“They cannot die? They’re immortal?” Theo asked skeptically.
“No. They can die. They can be wounded or grow ill or simply die from old age. But they do not age as quickly as we do. My wife, who, I promise you, looks to be no older than I, is a hundred years old. I didn’t understand when she first told me, and then I didn’t believe. But as I remained there and learned their language and grew to be able to communicate better, I realized that what she had told me was the literal truth. Her father was one of the men who escaped from the Spanish with the gold.”
“How is that possible?” Megan asked, still unconvinced.
“I don’t know the answer. The villagers believe that the valley in which they live is magical. They think that because they fled from the Spanish with their treasures, and protected the religion of the old gods and saved their sacred objects, those ancient gods blessed them by showing them to this valley.”
He looked at his sister and smiled at her expression. “I know,” he said. “I could not accept that explanation, either. But neither could I deny the evidence that I saw with my own eyes—and I doubt that you can either. Look at me. Do I look any older than I did the last time you saw me?” He glanced from Megan to Theo.
“No,” Megan admitted somewhat reluctantly. Except for his manner of hair and dress, Dennis looked exactly as he had when he left New York ten years before—like a nineteen-year-old man. Yet he was almost thirty now. He was three years older than she was, though she realized with some dismay that he looked several years younger than she.
“Once I started living there, I stopped aging, too. I don’t know what it is. I have thought of several theories. There is what they call a cenote, a well, in the village, from which they draw their water. They believe that it is part of the magic. I wonder if perhaps it has some special property that slows the aging process. Or perhaps it is due to the herbs they use in their medicine. Their medicines do have unusual healing capabilities. I should have died from my wounds—I would have, I think, if I had had to depend on the care of European or American doctors. Yet my wounds healed, and with very little scarring. And they were able to pull Theo out of that fever. He was gravely ill. I was very afraid he would die, as Captain Eberhart had, from the fever. Tanta says that her healing power flows into her from the gods, and that it is her chanting, her spiritual connection, that brings about the healing. But I cannot help but think that there are superior healing qualities in the herbs they use in their salve. And in that tea they gave you.”
“It was a foul-tasting potion,” Theo commented, making a face.
“Yes, it is. They give it for any illness. And they drink that tea at all their religious ceremonies. After drinking it, one can see visions. I am inclined to believe that the lack of aging is connected in some way to the religious ceremonies, because the children grow rather normally. Manco looks much like a nine-year-old should, does he not? It is only after they reach puberty and begin to participate in the religious ceremonies that their aging begins to slow so dramatically. Is it in the water? The herbs? The wonderful air of that high valley? Or some combination of those things? Or, perhaps, as they think, it is a gift from their gods, some powerful magic that turns water and herbs into an elixir that protects one from disease and aging.”
“The ‘fountain of youth,’” Theo murmured.
“Exactly. That is what anyone who learned of this place would say,” Dennis assented, nodding emphatically. “There are some drawbacks to their lack of aging. Again, I do not know for sure what causes it, but births are rare in the village. So there are few children. Ours is the only family that has produced two children, and I suspect that the major reason for that is that I grew to majority outside of the village. Manco was born soon after we were married. It was three more years before our daughter, Caya, was born. Since then, there have been no others. There are few pregnancies, and many of them end in miscarriage. But that fact would not stop the rest of the world from wanting to take that elixir. And you know what that would mean.”
“Yes. The world would beat a path to their door,” Theo answered.
“Without a doubt. Everyone would want to acquire that drink, that water, those herbs. People would swarm there, engulf the villagers, ruin that wonderful, beautiful place. I could not let that happen to them. I could not be the cause of their destruction.”
“I see.” Megan nodded, looking thoughtful. “But we would not have told anyone about it. You could have written to us and let us know, sworn us to secrecy.”
“Maybe it would have been safe,” he agreed. “But I could not be sure. What if my letter had gone astray? What if some curious person somewhere along the way had decided to open it and see what it said? What if the news had seemed so extraordinary that Da just had to mention it to someone? Or had felt he had to tell Aunt Bridget that I was all right, and she had to tell Mrs. Shaughnessy about this miraculous place. Or Mary Margaret carried the tale to the priest in confession? I just could not risk it, Megan. It wasn’t for my sake. I had a duty to protect all those innocent villagers. I couldn’t risk them, even to save you grief. And I didn’t know that you thought Theo had killed me—why, in the name of all that’s holy, did you believe that?”
“Because that is the tale that Coffey told,” Theo explained.
“But why?”
“To keep the suspicion off himself,” Megan replied. “Why do you think?”
“But Theo knew the truth.”
“No. I didn’t. I did not know that it was Coffey inside that mask. I had no idea who it was, and he convinced me that you had been killed by a village priest. That you had violated some religious practice or other, and so the priest had killed you and was after us. I was ill and weak, and he whisked me out of there. Then, though I did not know it, he told Barchester that I had killed you, and Barchester was kind enough to tell your parents that.”
“Coffey!” Dennis sneered, his face twisting with contempt and hatred. “When I get my hands on him, it will be the last lie he’ll ever tell.” His fists knotted, and he went on, “That is why I am here.”
“To kill Coffey?” Theo asked. “But why—I mean, after all this time?”
“Not for what he did to me.” Dennis made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Not even for what he has done to us over the years. But now he has taken my daughter from me. He has kidnapped Caya!”
CHAPTER 19
“Your daughter?” Megan repeated, stunned. “He stole your daughter? Oh, my God, that is the something precious that was taken from you!”
“What?”
Both Theo and Dennis looked at her in confusion.
“Deirdre had a dream,” Megan said.
“Ah.” Her brother nodded, understanding.