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DEADLINES: AN ANTHOLOGY OF HORROR AND DARK FICTION, will be released in November of 2008! Visit www.cometpress.us

Madonna of the Black Mountain
by Tessa Johnstone

It seemed they'd been traveling for days, although she knew it was only yesterday that they'd flown out of Cleveland on a comfortable commuter jet and transferred in New York to a Boeing 777. On the plane she'd slept fitfully and woke screaming. The flight attendants had brought her extra blankets and tea to calm her, while her husband pretended he didn't know her. Once they'd landed in Frankfurt, it sank in that they'd lost six hours and she was among total strangers. Emily almost burst into tears, but Frank gruffly forged onward. She allowed herself to be pulled in his wake.

The planes got smaller and more rickety with every succeeding transfer. The flight from Belgrade to Tivat was a prop-plane. It was disturbing to be divested of all her carryon bags just before boarding, frightening to see the propellers outside her window. The cabin was cramped and smelled of sweat and stale cigarette smoke. They flew precariously close to the mountains. The pilot seemed to dip a wing in greeting at each peak. Then they flew out over the shimmering Adriatic, until the plane made a sharp u-turn and landed on a short airstrip near the coast, pulling itself to a stop by sheer will power before a grove of olive and cypress trees.

"So this is Montenegro," she said.

"Why do you have to be so negative about everything?" snarled Frank. "Can't you just open up to new experiences?

If only we had a child, Emily thought, and then Frank would adore me again.

As they climbed down the creaking ladder, their luggage was being off-loaded to the tarmac. She followed the other passengers' lead and collected their suitcases.

"What are you doing?" said Frank. "Someone will get that, I'm sure."

"It's no trouble, that's why I chose suitcases with wheels." The new bags stood out among the tattered luggage held together with duct tape and straps. She almost felt ashamed to claim hers, it felt like flaunting wealth. She attached the piggy-back straps to hers and Frank's, letting them clatter on the pavement all the way through customs and immigration.

As they came out to the main terminal, a green-tiled room with all the charm of a parking garage, a tall, burly man waved them over.

"Welcome! Frank, how are you?" They shook hands vigorously while the dark-haired man studied Frank, before turning intense green eyes on her. "This must be Emily."

"And you must be Dragan. It's good to see a friendly face."

"You have traveled long ways. You must be tired, let me take those." He grabbed the handles and even took the tote from her shoulder, effortlessly carrying the heavy bags to his car.

"I regret that I will not be able to spend much time with you," Dragan said as he jammed the bags into the trunk of his rusted BMW.
"You are only staying two weeks?" She wasn't sure whether the tone of his voice was a query or amazement at the weight of their luggage.

"We don't get as much vacation time as you do," Frank said. "I have to check in with the office daily, in case something comes up."

"I'm sure another partner can handle your cases," Emily said. "Corporate law isn't that cut-throat."

Frank scowled, ignoring her. "Will I have internet access at your parents' katun?"

"Sorry, no. But your mobile should work, even that high on the mountain. A bigger problem, my parents do not speak English. My son will stay with them and translate, I trust that will be adequate."

She stretched her legs sideways in the backseat while Frank hunted for the seat beat in the front. The small car felt as if it were dragging, she was sure she felt the bumper hit as they jounced over potholes on the narrow, twisting road up the mountain. Dragan talked business while she drowsed, staring out at rocky soil and scrub brush, her stomach lurching at every switchback turn. She admired Dragan's skill with the stick shift; Frank couldn't drive this smoothly on Lakeshore Boulevard with an automatic.

"We are finding ancient ruins on our mountain," Dragan's voice intoned over the radio. "Maybe soon archeologists will come see the relics. It will be tourist attraction, help my small enterprise."

"What kind of relics?" Emily leaned forward and rested her chin on Frank's seat.

"Long ago, there was church. We built at very peaks of our mountains in those days, closer to God. Maybe it is from days of Illyrians. Once, sheep were sacrificed and rocks drank their blood as proof of acceptance. Then St. Cyril came from Rome as missionary, he devised our alphabet so that holy gospel was written in our language. We read the bible in our own language, half a millennium before your Martin Luther translated it into the German." Dragan turned to meet Emily's eyes and smiled.

"So you think this is a pagan settlement?" Frank asked. He brushed Emily off his shoulder.

"Maybe pagan, maybe very old Christian. Someone must come study the stones from University."

***

Visions of quaint alpine cabins drifted in her head, so it was a disappointment when they pulled up in front of a cluster of rustic shacks. Set on cement blocks, the weathered gray huts looked like garden sheds.

"These are your summer houses?" Frank asked.

"My family inherits this mountain. This land is only good for sheep. Until I get all permits from government, I cannot build the tourist premises I planned. These houses are where the shepherds stayed in summer, perfectly comfortable. I stay tonight and tomorrow go to Podgorica on business. It takes long time to arrange all that I need to build my resort."

"The scenery is breathtaking," Emily said. Dragan smiled at her wistfully.

"I hope everyone can overlook the crappy roads and primitive accommodations," snarled Frank. "What about plumbing?"

"Frank, I'm sure there's water. I don't mind using an outhouse if I have to, it'll be like camping."

"Water, yes," Dragan said. "We have natural spring, the best water. No need for bottled." A child of six or seven came running down the slope. "Aha, this is my son Zlatko. He translates while I am away." The boy grabbed his father's knees and the two exchanged words in Serbian while Frank pulled their suitcases out of the trunk and dragged them to the hut Dragan indicated was theirs. Dragan called out, and an old woman came to help, lifting the bags easily over the high threshold.

Emily stretched, took a deep breath and let her eye wander beyond the katuns to the black rocks above. "I can see why the name of your country translates 'black mountains.' What is it called in your language?"

"The same. Tserna Gora. We have everything here, volcanic rock, fjords, deep lakes, high peaks and rich valleys. We are from Durmator in the north; there are primeval forests with trees thousand years old."

"It's all so beautiful."

"You like it here?" said the boy.

"Yes, I do very much."

"Then you will never leave." His crooked smile sent a shiver through her and she shook it off. Dragan ruffled his son's hair and they walked to one of the katuns. She trailed after, was just about to go in when Frank grabbed her elbow, startling her.

"I need to talk to you, now."

She let him lead her off a ways. "What's wrong?"

"That crazy bitch. She stole half our clothes."

"What do you mean? What happened?"

"She started opening the suitcases and pulling out everything. I thought she was going to hang them up, but she made two piles on the bed. Now she's walked off with an armful of our clothes."

"Dragan is your high school friend, you talk to him."

"I can't talk to him about his mother the thief."

"Maybe it's a misunderstanding. We did pack an awful lot of clothes. Maybe she thinks it's a gift."

"I bought some of them new for this trip."

"Exactly why she'd assume they were presents."

"OK, but she's not getting your perfume or the chocolates I bought in Frankfurt."

"Deal, just don't make a scene."

"I'm not making a scene! She stole my clothes."

"Well, next time do your own unpacking."

As they entered the cozy little cabin, Dragan asked, "There is problem?"

"No, it's something with the luggage."

"Yes. Thank you for the clothes. I was not understanding why you brought so much, now I see why."

"You're welcome," she said, wanly smiling.

The cabins were austere but comfortable. Dragan showed them all five before he let them settle into theirs, where Frank picked through the jumble of clothes muttering to himself, as soon as the door swung shut.

"All the new ones! My polo shirts, my khakis! Your cashmere sweaters!"

"I really didn't care for the colors this season. She's welcome to them." Emily pulled her trusty Shetland cardigan from the mess and tied it over her shoulders. "It's already getting chilly and it's only five."

"I wonder what they'll serve us for dinner; probably half-cooked sheep."

"I saw Vjera cutting vegetables for stew and there's a big chunk of prosciutto on the table."

"Salt-cured ham, just the thing after air travel."

"Let's go for a walk, I want to see what's up there."

"Are you nuts? Climb on those rocks?"

"Why not?" She asked, changing into her hiking shoes. She pulled his out of a side pocket and tossed them over.

"Oh, all right."

They walked straight up the slope, following a faint path that snaked through yew and beech trees, until they came out on top of a large black rock.

"Look at this view," she said, spreading her arms and spinning around.

"You look like Julie Andrews in that movie."

She stopped, scowling. "No need to be insulting."

"I wasn't. I've always wanted to jump her bones, ever since I was a kid." Frank pulled her to him and nuzzled her neck, tugging at the zipper of her jeans.

"Shouldn't we go back now?" she pushed at him.

"Oh Emily, you're such a prude! Let's fool around."

"What if someone sees us?"

"Who, the sheep? C'mon." He peeled back her blouse and unhooked her bra. She relented and let him push her against the mossy rock, sliding down into a pile of leaves and pine needles. As he entered her, she gasped in pain.

"You like that?"

"Frank, stop, something stabbed me."

"We'll shift over a bit."

"I'm bleeding."

He pulled back. "Didn't you have your period last week?"

"Yes, but it's starting again." Blood stained his jeans and she hastily reached for her purse, pulled out a paper napkin from the last flight. She'd never bleed so profusely. She feared something was wrong, but pushed the thought away. They'd planned this vacation for months, coordinating work schedules and flights; getting sick just wouldn't fit their itinerary.

Frank turned away and she thought he was using leaves to clean off, and then realized he was jacking off the hard-on. His sexuality was a mystery to her. When they were dating, he'd been solicitous of her pleasure, but a year after the ceremony she felt used. Like a magazine he pulled out from under the mattress, at his leisure. When he zipped up, she sighed and pulled on her own jeans. No chance of a baby this month.

Later, in the bathhouse, she checked her back for a wound in the foggy mirror. Her skin was unbroken. She changed the saturated napkin for her only tampon and hoped it wouldn't flow through and stain her clothes.

***

The next morning while Frank stepped outside to use his cell phone, Emily sat at the breakfast table with Zlatko. Vjera had pushed bread and cheese at her until she thought she'd burst. Zlatko giggled at everything she said and when she asked him why, he laughed all the harder. The child seemed to have a good grasp of English, but she failed to see the humor and felt slighted, ashamed without knowing why.

Vjera asked a question which Zlatko translated, "how did you sleep last night? Good?"

"Yes, thank you. I slept fine."

"Because I saw you come out of the woods."

Emily blushed, thinking she'd meant last night. "Frank and I went up the rock, to see the view."

"No, this morning. Sun come up, you come down mountain."

"Sorry, I don't understand."

"Yes, you. In dirty nightgown, I see you."

"No, I wasn't in the woods, my nightshirt is clean. I woke up in bed." She squirmed, uncomfortable in her improvised sanitary pad. Vague images from a dream nagged at her, something about climbing to be closer to God. Except that God was a sinister presence, drawing off her strength. Even her hands looked ashen this morning as she reached for her tea, trembling.

"Be careful in woods. In those days, men made sacrifices to Skyfather. Rock is dangerous to climb. Hungry. No blood for years and years."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said as she pushed her chair back and made for the door. "I think Frank needs me." She could hear their laughter following her outside as she sought out Frank on his cell phone.

"I can't get through to the London office. Damn thing keeps giving me a message in Serbian."

"Ask Zlatko."

"Dragan said we might get irregular service. It's probably just an out-of-range notice."

"Frank, did you sleep all right?"

"With you thrashing around? No, not until you got up around three. Thanks, by the way. At least one of us got some sleep."

"But I don't remember it."

"Well you left. I don't know where you went."

"Vjera said she saw me come down from the rocks in a bloody nightgown." Emily struggled to keep her voice steady. She wanted to cry from frustration.

"Oh, that's ruined. I burned it in the stove this morning. You left it on the floor."

"Why did you do that?"

"I did you a favor. It was a mess, really stained."

"So don't you think I'm sleepwalking?"

"I don't know. Quiet, I'm getting through." His face changed, he became his congenial, lawyerly self. "Hey, Frank here. How's everything going with the Machen case?" He nodded and made non-committal noises as she wandered back to their katun. The sheets looked clean, but on her pillow was a single brown leaf that crumbled in her hand.

***

That evening she was sure she'd sleep. Aleko had taken them to the coast for the day. After swimming in the ocean and lounging on the white sand beach, they'd had an early dinner at a fish restaurant. She'd eaten so much that the weakness and vague pain in her abdomen abated a bit. Luckily she'd found a box of sanitary pads at the apothecary shop in town. Her periods were always irregular, but the doctors assured her it wouldn't affect her fertility. Emily settled into bed with a contented smile and was asleep before Frank turned off the light.

Then she was walking, climbing a steep path through the woods. She looked down, saw the stain growing on her nightshirt, heard the pine needles crunch as she walked, but her body felt numb. Last night the rock called to her and tonight she came to feed it again. Blood and semen awakened it, blood would satiate it. She approached the black rock, leaned into it like a lover. She slid into its mossy depths, letting the red fog overwhelm her. Giving of herself, she fed the black hunger, filled the icy vacuum with her love. This is like a husband, she thought. Only this I can satisfy, I have enough love for both of us. Not like Frank and his endless demands.

"Get up," Frank pushed at her. "Get up, you're filthy. Go get cleaned up." He threw back the sheets. Her nightshirt was stained with blood and moss; her feet were dark with mud. The sun streaming in showed a trail of muddy footprints from the door.

***

At lunch, she picked at the vegetables in her stew and ate the ham chunks, pushed away the bread. "Good appetite," said Aleko through Zlatko, and they all laughed. The weather turned dark and they decided to stay in; by mid-afternoon thunder rumbled ominously in the distance.

"What are we supposed to do with these people," grumbled Frank, "play Parcheesi?" Emily hushed him.

"Cheese," said Vjera. "You want Kajmak?" She brought out a dish of soft cheese and another loaf of bread.

Over dinner, Frank asked when Dragan was expected back. Zlatko took a lot of words to translate and his grandmother gave a long explanation. "Soon," Zlatko said.

At bedtime, they borrowed Vjera's umbrella to run the short distance to their katun and still they were soaked. Lightning struck just overhead and the answering clap of thunder made Emily shriek.

"Filthy primitive country," muttered Frank.

Emily dropped her clothes on the floor and went to bed as Frank turned the lock on the door. He changed into pajamas and lay on the edge of the bed, turned away from her. She stared at his back, feeling lost and alone as she drifted off to sleep.

***

Rain pelted her from all angles, pounding on her skull, blurring her vision. Her hair was heavy with water as she pushed through the brush that scratched at her bare skin, climbing upward. Flashes of light revealed what she already knew. She pulled on a branch and lifted herself up to the black rock, answering its summons. Tonight was different. The air crackled and a long stream of lightning flowed across the sky. She saw the child clearly: a skeletal child, white bones and hard black eyes. Her stone child, born of blood and rock. Frightened, she almost turned away, but then it cried out and she understood its pain. Emily ran forward, cradling it, soothing it. They sank into the black rock just as thunder shook its foundation, sent rubble flying. Her last act was to pull off her wedding ring and throw it away.

She drifted, slept with the child pulling at her breast. The sun warmed her and she lazed without thought. She felt roots stretching to the center of the earth, sensed time stretching to eternity as she drifted back to consciousness at the sound of a familiar voice.

"Here's her ring," said Frank, "but there's no trace of Emily. She's been sleepwalking; maybe she's lost somewhere up here."

"Impossible," said Dragan. "I know every centimeter of this mountain, I played here as boy."

"Well something happened last night during the storm. Looks like that rock got hit by lightning."

Dragan said something in Serbian, and she felt his lips on her stone feet. "It is Holy Mother, she who bore a god," he gasped in English. "Miraculous. This is great shrine, pilgrims will come."

Of course that's it, she thought. She was a woman who gave birth to a god. Smugly holding her child, she let her thoughts wander, secure in adoration.