Birthing Ella Bandita

by Montgomery Mahaffey

  “No, Papa. I went with him to the Abandoned Valley.”

  “Yes, you certainly did.”

  The girl looked sharply at him, her expression guarded. The Patron found no satisfaction in the change, his lips were as tight as always when he felt his temper rising. He remembered the reason he came searching for her and reached for the watercolors slung over his shoulder, unrolling them before handing the stack to her. Her cheeks paled as she flipped through the paintings, but otherwise she was impenetrable. When she met his gaze again, her eyes were empty.

  “Why were you going through my things?”

  He glanced at the image on top and his hand clenched into a fist. The Trainer’s features were contorted and heat flared in the Patron’s temples.

  “I don’t think that really matters,” he said.

  The girl didn’t answer right away, peering at him with one brow cocked.

  “I haven’t seen him in years, Papa. Are you now accusing him of seducing a child?”

  “That’s not seduction. That’s rape.”

  “You’ve lost your mind if you believe that.”

  “Then what do you have to say about these?”

  His daughter looked to the paintings in her grasp, the corners of her mouth twitching.

  “I would say these are fantasy,” she said. “The content of dreams.”

  She was mocking him. The Patron heard the scorn in her voice and saw it in her eyes glaring at him with the look of secrets. He breathed slowly, determined to keep his calm.

  “Do you take me for a fool?” he snapped. “What is your explanation?”

  “You must beg my pardon, Papa,” she said, “because I don’t have one.”

  Something exploded inside the Patron, grief and resentment locked in his heart for years catapulted through every fiber of his being. His will was no longer his own. Watercolors scattered across the ground when the Patron grabbed his daughter and shook her with all his might. A howl surged through him, desperate to give voice to an agony that was endless. But he wouldn’t let it out, couldn’t let it out. He could only shake this girl who had caused him nothing but anguish. Somehow, her plaintive cries pierced through his madness until he regained his senses enough to stop. But the Patron wouldn’t release the girl even as she trembled in his grip and heaved for air. He looked into her eyes and saw the same torment and rage that tore him apart.

  “Tell me, Papa,” she said, her voice raw. “How many times can a girl fall to her ruin?”

  He let her go as suddenly as he grabbed her. Again, he was ashamed when the girl stumbled backwards, wincing as she rubbed her arms. She would have bruises later. He didn’t know how hard he was shaking until his limbs buckled and he dropped to the ground. The Patron couldn’t remember the last time he felt so weary.

  “You’re right,” he said. “I haven’t done well by you.”

  The confession just slipped out. But the Patron was even more surprised by the relief. As those words escaped the prison of his soul, the Patron felt a burden lift from him he hadn’t known he carried. He looked at his daughter in time to see the fury dissipate from her eyes. The girl opened her mouth to speak, but the Patron interrupted before he lost courage.

  “I’m sorry.”

  The girl started and then froze. They remained fixed in place for a sliver of eternity until the Patron stood up and bowed. He felt foolish, taking formal leave of his daughter. But he couldn’t think of anything else to do, this unfamiliar sensation making him awkward. The girl didn’t move, staring up at him in astonishment and disbelief after he mounted his horse.

  “You should come back to the house,” he said, relieved he sounded calm. “I’ll send for the Doctor so he can look at that wound and dress it properly.”

  The girl shook her head, finally coming out of her stupor.

  “I don’t think that’s necessary,” she said. “Perhaps tomorrow.”

  Her voice was cautious, but she gave a slight smile.

  “As you wish. I’ll see you at supper then.”

  “Yes, Papa. You will.”

  He kicked and the stallion set off at a canter. Before he turned the bend in the river, he pulled in his reins and stopped. The Patron turned around to see his daughter still watching him. She hesitated for a moment and then waved, her expression almost shy. He returned the silent adieu before going on his way. But he felt lighter than he had in years. The house and the garden of lilies glowed in the light of the setting sun, inviting the Patron to come home.

  Chapter Four

  The Sorcerer jostled the remaining drops into a ruby swirl and shook his head. Perhaps he’d get another week out of the Trainer, but no more. He glanced at his collection of vials. He had nothing that could compare to this one. Most of the essences were yellow because the weak of will were easy to catch. Melancholic blues were too ascetic for the drive of lust. His black essence was a rutting brute, nothing seductive about him. Maybe one of the greens would be acceptable. They were the romantics, the poets, artists, and dreamers. He hadn’t another red because that kind of man was the most rare.

  He cursed himself. He should’ve introduced the essence of another man to his prot_g_e much sooner under the reasoning that the most skilled seductresses take on many lovers. Yet when the time came to transform, the Sorcerer always gave in to the lure of the Trainer’s red. In all these years, he’d never been so careless. He knew how perilous it was to take on the essence of another man. Whenever he transformed, that man’s identity would take over and he would absorb the memories and personality of one who left a piece of himself behind in a garment marked with his blood or sweat, and the Sorcerer would fall into the passive role of an observer. But he could feel again. It was always such a relief, even though sentiment could destroy him.

  And the Trainer was the most intoxicating essence he’d ever had. The first change he noticed was that, as he went around the boiling cauldron, he became delirious with a love for life. When he stepped out of the mist and saw the girl gaping at him in horrified disbelief, he almost laughed out loud. But she still couldn’t resist him. The Sorcerer hardly blamed her; he was every bit as seduced by the Trainer as she was.

  He used to watch them when they came to the valley seven years before. When he first heard the rumble of their horses, he thought another posse had gathered to hunt him down. This was a common occurrence after his conquests, and he had recently claimed the daughter of a neighboring patron. The Sorcerer smiled as he recalled how beautiful she had been with her fair hair and luminous skin. Yet she was utterly ridiculous, fancying herself in love with the essence he used to seduce her. The Sorcerer had chosen a green, a playwright of lyrical romances, because she dreamed of performing on stage. Although she was engaged, the maiden couldn’t resist the temptation to realize her fantasy, acting out one of the young man’s more scandalous plays to its climax when the leading lady surrendered to the call of the flesh. After the seduction had reached its consummation, the specter collapsed. When the maiden woke up to the reality of what she’d done, the Sorcerer claimed the payment of her heart.

  That conquest had left him in an irritation of malcontent that persisted for weeks. These girls were all alike, always seduced through their vanity. They were more than willing to disgrace their families and sell their hearts just to gratify a fleeting illusion. If he didn’t need them for his immortality, he wouldn’t bother with the little fools. So on the day he heard the resounding gallop of horses halt at the river before the Ancient Grove, the Sorcerer shook his head in disgust. With the spell he used to safeguard his Caverns, the humiliated fianc_ and dishonored father were absurd if they believed they could find him. Nonetheless, he poured the liquid cloud to watch them become lost in the trees.

  Then he cast his mind, surprised to see the Patron’s daughter. The girl had changed much since he last saw her. She wasn’t a woman yet, but she was no child either. He’d never seen her escort before. He was handsome, but the patches holding his pants together showed he was not her
equal. The Sorcerer found him interesting. The young man had to work for her father, but he lacked the downcast humility of servants. There was a devil-may-care gleam in his eyes, even when he shuddered and peered into the dark trees.

  “I see your point, little Miss. This place doesn’t feel too good.”

  “I told you,” she said. “Can we go now?”

  “Let’s head north a bit first. If it gets no better, I promise you we’ll leave. Okay?”

  The girl frowned, gazing in the direction he pointed where the trees stood half as tall as those before her. With long skirts flowing down the flank of her horse, she looked like the proper young lady she was born to be. It was incredible she was even here. The Abandoned Valley and Ancient Grove were forbidden and her father was known for being strict. There was fear in the girl’s eyes, but she still nodded her agreement.

  Her escort had sharp instincts. The northwest end of the Valley edged the woods of No Man’s Land, and the border separated them from the country to the west. The Sorcerer had no power there beyond second sight and the distance was enough to put the girl and the strange young man at ease. They stayed for the rest of the afternoon.

  The Sorcerer was intrigued with what he saw. The pair returned most days that summer, riding through his domain in haste to the northwest side of the Abandoned Valley where the light was softer, the trees shorter and the air filled with the music of birds. The Sorcerer watched over them every time they came. He learned the young man had been a wanderer who adventured in the most exotic reaches of the world, stowing away on a ship only to return to the country of his birth. Like all vagabonds when they finally came home, he was met with suspicion wherever he went until he convinced the Patron to hire him to train the gray colt he always rode.

  The girl had never interested him before with her homely face and sullen demeanor. But the Sorcerer changed his mind watching her blossom in the Trainer’s company. Each day, the adventurer regaled her with jokes and outrageous stories. With her solemn nature, she scowled at him often. But one day, she finally grinned and soon afterwards, started to smile. The girl burst into her first giggle towards the end of spring. She looked startled at the sound, hiding her mouth with her hands. By mid summer, she broke apart into peals of laughter, throwing her head back just like the Trainer did.

  The Sorcerer found her metamorphosis absolutely compelling. A girl finally learning about the spirit of play as her childhood came to an end. But it was her awakening to passion that the Sorcerer couldn’t resist. The longing in her eyes when she looked at the handsome Trainer was astonishing in one so young. He was certain the Trainer had to be aware of her feelings, but he treated the girl with the teasing affection of an older brother. The Sorcerer was mystified by such restraint, for that girl would make a most satisfying conquest. He would have given anything to have an essence in his collection that would tempt her.

  Then the day came when the Trainer lost his shirt. It was the hottest afternoon of the summer, the light wind making the heat worse. As the pair raced their mounts, the scorching air made a second skin of their clothes. Rough with nubs and irritating to the flesh, the Trainer scratched and pulled at the blouse glued to his trunk. He tore off the offensive garment and tucked it under the saddle flap, chuckling as the girl blushed and averted her eyes.

  “I’ll race you again to the other side!” he shouted. “And this time I’ll win!”

  The Trainer kicked the flanks of the colt before she could react and emerged the victor of that lap as promised. But he didn’t notice the smock coming free from the saddle and floating along the breeze before sinking into the long grass. He noticed it missing an hour later. But they were in a rush to get back to the manor. The Trainer donned another he had in his rucksack and left behind a shirt drenched in his sweat.

  The Sorcerer couldn’t believe his fortune. He waited until nightfall before he ventured beyond his domain to get the precious garment. He’d been tempted to boil it down many times over the years, but he resisted until he could finally claim the girl. The result could have been a catastrophe. He had never witnessed anything other than brotherly affection in the Trainer. If that were the true measure of his sentiment, the Sorcerer would feel no desire when he took on that essence. But his concerns were needless. When he stepped out of the mist to meet the girl grown into a woman, he saw her through the Trainer’s eyes. Through the Trainer’s flesh, he responded, yet also through his heart. When the girl burst into tears, the Sorcerer marveled at how natural it was to be tender with her.

  So the Trainer did have that feeling for the girl, even when she was young.

  His original intention had been to mold her into the perfect concubine, but the Sorcerer was surprised at the pleasure he took in mentoring her. The girl had the most intense focus he’d ever seen. And she was intelligent, with a gift for asking the right questions. The Sorcerer couldn’t resist such a pupil. As the months passed, he gave her far more knowledge than he meant to, going beyond the ancient texts on carnal arts. In the past few days, he struggled to find new lessons and realized he’d taught her everything he knew. But he couldn’t regret that decision. Once the years of civilized denial shed from her, unveiled was an animal magnetism that was unusual for women. Her features were as savage as ever, but the ugliness now suited the girl and made her presence devastating. When she strode into his Caverns with the strut of an outlaw, the Sorcerer was overwhelmed with pride for his creation. She was a masterpiece.

  Then there was their coupling. He never experienced anything quite like her. From the first night, she plunged into the realm of fantasy with an abandon that was breathtaking. And the pleasure that was already exquisite became indescribable when the girl showed initiative and nurtured her unique expression in the subtleties of physical love. This was the only time a seduction borne from illusion became passion that pulsed with a life of its own. The Sorcerer cherished this chance to forget who and what he was, succumbing to the allure of being a man taking possession of his woman, only to want her more after his craving was satisfied. No conquest ever had this effect on him.

  It was dangerous to don the essence of another man.

  The morning the Sorcerer saw how little was left of the ruby liquid, a melancholic stupor weighed on his limbs when he slid that vial back in the rack and chose a deep green. He would never feel that way again once the Trainer was used up. Yet the Sorcerer prepared his lesson with the object of introducing another lover, hoping he hadn’t waited too long.

  Then his prot_g_e was late. By the time he heard the near silent footfall on the stairs, he was nearly convinced she wasn’t coming. There was no relief to his unease when he saw her. The girl was different tonight. She was almost beautiful with her cheeks flushed and her eyes glimmering. And the Sorcerer sensed a current running through her, so strong the air around the girl was palpating. She was excited about something. But the cause of her excitement had nothing to do with him or the Trainer’s essence.

  But she settled into the sofa as always, and the Sorcerer pulled the tapestry. The subject was one he’d already taught about positions for the body that would pleasure the woman no matter the skill of her lover. He planned to segue in the middle and introduce the need for a seductress to know many men, but the girl noticed immediately. She folded her arms and frowned, tapping her foot until he was distracted from talking.

  “You spoke about this a couple of months ago,” she said. “Don’t you remember?”

  “Of course I do, but this lesson has another conclusion.”

  She cocked one brow and smirked.

  “I’m familiar with these positions as you know, so why don’t you conclude now?”

  Startled, the Sorcerer couldn’t think of anything to say. He felt awkward pulling the vial from his pocket, but disguised his uncertainty with flair, sweeping the essence to the torch where the vial glowed emerald in the light of fire. The richness of the color lent him a moment of optimism. Perhaps this would be another form of ardor.

&nb
sp; “This came from a man celebrated for his poetry when he was alive,” he said.

  The girl raised her brows, yet remained quiet.

  “He was tormented as I recall, but very passionate. He was also handsome and revered the feminine mystique. I think you’ll be pleased with him.”

  “Why should I be?”

  “I admit I should have mentioned this some time ago. But a seductress is wise to have many lovers.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “This is part of our agreement,” he countered. “You are more than ready to-”

  “You have nothing left to teach me, do you?”

  Her question caught him unawares. But she was right. So exhilarated he’d been with his gifted student, he’d lost sight of his plan, teaching her in six months what he meant to pass on over many years. The girl leaned back in the blood red velvet of the golden sofa, her wide mouth curved in a closed smile and the Sorcerer cursed himself a fool. She was perfectly still, but he could sense that restlessness, which hadn’t been in her the previous night.

  “Sorcerer,” she said. “Have I pleasured you more than any woman ever has?”

  “You have pleased me greatly as you promised,” he said. “But I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she said, without a hint of arrogance in her voice.

  The Sorcerer was impressed. This was the mark of true self-possession. A swell of pride rose up. His prot_g_e had mastered the soul of seduction, but he was loath to admit that.

  “Your disbelief isn’t enough,” he said. “You must prove that beyond any doubt and…”

  He extended the poet’s essence. In response, she waved the vial away.

  “Have you exhausted the Trainer?”

  “Not yet.”

  The Sorcerer went to his collection, lifting the vial with a few drops left. He turned and saw the girl standing behind him. She took the essence from him and held it to the nearest torch. Her sinewy neck curved as she looked up, tears glistening in her eyes at the scant ruby liquid, swirling all she had left of the Trainer.