Red Rider Revolution

by Randall Allen Dunn

  “It’s – possible,” I allowed. Because the alternative was not possible. Unless the Lycanthru had far more dangerous powers than we imagined.

  The rear door of the house opened, and Monsieur Leóne backed out of it slowly, helping wheel the large cabinet down the back porch.

  “You both all right with that thing?” Touraine called from inside.

  “Fine, Gerard,” Monsieur Leóne answered. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Tell Helena I said goodnight,” Touraine said. “I need to get back to my ‘flock’ at the tavern, relieve Rubier.”

  “Of course, if I see her. No telling where she ran off to. Good night.”

  The door closed. Beyond Monsieur Leóne, we heard Father DuChard, handling the other end of the cabinet. “Frayne, is

  – everything all right with Helena?”

  Pierre pulled me aside to crouch behind the woodpile beside the shed. The cinched dress made it difficult to bend in any way, let alone squat, but I pressed my hands against the shed wall and managed.

  Monsieur Leóne grunted as he hoisted the cabinet’s wheeled cart across the stoop. “No, not at all. She hasn’t been all right since the attack, when she was a child.”

  “Well, that’s certainly understandable,” Father DuChard replied. “For a child like that to suffer so many losses. Her Grand’Mere. Her parents and her young sister. The scars on her face. That’s far more than any young girl should have to suffer.”

  “That’s no reason to bring the same trouble to everyone else,” Monsieur Leóne grumbled. “If you ask me, Helena is dangerous.”

  The night fell silent, save for the chirping of crickets and the soft whistle of a light breeze.

  Father DuChard chuckled as they drew closer, allowing us to hear them more clearly. “Oh, come now, Frayne. You don’t honestly believe she poses a threat to anyone, do you?”

  “Whatever those things are, she’s brought them to our doorstep,” Monsieur Leóne said as they hoisted the cabinet up onto the wagon. “Her obsession with hunting and challenging them has put our entire province in jeopardy. She’s more of a threat than you can imagine.”

  “You’re referring to the wolves? That she claimed were men?”

  “Exactly. I want no part of them, whatever they are.”

  “I’m more concerned for Helena herself,” Father DuChard continued. “This story of wolves, coming from an innocent girl.”

  Monsieur Leóne’s silhouette paused, facing Father DuChard. “So you don’t believe her,” he stated. “You’re the only one. My own son insists he saw men turn into wolves at the royal ball.”

  I lifted my neck above Pierre’s head. Father DuChard’s dark figure stood about twenty feet away, spreading out his hands before Monsieur Leóne, as if in apology. “I’m a man of faith, but not of superstition. I find it hard to believe a sixteen-year girl could fight off a band of men. Let alone men who supposedly became wolves. That sounds like the stuff of fairy tales.”

  Monsieur Leóne grunted in agreement, then fell silent. We kept still in the darkness beside the woodpile as I breathed slowly and evenly.

  “So what do you think happened?” he finally pressed.

  “That’s not for me to say,” Father DuChard answered. “Clearly, people were attacked, by wolves or some sort of rabid animals. And for a child like Helena, losing her father and mother, along with her little sister, in a matter of months – I certainly can’t blame her for wanting simple answers.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Father DuChard folded his hands. “When someone suffers a great loss, like Helena’s, it’s easy for their mind to play tricks on them. To make them believe they’ve seen, or even experienced something even more horrific than the truth, to make it easier to deal with the tragedy.”

  “I see,” Monsieur Leóne said, seeming to chew on the thought. “But everyone knows the Basques were killed by wolves.”

  “Wolves, perhaps. But why do people think they were once men?”

  “That’s what everyone says.”

  “But why? Who suggested that men could turn into wolves?”

  A longer silence. Longer and colder.

  “… Helena.”

  My nerves flared. Pierre started to rise but I seized his shoulder, pulling him back down.

  I felt the same urge to charge out and defend myself, but I held my ground. Not for the sake of wisdom or caution, but to learn what else they would say.

  “So you never saw these wolves yourself?” Father DuChard asked.

  “No, I never –.” Monsieur Leóne bit off the end of his sentence with clenched teeth. “I’ve never seen any of those wolves. Although several people reported witnessing them at the royal ball …”

  “Of course. But was there drinking at this ball?”

  I took note of the crickets chirping again, and a bullfrog croaking nearby. The wind picked up, chilling my exposed legs in the dress.

  “I’m sure there was,” Monsieur Leóne said quietly.

  “Perhaps wolves entered the ballroom. Such a frightening event might have thrown everyone into shock, like the events that traumatized Helena. And if any one person suggested that those wolves had once been men …” He spread his hands apart. “If we think about it rationally, why would men even turn themselves into animals? If they meant to kill people, why not simply shoot them?”

  Monsieur Leóne nodded. “I hadn’t considered that part before, but that’s quite true. The entire affair makes no sense.” He shook his head. “As I said. Helena’s become dangerous. She’s led the whole town astray and caused a panic.”

  “But it’s not her fault, Frayne,” Father DuChard said quickly. “She lost her entire family. Think of how you would feel.”

  “That’s hardly the point,” Monsieur Leóne said gruffly. “Of course I’m concerned for her well-being. But I don’t feel we should sacrifice the rest of the town for her delusions.”

  I pressed my back against the wall.

  Delusions.

  They just labeled me a madwoman.

  I felt myself breathing heavier. I had to get away, but I found myself paralyzed, afraid to move. How long would it take Monsieur Leóne and Father DuChard to turn the whole town against me? To believe I had imagined my entire war with the wolves to assuage my overwhelming grief.

  Not long at all.

  “We had best get back,” Monsieur Leóne said. “Lisette will wonder what happened to us.”

  “Of course,” Father DuChard said. “Thank you for explaining all of this to me. I’m sure Helena will recover, and be able to face the truth of what happened. She just needs our support and patience, and our prayers.”

  “I suppose,” Monsieur Leóne allowed, leading the way back into the house.

  I pushed away from the wall suddenly as Monsieur Leóne shut the door behind himself.

  “Red. Where are you going?”

  “Inside,” I said. “It’s time to rejoin the party.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” he said, hustling after me as I trotted toward the front of the house. He grabbed my arm and I turned. “Red. Don’t do anything rash. I know that – I know Papa is harsh, and he’s wrong. I don’t know why he’s thinking this. But if you go in there now and confront him or Father DuChard or anyone else … Please don’t do that. All right?”

  I released a slow, dark breath. “I’ll wait,” I said. “For now.”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  Everyone stared at us as we walked back inside. At me, specifically. They all appeared to be waiting, wondering what made me dash out. I looked from one anxious face to the next and cleared my throat. “I thought I saw something,” I said.

  One man’s eyes widened. “Something?” he asked in a high voice.

  “Someone,´ I clarified.

  The entire room seemed to sigh with relief. Then they all returned to their private conversations.

  We moved to the center of the room, unnoticed. A few people paused to force a smile, but none of them steppe
d toward me. As grateful as they were for what I had done, it didn’t make me a part of them. I was still an outsider with a scarred face, who appeared to go crazy a few months ago, dressing in trousers and hunting wolves at night. Not a girl who dressed well and enjoyed quiet conversations with everyday people.

  I stepped away with Pierre, in my exquisite dress. As if I had somewhere to walk. I retrieved my cup from the table and cradled it, sipping from it slowly as I glanced back at the window where Simonet had appeared.

  Soon those conversations would be about me again. About whether I saved anyone at all, or simply dreamed up the entire nightmare.

  “Red, we’ll figure this out,” Pierre said. “Maybe it was an animal or something.”

  No, it was him, I thought, as I stared at the nothingness outside.

  Madame Leóne approached us with a look of concern, as Pierre shut the front door. She took me by my shoulders. “Helena. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine,” I said, hearing a sudden harshness in my tone.

  “Are you sure, dear? Did something happen?”

  I could now appreciate Pierre’s advice. I wanted to tell his mother exactly what Monsieur Leóne had said about me. But why would she take my word over her husband’s? And even if she could, I was still too angry to sound rational. “I - I saw someone outside.”

  “Who, dear?” she asked.

  My mouth hung open in silence. Even Pierre struggled to believe me. How could anyone else believe I had seen Simonet?

  As I stood gaping like a stunned deer, Monsieur Leóne approached us from across the room. Seeing us standing like statues, he knit his brows. “What’s wrong, Lisette?” he asked.

  I returned my attention to Madame Leóne. “I’m not sure,” I said quickly. “Someone spying on the party. Or perhaps it was just an animal outside, a trick of the light. Probably nothing.”

  She stared into my eyes as Monsieur Leóne looked down his nose at me. “Are you sure you’re all right dear?” she asked. “You seem tense.”

  “I’m fine,” I said through clenched teeth. And I’m always tense, I thought.

  She said nothing as they both studied me.

  I turned to Pierre. “I’m going home,” I said, wondering as I said it where “home” would be tonight.

  Pierre looked wounded. “Are you sure? You can stay here for the night. We’ve got room.”

  “I know,” I said as I caught Monsieur Leóne’s questioning glare. We never told him that Pierre let me use the spare room above their shop a few months ago.

  Madame Leóne folded her hands. “Father DuChard is using our spare room, but you can sleep in our bed until everyone leaves, if you’re tired, and I can make up a place for you on the sofa if you like.”

  Monsieur Leóne turned his glare on her.

  “I think it’s best if I go,” I said.

  “Best for who?” Pierre asked, sounding confused and offended.

  I put a hand on his shoulder, ignoring his father’s stares. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He looked pained. “All right.”

  I took Madame Leóne’s hand. “Thank you for tonight, and thank you for the dress.” I turned to Monsieur Leóne, who continued to frown. “Thank you both,” I managed.

  I turned and moved quickly through the crowd, who barely noticed my presence. I doubted they would take much notice of my absence.

  I was out the front door and on the stoop in seconds. I wanted to leave before Pierre or Madame Leóne decided to stop me. I whistled for Crimson. He whinnied and snorted, then trotted toward me on the porch. I hiked up the blossoming dress and hurried to climb onto the saddle.

  My leg got caught in the skirt, as I tried to swing it over Crimson’s back. I bounced off the saddle and tumbled to the dirt. Crimson jerked toward me, staring. I pressed my palms to the ground and rose carefully. This time, I threw my belly onto the saddle, then slowly maneuvered my leg through the layers of fabric, inching my way across Crimson’s back. I pulled myself forward like a snake and sat in the saddle. The dress puffed up all around me, blocking my view.

  My foot searched and finally found the stirrup. Then I hoisted myself up to a brief standing position and stuffed the front of my dress onto the saddle and sat on it. The back of the dress fluffed up and slapped the back of my head.

  I sighed, kicked at Crimson, and rode off. I had nearly reached the woods before I realized I had left my other clothes in Madame Leóne’s bedroom. I would have to retrieve them tomorrow. Which might be less awkward than turning around to go back to their house now, or it might not.

  I was a moron.

  I hurried through the forest, wondering how much damage the wind and any scrapes with low branches would do to this beautiful dress. Thankfully, my house wasn’t far.

  My house. It seemed I had decided to go back home, where my parents raised me. A house of loneliness and dark memories. But my home, nevertheless.

  Fifteen minutes later, I broke through the clearing to find the familiar meadow, with its house and barn and carving table.

  And a coach with two people set in the front yard.

  I started, tugging on the reins. In the darkness, it looked like a married couple. As if the black ghosts of my parents had returned to visit and check up on me.

  I urged Crimson forward at a slow trot. The shadowy figures remained perched atop the carriage, not moving. As I drew closer, I heard the woman talking.

  “—sure this is the right house. She’ll have to come by sooner or later. Just be patient.”

  “Can I help you?” I asked.

  The man’s head whipped toward me. I yanked on Crimson’s reins as a reflex, preparing to fight. Then I relaxed.

  The woman beside him bent toward me, her voice anxious. “Are you the one?” she asked. “The one they call ‘The Red Rider’?”

  MY QUEST

  11.

  I gaped at the couple staring at me from atop their carriage, outside my parents’ home.

  Asking if I’m “The Red Rider”.

  “Yes,” I answered, feeling a strange chill inside as I squinted at them in the darkness. I never expected anyone but the Lycanthru to address me by that name.

  They both seemed to exhale together, as if they had been holding their breath the entire time they waited. The woman leaned farther forward. “I’m Liana Strineau. This is my husband, Rene.”

  I nodded to each of them. “Madame Strineau. Monsieur.”

  Her husband nodded back.

  Madame Strineau continued. “Our – Our daughter is missing. We think – We heard you fought the – those creatures. Here in La Rue Sauvage. We’re from DeSarte. Others say they’ve seen those things there. We’ve heard their howls at night, closer and closer, but never seen them. And then, two nights ago –.”

  She broke off, shaking her head and starting to cry, as Monsieur Strineau put an arm around her.

  I swallowed. “Why don’t you both come inside?”

  I extended an arm toward the rocking chair for Madame Strineau. Inviting her to sit where my mother used to sit, as if this was a normal house and we were having a normal conversation about the news of the day. News of this couple’s daughter being taken by gigantic wolves.

  “Thank you,” Madame Strineau said in a small voice. She lowered her head as her husband led her to the rocking chair. As though she might keel over in a faint without his support. I sat in the chair opposite her as Monsieur Strineau sat beside her. Seeing her in the new rocking chair, in her black velvet dress, she reminded me so much of my mother I had to clench my fingers to contain my emotions.

  “So,” I said. “Tell me what happened.” Madame Strineau opened her mouth to speak, then stopped with a slight shake of her head and stared into her lap.

  Monsieur Strineau cut in, taking hold of her hand. “We were at home, two nights ago. My wife was cleaning up pots and pans after dinner. I was having a smoke.”

  A chill ran through me. I pictured my own parents, performing the same nightl
y ritual after dinner. Calm and peaceful and alive. I cleared my throat. “Go on.”

  “Claudette was outside, playing with our cat. The sun had just gone down. We usually call her in before dark, but we got caught up talking and – and laughing.” He swallowed, shut his eyes, and continued. “We heard an odd noise. A high-pitched noise from the cat. Then Claudette screamed.”

  Madame Strineau gasped, then buried her face in her hands.

  “I ran outside. I couldn’t see well. It had grown too dark. I heard Claudette calling for me, but I couldn’t see her. I ran back inside to light a lantern and rushed back out.” He paused, his eyes glassing over.

  I waited, ordering my nerves to calm. “… What did you see?”

  “The cat,” he said. “Georgio. He was – in pieces. Bloody pieces. Spread across the front lawn.” He continued to stare, as if he could still see the mutilated animal.

  “And your daughter?”

  He blinked himself back to attention. “Her cries faded in the distance. I ran toward the woods after her, carrying the lantern. At the edge of the forest, I saw – I saw one of those creatures.”

  I leaned forward, blood surging through my temples. “Are you sure?”

  He gathered his breath. “It was a wolf. Larger than a normal wolf. And – it was standing on its hind legs with Claudette held in its paw. She screamed and cried. Calling me. And the wolf stood there, watching me, and – and it seemed like it was …”

  I knew the answer, but I had to hear it from him. “Like it was what?”

  “Smiling.”

  I kept my body still. I had to remain focused and alert, to keep from giving way to my emotions. To keep all my wits about me and remain prepared.

  Because the Lycanthru were still out there.

  “She could still be alive,” Madame Strineau said in a hollow voice. “Couldn’t she?”

  I wished I knew what to say. I could tell her how unlikely it would be for the wolves to keep fresh meat for two nights. I could tell her that whatever was now left of her daughter would be in more pieces than their pet cat. Or I could lie, telling her there was still hope, and let her discover the horror in due time. “I don’t know,” I said, choosing to lie.