Chapter
38
Lastours
War was always here. Before man was, war waited
for him. The ultimate trade awaiting its ultimate practitioner. – Cormac
McCarthy
We have laboured long to build a heaven, only
to find it populated with horrors. – Alan Moore
Marie loved the ride down the mountain,
past the village of Roquefere with its two restaurants and one store, it seemed
positively metropolitan compared to Labastide Esparbairenque. Just a few more minutes and the castles that
made up the Lastours historic site were in view, perched high atop slopes on
either side of the road. All around them mists still rose in wisps
dotting the surrounding mountains, now also bespeckled with yellows and golds,
joining the soft tired brown-greens and ever verdant blue greens of the pines
and firs. The year was getting late, and
the trees were growing ever more tired.
A few turns in their descent and the ruined
castles of the Cathars came into veiw:
Cabaret, Tour Regine, Surdepsine, and
Quertinheux, with Cabaret being the main structure of the bunch. Excitement flushed throughout Marie’s mind
and body. She loved ruins. She always had. Long before her tenth grade Latin club trip
to the ruins of Rome, she held the poetic vision to see the beauty of the
transitory nature of the works of man, always against the backdrop of the time
and nature’s victory. It spoke to a part
of her deep within her soul, which resonated strongly at such vistas. This feeling she did not get at the rebuilt
and bustling tourist site of the Cite in Carcassonne. The shops, restaurants and reconstructed
site, while fun, did not possess the same poetry of decay event even from the
car park of Lastours that this site did.
She could tell that Barry saw her bubbling
delight. His own eyes large as if
responding to her excitement, “”We’re here,” he announced, sliding the old
Puegoet into a parking spot in a tiny parking lot that had room for only six
cars.
“Looks like we beat the crowds too. Only a few other folks here this early.” He added
as he noticed only one other vehicle in the lot, whose driver sat with face
buried in his newspaper. “Later in the
day, this place can get pretty packed, but that’s usually summer, just like the
Cite, it’s better to visit in mid to late Autumn for the best experience. Come on, let’s go.”
They both climbed out of the car and
stretched, even though the ride had only been less than fifteen minutes, the cramped
confines of the small vehicle made such efforts a welcome relief. They both walked around the front of the car,
Barry glanced quickly around the vicinity and relaxed. As they moved towards the attractions
entrance, Marie felt Barry’s hand touch hers, slightly at first and then
questioningly. She took his hand and
their eyes met in happy smiles.
The crossed the street, and onto the
walkway that served as both entrance to Lastours’ castles and a fine dining
restaurant.
“The restaurant is closed today and
tomorrow, but perhaps we can come back for dinner on Wednesday if you like,”
suggested Barry.
“That sounds nice.”
The walk took them next to the small river
that flowed over rocks. Marie looked
down into its waters for a moment, hoping to catch sight of a trout or other fish. Barry led her into the entrance building, and
paid the admission fee. Marie took in
all the souveniers and museum artifacts and smiled politely at the lady behind
the counter.
“This way,” said Barry, pulling her by the
hand.
For a moment visions of Roger flashed
through her mind, she quickly quelled them.
Her erstwhile guide took her up gradually
sloping ramps, adorned with pictures of the natural wildlife of the area. Then he opened the door and they were back
outside, just above the building they had come it, before them was a small dirt
path leading to a series of stone steps twisting on up out of sight around a
bend. Barry released her had so she
could climb the stairs and hold the guide ropes with ease.
The stairs emptied on a steep path of dirt
and rocks, without the friendly guide ropes, Marie observed. Her breath was a little labored, and she
realized if it weren’t for her frequent walks in the mountains around
Lasbastide Esparbairenque, she would never have been able to make the difficult
ascent.
“Where’s Sir Edmond Hillary when you need
him,” she joked.
“What?
You need a Sherpa for a simple mountain hike now, I thought you were a
Jersey girl,” Barry retorted. He
indicated a bench with a nod of his head, “We could take a break, if you need
to.”
“Breaks are for losers” Marie answered
defiantly. “Let’s go to the top. Then we
can take a break.”
More uneven stone steps rose around a
outcropping of rocks, and then the first Tower came back into view, its
majestic ruin quite close now. Then the
path slipped down and took them to the entrance of a cave.
“Did we go the wrong way?” she asked.
“Nope, forward into the darkness, it’s a
small cave, though you can’t see the other end from here.”
Around them shadow shrouded their vision
but quickly light from the exit for the cave illuminated the small cavern. She looked about, half expecting to see cave
paintings, or bats, but neither were visible.
And then back into the light and the trail up got positively perilous
looking, just natural rock to be scurried over, and then another set of crude
stone stairs leading to the summit.
“Almost there,” Barry smiled reassuringly.
Then, everything changed. Barry crumbled to the ground before her. She stared at horror as the man she was
falling for, lay motionless on the ground.
A voice came from behind her, “Sorry, Bar, no hard feelings.”
She turned and there he was, the man in
black, Wallace Patel, agent of the mysterious Toxoplasma Gondii, with a grim
and steely look in his eyes, and a gun pointed directly at Marie’s face.
“I’m sorry Ms. Brabant, I assure you this
is nothing personal, I’m sure you’re a lovely person, but … it’s time for you
to die now.”
Marie watched as Wallace Patel squeezed the
trigger of the gun at point black range, aimed directly at her face.
copyright 2017 Diana Hignutt
No comments:
Post a Comment