First Light

by Michele Paige Holmes

  The animal continued to advance, and in the moonlit clearing I saw that it was no mere pig but a good-sized, wild boar. Coarse bristles stood out along its neck and shoulders; its legs looked thick and strong. Its snout was long and ugly, and bits of blood and flesh stuck between its teeth.

  My tongue felt thick against the roof of my mouth as I swallowed back panic. The pearls began to feel hot against my palm until it was all I could do not to open my hand and release them. Only the thought of Merry Anne’s disappointment allowed me to endure the painful burning sensation radiating through my hand and working its way up my arm.

  The thief felt it, too. His fingers tapped my shoulder then slid down my arm. “You know you want to give them to me,” he said in a soft, cajoling voice.

  I squeezed my fist tighter, and tears sprang to my eyes. To my right the giant outlaw approached, a club in his hand as he eyed the boar.

  “Hurry and get them baubles before it’s too late,” the lame thief said. “She’s taken my horse. I won’t be able to get away if that boar attacks.”

  “Not if— when,” the large outlaw said, smacking the club against his hand in anticipation.

  Between the two of them, I wondered who would win. Sheer size gave him the advantage, but… I looked at the boar again. Those teeth.

  They were seconds from tearing me apart. Instinct told me it was high time I did something, but I’d never encountered an animal that wasn’t friendly, and I wracked my brain for a way to defend myself.

  The pocked thief must have felt confident I was a good enough shield, for instead of running off— as his smelly accomplice was hobbling off— or searching for a weapon to defend himself with, he was still after the pearls. His hand closed over mine, and I brought my elbow back sharply, striking his ribs.

  “Oomf.” His exclamation was all the signal the boar needed to attack. It charged toward me.

  At the last second it made an abrupt turn, but not before a scream tore from my throat. The animal paused and for a split second looked up at me, its dark eyes rolling around in an exasperated sort of way as it trotted around to the back of the man holding me.

  It was he who yelled then, releasing me at the same time. I stumbled forward but could not help turning to see what was happening. The boar held the outlaw by the seat of his breeches, savagely shaking his head back and forth, those sharp teeth sunk deep into flesh.

  The large thief with the club approached the boar from behind.

  “Watch out,” I shouted, some time in the last few seconds having taken sides with the boar.

  At the sound of my voice its head snapped up in time to see the club and to swing the pocked outlaw around so that he took the brunt of his accomplice’s blow.

  I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped my throat. After being so scared, the scene before me was suddenly comical.

  The battle continued another minute until the pocked outlaw crawled off, weak and wounded. It was now between the boar and the man several times his size. They circled one another; then the boar raised its snout toward me and grunted— a warning?

  I turned a quick circle and saw the smelly thief approaching me on horseback. The pearls, all but forgotten the past few minutes, began to warm my hand again. I turned toward the direction of the road and ran.

  Hoofbeats pounded the ground behind me, but I dared not look back. Instead, I focused all my energies on running swift and sure, faster than I’d ever gone before. I felt the circlet of flowers fly from my head, and I had cause to be grateful my simple dress had long since grown too short and did not hinder my movements.

  A horse whinnied, followed by an awful crash, then someone making their way clumsily through the brush. But my own feet were light— running, jumping, nearly flying over the ground. My father had always told me that, “he who is in the right has extra advantage,” and I felt that now. The noises behind me grew fainter. With the help of a wild boar, I, a mere slip of a girl, was outrunning grown men.

  Soon I could hear them no more, but I ran on, vowing not to stop until I reached the carriage once again. Beneath my dress my heart beat loudly. I breathed through my mouth, gulping air, trying to satisfy my burning lungs. My legs ached, tired already from their earlier exertions, and a sheen of sweat broke out along my forehead, though the night had grown chilly. My fist clasped more tightly around the pearls, and I ran on.

  At last a thin ribbon of dirt appeared through the trees, marking the path the thieves and I had first taken when entering the forest. I rejoiced to see it and slowed my legs as my feet pounded the well-marked trail. It would not be long now. I could go on a little farther.

  Up ahead the trees began to thin, and every few minutes I spied a glimpse of the wide dirt road. A short while more and I burst from the grove, stepping into the moonlight illuminating two worn ruts, stretching in either direction as far as the eye could see.

  On this road, as far as my eye could see, there was no carriage.

  My initial reaction was to sink in a heap of frustration, pounding my fist on the ground as a single tear rolled down my dusty face. “No!”

  How could they have left me? Had Merry Anne not truly believed I would retrieve the pearls? What could have happened to make them abandon me?

  After a few minutes I moved past such despondent thoughts and immature behavior, and common sense started taking over, bandaging the hurt I felt at being left behind. I had so wanted to please someone, and though I had done all I could to succeed, still I had failed. Unless…

  Was it possible I’d left the forest in the wrong place?

  I wiped my face on my sleeve, then opened my fist and stared at the pearls— a charmed bracelet, the disfigured outlaw had called them— resting on my palm. They were cool now but seemed to glow even brighter than they had when in the thief’s hand. Again the thought came to me that if I wanted them, they could now well and truly be mine.

  Instead of tying them on my wrist, I quickly tucked them away in the bodice of my dress— both for safekeeping and so I might not be reminded of them constantly. I did not know how or where or when I would find Merry Anne, but I would not allow myself to consider doing anything with the pearls, other than returning them to her.

  Realizing I’d been sitting in plain sight on the road for some time, I stood and cast a wary look all around. The night was still and quiet— too quiet. Brushing the dust from my skirts, I took a few weary steps forward then reached out, steadying myself on a large boulder near the side of the road. I remembered the huge stone from earlier, having nearly backed into it in my haste to go after the thieves. Now it quashed my last hope that perhaps I hadn’t been left behind but had simply emerged from the wood at the wrong place.

  Merry Anne and the lovely carriage were gone. I’d known it in my heart the moment I spied the empty road. I realized it again as my hand brushed over something soft, lying atop the boulder. A lump formed in my throat as I held up the sweater I’d watched her knitting this morning. Clutching the garment to my chest, I worried over what might have happened to its creator.

  A sudden breeze swept up the barren road, swirling the dust at my feet and rustling my dress. Gooseflesh sprang up along my bare arms and the back of my neck. I no longer felt warm from my run and realized how cold the night had grown, though I sensed the chill was about more than the rapidly dropping temperature.

  I put one arm, then the other through the sleeves of the sweater and pulled it tight around me, feeling warm and comforted all at once. It was a perfect fit— more so than any of my hand-me-downs.

  Not completely abandoned, then.

  I remembered Merry Anne’s first question of me, asking if I fancied the sweater. I wondered why I hadn’t realized earlier that she was making it for me. A little more of my hurt melted away.

  Quickly I crossed the road and entered the forest on the other side. Keeping the path in sight, I struck out west, toward the moon sinking lower and lower in the sky. My walk was slow, my legs having given all they had for the t
ime being. But my senses were alert, listening to the sounds of night, straining to hear an approaching horse or footstep. I heard nothing, save for my own weary sigh, topped a hill and saw only more endless road. The moon had grown faint, and the first hint of dawn began coloring the sky behind me. My eyelids drooped; exhaustion was taking over. Moving deeper into the forest, I crawled behind a felled tree, curled up in a ball and went to sleep.

  It seemed I had barely closed my eyes when I awoke again. A shadow fell across my body, and two bright black eyes stared down at me intensely.

  Only one person I knew had beady black eyes like that. And the only time they ever looked at me intently— ever noticed me at all— was when he wanted something.

  “Go away, Samuel.” I said, shivering suddenly. Where are the covers? Samuel poked me.

  “Get your own breakfast,” I grumbled, wondering why my near-grown brother couldn’t fry an egg or make a bowl of porridge by himself.

  A second later, he grabbed my arm and tugged. Samuel had never been one to take no for an answer, and normally I wouldn’t trifle with him. But this morning I felt cross and cold and unusually tired. I sat up fast, flying at him with my free hand.

  “I am not your Samuel.” A tall youth caught my hand in midair before it could strike his face— a face entirely different than my brother’s. “And you’d best get up if it’s breakfast you’re thinking of. Ma is about to give the last of it to the dogs.”

  My mouth opened in a shocked gasp as I stared at him— hair as dark as midnight, trailing down to rest on the shoulders of his silken blouse. The blouse tapered down into a fine pair of knickers, a colorful woven belt holding them in place. Worn but polished boots, with pointed toes much too near my person, finished the ensemble. Half-mesmerized, half-terrified, I dared to look elsewhere and was shocked to find myself in the midst of a forest and surrounded by dozens of dark-haired, colorfully dressed people.

  Gypsies.

  I’d heard about them— how they roamed the forests, working their magic, cheating honest folk out of hard-earned wages. But why were they here? Where was here? Certainly not my room at home, as I’d thought a moment ago.

  I shifted positions to better see behind the young man standing in front of me. All around us people moved about the remnants of a campfire, chatting gaily and engaged in various tasks. Bright skirts swished around tanned, bare legs, and more pairs of booted feet stomped the dirt. Three different sets of fine bay horses were hitched to painted, wooden wagons. I noticed several other superior-looking ponies scattered around the edges of the camp.

  I hugged my arms across my chest, feeling the soft warmth of the pink sweater as I did. In an instant, memory returned, and the events from the previous night came to me in a rush.

  The pearls. Are they in danger of being stolen again?

  The young man I’d mistaken for Samuel squatted in front of me, his eyes at my level. “We’ll bring you no harm.”

  My face flushed with embarrassment that he’d so closely guessed my thoughts. “That’s good,” I choked out. I tried to think of a better response, but it seemed my voice had fled. I wished fervently I might have gone with it.

  He continued to stare at me well past the point of rudeness. Beginning to wake up in both body and courage, I stared back at his sharp, chiseled cheekbones, fine brow and tanned skin. A few, faint lines of amusement crinkled around his eyes. I supposed he couldn’t be much older than myself.

  “We don’t bite,” he said suddenly, having caught my gaze on his mouth.

  “Perhaps I do,” I said smartly, finding my voice at last.

  At this he threw back his head and laughed, then called over his shoulder, “She’s a live one Ma. Save what’s left of the meal.”

  Looking appreciatively at the chickens strutting about, I finished the last of the scrambled egg concoction the gypsies had shared with me. Rising from the log where I’d been sitting, I turned away from the camp, intending to wash my plate in the trickle of the near-dry creek I’d seen earlier during the few minutes’ privacy the gypsies had allowed me.

  Gemine, my gypsy companion, appeared at my side. “I’ll take that,” he said, removing the plate from my hand before I could protest. An older woman whisked it away from him, and Gemine held his arm out to me in a gallant gesture.

  “Your ride awaits, milady.” His head inclined toward a mare standing a few paces away.

  “Thank you, but I am quite capable of walking,” I said unconvincingly as my legs wobbled and threatened to buckle beneath me. Wobbly or not, I had no intention of doing anything other than walking along the road— alone— today.

  Earlier, as I’d eaten breakfast, I’d told Gemine and his mother how our carriage was overtaken by thieves while I was traveling to visit my sister in Tallinyne. How I’d escaped by running into the woods and hiding, and when I finally dared come out— well after dark— the carriage had been gone. Not entirely the truth, but I wasn’t about to tell them of Merry Anne and her bracelet or the fact that both my parents were dead and I a mostly unwanted orphan.

  The gypsies had been nice enough, but better they think there were people at both ends of my journey watching out for me.

  I’d been troubled to discover Gemine’s mother studying my hands as I shared this tale, and when her finger reached out, tracing one of my veins, I wondered if I’d convinced her at all. A good liar I’d never been, and I’d heard tales of the gypsy art of palm reading. Remembering Papa’s words about magic being all around us, I wondered if Gemine’s mother had any, including an ability to see the truth in one’s hand.

  “You won’t get very far walking.” Gemine dropped his arm as quickly as he’d raised it and left me standing there while he mounted his horse.

  I breathed an inward sigh of relief. Now they would leave. For the past several minutes, though I’d tried to stay out of the way and blend into the surrounding forest, I’d felt I was the center of attention. Even now three young children approached me, curiously touching the sweater and my tangled hair.

  The women stood, clustered together, sending furtive glances my way and discussing something among themselves. The men readied the animals and wagons to leave, but they, too, weren’t shy about looking me over. Considering I was used to being ignored, the experience left me completely unnerved.

  “Thank you for breakfast,” I called, taking an unsteady step toward the road. I felt several pairs of eyes on me as I sought in vain to make my legs cooperate. Holding my head high, I continued, placing one trembling foot in front of the other. I hadn’t noticed this problem upon arising and wondered why my legs should choose now, when all were watching, to exhibit whatever injury I’d caused them by running so long the previous night. I’d just reached the edge of camp when my knees buckled and I tumbled to the ground.

  Gemine was there in an instant. He leaned down from his horse, hand held out to me once more, as it had been in the early morning.

  I felt my face burning with embarrassment, and I was furious with myself— with my usually reliable legs— for failing me so miserably.

  “We’re going in the same direction, you know,” he said.

  I refused to look at him. “Thank you, but I prefer to travel alone.” Gritting my teeth, I rose with as much grace as possible, grasping a nearby sapling for support when again my legs began to tremble.

  “Why are you so stubborn?” he asked. “We don’t—”

  “Bite,” I finished crossly. “Yes. I know.” Lifting my face, I looked up at him, proud and sure on his fine pony. All around us the other gypsies sat on their horses and wagon seats— ready, save for me, to move on.

  Gemine smiled, and I was tempted to accept his offer. Still, I hesitated. I’d already broken the rules about never talking to strangers and never accepting food from them. And no harm had come to me thus far. Why should traveling with them— especially in the direction I wished to go— be any different? Yet…

  Gemine’s horse snorted and stamped. The gypsy mother who’d fed
me breakfast called something to Gemine in a language I could not understand.

  “Please,” he said. “It’s better if you come with us.”

  Feeling as if I really had no other choice— my legs apparently being in no condition to walk— I reached up to him, groaning as he half pulled me and I half climbed atop his horse.

  “That’s better,” he said, when I’d smoothed my dusty skirts and settled into sidesaddle position in front of him. His breath tickled my ear, and his arms came around me as he clucked to the horse and we set off along the road. We’d gone but a few steps when he reined the animal to a halt.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. But you don’t look like you belong with us. And if we should meet up with those same thieves… well, you’d want to blend in.” He bent over, plucking a flower from a wild Magnolia tree. Brushing back my long hair, he tucked the stem behind my ear. “Very pretty.” His gaze held mine.

  I tried but couldn’t hide the slow smile that formed on my lips. Though I was sure he’d meant the flower, it was still the first time I’d ever heard those words spoken in relation to anything on or about me. Hair the color of straw, eyes the color of mud. A pity Mama’s last child came so ugly. How oft I’d heard such sentiments from my older sisters. Yet now I felt myself blushing beneath Gemine’s compliments. His grin widened.

  A young woman about my age rode up to us. She removed a colorful shawl from her shoulders and tossed it to Gemine. He wrapped it around me, covering the pastel sweater.

  “That takes care of everything but your light hair. If we do meet up with someone, use the shawl to cover your head. And keep your face lowered. Those lovely hazel eyes would give you away as well.”