The Magic Hair
Image courtesy of Boosinka via Shutterstock
CHAPTER 1 / An Unfortunate Strike
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An ominous grumble thundered across the sky.
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From her perch high atop the ancient olive tree, Nici Gencarelli could see a torrential rainstorm in the distance.
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Thirty feet below, her big yellow dog Sideburn let out a few yelps and circled the tree.
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“Go home if you’re afraid,” Nici called down to him. “I’m not ready to leave yet.”
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The dog sat back down, sniffing in the direction of the greying clouds.
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Nici shifted her attention to the horizon. She searched in vain for signs of the agricultural caravan. If the wagons didn’t arrive soon, the rain would make the dirt road impassable, possibly for weeks.
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The arrival of the caravan was something Nici looked forward to every year. They came a few weeks after the farmers harvested their autumn crops. The child loved the sight of the long column of King’s workers arriving in horse-drawn carts. Their mission was to pay farmers for their surplus crops and deliver the food to cities throughout Pahdu.
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But it wasn’t just the spectacle of the workers in their maroon-colored uniforms that Nici loved so much. It was the stories these workers told her about their travels. Their tales helped relieve some of her day-to-day boredom.
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Nici surveyed the countryside where she had been trapped for ten of her eleven years. The landscape was nothing but rolling hills of crops for as far as the eye could see. Just the same thing over and over and over again. It was a mystery why her parents had ever moved here, leaving the vibrant and glamorous Royal City when Nici was just an infant.
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A flash of light in the distance drew her eye. Half a minute later, a fierce rumbling followed. Nici knew she would have to head back to the house soon if she didn’t want to get drenched.
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Altering her position on the gnarled tree limb, she stood up for one last look before climbing down. On the southern edge of her view rolled the wildly beautiful Roon River. This massive waterway cut a snaking path through the land. Castle Road, the main corridor of Pahdu, followed alongside the bending and winding river. In this desolate part of the kingdom, the road was no more than a dirt path.
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Nici often mused about how her life was like the road. It, too, was stuck in one place. How she longed to be free like the river, constantly on the move to somewhere new.
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Nici twirled a few strands of her wavy, red-brown hair around her forefinger. It was a habit she did without thinking.
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“Please let tomorrow be more interesting than today,” she begged of no one in particular.
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Craaaaaaaaaaack.
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The lightning hit with no warning. A blazing bolt rattled down the tree trunk. Nici’s hands were seared by a fire-hot sensation. The electrical jolt surged throughout her body.
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The pain was intense. An instant later, she lost her grip on the blistering tree. As she fell, she heard Sideburn barking frantically.
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*
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Gino Gencarelli dreaded the arrival of the agricultural caravan. He feared one of the workers would recognize him from his days in Royal City when he was the King’s official woodworker. He had purposely moved his family to the most remote region of Pahdu, knowing that only inexperienced or incompetent agricultural workers were on this route. Still, he worried that someone would discover his location and give it up to his enemies.
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To his great shame, Gino had never been able to confide in his wife Selma what happened all those years ago to scare him into hiding. She still thought that they had moved because he wanted to try his hand at farming. It was the only secret there was between them.
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The driving rain that had started a short while ago did nothing to lessen his anxiety. It wouldn’t stop the caravan’s arrival, only delay it.
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“Chino,” Selma admonished her husband in her thick Bayonnaise accent. “Why all this circle walking?”
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“I can’t help it,” he confessed. “I pace when I’m nervous.”
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“Well is being chust, chust…” She searched for the correct phrase.
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“Just what?” Gino prompted.
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“Chust without the reasons.”
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“I know it’s pointless,” he replied. After almost fourteen years, he was used to interpreting the sayings that she misspoke. “But that’s the point of pacing. To do something pointless.”
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Selma looked over at the tall, long-limbed frame of her husband. He had dark brown hair that hung straight down to his shoulders and hid his ears, which stuck out wide from his head. His deep, russet-colored skin was even darker after spending hours in the sun working the fields. His arms, though thin, were strong and rippled with muscles. He still had the sly grin that attracted her to him when they first met years ago in Royal City.
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At the time, she was a girl of seventeen who had just emigrated to Pahdu. She was fleeing the famine in Bayonne that killed her entire family. Gino was four years older and a dashing figure in the lively city. He was considered a genius when it came to woodworking. His furniture was the most beautiful and original anyone had ever seen. At a very young age, he became the personal woodworker for the royal family.
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His charm concealed a perfectionist side that left him frustrated with situations he couldn’t control. Selma found his need to have everything in order to be both amusing and endearing.
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Over the years, her carefree attitude helped loosen him up, and his seriousness helped her to become more grounded. They were a good match.
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Selma turned her attention away from the past and back to her husband. “Chino, why all these worryings? We are having enough manys moneys with the farmings and your furniture makings.”
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Gino nodded his head dejectedly. She thought he was worried about the caravan’s arrival because they had fewer surplus crops to sell than other farmers. She had no idea that money was not the cause of his concern.
“Chino, please to be calling to Nici,” Selma asked him. “Is the time to being helping for dinner.”
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“She’s not in her room,” Gino said after checking there.
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“Where she is being?” Selma asked. “No is being a good outside time. The raining is being cows and dogs.”
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Gino laughed a little to himself, but didn’t bother to point out that the saying was cats and dogs. “I’ll go look for her,” he said, already putting on his cloak and boots.
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Once outside, he grabbed the canvas tarp that covered the wagon and threw it over his head. It would provide some protection from the rain in case Nici hadn’t taken her cloak when she went out.
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He stepped out into the downpour at the same time that Sideburn raced up and jumped on him, splattering mud all over the place.
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“Down boy,” Gino snapped as he pushed away the dog. “What’s your problem?”
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The animal barked wildly and gently grabbed Gino’s wrist in his teeth.
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“Stop it, Sideburn. That hurts.”
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But the dog would not calm down. He ran a few steps ahead, came back to his master, then charged forward again.
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“What’s with you, dog?” Gino asked as Sideburn raced toward him again.
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From inside the doorway, Selma watched the exchange between them. She could tell that something strange was going on. She cupped her hands over her mouth so her voice would carry better over the sound of the rain. “Chino, he is being wanting you going behind him, maybe.”
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“Going behind him?” It took a minute for that to sink in. “You mean follow him?”
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“Yes. He wants you should be seeing something.”
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“See what?” Gino asked.
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Selma tapped her forefinger on her front teeth, a gesture she made when she was thinking. “Nici!” she called out. “He wants you should be going where Nici is being.”
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“Is that right boy?” Gino asked. “Nici? We’re finding Nici?”
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The dog jumped straight up in the air, then ran off toward the northwest. This time Gino went after him. When he realized that his master was following, Sideburn sprinted ahead.
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Fifteen minutes later, they topped one of the small ridges on the land where Gino could see the farthest reaches of his property. On the western edge, he spied the massive olive tree that served as a boundary marker. Even from this distance, it was obvious that the trunk had been split in two.
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“Noooo!” he cried. His heart pounded as he raced to the crippled tree.
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*
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The dread Gino felt as he ran turned to horror when he arrived at the site. There on the ground lay his daughter. Her body was limp and for all he knew, lifeless.
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Sideburn sniffed around the little girl and pawed at the muddy ground.
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Gino rushed to Nici’s side and picked up her hand. It was chilled from the rain, which continued to come down in torrents. But there was still enough warmth that he knew she was alive.
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He quickly wrapped his injured child in the canvas tarp. Once she was in his arms, he sprinted all the way back to the house. Sideburn ran along beside them, careful not to get in the way.
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The oozing ground pulled at Gino’s feet. Along a trench in one of the fields, a particularly thick patch of mud swallowed his left boot. Still he charged on, determined to get Nici out of the harmful elements.
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Selma glanced up from her vigil at the front window just as Gino emerged from the fields, carrying a bundle. Her right hand immediately shot to her heart as it dawned on her what was within the canvas. “No, no no,” she muttered. “No be being so. Please, please. No be being so.”
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She yanked open the door as Gino neared the front steps. “This here,” she told him, indicating the couch in front of the fireplace.
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Gino gently laid his daughter on the seat and removed the dripping tarp.
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“She is being too manys soakings,” Selma said. “Leffert hemple oon bleer.”
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“What?” Gino asked.
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Whenever Selma was tired or extremely upset, she resorted to her native language. Gino had never learned to speak Bayonnaise.
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“Our need is being for her to be drying,” Selma translated.
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Gino disappeared and returned a minute later with some of Nici’s clothing and the covers from her bed. Selma had already removed their daughter’s drenched garments.
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Without a word, they redressed Nici and wrapped her in the blankets. Gino stoked the fire, then sat down on the hearth to catch his breath.
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The sight of his child in such dire straights made him physically ill. He had no idea what to do next. Selma, on the other hand was calmly in control.
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She used a towel to wring water out of Nici’s hair. “How this is being happening?”
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“I don’t know,” Gino shrugged. “The trunk of the old olive tree was split down the middle. And she was at the bottom of it, knocked out cold.”
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Selma pulled Nici’s hands out from under the blankets. “Lightning,” she reasoned after seeing the severe scorching on her daughter’s palms.
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She went into the kitchen and pulled out a clay crock of salve that she used to treat burns. After rubbing the ointment into her daughter’s hands, she bound them in clean cloth.
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Gino couldn’t stand feeling useless any more. “I’m going to get the doctor,” he announced.
“Chino, there no is being helping from this doctor,” his wife told him.
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“But I have to do something!” he shot back.
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“Be making the patience,” she admonished him. “No is being other things to be doing.”
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“How do you know?”
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“In my village, a man, how you say, lightning bolted?”
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“Struck,” Gino answered. “He was struck by lightning.”
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“Yes,” his wife went on. “He was being lightning struck. But he was being healing in time.”
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Selma stopped drying Nici’s hair and pulled away the towel. “Sheel loth pern!”
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“What’s the matter?” Gino asked.
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His wife opened the damp towel. All of Nici’s red-brown hair was within it. “The lightning struck,” Selma deduced. “Is being burning out the hairs, maybe.”
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The weary father sighed. “I guess Nici’s hair is the least of our worries right now.”
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*
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Dawn was breaking when Nici began to stir.
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Selma stroked her head. “NiNi, you are being waking?”
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Nici groaned and her eyes fluttered.
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"You are being to home,” her mother assured her, stroking the girl’s cheek. “A lightning struck is being making the hurting.”
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Nici opened her eyes a little wider, straining to understand her mother’s meaning.
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“You’re safe, Neese,” her father added, patting her arm. “You were hit by lightning during the storm. But you’re safe at home now with me and your mom.”
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Selma’s eyes widened. She got Gino’s attention and pointed at Nici’s head. Gold-blond hair sprouted from the child’s scalp. In less than a minute, the tresses had grown long enough to reach Nici’s shoulders.
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Gino motioned for his wife to join him in the other room.
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“You chust be resting, NiNi,” Selma told her daughter. “Chust be making the eyes closing.”
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“What’s going on?” Gino asked when they were out of Nici’s earshot.
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“Is being a puzzle,” Selma replied.
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“I’ve never seen hair grow that fast,” her husband said. “And it’s a whole different color than before.”
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Selma shrugged. “I no know why this is being.”
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They returned to their daughter’s side and saw that her hair had grown another foot.
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“Chino, be getting me the knife please,” Selma whispered. When he returned, she cut Nici’s hair back to shoulder-length.
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At first, everything seemed normal. The parents let out a sigh of relief. Nici was still too groggy to realize what was going on.
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But then it happened again.
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The shorn locks began to regrow. In seconds, the strands were as long as before they were cut, plus an additional six inches.
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Gino and Selma stared at their daughter, mouths agape, for several minutes.
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Without a word, Selma picked up the knife and cut her daughter’s hair until it was just a few inches from the scalp.
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Again the hair grew to its original length, then continued to lengthen.
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Nici rubbed her head, only half awake. “Mommy, what’s happening?” she asked.
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“No thing for the worryings,” her mother tried to reassure her.
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A third haircut did no good. The stubborn tresses regrew and added more length. Nici’s hair was now a foot and a half longer than it had been before the very first cut.
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As the child slipped back into fitful sleep, her parents looked at each other in alarm.
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“What if it never stops?” Gino asked.
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*
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Over the next three weeks, the cuts and bruises that tattooed Nici’s body faded away. She gradually emerged from her mental fog.
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To everyone’s dismay, however, her hair did not return to normal. It was still golden blond instead of reddish brown. And it continued to grow, though more slowly.
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The astoundingly long shock of hair made even the simplest movements difficult. When it was trailing behind her, Nici’s hair tangled around furniture. Wrapping the tressees around one arm was awkward and often slipped from her grasp.
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Nighttime presented another set of ordeals. As Nici rolled from side to side in her sleep, her unruly mane twisted around her body. Several mornings, she had to be cut free from her hair cocoon.
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To make matters worse, the child was confined to the house as she finished healing. She began to go stir crazy from the boredom.
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Finally, after weeks of monotony, there was a knock on the door.
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“Why come on in,” Nici heard her father boom as he opened the door. “We never expected visitors in this kind of weather.”
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Nici peeked out of her room and saw their neighbors, the Dinsmores. Brylie, Dorn and their daughter Sa’ahndra took off their soaking cloaks and handed them to Gino. He hung them on the hand-carved coat rack in the entryway. The family also removed their muddy boats and left them by the door.
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Brylie was a rotund woman who flitted around like a bee in a way that belied her great weight. She was the only woman in the area besides Selma who didn’t wear the usual Pahdu garments. Instead, she donned colorful dresses, wraps, caftans, saris and other clothing from around the world.
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Her husband Dorn had skinny legs and arms, but his belly stuck out like he was pregnant. Though his clothes were always new and not patched like the Gencarelli’s, he never looked neat. His white linen shirt seemed incapable of staying tucked into his tan suede britches. It often carried the stains of whatever he had been eating.
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The Dinsmores were an amusing-looking couple who didn’t seem to suit each other either physically or emotionally. Dorn always acted as if he wanted to be anywhere but where Brylie was. Perhaps it was her non-stop chatter that drove him away.
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Like Nici, Sa’ahndra was eleven years old. But the two girls had very little else in common. Nici couldn’t stand the way the Dinsmore girl gloated about how rich her family was. She constantly bragged about how much bigger their house was, how many horses they had and anything else she could think of that was greater than the Gencarelli’s. It was particularly hard to hear her boasts about traveling to Royal City, a place Nici was dying to visit.
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Before the Dinsmores could spot her, Nici ducked back into her bedroom. But she left her door part way open to eavesdrop on the conversation in the other room.
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“I hope you don’t mind us barging in on you,” Brylie said. “We were were getting cabin fever with all this rain. You know me, I can’t sit still for too long. I get bored, and then I start driving Dorn crazy and well, sometimes I don’t know how he puts up with me. So when I realized that he was about ready to strangle me to shut me up, you know I do go on a bit, well I said, let’s get out of here. Let’s go see someone, go visiting. And that’s when it dawned on me that with this bad weather, Gino might have been able to finish that chest of drawers he’s building for us.”
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“Well I’m not quite finished,” Gino confessed. Once Nici was injured, he had completely forgotten about the bureau. “But it sure is nice to see some friendly faces. I’m shocked you could make it through all the mud.”
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“Peetie and Jacko,” Dorn said, meaning his plow mules. “Those beasts can slog through anything.”
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“Well glad of it,” Gino laughed. “Come in and warm yourselves by the fire.”
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“This is being the nice surprising,” Selma smiled. “Let me be putting out the tea kettle.”
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“If it’s not too much trouble,” Brylie smiled. “I do love a good cup of tea. There’s something about the steam rising up in my face that just…”
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“So that bureau,” Dorn interrupted. “Shall we go take a look at it?”
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“Good idea,” Gino laughed. “And I think I have something out there you might like a little better than tea.” The two men donned their boots and cloaks and left for the barn.
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Selma came out of the kitchen with a tray of tea, bread and cheese.
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“Where’s Nici?” Sa’ahndra asked.
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Selma, ever the protective mother, hesitated before answering. Sa’ahndra was notoriously mean. She enjoyed making up stories about people to stir up trouble. The last thing poor Nici needed right now was this unpleasant child knowing about her hair.
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“Nici no is being feeling too manys good,” Selma finally answered.
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“Oh my, is she ill?” Brylie inquired. “It wouldn’t be surprising with all this terrible weather we’re having. Does she have a cold, or is she running a fever, sick to her stomach, anything like that?”
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Selma shook her head. “No ills,” she said. “An accident.”
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“Oh dear, an accident,” Brylie said. “What in the world happened?”
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“A lightning struck.”
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Sa’ahndra made an unpleasant face. “Ewww, lightning. Did she get burned?”
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“Some littles, yes.”
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“You poor thing,” Brylie sympathized. “You must be worried sick about her. I can’t imagine what that must be like for you. Oh it must be horrible. I tell you, you try to protect your children, but sometimes things just happen and you wonder…”
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“She is being more better every day,” Selma cut in. Then she quickly changed the subject. “This rain, she is being the mess, yes?”
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The two older women sat drinking their tea, talking about how weird the weather had been all year.
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When no one was paying attention, Sa’ahndra snuck back toward Nici’s room. Nici saw her coming and slammed the door. She jumped for the bed, but a mass of her hair got stuck in the door’s hinge. It pulled her backwards and violently deposited her on the floor.
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Sa’ahndra opened the door without knocking. “Aaaahhhh!” she screamed as soon as she saw Nici lying in a pool of golden locks.
She backed out of the room and right into her mother and Selma.
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“What is it?” Brylie asked.
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“Look at her.” Sa’ahndra pointed to Nici. “Look at that hair! She’s a monster.”
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“Sa’ahndra!” her mother admonished.
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“Well look at her,” the nasty child continued. “Her hair is longer than she is. And it’s blond. What happened to that ugly brown color it used to be?”
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The opening of the door released Nici’s hair. She scrambled into bed and pulled the covers over her head.
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The whole scene left Brylie uncharacteristically speechless. She stood blocking the doorway, trying to make sense of what she had just seen.
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Selma pushed her neighbor out of the way and entered her daughter’s room. “NiNi,” she cooed, pulling back the covers and brushing the offending hair away from the child’s forehead. “You no are being the blame. You no can be stopping these hair growings.”
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Brylie finally regained her voice. “I’m sorry. We had no idea. It’s just a little shocking and…” She paused mid-sentence. “Is your hair growing right now?”
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“It is!” Sa’ahndra chirped excitedly. “It’s growing right before our eyes.”
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“Get out!” Nici wailed. “Everyone get out!”
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“Why don’t you just cut it?” Sa’ahndra asked. No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she spied the knife on the side table used to cut Nici free in the morning. Sa’ahndra seized the knife and sliced off a thick segment of hair.
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“No!” Nici yelled.
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But it was too late.
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The Dinsmore women stared in astonishment as Nici’s tresses regenerated to an even longer length.
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“Devil!” Sa’ahndra screamed and ran from the house carrying the shorn locks.
CHAPTER 2 / An Ambiguous Sign
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Elliot Etto nudged his brother Carlton and pointed to some smoke drifting toward their mountain hideout. “Is that for us?” he asked. They were outside their massive house, surveying the recently harvested grape vines that grew all over the surrounding hillsides.
Carlton watched for a minute as several thin, black clouds twisted in the wind. The steady breeze tore the smoke into wisps that quickly disappeared.
“I can’t tell,” he answered after a while. “It could just be a fire somewhere. Or it could be a signal.”
“Should I go check?” Elliot inquired.
Carlton puffed out his cheeks and slowly blew out a breath. He hated for either of them to leave the safety of their secret warren, especially in broad daylight. Ten years on the run hadn’t lessened his fear of being caught by the King’s guards. On the other hand, if one of their spies was trying to contact the rogue knights, it must be important.
“I suppose,” Carlton finally answered. “But wear your armor.”
On the rare occasions when they left the hideaway, the brothers made sure to wear their metal gear. The full-face head piece disguised their true identities. What’s more, knights commanded great respect throughout Pahdu. No one would dare question the brothers when they were dressed in full armor.
“And remember, watch what…”
“I know, I know,” Elliot interrupted. “Don’t get caught. I’m not stupid.”
“I didn’t say you were. I’m just reminding you to be careful.”
The two of them had been bickering for nearly four decades. Carlton always acted like he was the smarter of the two and his brother resented it—especially since Elliot was the firstborn.
Not only was he older, Elliot was also physically larger. At six feet, four inches, he was nearly five inches taller and much broader through the body than Carlton. His hair and beard were light brown with flecks of grey, and he kept both cut short so that just a quarter of an inch covered his face and head. An angry red scar ran from his right ear all the way down his neck to his shoulder. His beard did not grow over this wounded patch of skin.
Carlton had a medium build, mousy brown hair and no beard. There was nothing particularly memorable about his features except for his eyes. They were a dark coffee color that was so deep, it almost blended with his black irises. This gave his eyes a monochrome effect, especially from a distance. His glare was particularly intense and withering.
“Pia,” Elliot screamed toward the house. “Pia, get out here.”
Moments later, a very small girl emerged from the spacious stone house. Although she was almost ten years old, she was the size of a child half her age. In the five years she and the other eight outcast children had lived with the knights, she was the only one who had hardly grown an inch.
She walked very slowly, dragging her left foot. It was permanently turned in the direction of her right foot. The fingers of her left hand were also misshapen. They curled inward toward her palm, paralyzed into a perpetual claw.
Pia shuffled over to the larger man, who looked even bigger beside the diminutive child. She looked at him and raised her palms upward in a questioning motion.
“Go get my armor,” he told her. “And hurry up.”
Pia nodded and limped back toward the house.
“I said hurry,” Elliot shouted after her.
Carlton chuckled. “That is hurrying for Pia. Why don’t you just go get it yourself?”
“Why don’t you?” Elliot shot back.
“It’s not my stuff,” his brother retorted.
Elliot was impatient to be on his way, but he didn’t want to give in to his brother. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other as the little girl made her way inside.
The brothers stood in silence for several minutes. Finally, Elliot could stand it no longer. “I’ll go meet her downstairs,” he said.
Carlton followed him into the immense main room and plopped down in one of the overstuffed chairs. “If somebody is trying to contact us,” he mused, “who do you think it might be?”
Elliot shrugged. “Not sure,” he replied. “Not too many folks would know to contact us with smoke signals.”
“Or know where to send them,” the smaller knight added. He shifted his position and draped his legs over the arm of the chair so he could face his brother. “You don’t think it’s a trap, do you?”
“I doubt it,” Elliot answered. “I can’t imagine any of our people would betray us now. Not after all this time. They would have done that years ago.”
Carlton nodded. “You’re probably right. Besides, there aren’t too many of our people remaining.”
Elliot frowned at his brother. “Thanks to you.”
“I did what I thought was best for us,” Carlton replied. “When too many people know a secret, it’s bound to escape. Eliminate those who know what happened and you eliminate the problem.”
“But they were loyal to us,” his brother protested.
“Elliot, if we could buy them off so easily, so could someone else. People like that don’t know what loyalty is. They’re always for sale to the highest bidder.”
“Still, it just seems wrong. I mean, they did everything we asked. Though attacking Thena sure didn’t help any did it?”
Carlton frowned and shrugged. He hated to be reminded of his plans that went awry. And Elliot, who once had a crush on their cousin Thena, never let his younger brother forget about the botched attempt to kill her.
“Who built this house for us? And planted our vineyards?” Elliot continued. “We’d be nowhere without our people. Besides, they were way better company than these simpletons we have around here now.”
“Agreed,” Carlton conceded. “But these simpletons won’t tell anyone what we’re up to because they can’t talk.”
“Well I still think it was wrong to kill off our loyalists. How are we supposed to regain the throne without our own group of guards?”
Carlton sighed. “We do still have our own guards. They’re just at the castle right now. Where we need them to keep an eye on that brat King Sevvy, I might add. There will be enough on our side when the time comes. And have I not impressed upon you that we don’t need a huge force to seize control of Pahdu? All we need is our wine and the…”
Their conversation was cut short by the sound of hollow metal clanging down stone steps.
“Pia!” Elliot shouted. “What are you doing to my armor?” He strode into the hallway and looked up at her. Her one good hand was holding onto his helmet. Behind her was Carmello, whose hands were empty.
“You,” Elliot said, pointing to the scared boy. He could never remember all of the children’s names. “Don’t you know to be more careful with my stuff?”
The chubby child, who like Pia was around ten years old, started to tremble with fear. Though his hands were shaking, he managed to make some gestures toward the little girl.
“Carmello sorry,” she interpreted. Her voice had a scratchy, guttural sound that didn’t seem quite human. She was the only one of the brood who could hear, let alone speak, so she acted as the translator between the Etto brothers and the children. “Armor heavy,” she continued explaining what Carmello had signed. “He drop.”
“I can see that,” Elliot fumed. “Stupid beast,” he muttered as he picked up some of the metal garments.
Carmello raced down the remaining steps and tried to help with the clean up.
“Leave it,” the knight told him. “You’ve done enough damage already.”
Since the boy could not hear the man, he continued picking up the pieces.
“I said leave it,” Elliot shouted and kicked at the boy. The older knight’s temper was legendary.
Carmello jumped back in fright and stared at the man wide-eyed.
Pia made a motion with her right hand and the boy immediately backed away and left the room.
Elliot slipped the breastplate over his head. He tried to wriggle it down over his barrel chest, breathing in deeply. The garment compressed his midsection like a sausage and stopped three inches short of his navel.
“Brother, have you gained weight?” Carlton laughed from across the room.
The big man pulled on one of the greaves, intended to protect his knees and shins from sword cuts. It was inches too short.
Hoots of laughter drifted over from his brother.
“These fools have brought down your armor, not mine,” Elliot barked. He pulled off the too-small metal items and slammed them to the floor.
“Temper, temper,” Carlton teased. “Don’t go denting my stuff just because I look better in it than you do.”
Elliot grabbed the helmet out of Pia’s hands and threw it at his brother. Carlton ducked to one side and watched as the head piece slammed against the river-rock hearth. When it came to rest on the floor, the visor was cockeyed.
“Serves you right,” Elliot said.
Carlton smiled. “Actually, the helmet is yours. Pia picked up the right thing. It was the boy that got the wrong pieces.”
Carlton waltzed past his fuming brother and started putting on the articulated metal suit. “I guess I better go check on the smoke signals since your helmet is now damaged. Pia, go get my head piece.”
The child stumped back up the steps.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” Elliot asked, holding up his broken visor.
“Fix it,” Carlton replied.
When Pia returned with his helmet, Carlton gave her further instructions. “Go tell that boy that handles the horses, what’s his name, Teeny?”
“Feeney,” Pia corrected him in her raspy voice.
“Well whatever his name is, go tell him that I need my horse saddled right away. And get Alton to pack some food and water for me. Enough for a week.”
She left while Carlton continued getting dressed.
When he was finished, he headed for the front door. “If I’m not back in five days,” he told his brother, “assume I’ve been captured. Don’t come looking for me. Just carry on with our plans. I’ll never let anyone know where you are, no matter how much they torture me.”
Elliot nodded and gave a small wave. When put like that, he was actually glad his brother was the one going out to do the investigating.
CHAPTER 3 / The Caravan’s Discovery
​
After the horrible incident with the Dinsmores, Nici refused to leave the house. She didn’t want anyone else seeing her abnormally long hair. And she certainly didn’t want to be subjected to ridicule.
Gino and Selma tried everything they could think of to soothe their daughter’s hurt feelings. But nothing eased her sadness.
Worse still, the child’s hair grew a few inches every day. It was nearly twelve feet long already.
As it grew, the mane became heavier and more unmanageable. Unless Nici walked in a straight line, her devious locks curled around whatever was near. She began to carry a small knife everywhere she went. At least then she could free herself from whatever object her hateful hair tethered her to.
Selma tried hard to keep things positive. She suggested making good use of the extra hair. She tore apart old flour bags and sewed them into one long coverlet. Whenever Nici sliced off some entangled curls, her mother gathered up the lengths and stuffed them into the large sack. If her daughter had to put up with this affliction, at least she could sleep on a mattress stuffed with hair instead of straw.
The determined mother also tried styling Nici’s hair so that it wasn’t so inconvenient. She pulled it back in a ponytail pinned high on the head, and double-, or as time went on, triple-folded it underneath. When that didn’t work, she divided it into three braids and pinned them on either side and to the back of Nici’s head.
It quickly became apparent that no hairstyle, hat or other illusion could disguise the fact that Nici’s hair was strangely, stunningly, unnaturally long.
The once-active child now mostly sat around the house, a prisoner of her own hair. Boredom began to overtake her. Every day, she became gloomier and more miserable.
One day when Gino scolded her for not helping her mother, Nici lit into him. “I hate you!” she spit out. “I hate this house and I hate my hair and I hate you.”
Gino let out an extended breath and hung his head. “I think I’ll go work on the Dinsmore’s bureau.” At least he could escape all this sadness and lose himself in his wood shop.
He skittered along the path from the house to the barn, hopping from high spot to dry spot to avoid the patchwork of puddles. Thick splashes of rich brown mud discolored his leather boots and suede britches, despite his gymnastic efforts.
When he yanked at the barn door, it remained firmly in place. The heavy wooden panels always stuck when they were rain-soaked.
Gino raised his right foot and braced it against the wide plank situated halfway between the handle and hinges. Then he pulled with every bit of strength he could muster.
“Aaarrrhhh.” He shook his clenched fists and roared at the sky. “Enough already.”
Gino lifted his foot again and gave the door a swift kick. Still, it didn’t budge. “Why won’t you open?” he shouted, kicking it a third time.
The door popped open so fast, it knocked him backward. Gino flailed his arms and shifted his weight from foot to foot trying to maintain his balance. Each awkward step landed in a puddle. Muddy water splashed up over his boots and soaked his wool socks.
A misstep on a mud-slimed patch sent his foot sliding out from under him. Gino reached out to brace himself as he tumbled toward the slick ground. When he came to rest, his backside was just inches above a deep puddle.
He picked himself up without further incident and strode into the barn out of the rain’s reach. A handful of hay from a nearby bin served as a rag to wipe the mud from his hands.
“Now it rains,” Gino snarled. All through the growing season, the much-needed storms stayed away. The ground dried and cracked into a fragile mantle, damaging the crops in the field. Like all farmers, he was at the mercy of the weather. Too much rain, too little rain, a cold spell at the wrong time—all of these could spell disaster.
And Gino had to admit that he wasn’t naturally gifted when it came to farming. It wasn’t in his blood the way it was for people who had lived off the land all of their lives.
But everything seemed right when he was working with wood. He was in his element and loved everything about it. The smell of a fresh cut. The different colors and beautiful grains. The versatile ways you could use a plank of wood. The way knots and other features influenced a carving. All of this excited him.
Of course, it was his love of wood that got him into trouble in the first place.
Gino shuddered thinking of what might have happened had he not moved away and hid his true identity. But he also worried how Selma would react if she ever discovered his secret. What if she left him after all these years? He couldn’t imagine life without her.
He had been smitten with the fiery redhead from the moment their eyes first met. He remembered it like it had only happened days ago.
He had been walking to his shop through the open-air market in Royal City, just as he did every day. When he spotted a young woman down on the paving stones, he thought that she had fallen. Ever the gentleman, Gino rushed to her side. Instead of a victim, however, he found an artist completely engrossed in what she was creating.
Using only a piece of charcoal and lump of white clay, the young woman was drawing a scene from the bazaar directly on the stones. Gino was instantly mesmerized by how swiftly she was rendering an exact likeness of the marketplace. She used her fingers to blend the black and white together in various shades of grey to add depth and dimension to the picture.
“That’s incredible,” he told her.
The young woman turned around to face him, smiled and nodded. Her smile lit up her face. Curly red hair poked through the patchwork bandana she was wearing on her head. She turned back to her work.
Gino watched a while longer. “It’s amazing really,” he started again, eager to engage her in conversation so he could see another smile. “How can you create something so wonderful out of just charcoal and clay?”
To his delight, she looked up at him again. She gave him a smile and a nod before returning to her drawing.
Gino surveyed her colorful skirt, which had the same patchwork pattern as the bandana. Her white blouse hung off her shoulders slightly, exposing the skin around her neckline. Strands of glass beads in a rainbow of colors were draped around her neck.
It was obvious to him now that she was not a native of Pahdu. The men and women of the kingdom usually wore an unofficial uniform of suede britches and a white linen or woolen shirt. They donned simple suede jackets with no collars and patch pockets when the weather turned cold. Hooded cloaks made of waxed canvas were worn in the rain. These capes often had a wool lining that could be buttoned into them to add another layer of warmth.
But the clothing worn by the exotic stranger in front of Gino that day looked like that of the Romani. She didn’t have their dark coloring, however. Her pale skin and red hair meant that she was from someplace else entirely.
“What’s your name?” he blurted out before he could stop himself.
When his question was met with another nod, it became clear that she didn’t understand him. Of course, he thought to himself. She doesn’t speak the language.
He knelt down beside her and extended his hand. “My name’s Gino,” he told her.
She glanced from his face to his hand. Her eyes were a blue so dazzling, they looked like a reflection of the sky.
“Gino,” he said again, pointing to himself.
“Chino,” she replied.
He shook his head slightly. “Geeeee-no,” he corrected, drawing out the G.
“Cheeeee-no,” she repeated, drawing out the Ch in imitation of his inflection.
He laughed. His name had never sounded so wonderful.
“Who are you?” he asked pointing to the young woman.
She pointed to herself and gave him a questioning look. He nodded.
“Selma,” she answered.
“Selma. Gino,” he said, pointing first to her than to himself. “Nice to meet you.”
He extended his hand again, which she accepted this time. Her touch pulsated through his entire body, nearly taking his breath away. He looked deeply into her eyes, never wanting to let go.
When they finally unclasped their hands, the black and white pigments from her palm had transferred onto his. They both burst out laughing.
Unbeknownst to them, a crowd had gathered around to see what Selma was drawing. Gino reluctantly withdrew from the group, his mind in a whirl.
Over the next few weeks, Selma’s drawings attracted bigger and bigger crowds each day. People began to leave coins in appreciation of her work.
Gino stopped by every day on his way to work and on his way home. One day, when there was a particularly large audience, he wormed his way through the sea of legs and left a handmade wooden box filled with colored chalk. He was sure he had gone unnoticed since she was turned toward the image she was creating at the time.
The next day, he arrived early to find her working on a full-color drawing with the chalk he had provided. He couldn’t tell yet what it was, just something that had to do with a body of water. When he returned that afternoon, he saw that the portrayal was of a couple sitting on a bench overlooking the ocean. On closer inspection, the couple was Selma seated with him.
From that day forward, they became inseparable. A year later, they were married. A year after that, Nici was born.
Gino smiled at the recollection as he lit the oil lamp inside the barn with a spark from his flint and steel. A flickering light illuminated the cavernous interior. With the indoor space now bright enough, he closed the barn door gently so it wouldn’t stick again.
He walked over to the workbench where his tools were laid out neatly. The tools, which had been his when he worked for the King, were of the highest quality. Each one carried the official seal of Pahdu. Gino was careful to always place his tools with the seal side hidden from view so he wouldn’t have to offer any explanations to visitors.
Removing a small chisel from its leather storage bag, he set to work on a drawer for the Dinsmore’s bureau.
*
Finally, the rains stopped and roads became not dry, but at least passable. This meant that the agricultural caravan could begin visiting the local farms.
Unlike in previous years, Nici didn’t care about their annual visit. In fact, when the long parade of thirty-two horse-drawn wagons did finally reach the Gencarelli farm, she hid in her bedroom.
Gino stepped outside the house and watched the procession. The crop marshall was far ahead of the slower-moving carts, many of which were already laden with crops from neighboring farms.
The marshal charged to the front of the bungalow and dismounted before his horse came to a complete stop. He wore the deep maroon britches, vest, cape and beret that identified him as one of the King’s officials. He was a new official, not the one who had been collecting in this part of the country for the past several years.
Gino was relieved to see that it was no one he knew from his days in Royal City. “Good afternoon,” the anxious farmer offered.
“Afternoon,” the man nodded. “This the Smythe farm?”
Gino turned to make sure Selma was otherwise engaged inside the house. “Sure is,” he replied when it was obvious his wife couldn’t overhear. “I’m Gino.”
“Williams Bitterman.” The two men shook hands. “Well let’s get to it then,” the agricultural man said abruptly. “Light’s beginning to fade and we’d like to take care of one more farm before stopping for the night.”
Gino led him to the barn where the crops were stored.
“What do you grow, Mr. Smythe?” the marshal asked.
“Barley and some wheat,” came the answer. “And please, call me Gino. My wife hates it when people call me Mr. Smythe. Reminds her of my father. The two of them didn’t get along very well.”
Instead of a reply, Bitterman whistled for the cart drivers. “Over here,” he called, waving his arms. Two carts arrived at the barn door. “Start loading,” he told the workers.
The four laborers stepped down from their plank seats at the front of the wagons. A rider from the back cart rubbed his backside.
“Long ride?” Gino asked, trying to make light conversation.
The man shook his head affirmatively. “Very long,” came his answer. “Especially since that seat is busted. Makes for a painful journey.”
“Let me take a look at it. Maybe I can fix it.”
As the agricultural workers filled barrels with crops, Williams Bitterman wrote everything down in a ledger book. He kept track of the barrel numbers, what crops went into each one and how many containers of each type of crop they loaded.
While all of this was going on, Gino inspected the cart seat. He went into the workshop section of his barn. A few minutes later, he emerged with some tools and a new board to replace the cracked and splintered plank that was there now.
“You know any Gencarellis?” one of the workers inquired as she loaded a barrel onto the cart where Gino was working.
Gino dropped his hammer, barely missing the woman’s foot. “No. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious. We’ve been hearing all these stories about some girl with demon hair.”
“Abnormally long,” another of the helpers chimed in.
“Does evil things,” a third worker volunteered. “Shoots sparks. Whips people.”
“Even tried to choke one little girl, I guess,” added the woman who had spoken first. “Everyone’s talking about it. Can’t believe you haven’t heard it, too.”
Gino felt sick to his stomach. That wretched Sa’ahndra Dinsmore. She must have told the whole community about Nici. Plus, she made things up to make it sound even worse.
“We don’t leave the farm much,” Gino said by way of explanation. He reached down to retrieve his tool, but the woman whose toes he just missed was already picking it up.
“Here you go,” she said. “Say, that looks like the Royal Arms on this hammer.”
The crop marshal’s eyes narrowed as he marched over to where everyone else was standing. “Let me see that,” he commanded.
Gino reluctantly complied.
The head man inspected the hammer. Burned into its wooden handle was a shield showing the Sword of Peace, a symbol of the kingdom. The sword had handles at either end instead of a blade. Bitterman picked up the rest of the tools being used to fix the cart, which all bore the royal coat of arms. “Now how did a farmer way out in the middle of nowhere get tools with the King’s arms on them?” he wanted to know.
“The King gave them to me,” Gino answered in a half-whisper.
Bitterman let out a disgusted snort. “Not likely. Mr. Smythe, if that is your real name. It appears that you are in possession of stolen property. That is a criminal offense.”
“Honestly,” Gino replied. “They were a gift from the King. It’s a long story. See…”
“We don’t have time for these shenanigans,” Bitterman cut him off. “Waffa, Picksley, bind Mr. Smythe’s hands and feet and put him in the back of your cart.”
The man and woman did as they were instructed, using a length of rope to tie Gino’s hands together. Another bit of rope immobilized his feet.
“If you’d just let me explain,” Gino tried again.
“Tell it to the judge,” the marshal answered. He picked up Gino’s tools and placed them in a sack. “Go see if there are more stolen goods in the barn.”
Tem Waffa trudged into the workshop and returned with an entire armful of woodworking tools. He lowered his eyes and shook his head as he passed by Gino. He placed these tools in the sack as well.
Renetta Picksley came out with the saddle and halter for the horse Mahogany. “These have the King’s coat of arms on them, as well,” she stated.
“Put them in the wagon, too,” Bitterman ordered. He walked to the back of the cart where his captive was sitting. “Now I see why your yield is so much lower than the other farmers. Thieves think they don’t have to work hard like everyone else. They just take what they want.”
“I’m not a thief,” Gino said quietly. “I’m just a bad farmer.”
“You’re a bad thief, too,” the marshal snorted. “Ladies, gentlemen, let’s get rolling. Night is closing in and we have to make a detour to the town jail.”
“But you haven’t even paid me for my crops,” Gino cried.
“The nerve,” Tem said under his breath. “Steals the King’s tools and wants to get paid for it.”
Bitterman mounted his horse and the assistants took their places on the carts. They started to pull out to the Castle Road where the rest of the caravan was waiting.
“Selma! Selma!” Gino shouted as he was being hauled away.
In the kitchen, his wife finally heard the commotion. She put down her knife and the potato she was peeling before going to the front door. When she saw her husband’s predicament, she ran toward the moving carts.
“Chino, where you are going?” she yelled over the din of the horse-drawn carts.
The procession moved much faster than she could and was getting farther away.
Gino tried to gesture with his bound hands. He yelled something back to her.
She barely caught the last word her husband said before he was out of earshot and she was out of breath.
CHAPTER 4 / Swept Away
Selma raced back inside their home calling for Nici.
Nici could tell by the uneven tone of her mother’s voice that something was wrong.
The two met halfway between the front door and Nici’s bedroom.
“Sleph hiffen fleese starent dab Chino,” Selma blurted out.
“Mom, Mom, calm down.” Nici said. “I can’t understand you. You’re speaking Bayonnaise.”
Selma enveloped her daughter in a bear hug. Calm down, she told herself. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.
“Mom, you’re squeezing me,” Nici finally complained.
“Sorry,” her mother apologized as she released her clutch.
“So what’s going on?” the girl prompted when they could both breathe more easily.
“They are chchch…chailing your father,” Selma stammered, struggling for the Pahduan words.
“Chailing? What?” Nici shook her head. “Who is ‘they’?”
“The peoples,” Selma pointed outside. “The crop peoples.”
“The people from the agricultural caravan?” Nici surmised.
Selma nodded.
“And they’re doing what to Dad?”
“The, how you say, taking to away.”
“Taking him away?” her daughter corrected. “Where?”
“Chail!”
“Where’s Chail?” Nici asked.
“I no know.”
“Did he want to go with them?”
“No!” her mother was emphatic. “They are putting ropings to his feet,” she said, pointing to her wrists. “And ropings to his hands.” She pointed to her ankles.
Nici didn’t bother to correct her mother since she understood what she meant. “So they had ropes around him and they were taking him to Chail.” She thought about that a minute.
“Oh,” the little girl finally said. “Jail. They’re taking Dad to jail?”
“Yes, chail,” Selma replied.
Nici studied her mother’s face. “Why?”
“I no know.” And with that, the despondent wife slumped down in a heap on the floor. Tears streamed down her face.
Nici had rarely seen her mother cry. She sat down and held her hand, unable to think of anything else to do.
A few minutes later, Selma stood up. “Enough these sorry feelings,” she said. “We no can chust do the sitting while Chino is being missing.”
“But Mom,” Nici protested. “It’s getting dark outside. It’s too late to go looking for Dad tonight.”
Selma stared out the window at the fading light. She knew her daughter was right. The road was full of hazards that made it no place to be at night.
She let out a long sigh, then plopped down wearily on the horsehair-stuffed sofa. She patted the cushion next to her, indicating that Nici should sit down too.
The Gencarelli women curled around each other. Nici’s blond mane draped over her mother’s shoulders. Selma stroked the child’s hair, just like she used to do before it was so abnormally long.
“Your father is being the maker of this.” She ran her fingertips over the smooth wood of the couch’s arm.
“I know,” Nici replied. “He made it for your first anniversary.”
“Yes.” Selma smiled softly.
“I know the story behind every piece of furniture in this house,” Nici told her. “Like that rocking chair over there. He made that right before I was born.”
“Your father is being telling you this?”
“Of course.” They both laughed. “His bedtime stories are always about furniture.”
“About the makings?”
“Sure, he tells me how he builds the pieces,” Nici answered. “But also why he builds them. Those are my favorites. I like hearing all the old family stories that you tell me, but from Dad’s point of view. And Dad’s view always includes a piece of furniture.”
They laughed again.
Selma reached over and pulled Nici’s tresses around her like a shawl. She draped another section over her daughter’ shoulders. “Is being the cozy, yes?” she asked.
“Mm hmm,” Nici agreed. “At least my hair’s good for something.”
They enjoyed the warmth of the hair’s embrace in silence, each lost in her own thoughts.
“Okay,” Selma finally said. “Is being the sleeping time.”
“Let’s not go just yet,” begged Nici. She wrapped a long curl around her forefinger in the absent-minded gesture that was a habit of hers. “I just want to stay here for another minute. Please?”
“No,” Selma said. “Is being the time now.” She tried to get up off the sofa, but Nici’s locks had her trapped. It felt like strong arms holding her in place.
Nici tried to pull the tresses away from her side, but to no avail. “Okay, hair you can let go now.” She curled a few locks around her finger without thinking about it. “I said you can let go now, please!” she called out.
Instantly, the curls let go.
Mother and daughter looked at each other and shrugged. But they were too concerned about Gino to give it another thought.
*
​
Nici tossed and turned throughout most of the night. She was worried about her father. And she was petrified to ride into town where everyone would be able to see her hair.
She had just fallen asleep when the first bird calls signaled daylight’s start.
Selma opened the bedroom door. “NiNi, is being the going time.”
“I don’t think I can,” Nici mumbled from under her covers.
“Oh. Chust the minute,” her mother replied. She picked up the knife on the bedside table to free Nici from her nighttime entanglements. “Where you are being knotted?”
“It’s not my hair,” Nici said, sitting up without assistance. “Well it is my hair. But not like you think.”
“I no know this think.”
“Mom, you saw what happened with Sa’ahndra. Everybody is going to be looking at me like that. I don’t want to be some oddity that everyone stares at and makes fun of.”
Selma took Nici’s face in her hands and turned her daughter’s head so that they were eye to eye. It was not the gentle, comforting touch Nici was expecting.
“This is being hurting on you. I am knowing,” Selma started. “But your father has the need for us to be finding him. And this need is being manys bigger than your hurtings.”
Nici pulled away from her mother’s grasp. “Why can’t I just stay here?”
Selma stood up and put her hands on her hips. “You no are being enough manys safe. This hair. I no can be loosing you from the knotting if we no are being togethers.”
Nici had to admit that being alone was a scary thought. She could easily get trapped in her hair if no one was around to rescue her. But going to where she’d have to be around other people was just as frightening.
“This is being more,” Selma continued. “These King workers. I no know if they are being real. They are being thiefs, maybe, or somebody worst. My need is being for the finding of truth. The finding of Chino.”
She walked toward the door. “Please to be getting in clothes,” she said without turning back to look at Nici. “Our leaving is being right away now.”
Nici clenched her teeth and let out a little grunt as her mother exited.
Large teardrops rolled down Selma’s cheeks once she was outside her daughter’s room. She hated the thought of putting her child through this ordeal. But what were her options?
While Nici was dressing, Selma gathered food, water and blankets for their trip. Nici joined her and asked whether Sideburn would be coming with them.
“Dogs are knowing the surviving ways,” Selma answered. “He is being okay here.”
Nici frowned, but knew this was no time to cross her mother.
They went to the barn to get Mahogany ready to ride. Selma looked around. “Where the horse sitting thing is being?”
“I don’t see the saddle,” her daughter said. “Now what do we do?”
“Is being okay,” her mother assured her. She threw one of the blankets over the horse’s back. Standing on a nearby stool, she swung her right leg over the horse. Nici handed her the bags of food and water, which she hung around her neck and shoulders. She backed the horse over to Gino’s workbench, which was high enough that Nici could easily climb onto the animal’s back.
“We are being ready, yes?” Selma asked her daughter.
“What about my hair?”
Selma looked behind her. A stream of golden strands cascaded from her daughter’s scalp, with several feet of it puddled on the floor.
“Hmmm.” Selma tapped her forefinger against her teeth. She stopped abruptly and snapped her fingers. Reaching behind her, she pulled the long locks toward the front and wrapped them around the horse’s chest. She handed the extra length back to Nici. “Be putting this to your back.”
Nici complied. With one hand, she held the loose end of her hair. Her other arm curled around her mother’s waist.
They both took a deep breath and hoped the hair harness would keep them safe.
Mahogany seemed to sense that something unusual was going on. He was extremely cooperative moving whatever way Selma directed him with a tug of his mane or a pat on the neck.
Sideburn followed them out of the barn and trotted alongside.
“No, Sideburn,” Selma told him. “Stay. Sit boy.”
The dog stopped where he was and lowered his hindquarters. He turned his head to the side, wondering why he couldn’t go with them.
Selma guided the awkward team down the wide path away from their home and out onto Castle Road. They cantered down the center of the thoroughfare, trying to avoid the ruts carved by carts. These had been gouged out when the road was mud, then hardened into place after the rains stopped. A false step into one of the deep furrows could cause Mahogany to stumble.
As they rode along, Selma talked to her daughter. “NiNi, I am knowing this is being hard on you,” she started. “The town people are saying mean things, maybe. But their saying is being chust some talking. It no is being you. You are being you. And I am loving you always.”
Afraid to release her grip on the horse’s mane, Selma wiped away her tears on her shoulders. She wished now that she had taught her daughter to speak Bayonnaise because she was struggling to find the right Pahduan words to express her feelings. She wanted to let Nici know that it wasn’t what happened to you in life that mattered. It was how you handled what happened to you that defined who you were.
“That lightning struck,” she started again, “and this hair. They no are being you. You are being so manys more. Smart. Brave. Kind. Pretty. Your doings are what is being you. Not the doings done at you.”
Nici remained silent throughout her mother’s speech.
“You are being enough manys strong,” Selma continued. “You are being enough manys strong that this hair no is being winning you. You are being winning it, yes?”
“I guess,” Nici replied.
“I am knowing hard times,” her mother went on. “And I am knowing the strong and the not strong. You are being the strong. There no is being any, how you say, thing that stops the moving?”
“Obstacle?” Nici ventured a guess.
“Yes,” Selma said. “There no is being any ostable to be stopping you. I am knowing this.”
The stretch of Castle Road where they were now wove along the north bank of the Roon River. It traversed back and forth as abruptly as the waterway itself.
The Gencarelli women rounded a forested bend where the river wasn’t visible. When the Roon came back into view, the sun reflecting off the water temporarily blinded them.
“Look out!” a voice cried. A man on a horse-drawn cart was heading straight for them.
Mahogany reared into the air on his back legs. The mother and daughter tried to hold on to whatever they could. Selma grasped the horse’s mane with both fists. Nici let go of the end of her hair to wrap both arms around her mother. Her curls immediately unwound and plummeted to the ground.
The horse dropped down on all fours, then rose up again. This time his riders couldn’t keep their grip. They both fell painfully to the road.
Mahogany continued to jump and kick in panic. Nici and Selma rolled away trying to avoid being stomped by the huge, frightened beast.
Both spotted the danger at the same time. Nici’s tresses were tangled around Mahogany’s hooves. They tried desperately to free him. But as he danced around in terror, the horse became hopelessly ensnared in blonde hair.
The man from the cart rushed to their aid. “What’s going on here?” He jerked back in astonishment when he realized the extraordinarily long hair was attached to the child’s head. “What in the devil’s name…”
Mahogany was now beside himself with fright. He began to bolt down the road in an awkward gait, anxious to free his bound legs. He raced from side to side in a vain attempt to lose the weight that was dragging behind him.
That weight was Nici.
She screamed for him to halt, but it had no effect. The horse had worked himself into such a lather that he couldn’t stop running.
Selma raced to his side and tried to throw her arms around his neck. The horse threw her to the side like a rag doll and strode away. He ran toward the man who had gone back to his cart for safety. The crazed beast turned away just before crushing the petrified traveler.
Nici was at the horse’s mercy. He sent her flying directly into the wagon wheel, flipping the whole cart into the air. The helpless man hiding behind it slammed into a tree.
It took the traveler a few seconds to recover his senses. “You devil,” he screamed. “You’re trying to kill me.” He ran away from the scene, leaving his horse and cart behind.
“Be cutting the hair. Be cutting the hair,” Selma yelled out as Mahogany and her child dashed farther away.
The panicked horse darted over to the river side of the road.
Nici reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her knife. She sliced off her shock of hair, freeing herself from the horse.
Too late, she realized her mistake. The momentum from swinging back and forth behind Mahogany shot her straight into the Roon River.
Selma raced to the riverbank. She watched in horror as her only child was swept downstream by the violent current.
CHAPTER 5 / An Ominous Echo
​
The days passed slowly for Elliot while Carlton was out investigating whether the smoke was a signal from their allies. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, the big knight fretted about his brother. He loved his only sibling, though he never would have admitted it out loud. If something happened to Carlton, what would he do?
Besides, he was worried that their ten years of planning to overthrow the King might be in jeopardy without his little brother.
Elliot distracted himself by finding work for the children. He made sure they stayed indoors so they couldn’t witness Carlton’s return. The entrance to the brothers’ hideout was a secret that he didn’t wan his young charges to discover. After all, if they were able to escape, the knights would be left without any free labor. Worse still, the children might reveal the location of the Etto brother’s secret hideout.
The children had already harvested the grapes from the vines, so Elliot put them to work turning it into wine. He supervised the young workers as they extracted the juice from the plump, red globes.
The work took place in a large room in the cellar of the mansion. The children set up oak buckets that held about five gallons each. They worked in teams of three. One child filled the bucket with grapes while another used a heavy wooden club to crush them. The third team member took the mash and strained it through a thin cloth to separate the juice from the skins.
When this was done, they placed the juice in huge oak barrels, where it fermented for months. At that point, all that was left was to transfer the wine from the casks into individual bottles. The bottles were then stored in a locked room in the cellar, where it stayed cool naturally.
After years of wine making, the Etto brothers’ collection was quite extensive.
Elliot wasn’t much of a wine expert, but that didn’t matter. Lindor Ussall was the real vintner. He was an odd man that had come to the mountain lair along with the children five years ago.
Prior to the children, the knights’ workforce looked quite different. It was made up of members of the Order of Rightful Succession. These former royal guards and other workers believed that the throne of Pahdu belonged to the Ettos, not King Sevvy. The Etto loyalists were told that once Sevvy was deposed and Elliot crowned king, they would be given positions of great authority in the kingdom. Promises like that, plus a great deal of money, made these men and women willing accomplices. The brothers found it easy to convince them to carry out any task, no matter how unpleasant.
It was these traitors who conducted one nasty deed after another for the rogue knights throughout the years.
But at some point, Carlton began to think of them as a threat. He feared that they could switch sides again at any time, or turn the brothers in for a handsome reward. Without consulting Elliot, Carlton began eliminating the workers one by one. Overwork, starvation and mysterious accidents were his favorite means. The losses happened so gradually that no one, including Elliot, suspected what was going on until it was too late.
Elliot was known for an outrageous, easily triggered temper. So everyone assumed that he was the meaner of the two brothers. The truth was, Carlton was the more vicious sibling. He used cunning instead of brawn, but his deeds were no less violent. He believed that anything was acceptable as long as it advanced their ultimate cause.
Around the same time that their original workforce was dwindling, the brothers were contacted by one of their spies. The ally told them about some young children in a nearby town who were considered cast offs. Most of the group was unable to hear or speak due to some odd birth defect. The townspeople considered them evil, and the children’s parents were only too happy to be rid of their abnormal offspring. As a result, the children were handed over to the brothers with few questions asked.
Carlton convinced Elliot that the children were the perfect workers. They were all around five years old at the time, so they wouldn’t be able to remember much of their previous lives. As they aged, they could handle more and more work. More importantly, they wouldn’t be able to listen in or report on the brothers’ wicked campaign.
It took months before they realized that the smallest child, Pia, could actually hear. At first, Carlton thought they might have to get rid of her. But when he realized that she could be used to express the brothers’ wishes to the rest of the group, he decided that she was useful enough to keep.
After a year or so, the children became quite skilled at the tasks the brothers set before them. In addition to cooking and cleaning, they learned how to tend to the grape vines and eventually learned from Lindor how to make wine.
Lindor had insisted on accompanying the little ones when they left their village, though no one knew why. The Ettos at first refused. But then they found out that he was a scientist, so they relented. His skills would come in handy for their long-range plans. And when the time came to actually carry out their plan, they would simply do away with him before he could reveal what was going on.
Lindor proved to be an excellent addition to their small community. As a scientist, he was able to refine the fermenting process and turn the putrid red liquid the brothers were making into a desirable wine.
His knowledge was also helpful for controlling the numerous pests that plagued the mountain hideaway. Slugs were easily controlled with saucers of beer, which they crawled in and died. Bats could foil mosquitoes. So Lindor had the children build many wooden bat houses to encourage the winged predators. And lemon peels repelled armies of ants from swarming fresh food.
But Lindor was particularly keen to get rid of the rats. He convinced everyone that his zeal in eliminating these filthy rodents was twofold. First, they ttacked the humans’ precious food supplies. Second, they chewed on the grape vines. As believable as these reasons were, the truth was, the eccentric scientist was deathly afraid of rats.
So he kept himself busy down in his laboratory working on various formulas. There were days on end when he would work into the wee hours of the night. On the rare occasions when the Ettos left to get supplies from the outside world, they locked Lindor in his lab. The scientist never seemed to notice what was going on, as he was too engrossed in his experiments and formulas.
*
For four days after Carlton’s departure, nothing happened. Elliot was beginning to fear that tragedy had befallen his brother. What if King Sevvy’s guards had captured him? They might torture him until he gave up the secret. Carlton had vowed to never give in, but Elliot suspected that his brother was actually quite weak. If he revealed their hideaway’s location, how long would it be before the sentries came looking for Elliot?
Thoughts of leaving began to consume the older brother. He could depart with a wagonload of wine and try to pull off the overthrow plot by himself. But the cart would slow him down and make it easier to track him. Perhaps it would be smarter to just save himself and ride off on his horse.
Elliot hated having to come up with a plan all by himself. That was always Carlton’s job, and he had to admit that his younger brother was much better at it.
By the fifth day, Elliot was beside himself. Surely Carlton would be back by now if nothing had gone wrong. He had to assume the worst and take the next step.
That night while the children and Lindor were asleep, Elliot packed a few of his belongings. He made sure to include an extra change of clothes, a bedroll and enough food and water to last a week. He thought it best to leave his armor so he wouldn’t be weighted down with the bulky metal suit. He needed to move as quickly as possible. If he could get beyond the boundaries of Pahdu, the King’s guards would have no authority to arrest him in another country.
Before he could finish packing and saddle his horse, a heavy downpour began to fall. This changed everything. If he left now, it would be easy to track his horse’s hoof prints in the mud. There was nothing to do but postpone his escape until the rains stopped.
Two days later, the mud dried enough that Elliot decided it was safe to leave. He was desperate to get going by now, sure that King Sevvy’s sentries were on their way to imprison him. But he had to wait for the cover of night to ride away.
All day long he was anxious and irritable. Everything the children did got on his nerves even more than usual. He snapped at them for no reason. They were used to his tantrums, however, and didn’t view his behavior as odd.
After telling everyone to go to bed early that night, Elliot was finally ready to leave. He snuck out of the house with his packed bags and slipped into the stable to saddle his horse, Barbaro. As quietly as possible, he led the animal outside and walked him for quite a distance before finally stepping up into the saddle. Once mounted, he galloped off as quickly as possible.
Clouds obscured the moon and stars, but he was familiar enough with the route that light didn’t matter. Entering the deep, gloomy shadows of the cave was more of a challenge, but he didn’t dare light a torch for fear one of the children would look out of a bedroom window.
Once inside the cavern, he paused a moment to catch his breath and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. A steady drip, drip, drip of water falling from the ceiling echoed throughout the expanse.
Elliot felt his heartbeat begin to accelerate. He was nervous about what awaited him when he left the hideout and reached the outside world. He felt especially vulnerable since he didn’t have his armor to help disguise his identity.
The knight drew in a deep breath and picked up the reins. “Let’s go, Barbaro,” he told his horse. But just as they started, a frightening sound stopped them in their tracks.
The clamor of horses’ hooves reverberated off the cave walls. It sounded like an entire army was bearing down on them.
Elliot froze, unsure of whether to retreat or meet his captors head-on.
CHAPTER 6 / Selma’s Dilemma
Selma ran along the sand-and-pebble edge of the Roon River. She hastily removed the food and water bags from around her neck so she could move faster. But it didn’t help. She watched helplessly as her daughter bobbed up and down in the wild torrent.
“Nici,” she kept calling. If her daughter responded, Selma could not hear her.
In just a few minutes, the rapid current swept the child out of her view.
A granite outcropping stopped Selma from moving farther down the shoreline. She climbed the steep embankment back to the road. Once she hit the flatter ground, she ran until her lungs were nearly bursting.
She turned off the road at a path back down to the riverbank. It dropped off at a treacherous angle, but nothing could stop the frantic mother. She slid down on her backside, picking up momentum at a frightening pace.
The abrupt landing jammed her ankles and knees. She tumbled head over heals, coming to a stop just before she went into the water.
Looking downstream, there was no sign of Nici. The river had already carried her too far away. Selma raced down the narrow beach for a better view. Her heart sank when she realized her daughter had vanished.
The distraught woman sat down heavily on the ground. She was covered in mud and leaves. Most of the skin had been ripped from the palms of her hands and knees. A bloody trickle dripped into her left eye from a gash on her forehead.
Still, the only thing on her mind was her daughter. Had Nici been dragged under the surface by her hair and drowned? Or was she still fighting for her life in the turbulent rapids of the river?
If she was still alive, Selma needed to do something to help her.
She practiced her deep-breath-in, deep-breath-out ritual, trying to calm down. Crawling to the water’s edge, she washed off as much mud and blood as possible.
She stood up and turned around, looking for an easier way back up to the road. No other path was evident.
“Ahhhh,” she screamed out loud. “Hefter aman dant axno loof,” she shouted, begging in Bayonnaise for someone to show her the way.
After some hesitation, she picked up a fallen tree branch from the shore. It was about four feet long and only a few inches around—the perfect walking stick for her steep climb.
The hike uphill was much slower than the downhill journey. Selma held onto small shrubs and tree roots with one hand while grasping the stick in her other hand to steady herself. Every few steps forward, she slid a little bit backwards. It was sluggish and painful, but she finally made it to the top.
Back on the road, she jogged to where the accident had first happened. It wasn’t immediately clear where that was. The man, horse and cart had all vanished. And there was no sign of Mahogany either, even after Selma whistled for him several times.
The only clue was the long length of hair that had been wrapped around the horse’s hooves. The animal had somehow managed to free himself from the impediment after Nici cut herself free.
Selma picked up the golden mane and caressed it. This may be all that was left of her daughter by now. She draped the strands around her neck like a scarf.
“Tassen du, Nici,” she promised. “Sil dey erlint coppen, tassen du.” She hoped her daughter could somehow sense this promise to find her one way or another.
Selma began walking down the road. After about an hour, she was at the path to the Dinsmore’s fields. She debated what to do. For her daughter’s sake, she swallowed her pride and went to ask them for help.
Her knock on the front door was answered by Sa’ahndra. “You look terrible,” the unpleasant girl snapped.
Selma was too weary and in no position to return the rudeness. “Hefter aman…sorry.” She gathered her composure. “Your mother is being to home, yes?”
“Ewww. Is that Nici’s hair,” Sa’ahndra asked, pointing to the shawl around her neighbor’s shoulders. “That’s disgusting.” She went back into the house without even inviting her guest inside.
Selma reached up and stroked the soft curls she was wearing.
A few minutes passed before Brylie came to the doorway. “Selma,” she exclaimed, her jaw dropping low. “What on earth happened to you?”
“Brylie, I…Nici…we…” Thoughts kept intruding one on the other so that her words came out in a jumble.
“Come in, come in,” Brylie motioned. She led the flustered women to a chair. “Have a seat. Let me get you some tea.”
“I am being all mud,” Selma protested. She sat instead on the hearth of the fireplace.
Brylie returned shortly with two mugs of hot tea. “Your timing was perfect. I was just heating the water. I put a squeeze of lemon in yours, but no sugar. I know you don’t like sugar. I personally like mine with…”
Brylie stopped rambling and observed Selma. The injured woman was clasping the hot mug with both hands and staring into the liquid. Brylie was sure that the heat must be hurting her neighbor’s scratched and scraped palms, but she wasn’t reacting to the pain.
“Dear,” Brylie started again in a less cheery tone. “What happened?”
Selma drew in a breath that seemed to take forever to let back out. “Last night,” she started. “The King carts are being to our house.”
As the tragic tale unfolded, Brylie pulled a stool to the hearth so she could sit close to her friend. She patted Selma on the arm and periodically gave her a hug.
“My need,” Selma summed up, “is being for the horse. Or mule. Then my walking is being manys more fast and far.”
“That shouldn’t be problem, “ Brylie replied. “Let me just go talk to Dorn.”
As soon as her mother left the room, Sa’ahndra appeared. “So that hair you’re wearing, that’s what tripped up your horse?” She had obviously been listening to the adults talking.
Selma nodded.
“I’d have run off, too, if I had that awful hair wrapped around me.”
Selma glared at the child.
“You know, the Roon River is extremely cold,” Sa’ahndra continued. “Nici’s probably frozen to death by now.”
Selma stroked Nici’s shorn locks with one hand. Ignore the horrible child’s words, she told herself. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the crackling of the fire.
Dorn’s voice drifted through from the Dinsmore’s kitchen. “I don’t want that dirty foreigner in our house, let alone lend her a horse!” he yelled.
Selma couldn’t hear Brylie’s end of the conversation. She opened her eyes. Sa’ahndra was smiling at her from across the room.
There was a pause, then Dorn started up again. “I don’t care. It’s not our problem. If Gencarelli got himself arrested and that aberration of a girl fell into the river, let them solve it.”
Another pause, then Dorn’s retort. “Well it’s not my child. My child is normal. See, that’s what happens when you marry a foreigner. They pass all their nasty ways and evil blood onto their offspring.”
Selma could feel the heat rising in her face.
“No, I will not lower my voice in my own house,” Dorn bellowed. “I’m telling you, the girl is some kind of monster devil. If she’s up and drowned, I say, good riddance.”
Brylie’s reply to her husband came through the closed kitchen door as a mumble.
“Woman, this is the last time I’m going to tell you,” he roared. “No mother of some demon child is going to ride one of my horses.”
The sound of a slamming door signaled the end of the conversation.
Sa’ahndra gave Selma a smug look. “I guess you’ll have to go somewhere else for your horse,” she smiled and left the room.
Brylie emerged from the kitchen as Selma was walking toward the front door.
“I guess you heard some of that,” the heavy woman said sheepishly.
Selma nodded. “Thank you for the asking,” she said quietly and left.
Now what was she to do? Walk back to the river and try to follow its winding path? Perhaps Nici had washed up on shore somewhere. Or should she hike into town and try to find her husband?
There was no good solution. She seemed to lose either way.
*
After leaving the Dinsmores, Selma walked aimlessly along Castle Road. She caressed the broad swath of Nici’s hair draped around her neck. Over and over, she heard the names that Dorn had called her daughter. Aberration. Monster. Demon. It was heartbreaking.
What if his child had been hit by lightning and the same thing happened to her? How would he feel about people treating his precious Sa’ahndra so cruelly? Would he be so quick to reject her if it was his own flesh and blood?
She turned back toward the Dinsmore’s house and shook her fist. “Curses at you!” she shouted. “Curses at you…you…you…Atchker!” In Bayonne, she could have been arrested for calling him that.
Suddenly, the enormity of her situation overwhelmed her. She sank to the ground in the middle of the road.
How could this be happening? The two people she cared about most in the world were gone, and she didn’t know where to find them.
She hadn’t felt this lonely or scared since leaving her native country. She thought no pain could ever be worse than what she experienced watching her loved ones in Bayonne starve to death.
But losing Nici, and possibly Gino too, might be worse. They were her happiness now.
When Gino came into her life, everything seemed to change for the better. She felt at home in his presence, happy to love and be loved. When Nici was born, she couldn’t have asked for a better life.
Even moving to the countryside so Gino could try his hand at farming didn’t bother her. After all, as much as she treasured her time in Royal City, she cherished her husband more. Who was she to stand in the way of his dreams? She could be happy anywhere as long as she had her husband and child.
But here she was in the middle of nowhere without either one of them.
“Leffen du Sideburn klep sor din,” she moaned aloud, missing her dog. Now she wished that she had brought the loyal hound along. He may have been able to save Nici from the river. If not, he could help Selma find her. And it would have been nice to have a friend just now.
Selma scrambled to her feet and let out a loud, primal scream. When the echo of that cry faded away, she shouted out another.
The power of yelling seemed to force some of the anger and frustration from her.
“Pel tong, Sel,” she told herself. “Du gron spant osterlin ip du cannohar oster dulong. Ah duso veenk tinpol.”
Her father would have laughed if he heard her say that. One of his favorite expressions was, “You can be helpless or you can help yourself. It’s your choice.”
Think, she told herself. What was the situation and what were her options?
Gino was locked up somewhere, most likely in Ilkon. There was no guarantee that that’s where she could find him. But if he was there, at least he was safe.
Most likely Nici was in more danger. Who knows how far the river had taken her downstream? And if she washed up on the shoreline somewhere, she might need a doctor. Even if she didn’t, would she know how to get home? It seemed clear that all of her attention should be directed toward finding her daughter.
Selma was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t hear the horse’s hooves until they were almost upon her. She jumped to the side of the road and turned to flag down the rider. She couldn’t have been more surprised at who it was.
“Brylie?”
“Selma, thank goodness I caught up with you.” Brylie brought the horse to a halt and dismounted. “I feel terrible about what happened back there. Dorn can be such a fool. Sometimes I wonder why I even married him. Actually, I know why. I was trying to escape from my mother who was always trying to control my life and…oh, here I go rattling on again. Well, I just want you to know how sorry I am about everything.”
“Thank you,” Selma answered. “You are being kindness to do the riding here and making this talking.”
“That’s not why I’m here,” Brylie protested. “I’m here to lend you my horse.”
Selma was taken aback. “This horse…for me?” she stammered.
Her friend nodded.
“But Dorn is being saying no.”
Brylie smiled. “What he said was that you couldn’t have any of his horses. Vanya here is my horse. My father gave him to me as a wedding present.”
Selma laughed for the first time in what felt like forever. “Dorn no is being knowing of this gifting, yes?”
“Not yet,” Brylie smiled. “But he will soon enough. And I don’t even care. Dorn’s feelings are not important right now. What is important is that you go find your daughter and husband as quickly as possible. Vanya will make that easier.”
The two women hugged. A few tears escaped from Selma’s closed eyes.
“My thank yous never are being too manys,” she said.
“Seeing your family back together will be thanks enough.” Brylie wiped away a few tears of her own. “You better get going now. You only have a few more hours of daylight left.”
Selma gave her neighbor a kiss on both cheeks. “Du fal parsay seego,” she whispered. “You are being the true friend.” She mounted the large horse and settled into the saddle.
“I’m just a mother,” Brylie replied. “I know how I would feel if I were in your position.” She patted the horse’s rear flank. “Okay you two, get going.”
“Thank you, friend,” Selma called as she rode off. For the first time all day, she began to feel a little hopeful.
Now that she could move at the horse’s speed, she could cover much more ground. She devised a plan of action as she rode along. Wherever there was a path to the river, she would stop to search for Nici. Wherever there was a house, she would stop to ask if the people had seen her daughter. If she had not found Nici by the time she reached the cut-off to Ilkon, she would ride into town and try to track down Gino. Then the two of them could continue looking for their daughter.
Vanya proved to be a very strong and obedient horse. He patiently waited for Selma at each stop. When she was ready to move on, he galloped ahead as fast as she wanted.
Even with a good horse, the search proved difficult. Most of the trails leading to the river were treacherous to traverse. Some were steep and muddy while others were overgrown with vegetation that scratched her exposed skin.
Selma searched in vain for a telltale sign of her daughter. She looked for some hair that had snagged on a tree branch. She hunted for a piece of her daughter’s clothing drifting in the water. She looked for footprints indented in the sand. Nothing turned up in any place she looked.
Did this mean that Nici had drowned?
Selma refused to let that thought take root in her mind. She had to keep going.
As grueling as the riverside searches were, the visits to each farm were much worse. Selma’s foreign accent scared some of the people into slamming the door in her face. Others had obviously heard about Nici’s odd hair. They chased her off their land and called her daughter terrible names like Dorn Dinsmore had done.
By the time Selma reached the road to Ilkon, her spirits had sagged to a new low. She halted Vanya at the crossroads, hesitant to give up on the search for her daughter.
After ten minutes of standing still, the horse let out a soft whinny.
“Okay, Vanya,” Selma said and gave him a pat. “More goings forward.”
She pulled on the reins to guide him down the road to town. Selma urged the horse into a full gallop.
A few stars were twinkling in the twilight as Selma entered Ilkon. She asked anyone she encountered for directions to the “chail.” Someone finally understood her request and pointed the way.
Selma pulled in front of the lockup just as the keeper was leaving for the day.
“Please to be holding there,” she called to him from atop the horse. It took a minute to catch her breath. “You are chailing my husband inside, yes?”
“Ain’t nobody inside,” the jailer replied.
“The King workers,” she insisted. “They no are carting a man to here? A Chino Chencarelli?”
The man shook his head. “Don’t recall any Chencarelli. The King’s people did bring in someone named Smythe.”
“How he is being looking?”
“’Bout this tall,” the jailer said, indicating with his hand. “Brown hair. Thin. Missin’ the tip of his li’l finger.” He held up his left hand to indicate.
Years ago, Gino had sliced off the tip of his left pinkie finger in an accident with a chisel.
“Yes, yes, he is being that man. He is being my husband.”
“Well he ain’t here.”
“Where he is being?”
“Reckon they took him over to Pella.”
“Why?” Selma inquired.
“The jail’s bigger over there,” the man shrugged. “We ain’t got room for no hangings here.”
“Hangings?” Selma’s body went limp and she fell from the horse.
CHAPTER 7 / Tumbling Down
Nici battled the raging river with all of her strength. Every time a wall of water swept her under, she fought back to the top. She fluttered her arms back and forth hoping to stay afloat.
Large boulders made the terrifying journey even more treacherous. Nici often didn’t see them until she popped to the surface. She pushed off the rocks with her hands or feet, depending on which way her body was facing. Quick reactions were the only thing that could save her.
The huge granite chunks created perilous rapids as the water raced around them. Nici bumped and bounced through these cascades never knowing whether they would smash her against more rocks as she hurtled downstream.
The trees on the bank passed by at a dizzying speed. Here and there, trees had toppled into the river. Their massive root balls rested on the riverbank where they had been upended. The weight of the dirt and roots kept the trees from floating downstream.
In a flash of insight, Nici realized that the fallen trunks could provide a lifeline. If she could grab hold of one, she might be able to pull herself out of the extremely cold and wild waterway.
In between being thrust underwater and keeping a watch for boulders, Nici searched for a fallen tree that she could reach. There appeared to be one quite a distance away on the south shore. She started trying to work her way to that side of the river.
Fighting the current and her own fatigue, she inched her way closer to the bank. Swimming at an angle helped her make slow, but steady progress.
The fallen tree became tantalizingly close. Another twenty yards and she would be there.
Nici was so intent on keeping an eye on her target that she didn’t see what was happening to her left. A large stream flowed into the main river. It caused all kinds of turmoil where the two bodies of water met.
Without warning, the trapped child found herself being tossed around in a dizzying circle. It took everything she had to fight from being pulled under. During the struggle, she swallowed a great deal of water. Each time she surfaced, she gasped for air.
Now she was no longer moving downstream. Nici was caught in a vicious whirlpool.
The safe haven of the tree was so close now that it was cruel. If the vortex would release her, she would be swept into the shelter of the fallen branches. But the water continued twirling her round and round with no sign of letting go.
The combination of rapid spinning and the tremendous amount of river she had swallowed began to make Nici sick. And she was quickly losing strength from the exertion and cold water. If she didn’t act right away, she was surely doomed.
Using her left arm to paddle, Nici kept her head barely above the water. With her right hand, she took hold of a long length of hair that resembled a thick rope. If she timed the spin just right, she might be able to lasso the tree.
Nici kicked her feet rapidly underwater trying to raise her body a little higher above the surface. She tossed the golden strands toward the tree trunk.
Her first attempt landed too close to the shoreline.
“Too soon,” she muttered.
The whirlpool spun her around a few more times before she could attempt a second toss. This one landed wide of the tree.
“Too late,” she observed.
Another few twirls and she was ready for a third try. The aim was true, but the hair fell well shy of the tree itself.
The exertion of lifting her body out of the water and throwing the heavy hair rope thoroughly exhausted Nici. She didn’t have the energy for many more efforts.
Her fourth go at roping the tree was also unsuccessful. How long can you exist in a whirlpool before you die, she wondered.
Suddenly, what her mother had told her earlier that day began echoing in her mind. “You’re strong enough to overcome any obstacle” kept playing over and over in her head.
“One more try,” she told herself.
With renewed determination, she tossed the thick rope. “Please, please catch on the tree,” she begged. Her forefinger got caught up in a strand that twirled around it.
She could tell by her release that her aim was off. This try, too, would fall well short.
To her amazement, though, the hair shifted direction in midair. It moved just enough to wrap around the thickest branch on the fallen tree. Then it curled around the limb several times until it was securely fastened.
Nici was dumbfounded by what had just happened. It appeared that her hair had a mind of its own.
She quickly dismissed that thought as absurd. The wind must have caught it and blown it to the tree, she thought.
It didn’t matter how the hair had fastened to the wood. The fact was, Nici now had a way to escape the dangerous churn of water.
Hand over hand, she pulled herself out of the whirlpool and over to the tree. She hugged the trunk like an old friend. Her heart thumped within her chest as she gulped in air as quickly as her lungs would fill.
When her breath returned to normal, Nici inched her way toward the shore. She moved slowly on the slippery log, heading toward the massive clump of roots and dirt that rested on shore.
At last her feet could touch the rocky bottom of the river. The stones were slick with algae, so she proceeded cautiously. She emerged from the river and stretched out on the narrow shoreline, grateful to be on dry land again.
The waves lapped at her toes. For the first time, Nici realized that she was barefoot. The force of the river must have washed away her ankle boots and socks.
She tried to back farther away from the water’s edge, but her hair tugged at her scalp. It was still wrapped around the tree branch.
Nici sat up and yanked on her hair with both hands. The locks refused to release. “Let go,” she yelled at it, but nothing happened.
She reached into her coat pocket for her knife. The pocket was empty. She either dropped it after cutting herself free from Mahogany or the water swept it away.
“Now what?” she cried.
Still tethered to the tree, there was only a limited section of beach that she could reach. A small wedge of granite was within her grasp. One side came to a sharp edge while the other was fatter and more rounded. It looked a bit like an axe head.
Nici grabbed the shard and a flatter rock that was right in front of her. She laid a section of her hair across the hard, level surface and pounded it with the pointed side of the wedge.
The stubborn hair didn’t give. Frustrated, Nici started to throw her rock tools into the water. Then it occurred to her that she was trying to cut too much at once.
She placed a thin layer of hair on the smooth rock and struck it with her homemade axe. The hair easily sliced in two.
She continued with section after section until she severed every wisp that was still attached to the tree limb. As usual, new and longer strands instantly regenerated.
Nici looked out at the mass of blonde curls floating in the water. They moved back and forth in rhythm with the current, temporarily hypnotizing her.
A shiver down her spine brought her back to reality. She needed to get somewhere warm and the sooner the better.
The shore where she landed was narrow, but long. Beyond this strip of land was a sheer precipice of granite about thirty feet high. If Castle Road was above that embankment, she could never reach it from here.
Walking farther down the beach, she was dismayed to see that the rock outcroppings continued for a considerable distance. An easy escape didn’t look promising.
A few more paces brought her to an interesting possibility. About a third of the way up the cliff, a cypress tree clung to the side of the rock face. It was quite amazing how it had grown within a split in the stone wall.
Several feet above that and a little to the left, was another cypress. Above that was yet another. She could use the succession of trees as a ladder to the top.
Nici’s spirits immediately lifted. “That’s my way out of here,” she smiled.
Maybe her mother was right after all. If she could just stay calm and come up with a plan, she could get herself out of any bad situation.
Using her hair as a rope had worked so well in the whirlpool that she decided to employ that trick again. At the end of her curls, she tied a rock that was double the size of her fist. Then she heaved the rock skyward with all her strength.
The rock sailed up and over the trunk of the tree closest to her before falling back to the ground. Nici’s hair now hung from either side of the cypress.
She couldn’t believe that she had successfully roped the tree on her first try. Perhaps her luck was changing.
She unfastened the rock that served as the weight. Then she tied the hair strands that draped down the left side of the tree to the strands that draped down on the other side. Pulling on one side, she sent the knot shooting up toward the tree trunk. A strong tug indicated that the golden rope was secure enough for climbing.
Nici grasped the precious braid with both hands. She placed the soles of her feet flush against the granite wall. Pulling herself up hand over hand, she slowly made her way up the side of the cliff.
By the time she reached the cypress, she was more than ready for a break. Before settling down on the trunk though, she tested it to make sure it would hold her. When the tree didn’t break free from the stone, she sat down. Her back was to the wall, one leg dangling over each side of the trunk that jutted straight out.
With her stone axe, the child cut the hair that was tied to the tree. As new curls regrew, she stood up on the trunk. She repeated the weighted rope toss and lassoed the next highest cypress. Now she needed to begin the second part of her ascent.
Almost immediately, she knew she was in trouble.
Small rocks showered down upon her. A clump of dirt, then another came tumbling downward. She looked up just as the tree pulled free from the granite crag.
Because the hair rope was still attached to her head, Nici and the tree went tumbling downward. Shock turned to terror as she realized that she would not land on the shore. She was headed back into the river.
The fall ended in a tremendous splash. Nici plummeted all the way to the bottom. Thankfully, she hadn’t had time to tie a knot to the second tree. So her hair pulled free of it instead of trapping her underwater.
Nici popped back up to the surface where the struggle began anew. The current seemed even more violent in this section. And she was already exhausted.
A cluster of rapids swept her downstream at a frightening speed. There was no time to bounce off the rocks or other obstacles. She was totally at the mercy of the river. It tossed and turned her every which way, including tumbling her underwater.
As quickly as they began, the rapids ceased. The water calmed and Nici was able to simply float along on the current. She allowed herself to rest for a few minutes, trying to regain some strength.
But the peacefulness was short-lived. Just ahead, the river totally disappeared.
Nici was confused. Where did all the water go?
A great roar filled the air with sound. Too late, Nici realized that she was plunging over a colossal waterfall.
CHAPTER 8 / A Secret Escapes
Gino bounced around uncomfortably in the back of the cart. He sat in a narrow opening between barrels of crops from his neighbors’ harvests. The heavy casks threatened to smash into him whenever the wagon bumped down an uneven patch of road. Gino did his best to press the wooden containers against the sides of the cart using his elbows, shoulders and knees. But he was limited to how far he could spread out because his wrists and ankles were bound with rope.
He had spent the night locked up in a dank and tiny cell of the Ilkon jail. At daybreak, the crop marshal, Williams Bitterman, ordered the caravan to take their prisoner to the much larger village of Pella, about twenty miles away. Gino was to remain locked up there until a judge came through the region to try his case.
Whenever a caravan worker neared him, Gino protested his innocence. He tried over and over to explain how tools and a saddle with the King’s seal came into his possession. But he wasn’t telling the whole truth and the deception showed on his face. The King’s officials dismissed his claims as hogwash.
Gino’s stomach rumbled along with the wheels on the road. He hadn’t had anything to eat for almost a day and a half and very little to drink. Sleep had been totally out of the question in the musty jail cell. He felt completely miserable.
And he was worried about what would happen next. What would the new jail cell be like? How long would they keep him there? How would he convince anyone that he wasn’t a thief? For a man who liked to be in control, uncertainty like this was terribly upsetting.
Gino’s thoughts drifted toward his wife and daughter. Selma was probably beside herself with worry. He couldn’t even guess what must be going through poor Nici’s head. She was probably worried sick about him. But at least they were safe at home, he comforted himself, never suspecting the truth.
Gino closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the sound and feel of the cart rolling along. It was nearly dark, so the day’s travels would end soon. If he could make his mind blank, maybe the panic he was feeling would subside.
*
Selma opened her eyes halfway, then fully. She sat bolt upright, unsure of her surroundings. Her mind swirled with flashes of disconnected images.
“Daddy, she’s wakin’ up,” a little girl’s voice said.
Selma turned her head and tried to focus on the child. It took a few blinks for her vision to clear.
The Ilkon jailer was now standing over her. “Ya fell off yer horse,” he said loudly. “Ya hit yer head and passed out.”
The whole horrible scene started coming back to Selma. She dropped her head in her hands. There was a throbbing pain behind her left eye.
“Chino,” she said quietly. “My need is being for the finding of him right away now.”
“It’s dark outside, lady,” the girl remarked.
Selma looked out the window where the child was pointing. Night had fully descended and clouds kept the moonlight from shining through. There was no way she could travel on an unfamiliar road, especially the way her head felt.
“Where I am being?” she asked.
“Yer at my house,” the jailer said. “But ya can’t stay here. My wife’s outta town. Wouldn’t look proper.”
Selma nodded. “Where there is being a place for the staying?”
“Woman down the road rents out rooms.”
“I no am having moneys,” Selma confessed.
The man spit into a copper cup he was holding. “That ain’t my problem.”
“No, no is being,” Selma agreed wearily. “You are having the barn for my sleeping, maybe?”
“Ain’t got a barn,” he told her.
“Ain’t got a horse,” his daughter added.
Selma suddenly remembered Vanya. “My horse. Where he is being?”
“Tied up out front.”
“My need is being for the going to him,” she said and stood up.
She paused for a moment, unsure of what to say. The jailer wasn’t being totally hospitable. But he had done a small kindness. “Thank you for the bringing me to here,” she finally offered.
The man nodded.
Once outside, Selma was relieved to see that Vanya had not been harmed. He was patiently waiting for her once again. She had to smile when she saw the horse tethered to a tree with the lengthy strands of Nici’s hair. After untying the knots in the “rope,” she guided the animal down the street, moving slowly and carefully in the pitch black.
Looking into the windows of the modest homes that lined the street, Selma could see that it was bedtime. This didn’t seem like a very good time to ask strangers for help. Especially since she was covered with filthy remnants from the day’s ordeals. She decided to seek shelter somewhere beyond the town.
The moon peeked through some clouds, illuminating the world below. There was just enough of a glow to light up a wooden pavilion at the far end of the road. A table and some benches were within the structure. A small pond was to the left of it.
Selma shuffled over to one of the benches and sat down heavily. Vanya sauntered over to the pond for a drink, then nibbled on the tall grass that grew around the shoreline.
The weary mother was too exhausted to look for more suitable accommodations. The table would provide shelter from the wind and morning dew. And she could tether the horse to one of the pavilion’s poles. If she left at first light, no one would even know that she had been there.
Selma clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. Vanya left the pond to return to her. She lightly tied him to a post, then removed his saddle.
For the first time, Selma realized that there were saddlebags attached to the leather horn. Brylie had filled them with dried beef and fruit, plus several rolls. Selma was thrilled to find this unexpected feast. Her original provisions had been lost when Mahogany ran away.
In addition to the food, Brylie had draped a blanket over the horse’s back before affixing the saddle. Selma now removed that blanket to cover herself while she slept. With Nici’s hair acting as pillow, she would be comfortable for the night.
Her eyes were barely closed before she was asleep.
*
The cart slowed from its brisk pace. Gino turned his head to face front and was relieved to see they had entered the town limits of Pella. He wasn’t expecting the jail cell to be comfortable, but it had to be better than being tossed around on the back of this wooden cart.
The caravan pulled up in front of the town jail. Gino watched as the crop marshal went inside the building. A few minutes later, he emerged and made a hand signal to one of his assistants.
Renetta walked to the end of the cart and pulled out the two large pegs that held the wagon’s gate in place. She removed the plank wall so that the whole rear of the cart was now open. “Okay, let’s go,” she told Gino.
Gino scooted to the edge until his bound legs were dangling over the back. He jumped to the ground, nearly losing his balance.
Renetta grabbed Gino’s shirt to help steady him. “In you go,” she stated.
Gino hobbled into the jail. A nearly toothless man smiled up from a desk. “Got caught doin’ a little thieving, eh?” he chuckled.
“I didn’t steal anything,” Gino started.
The man held up his hand. “Save it,” he said. “Only the judge wants to hear that.”
He stood up and removed a large ring of keys from his belt. “Come on back this way. Got a cell all ready for you.”
Before locking Gino behind an iron gate, the jailer cut the ropes from his ankles and wrists. Gino tried to rub some feeling back into the chafed areas.
“There’s food and water on the stool,” the man called, sliding the heavy door into place with a clang. He moved closer and put his eye up to a small opening in the metal. “You’re lucky, you know.”
Gino eyed the stale biscuit and moldy cheese that would be his dinner. There was no blanket or anything to sleep on other than the dirt floor. And the cell wasn’t even long enough for him to stretch out all the way. Luck was not the word he would use to describe his situation.
“There’s a magistrate already in town,” the jailer continued. “You can have your trial tomorrow.”
Gino closed his eyes and uttered some words of thanks.
*
Selma woke from a few hours of sleep feeling amazingly refreshed. Dawn hadn’t fully broken, but she could feel the light about to shine through.
She walked down to the pond and scrubbed off the road dirt and dried blood from her hands and face. She wet her curly, red hair and pulled it back into a braid. There wasn’t much that could be done about her torn clothing, except to remove a few tatters that were hanging by mere threads.
After eating a small portion of her food, she saddled Vanya for the next leg of their journey. It would take them most of the day to reach Pella, but at least they were getting an early start.
The farther from town she rode, the better she felt. Her usual optimism began to return. She would go find her husband and clear up this mess, then they would go find their daughter.
“Vinson gleehant perno,” she chanted over and over, hoping that if she said it enough, everything really would be fine.
*
It was midday when Gino heard the key rattling around in the lock of his cell door. The jailer from the night before opened the iron passageway. “They’re ready for you,” he said.
Once outside the cell, he roped Gino’s hands together. “I won’t tie up your legs if you promise not to run.”
“I promise,” Gino assured him.
They exited the jail and crossed the street to the town hall. The meeting room was empty except for the judge, his assistant and all of the men and women from the caravan that had stopped at the Gencarelli’s home.
Gino walked with his eyes toward the ground, rehearsing what he would tell the judge. He was led to the front of the room and stood before the man who would determine his fate.
“Mr. Smythe,” the judge began. “You are accused of stealing from the King himself. If you are found guilty, you will be hanged until dead. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir.” Gino’s voice was barely audible. His gaze stayed focused on the ground.
The magistrate continued. “According to the King’s representative, Williams Bitterman, the items here before me were all found in your possession. Is this true?”
Gino looked up to see his tools and saddle spread out on a table. “Yes sir,” he replied. “But if I may explain how I came to own them…”
He stopped and looked the judge in the eye. “Rikart?”
“Gencarelli, is that you?”
Gino smiled and nodded. “It is.”
“Good heavens, man, what are you doing all the way out in this part of the country? And why does this document say your name is Smythe?”
Gino glanced nervously at Bitterman and his assistants. “Bit of a mix-up, I suppose,” he said quietly.
“Bureaucrats,” Rikart snorted. “Can’t get anything right. Why these are just your woodworking tools, aren’t they?”
“Sure are.”
The judge turned to the accusers. “This man has every right to have these tools,” he told them. “The King gave them to him. He’s the official woodworker of Pahdu. Or was. You’re not doing that anymore, are you?”
Gino shook his head no.
“Why not?” Rikart inquired. “You were the best.”
“Long story,” came the answer.
“Tell me about it over drinks,” Rikart said. “Release this man. He’s no thief. We’re done here.” He stood up and indicated that Gino should follow him.
“Wait sir,” the courtroom assistant called out. “You’ll need to sign the release papers.”
“Of course. There’s always paperwork.” Rikart picked up a quill pen, dipped it in the ink pot and quickly added his signature to the documents. “Bosley, untie Mr. Gencarelli. And see to it that his tools and saddle are returned to him. You can bring them over to the Cask and Stein.”
Rikart looked out at the stunned caravan workers. “Ladies, gentlemen, that’s all, thank you. You can return to whatever it is you do. And please try not to bring any more innocent men in front of me.”
He grabbed Gino’s arm and escorted him out of the building.
Gino could hardly believe his luck. A few minutes ago, he feared he would be hanged. Now, thanks to someone he knew from his days of working in the King’s court, he was a free man.
“So how’s Selma?” Rikart asked as they walked into the village beer hall.
“Probably sitting at home wondering what happened to me,” Gino laughed. It felt good to be able to laugh freely again.
“We’ll get you home soon enough.” Rikart slapped his friend on the back. “But let’s have a beer first and catch up. It’s been years since I’ve seen you.”
*
Back at the town hall, Renetta leaned over to her wagon mate. “Did you hear that?”
“Yeah,” Tem answered. “The guy’s innocent.”
“Not that,” Renetta said. “His name’s Gencarelli.”
“So?”
“Don’t you remember? It was the Gencarelli girl that we heard all those stories about. The one with the long hair. The demon hair.”
“Oh yeah. What about it?”
“Seems to me there’s something fishy going on,” Renetta answered. “Remember when we thought he was Mr. Smythe? He told us he didn’t know any Gencarellis.”
“You’re right.”
“And now it turns out that he used to work for the King. Something isn’t right about all this.”
Bitterman leaned over to where the two were speaking in hushed tones. “Let’s get packed up,” he told them. “There still some light left in the day. We need to head back to the fields.”
“Guess that ends that,” Tem said when the boss walked away.
“Not necessarily,” Renetta replied. She held back while everyone else in the caravan left the building.
Bosley, the magistrate’s assistant was putting Gino’s possessions back into the sack they arrived in. Renetta offered to help. When the man wasn’t looking, she pocketed a chisel from Gino’s tools and snuck his crowbar under her cape.
She slipped out to the cart she shared with Tem and used the crowbar to pry off the wheel. Then she placed the chisel blade in the middle of the wheel and whacked it several times with the side of the crowbar. The wheel split in two.
Renetta hid the tools in one of the crop barrels and went to find her boss. “Bad news sir,” she reported. “The back wheel of my cart is broken. I can’t go anywhere until it’s fixed.”
Bitterman went to inspect the damage for himself. “This is bad,” he agreed. “How in the world could a split like this happen?”
Renetta shrugged.
“All right,” Williams told the group. “I guess we’ll be staying here another night until we get this wheel fixed. Pearl, set up a detail to guard the wagons overnight. Everyone report back here at first light tomorrow and be ready to move out.”
A small cheer went up as the group was grateful for the night off. After getting their guard duty assignments, they spread out to enjoy the town.
Renetta pulled Tem over to the beer hall. “Let’s see if we can find out more about Mr. Gencarelli.”
*
When he first sat down, Gino was determined that he wouldn’t tell Rikart the whole story of why he left Royal City. His friend would get the same story that Selma knew—that Gino was tired of woodworking and wanted to try his hand at farming. He would add that they moved so far away so the King couldn’t drop by and ask for favors.
As one beer led to another and another then another, Gino’s tongue began to loosen. Before he realized it, he had told Rikart all of the frightening events that led to his departure from Royal City.
“Makes total sense, my friend,” Rikart said after getting the real details. “I’d probably be hiding out somewhere too. Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”
Unbeknownst to Gino, Renetta and Tem had been eavesdropping from a nearby table. Renetta smiled a nasty grin and leaned closer to her comrade. “I think Mr. Gencarelli is going to make us a lot of money,” she whispered.
Just then the door to the beer hall burst open. After surveying the crowd, the stranger walked over to Gino and Rikart’s table.
Gino looked up in a half-drunken stupor. “What are you doing here?” he asked in wide-eyed surprise.
CHAPTER 9 / A Well-Concealed Trap
Nici eyed the waterfall’s edge with alarm. Nothing could stop her slide. She took a deep breath as she plummeted helplessly over the cascade, feet first.
A cloud of mist obscured the bottom of the falls. Nici had no idea how far she would drop or where she would land.
Her hair fluttered high above her. She reached up with both hands and grabbed as much as each fist would hold. Gravity quickly pulled her arms down to her sides.
Now she was spinning like a top, gaining speed as she fell.
“Please, please let me slow down,” she cried out above the din of torrent of water. Strands of hair got caught in her fingers as she twirled.
To her great surprise, Nici’s hair started spinning independently of her body. Above her head, it formed a rounded cone, like a beehive. The cone that was slightly wider across than her body. The handfuls of curls in her hands acted as handles on this upside-down bucket.
Air got up under the giant bonnet and began to slow Nici’s descent. With an abrupt jolt, her fall went from terrifying to slow motion.
Looking over her right shoulder, she tried to gauge where she would land. Shifting her weight in that direction caused her to pull down the hair handle on that side. She began floating a little to the right.
When she stopped pulling, the drifting stopped.
Nici pulled on the left handle to see if the same thing happened. Sure enough, she glided to the left. Using this new-found steering ability, she guided herself away from the powerful stream of the falls and the sheer granite wall behind it.
Before she had time to spy a suitable place to land, Nici found herself enveloped in a cloud of mist.
Seconds later, she felt a full-body slap as she landed in the pool of water below the falls. There was no time to brace for impact, which may have been for the best.
Even though the hair bonnet had slowed her speed considerably, hitting the water was still amazingly painful. For a few seconds, she was too stunned to realize where she was and how dire her situation was.
She was deep underwater, rolling over and over in the churning surge caused by the plummenting torrent of water.
Her lungs didn’t have enough air. Panic seized hold of her.
In her terror, she pulled hard on the hair handles still in her grasp. The golden cone of hair lowered down around her.
Not a moment too soon, she spied her salvation. An air pocket had formed near the very top of the cone. Nici propelled her body toward it and gulped a desperate breath of air.
With her lungs refilled, she took a second to think about her next step. Keeping her head within the air pocket, she grabbed either side of the hair helmet and pushed upward. The cone parted the roiling torrent, leaving a column of calm water below. Nici kicked her feet and swam to the surface. She quickly tossed the bonnet of hair off to the side.
Just being above water again was reason to rejoice. It seemed that the sky had never looked so beautiful.
But this was no time to daydream. She needed to find a safe haven.
A flat, wide and sandy beach beckoned the worn-out child. She angled her exhausted body toward it.
Nici plopped down on the sand, as soon as she cleared the water. She was nearly numb from everything that had happened in the last few hours. With closed eyes, she listened to the roar of the crashing falls.
The blonde bonnet flipped up so that the opening was toward the sky. It bobbed in the steady waves just offshore, gently tugging at Nici’s scalp.
“Now you form a boat,” she said disgustedly. “Why couldn’t you do that when I first fell into the river?”
She gave a quick yank on the rope. The vessel easily skipped onto the beach. But the wet hair was much heavier on dry land than it had been in the water.
Nici reached into her jacket pocket for the granite axe.
“Aaaahhhhhhhh!” She screamed when she found it empty. Her cry echoed around the river canyon for minutes afterward.
Nici walked all along the sandy beach searching for a suitable cutting tool. Every few steps, she had to stop and pull the wet tresses toward her.
Overcome by weariness and anger, Nici dropped down to the sand. “Why?” she cried, flinging her hair away in disgust. “Why do you try to kill me one minute and then save me the next?” She pounded the sand with her fists like a two-year-old throwing a tantrum.
Nici’s clothes were soaking wet and her bare feet were near frozen. The air temperature was quickly dropping with the sun. And the steady breeze was making things worse. A shiver raced down her spine.
Looking over at the last rays of sun, Nici realized something odd. The banks down in this part of the Roon River were to the east and west of the water. Up above the falls, the banks had been on the north and south. The flow of water had obviously made an abrupt turn below the waterfall.
The child stood up and brushed sand off her rear. She walked farther down the beach, dragging the hair anchor behind her.
Her most immediate need was to find some shelter for the evening. Down at this far end of the beach, a few trees had fallen from the bluffs above. These would make a good resting place until she could find something better.
A strong wind blew across the waterfall lake. It filled Nici’s bonnet of hair like a sail. The strong force knocked her off her feet.
She tried to wrestle the mass of curls to the ground, but the child was no match for this unwieldy kite. She was pulled this way and that as the wind swirled around the canyon.
A fierce gust knocked finally knocked the hair dome directly on top of her.
Things grew dark and quiet. Nici lifted an edge of her shelter to get her bearings. The howling wind nearly snatched the protective tresses from her grasp. She quickly lowered the cone and sat down in the darkness.
Her hair seemed to be providing shelter from the outside element. But she needed to move farther away from the water and situate herself within the fallen trees.
Careful to keep inside the safe chamber, Nici folded her body in two. Her hands draped down to her feet and the small of her back pressed against the top of hair dome. She lifted it ever so slightly and inched her way to safety.
A small laugh escaped the nervous child when she thought about how she must look like a turtle.
At last she was able to wedge the dome within a tangle of broken limbs and branches. This would help keep it from blowing away.
In the dimness, Nici felt around to clear away dead limbs and other debris on the ground. She curled up in the sand, still shivering in her wet clothes.
Thankfully, it didn’t take long for her warm breath to raise the temperature under the dome. As her haven grew cozier, Nici closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
*
In the morning, the child slowly pushed back an edge of her hair house. Thankfully, the wind had calmed down. She crawled out completely and surveyed her surroundings.
Her campsite was directly across from the waterfall. Now she could see how spectacular the plunging river truly was. Gazing up at the height of the falls, she was amazed that she had even survived the drop.
Nici sat on the trunk of a fallen tree and took stock of her situation. When she was little, she sometimes got lost in the family fields when the crops were taller than she was. Her parents always told her to stay where she was and call to them. They would come locate her. If she wandered around, she could get even more lost and make it harder to be found.
She decided that staying on this beach was probably her best option. Her mother was surely looking for her right now. And maybe her father was also searching. If they followed the river, they would eventually come to this place.
She could position herself to see the top of the falls. That way, if her parents came to the edge and looked over the cascade, she could signal them.
Her father once said that all you really needed in life was food, water and shelter. Everything else was a luxury. Nici already had two of those three necessities. If she could just find food, this place would be ideal until she was rescued.
Small fish darted through the shallows of the lake. Nici spent hours before she finally caught one. It was only about the size of her index finger. Before the slippery meal could escape, she gulped it down, unwilling to chew on it and crunch on fish bones.
No other animals came down to this watering hole while she was awake. Even if she had been able to catch something, she had no way to kill it, clean it or cook it.
After four days, Nici’s hunger began to get the best of her. One little two-inch fish was not enough to sustain her. She knew that if she couldn’t find something to eat soon, she’d have to leave the beach.
Nici was reluctant to abandon her comfortable nest. And she still hadn’t found anything sharp enough to cut off her hair. That forced her to lug the unwieldy hair house behind her every step of the way.
Aimlessly twirling a small portion of hair around her forefinger, Nici sighed. “Couldn’t you please help me out and just go back to being hair. Not this lousy cone,” she told her locks.
With that, the tresses unfurled and spread out directly behind her.
Nici shook her head. “I just don’t get it,” she said in exasperation.
At last it seemed that she had no other option. With a mixture of fear and relief, she left the lake and its sandy shore.
Once she had scaled the bluff above, Nici started heading inland. She looked for a trail that deer or other animals used to travel through the forest. But there was nothing that made finding her way through the woods any easier. She kept moving, hoping to find food or help.
The trek required a lot of ducking under limbs and pushing away plants and thin branches that blocked her path. Pinecones, needles and other forest debris littered the ground. Nici tried to pay attention to what was underfoot since she didn’t have the protection of her socks and shoes.
But too often she became distracted by the ongoing effort to keep her long locks from tangling in everything along the way. Although she had the tresses wrapped around her arm, the loose ends still caught in shrubs and branches as she passed.
Her hair snagged on a branch and Nici turned to yank it free without slowing her pace. She never saw what grabbed her right ankle. But it tightened all the way to the bone.
With that, Nici was whisked up into the air. Loose pine boughs dropped away to either side as she rose.
Abruptly, her ascent stopped. Now she was hanging upside down, dangling by her bare foot.
It seemed that Nici was caught in a hunter’s trap.
​
CHAPTER 10 / Burning Anger
Selma dropped the blanket that was covering her. She snorted out a furious breath in the direction of her husband. The sight of Gino enjoying himself in a beer hall made her furious. She had just spent a night outside in the cold after riding around the countryside looking for their lost daughter. The past few nights she had worried herself sick not only about Nici, but also about her husband. Now here he was laughing and drinking, acting like nothing was wrong.
“How you dare?” Selma spit out, beating her fists against Gino’s chest. “How you dare?”
Gino grabbed her wrists and held them firmly to stop the pummeling. “Selma. Selma. Get a hold of yourself.”
She thrashed around trying to release herself from his grip, but he was too strong. “Be letting me loose,” she ordered.
“Only if you promise to calm down.”
“Calm down!” she shouted and jerked her hands free. “Why I no am having…you no are being…”
“Selma, Selma. I know you’re upset,” Gino said in a soft voice. “But it’s not my fault. Let me explain.” He gestured for her to sit in the booth.
“Hello Selma,” Rikart said quietly. “I’ll give you two some privacy,” he offered. The magistrate stood up and went to the bar.
Selma was so furious, she didn’t even acknowledge their old friend. Her breath burst forth in short, angry spurts.
“It was all a misunderstanding,” Gino started. “That man Bitterman, the crop marshal, well he thought I had stolen the…” He stopped abruptly. The shawl of golden hair wrapped around his wife’s neck had caught his attention. “Where’s Nici?” he suddenly asked.
Selma’s anger suddenly dissolved into sadness. She looked into her husband’s eyes. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I no know,” was all she could say.
“You no know?” Gino repeated his wife’s mixed-up syntax. “Why? What happened? Did she run away?”
His wife shook her head no.
“Did something happen to her?”
Selma nodded.
“Oh please no,” the distraught father cried. “Is she badly hurt?”
His wife’s trembling lower lip filled Gino with fear. He couldn’t think straight. “Is she…she’s not…she’s not dead is she?”
“I no know,” Selma choked out. “I no know what she is being.” She crossed her arms on the table, dropped her head onto them and buried her face. Soft sobs shook her upper body.
“Selma, honey.” Gino stroked her hair. “Tell me what happened.”
After a few minutes, Selma lifted her head and wiped away the tears. She began the tale of their daughter’s disappearance in halting sentences punctuated with phrases in Bayonnaise. Her words sketched a picture for Gino and rapidly sobered him as the narrative became increasingly horrifying.
Through his wife’s words, Gino could envision her and Nici bravely setting out on Mahogany to find him. With no saddle to hang on to, they tethered themselves to the horse with what they had at hand—Nici’s unnaturally long hair. An encounter with a stranger on the road caused the horse to rear up on its hind legs, throwing them to the ground. His daughter’s hair became entangled in the animal’s legs. When she cut herself free, the momentum threw her into the river. Before anyone could save her, Nici was carried downstream.
Gino became infuriated when he heard about the horrendous treatment Selma received from their neighbors as she searched for their daughter. He patted his wife’s hand as she described the rest of the events leading up to her entrance into the tavern.
When she finished her story, Selma drained the beer that remained in Gino’s stein. She reached for Rikart’s half-full mug and drank that too.
“So what do we do now?” Gino wanted to know.
Selma looked at her husband like he was crazy. “We are finding Nici.”
“I know that we have to find Nici,” Gino answered. “But how?”
“Be looking to the river more, maybe.”
Gino nodded. “It’s just that we only have one horse and no money. We’re not going to get very far.”
“Why you no be asking Rikart for the help?” Selma pointed to magistrate who was standing at the bar with his back toward them.
“I’ll try.” He left the booth and walked up to his friend.
The noise in the tavern prevented Selma from hearing their conversation. She watched their gestures to see how things were going. Gino was animated as he explained the situation, using broad motions to illustrate parts of the story. Rikart listened intently, nodding often. It was obvious that he sympathized with the distraught father.
Selma was encouraged until she saw their old friend raise his palms toward the sky and shake his head. He patted her husband on the back, and then quickly left.
Gino walked back toward her. “Sorry,” he said dejectedly. “Rikart’s here on official business so the only money he has with him is from the royal treasury. They monitor that pretty closely.”
Selma looked down at the ground dejectedly. “This no is being the surprise. No one is being helping to be making this more easy.”
“We’ll think of something, Sel,” her husband tried to soothe her. “Don’t lose hope.”
The distraught mother sighed. “Why the world is being fighting us?” She stared off into the distance.
“More beer?” the barmaid asked as she passed by their table.
“No thanks,” Gino replied. “We were just leaving.”
The woman cleared the empty steins from the table and walked to the next booth. “More drinks?” she asked them.
Gino glanced at the patrons she was addressing. He recognized the man and woman from the caravan that had been at his house.
When the barmaid left, he stepped over to their table. “You agricultural people are still here?”
Renetta jumped back in fright, nearly spilling her beer. “Um, yeah. We’re here for the night.”
“Is your boss here also?” Gino wanted to know.
Tem looked around the room. “I don’t see him.”
“No, I mean is he still in town?”
“Should be,” Renetta affirmed.
“Thanks.” Gino returned to his wife. “Follow me,” he told her, picking up his sack of tools and saddle. “There’s a guy here in town who owes us some money.”
They left the tavern and looked around for the King’s caravan. A large bonfire and loud laughter from the rowdy group made them easy to find.
Gino walked right up to the workers. The man on guard duty stepped in front to block the way. He patted a sword that was at his side.
“Don’t come any farther,” the sentry told him.
“I need to see the crop marshal,” Gino said calmly.
“He don’t want to be disturbed,” another man called from across the fire. “He’s gettin’ his beauty sleep.”
The group burst into raucous laughter.
“I don’t care.” Gino would not be turned away. “I need to see him right now.” He took another step forward.
The guard grabbed the hilt and removed the sword from its scabbard. He pointed it at Gino’s chest. “We told you, he don’t want to be disturbed. And neither do we. Now git.”
“Who’s the pretty lady with you?” someone questioned.
A few of the men whistled at Selma.
“Shush up, you pigs,” one of the women in the group admonished them.
“Hey, what you got there prisoner fella?” another worker called out. “Some more stolen tools?”
More laughter erupted.
Selma tugged at her husband’s sleeve. “Chino, too manys drinkings here. Why we no be going and coming tomorrow?”
“No,” Gino said through clenched teeth. “I came for my money and I intend to get it.”
“Good luck,” the sentry remarked. “Williams don’t part with his money too easily.”
Suddenly, the merriment in the group died down. Gino looked up to see Bitterman walking out of his tent.
The crop marshal walked over to the guard and swatted him on the shoulder. “Lower your sword, you fool. Sir, madam, I apologize for my people’s behavior. Please come this way.”
The Gencarellis followed Bitterman to his tent. They sat down on his cot and accepted the warm tea he offered.
“Now, what can I do for you?” the marshal asked.
“First of all,” Gino started, “a few of my tools are missing.” He had inventoried the contents of the sack when Rikart’s assistant Bosley brought it to him in the bar.
Bitterman closed his eyes and rubbed them with his thumb and forefinger. “I apologize. If you can tell me what’s missing, I’ll have my workers do a thorough search first thing tomorrow morning.”
“I don’t care about my tools nearly as much as my money. You didn’t pay us for our crops.”
The crop marshal stopped and thought a moment. He consulted one of his ledger books. “You are correct,” he agreed. “In the mix-up over the ownership of the tools and saddle, we neglected to make full payment. If you will please move toward the doorway…”
“Don’t give me the runaround.” Gino’s voice shook with anger.
“Sir, that is not my intention. I need you to step aside so I can retrieve the money box.”
“Oh,” Gino said sheepishly.
He and Selma rose to their feet and Bitterman removed a large wooden box from under the cot. From the inside of his shirt, he retrieved a thick chain that hung around his neck. Several keys dangled off the end of it. The marshal inserted one of the keys into the lock and the top flipped open.
He pulled out a fistful of bills, then consulted his ledger book. “According to my entry for your farm, you had three barrels of wheat and two of barley.”
“There was a lot more that your people didn’t take. You stopped filling barrels when you found my tools.”
“I see,” Bitterman replied. He stroked his chin. “Unfortunately, I can only pay you for what I have entered in my book.”
“But you’re the ones who…” Gino started to object.
The man held up his hand. “What I’ll do,” he stated, “is give you the money for these crops now. When our caravan has finished our rounds in this part of the country, we’ll return to your farm and collect your remaining surplus. I’ll then be happy to pay you for what we take away at that time.”
Selma pressed down on her husband’s shoulder to keep him quiet. “Is being okay,” she agreed. “We chust are needing some moneys now.”
“Is that a Bayonne accent?” the marshal asked, trying to keep things friendly.
“Yes,” Selma answered cautiously. She braced herself for some insult about her native land.
“Lovely country,” Bitterman said. “My grandmother was from there.” He counted out the appropriate sum and handed the Gencarellis their money.
Selma quickly eyed the amount, then placed it in her cloak pocket. She extended her hand to the man. “Thank you.”
“About your missing tools,” he told them. “If you’ll return in the morning, I hope to be able to produce them.”
“We have other obligations,” Gino mentioned. “You can deliver them when you revisit our farm.”
“Very well. I will make a note of that and see that your property is returned to you.”
The Gencarellis left carrying the sack of tools and saddle. Gino scowled at the assembled assistants now seated quietly around the fire.
They were almost out of earshot when one of workers shouted, “I hope your girl hangs by her demon hair!”
Gino turned on his heel and started back toward the group.
Selma reached out to halt him. “Chino, no be acting bad. No be getting in chail for the fighting. You no can be finding Nici from chail.”
He knew his wife was right. But that didn’t stop the anger from burning within him. He wanted to punch every one of those heartless beasts in the face.
It was nearly midnight by the time the parents retrieved Vanya and settled uncomfortably on his back. They headed back toward the river, trusting the horse to lead them in the dark. He proved to be a very strong and capable guide.
They rode on for a day and a half, stopping only to rest and feed the horse and stretch their weary muscles. They were careful to ration the food that Brylie had provided in the saddle bags as there was no telling how long it would be before they could get more to eat.
At last they reached the river’s edge. Selma recognized the last path she had checked before taking the turn-off into the town of Ilkon. The parents decided to keep traveling downstream as there had been no sign of Nici in the upper part of the river.
The paths to the river were farther and farther apart in this part of the country. There were a few places where the beach was long and could be easily traversed on foot. In these spots, they journeyed along the riverbank. When the beach was no longer navigable, they returned to the road.
A few paths were too steep for Vanya to safely descend. Wherever they encountered this terrain, Gino walked along the shore while Selma led Vanya down the road. They met up again wherever the beach ended.
Two ugly encounters with farm families convinced them that these side trips were a waste of time. Nici surely would have received the same horrible treatment her parents experienced. These ignorant people had already heard a lot of awful stories the child with the demon hair, so there’s no way she would have received help from any of them.
Selma found the hunt for their daughter much easier with her husband by her side. Not only were there two sets of eyes looking for paths and clues, but they were also able to keep each other’s spirits high. When one would get discouraged, the other was there to offer support. They always had worked well as a team.
One morning, they had not gone very far when Vanya simply stopped in the middle of the road. The poor horse was exhausted from days of carrying two adults, a heavy sack of tools and a weighty second saddle on his back. The Gencarellis knew they had to let him rest for an extended period of time.
They set up a makeshift camp on the side of the road where there was a good patch of grass for the hungry horse to devour. While Selma got the animal settled, Gino scouted the land for a way down to the river.
He heard the rushing torrent long before spying it. Their camp was high above the water’s edge, nearly thirty feet by his estimation. Cypress, pines and other evergreen trees grew sporadically among the enormous boulders that formed the bank of the river. No clear path down the vertical rock face was evident.
Gino grabbed hold of a sturdy limb that stretched out over the drop-off. He leaned out as far as he dared to get a better view.
The water in this section of the river splashed over huge rocks at a frightening pace. Gino tried to dismiss the thought that there was no way Nici could have cleared these rapids. Hope—and the tree bough—was all he had to hang on to now.
The sun emerged from behind a cloud and sparkled on the water below. Gino squinted in the bright light trying to make out the images before him. The blinding glare nearly kept him from noticing a shimmering object in the water. Using his free hand, Gino shielded his eyes. He couldn’t believe what he saw.
“Selma! Selma! Come quick. Look at this. Selma!”
His wife was at his side before he had stopped yelling. “What it is being?” she asked, gasping for breath.
“Down there,” he answered and pointed to a spot in the river.
Selma got down on her stomach and leaned over the bluff. At first, all she could see was the sun’s reflection in the water. After a few moments, her eyes adjusted. “This is being what I am seeing, yes?”
“It’s Nici’s hair!” Gino cried jubilantly. “It has to be. No one else has hair that long.”
Selma narrowed her eyes to reduce the glare. “Nici is being to this place!” she proclaimed.
They looked at each other with huge grins on their faces. It took a moment for the enormity of their discovery to sink in.
As quickly as it arose, their elation turned to fear.
“The hair is being here,” Selma conceded. “But where Nici is being?”
“We have to get down there,” Gino declared.
Selma looked up and down the shoreline. The sheer cliff offered no possibility other than a straight drop. Her mind raced as she tapped her forefinger against her teeth, trying to devise a plan.
It came to her in a flash. “Tapano!” she cried out in a burst of excitement. “The hair.”
“I know,” Gino nodded. “That’s what we’re looking at.”
“No her hair down there. Her other hair.” She dashed off toward the horse.
A few minutes later she reappeared with the long strands she had been carrying for days. “For to be using like the rope,” Selma revealed.
“Oh,” Gino nodded, finally understanding what she meant. “But that will only get me halfway down.”
She returned to her nervous teeth-tapping habit. She ran the fingers of her free hand down the length of the hair.
“Yes, sure,” she laughed. “We are making the two and tying to both.”
Gino frowned for a minute while he thought about what that could mean. Selma was already pulling the tresses apart with half in one hand and half in the other.
“I see,” he laughed. “You mean divide the hair in half and tie the two sections together.”
Selma nodded without looking up and continued her work.
Gino inspected the trees to find one sturdy enough to hold his weight. A cypress two feet from the bluff’s perimeter seemed to offer the best option. Gino quickly tied one end of the tresses around the trunk. He tugged on it to test the strength of the knot.
“Seems sturdy enough.” He looked over the side. “Sure is a long way down.”
Selma grabbed the length of curls and began tying knots at two-foot intervals. “These are being to stop for the down.”
“Okay then.” Gino sucked in a huge breath. “Wish me luck.”
“Please be watching your stepping,” his wife cautioned.
Gripping the strands tightly in his fists, Gino began his downward trek. He eased himself over the side and braced both feet against the granite wall. The knots Selma had tied provided convenient handholds. Using a hand-under-hand motion, he slowly moved down the vertical surface. As it became evident that the rope would hold him, he began to pick up speed. At last he reached the safety of the beach.
Gino quickly strode across the narrow beach to where the mass of curls floated in the current. He tried to pick up the clump, but it was caught by something heavy. Gino prayed it wasn’t his daughter’s body.
A closer inspection revealed that the locks were wrapped around the branch of the tree that had fallen in the water. The binding was so intricate that the rushing river couldn’t have caused it. Nici must have done this herself.
Gino examined the free end of the hair. The strands had obviously been cut, not pulled from Nici’s head.
Selma could no longer contain her anxious curiosity. “Chino, what you are finding?” she yelled down to him. The question echoed throughout the canyon.
“Great news,” Gino called back. He waited for the reverberation to subside. “She got out of the water here.” Again, he paused while his words ricocheted around the granite walls. “I’m going to look for her.”
He ran down the slender strip of land that separated the water from the rock wall. Partway down the beach was another beautiful sight. About ten feet up the vertical cliff, a long braid of Nici’s hair hung from a tree that grew straight out of the rock.
“Clever girl,” Gino smiled. Like his wife, Nici had thought to use her hair as a rope. “She must have climbed up to that spot,” he mused, “then cut off that section. When the hair regrew, she made more rope for the next section.”
Gino scoured the top of the bank that he could see from below. He was trying to determine if his daughter was resting there. The steep angle prevented him from seeing where the second tree Nici roped had given way and sent her tumbling back down to the river. Instead, he believed that she had safely reached the bluff top.
He scampered back down the beach and shouted to his wife. “Nici made it to the top about fifty yards down.”
Selma dropped to her knees and clasped her hands. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she repeated over and over.
Gino impatiently waited for the echo to diminish before talking again. “Go look for her while I climb up.”
Selma charged along the top of the boulders, ducking in and out of the trees. When she had gone about the distance described by her husband, she stopped and looked over the side. Sure enough, Nici’s hair was dangling from a tree trunk farther down the cliff. From her angle above, she couldn’t see the hole caused by the tree that had pulled free. Oblivious to her daughter’s fate, she hugged the nearest tree and gave it a quick kiss.
Selma searched all around the area for any sign of her daughter. Nothing was evident, but she wasn’t discouraged. The child could have passed through here days ago. The wind, rain or animals might have erased footprints and other traces she may have left behind.
She walked back just as Gino was climbing over the side of the bluff. The thought of his daughter being alive gave him the strength to rapidly ascend the thirty-foot wall.
The two of them returned to where Vanya was resting. They tried to put themselves in Nici’s shoes and determine where she had gone when she got to the road. The most logical answer was that she had returned to their home. That’s where they decided to go next.
Gino patted the horse’s flank. “One more good ride, boy, then you can really rest.”
Vanya picked up on their excitement. He lifted his head and looked them both in the eye, as if to say, “I’m ready.”
Gino and Selma saddled up and headed for home. Neither of them talked the whole way. They were both lost in their own thoughts. Would Nici be home when they got there? What kind of condition would she be in? If she were injured, would it be permanent?
Responding to his riders’ urging, Vanya galloped on at full speed. When darkness descended, they stopped for the night.
Light was barely breaking the next day when they packed their bedroll and journeyed on. It seemed to take forever before the landscape became familiar. The first sign of their own fields caused both parents’ hearts to beat much faster. They could be just moments away from being reunited with their daughter.
“Do you smell that?” Gino inquired.
“Is being the smell like burning,” Selma remarked.
They raced down the wide pathway that led to their home. Gino suddenly pulled the horse up short. “Noooooo,” he wailed.
Their house was now nothing but smoldering ruins.
CHAPTER 11 / An Unsuspecting Pawn
Elliot’s heart raced uncontrollably as the sound of horse’s hooves reverberated through the cave. Shivers of fear rippled down his spine.
For ten years he had dreaded the day when the King’s guards would discover his hiding place. Capture would mean spending the rest of his life imprisoned in a dank dungeon. Or perhaps he would be killed for his traitorous actions. It was hard to decide which outcome was preferable.
As the echoes grew louder, the large knight became convinced that an entire army was bearing down on him. With no natural light illuminating the cavern, he could not see what was coming at him, which made the sounds all the more menacing.
Elliot briefly debated whether it would be worthwhile to ride head-on into the crowd and try to escape that way. The passageway was so narrow that he probably wouldn’t be able to pass by. It was more likely that he would be tossed from his horse and trampled by the oncoming throng.
He chose instead to retreat back to the house. Turning Barbaro’s head, he urged on the grey horse. Barbaro snorted out a breath before galloping back.
“What’s that?” asked an unfamiliar voice that bounced off the walls of the cave.
Elliot listened as the sound of the approaching horses quieted. He quickly halted Barbaro. His hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword and squeezed tightly. Drawing in a deep breath, he yanked the blade from the scabbard and struck an attack pose.
“It stopped now,” the voice echoed through the chamber.
A tense minute passed in silence. Then came the sound of a flint striking steel. A tiny speck of light erupted into a blinding glow as someone lit a torch.
“Elliot?” “Elliot?” Elliot?” The name repeated throughout the cavern.
“Carlton? Is that you?”
The smaller knight lifted his visor and held the torch’s light closer. “Of course it’s me,” he scoffed. “Who else would it be?”
“Thank goodness.” Elliot dropped his sword and dismounted. He walked over to his brother. “Who’s with you?”
The two other riders lowered the hoods of their cloaks to reveal their faces. “It’s me. Lars,” said the man. “And this is my wife Marietta.”
“Lars!” Elliot exclaimed, grabbing the man’s hand and shaking it vigorously.
Lars worked in the kitchen of the King’s palace and belonged to the Order of the Rightful Succession. The Etto brothers had formed the secret society to distinguish friend from foe. A person could ask another if they were a member of the Order, and if that person could do the secret handshake, the two would know that they were on the side of Elliot and Carlton.
“Lars, it’s great to see you.” Elliot extended his hand to the woman. “Marietta, nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” she replied, putting her plump, gloved hand into his massive grip.
“Is it just the three of you?” Elliot inquired. “It sounded like a whole army was in here.”
“Just us,” Lars said.
“Brother, what are you doing out here in the middle of the night?” Carlton asked. “And why did you have your sword drawn?” The younger brother noticed the packed saddlebags on Barbaro. “Were you coming after me? I thought I told you not to.”
Elliot’s relief at seeing his brother immediately disappeared. Carlton had instantly returned to his bossy self. “I wasn’t coming after you,” Elliot stated.
The younger sibling thought about that a moment. Then he let out a chuckle. “Elliot,” he mocked, “were you running away? And you got scared when you heard us coming?”
“I wasn’t running away,” came the angry answer. “I was going to scout out a new hideout. For all I knew you had given up the location of this one to the King’s guards. I thought we might need a new place to live, so I was going to look for one before I came and rescued you.”
Carlton burst out laughing, which boomed over and over around the walls of the cave. “Rescue me!” he managed to get out in between hoots of laughter. “That’ll be the day!”
Lars shifted his weight on his horse. He hadn’t seen the brothers in the decade since they went into hiding and he had forgotten how much they fought. “Wow, this is really interesting in here,” he cut in to stop the verbal volleying. He was looking at the odd formations that hung from the ceiling and grew up from the floor. They were shaped like thin pyramids and came in a range of colors—brown, white, green, tan and even red. Water slowly dripped from a few. “After that entrance and this passageway, I’m sure the house must be something to behold.”
“Yes, about that entrance,” Carlton started to say.
“It’s fantastic,” Lars enthused. “Perfectly hidden. Why no one would ever think to walk through…”
“Lars,” Carlton put a finger to his lips to indicate silence. “We don’t want our workers to know that little secret. ”
“Of course,” Lars whispered. “My lips are sealed.”
“Shall we get going then?” Elliot asked. He remounted Barbaro and led the way.
Since it was the dead of night and the children were asleep, no one greeted the party as they arrived at the house. Carlton escorted the guests inside while Elliot walked the four horses to the stable and got them settled.
Carlton showed Lars and Marietta to a room upstairs where they dropped their travel bags. He returned a few minutes later with a pitcher of water, a basin and several towels so they could clean off the road dirt. “When you’ve freshened up a bit, come downstairs and have a drink with us. We can get Elliot caught up on all the news.” He left to go back downstairs and build a warming fire in the main room hearth.
Elliot entered the room and walked straight over to his brother. “Are you sure we can trust them?” he asked, pointing upstairs to where their guests were.
“Would I have brought them here if I didn’t think we could trust them?” came the answer.
“It’s just…well, we’ve never met that woman before.”
“She seems to do whatever Lars tells her. And believe me, he’s still on our side. No need to worry about where his loyalties are. He hates Sevvy just as much as ever.”
Shortly after ascending to the throne, Sevvy had publicly humiliated the man. Lars was serving at a royal feast and accidentally spilled a tureen of soup all over a visiting princess. In front of the roomful of important guests, Sevvy scolded him like a child, though the King was only fifteen and Lars was more than double that age. Worse yet, the young tyrant had the highly experienced server demoted to dishwashing duties. Lars was never allowed to serve at a royal function again.
The Etto’s guests descended the steps and walked into the parlor where the brothers awaited them. Now that he was out of his traveling clothes, it was obvious that Lars had put on quite a bit of weight through his midsection. His face always had a fleshy quality to it, especially his bulbous nose. His jowls had drooped considerably over the decade since the brother knights had seen him.
Marietta appeared to be quite a bit younger than Lars was, though no less rotund. Her face was plain and her straight hair a bit drab. Her smile was lopsided, though there was something vaguely endearing about it.
“Nice place you have here,” Lars remarked.
Marietta flashed her uneven smile and nodded her agreement.
“Thank you,” Carlton said. He handed them a goblet of homemade wine. “See if you like this. It’s from our vineyards.”
“Wonderful,” Lars declared.
Again, Marietta said nothing but simply smiled her approval.
“So Lars,” Elliot asked, “what brings you to our humble home?”
“I wouldn’t exactly call it humble,” Lars laughed as he looked around at the spacious interior.
“Lars has some very interesting news for us,” Carlton told his brother.
“And what might that be?”
Before the man could answer, Carlton burst out with, “The royal troll is getting married!”
“Sevvy is getting married?” Elliot repeated.
“He sure is,” Lars answered. “I figured you’d want to know.”
When they went into exile, the brothers had many spies who remained in the King’s service. The loyalists were to let them know about anything big going on in the sovereign’s life. Marriage certainly qualified.
“But how did you ever find us?” the older brother wanted to know.
“Just like you told us to,” Lars replied. “Traveled north for two days, climbed the nearest hill and sent up smoke signals. Then we waited four days for you to contact us. When you didn’t show up, we traveled for two more days, went up another hill and basically kept that up until Carlton came and got us.”
“You always were good at following orders,” the younger knight smiled. “So how many days did it take you?”
“Let’s see,” Lars said and started to count on his fingers.
“Thirty-seven,” Marietta spoke up. The wine’s effect was obviously making her a little bolder. She took another sip. “Twelve traveling, twenty-three waiting and two days riding here.”
“I admire that kind of dedication,” Carlton said. “And you shall be justly rewarded.”
“We were hoping so,” Lars replied.
“So when is this wedding taking place?” Elliot inquired.
“New Year’s,” Lars answered. “Just a few months from now. The invitations went out this summer, but we couldn’t break away to tell you until last month.”
“Hmm, I wonder why we didn’t receive an invitation,” Carlton mused.
Lars furrowed his brow. “Well I’m not really sure that you’re exactly welcome in the castle anymore.”
Carlton laughed. “No, I wouldn’t think so.”
“Why not?” Marietta wanted to know. Her face was now flushed red from the alcohol in her system. She helped herself to another goblet of wine and refilled everyone else’s as well.
“Lars, you haven’t told your bride about us?” the young knight teased.
“I just told her that by all rights, Elliot should be king, not Sevvy.”
Elliot nodded. “And I will be one day.”
“One day very soon if I, I mean if we have anything to do with it,” Carlton remarked.
“Here, here,” Lars said and raised his goblet in a toast.
The group all clinked their wine vessels.
“So is anyone going to tell me why King Sevvy rules Pahdu instead of Elliot?” Marietta asked.
“Are you sure you want to know?” Carlton responded. “It’s a rather long story.”
“I’m not tired,” she replied.
“Very well.” Carlton drained his wine goblet. “You’re too young to remember this, my dear, but our father was Pahdu’s king many years ago. He died when Elliot was just two years old and I was an infant. Unfortunately, he didn’t leave a will of succession. That meant his younger brother, our Uncle Smithson, took over the throne.”
“I remember King Smithson,” Marietta interrupted. She was quite chatty now after two goblets of wine.
“Yes, well he ruled for many years,” the knight continued. “We assumed that when he died, succession would return to our side of the family. But Uncle had a different idea. He decided to relinquish his power and turn the throne over to his oldest child, his daughter, right after her upcoming wedding.”
“Didn’t something happen to her?” Marietta broke in. “I vaguely remember hearing stories about how she had mysteriously disappeared. What was her name again?”
“Thena,” Elliot said very quietly. He finished his full goblet in one swallow, refilled it and drained it again.
“So whatever happened to Thena?” the woman asked.
Lars and Elliot stared at Carlton, who shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He ran his fingers through his wavy brown hair, stalling for time. He didn’t want to tell the real story of how the Ettos had their spies attack Thena and her caravan when she was traveling to meet her fiancé. Especially since things hadn’t gone entirely according to plan.
The Order of the Rightful Succession members were to swoop down on the caravan in a deserted part of the country and kill everyone, including the queen-to-be. They were to get rid of every trace of the guards and leave Thena’s body out in the open to be found by Smithson. The intent was to cause considerable grief to the old King and confuse him into thinking that there was a great conspiracy against him. The hope was that Smithson would feel too weak to remain in power. Since his only other child, Sevvy, had just turned seven, they thought he would turn the throne over to Elliot.
The brothers’ allies had carried out the plan perfectly, leaving Thena’s body all by itself in a remote area. But when Smithson sent out a search party for his daughter, no trace of her or any of her caravan was ever found. He also dispatched emissaries to all countries surrounding Pahdu to see if anyone knew what happened to his daughter. It was a great mystery that was never solved.
Because of this, the King decided to retain the throne until his death. By then Sevvy was fifteen years old and assumed his father’s position as the sovereign of Pahdu. The Etto brothers were furious with this turn of events and did their best to overthrow the boy king, which is how they got banished.
Since most of this had never come out in the open, Carlton thought it best not to disclose that he and Elliot were behind the attack. Instead, he answered Marietta’s question in a roundabout way.
“It seems that Thena simply disappeared,” he said. “Perhaps attacked by wild animals or washed away by a flood. No one knows for sure what happened.” He went on to explain how succession had gone to Sevvy, not Elliot.
“But that’s unfair,” Marietta said. “The throne is rightfully yours.”
“Tell that to Sevvy,” Elliot spat.
A loud snore erupted from the sleeping Lars. Marietta laughed. “I guess I better get him up to bed,” she said. She woke her husband and they said their goodnights before heading upstairs to their room.
“She’s way too nosy for my liking,” Elliot said when their guests had departed the room. “And you were just a little chatterbox. You told her way too much.”
“I was just being hospitable.”
“Well I don’t like people we don’t even know knowing so much about us.”
Carlton smiled. “Not to worry brother. I was just testing how much wine she can drink.”
“What difference does that make?”
“Did you notice how much she had tonight?”
Elliot nodded. “She did put away quite a bit of wine.”
“Exactly. And that fits in perfectly with my plan.”
“What plan?” his older brother wanted to know.
“Well, we still don’t know how much of Lindor’s poison is needed to kill a human. We need to put enough of it into the wine to kill Sevvy, but not so much that he can taste it. As fortune would have it, we now have a perfect test case in our midst. We’ll use her and her fondness for wine to perfect our poison wine before serving it at the King’s wedding.”
Elliot patted his brother on the back. “You’re always thinking,” he laughed.
“Indeed I am.”
​
CHAPTER 12 / A Mysterious Stranger
Nici swayed upside down for several minutes before the rope attached to her ankle finally stilled. Her head dangled five feet above the ground. Her hair drooped in a massive pile beneath her.
“At least if I fall, I’ll have a good cushion,” she thought.
Blood rushed to her head. Her right leg felt like it was being pulled from its socket.
“Help!” Nici screamed, praying the hunter who set this trap lived nearby. “Help!” she cried out several more times.
When no assistance seemed forthcoming, Nici decided to take matters into her own hands. It was difficult, but she was able to lift her head to an upward angle to better view how she was tethered to the tree. She dangled about ten feet from the hugh bough above. That would make it awfully difficult to swing herself high enough to reach the limb.
Craning her neck a little farther, she spotted another strong branch off to one side. This one was only about four feet away. Nici shifted her body weight to one side, then in the opposite direction and back again. She swung back and forth, ranging out a bit more each time. Soon she was swinging wide enough that she could reach for the limb. Several attempts later, she was able to grab it with her left hand.
Nici now reached out with her right hand. It barely stretched to the tree limb and she wasn’t able to get a very strong grip. She wiggled her right leg, hoping to free a bit more length. The rope wouldn’t budge.
The poor child was caught in a most uncomfortable position. Her arm was pulling in one direction while her leg was wrenched the other way. She was literally being stretched from limb to limb. The posture grew more painful by the minute. But letting go would drop her right back into hanging by her ankle, which wasn’t comfortable either.
Nici drew in a deep breath. “HELLLLLLLLLLLLLP!” she exhaled at the top of her lungs.
Silence followed her desperate plea. Then suddenly, she heard a crashing of leaves and branches through the thick forest. Something big was definitely coming her way. Nici held on to her precarious position, hoping it was the hunter coming to rescue her.
She was shocked when a middle-aged woman appeared burst through the vegetation. The woman limped slightly and walked with a cane. She circled underneath where Nici was perched.
“What seems to be the problem?” the woman inquired.
“Well as you can see, I’m caught in this trap.”
“Uh-huh. And how did that happen?”
“I was walking through the woods and something snared my ankle. The next thing I knew I was hanging upside down.”
“Doesn’t look too comfortable,” the woman observed.
“It’s not. Could you help me get down, please? This is really starting to hurt.”
“I guess it all depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“On why exactly you’re here.”
“Ma’am,” Nici tried to stay calm and be as polite as possible. “It’s kind of a long story about how I got here. If you could help me down, I’d be happy to tell you.”
“Your story wouldn’t have anything to do with you snooping around my property looking to do mischief, would it?”
“Absolutely not,” Nici assured her.
“All right then.” The woman hobbled over to a nearby tree, went behind it and did something that Nici couldn’t quite see. She emerged with the other end of the rope in the hand that didn’t hold her cane. “You’ll have to let go of that branch,” she stated.
“Gladly.” Nici released the bough and swayed back and forth wildly by her foot. The movement threatened to jerk her leg from the hip socket.
The woman dropped her walking stick and caught Nici on the third swing, which stopped any further movement. “You’re okay,” she assured the girl. “Put your hands down to meet the ground as I lower you.”
Nici did as instructed and was soon sitting safely on the ground. The woman reached down to slip the loop from around the child’s ankle.
“Thank you.” Nici rubbed her skin where the rope had cut into it. “I don’t know what I would have done without your help.”
“Oh, you’d have thought of something.”
It occurred to Nici that the woman had not yet mentioned her hair. Surely she had noticed it. Why hadn’t she commented on it?
“You’re probably wondering about my hair,” Nici offered.
“I’m more interested in why you’re here,” the woman retorted and picked her cane up off the ground.
“Very well.” Nici paused for a moment, wondering where to begin. Should she start with the lightning strike, her father’s disappearance, how she was swept into the river or the ride over the waterfall? It seemed best to start at the beginning, which is what she did.
As her tale dragged on, Nici could see the woman start to soften. No longer was she glaring and frowning. A more sympathetic expression showed on her face. She even winced at some of the more harrowing parts of the story.
When Nici finished, the woman looked her directly in the eyes. “Child, I owe you an apology. I had no idea you were a lost soul so far away from home. I thought you were one of those hooligans from Cronald come to harass me.”
“Ma’am, I don’t even know where Cronald is.”
“Well that’s lucky for you. What’s your name child?”
“Nici Gencarelli.”
The woman extended her right hand. “Mine’s Parmalee.”
Nici noticed a red mark on the woman’s extended hand. It was shaped like an hourglass.
Parmalee saw her staring at it. “Birthmark, I guess,” she explained.
Nici nodded, then changed the subject. “Is Parmalee your first or last name, ma’am?”
“Both. It’s the only name I have.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you Parmalee.”
“You must be hungry after everything you’ve been through. Come with me. I’ll get you something to eat.”
Nici’s stomach had been growling for hours. She followed the woman without hesitation.
Parmalee traversed the dense forest confidently, using her walking stick to steady herself on the uneven ground. Nici’s progress was slowed as always by her hair. Though it was wrapped around one of her arms, it continued to snag on branches and she had to make frequents stops to yank it free.
“You must not come this way very often,” Nici observed.
“I come most every day,” Parmalee replied.
“Then why isn’t the path easier to see? At home, our trail to the river is completely clear.”
Parmalee stopped in her tracks and turned to face the child. “Well first of all, I don’t really welcome visitors. So I don’t try to make the path to my house that obvious. If you’re really careful, you can make your way through these woods without leaving much of a trace.”
“How?” Nici wanted to know.
“Step softly upon the ground. Bend branches out of your way, but don’t break them. Don’t walk right after it’s rained because you’ll leave footprints in the mud. Things like that.”
They walked along in silence for a while. Nici was brimming with questions, but the woman didn’t seem to want to talk.
Without warning, they came into the bright sunlight of a clearing. Nici surveyed the tiny house surrounded by small patches of crops and ringed by fruit trees.
Parmalee paused at the edge of the open land. “Well, this is home,” she said after a time.
“It’s nice,” Nici smiled.
The woman nodded. “I guess.” She walked over to the small cabin and pushed open the door with her cane. “Come on in.”
Nici crossed the threshold and took in the whole interior in less than a minute. There was a small table and bench to one side, a bed and some shelves on the opposite side and a single chair by the fireplace against the far wall.
The child started to say something, but the older woman cut her off. “It’s not much, but it’s home. Go stoke up the fire and then sit by it to get warm.”
Nici seated herself in the chair by the fire. It felt good to be someplace safe. She put her bare feet as close the flames as possible to warm them. She closed her eyes momentarily and drifted off to sleep.
Parmalee startled her awake. She held out a pair of socks and some worn-out leather boots. “I don’t know if these will fit, but you’re welcome to them.”
“Thank you.” The socks instantly warmed Nici’s freezing toes. The boots were a bit too big, but they were better then being bare-footed.
The woman reached around the child and filled a bowl from a cast iron pot suspended on a rod across the fire. The bowl was made from a dried gourd that had been hollowed out. She handed it to Nici and returned seconds later with a tin spoon and a biscuit. “Why don’t you eat something?” Parmalee suggested.
Nici smiled and gratefully accepted the food. She devoured it in seconds. “Delicious.”
“The rabbits around here do make a good stew.” Parmalee refilled the bowl. “Want more?”
“No thank you,” Nici replied.
The woman nodded. “Probably best not to eat too much right away. Too much of a shock to your stomach.”
She placed the bowl down on the hearth and pulled the bench closer to the fire and to Nici. Once she was seated, she slowly ate her own dinner.
Nici observed her hostess more closely. She was wiry, but not really frail, and not much taller than Nici herself. Her gnarled hands showed that she worked hard for a living. Her bristly hair was streaked with grey and hung down to her shoulders. Small wrinkles showed around the corners of her eyes and mouth. The red birthmark that Nici noticed earlier looked even darker by the firelight.
The girl examined the woman’s cane, which rested against the hearth. It appeared to be made of cherry wood with a light stain. Around the handle, the finish had darkened from the oils in Parmalee’s hand. At the end of the handle was an elaborately carved ring.
Nici nodded toward it when she realized the woman was watching her inspect the walking stick. “My father would enjoy seeing your cane,” she offered.
“Your father a carver?” Parmalee asked in between bites of stew.
“No, he’s a farmer. But his hobby is building things out of wood. Did you make the cane yourself?”
The hostess shook her head no. “A friend made it for me years ago.”
“Why is there a ring at the end of the handle?” the curious child wanted to know.
“The man who carved the cane for me believed that everything in life comes full circle. The ring was to remind me of that.”
Nici thought about that for a bit, not entirely sure what it meant.
Parmalee stood up slowly, groaning a little in the process. She walked across the room and placed the empty gourd bowls and tin spoons in a bucket half full of water. She rinsed off everything with something Nici had never seen before.
“What’s that?” the child asked.
“A loofa,” Parmalee replied. “Something a friend of mine showed me. You see, there’s a certain type of gourd that you let dry on the vine. The flesh disappears and all that’s left are the fibers and the seeds. Just shake out the seeds and you have this handy contraption that can hold water and scrub things.”
Then woman shuffled back over to the child to show her the loofa.
“Why do you limp?” Nici blurted out before she could stop herself.
Parmalee shook her head and looked down at her feet. “Not a story I can tell,” she replied.
​
CHAPTER 13 / A Wicked Plan
Renetta Picksley hadn’t stopped plotting since she found out that Mr. Smythe the prisoner was actually Mr. Gencarelli—a man with a secret. Picksley was always looking for an easy way to make money and she was pretty sure she had stumbled upon it this time.
After Gencarelli and his wife left the bar in Pella, Renetta turned to her co-worker Tem Waffa. Tem had been her cart partner in the agricultural caravan for three years. She knew he had a crush on her, which she used to her advantage. She could always get him to do the hardest, worst jobs simply by flirting with him.
“Tem, this is our lucky day.”
“Sure is,” Tem agreed. “We hardly ever get a day off. Especially someplace that has beer.”
Renetta pushed down on the lid of Tem’s beer stein to keep him from drinking more. “That’s not what I meant.”
“You’re not talking about…” he gave her a big smile, then looked down at the table, embarrassed.
“I’m talking about money, my friend. And lots of it.”
“Oh that,” he said, clearly disappointed. “Well, lots of money would be nice, but we don’t have that. So I’m enjoying my beer.” Tem shooed away her covering hand and drained his mug. He had heard too many of her money-making schemes before.
“If you’re quite finished…”
“I am,” Tem burped in interruption.
“Then I’ll tell you what I’m planning,” Renetta continued. “Did you hear Gencarelli telling his friend that story?”
“Not really,” Tem confessed. “I was just kind of sitting here, you know, enjoying the surroundings.”
Renetta knew that he had been looking longingly at her most of the time. “Well I was paying attention and it seems that Mr. G made a couple of knights very, very mad many years ago.”
“So?” her friend shrugged.
“So, those two knights are probably quite interested in finding the man who ruined their lives. In fact, they’d probably be willing to pay a handsome sum for information about his whereabouts.”
“I see,” Tem smiled and nodded. He paused a moment to consider everything. “Actually, I don’t see.”
“Then let me explain.” Renetta launched into her plan for finding the knights and telling them where the Gencarellis lived.
Tem listened carefully, trying hard to pay attention to her words instead of her emerald-green eyes and cute little upturned nose.
Renetta finished and drew in a deep breath. “So what do you think?” she asked.
“Sounds good to me,” Tem replied.
“So you’re with me?”
“Sure. Just tell me what to do.”
“Don’t worry about that. Okay then. Our first order of business is to go find Bitterman.”
The two workers left the bar and went to meet up with their crop marshal. The camp was quiet by now as most of rowdy revelers had gone to sleep off their night of drinking.
Renetta walked over to the man who was standing guard. “Is Williams still awake?”
“Don’t know,” the sentry answered. “He was up about an hour ago when that farmer guy was here demanding his money. Oh yeah, and some of his tools were missing so we’ll have to do a search in the morning.”
Renetta smiled, figuring that no one would think to look in a crop barrel for the missing implements. She made a mental note to get rid of the chisel and crowbar along the way so she didn’t risk getting caught.
“Never mind,” Renetta told the guard. “This can wait ‘til morning.”
She and Tem left to get a few hours of rest.
When the morning trumpet sounded, Renetta was already awake and dressed. She went to Tem’s tent and tried to awaken him with a soft kick to the ribs. “Get up, my friend. We have money to make.”
Tem groaned and rolled farther away.
“Come on,” Renetta prodded. “We have to go talk to Williams first thing this morning.”
“Can’t you do that?”
Renetta thought about his suggestion. She realized that her co-conspirator could actually be a liability if their boss asked too many questions. Maybe it was best if she did go by herself.
“Very well.” She tried to muster up an aggravated tone. “But I hope you’re going to pull your weight for the rest of the trip.”
“I will,” Tem mumbled from beneath his covers. “Just let me sleep a few more minutes.”
Bitterman was supervising the men and women who where packing up his tent when Renetta arrived. “Picksley, I may need you to set up a detail to look for some lost tools. We can’t have the King’s workers accused of stealing or maybe just misplacing people’s property. It just isn’t right.”
“I agree sir. It makes us look bad. But right now I have a bigger concern.”
“What’s that?”
“Well sir,” Renetta started, “we’ve had an awful lot of delays this year. First the rain held us up, then this mix-up with that farmer fellow. I’m just worried that the crops aren’t getting to the cities soon enough. People could be starving while we go about our business.”
“I see your concern,” the headman said. “Any suggestions?”
“Yes sir. Two of us could take a wagon loaded with supplies and start back toward the castle. We could drop a few barrels off in each of the towns along the way to give the people some provisions until you’re able to come through with their full share.”
Bitterman thought about this for a moment. “It’s highly irregular. Not exactly by the book. I’m not sure what my superiors would think.”
“I understand, sir. But don’t you think they would applaud your efforts to get food to the people sooner rather than later?”
“You may be right,” he agreed. “Can I trust you with this mission?”
“Absolutely sir. My wagon is the one with the broken wheel. But we can move the load to an empty wagon and be on our way in half an hour.
“Well, it will be easier to fix an empty wagon,” the marshal conceded. “You and Waffa have my permission to make the delivery. Two barrels only for each town. Then make your way back to the caravan.”
“Yes sir. We’ll get started right away.”
Renetta had to keep herself from running to go get Tem. She was anxious to get on the road as quickly as possible.
A team of workers loaded the crops from the broken cart onto an empty one. Renetta made sure the barrel that held Gino’s tools was put on last. And she handled it herself, not wanting to take a chance that someone else would accidentally drop it and reveal the contents. When the cart was fully loaded, they draped a layer of waxed canvas over the barrels and tied it to the sides of the wagon. This would keep the rain off the crops if they encountered foul weather along the way.
Morning mist was still hugging the ground as the partners in crime pulled out of town. Once they were out clear of the caravan, Renetta couldn’t wipe the smile from her face.
The first town on their list was nearly four days away. To make better time, they traveled day and night, stopping only when the dray horses needed a break. At last they arrived in the town of Eichler.
Townspeople came out of their shops and homes when the cart rolled through town. As soon as they spied the maroon uniforms of the agricultural caravan, they began applauding.
Tem guided the wagon straight to the mayor’s office.
Mayor Holland burst out of the building and met the workers in the street. “Welcome, welcome,” she greeted them. “Are we ever happy to see you.”
Renetta removed her hat and gestured for Tem to do the same.
“Well ma’am,” Renetta informed her, “we can only make a partial delivery. The rest of your town’s crops will be delivered in a few weeks.” She went on to explain about the unforeseen delays and why the food was being distributed this way.
“We’re happy to get whatever we can right now,” the mayor informed them. “Supplies are running low.”
They made small talk while completing the paperwork that detailed the receipt of the barrels. Bitterman was a stickler for regulations, so Renetta made sure everything was in order.
As their meeting was winding down, Renetta casually brought up the subject that was her real reason for being here. “Mayor Holland, you know pretty much everyone in this town, right?”
“I would say so,” she affirmed.
“By any chance would there be two brothers living here who also happen to be former knights of the King’s realm?”
Holland shook her head. “No, I can’t think of anyone who fits that description. Are these fellows in trouble?”
“Absolutely not,” Renetta assured her. “We simply need to get a message to them.”
“Sorry I can’t help you out. But we don’t have any knights here in Eichler.”
“Not a problem,” Renetta smiled. “Now where should we drop off your supplies?”
The Mayor directed them to a storage shed down the road and told them to ask for Angus.
When they reached him, Angus was eager to help unload. “Boy have we been needing this,” he told them. He reached for the closest barrel.
“Oh not that one,” Renetta stopped him. It was the one where she had hidden the tools.
Angus gave her an odd look.
“I think the wheat in that barrel is a little moldy,” Renetta explained.
“Well we sure don’t want that,” the man laughed. He hoisted another barrel off the back of the wagon and rolled it into the shed. A few minutes later, he returned for the second barrel.
“That should do it,” Renetta said. “You’ll be getting more in a few weeks.”
Angus tipped his cap. “Thank you, ma’am and sir.”
Renetta motioned for Tem to head back out onto the road.
“But I was hoping we could stop here for the night and get some decent rest,” Tem protested.
“We’ve got a nice inn at the end of town,” Angus offered. “It overlooks the Roon River.”
“Thank you,” Renetta said, “but other towns are hungry too. We have to keep moving.”
“You’re good people,” Angus told them and tipped his hat again.
Tem slapped the reins against the horses’ backs. He drove on sullenly, staring straight ahead. “Are we ever gonna get to rest?” he asked when they left the town limits.
“You can rest all day everyday once you’re rich,” Renetta answered.
Tem huffed in reply.
Hours later when the sun had set but the moon wasn’t yet illuminating the night sky, Renetta told Tem to stop.
“Now you want to rest? Here in the middle of nowhere?”
“We’re not resting,” Renetta informed him. “We’re getting rid of evidence.”
She hopped down off the seat and went to the rear of the wagon. After opening the end barrel, she reached in and fished out the chisel. Grasping it by the handle, she threw it into the woods.
“Okay,” she said, returning to her seat. “Let’s get out of here.”
“What about the crowbar?” Tem wanted to know.
“We’ll toss that someplace else. We don’t want someone to find both and get suspicious.”
They charged on toward the next town, unaware that the chisel’s blade had lodged in a tree trunk by the roadside. It stuck straight out, obvious to anyone who passed by.
*
Tem didn’t speak to Renetta for over an hour. He was still sore that they hadn’t stopped for a break back in Eichler. He had no idea how far away the next town was. And his backside hurt from too much sitting and the bumpy ride.
The moon began to rise and shed some much-needed light on them. It wasn’t as easy as traveling in daylight, but at least now they could steer the horses away from major obstacles in the road.
Tem let out a few loud yawns, hoping his partner would take the hint. Renetta simply smiled at him and turned back to watching the road ahead. There was no swaying her from her mission.
Tem’s eyelids began to grow heavy. He blinked hard several times trying to wake up, but he was fighting a losing battle. His eyes closed and his head bobbed around as he nodded off to sleep.
Around the same time, Renetta also drifted off. Both quickly fell sound asleep. So they were unaware of the danger just ahead.
CHAPTER 14 / Farewell to a Friend
Selma stared at the blackened remains of her beautiful homestead. She sat motionless on Vanya’s back, paralyzed by the sight.
When the wind blew toward her, the acrid smell of charred wood and furnishings assaulted her nostrils.
Gino had already dismounted and was inspecting the scorched structures. He shook his head back and forth in disbelief. Occasionally he would pick up a blackened item, hoping to salvage something of their belongings. When he realized it was hopelessly burned, he discarded the object off to the side.
Now the Gencarellis truly owned only the clothes on their backs. They had no house, no furniture, no barn, nothing. And they still had no idea where their only child was.
“Sideburn,” Gino called. “Sideburn, come here boy.” There was no sign of the dog. It was unclear whether he had died in the fire or run away.
Gino looked over at his wife. She was staring off into the distance with a totally blank expression. The woman who was always his rock, his foundation, was clearly shaken to her core. He went to her side and lifted her hand.
“Honey, why don’t you get down from the horse?” When she didn’t reply, he asked her again.
“Why?” Her voice was barely audible. “There no is being the life here for us.”
“We can start over,” Gino tried to reassure her. “We’ll rebuild in the spring.”
“No,” Selma said. “I no am being living here again. The land here, she is being curses.”
“Cursed,” her husband gently corrected. “Sel, honey, that’s just your grief talking. We’ll go find Nici, then we’ll all return here and rebuild…”
“How?” Selma demanded. “How we are finding Nici now? How we are making new houses with these many moneys?” She pulled the bills the crop marshal had paid them out of her pocket and threw them to the ground. “Be telling me, Chino. Be telling me how this is being.”
He shuffled his feet and squeezed his wife’s hand. He wasn’t used to her acting like this. She was the one who always saw the positive side of things even when he couldn’t. She was the one who came up with ideas of how to overcome obstacles that came their way. She was the one who always made things better.
“You no should be making us moving here, Chino,” she said quietly and slumped against the horse. “We no are being right in this land. We no are being good here from the starting.”
She was right. They had never really fit the farming lifestyle since they moved here.
Gino removed his hand from hers and stared off into the distance. In his guilt and shame, he couldn’t face his beloved wife. He bent down to pick up the money she had discarded before the bills blew away.
The painful silence between the couple was broken by the sound of a galloping horse in the distance. The commotion grew steadily louder. A few minutes later, Brylie Dinsmore rode up on Mahogany.
“Gino, Selma, I’m so glad to see you,” she got out in between breaths. “I’m terribly sorry about your home. It’s a horrible tragedy. If there was anything I could have done to prevent it, you know I would have. Why I would sooner have had…”
“Brylie, hi,” Gino interrupted her chatter.
“You are being riding Mahogany,” Selma observed.
“Yes, can you believe it?” their neighbor answered. “He arrived at your property by himself a few days ago. I knew no one was home so I made Dorn come over and get him. Luckily, we did because if he had been here when the fire started, well he probably wouldn’t have survived. The barn caught fire so fast, I doubt there would have been time to rescue…”
“How did the fire start?” Gino cut in again. He hated to be rude, but interruption was about the only way to have a conversation with this woman when she got excited.
Brylie bit her lip. She glanced from Selma to Gino and back again. “I don’t want to say. It’s just too awful.”
It wasn’t like her to not tell every detail of any big event.
Selma swung her leg over Vanya and jumped to the ground. She put her hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Brylie, your talking no is being more worst than our thinkings.”
“All right,” Brylie relented. “But you’re not going to like it.”
“That’s okay,” Gino encouraged her. “Go on.”
“Well, remember when you came to our house asking for a horse?”
Selma nodded.
“So shortly after you left we spotted Mahogany running wild, heading toward your house. I sent Dorn over to corral him and bring him to our barn until you got back. Well on the way from your house to ours, a group of men rode up to Dorn and asked him if that was his horse. He said no, it belonged to you and pointed out where you lived. Now if you ask me, that’s where he went wrong. He should have just kept quiet until he found out what the men wanted, but of course, he just blurted out more than he should have. Sometimes that man drives me crazy with his…”
“Brylie,” Gino broke in. “Back to the story please.”
“Oh yes, sorry. You know me. I do rattle on. Anyhow, it seems that one of them was the man that Selma and Nici encountered on the road. He told some story about how Nici and her hair had tried to kill him. The men were all up in arms thinking that Nici was the devil’s child and out to slaughter good people with her evil hair. Their word, not mine. You know I don’t think your child is evil. Anyhow, they planned to hunt her down and hang her from the highest tree they could find. I guess from what Dorn said, someone even suggested using her hair as a noose.”
Gino and Selma gasped.
Brylie slapped herself on the forehead. “I shouldn’t have really told you that part.”
“Is being okay,” Selma assured her. “Our need is being to hear the all.”
“Right. Okay, so Dorn brought Mahogany to our house and while I was getting him settled in the barn with our other horses, we gave him Vanya’s stall, you know, well Dorn rode back over to your house. I guess he was trying to stop the men from doing anything foolish. But as you can see, he was too late. They burned down your home hoping to chase your family away.”
“Is being the success,” Selma said.
“Oh don’t let a few bad people ruin everything,” Brylie replied. “You can’t leave your land. We’ll help you rebuild. You can come live with us in the meantime. You can take Sa’ahndra’s bedroom and we’ll move her and Nici into the living room.”
Selma grabbed her neighbor’s wrist. “Nici is being here, yes?”
“No. We haven’t seen her. I just thought that when you found her, she and Sa’ahndra could bunk down in the living room while your new home was…” Her voice trailed off when she saw the look on her friend’s face. “So you still haven’t found her?”
Gino put his arm around his wife and shook his head. “But we won’t stop looking until we do, right Sel?”
Selma pulled away from his grasp and walked off by herself.
“She’s having a really hard time with all of this,” Gino explained to Brylie.
“I can imagine,” the neighbor replied.
“You haven’t seen our dog have you?” Gino suddenly asked. “Maybe if we could find Sideburn it would help Selma feel a little better. She loves that dog.”
“Sorry, I haven’t seen him around,” Brylie replied. “Maybe he ran off before the fire started. Dogs are smart that way, you know.”
“I hope so. It’s just that he probably would have tried to protect the place.” Gino toed through some of the ashes. “I should probably sift through this and give him a proper burial. It’s just that I don’t know if Selma could take seeing him all burned up.” He didn’t want to admit that he might not be able to handle uncovering their beloved pet’s corpse either.
“If you like, I can have Dorn come look for him when everything’s cooled down. And I can help you sort through all of this for anything to salvage.”
“Thanks,” Gino told her. “But I don’t know that we’ll be hanging around here much longer.”
“Any idea what you’ll do next?”
The weary father sighed. He looked over at his wife. “I’ll see what Selma wants to do. Maybe we’ll move on to some place where we’re not known. Someplace where we’re not hated.”
Brylie patted him on the back. “I hope you’ll decide to come back here and rebuild your home. I know that’s selfish of me, but you know me. Always thinking of myself. If you don’t feel like you can come back though, well, I’d understand that, too. I mean, I’m not sure I’d want to live someplace where people could do this. Especially since…well, those men might return if you rebuild. Why you don’t even know who they are. I can’t even imagine how hard that must be.”
“From what I’ve seen lately, everyone’s our enemy,” Gino replied. “Except you, of course. We can never thank you enough for all of your kindness.”
Brylie waved off his gratitude. “It’s nothing you wouldn’t have done for me and Dorn. I just feel so terrible about everything that’s happened to you.”
They turned their heads at the same time, caught by the sight of Selma walking all around the perimeter of the clearing where the house and barn used to be. Her head moved back and forth, like she was trying to take everything in. Finally, she turned and walked back to her husband and neighbor.
“It’s painful to let all of this go and say goodbye, isn’t it?” Gino asked, assuming that’s what she had been doing.
She looked at him with an anger he had never seen before. “I am being finishing with the goodbye. I am being finishing with this land. I am making the looking for a sign of Nici.”
Gino nodded, then looked away. He was ashamed of how much of this pain he had caused.
“Our leaving is being right away now,” his wife said forcefully.
“Where do you want to go?” Gino asked.
“The King. He is being the most manys powerful. He can be making all the Pahdu peoples keeping the watchout for Nici.”
The last thing Gino wanted to do right now was return to the castle. But he was caught in the web of deceit he had spun years earlier. Right now was not the time to reveal why they had moved to this farmland. Selma might never speak to him again. And that was the one thing he knew he couldn’t handle.
“All right then. Let me just get Mahogany ready and we can leave.” He pulled the Dinsmore’s saddle off the horse and replaced it with the one they had recovered with his tools. “We’ll carry this extra saddle to your house when you take Vanya home,” he told Brylie.
“I want you to take Vanya with you,” she told them.
“We couldn’t,” Gino started to protest.
Brylie would not hear of it. “I insist,” she said. “You’ll get there much faster on two horses. We have enough animals to run our farm without this one.”
“But he’s such a fine horse,” Gino commented.
“Which is why you need him for your journey.”
Selma hugged her friend. “We are doing the giving back of him one day.”
“I’m not worried about that,” Brylie stated. “If something happens and you can’t return Vanya, it’s not a problem. Your daughter is more important than my horse.”
The Gencarellis were overwhelmed by their neighbor’s generosity. Tears were in their eyes as they both mounted Mahogany and prepared to leave the fields they had called home for the past decade.
Brylie rode Vanya over to her house with Gino and Selma following behind. They could tell she was saying goodbye to her dear horse, not knowing if this were the last time she would be with him.
At her house, Brylie insisted that they take some supplies for the road. She prepared a sack full of bread, cheese, smoked meats, dried fruits and fresh apples. She gave them a flint and steel for starting fires, two cloaks and two blankets to keep them warm at night. Finally, she handed Gino one of Dorn’s hunting knives in case they ran into trouble along the way. Dorn and Sa’ahndra were in town for a few days, so Brylie didn’t need to worry about her husband protesting these gifts.
After expressing their gratitude over and over, the Gencarellis finally rode off.
Brylie sobbed as they left. She was pretty sure she would never hear from them again.
*
The tension between the Gencarellis was obvious as they traveled down Castle Road. Selma rode in front on Vanya and her husband followed many paces behind on Mahogany. If he had been a dog, Gino would have had his tail between his legs. He had lied to his family and now he was paying an awful price.
Abruptly, Selma stopped Vanya in the middle of the road. Gino halted his horse as well.
“My need is being for some thing of Nici’s,” Selma said. These were the first words she had said since they left the Dinsmore’s.
“Okay,” Gino replied. He wasn’t sure what she wanted, but at this point, he would have agreed to most anything.
“Her hair,” she continued. “That braid. Doing the hanging on the tree. My need is being for it.” She had regretted leaving the hair rope on the bluff as soon as she realized Nici wasn’t at their home.
“We can do that.”
Gino reached out for his wife’s hand, but she pulled it away before they touched.
They continued riding on in silence for several more miles.
Finally, Gino pulled up beside his wife. “We’re can’t reach the spot where Nici’s hair is today,” he told her. “Why don’t we find a place to camp for the night?”
Selma agreed. The emotions of the day had worn her out and she was ready for a break.
They found a flat area just off the road on the river side. After removing the saddles and tying up the horses, they set about creating a cozy spot to rest until the next morning.
Selma gathered wood for a fire. Gino cut pine limbs with plenty of green needles from nearby trees. While his wife used the flint and steel to create a spark that got the campfire going, Gino stripped pine needles from the branches and collected them in a pile. He placed one of the blankets over the fragrant needle mattress. They would cover themselves with the other blanket when it was time to sleep.
After Selma’s fire was crackling away, they sat down to have a bite to eat. No conversation passed between them.
Gino could hardly swallow for the lump in his throat. He put down his half-full plate and stared into the fire. Tears welled up in his eyes. “Selma,” he started off. “I am so, so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen.”
She continued eating her dinner, slowly chewing each bite.
“I can’t stand you being mad at me like this,” he cried.
Selma put down her fork, then her entire plate. She threw some nearby twigs into the fire. They were full of sap and crackled and popped before flaming up in a rainbow of color.
“My mad no is being at you, Chino,” she said slowly. “My mad is being at the world.”
Gino looked through the fire and saw that she was crying, too.
“My want is being for our Nici here,” she told him. “My want is being for our house not burning. My want is being for our living okay again.”
Gino got up from his place and went to sit by his wife. “I know,” he said. “I want everything to be okay, too.”
They cried in each other’s arms for so long, the fire nearly went out.
Suddenly, the horses blew out loud whooshes of air from their nostrils and stomped the ground. Gino and Selma grew silent and listened carefully. Something large was crashing through the woods. It was heading right for them.
“Chino,” Selma whispered. “Be getting the knife.”
CHAPTER 15 / Making Magic
An awkward silence fell between Nici and Parmalee. Nici wished she hadn’t been so blunt asking about the woman’s limp.
“Thank you again for the stew,” Nici said, trying to ease the tension in the room. “It was really good.”
“You’re welcome.” Parmalee continued staring into the fire.
“I’m sorry that I upset you,” Nici apologized.
The woman snapped back to attention and looked at the little girl. “Oh, you didn’t upset me,” she said. “I can’t tell you how I got my limp because I don’t know how I got it.”
“Okay,” Nici nodded, though she was still confused.
Parmalee got up from the hearth, leaning heavily on the cane that had prompted the child’s question. “Why don’t you switch seats with me? These old bones do better in the chair.”
Nici quickly got up and went to the bench so Parmalee could have the chair. When the woman was seated, she let out a long, heavy breath. Then she turned to her guest.
“I’m guessing I acquired this limp when I had my accident.”
“What happened?” Nici asked quietly.
“I don’t even know. My best guess is that I was out riding a horse and got thrown from it. The horse rode off, leaving me in the middle of nowhere, which is where I woke up. There was nothing around me except for a zigzag path of horseshoe-shaped indentations in the mud leading down the hill. Not that I knew they were caused by a horse at that time. See, I couldn’t even remember what a horse was. I pieced all this together later on.
“Anyhow, my clothing was in tatters. Just rags hanging off me. And I was in a great deal of pain. I had horrible cuts and bruises all over me. My best guess is that the horse had dragged me for some distance. It probably got spooked and I got caught up in the stirrup or something.”
Nici understood all too well how easily that could happen.
Parmalee continued. “The slightest movements of my legs, especially the left one, caused excruciating pain all the way up to my hips. I used my arms to try to push myself up off the ground and stand up, but my legs wouldn’t support me.
“But the pain only half the problem. I couldn’t remember how I got where I was or even who I was.”
“That must have been scary,” Nici interjected. Having recently been thrown into an unfamiliar landscape, she could relate all too well to the woman’s story.
“I think I was too confused to be scared,” Parmalee remarked.
“What did you do?” Nici prompted.
“Well since I couldn’t walk, I just lay there for I don’t know how long. During the days, I would bake in the sun because there was no shade around me. But at night, the temperature would drop and I’d shiver all night. Wild animals also came out in the dark. I had to chase them away by yelling and waving my arms.
“After a few days like that, I figured that I better move some place safer. I followed the hoof-print path, hoping that was the way home. My legs still weren’t working, so I had to drag myself on my forearms down the hill.
“I guess I scooted along like that for another couple of days. It’s hard to really remember because I kept fading in and out from the pain.
“Anyhow, several days or maybe several weeks later, I finally crossed paths with a wagon train of Romani.”
“Romanis!” Nici remarked. “My mother was saved by some Romani when she was starving.”
Parmalee nodded. “I’m not surprised. They’re good folks. I don’t know why so many people think they’re dangerous thieves and cheats. They just choose to live their lives differently, traveling around instead of settling in one place. What’s so wrong with that?”
“Sounds kind of fun to me,” Nici chimed in.
“Well sadly, it’s not always so fun for the Romani,” the older woman told her. “It’s strange. People are so afraid of anything that’s different. They want to drive it out of their lives. Make us all the same.”
Nici nodded, thinking about people’s reaction to her strange hair.
“It’s silly really,” Parmalee remarked. “Our differences are what makes life interesting.”
They both sat and stared at the fire for a few minutes.
But Nici was eager to hear the rest of the story. “Did the Romani take you to a doctor?” she asked.
Parmalee smiled. “The best doctor in the world. You see, there was a woman in their troupe who was a great healer. Ashanna could cure most anything with a special tea or a poultice or some other remedy she came up with.
“When they found me, I couldn’t walk, my breathing was shallow, and I was a muddy, bloody mess. A few weeks of Ashanna taking care of me and everything was better. Except my walking, of course.
“So you see, I can’t actually tell you how I got my limp because I don’t remember. But I think maybe I was dragged by a horse and that permanently rearranged the bones in my hip.”
“Your story’s worse than mine,” Nici sympathized.
“A little limp isn’t the worst thing in the world,” Parmalee told her. “I can still do everything that needs to be done.”
The woman paused and took a sip of her tea. “I sometimes wonder how different my life would have been if I had stayed with the Romani.”
“Why didn’t you?” Nici questioned.
“I lived with those wonderful people for almost two years while I recovered. They treated me as one of their own from the very beginning. I was happy when we were on the road and not near any town. But I couldn’t stand the way they were treated once we neared civilization. I can’t tell you how many times we were run out of places as soon as we arrived. I guess I just couldn’t get used to being hated for absolutely no reason. So when we traveled back to Pahdu, I parted ways with them.”
“I can’t believe how much your story is like my mom’s,” Nici told the woman. “My mom really liked being with the Romani, too. But she got tired of all the traveling and wanted a permanent home. Out of all the countries she visited, she liked the people of Pahdu the best. Why did you choose Pahdu?”
“I guess because this is where they first found me. I always held out hope that someone would recognize me and tell me about my life before the accident. But it’s been over twenty years and I don’t know any more about my past then I did the day I woke up on that hillside.”
Parmalee shifted her weight and stood up with the help of her cane. She walked over to the shelves and took down a small bottle. After taking a quick sip, and replacing the vial, she returned to her chair. “Just a little something for the pain,” she explained.
“Was that some of Ashanna’s medicine?” Nici asked.
Parmalee nodded. “Yes and no. Ashanna taught me as much about her remedies as I could absorb in my two years with her. So these are medicines that I made, but with Ashanna’s recipes.”
Nici got up from the bench and went over to the vials to get a closer look. A few of the bottles were open, but most were covered with a cloth. Twine was tied around the cloth to keep it in place. Some vials had murky solutions in them, while others were as clear as the glass. Leaves and other particles floated in many of the containers.
“Do you think any of these will make my hair stop growing?”
Parmalee shook her head. “I doubt it.”
“Too bad,” the girl mumbled.
Parmalee let out a long yawn. “Sorry, child,” she apologized. “Guess I’m a little tired.”
“That’s okay,” Nici yawned back. “I’m kind of tired myself.”
The older woman looked around her house. “Where’s a good place for you to sleep tonight?”
“Right here by the fire is fine,” Nici told her.
“I’m afraid I don’t have any extra blankets.”
“No problem. My hair will take care of that. Do you have something to cut it with?”
“I have a knife,” Parmalee volunteered.
Nici took the knife and sliced off her hair. She fluffed the cut strands into a pile.
Parmalee took a step back as new tresses quickly regrew on the girl’s head. “Well I must admit that’s something I’ve never seen,” she commented.
“My hair doesn’t scare you?” Nici asked.
“Of course not,” the woman snorted. “It’s just hair. Unusual hair. But still hair.”
“Well most people seem to think I’m the devil.”
“Most people think what they’re told to think because they’re too ignorant or lazy to think for themselves. The sooner you learn that, the better off you’ll be. You know you’re no devil. So don’t worry about what anyone else says.”
Nici settled down on her hair mattress. The locks spread out on the floor, lessening the amount of cushioning.
“It’s a shame you can’t get it to hold together,” the woman observed.
“Yeah,” Nici agreed. “It’s a mess.”
Parmalee sat back down in the chair. “Didn’t you tell me that your hair sometimes does things on its own?”
Nici nodded.
“What are you doing when that happens?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Well, are you doing anything different when you hair acts on its own?” Parmalee asked.
“Not that I know of,” the child replied.
“I’m just wondering if there’s something that spurs those long locks of yours into action. Because if you could control your hair…”
“My life would be a lot easier,” Nici interjected.
Parmalee nodded. “I imagine so. Think back now. When was the first time you remember your hair doing something on its own?”
“When I was going over the waterfall. It spun into a bonnet that slowed me down.”
“Good,” Parmalee encouraged her. “Now think back to what you were doing when it happened. Every little detail you can remember.”
“I’m not sure. It was such a blur,” Nici told her.
“Just anything at all that comes to mind.”
“Let’s see. My hair was flying up above me. It was all caught up in my hands. And I was really scared because I was falling so fast.”
Parmalee nodded, but stayed silent.
“I think I called out for help.” Nici paused. “That’s all I can remember. My hair just spun the bonnet or whatever it was on its own.”
“Okay, we have a start here. You were scared. You asked for help. And your hair was tangled in your hands. Try holding your hair and asking it to make a mattress.”
Nici did as she was told. Nothing happened.
“Maybe you have to be scared,” Parmalee suggested.
“Hair, I’m afraid I won’t be able to sleep if you don’t turn yourself into a mattress.”
Again, there was no movement among the locks.
“I guess that’s not the secret,” Nici huffed.
“Don’t get discouraged,” the older woman told her. “Great discoveries don’t happen overnight. You often have to try a lot of different things. When else did your hair act on its own?”
“On the beach,” Nici remembered. “I was tired of dragging around the bonnet. Then all of the sudden, it straightened out.”
“And what were you doing that time?” Parmalee prodded.
“Let’s see. I was mad because it wouldn’t uncurl. And I think I yelled at it. What else?” She twirled a few strands around her forefinger as she thought.
“Were you doing that?” Parmalee indicated Nici’s hair twisting.
“Maybe,” the child shrugged. “I do that a lot.”
“All right, let’s think here. We have scared and mad. Asking and yelling. And twisting.”
“It wasn’t really yelling,” Nici corrected her. “It was more sarcastic. Like ‘would you just straighten out so I could walk without tripping?’”
“Okay. Try that tone while twisting your hair.”
“Hair, would you make a mattress so I could get some sleep?” Nici asked and then gave a few strands a twirl.
“Oh come on,” she cried when her extended curls stayed limp on the floor. “Help me out. Please.”
The golden mane began to shift and move around on the floor. It wove itself up and down. Then it went from side to side. Soon, a perfectly symmetrical platform of golden hair lay before them.
Nici cut herself free of the soft cushion. As always, the lengths instantly regrew on her head. “I’m still not sure how that happened,” she remarked.
“Maybe saying ‘please’ is the secret,” Parmalee offered. “It looks to me like when you twist your hair and say please, it obeys you.”
“My mom always said ‘please’ was the magic word.”
“Maybe literally in this case,” the older woman laughed. “So try asking your hair to form a pillow.”
“Okay,” Nici agreed. She twisted a couple strands near her scalp. “Hair, please make me a pillow,” she asked in her nicest voice.
The locks formed a small bolster where she could rest her head. “That’s it,” she laughed as she cut off that portion and new tresses regenerated. “That must be the secret.”
“Let’s make sure,” Parmalee suggested. “How about making a blanket?”
Using the formula they just discovered, Nici got her hair to create a warm cover for the evening.
Nici was thrilled with their discovery. Being able to control her hair would make living with its incredible length much easier.
Suddenly the child jumped up off the mattress and grabbed the knife. “I have a brilliant idea,” she said. “Hair, this time when I cut you off, please don’t grow back.” She snipped the strands as close to her scalp as possible, except for one small section on the side of her head. This, she wrapped around her forefinger.
For a minute, the stubble left on her head did nothing. Just as she was starting to believe that this was the end of her problem hair, the awful regrowth happened again.
Nici winced. “I’m never going to be normal again, am I?”
​