Disclaimer: The characters in this story are copyrights of Paramount and Fireworks Productions. No infringement is intended. The story plot is original and copyright to the author, Maril Swan.

Author's note: this story contains references to other stories on this site - Fallen Angel, Gitano

Justice

by Maril Swan

On Card 11 we see the familiar figure of Justice. She has the scales of equality and impartial judgment in one hand, and the sword of decision in the other. In the Tarot, Justice represents the understanding that life is ultimately fair and just. Even though the vagaries of day-to-day life tend to make us doubt this fact, Justice reminds us that there is divine balance...Sometimes Justice is a signal to do what needs to be done. A time comes when responsibilities must be accepted, and accounts settled. The past will continue to haunt you if you do not recognize your mistakes and make amends for them. You will need to weigh matters carefully and perhaps make important decisions about your future course. ©Joan Bunning, Learning Tarot Online.

Part One

Corporal Garcia could still see the familiar black-clad figure riding at great speed ahead as he galloped his horse after her. The other soldiers had dropped out of the chase, their exhausted horses unable to keep up. She will not escape me this time, he promised himself resolutely. I will take her back to Montoya. My promotion is assured, he grinned to himself, kicking the horse's sweating flank. He realized he was not closing the distance; his horse was labouring, its lungs heaving like a bellows. It had not much strength left. He slowed to a trot, then a walk, watching the dust cloud on the horizon disappearing as his quarry sped on. He cursed her vehemently. She had snatched his victory away again, just when it looked within reach. Squinting at the far-off hills, he wondered where she was going. There was nothing ahead but a barrier of rock. A thought occurred to him and he chuckled to himself. Like a rabbit, she would retrace her trail and return as soon as she was sure he had given up. Of course...all he had to do was wait.

Garcia noted the shadows on the ground were lengthening; soon it would be dark. He sighed with dismay, not equipped for a chilly night in the open, without food or water. Resignedly, the soldier led his horse to some scrub brush, tying its reins to a bush and sat down on the ground, to wait as long as it took. He was hidden from view, down in an arroyo, and knew the darkness would cover him and his horse.

Tessa looked back and drew a relieved breath. The soldier had broken off the chase. There was no one following her now as she found the rock formation that led to the secret canyon. It was beginning to get dark as the horse picked its way through the narrow defile to the open meadow inside the canyon walls. As always, the sight of this beautiful place took her breath away. The serenity of the valley calmed her as the horse ambled toward the pool beneath the rock spring. Tessa slid off the horse, leading it to the water, and allowing it to drink its fill.

The clear water looked too tempting to resist as she stripped off her dark clothes and plunged into the icy pool. She came up gasping with the cold but so refreshed she laughed aloud. Climbing out, she put on her costume again. The pool was fed by a small stream which sprang from the rocks. Putting her mouth under the stream, she drank thirstily, then refilled her canteen. She wondered how long she should wait until it was safe to return to her hacienda. Darkness had settled into the valley and Tessa began to think about Marta. She will be worrying by now, but there's nothing I can do about it.

Climbing back on her horse, she trotted it over to the small sod hut on the far side of the valley. Nearing it, her eyes were drawn to the mound beside the hut where she had buried Seamus O'Toole nearly a year ago. As always, the memory evoked a warmth of nostalgia as she remembered his laughing blue eyes, and his shocking red hair. She smiled sadly. If only there had been more time, she thought again, as she dismounted and began to unsaddle her horse. But his spirit lives in this valley. She always felt safe here.

Except for El Gato, Tessa reminded herself. When those banditos held this valley, they had almost ruined it with their campfires, tents and waste heaps. But after they left Nature had eventually covered over all the harm their presence had caused. There was hardly a trace of them now, she noted with satisfaction. She laughed shortly, remembering how irate Marta had been when she had seen the condition of the valley. "They even stole Seamus' cattle," she had snapped. "There is no honour among thieves." Tessa laughed softly, remembering how Marta bristled with anger at the torn-up sod, and the blackened earth where campfires had been. But it was the theft of the cattle that had unsettled her most. "He would have wanted you to have them," Marta had said. Just as well, Tessa thought, I don't really want to raise cattle. The vineyards are what I love. Just as Papa did.

Tessa lifted the heavy bag of gold from the saddlebag and placed it inside the hut. I'll divide it up tomorrow, and give it back to the people, she decided, yawning widely. The hut contained a rough hand-made cot that Seamus had built for himself. It looked inviting in the moonlight which streamed in the hut's only window. Maybe I'll just take a nap while I wait until I'm sure they've given up the chase and gone back to the pueblo. Briskly shaking the blanket covering the narrow bed, in case there was anything in it or on it, she spread it on the cot. Tessa laid down and was asleep almost immediately.

She awoke, chilled and shivering in the early dawn. Leaping up, she exclaimed, "Madre de dios! I've overslept. It's morning!" Rushing outside into the grey light, she whistled for her horse. It trotted to her and she saddled it quickly. She replaced the gold in the saddlebag, and with a last wistful look around at her sacred valley, urged the horse into a trot, out through the defile and onto the open plain. Scanning the landscape, Tessa saw nothing to fear as the horse cantered over the hard ground.

Garcia had hardly slept. He awoke, irritable and chilled to the bone as he threw off the smelly horseblanket and stretched. The sun was just rising, and he cursed. Had she slipped by him in the night? He squinted toward the hills and saw a small cloud of dust. Exhilaration filled him as he watched it coming ever nearer. He had been right; she was returning at last! Hurriedly, he rechecked his trap as she rode unsuspectingly down the trail toward him.

Tessa's horse snorted and quivered with anxiety as the trail narrowed and sloped into an arroyo between some scrub and rock. Alert to her horse's unease, she slowed to a trot entering the gap, looking about warily. A perfect place for an ambush. But of course, the soldiers would have returned to their barracks last night, she assured herself.

Suddenly, a rope came up off the ground across the trail, striking the horse on the chest. The terrified animal reared and leapt away, tossing Tessa to the ground. The hard impact stunned her momentarily then she found herself looking into the barrel of a pistol held by a grinning soldier.

He dropped a pair of manacles beside her. "Put these on," he demanded harshly. "And be quick. You are wanted, dead or alive, so don't try anything. I will kill you if I have to." His hard blue eyes radiated hate as he regarded his prisoner. His small wiry body seemed like a coiled spring, latent energy ready to be unleashed. Dark whiskers with a sprinkle of grey sprouted on his swarthy jaw and as he grinned down at Tessa, she saw an inexorable purpose in his face; he wanted to kill her but was restraining himself.

Tessa picked up the heavy manacles and snapped them onto her wrists. She waited in silence for his next move, looking for an opportunity to escape. But he had planned well.

Garcia stepped back a few paces, then said, "Get up. And don't move until I say." Keeping the gun aimed at her, he mounted his horse. "All right, start walking," he said, gesturing with the pistol toward the trail.

"Let me call my horse. It's a long way back to the pueblo," Tessa said. Her horse, Chico, stood a distance off, warily watching the two humans.

"And have you escape? Not a chance. You'll walk, that way you'll be too tired to try anything." He chuckled with glee as she started down the trail. What a coup this was! He, Corporal Garcia, single-handedly bringing in the Queen of Swords. He would get the reward and probably, a promotion. The vision of Montoya pinning a medal on his chest made him grin widely. And, best of all, he would show that strutting rooster, Captain Grisham, who was the better man. His future looked as bright as the sun now shining on the plain as he followed his prisoner along the trail.

Hours passed as the sun rose high into the cloudless blue sky. A grim silence hung between the soldier and his prisoner, as she trudged along, conceiving and discarding one plan of escape after another. Tessa looked back and saw Chico still following at a safe distance. She smiled fondly, turning back around. He was a good, well-trained horse, obedient but intelligent. She felt reassured by his presence somehow, in spite of the seeming impossibility of her situation.

The midday sun burned down on the plain, the ground beneath her boots hot as coals as she tried to keep up a steady pace. Her throat was parched with thirst; she longingly remembered the full canteen on her horse-and the gold in the saddlebag. If only she could ask for the water without his knowing about the gold. That gold belonged to the people. Finally, she stopped, the heat shimmer on the ground making her dizzy in the blazing brightness, her mouth almost too dry to speak.

Trying summon up some moisture, she said, "I can't go much longer without some water. Please."

"Get moving, or I'll shoot you where you stand. No water. There's only enough for me." Garcia uncapped his canteen and took a few gulps, watching her masked face as he drank his fill. With a satisfied smirk, he wiped his mouth.

"Only a little water. That's all I ask. Why won't you give it to me?"

"Because I want you to suffer," he growled.

"Why? I've never harmed you."

For a long moment, he looked at her, unmoved by her beauty or her distress. Finally, Garcia spoke. "Perez was my friend."

Tessa looked up at him, uncomprehending. "Who is Perez?"

"Just one of the many soldiers you have killed," he answered, his voice hard with hate. "Fernan Perez had a wife and three children. Did you know that? Of course not. To you, he was just another soldier who got in your way, so you cut him down. For him and the others...that's why I want you to suffer."

She glanced down, avoiding those hate-filled eyes. "I don't know their names, but I do suffer for them," she said softly. "Not a day goes by when I don't pray for their souls."

Garcia was untouched by her sentiments. "Let me tell you the rest of their names, so you know who to pray for," he snarled. "Tomas Ortega, a young man about to be married, only he's dead now, thanks to you. Jorge Gomez, he was getting too old to be a soldier, about to be pensioned off. Pablo...."

He droned on, listing the dead soldiers and describing their lives until Tessa finally cried out, "Enough! Isn't it enough you torment me with thirst? Must you also torture my conscience?" Suddenly dropping to her knees, she gulped huge breaths of air as she tried to compose herself.

"Get up!" Garcia snarled. "We're only halfway there. Get up or I'll shoot you."

Tessa rasped, "Then you'd better do it, because I'm not going any further without water." She looked up into his hard eyes, unnerved by the malevolence and gloating she saw there.

So this is how it feels to be Montoya, Garcia thought smugly, watching your enemy on her knees begging for mercy. He felt powerful-and he liked the feeling. But he knew if he brought in a dead Queen of Swords, there would be much less glory for him. Only a live Queen would really satisfy Montoya so that he could exact his revenge and make an example of her. And Garcia wanted to see her hang for the many deaths she had caused. He tossed the canteen to her and she uncapped it quickly, taking a little water into her mouth, holding it there before swallowing it. "Come on, we haven't got all day!" Garcia shouted, urging his horse toward her.

Suddenly, she flung the canteen at the horse, hitting its flank and making it leap away. The surprise move unbalanced the rider and Tessa grabbed him, pulling him off onto the hard ground. He was stunned for a second, enough time for her to wrap the chain of the manacles around his neck and pull it tightly, cutting off his breath. He struggled for several seconds, then lay still. Tessa unwrapped the chain, and checked his pulse. Still alive, she thought with relief.

A quick search of his uniform provided the keys to the manacles, and she unlocked them from her wrists, transferring the hard metal cuffs to his. Garcia started to come around, groaning as he shook his head dazedly. He found himself staring into the muzzle of his own gun in the hands of a very angry masked woman. His eyes widened in terror and as he tried to move, she warned, "I won't harm you, much as I'm tempted to kill you. Just don't do anything stupid, that's all I ask." Tessa whistled for her horse, and it trotted to her side.

Taking the canteen from the saddle, she drank deeply of the spring water. She refilled Garcia's canteen with some of her water, and dropped it beside him. "I'm giving you more humane treatment than you gave me, Garcia. I'll leave you some water, and your horse will be further down the trail. The keys to the manacles will be in your saddlebag." Mounting her horse, she galloped off, leading Garcia's horse by its reins.

The door from the tunnel opened and Tessa stepped through into the hidden room. Marta rushed to her side, as the younger woman stumbled, holding onto the door for balance. "Dios mio, where have you been, Tessa? Gone all night and all day!" Marta asked sharply, as she helped her ward into a chair. "Look at you. What have you been doing?"

"Penance."

"I don't understand. You are covered in dust, and your face is so flushed, you look as if you're having a heat stroke."

Tessa stood up suddenly, and turned away with a groan. "Marta. I can't do this anymore," she whispered. "So many deaths on my conscience. It's too much."

"Tell me what happened, Tessa." As the younger woman choked out the story, telling Marta about the soldiers and their families, Marta took her gently into her arms, the way she had when Tessa was a child. "Maybe it's time for the Queen to hang up her sword, and Tessa Alvarado to start living her own life again," Marta said. The torment in Tessa's eyes wrung her heart. Such a burden for one so young, she thought. She takes everything on her own shoulders. Aloud, Marta added, "Let someone else take up the fight, Tessa. You have done more than anyone could expect."

"Have I, Marta? Or have I made things worse?" Wearily, Tessa laid her head on Marta's shoulder. "But you are right. After today, she is finished. The Queen of Swords rides no more."

Grisham rapped on the Colonel's door and entered with his usual swagger. Montoya looked up quickly, annoyed at the intrusion. "Colonel, I have some very strange news for you. One of the soldier's widows found a bag of money on her doorstep this morning. Señora Perez. Her husband, Corporal Perez, was killed a few months ago by the Queen of Swords."

Montoya frowned as if trying to remember, then said, "Oh yes, Perez. Why would anyone leave her money?"

"Well, she only has a widow's pension, and they're pretty hard up, as I understand." Grisham shrugged. "Someone around here has a soft heart for a sob story, I guess."

The Colonel's eyes narrowed, then he shook his head. "Impossible," he murmured to himself. "Anything else to report, Grisham?"

"Yes, sir. Dr. Helm says Garcia is fit for duty after his ordeal with the Queen. I've got him back on the duty roster."

Montoya suddenly hammered his fist on the desk, making Grisham jump. "Garcia! The idiot!" he snarled. "He let her escape." He stood and began pacing. "I'm surrounded by inept fools!" he growled, looking significantly at Grisham. The Captain clenched his jaw, his eyes hardening as he watched Montoya striding about the room. "Well, Grisham, what are you standing there for? Get back to your duties." Grisham saluted and left quickly, his throat tight with suppressed rage.

A few hours later, Grisham returned to Montoya's office, summoned by the Colonel. As always, he felt a sense of trepidation, never knowing what his commanding officer was planning. Montoya was a schemer, always working towards his own ends, and Grisham knew he was just a pawn in the game. His loathing for the Colonel knew no bounds but for the time being, he was forced to do Montoya's bidding.

"Grisham, that interesting little piece of news about the money has turned into something quite extraordinary. I have had other reports from the soldiers that each of the widows, whose husbands were struck down by the Queen, has received a gift of money early today." Montoya chuckled, stroking his beard, as he wandered pensively about the office. "My first impression, it seems, was correct. The Queen of Swords is leaving these gifts, a conscience offering, one would suppose." He laughed aloud at the thought. "Her soft heart will be her undoing."

"How does she know their names, Colonel? I mean, if we assume she is a Spanish lady, she wouldn't know any common soldiers, would she?" Grisham framed the question as much to himself as to the Colonel. A suspicion crept into his mind but he discarded it.

"Yes, indeed, Grisham. How does she know them? Someone must have told her." Montoya regarded Grisham closely, making him uncomfortable. "Someone has leaked information to her. How else can she know so much about everything that goes on here? Grisham, I believe we have a traitor in our ranks. One of the soldiers has betrayed us, passing information to her."

The Colonel sat down at his desk, meditatively drumming his fingers on the highly polished rosewood. "These gifts have followed closely upon Garcia's return. I have a suspicion it was Garcia who gave her the names. I've had my eye on him for some time, Grisham. He is ambitious and clever...and quite ruthless. I had high hopes for him. But I now think, he has been playing a game of his own." Montoya sighed heavily, and added, "Bring Garcia to me. We'll get the truth out of him."

Corporal Garcia marched stiffly into Montoya's office behind Grisham and gave his colonel a smart salute. Garcia's eyes sparkled with joy, as he expected a commendation from his commander for his bravery, his lone efforts to capture the Queen at the risk of his own life.

"Garcia," the Colonel began. "You told us the Queen had captured you, manacled you and then, by some miracle, you managed to escape. Is this not so?"

"Si, mi colonel," the corporal said, trying to suppress a grin.

"It is a lie!" Montoya snapped, his pale eyes brilliant with anger. "You and the Queen set this up to cover your absence from the pueblo while you were giving her information. How much has she been paying you?"

Garcia's face blanched, his voice caught in his throat and he began to tremble. "Colonel, it is the truth," he pleaded. "She did capture me. I barely escaped with my life."

"You gave her the names of the dead soldiers, didn't you?" Montoya pressed, standing near the quaking soldier. "And what other things have you been telling her? Gold shipments? Tax collections?" The Colonel grabbed the corporal by the tunic, yelling into his terrified face, "You are a traitor! Grisham, take note. You are a witness. Garcia, this is a summary court-martial and you are found guilty of dereliction of duty and treason. The sentence is death by firing squad, to be carried out tomorrow at dawn. Grisham, take charge of the prisoner." Montoya pushed the soldier disgustedly toward the Captain, and turned away.

"Colonel," Garcia stammered, "Please. I will tell you the truth." Barely controlling his voice, the corporal began, "I had her trapped. She was in the manacles and I was bringing her back to you, when she played a trick on me and escaped. That is the truth," he said, hanging his head. "I have never betrayed you. I would not. Please believe me," he begged.

Montoya regarded the corporal closely, his eyes narrowed in concentration. Finally, he said, "I don't believe you. Take him away, Grisham."

Grisham opened the office door and signalled to two soldiers. "Take Corporal Garcia to the cells and lock him up. Post a guard." After they had gone, Grisham turned back to Montoya. "Garcia is a good man, Colonel, and a friend of mine. One of my most trusted soldiers. He's done a lot of dirty work for you, and kept his mouth shut about it. You can't really believe he's a traitor. I'd stake my life on him."

"Perhaps you would like to trade places with him, then," Montoya said flatly. "The sentence will be carried out, Grisham. That is all," he added dismissively, going back to sit at his desk.

Concluded in Part Two

Your comments on my stories are always welcome Maril Swan