Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Call

by P. T. Dilloway

  “She’s from France,” Eva says.

  “My father says the French are no good bastards, especially that Napoleon Bonaparte.”

  I wince as if the girl has slapped me, but I can’t think of anything to say. Napoleon is a no good bastard, as are a lot of my countrymen, the ones who destroyed the Revolution and nearly killed Andre and Rachel. I look down sadly at the table, again wishing I could go home.

  Eva comes to my defense, saying, “Your father is a drunk.”

  “He is not!”

  While the others argue, I smile shyly at Eva and relax a little.

  ***

  The festival continues all day. As evening falls, the makeshift band begins to play folk tunes. My new friend Eva shows me how to dance to these songs. I have some trouble in my new dress and shoes, not to mention that gaining all this weight has hampered my flexibility and sense of balance. I’m sweating before the first number is done, but I press on.

  For the next song, a pair of boys join us. The taller and thinner of the two takes Eva’s hand, while a shorter, stockier boy offers to dance with me. I take his hand and while we dance, he introduces himself as Uwe. He has a farm a few miles from Frau Braun’s so technically we’re neighbors. I tell him where I come from and he’s impressed.

  “You came all the way here from France?”

  “Yes. I walked here.”

  We’re both tired from dancing, so we take a couple of mugs of beer and go behind the stables to talk in private. I tell him about Paris and Marseilles. Uwe hangs on my every word. “I wish I could go to Paris,” he laments. “The farthest I’ve gone is into the forest with my brothers.”

  “Well, maybe you will once you get older.”

  “I doubt that,” he says. “Father will want me to help with the farm.”

  “There are worse things than working on a farm,” I say, but then I’ve already seen the world. A poor farm kid like Uwe—like Henri—is unlikely to ever get that chance. At most he might get to Stuttgart or Berlin once in his life, probably for his honeymoon.

  Though we haven’t known each other for more than an hour, I’d like to take that honeymoon with him. I’d like to show him the world and once we’ve seen it all, return to a farm like Frau Braun’s to raise a family. We could be happy then, the two of us and our children. We could have the life Henri and I were denied, the life Aggie will have with Alejandro.

  Before I realize what I’m doing, I lean forward to kiss Uwe on the lips. He’s surprised for a moment and then he kisses me back. As we kiss, I feel a tingling in my left foot, as if it’s falling asleep. I know it’s not my foot, remembering the last time.

  Oh no, I think to myself. Not now. Not when I was finally so happy. But as the tingling continues to spread up my body, I know I can’t spend the rest of my life as a plump milkmaid. I’m a witch.

  I push Uwe away, mumbling, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  Then I take off running into the night.

  Chapter 23

  I spend the summer in a cave. I can’t remember how I got to this cave or where it is. All I can remember is running blindly from the village, my body glowing white as it did when I kissed Henri so long ago. When I woke up, I was here.

  Most of my time I spend lying on the stone floor of the cave. Since I don’t have Mama and Sophie to tend to me this time, it’s a good thing that I fattened up over the winter. This fat sustains me through the summer, along with bugs and grubs. When I’m thirsty, I drink from a pool of water that drips down from the ceiling.

  As I lie on the floor of the cave, I remember what Mama told me the last time I went through this. I try to focus, to not fight against the magic. Still there are the occasional hiccups of magic that turn bats into butterflies and scorch the walls with fire. When these happen, I hear Sophie’s voice hiss in my ears, “Focus!”

  Much of my time I spend crying, lamenting that I had to run away without getting a chance to say goodbye to Frau Braun. She deserved better after showing me so much kindness, after giving me a new life. I cry because that new life is gone now.

  In the back of my mind I knew this day was coming. A part of me knew that eventually my powers would return and I would have to go through this painful process again. But as last winter had dragged on with nothing happening, I gave in to the hope that this time would be different, that this time I could be an ordinary girl.

  Instead I’m cursed to be a witch again. Now I know what Glenda was talking about when she said that I was going to be punished for going along with Aggie’s scheme. This is my punishment, to have to endure this transformation from an ordinary child into an apprentice witch.

  I keep track of the days by scratching a mark on the wall with a rock. When I make my first mark, my stomach blots out my feet as I lie on my back. By the thirty-fifth mark, I can see my toes again. By the sixty-seventh, I can see my entire foot. And by the ninety-fifth, my stomach is actually caving in on itself.

  I crawl out of the cave on the hundredth day. It’s been three days since I’ve had an accident with my magic. I’m so desperately hungry that I have to risk venturing out to find something more substantial than grubs. Hunting is much easier with a crossbow or knife—or magic. I don’t have any weapons and my magic is too unstable to use. So I have to do it the old-fashioned way by using a pointed stick I find lying on the ground.

  The dress Frau Braun made me is now like a tent; I tear off a bit of the skirt to fashion a belt for myself. The shoes still fit, but I leave them in the cave so I’ll make less noise. I creep along the damp ground of the forest, searching for something: a rabbit, a bird, or even a squirrel. I’m far too hungry to be picky at this point.

  I hear the brush rustle and brace myself to pounce on whatever comes out of there. Even if it’s a bear; all I need is to get my stick into the right spot. What I’m not prepared for is to see Frau Braun there. I bring my stick into stabbing position for a moment, my mind too addled from months of isolation and malnutrition to know if what I’m seeing is real.

  “Sylvia!” Frau Braun shouts. “What are you doing?”

  I drop my makeshift spear to the ground and then melt into her outstretched arms. “I’m sorry,” I say through my sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

  We sit down on a log, where she continues to hold me while I continue to bawl. She strokes my filthy, greasy hair that’s still somewhat braided and says, “The whole village looked everywhere for you. Where did you go?”

  “A cave.”

  “Why would you do that? Did someone hurt you?”

  “No. I was going to hurt them.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Sylvia—”

  “You wouldn’t understand.” As much as I want to keep leaning against her, to let her keep stroking my hair as if she’s my mother, I have to pull away. At any moment I could have an accident and Frau Braun could wind up a toad or a pile of ashes.

  “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I want to help you.”

  “You can’t help me.” The only ones who can help me are the witches of the coven and they’re the last people I want to see at this moment, especially Aggie. “I have to go.”

  “Sylvia, don’t go.” To my surprise she begins to cry too. “The farm is so lonely without you. The house is so empty.”

  “I want to go back with you, but I can’t. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of me. Because of what I am.”

  “What is that?” When I don’t say anything, she reaches out to take my hand. “Sylvia, please. You can trust me. I would never hurt you.”

  I take a deep breath and then I say, “I’m a witch. I can make magic. Or at least I will be able to, once I’m older. Right now my magic is unstable. That’s why I had to leave. I didn’t want to hurt you or Uwe or Eva or anyone else.”

  She stares at me, trying to absorb this. Most any other mortal wouldn’t believe it, but she looks into my eyes and she knows I
’m telling the truth. “How long does this take?”

  “Last time it took two years.”

  “Last time?”

  “This isn’t the first time I’ve been thirteen.”

  “How many times have you done this?”

  “This is the third time—at least. There might have been others. I’ve been around for a long, long time.” I sit down again, putting my head against her shoulder. “But I haven’t been happier in the last two hundred years than working on your farm.”

  “I haven’t been so happy since before my daughter died.” We sit there like that for a long time. I don’t feel any tingling to indicate a magical eruption. I start to think that maybe I could stay with Frau Braun through this; maybe her love could keep me steady.

  Then I feel my right foot tingle. “Go!” I shout to her. I’m already jumping to my feet and running back for the cave. Everything below my neck is tingling as I reach the mouth of the cave. I have just enough time to throw myself to the ground. There’s a burst of light and then I hear bats shriek. Probably another fireball.

  I’m still lying there when I feel Frau Braun’s hand on my back. “Are you all right, child? Are you hurt?”

  “No, I’m fine. But you’d better go before it happens again.”

  She helps roll me into a sitting position and then strokes my hair again. “Could I at least bring you some food? You’re all skin and bones again. And perhaps a new dress too.”

  “That would be fine.” Before she can go, I take her arm. “Thank you so much for all of your help.”

  “You don’t need to thank me, child. You’ve been a blessing for me.”

  I nod to her and watch her hurry off to get back to the farm and retrieve some food and clothes. While it would be nice to wait around for these, I know I can’t. It’s still too dangerous for her to be around me. I can’t risk becoming dependent on her again and then having an accident.

  I force myself to my feet and take off running again.

  ***

  Sometime in the fall—late September or perhaps early October—my magic comes under control. Or at least I manage to go two weeks without an incident. There’s still a possibility of another accident, but it’s less likely than before.

  The weather is turning cold again, which means I need to find somewhere to stay. As much as I’d like to go back to Frau Braun’s farm, I know better now. I can’t let myself forge any attachments to mortals. It will only end up hurting me again, like Frau Braun, like Alejandro, and like Henri.

  When I emerge from the forest, my dress is ragged, my body practically a skeleton, and my hair a tangled mess. Before I can look for somewhere to stay for the winter, I take a dip in a river. I’m able to catch a frog on the bank, which I eat raw. It’s not the worst meal I’ve had since leaving Frau Braun’s farm.

  The bath allows me to clean off a layer or two of dirt and with another strip of cloth I’m able to tie my hair back to look somewhat presentable. I’ll probably still look like an urchin, but at least I won’t look like a madwoman. After rinsing the taste of raw frog out of my mouth, I go into the town.

  I search for two days, sleeping on the cathedral steps at night, until I find work as a scullery maid. Working on Frau Braun’s farm has prepared me for manual labor, though working in the kitchen is far less interesting than on the farm. Still, my meager wages provide me with shelter, clothes, and enough food to keep from starving.

  I make sure to stay quiet this time. I look down at my feet and shuffle along, to the point where my coworkers think I’m dumb. They crack jokes about me in my presence, thinking I’m too stupid to comprehend what they’re saying. When they talk to me, they raise their voices, use small words, and gesture a lot.

  Once spring comes, I take no small amount of pleasure in quitting. I tell my coworkers in the kitchen exactly what I think of them, a curse-filled rant that goes on for five minutes. After making a few obscene gestures, I take my few possessions and continue east.

  This pattern continues over the next three years, when I’m about seventeen years old in traditional reckoning. I’ve put on a little weight—much of that in my breasts at last—though not nearly as much as with Frau Braun. My hair has darkened to the shade I remember it as before I took Aggie’s potion. My eyes are again cold and hard, like those of someone much older. If not for the acne dotting my face I could probably pass as twenty-five or even thirty.

  I meet a lot of people over this time, but none of them are particularly memorable. I make sure none of them are memorable by staying aloof. Besides working as a scullery maid, I clean rooms in a hotel in Berlin; I shovel manure in a stable in Warsaw; I mop the floors of a physician’s office in Vienna; and I serve coffee at a café in Prague. Throughout this, I draw the line at prostitution or any crime greater than stealing food or clothes.

  As this time drags on, I don’t have any more accidents with my magic. There’s no one to judge me ready, but I’m sure that I’m a novice again. Once I leave Prague, I go out into the country, finding a secluded spot in the forest. There I practice a few basic spells. I turn a squirrel into a toad and use a Static Charge spell to bring down a deer. With a Fireball I roast the deer so I can feast on it that night.

  I don’t hear anything from Aggie or Glenda throughout this. Late at night in whatever flophouse I’m staying at, I turn to the door and expect one of them to vanish in. At the very least I expect Aggie to get a letter to me, telling me the latest about her and Alejandro.

  I tell myself that I hope they’re happy, but deep down I know this isn’t true. What I really want is for Alejandro to leave Aggie so I can be with him. Then I look in the mirror at my pimply face and greasy red hair and I know that won’t happen. Alejandro would never leave a beautiful woman like Aggie to be with an awkward child like me.

  I cry myself to sleep a lot of nights and then keep moving farther away from France.

  ***

  By the time I’m seventeen, I’m not sure exactly where I am. Somewhere in Romania. It’s definitely a long way from the family vineyard outside of Marseilles. The villages I pass are as small as Frau Braun’s in Germany, but far less prosperous. The people here look as worn and haggard as I feel. Even the children have a desperate, forlorn look to them.

  I wander into one village around three o’clock. The bells of the local church—the only building made of stone instead of wood or mud—chime as I enter the village square. I have a bag with my few possessions slung over my shoulder. Those few items—clothes, mostly—are probably enough to make me one of the gentry around here.

  There’s not going to be any work in this town. There’s probably nowhere to find work in this whole cursed country. I should head back to the west, to Greece or Italy. No, I can’t go to Italy, not the place that gave birth to Alejandro. Maybe I could go to Greece and then take a boat to Africa. That might put enough distance between me and them. I could always go to America to look for Rachel and Andre. I could claim to be Suzette’s niece. I shake my head, knowing that’s an absurd plan.

  I stop at the local tavern, which is nearly empty at this time of day. The bartender glares at me for a few moments, sighing before he comes over to me. “What do you want?” he asks.

  “A drink.”

  “We don’t serve women here.”

  In addition to practicing with spells, I’ve also spent some time reacquainting myself with the martial arts Hisae taught me. I’m still not as quick as back in my demon-hunting days, but I’m quick enough to grab his wrist with one hand and use the other to smack his head down on the bar. “I think you should reconsider your policy,” I tell him.

  With a strangled cry he nods in agreement. I let him go so he can fetch me a cracked mug, into which he pours the local swill. It’s so bitter that my lips pucker, but at this point I’m glad for anything wet.

  I know I should drink this one beer and then leave, but I’m tired and I don’t know where else to go, so I stay. My tame bartender brings me more drinks without question. My
body is young enough that the alcohol goes straight to my head, so before long I’m feeling lightheaded and giddy.

  I’m on probably my sixth beer when a couple of the local men saunter in. One of them sees me at the bar and says, “When did you start serving little girls?”

  “Just mind your business,” the bartender says.

  The man will have none of that. He sits down next to me, putting a hand on my back. “Hello, young lady,” he says. “Are you waiting for your mama and papa?”

  I turn to him and give him a drunken smile. “No, I’ve been waiting for you.”

  His face lights up at this. “Well, here I am.”

  “How much do you want?”

  “Let me think about that.” I look up as if I’m considering this for a minute. Then I punch the man in the crotch. He falls off his stool while I laugh uproariously at his pain. “That one was for free.”

  His friends take exception at this, sliding off their stools to avenge him. I slip off my stool, stumbling a little bit as I do. I’m far from peak fighting condition at this point, but these are just a couple of country bumpkins. One tries to reach out for me; I sidestep this and then kick him in the back of the knee. He crumples in a heap next to his friend. The other isn’t much brighter, swinging clumsily at me. I duck under this, punch him in the kidneys, and then finish it off by breaking his nose with the heel of my hand.

  I should know to get the hell out of there, to the next village or two. But I’m too tired and too drunk to go far. I’m sleeping in a stall in the stables—the only thing that passes for an inn in this place—when they come for me. Only this time it’s not just three of them; it’s a half-dozen.

  I can hear them coming from far off, long enough that I can rouse myself, grab a pitchfork, and go to the front door. A couple of them are smart enough to bring rifles, models that were old during the Revolution. While ancient, these weapons could still hurt me if I let them. I lean against the doorway and smile at the approaching lynch mob. “Was it something I said?”