Roarke's Kingdom

“It means ‘god.’” There’s a pantheon of gods in voodoo—nature gods, both good and evil.”

“There aren’t going to be any sacrifices or anything, are there?”

Roarke smiled. “No.”

“What will they do, then?”

“Dance. Pray. That’s what tonight’s gathering is all about. See? There’s the hungan—the priest. He’s going to make an offering to the Loa.”

“You said there wouldn’t be any sacrifices.”

He chuckled. “This one won’t hurt anybody.” The hungan bent over the fire and tipped something into it; a bright blue flame shot into the sky and then died. “Rum,” Roarke whispered. “For the god. Now the priest will bless the drums. They’re just near the altar. See?”

Jennifer watched as the hungan struck each drum lightly, then sprinkled it with rum. Men stepped out of the shadows, lifted the instruments, then fell in a straggly line behind the priest and walked three times around the altar.

“What are they doing now?”

“Blessing the drums, I think.” Roarke nodded. “Yes, here we go. The women are stepping into the firelight, and now

the men.”

The drummers settled down on the sand, just beyond the fire. A slow, throbbing beat rose into the night, and slowly the worshipers began to dance. The steps of each dancer were different. Roarke explained that the dancers were honoring the gods Damballa and Erzilie. The beat of the drums grew louder and faster, and the motions of the dancers became more agitated as they moved around the fire.

Suddenly, a woman threw back her head. Her features became contorted, she cried out as if she were in pain, and she fell to the sand, her body twisting in a frenzy.

Jennifer dug her fingers into Roarke’s arm. “What’s happened to her?”

“She’s been taken over by a spirit.”

“Should we help her?”

“That’s just what she wanted to happen. She wants to pray for the future and ask forgiveness for the past.” Roarke turned Jennifer toward him. “She wants to change what has been,” he said softly, his eyes on hers, “and hope that the best is yet to come. Does anyone want less?”

“No,” she said in a low voice. “No one does. But it’s not like that in the real world. You can’t undo what’s happened any more than you can read what’s coming next.”

“Maybe not.” Roarke’s hands slid to her waist. “But you can reach out for what you want after you’ve set the past aside.”

“That’s not true.” Her voice was swift, almost slurred. “What’s done is done. It’s part of your life.”

“But you can make peace with it.”

Jennifer put her palms against his chest. “Can you?”

“Yes.”

His “yes” was filled with certainty. Was he talking about his failed marriage? About the wife he could not forget? She wanted to know, but what right had she to ask Roarke about his past when she was afraid to tell him about her own?

A tremor went through her, and he drew her close into his arms.

“Sweetheart? Are you cold?”

The soft term of affection brought tears to her eyes. Did he mean it? Did he feel for her anything near to what she felt for him?

“Jen. What is it?”

“Nothing.” She swallowed hard. “I was just—I was thinking that the people gathered around that fire are asking their gods for a lot.”

Roarke nodded. “For miracles,” he said softly. He cupped her face and tilted it up to his. “But that’s what a night like this is all about. It’s a night to ask for miracles.”