“Stop,” Romy cried out. “The spell isn’t completely cast. Once the nightshade plant is stable, I will tell you what to do.”
“Romy, I don’t understand.” Frieda’s wide eyes shifted from Romy’s face to the plant and back again. “I thought you were part of the forest folk. How are you performing this magic?”
The knot in Romy’s stomach squeezed impossibly tight. “I am a forest folk. I don’t know how or why I can do this. But you can’t tell anyone, Frieda.”
“Romy, I promise you. I will not tell anyone. But I don’t see how you growing plants is going to help me.”
“This plant is called Borrachero. Just one dose causes the person to do whatever you say—like a small child. People have done some really terrible things with this plant. It makes the victim do whatever you want without them remembering anything about it when they awaken. The effects last about twelve hours, and when the person awakes, they feel like they have drunk too much to night before.”
“What if I get it on me?” Frieda asked, leaning back.
“I will show you how to get the drug, it’s inside the seeds. It shouldn’t affect you if you only touch it briefly. It’s taken in food or drink—completely odorless and tasteless. But Frieda, if you give them too much they will die.”
“Die!” This time Frieda did take a step back and then another. “What if I make a mistake?”
“You won’t,” Romy replied with more confidence that she really felt.
The girls worked on deriving the seeds from the bloom and then cutting them open and getting the white powder.
“This plant is magical, Frieda, I have made it strong enough that if you blow it in his face, he will do whatever you tell him to. I want you to tell him that he doesn’t want to drink anymore. Tell him that he is the same kind father from when you were small and tell him that he would never hurt you. The last thing I want you to tell him is that he needs to get some rest so that he can better take care of you. We don’t want anyone else getting to him and making him do something terrible. Promise me you will be careful.”
Frieda nodded, “I promise.”
The girls went out of the cottage and down the trail leading toward town. There weren’t even halfway there before they heard him stumbling into the brush, screaming Frieda’s name.
“Are you ready?” Romy asked.
Frieda turned to Romy. Her eyes filled with fear. “I can’t do this.”
“Then we need to hide,” Romy replied, looking around for a place to slip into.
“There you are!” Her father broke through the brush and snatched Frieda’s arm cruelly.
From the way she winced, Romy knew there were bruises that hadn’t quite healed.
His cruel words dripping off his tongue like venom. Romy wanted to step in, she hated this man more than anyone else in the world.
Before he could say or do anything else, Frieda blew the white dust into her father’s face. Immediately his angry face grew softened. His tight grasp loosened and eventually his arms hung to his side.
The three of them stood in an awkward silence.
“Frieda,” Romy prodded.
“Right, um, you are not going to hurt me anymore.”
He nodded, and so it went. On and on Frieda repeated everything that Romy said. When her father turned and walked back down the path, Frieda turned to Romy and enveloped her in a tight embrace.
“You are my best friend, Romy. I promise that I will never reveal your secret.”
Romy hugged her tighter. “You are my best friend. Frieda, I promise to always be your friend. I want you to remember. You can’t use this magic on anyone else. The wrong person could do terrible things with it. Also, please remember that magic can’t be used on someone who has magic.”
When they broke apart, Frieda bravely held out her hand for her father to take so that she could lead him home. Without question, the man slipped his hand into Frieda’s. As she walked away, Frieda called back to Romy, “I’ll never forget this Romy—never.”
Romy only hoped that she hadn’t made the wrong decision.
Chapter 4
Chapter 5-
“This is where you have been running off to?”
Frieda and Romy looked over to see Leon, from the village, had followed them into the woods.
The look of disgust on his face spoke volumes. “You know that she is retarded?”
“That is a foul word, Leon,” Frieda replied, eyes flashing. “I hadn’t taken you for a bully.”
Romy choked on plain air.
Leon snorted. “See?”
Romy raised her chin, clearing her throat she said, “I don’t see how it’s any of your business what Frieda does.”
Leon’s jaw tightened.
It was obvious to Romy that the boy had a crush on Frieda. What he hadn’t known was that Frieda had become Romy’s champion. Romy could see the indecision on Leon’s face. It was more than obvious that Leon wanted to spout something nasty toward Romy.
But his desire to impress the lovely Frieda won the day.
“I didn’t mean any harm by it.”
Romy nearly choked again.
Frieda eyed him warily. While Romy hadn’t named any of the children in town specifically has her tormentors. It was plain to see that Leon had been one to call her names.
“Romy is my friend, Leon.”
Leon looked from Frieda to Romy and then back again before saying, “Maybe she could be my friend too.”
Romy’s jaw dropped to somewhere around her knees.
Frieda laughed at her expression. “Well, Romy, what do you say?”
Romy knew that Frieda had a kind heart, after all she had befriended her. The last thing Romy wanted was to be friends with the likes of Leon. But if she said no, would Frieda wash her hands of her?
“I suppose we could give it a try,” Romy said slowly.
Leon beamed. “Fantastic. Frieda, I just got some new coloring pencils, would you like to see them?”
Frieda’s face brightened. “Oh! I love to draw! Can we Romy?”
Romy’s stomach twisted with anxiety.
Leon turned to look at Romy with eyes that were pleading. She could have almost believed him if she hadn’t had seen the traitorous smirk threatening to emerge.
His words mimicked Frieda’s. “Yeah Romy, can we?”
Romy nodded her assent. The weight of her decision causing her shoulders to slump.
“Come along!” Leon yelled as he started to run toward the village, laughter trailing behind him.
Frieda was close on his heels, her lighter giggles wearing for the first time on Romy’s soul. She followed them at a slower pace, forcing her feet to take the steps one in front of the other. Every inch closer to where she had been ridiculed and humiliated.
A kernel of anger sparked in her heart. Why did Leon have to come around and take away her only friend? Why did Frieda have to be so pretty as to catch his eye? But the most telling of questions was what happened to be floating around her head.
Why had God made her so ugly and stupid? Why couldn’t she just be like the other children?
“Romy! Come on!” Frieda called to her from further up the path.
Romy pasted a smile that was a phony as Papa’s wooden teeth. “I am right behind you.”
It wasn’t lost on Romy that Leon hadn’t taken the time to stop, nor that Frieda hadn’t come back to walk beside her. Immediately she felt guilty for such thoughts. Frieda was a good friend—her only friend. It was selfish and childish to assume that she would only want to be friends with Romy.
At the edge of town Romy could hear the sounds of the city. The clip clop of the horse’s hooves as they pounded the cobblestones. The peddlers trying to entice the city dwellers to part with their coins. None of these sounds bothered Romy. It was the children’s voices that had her feeling faint.
But what was far worse, was when she approached and they all stopped. Wide eyed stared met her gaze and for the briefest of momen
ts she considered turning and running back home.
Frieda, who had been laughing at something Leon had said, must have noticed the silence. She turned to see what was happening and saw that Romy had arrived.
“Romy! Come and hear this joke that Leon just told me.”
Romy wanted to walk over to Frieda, if only for the support she might give. But it was as if her feet had been glued by the other children’s stare.
“Romy?” Frieda’s smile fell and she walked over to where Romy stood frozen to the earth. Under her breath she whispered, “Are you alright?”
Romy nodded jerkily. After all, what else could she do?
“Are you coming?” Leon asked with more than a hint of annoyance.
He looked at Romy above Frieda’s head and his eyes narrowed as his lips thinned. The other children watched his response and the way that Romy’s already pale cheeks turned ashen.
“I can’t do this,” Romy whispered to Frieda.
Frieda snatched Romy’s hand into her own. “You can with me. I am telling you. Things aren’t as bad as you make them out to be in your head. Come along, I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”
Romy wished to tell Frieda that things were already bad. She could feel the dislike coming from the others. It clung to her like hot sticky tar, coating her with every look, arched brow, and whispered word.
“You can do this,” Frieda murmured again, slipping her hand into Romy’s own.
Romy took a step and then another. Much to her surprise there wasn’t any outward hostility from the children. Nobody threw rotten fruit, nor did they call her foul names. But they weren’t accepting her either. It was clear in their every movement that Romy wasn’t welcome. She knew it, they knew it, so why couldn’t Frieda see it—or could she?
When they arrived at Leon’s home, Romy’s eyes nearly popped as she took in the large front porch. Her eyes traveled up and up again as she followed the scrolling trellises and gabled arches. It was something of a fairy tale home.
Frieda pointed to a house across the street. While not as large as Leon’s it was handsomely appointed and neatly kept.
“That’s my house,” she said with pride.
Romy gaped. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but it wasn’t the mansions that were before her. The cottage that Romy lived in with Papa suddenly seemed very small. They had two bedrooms and a cozy loft. These grand homes had to have twenty-five or more.
“Well,” Leon interrupted her thoughts. “My father said that he would purchase me some pastels. They are several different kinds you know.”
“Really?” Frieda’s face exploded with wonder. “Which one will he be bringing you?”
Leon shrugged, puffing his thin chest out a little further. “Oh, I would imagine that he would buy them all.”
Frieda eyed the colored pencils in Leon’s hands longingly. “It must be nice to have new art supplies any time you want them.”
Leon feigned humility. “You know, Frieda, you are welcome to come and borrow them any time you like.”
“I can?” she asked with delight.
Those two words felt like daggers ripping into Romy’s soul. If Frieda came here instead of to the forest, Romy would be all alone again. Only it would be worse than before, because then she had only longed for a friend. But now that she knew what it was like not to be lonely, the cut would be twice as deep.
It suddenly became too much for Romy. Hurriedly she said, “I have to go, Frieda. I just remembered something I must do.”
Frieda, caught up in the bright pencils that Leon had placed into her hands, nodded absently. “I’ll see you later.”
Somehow, Romy doubted that very much.
Chapter 5
Chapter 6-
“You’re not trying,” Frieda admonished Romy as she managed to mangle another curtsy.
Frieda sank into what had to be the most beautiful curtsy in the world. Her nose nearly touched the ground before she rose back to full height. The motion as fluid as a dance.
Romy groaned. “Why do I need to learn to curtsy? It’s not like I am going to any dances any time soon. Nor is it likely that a handsome prince is going to sweep the forest for a hobbit like me.”
Frieda’s eyes narrowed dangerously. She didn’t like when Romy spoke badly about herself. Hands on her hips Frieda replied, “I see a perfectly normal girl who walks around with a gigantic chip on her shoulder. I wonder sometimes if that is what causes your limp. It’s got to be maddening trying to keep it perched there all the time!”
“Argh! What do you know, Miss Fancy Britches!” Romy grumbled. “This is pointless. I doubt you have ever had anyone accuse you of being ugly, or stupid. I know you mean well, but you don’t know what it’s like. Every movement you make is flawless. Listen, there is no point in trying to turn me into something I am not.”
“You are far too hard on yourself, Romy,” Frieda countered.
But Romy knew in her heart that what she was saying was true. “I will never have a suitor, nor will I ever attend a ball. No, don’t make that face. I know you think I am feeling sorry for myself. Frieda, I know what I am.”
“You know what others have told you to be. I don’t think you have any idea who the real Romy is.”
Romy sighed, moving to sit upon a fallen log. Frieda sat beside her. For a while nobody spoke, they listened to the forest sounds around them. Romy had always found comfort in the forest. It had meant safety to her. It had meant Papa was near. This was where she belonged.
“I had better get back to helping Papa with the gardens.”
Frieda shook her head. “Your Papa said that he had it covered. Romy, I can’t pretend that I know what it is like to live in your shoes.”
Romy nodded, thankful that Frieda finally understood.
However, Frieda was far from finished. “As for you never having a suitor, well, we have plenty of years to worry about such things. But any young man would be blessed to have someone as loyal and kind as you are. Maybe they can’t see it, but I do. I don’t like you saying mean things about someone I love.”
Romy lifted her head. “You love me?”
Frieda laughed. “Yes, Dummy! Why else have I come out to the woods day after day to play with you?”
Romy’s thick brows drew together. “I thought you were hiding from your father.”
“I can’t tell you how much you have changed my life. My father wasn’t always like that. It was as if he became a different person once he started drinking. I hardly ever have to give him the medicine now. I do love that you helped me, Romy. But that isn’t why I love you as my friend.”
“I guess I didn’t think of that,” Romy replied. “Did you have a mother?”
Frieda’s lips twisted with amusement. “I had thought that everyone had a mother?”
“Not me,” Romy said. “I was born of the crows.”
“Babies do not come from crows,” Frieda said with a laugh. “I may not know much about the birds and the bees, but I do know that.”
Romy rolled her eyes. “I am aware of the natural order of things. I do live on a farm.”
“Then tell me, born of the crows, what did you mean?”
Romy thought back to the stories that Papa had told her about when she came to live with him. “One-night Papa heard a great commotion overhead. It was just dusk, and the stars were starting to appear. He came out onto the porch and saw a murder of crows flying overhead.”
“A murder?” Frieda exclaimed.
“That’s what they call a flock of crows,” Romy instructed. “Now hush, the story isn’t over. He saw a great black cloud blocking out what was left of the fading sunlight.”
“Very ominous,” Frieda interrupted.
Romy scowled at her and Frieda zipped her lips.
“Papa saw a murder of crows flying over. There had to be a hundred or more. The crows were cawing and squawking something fierce, but that wasn’t the most shocking thing.”
“It wasn’t?” Fr
ieda asked.
Romy shook her head. “No. What caught his eye was the cloth bundle they were carrying. It wriggled and moved as if something were alive inside. Papa was worried it might be a poisonous snake. He got his gun and followed the crows.”
“How did he manage to keep up?” Frieda asked.
Romy growled at Frieda. “I don’t know!”
Chastised, Frieda motioned for Romy to carry on.
“Anyhow,” Romy said deliberately. “When Papa saw where the crows had landed, he was surprised to see the crows flying away one by one. There was a cry from the cloth that sounded nothing like a snake. Papa approached the bundle and unwrapped it.”
“And there you were!” Frieda said with delight.
Romy nodded. “And there I was. A baby who was born of the crows. Papa has always told me that crows have a reputation of being bold and dangerous. They are adaptable, and strong. Many fear the bird, but that is often because they don’t understand it.”
Frieda nodded. “I don’t have anything so wonderful to compare to that.”
Romy smiled. “It’s not a contest.”
Frieda smiled sadly. “I had a mother. There was a time when my family was happy. Papa worked at the bank and Mama would take me to the park and teach me little things. But one day she got sick. I knew the moment they told me that something was very wrong. Papa never left her side. He spent every waking hour bathing her forehead and coaxing soup down her throat.”
“Frieda, I am so sorry,” Romy said, not knowing how to comfort her friend.
Frieda shrugged. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine.”
Romy looked stunned. “You can’t honestly believe that?”
“Why not? You were brought into the world by a bunch of birds?”
“Crows,” Romy corrected.
“Whatever,” Frieda countered. “Why can’t I be responsible for my mother’s death?”
“It’s not the same thing,” Romy insisted.
“You don’t know what I did,” Frieda demanded.
“Tell me then.”
“One day I went into her room and took the brooch that she loved to wear on special occasions. I clasped it to my dress and wore it all day. I felt beautiful in that broach. When night came, Mama got upset saying that her broach was missing.”
Kingdom of Villains and Vengeance Page 19