Tradition

~PROLOGUE~

New Island, Charleston SC~1941

Wainright Desmond stood in the midst of chaos and wondered how it had ever come to this. His home, the only he had ever known was to have been a place of peace, of promise, of new beginnings hence New Island. What he witnessed now was not what his- what any of their ancestors had envisioned when they arrived on the isle less than a century earlier.

Wainright acknowledged that may not have been completely true. After all, he stood less than 20 feet away from the eldest of them- the one who had set this current madness in motion.

Too long have we allowed this hoodoo sorcery to be carried out in our midst! These acts are a blasphemy in the eyes of the Great One who freed us from bondage! We have been tolerant! We have aimed for compromise, which they have undermined at every turn! Now we have no choice but to punish those who would see our home sacrificed to the devil!

Roars of approval and dissention rose in almost equal measure.

Sacrifices! Sacrifices that have already begun. Haven’t we all lost loved ones?! Members of our families vanished like smoke in the night?! The devil has already commenced his thievery! His madness!

You’re the mad one, Guthrie! Wainright Desmond’s cry rang out over the roar of fire and voices. This isn’t the dark ages! The people have a right to worship any way they see fit! Remember freedom, Guthrie? That’s why New Island was founded. You’ve forgotten your history, old man!

At 92, Bronson Guthrie II’s unsettling gray-flecked stare still flared with an intelligence that was as bold as the timbre of his voice. The smile that stretched across his dark face, harbored the same intelligence as he eyed the younger man who had challenged him.

The rumble of voices; dissenting or otherwise, had silenced to leave only the roar of the immense fire. While the expressing of views from one of New Island’s oldest residents were often causes for disagreement, few had the courage to argue. That course of action or...inaction as it were, was as much about lack of courage as it was about unwillingness to challenge a member of the island’s founding family. Bronson Guthrie also held the distinction of being among the last generation born into slavery.

That distinction had afforded Guthrie respect...and impunity. The impunity had gone unchecked and left the doorway open for heinous acts of the past to simmer and be repeated.

When we were given this land, it was with the understanding that we would all be free to live our lives. Desmond didn’t buy that Guthrie’s quiet was a sign of his agreement. He hoped the extra time to plead his case might sway those in favor of doing things Guthrie’s way, to the side of right.

The Taylors aren’t courting the devil and they haven’t forced their worship styles on any of us, Desmond continued, If anything, they’ve shown us another way to express our love for the Lord.

Desmond’s right, Osmund Croix spoke up from his place among the incensed crowd. Religion aside, they’re damn fine business people. Smart and hardworking just like the rest of us.

Mmm...yes, yes I’ve heard how...hardworking the Taylor women are. Guthrie sneered through the waves of sweltering heat from the flames. Could that be why you two have been sniffing ‘round their skirts?

The roar of male voices resumed. Desmond and Croix didn’t mind that a wall of Guthrie’s supporters separated the man from his enemies. They charged along with supporters of their own. The skirmish went on all of five minutes, before more attempts at reasoning stirred.

No one here can deny that something frightful is at work! Nevil Hammond called out to the battling men from his place near Bronson Guthrie’s side. Members of all our families have been disappearing for too long! We have to know why. His voice softened somewhat as more men began to look his way.

We were nearly four-thousand strong at the last census, Hammond moved toward the group, hands outstretched in an imploring gesture. We’re barely three-thousand now.

A towering dark man moved from his place near Bronson Guthrie then. Given that this has the power to affect us all and negatively, we should at least listen to what Mr. Guthrie has to say. Capote Noble’s soft spoken manner seemed vastly at odds with his intimidating stature. I think we can all listen to one another like civilized men so long as we can agree to keep talk of the ladies’ honors out of the discussion.

Guthrie responded to Noble’s suggestion with a grudging shrug. The 92 year old moved with surprising ease as he shaved off a small bit of the distance separating him from his critics.

Young Hammond speaks the truth here. None of us can deny something frightful is at work. Despite the soft beckoning of his words, the same couldn’t be said of his gaze which bore into each pair of eyes he met. Our people are disappearing and it seems to happen every time the Taylors hold one of their damned rituals.

They’ve done no harm! A dissenting voice called from the crowd.

Their ways are not evil ones- they serve the same God the rest of us do! Another voice called.

With screaming and convulsions?! Nevil Hammond laughed.

If you ever bothered to attend service at one of the churches on the mainland-

Outrageousness, Guthrie spat at Osmund Croix’s reasoning.

Those ways of worship are not meant to appeal to the harbingers of evil and death, Osmund continued, but to celebrate life.

And these celebrations go against certain laws of conduct we’ve agreed to, Guthrie noted, his smile betraying a smug arrogance. The penalty for going against these laws are also ones we’ve agreed to.

Why don’t you tell everyone why you’re really doing this?

Guthrie’s arrogance dimmed and betrayed shadows of his age. Slowly, he turned to face the owner of the eerily cool voice that had wafted from the crowd.

Hayes Taylor appeared neither smug nor arrogant, though he witnessed the stricken look on the face of the man who had once been like an uncle to him. You know my family has had no part in these disappearances.

I know what I see. Guthrie bristled, his gray mane of hair appearing to stand even more on end. And what I see is evil.

Taylor smirked. Evil. You dare to speak of evil when-

If you have nothing to hide, pledge your family loyalty by accepting the tradition, Guthrie displayed a smirk of his own while raising his thin shoulders in a shrug. If, as you say, your family’s ways are harmless, why do you deny the ways of others- ways we’ve all agreed to?

"Because this is madness and, as we’ve said, we don’t court darkness in any form."

Guthrie laughed. How convenient that you cast it off as dark. A touch hypocritical, wouldn’t you say?

Something resigned crept into Taylor’s bright hazel eyes and his mouth thinned. Guthrie’s chin lifted in defiance, though his expression was decidedly guarded as he studied Taylor’s tall, leanly muscular build.

I come from a family of honorable men- as honorable as you are wicked. Taylor seemed to observe every line Guthrie’s face held before he spoke again. Your father would be ashamed of what you’ve become and we won’t fight your wickedness with more wickedness.

Wise.

Strategic. Hayes Taylor countered Guthrie’s argument without hesitation. Vengeance is the Lord’s, not ours. We won’t jeopardize our heavenly home to take you down.

Devil seed! You dare speak of the Lord!

Taylor turned his back on Guthrie’s explosion. My men and I will do this on one condition, he addressed the crowd before turning back to the enraged 92 year old. You cease this...tradition forever. Let this be the end of it.

And for that, will your family-

My family will find a more subdued way to worship.

Taylor’s vow didn’t appear to make Guthrie any happier, but the man accepted the terms with a nod.

~~~

Mama, why is grandpa so mad? 10 year old Binta Guthrie watched the unfolding scene across the clearing. She looked up when there was no response to her question.

Teah Guthrie met her daughter’s upturned face when she could no longer deny the almost tangible pull of the child’s stare. We have a beautiful thing here, Bin. Long ago, our ancestors’ masters gave them this entire island to live out their lives as they wished- as free people. Grandpa just doesn’t want anything to threaten that. Silently, Teah acknowledged that her father-in-law’s actions were threat enough.

Why won’t anybody stop him? Even at 10, Binta knew wrong when she saw it.

Only the other Elders can do that, Teah explained to her only daughter. An elder can only be stopped by another of his elders- another equal.

Will I ever be equal, mama?

Oh, my baby, Teah laughed and knelt to draw the child into a warm hug. You’ll be too busy being a lady of your home, raising your family to worry about any of that.

Binta watched over her mother’s shoulder to her grandfather and his men. Others had circled the vicious fire and were using iron pokers to stoke it into heightened ferocity.

This won’t ever be my family.

The little girl’s vow was silenced by the sounds of tormented men’s screams filling the night air.

~One~

Columbus, Ohio~ Present

So what do we do? Zyon Hammond’s coffee brown eyes were fixed on the desk.

You mean, besides thanking God we aren’t on that list? Warwick Noble’s uncommon onyx-flecked gray stare fixed on the page with keen disapproval. He then looked to the man who was seated behind the desk and hadn’t spoken a word since they’d all gathered in his office some 15 minutes earlier.

Fray? Warwick called to his cousin.

Have we tracked the sender’s information?

So far untraceable.

Grinning at the response to his question, Frayzer Guthrie shared a grin and a wink with Warwick. Zyon Hammond would never admit failure when he was on a hunt.

So? Zyon reiterated the question to his cousin. What do we do?

Fray reached for the sheet lying on his desk. Gray flecks were accentuated in the ebony depths of his gaze as it scanned the message. "Looks like we won’t have to figure out that part. Our orders are to relieve my cousins, your brothers, he clarified, pausing to glance at Zyon and Warwick, of their jobs and we’ve got until the end of the year to do it. The only way to get them out, is to vote them out."

How many votes can we count on so far? Warwick asked.

Not enough, Zyon lifted a brow to Fray. Am I wrong?

You’re not. Fray rubbed at his temple. Looks like Boyd’s going to have to make early travel plans. The votes we need are at home. He mentioned his assistant Boyd Weiss, while grimacing over the turn of events.

Zyon reared back in his chair. I was afraid of that, he groaned while digging the heels of his hands into his eyes.

It won’t be so bad, Fray tried to fix on the bright side. We were all headed to the area in another month or two anyway to check in on Bin.

The aggravation marring the 3 handsome faces in the room, softened at the mention of the men’s grandaunt Binta Hammond. She was their only incentive for returning every few years to the area they’d been raised. The guys usually flew down to visit Bin, but the trips had been difficult to maintain lately due to scheduling conflicts.

I’ll head out first, test the waters, Fray reached for the phone to dial out to Boyd.

And what happens when you get there? Warwick asked. In case you forgot, some of the votes we need are held by people who’d like to see us dead.

Fray held the receiver, but Warwick’s words caused him to hesitate over dialing out. We’ve got no choice but to see if those hard feelings are still strong.

If they aren’t, they should be.

Amen, Fray seconded Zyon’s opinion, and then shrugged. But we’ve got to try.

And why is that? Warwick’s stirring, dark features appeared fiercer in light of the frown he wore. Because of some orders sent from some anonymous letter writer?

Some anonymous letter writer threatening to reveal certain practices that we’ve all had our suspicions about, Fray reminded his cousin. Looks like someone beat us to the evidence we’ll need to prove it.

And we’ll use that threat to boot out the rest, Zyon said.

Fray studied the others at length. You guys should think on this. Are you good with it? They aren’t my brothers.

Warwick stood, running a hand through thick, smoky black dreds while an emerging grin effectively doused his frown. I always did envy your ‘only child’ status.

Laughter roused, but quickly eased.

Are you sure about going down there, man? Warwick’s clear baritone softened.

This won’t be like our other trips down there, you know? Zyon added. No having Bin brought out to Columbia while we avoid that end of the State altogether.

I’m good with it, Fray hesitated again before dialing out to Boyd. I’m as good as I can be with it. I always knew I’d have to face her again someday.

***

New Island, Charleston~ 16 years earlier

That tickles! Ellia Taylor turned her face into the pillow and giggled.

Frayzer Guthrie continued his journey across the sleek, dark line of his girlfriend’s thigh. He rounded out the trip with a playful bite into the lush curve of her bottom- a move that had Ellia gasping instead of laughing.

Fray turned Ellia over to lay beneath him and he spent the next several moments studying her face with a soft gaze. Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Um...before, I mean?

Ellia’s gaze faltered barely a second. I thought it was supposed to, but no.

Don’t lie to me, Elli.

El pressed her lips together and sighed. I don’t want you to say we can’t do it again.

El-

Alright, alright yes. It um...it did, but not for long.

With his striking features softening again, Fray leaned in to nuzzle noses with his girlfriend. I love you, he whispered.

I love you too, El’s shiver was a delighted one as her tongue tangled with Fray’s.

The sweet kiss quickly took the turn to lusty. Fray and El were deeply embroiled when the resounding chimes of the doorbell filled the air. The new lovers ignored the sounds for a while, until it became apparent that the unexpected visitor was set on gaining entrance.

Panic motivated El’s gasp that time. Miss Bin and Mr. Fiske-

It’s not them, Fray soothed, scowling as he made a reluctant retreat from the queen bed atop the platform. Stay here, I’ll be right back, he said once he’d tugged on dark sweats and put a kiss to Ellia’s forehead.

Fray managed not to slam his way out of the bedroom. The scowl he wore intensified however as he made his way down the two flights of stairs from the attic suite in the home of his granduncle and aunt. Finding his cousin on the other side of the big front door, sent Fray’s hands curling into fists that were ready to inflict injury.

It’s tonight. Zyon Hammond announced without care for Frayzer’s murderous expression.

Understanding melded with Fray’s agitation and helped to unfurl the clenched fists. I’m out of it, he said.

You don’t have a choice, Zyon countered.

Says who?

It’s tradition.

No it’s not. Not anymore.

Says who? Uncle Fiske and Aunt Bin? Zyon’s cool tone elevated a bit on the challenge. Well they’re not here right now, are they? Are they, Fray? If they were, you damn sure wouldn’t be up there in the attic suite with El Taylor between your sheets.

Fray cast off his cousin’s words with an eyeroll. They’re still the head of this island, he muttered.

Jeez man, Zyon flushed somewhat, causing his light honey complexion to darken a bit. Are you hearin’ yourself? Your dad is the head of this island and he’s made that known in the six months Fiske and Bin have been on that cruise of theirs. He says the tradition stands.

The tradition’s bullshit, Fray practically snarled the words. It’s bullshit and it’s illegal.

And lucky for us, what passes for the law here has their paychecks signed by your dad.

I won’t do it, Fray gave a defiant shake of his head.

Fear and pity mingled with Zyon’s anger. You do realize they’ll do it with or without you? What do you think that’ll mean for El if you’re not there? Zyon moved across the threshold then, causing Fray to retreat a few steps. Newsflash cousin, it’ll be a lot more than what tradition calls for.

We um- Fray gave another shake of his head, that one less defiant and more nervous. We’ll leave. I’ll take her out of here. We’ll stay inland ‘til Fiske and Bin get back.

Seriously? Zyon’s resistant demeanor changed. No bullshit?

Fray caught the edge in his cousin’s tone. No. Why?

You willin’ to take along company?

You and Moy.

And War and Seel.

Fray considered the suggestion for half a second and then nodded. Be back here in two hours.

Zyon looked up and around the high ceiling foyer, his light eyes holding on the chandelier there for a time. You sure it’s safe?

Yeah, Fray observed their surroundings with an approving eye. It’s been my job to check on the place while they’re out of town. You know nobody ever uses the suite except guests staying over when Fiske and Bin are home. We’ll be cool.

Zyon nodded, appearing more convinced. I’ll grab War and we’ll meet back here with the girls. As though the words suddenly slapped him with the reality of what they were attempting, Zyon doubled over and released a shuddery breath. Is this gonna work, Fray?

Just stay cool, grab everybody and meet back here. Fray mussed his cousin’s unruly mop of light brown curls. We’ll lay low ‘til Bin and Fiske get back.

Zyon nodded sharply. Two hours, he said and then headed back out into the night.

~~~

Everything okay? El was kneeling in the middle of the bed; a sheet wrapped around her in sarong style, when Fray returned.

He gave her a kiss as an answer and the moment was a sweet one with Fray indulging in a long suckle of El’s breasts. Ellia felt herself drifting deeper into blissful arousal, but she didn’t have the chance to completely submerge.

Fray was pulling back. I love you, his words held a desperate edge.

I-

Do you trust me? He asked before El could reciprocate the declaration.

She smiled. Yes Fray. Yes I trust you.

He kissed her again, quick and thoroughly. I need you to listen to me now.

***

New Island, Charleston~ Present

Ellia Taylor believed she was among a blessed few who felt as accomplished at the start of her day as she did at the close of it. Having a top notch staff definitely didn’t hurt matters. Turning her family’s inn into a five star hotel hadn’t happened overnight, but it had happened.

El had feared once the goal had been reached, complacency would set in. She’d been newly blessed when that didn’t happen. Her day followed a routine, but it was never without inspiration.

That was never more obvious than when she enjoyed morning tea at her favorite table of the hotel cafe. Business began with a review of the day’s lunch and dinner menus. Her employment had started in the kitchens when she was a kid. There, she’d given time to her first love- cooking. Now, her recipes were the ones being praised and featured on the establishments’ menus.

That morning found her at the task of tweaking the day’s menus when her phone rang. She only glanced at the faceplate before answering.

No excuses, Moy. You have to be here. No flaking out or I’ll hound you and your staff day and night until you get your butt down here.

I find myself believing that you’d really do that, a husky feminine voice flooded the line in response to the threat.

Bet your ass I would. We owe it to Miss B to be there.

I know that, El, Moira Croix sighed over a groan then. I just can’t take running into that jackass.

You know he never comes to those things, El’s tone was dismissive as she continued her menu editing.

Right, and is that how you’re psyching yourself up to deal with the possibility of seeing Fray?

Ellia wouldn’t acknowledge the slight jerk of her pen over the page she’d worked on. "Like I said, he never comes to this stuff. Even if he does, this is Miss B’s eighty-fifth birthday. That means you, we have to be here."

And what happens if you see him?

Nothing happens. El gave up on more editing, tossing aside her