The curse of Kalaan Read online

  “That he was not affected, while I was, may be the beginning of an answer,” Kalaan replied. “I alone opened the door leading to the gold chamber and I was the only one to have held the cursed pyramid stone.”

  “What’re ye talking about? What gold chamber?” Lil’ Louis frowned in confusion. “We found the two of you lying on dark sand in a room destroyed by fire, and we did not find any pyramid shaped stone.”

  Kalaan sighed and ran his slender fingers through his jet colored locks.

  “I should tell you the whole story, and then we will set sail for the Isle of Croz. There at least, I can be assured I will not encounter my mother and sister who are wintering at our home in Paris. By the time they return I will have found a way to become a man again.”

  “And how d’ye propose te do that?” Lil’ Louis asked, astonished.

  “There is a person on the isle who can help me.”

  “Who?” Salam inquired, his interest piqued.

  “The guardian of the standing stones,” Kalaan replied as he took the ship’s helm in hand.

  “That old madman?” Lil’ Louis’ eyes widened in surprise.

  “He is not as mad as you think. Now that I know magic exists as well as curses, the guardian is exactly the person to come to my assistance.”

  “Ya,” Lil’ Louis agreed. “We know an abundance of legends and incredible tales. Yer right, let’s go home.”

  Kalaan set sail for the straits of Gibraltar, and began to tell the tale of what happened to him and Jean-François in the strange edifice, and the story of the harpies from hell. His heart was beating with joy for soon he would see the wild coast of his Brittany He missed the wind beaten scenery and the seas of his homeland. There he would find a remedy. He was absolutely convinced.

  Unless he lost his mind before they reached destination!

  Chapter 6

  The storm

  Isle of Croz, northern Brittany coast — night of January 10th 1829

  “Come mother, we cannot sleep and there is little else to do; perhaps it is time to open Kal’s letter.” Isabelle of Croz, Kalaan’s younger sister, sounded annoyed.

  “Isabelle,” sighed Amélie, the dowager countess. “I do not have the heart.”

  “Come mother! Your son is a good for nothing self-centered man, who arrives in Paris one day laying down his law, turning the household topsy-turvy and leaves the following day. We had no news for months. Don’t you agree? But of course we love him in spite of his behavior.”

  “That will be enough, Isabelle! Please hold your tongue. There’s no reason to put our family’s problems on display before our guest!”

  “Come mother, you exaggerate! Virginie is not just a guest. She is a sister to me and like a second daughter to you, right Ginny?”

  Ginny nodded, barely hiding a yawn. Her fatigue brought tears to her eyes, which she managed to brush away discreetly. She sat up straight in the Empire style mahogany wing chair where she had been sitting for the past hour. Amélie was on her right, facing the fireplace sitting on a banquette. Isabelle was seated across from Virginie in the other wing chair. The ladies were only separated by a small low table. Virginie was the only one who seemed uncomfortable. Isabelle and her mother continued to gently squabble, while Virginie gripped the arms of her chair to keep herself from slipping, once again. She was beginning to get cramps in her arms and hands.

  Why on earth did I accept to borrow this silk dressing gown! She scolded herself. The delicate fabric was uncomfortable and did not protect her from drafts. If only she could lie across the chair with her legs over the arms, or at least be rid of the cursed gown! She managed to restrain herself, for she was not at home in Paris, and above all, she was not alone.

  The young woman left Paris three months ago after giving in to Isabelle who implored her to spend winter with them on the Isle of Croz. She did have her own reasons for leaving Paris, but she could not tell anyone, not even Isabelle, for she was fleeing from a man.

  When they arrived on the isle, things were not very easy. It was mainly Kalaan’s domain, while Amélie and Isabelle had spent the last two years living in Paris. Croz Castle had been sorely neglected, as well as all the out buildings. Everything needed to be cleaned from top to bottom and put back into working condition as well as possible, with only the women of the nearby village to help. There was a prevailing smell of mold in all the rooms due to lack of heat and ventilation; the rooms had been closed off for so long. The roof, in a sorry state of disrepair, had many leaks. Carpenters and workmen were called in the renovation was well under way. However it was always cold in the old 16th century fortress despite the periodic remodeling it had undergone throughout the ages.

  On this night of January 10th, 1829 the drafts were particularly strong and the women were suffering. The rain and wind beat down on the castle roof and walls. No one could sleep with the raging storm and so, in search of heat, Amélie, Isabelle and Virginie found themselves together in the drawing room. As far as Amélie could remember, this was the worst storm they had experienced in over twenty years.

  Isabelle rekindled the dying fire and then went in search of warm drinks. She returned with a tray heavy with steaming bowls and slices of bread and cheese. There was no one to ask for this service. The steward and housekeeper were housed at the presbytery attached to the chapel, with the valets and the female servants. This was only a temporary situation; once their rooms were renovated, they would be moving into the house.

  The tick tock of a clock caught Virginie’s attention. To her left, on the mantle of the fireplace, was an unusual clock, in the shape of a boat. It was almost six in the morning and a funny little sailor was about to pop out, straddling a cannon. He would pop in and out the little door shouting ‘ho, ho’ six times. Keeping her eye on the clock, Virginie tried to concentrate on her hostess’ conversation. They were still quibbling about whether or not they would open Kalaan’s letter.

  She smiled tenderly while observing the women. It was the first time she had ever seen Amélie in her nightclothes with her long hair down. She looked much less stern than usual, and it was very becoming for she was a lovely, sweet woman. Although in her fifties, Amélie’s dark chestnut hair hardly had any gray and her face only had a few wrinkles around her mouth and at the corners of her blue eyes. She was a beautiful woman and Isabelle looked so much like her mother, they were like two peas in a pod. Isabelle however was thirty years younger and her eyes were a sparkling amber-green. There was another difference between mother and daughter. As much as Amélie was reserved, Isabelle was a live wire, always speaking her mind, always in movement.

  Virginie felt she was the complete opposite to her friend but only in appearance. Virginie’s hair was Venetian blond, long and straight. It resisted any attempt at curlingit, as was the fashion of the period in the ‘Jane Austen’ or grisette[43] styles. These hairstyles were sheer torture for Virginie who preferred to wear her hair long and free or tied back in a simple bun. Her eyes were, she thought, an ordinary gray, almond-shaped, and framed with long eyelashes. Her face was oval, with high cheekbones and thin lips. The young woman was not beautiful by the standards of the day, and she had always known it, despite having lost all the baby fat of her unhappy childhood. She tried to hide another yawn, and jumped when she heard the clicking of the clock’s mechanism getting ready to sound the hour. Now it was six ‘ho-ho’s! Isabelle burst into laughter and Virginie turned to look at her.

  “You poor thing, you will never get used to my father’s inventions.”

  The young woman smiled and straightened up once again in the wing chair.

  “No, on the contrary, I find them extraordinary and… most surprising!”

  Maden, the previous count of Croz, had imagination galore. All his inventions were astounding and showed true genius, such as the splendid artificial Christmas tree standing in the dining room after spending several years in a trunk in the attic. It would soon be put back, after Kalaan’s return, which they all ho
ped would be before next Christmas.

  Its trunk was nothing more than a ship’s mast and its branches, flared at the base but ending in a point were made of little sails set on a frame that opened like an umbrella, thanks to a very meticulous system of ropes. The tree was magnificent, but very difficult to decorate. However, decorations were quite unnecessary as the tree was, in itself, a perfect decoration.

  Virginie pulled herself away from her thoughts and noticed Amélie and Isabelle’s sudden silence. Could they be pouting? The dowager countess was apparently quite angry with her son, and to punish him from a distance she had decided to ignore his letter. Isabelle, on the other hand was dying to travel to Egypt through her brother’s words and for her, this desire was stronger than her anger.

  “So, will you open the letter?” Virginie’s words had escaped before she realized what she was saying.

  She was having a difficult time keeping her impatience under control. For some strange reason she had a strong need to feel Kalaan’s presence. No, no, she mustn’t think of him in the way she used to. The man broke her heart. It is of no matter that she was only thirteen at the time, and he nine years older. She was madly in love with Kalaan and he only saw her as a little butterball.

  “Come now mother, even Virginie thinks you aren’t being reasonable.” Isabelle was sitting impatiently on the edge of her chair waiting to grab the letter lying on the silver tray in the middle of the little table between them.

  “I would never say such a thing!” Virginie was offended by her friend’s remark and gave her a reproachful look.

  “Of course you wouldn’t my dear!” Amélie replied as she quickly stood to pick up the letter from under her daughter’s nose. She then sat back on the banquette, her back straight as a rod. After a brief hesitation, she broke the seal and opened the missive.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed in surprise. A small quantity of fine sand had fallen from the folded paper and on to her dressing gown.

  “Do not move, Mother!” Isabelle jumped excitedly to her feet. She seized a spoon and began picking up the precious Egyptian sand, placing it on the silver tray.

  “What a kind thought.” Isabelle was quite moved as she contemplated the precious little pile of sand.

  “Or carelessness.” Amélie softly smiled and shook her head. “Look. ’Tis little more than a rag, riddled with ink! The letter probably fell and my son picked it up and folded it without noticing the sand.”

  Virginie’s eyes widened and she let out a tinkling laugh. Kalaan’s letter was indeed a mess! His lovely masculine handwriting was completely lost in a maze of ink stains.

  “All right now girls, give me some silence. I must concentrate to decipher this.” Amélie then waited for Isabelle to take her seat and calm down.

  Virginie’s heart was quivering, and she realized that she was holding her breath waiting for the letter to be read. She breathed calmly, forcing her body to relax. You are being silly my girl, acting as if Kalaan was here in this very room. Fortunately, he is not. The young woman chided herself.

  “Dearest mother,” Amélie began to read, but looked at her daughter laughingly before continuing. “...and my beloved tigress of a sister, Isabelle, I realize in reading your latest letter that you suffer from our long separation. It has been eight months now. However you must know that you are almost always in my thoughts and I will soon be returning home. When you receive this letter I will only be a stone’s throw away from the coast of France.”

  “He’s coming home!” Isabelle interrupted her mother with a shout of joy, jumping to her feet. “When did he post the letter?”

  “Let me see...November 7th, 1828, but be still my child, and let me read the rest... Where was I? Ah, yes... a stone’s throw away from the coast of France…”

  “... The rumors about the plague and cholera spreading in Europe are omnipresent and this has made me hasten my recent research. My duty is to be at your sides and to protect you, should this be more than simple scandal mongering. Until my return I ask that you respect all the rules of hygiene and to avoid crowds. Remain in our home in Paris, where I will soon be joining you.”

  “He thinks you are still in Paris?” Virginie was astonished.

  “Yet more evidence, as if we needed any, that he is not receiving all our correspondence,” Isabelle commented, pinching her lips together.

  Amélie continued reading:

  “Here, there are no crowds, even if cholera has struck several regions. According to my sources the first cases began in Mecca, in Saudi Arabia, on the other side of the Red Sea. There is no call for you to worry; I am too far away to risk contamination. The only things my comrades and I suffer from are the sand, the sun and the heat. And for that I thank the heavens, albeit begrudgingly. On a more joyful subject, today to share these special moments with you, yours truly is sitting in the blazing heat, struggling with a cantankerous quill and ink that dries too fast.”

  “Now we know why the paper is so marked with stains,” Amélie said with a laugh, shaking the letter before continuing.

  “In my last missive I described the majestic beauty of the pyramids at Giza, including the one of Cheops. I also told you of my departure from Cairo with my men, Salam, my Tuareg friend and the grumpy yet devoted Lil’ Louis (I should add that the crotchety old sea dog follows your orders very well, Mother. He never lets me out of his sight.) We did not tarry long and soon set sail on the Nile to reach our destination- Tell el-Amarna. If I lift my eyes from this letter, I can lay them on the waters of the river. We are so far from the raging waters of our Mor Breizh[44] in a storm, yet the sight is just as captivating.”

  “If he had been with us last night, he might not have been so nostalgic for our storms,” Isabelle muttered before pinching her lips again at her mother’s impatient look.

  “The Nile and its banks are rich with papyrus and fragrant eucalyptus. There are also date palms, lotus and reeds. Do not worry, Isabelle, I have done what is needed so that you may receive samples of each of these plants. But no, you will not have a crocodile! (Stamp your foot all you like. You know how I enjoy watching you dance the gavotte.)”

  “The rapscallion!” But Isabelle was laughing as she said it, while her mother and her friend joined in.

  “Did you really ask your brother to bring you back a crocodile?” Virginie was shaking with laughter.

  “Yes,” Amélie replied for her daughter. “As she did for the rabbits which have since colonized the isle. ‘Twas a real invasion!” she sighed heavily.

  “What can I say, Mother? Rabbits are, well… very prolific.”

  The three of them broke out in good-hearted laughter, and Amélie went back to reading the letter. She almost immediately started to giggle.

  “Damned ink stains… Please forgive me ladies, for my crude language (although I know you are used to it) and everything else. I’m fighting a losing battle with my quill and I lack the paper to start afresh. This one will have to do. Where was I now? Oh yes… and so, definitely no crocodiles in the family! Besides, we have only come across three coming up the Nile to Tell el-Amarna. And I would not have you, my dear Isabelle, be the cause of the reptiles’ extinction in Egypt. You can stop muttering now; it was only a little humor, right Mother?”

  “How could he know I would mutter?”

  “Because he knows you so well, my dear,” replied Amélie with a knowing smile.

  “Let me come back to the scenery. No, I will return to that later. Something wonderful has happened. The man I was hoping to meet here, Jean-François Champollion, has arrived! He will help me with the translation of a few hieroglyphs. With these words I will take your leave. We will see each other very soon in Paris. Your loving son and brother,

  Kal.”

  Virginie opened her eyes when the letter suddenly ended. Only seconds before she had been sitting on the golden sand of the Egyptian desert, lifting her eyes up to Kalaan, the Kalaan she remembered from the last time they saw each other in Paris, when he was twen
ty-four. Virginie was staying with her father, the Marquis de Macy and she was still a fifteen-year-old butterball. Kalaan did not seem to notice that she was losing weight and hardly even looked at her when he came to call.

  She had come to greet him at the entrance, but soon ran off to her rooms in tears. Virginie did not exist in Kalaan’s eyes, whereas he was in all her dreams, and always had been, ever since…

  Oh God, too long,she sighed to herself. It had to stop, and she thought it had. But she had to admit she still thought of him often. However it was over. She was an adult of twenty-one and Kalaan a thirty-year-old rake. Never would she let another man break her heart!

  A deafening explosion shook Virginie from her bitter reminiscing. She jumped in her chair, letting a little scream escape from her lips, as she sat up straight in her chair, eyeing the clock with suspicion. Amélie and Isabelle sat up just as straight.

  “It’s not the clock!” cried Isabelle, seeing the young woman look at the strange contraption. She turned her head to the tall windows where the shutters were closed. Yet another explosion made them jump and Virginie could not hold back another scream.

  “It’s the cannons!” Amélie jumped up and starting turning in circles. “My coat, my boots, where are they? He...he...”

  “Are we under attack?” Virginie was wringing her fingers with worry, but Isabelle was acting like her mother. What on earth were they doing?

  “No, we are not under attack,” Amélie said, laughing. “Those are the cannons of Ar sorserez, Kalaan’s frigate!”A third explosion; much louder and closer interrupted Amélie.

  “Yes!” Isabelle shouted with joy and ran out of the room after throwing a small lap rug over her shoulders.

  “But I…don’t... understand.” Poor Virginie was completely disconcerted by whatever was happening.

  Amélie smiled at her radiantly. “It’s Kalaan... he has returned! My son is the only captain capable of braving such a storm to keep his promise!”