course not. I’ve told you a hundred times that the prophecy has nothing to do with my child’s story.”
Vanessa put her head back into the old woman’s lap. “I believe I’m that girl and that I lost my sea captain somehow and that I must find the bloodstone and him and return them both here to my father’s house.”
“You talk nonsense. Get off to bed, child and let me get back to my business with Clarissa.”
Vanessa got up and went toward the fire to warm herself. “I’ll find him one day,” she said, more to herself than to Tutrice. “And when I do I shall bring him here and we will be happy forever and forever.” She repeated the words of the poem:
“Bloodstone, bloodstone, out of the sea
Only with that can true love be.”
She frowned. “‘When life will be death and death will be life.’ What does that mean, Tutrice?”
Tutrice grunted. “Who knows. It was written a long, long time ago. No one knows what it means.”
Vanessa eyed her accusingly. “You know. Tell me.”
“Nonsense. I know nothing.”
“You know, Tutrice, ever since I can remember you have been with Bloodstone and me. You have never in all that time spoken to me about yourself or your own family...where they came from...who they were. Tell me about them.”
To Vanessa’s surprise, Tutrice began to laugh. “Never before have you wondered about old Tutrice. I am glad to see you are growing up and can now think of others rather than only yourself.” She continued to fool with the objects on the table. “And now I should tell you that in the morning you must go into the village and be about your father’s affairs. Won’t they be surprised!”
“And what have I to do there?”
“Talk to old Simon Caldwell. He will advise you, and if not Simon, then to Noah Bingham.”
“Advise me? Advise me about what?” Vanessa asked.
It was as though Tutrice hadn’t heard her. “The storm will blow out to sea now and we must begin our search again.”
“Searching again, for what?”
“For your young sea captain and for the bloodstone, of course.”
“Don’t tease me, Tutrice.”
The old woman laughed again and began ladling some horrid-looking substance into a bowl. Vanessa watched, this time with a great deal of interest. Tutrice carried the bowl over to the table and closed her eyes.
“I summon you, spirits of the dead,” Tutrice said in a loud voice, “and thee who rules the spirits of the dead, and he who guards the barriers of the stream of Lethe, and he who doles out magic spells and chants a conjuration to appease or compel the fluttering ghosts. Clarissa, hear me!”
Suddenly Tutrice smashed the bowl down on the floor.
CHAPTER FIVE
Vanessa did not dream any more that night. When she awoke she attributed this to her having gone into the library to the opened Bible and recited the words of the poetic prophecy over and over again. It seemed to lift her spirits for some reason she could not explain.
She’d read the poem time and time again and never before saw more than superficial meaning in the words. Now it was different. Perhaps it was her talk with Tutrice in the kitchen. Perhaps it was her having returned home. Perhaps it was Bloodstone itself.
Something had happened to her. She didn’t know rightly what, but something was very different this morning. There seemed to be hope in the air. The blind determination that had brought her back to Bloodstone was no longer nagging at her. It wasn’t a feeling of determination that goaded her on; it was more a feeling of knowing. She had no fears of failure now. She did not feel plagued with frustration. She knew she would find the man with the bloodstone on his hand. It was as if a new vista had opened up during the night.
She threw back the coverlet and looked at herself in the mirror over the dressing table. She even looked different this morning. Her eyes seemed brighter, her complexion younger, smoother. Her hair had a glossier, more brilliant shine and her smile was graceful and relaxed and most attractive.
She hummed as she bathed and dressed, donning one of