by Matt Gross
“Come in, come in, I'm not going to bite, I promise.” Her voice was inviting, clear and melodic. She smiled a crooked tooth smile.
It was in the light when Kira noticed the woman's face. Simply put, she was ugly, though Kira would never say it. Her nose was too big and her eyes too small. Warts and a large discolored birthmark marred her visage as well. Kira cleared the threshold and entered the wagon. The inside was much more lavish than the one she rode in. Pillows and silks surrounded her, with no furniture to speak of save a rocking chair in the far corner. The woman motioned for Kira to relax on the pillows in front of the chair.
The woman sat in her chair. “May I see your hands, child?”
A reading? I'm coming in here for a reading? Maybe I'll learn something.
Kira turned her hands palms up and displayed them in front of her. The gypsy woman firmly held both of Kira's hands and studied her palms. She then looked her straight in the eyes. They locked gazes for a long time. The gypsy looked back down to Kira's palms and then dropped her hands.
“You carry a lot of weight, child.” She sighed. “Much more than you can bear.”
“I'm lost. I'm trying to find my home, to get back to my family.” Tears started to well up. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands.
“I see that, too.” The woman rocked. She pulled out a small rolled cigarette and she lit it with nothing. It literally lit itself. The smoke from the cigarette smelled funny. Definitely not cigarette smoke, it gave off more of a sweet skunky smell. “But that is not what I'm talking about.”
Kira winced. What does she see? She felt exposed and she didn't like it. “I don't remember how or when I got lost. I have no memories of it, not even vague flashes.”
“What are you hiding from, child?” The old woman probed. “Something happened to you when you were young. What happened?”
She couldn't have seen that. No, I don't want to remember. “Please, I don't want to relive that,” she pleaded.
“You will never see your full potential if you do not. You must face that demon. You must own it. Tell me. You are safe here.” She gently rocked in her chair.
Kira started to feel euphoric. The smoke in the wagon was effecting her. She wasn't entirely sure if it was magic or just an herbal hallucinogen. “When I was a girl of sixteen I had a friend. It was a slave boy of the same age. We would secretly play out of sight of my mother and sisters, or so I thought.” Tears began to flow and Kira didn't bother to wipe them. “We drew close, as close as kids could get. I truly believe I loved him and him me.” She sniffled. “I would spend every spare minute of free time I had with him. He was my best friend. We would talk for hours. I felt most happy when I was with him. I didn't care that he was a slave and he didn't care that I was the Crone's daughter.” She looked up at the old gypsy through wells of tears. “We made plans to escape together, because we knew that what we had was forbidden. Men were tools, they weren't lovers. My tribe would never condone what we had. We would never be accepted. We had to run away; it was our only hope.”
She paused to choke down the lump that was forming in her throat. It was difficult to talk. She drew her knees to her chest and sat in a fetal position. She started to rock slightly.
“The night we planned our escape everything seemed to go smoothly. Looking back on it now I would say it went too smooth, but I was young and in love, blind to everything but him.” She paused to wipe away some snot that ran from her nose. “There was a path in the back woods that I was sure I was the only one who knew about. We were supposed to meet there. Only when I got there...”
There was a long silence. The old lady just smoked her short cigarette and waited patiently. Kira looked at her, not wanting to go on. Her stomach was in knots, her muscles tense, and her heart raced.
“He was there...but so was my sister Brianna and the Crone, my mother.” She let out a whimper, trying to hold back an all-out wail. “His hands were tied behind his back and he was on his knees. Brianna held a dagger. They both glared at me. As soon as Brianna saw me she hit him in the back of the neck hard. I could hear him cry out from the pain. I was in a panic. My mind raced, trying to find some way out of it. But there wasn't any and they knew it.”
The memory hurt and it took every ounce of her will not to completely break down. She grabbed a pillow and hugged it tightly, rocking all the while. “The Crone beckoned me forth. I had to obey. Part of me said to run, but the part that was in love insisted I stay. I approached her. She was the leader of the tribe, so to disobey could be fatal, daughter or not. I stood a few feet from her. She looked at me, her face completely neutral. She held her hand out to Brianna who handed her the dagger, and then she handed it to me. I hesitated, which awarded me a sharp smack across my face. I knew that was nothing compared to what would happen if I didn't take the knife.”
The old woman offered Kira a glass of water that suddenly appeared in her hand. Kira didn't inquire, but took it and drank. “The Crone looked at me as I held the dagger and asked, 'Who is this boy to you?' I knew I couldn't lie; she would see right through it. She knew everything. 'I love him,' I said. She slapped me hard. I fell and hit the ground. Brianna laughed. She asked again, 'Who is this boy to you?' I was weak. I should've stood up to her, but...I didn't. I told her, 'He's a slave.' I stood up and she smiled. 'Good,' she said. 'And what do we do to runaway slaves?' I pleaded with her, but she hit me again, harder. I remember tasting blood. Brianna giggled. 'Don't make me ask again, Kira'Tal. The punishment for your disobedience could result in the forfeiture of your life, despite being my daughter,' she warned. 'We kill them, zero tolerance.' I replied.” She took another drink. The tears still flowed and it was difficult to swallow.
“Brianna was ecstatic and the Crone was stoic. 'Good,' the Crone said, 'we caught him trying to escape and you will carry out the sentence.'” Kira was crying uncontrollably. “No, no more please.”
The old gypsy woman just rocked. “What was his name, Kira'Tal?”
“Wh...what?”
“His name. What was his name?” she repeated.
“No.”
“His name, child. What was his name?” Her voice was calm.
“NO!” she yelled. “Enough! I've had enough.” She stood up and threw the glass of water and it shattered against the far wall. She wailed.
“Face your demons, Kira'Tal. What was his name?” she persisted.
She turned to face the old woman. Her face red and wet with tears. “They made me kill Quinn. I had no choice. They made me. I killed him. I killed my only friend. I killed my love. Fuck! Are you happy? And my sister laughed the whole time. I slit his throat. His blood ran and covered me as I held him. I watched him die. I saw the look of betrayal in his eyes. I killed him. He did nothing wrong and I murdered him.”
Chapter 15 The Gift
The silk was smooth and the pillows made her feel as if she were sleeping suspended in mid-air. Kira had cried herself to sleep. She was surprised about the total recall. Whatever the old gypsy was smoking had filled the entirety of the wagon. It must have induced a trance. The emotions were real. She felt as though she was there all over again. Oh, how she had hated her mother and sister after that. She never truly forgave them, but she did bury the incident or she would have never been able to live with them.
Shit! Khayin. No wonder I treated him like dirt. The feelings I once felt for Quinn, I...
Nope, she wasn't going to finish that thought. Too fresh. She stretched. She smelled...bacon. Kira slowly opened her eyes. The old woman sat in her rocker, hand sewing a scarf made of a dark red silk. Kira noticed that the color closely matched her hair. How long was I out?
“You slept through the night, child,” the gypsy answered.
Did she hear my thoughts?
“Shh...Don’t tell anyone. They believe me a feeble old lady.” She chuckled. “Come, eat. I have food for you. You slept through breakfast.”
Kira crept over to a short table next to the stack of pillows where she
lay. There was fresh fruit, bacon, eggs, and grilled buttered bread. She grabbed the tall glass of squeezed orange juice first, then started in on the bacon. There was silence while she ate.
When she finished Kira looked at the old woman who was still sewing charms and lace onto the red scarf. “May I ask your name?”
“Yes you may. Which one would you like, child?” the gypsy responded, never looking up from her work.
“You have more than one?”
“Oh yes, I have gone by many. Some I have been given and some I have taken, much like that dragon your sisters are so fond of.” She rocked a steady rhythm.
That threw her. What does she know? How much does she know?
“I know very little, I am afraid. Of your sisters and your culture, I mean. That dragon on the other hand. I know her very well, but that is not a story for me to tell.” Her rocking stopped for a brief moment as if she needed all her concentration for something, then she started again like she had never stopped. “I have gone by Baba, or Jezibaba. Some have called me Gorska, Gvozdenzuba, or Holda, but the caravan calls me Muma, I think that would suffice.”
“Muma Padurii,” Kira whispered. “I've heard...stories.”
“If we were being formal, yes, but please, do not get caught up in names, child. You have some things to work through. You need to decide who you are.” Kira looked at Muma and their gazes locked. “Are you going to be that sixteen-year-old girl who followed her heart, or are you going to be the girl that slit her first love's throat? Whose life are you to live?”
Kira looked away. She almost felt embarrassed. This woman knew her too well. She had so many questions, but somehow she knew the only reason they spoke so openly was that Muma meant to help guide her.
“I thank you, Muma Padurii,” Kira said with a deep bow while kneeling.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, child. Get up.” She started to rock more feverously. “I am just an old gypsy.”
Kira straightened and stood up. She still wore the same clothes she had the night before. She turned to clean up her breakfast, only to find that it was no longer there. Her gaze fell on Muma. The old woman held out the scarf to her.
“For you.” Kira showed a look of surprise. “Now do not be so surprised. You knew I would give this to you when you noticed its color.” Kira bowed once again. “Get. You are embarrassing yourself.”
****
Khayin helped the gypsies pack up. The sun peeked out over the horizon when everything and everyone was ready to leave. The plan was for the caravan to head to Panama without stopping. They were only a few days out and the gypsies had a performance scheduled in the city at the end of the week. Khayin didn't argue. He wasn't entirely sure what bug had crawled up Kira's ass, but he was looking forward to dropping her off. All his hopes rested on Tippy. Too bad, I was really beginning to like her.
He saw Kira leave the old gypsy Muma's wagon. He had asked around. From the stories he had gathered about the old woman, it hadn’t taken long for him to figure out who she was. With her traveling with the gypsies it was no wonder how they had survived their travels unscathed. He just hoped Muma was in one of her better moods.
Kira seemed fine and she even nodded when she spotted him. He nodded back. Kira walked to a group of women, helped with whatever they needed and then entered their wagon, but not before looking back to catch Khayin's gaze again. Something happened in there.
The way was long and the roads were uneven and rocky at their best. Khayin would sometimes ride shotgun with Fonso, though Khayin kept calling it 'Wookiee' and not 'Shotgun,' and no one knew what he was talking about. This was also about the time that Khayin's falcon, Millennium, returned. Khayin could sense that Millennium liked it when he teleported on occasion; it gave the bird of prey freedom to hunt and play when he wanted.
After greeting Khayin, Millennium flew over to the wagon Kira was in and rested on top. The rest of the trip remained as peaceful as it could be. The caravan pulled into Panama just before dusk on the fifth day after Khayin and Kira had joined them. The gypsies stopped and Khayin and Kira bid their farewells. They were given more food than they could've possibly eaten and more wine than...well, Khayin didn't mind the wine. Then the pair set off to find lodging for the night. They would search for Tippy in the morning.
The city was about as mag-technologically advanced as Mexico City, which was to say not much at all. There were some buildings with magical energy lighting them up, but for the most part it was old school third world. That didn't mean the city was dead. On the contrary, it was quite alive. The city was a shipping port and it was the central hub for imports and exports for all the surrounding cities and towns.
The wizards that operated here were mainly Spellcasters and Artificers. There was only one Tech Wizard here and he kept most of his magic to himself. The Spellcasters were used on the ships, to help protect against pirates, though their services were very expensive. Ship battles with wizards tended to last a very long time. They would cast incantations to protect the hull from cannonball fire and spells. The ships would just lob cannonballs back and forth until they ran out of cannonballs or wizards ran out of spells. And Artificers, well who doesn't like magical weapons and items?
Khayin and Kira found a hotel near the center of the city. Hotel Panama--the hotel never changed the name. They checked their horses in a nearby stable that once was a parking structure and they entered the hotel. They were greeted by a bellhop who was more than eager to get their bags. Together with the bellhop they went to the counter to get a room.
“We'd like a couple of rooms,” Khayin explained.
The clerk, a young man wearing a vest over a tailored shirt checked the registry and looked up with a frown. The frown did his face no favors. His face was full of pock marks and other blemishes. “I'm sorry, sir, we only have one room available. With the gypsy caravan in town we are all booked. The room has double beds.” He said the last part with a smile.
Khayin looked at Kira thoughtfully. She gazed back and gave him a nod and shrug. “We'll take it.” Khayin reached for his pouch of chips.
“How many nights will you be staying with us, sir?”
“How long are the gypsies in town?” Khayin asked.
“Through the weekend, sir.” He said through a toothy grin.
“I'll pay through the weekend then.” He opened his pouch. “If we need more time, how much notice do you need for me to extend it?”
“Well, considering most of our guests are leaving when the caravan does and we don't have very many bookings after, you can let us know as late as Saturday evening.”
“Can you write that down in your book, just in case you aren't the one at the desk?” Khayin winked at him.
“Why certainly, sir.” The clerk made a notation in the registry. “That will be one-hundred fifty chips.”
Khayin raised an eyebrow, but didn't argue. He counted out the chips and handed them to the clerk. He closed the pouch and tied it to his belt. He looked at Kira and rolled his eyes. She grinned. The clerk finished writing in his book and he turned around and grabbed the room key.
“Here you are, sir. Room 1138,” he said with a big smile.
“Are you shittin' me?” Khayin was half surprised and half amused.
“Something wrong, sir?” The clerk looked concerned.
“No, no, nothing wrong. Thanks.” Khayin took the key and walked away shaking his head in amusement.
Kira looked at Khayin. “Something wrong with the room?”
“No, it's nothing.” Just another movie reference you wouldn't understand.
The room was clean. That was all Khayin really cared about, that and beds. He lit a couple of lamps and plopped down on the sofa. He let his head fall back to rest on the back of the couch. Kira dropped her bags at the foot of one of the beds and took a seat in a cushioned chair across from Khayin. He needed to talk to her and he hoped she was ready to listen.
“Kira.” He kept looking at the ceiling. He thought by using h
er actual name and not one of his nicknames for her, she would know he was serious. “I'm assuming you are going through some shit and I'm not going to pretend what that may be.” He sighed, and Kira remained quiet. “Look, you're almost home, so this may be a moot point. You're a bad-ass. You don't take no shit, you can hold your own in a fight, and you aren't afraid to stand up for yourself. I've got a lot of respect for you.”
“Khayin...”
“No, let me finish. I've got no idea what happened three weeks ago and frankly a part of me is going to say good riddance when we find your home.” He lowered his gaze to meet hers. “But for some real annoying reason I've no clue on, I can't leave our relationship like this. I don't have many 'friends'. I just act like I do. I've got my own personal demons and I tend to push people away and only a few very persistent individuals have stuck around long enough to actually befriend me, but more importantly, me to them. You've worked your way in a hella lot faster than anyone, and that is saying somethin'.”
Khayin waited till her eyes fell on him and they locked gazes. “Here's the deal. Tell me to fuck off--I won't ask why--and I'll still get you home. Or...” He paused, studying her a bit. His heart fluttered and his skin felt tingly. “There's a saying 'shit or get off the pot'.” He smiled and he hoped he didn't offend her.
“Khayin.” She waited a long moment and exhaled audibly. “Thank you.” He could tell that that wasn't easy for her to say. “Muma made me face my past and she made me realize I have a choice to make. I'm not ready to tell you what happened in her wagon, but,” she breathed in deep and exhaled. “Look, that night, it...what we did, it...it meant more to me than I expected. Feelings I haven't felt for a...I freaked out. It wasn't your fault. I'm sorry.” He looked deep into her pale blue eyes. “I don't know what will happen if or when we find my home. I still don't know why I ended up with that Mexican bounty hunter to begin with. For all I know I was exiled.” She bit her lower lip. “You have been more than kind to me, and after all the shit we've been through I hope I can call you a friend.”