But with a cry that was more like a squeak than a battle trumpet, Giselle raised her hands—and her winds. And behind the winds came her army of Air Elementals and Fox’s owls.
Shrieking and screaming, the Elementals dove at the spirits, weapons flashing in their hands—swords and knives of glass, ice, silver and bronze, and their own claws if they had such things. The owls lashed out with wicked talons, slashing their way through the horde. Where they cut at the spirits, ribbons of . . . whatever it was they were made of . . . separated from the whole.
And Giselle’s whirlwinds tore those ribbons of ethereal substance away and dissipated them.
The spirits shrieked their own outrage, and tried frantically to snatch back the bits of themselves that the Elementals were tearing away. They howled, and fought back. But they couldn’t catch either the Elementals or the owls, and as more and more pieces of them were torn away, they grew dimmer and more transparent.
“Keep them busy, Giselle!” Rosamund ordered. “Fox, help me carry Cody out of here! Giselle, follow as soon as you can, they won’t go much past the graveyard!”
How does she know that? Giselle wondered, as Rosamund and Fox each picked up one of Cody’s arms, hauled him to his feet, and stumbled off into the darkness with him. One of the Wisps detached itself from the attacking mob and sped off to give them light, while the rest continued the fight.
When Giselle figured they had enough of a head start—and it looked as if her impromptu army was beginning to tire—she retreated, step by step, backward, hoping she wouldn’t fall over something. When she got just past the bounds of the graveyard she called out loud “Retreat!” which seemed like a reasonable enough command, and turned and ran for it herself. The other two wisps passed her and lit the ground ahead for her.
She caught up with the others just as they reached the campgrounds. Only then did she look back over her shoulder to see that, as Rosamund had promised, the spirits had not followed. She slowed to a walk, hand at her aching side, and caught up with the others.
Captain Cody was utterly spent. Evidently the spirits had managed to lure him out before he had gotten ready for bed, since he was still in his trousers, bracers and a shirt. But his hair and shirt were soaked with sweat, and his boots were scratched and scuffed.
The other three had reached a fire pit, where they had dropped Cody. There was enough light from the dying fire to see very well by. He was on his hands and knees where Fox and Rosamund had let him go, still panting. “What . . . th’ blazes . . . was those things?” he managed, the words rasping from a throat that sounded raw.
“I warned you,” Rosamund said—evidently not able to resist an I told you so! “I told you this place was haunted, and to keep clear of it.”
“I . . . did!” he protested. “I . . . was gettin’ . . . ready . . . t’bed down. An’ next thing . . . I know . . . I’m . . .” He shook his head, unable to continue.
“Those were Vilis, the restless, angry spirits of young women who have died betrayed by the men they loved,” Rosamund said, looking back, and biting off each word. “They take revenge on any man they can lure into their graveyard by stealing his life-energy as they dance him to death.” She turned a look of disfavor on him. “Men who have also betrayed or left women who loved them are the most susceptible to their spell.”
She left those words hanging in the air. Cody swallowed. “I . . . ain’t never done that . . . that I know about,” he said, weakly.
“Antonia in Naples?” Fox prompted. “Isabella and Elizabetta in Florence? Those three sisters in Vicenza? Flor—”
“Hey!” Cody interrupted. “I didn’ ask for none of that! An’ I never oncet wrote back to ’em, or invited ’em t’ the’ camp or—anythin’! Ast Kellermann! He’ll tell ya!”
Giselle looked askance at Fox. Fox chuckled. “Young ladies who came to every performance, sent presents and notes to the Captain, and threw flowers at him and his horse from the audience.”
“Ah.” Giselle glanced over at Rosamund, who shrugged. “If they have been without a victim for a very long time, I suspect any excuse would do,” she admitted. She offered her hand to Cody; Fox did the same on the other side. Both hauled him to his feet.
“But . . . all right, how in Hades did man-hatin’ ghosts end up in a convent?” Cody asked in bewilderment. “I thought nuns was supposed t’ be all holy an forgivin’!”
“It was a convent of the Sisters of Mary Magdalene,” Rosamund replied. “Let’s go to my vardo. You need food and something to drink, and I can explain better when I am sitting down.”
Once at the vardos, they all sat down next to the nearest firepit. The warmth of the coals was very welcome after nearly freezing in the graveyard. Rosamund supplied Cody with a splash of brandy in a small glass and some buttered bread, and Giselle brought him water in a pitcher. He drank about half of it, then poured the rest over his head.
“The Sisters of the Magdalene are rather less a convent of nuns and rather more a set of jailors,” Rosamund said dryly. “I am not one to disparage the clergy . . . but their order is a cruel one. Girls who have had children out of wedlock, or who have dared to love the ‘wrong’ young man, or sometimes even those who have done nothing at all but perform actions their parents deem ‘disobedient,’ are sent to them. They are not taken as novices, they are not permitted to become part of the sisterhood. Instead, they are held as prisoners, forced to labor from dawn to dusk, and presumably repent of their ways, for the rest of their lives, kept out of the sight of everyone but their captors.”
Fox uttered some words in Pawnee that did not bear translating. Cody stared at her.
“As you might assume, the lives of some of these young women are not very long,” Rosamund continued. “Their children, if they live, are sent away. If they do not, they are discarded like so much refuse. This is so that their mothers do not have the temptation of a grave to mourn over, as they are supposed to be fixing all of their attention on their own sins. And at any rate, according to the Magdalenes, an unbaptized child is one destined for hell, so why give it a grave?” She looked over in the direction of the ruins. “You most likely encountered some of the ones who did not survive the births of their children. And as you can imagine, they have a great deal to blame men for.”
Cody appeared speechless. Fox crossed his arms over his chest, his face stormy.
“I think,” the Pawnee said, finally, “That it is a very good thing this place is in ruins. Or I would be tempted to take scalps.”
“I would be tempted to let you,” Rosamund agreed. “But by the look of things, whatever happened to end this place was over two hundred years ago, perhaps even more than that. Whatever punishment was due to those who kept the Magdalenes in such misery has long since been meted out.” She paused. “And we cannot have a place of such danger where anyone can wander into it. I shall send a report to the Brotherhood when we reach Reichenbach. They will come here and lay the spirits to rest.”
“Speakin’ of . . . I need some rest of my own, only not so permanent,” Cody said. “Only—am I like to get called out there again?”
“Not tonight, and we’ll be gone in the morning,” Rosamund assured him. “It has been a long night for all of us,” she added, giving a pointed glance to Fox, who took her meaning—and Cody’s elbow—and led him off.
“I should reward my ‘army’ . . .” Giselle said, looking back in the direction of the graveyard. But there was no sign of her Elementals, and the night was silent once more.
But Rosamund shook her head, and motioned with her hand, suggesting that they both go to their wagons. “As you diminished those spirits, the Elementals took in their energy,” she said, as Giselle followed her. “Which in turn, was life-energy they stole from the Captain. They have been well rewarded, and by the same person they rescued, which is why they are not here begging from you.”
“Just as well. I t
hink that all I could manage right now would be poor fare for them.” Giselle mounted the steps into her vardo and paused. “What was in the coach gun? It was momentarily effective.”
“Blessed salt. It disperses spirits, at least temporarily. I had brought my crossbows because their wooden arrows are good against vampir, and I was not sure which we would encounter until I heard the music.” Rosamund reached for the door of her vardo to close it. “Good night to you, Giselle. You did very well in your first engagement.”
Giselle retreated into her own vardo, shutting and latching the door securely. Once again, she thought that she would likely not be able to sleep at all, but once again, she was mistaken. The next thing she knew, the sun was streaming in through the window above her bed, and the camp was awake.
And only then did it occur to her to wonder why Rosamund might have expected vampir in the ruins of a convent. . . .
The engagement at Reichenbach was a resounding success. When she wasn’t performing, practicing, or trying to master the card-splitting shot, Giselle studied the book that Rosamund had given her.
And at night, when it was too hard to study the tiny words on the densely packed pages, Giselle would pepper Rosamund with questions about the creatures she had encountered. Fox would often join them, listening without saying very much, and about half the time Cody would join the impromptu sessions as well.
“One thing I cain’t figger,” he said on the fifth evening of their two-week-long engagement, as they relaxed in the outer “room” of his tent. There was cider instead of the usual beer, which was always refreshing on a warm night, and the Captain’s clever canvas chairs were remarkably comfortable. “Why is’t that y’all cain’t allus tell when a critter is gonna be good or bad? I ain’t never run inta that back in America.”
“And how many Elemental creatures have you run into until now?” Rosamund asked, passing around some pastries she had picked up at a bakery in the town that morning. Kellermann was exceedingly pleased with Rosamund, who had contacts that got her the best quality supplies at the best price here in Reichenbach. Even the quality of the food in the mess tent had improved.
Light came from a couple of lamps hanging from the top of the tent. Cody scratched his head, his brows creasing. “Well,” he admitted. “Not many. Seems like most of ’em are either Injun spirit critters, and don’t have no truck with a white man, or they’re jest—” he gestured with his hands. “Big. Way, way bigger’n I’d wanta wrangle, even iffen I could, which I cain’t.”
“And you are likely to see or encounter only Fire creatures, and only those that wish you to see them,” Rosamund pointed out, as Giselle bit into a slice of apfelkuchen. “In a country where the population is sparse, and there are many opportunities to avoid men, and in which Elemental Magicians are few on the ground. Whereas here . . . well, we have thousands of years of history. Generation after generation of Elemental Magicians, from the earliest who were little more than shamans, to now. We have a dense population, and a great deal of human meddling with magic, for good or ill. We also have the remains of old gods, and the spirits that the pagans worshipped. It is a wonder that you went as long as you did here on this continent without encountering Elementals.”
“All right,” Cody said after a moment. “But y’all didn’t answer my question. How do y’all tell what’s good an what ain’t?”
“Ah. Sometimes they could be either. That’s because, of themselves, many Elementals are neither good nor evil. They just are. And left to themselves, they are indifferent to humans. But Elemental Magicians and Masters can and do command them, and those Magicians and Masters have put those they command to tasks both good and evil. As the tree is bent, so it grows,” Rosamund concluded. “An evil Master will make evil out of any neutral Elemental he can coerce.”
“And there are evil Elementals, too, of course,” Giselle pointed out, dusting the crumbs from her fingers. “Things that naturally just like to do harm, because they get some benefit from fear or killing. Things like, oh the Eiswurm, or the Nekke, or . . . well, lots of things. Rosamund gave me a book.”
Cody’s eyebrows rose, and he looked at her with a certain amount of accusation. “There’s a book? We’re trottin’ through the middle of this crazy territory, an’ there’s a book, an’ y’all didn’t give me a copy?”
“I only had one copy,” Rosamund replied, evenly. “And it’s a book that is supposed to be only in the hands of the Brotherhood.” She heaved an enormous sigh. “But I knew at some point you were going to find out about it, and I knew you were going to want one, so I took the precaution of getting some supplies yesterday in the town. I’ll make you a copy, and me a spare. It’s never a good thing, really, to have only one copy of something important.”
“Right, an’ that’ll take how—” He stopped at the amused expression on Rosamund’s face, and shook his head. “I ain’t never gonna get over how easy a Master kin jest do stuff—y’all are gonna make them copies with magic, ain’t ya?”
Rosamund smirked. Giselle giggled a little, but she also felt a little sorry for Cody Lee. Ever since Rosamund joined them, she’d been . . . not exactly acting superior, but never allowing him to forget which of them was the Master.
“Yes, I am. It is much faster than copying by hand, and unlike most such things, doing the copying by magic is also less effort than doing so by hand.” Rosamund spread her hands wide. “As you probably know, most times, it is far easier to just do something than it is to do it with magic.”
“But—the book—” Cody persisted.
“This book is something that the Brotherhood has been making and sharing for hundreds of years,” Rosamund said, “And it’s supposed to be only in the hands of a member of the Brotherhood because if the general public ever saw it . . . well, things could go badly.”
“I don’t follow.” Cody frowned. “I mean, it ain’t likely anybody’s gonna ask about magic, but—”
“It was not that long ago that the Brotherhood had to remain secret in order to keep from being burned as witches,” Rosamund pointed out. “Weren’t they still hanging witches in your country two hundred years ago?”
“Huh.” Cody scratched his head again.
“And these days, while that isn’t a problem anymore, we prefer not to frighten the folk we are supposed to be protecting.” She sucked on her lower lip, thoughtfully. “When you see the book, you will understand. And of course it is always possible that one day we will have to keep this book out of the hands of ordinary folk because anyone who reads it will think we are mad and try to lock us up. That is a problem that Elemental Magicians in the great cities have now.”
Cody’s cheek twitched a little. “Uh, ayah. I might could’ve run into that little problem myself, a time or two back home.”
“I’ll get the book,” Giselle offered. “You’re going to need it back to copy it anyway.” It wasn’t far to the vardos, and she knew where to put her hands on it in the dark. It was a very lovely night, warm and balmy, and the camp had settled into the cheerful sounds of people just about ready to look for their beds. She took her time sauntering back, in part because she hoped that the Captain’s temper would have cooled by the time she returned.
By the time she came back with the book in her hands, Cody’s feelings indeed seemed to have been soothed. She started to hand the book to Rosamund, but the Hunt Master shook her head. “Let him see it first,” she said. “He deserves it, after his interaction with the Vilis.”
“Actually, let me find their page!” Giselle replied. “I was just looking at it.”
She had left a stem of grass to mark the place, intending to ask Rosamund about them once there was time. She’d also left a stem of grass marking the vampir, but that was much earlier in the book. “Here,” she said, finding the page and opening it, before handing the book over to Captain Cody.
“Huh,” he said, looking from the book, to her, and
back again. “How come I kin read German now?”
It was Leading Fox who answered that. “Because that is what I asked for when my spirit birds and Giselle’s Elementals exchanged languages,” he told Cody. “And when I used my own magic to grant you Giselle’s language, I made certain it included both spoken and written.”
“Huh,” Cody said again. “I didn’ know you could read.”
But he said it with a sly expression, and Fox aimed a buffet at his ear, which he ducked. “One day,” Fox threatened, “You shall awaken without your scalp.”
Cody laughed, and turned his attention back to the book. “How come not all of these ghost-women are made out t’be as bad as the ones we run into?” he asked, his eyes still on the page, his fingers tracing the lines of a sketch illustrating the Vili.
“Most likely because the members of the Brotherhood that wrote those passages did not, for whatever reason, incur their wrath,” Rosamund responded. “Perhaps the Vili that the others encountered were sated. Perhaps they were not subjected to the terrible things the Sisters of Saint Magdalene inflicted on the poor young women in their care. I was not there, I do not know, and there could have been any one of a number of reasons. But it is generally wise to assume that a creature is at least as dangerous as the worst report in the book, and proceed from there.”
“Point,” said Cody, and continued to peruse the volume. Then his eyes got big. “Sweet Jesus!” he said, pointing at a page. “Y’all say them things is real?”
Both Rosamund and Giselle got up and stood on either side of him to see what he was pointing at. It was the page that Giselle had marked on the vampir. “Oh yes,” Rosamund said, matter-of-factly. “I killed one last year in Hungary.”
“Sweet Baby Jesus. I hope they never get to America,” Cody said fervently. “Read that thing ’bout Varney the Vampire as a kid an’ I didn’t sleep fer a week. . . .”
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