Birthing Ella Bandita (6 page)

“Thief…”

“Never-do-well…causing trouble wherever he goes…”

“Beware the vagabond and send him on his way…”

The litany of cautions echoed in his memory until the Vagabond interrupted.

“I can handle your colt, Patron. And if I’m wrong, then it’s my tragedy. But what do you stand to lose giving me a chance?”

The Patron knew it was madness to hire somebody with nobody to speak for him for such a post. He could still see that peculiar young man as he had been on that day. A golden mist surrounded him, and the Patron tried to convince himself it was a trick of light from the sun shining through clouds and rain. But that Vagabond was the most radiant being he had ever seen. When he shook his head to dispel the mirage, the other glowed even more. So when the Vagabond extended his hand, the Patron accepted the offer before he knew what he was doing.

The Patron struggled to finish his breakfast as he relived that fateful morning. He could still feel the pull of destiny when he shook hands with his new Horse Trainer more than seven years ago. The irony puzzled him ever since, for he never doubted that decision. Yet the Patron also knew the Vagabond was the gravest mistake of his life.

****

Her bed was empty every night. Only her mother bore witness to her late departures, but the girl didn’t fear betrayal from her. She always stopped to kiss her mother before she left the house, reassured by the scent of lilies emanating from the portrait.

A sliver of dark moon lit up the sky, and the overripe scent of dying lilies guided her to the giant gray stallion. She smiled at the animal hidden in the avenue of peach trees. Every night, she was tempted to ride him for a long spell before going into the Ancient Grove, but her anticipation for the pleasures the night would bring always stopped her. The stallion left her at the edge of the woods, where he would be in the morning to bring her back.

She always went the rest of the way on foot, winding her way through the trees until she came to the clearing. The giant boulder stood aside, the Gateway to the Caverns open to receive her, glowing from the torches lighting the way down. The Sorcerer waited for her at the bottom of the spiral. He always had his cue in hand, standing before an easel with sketches illustrating the art of love. Thus their time always began.

The sight of the old magician with lessons prepared had upset her the second night she came to him. She had expected to see the Phantom of the Horse Trainer who had come as a Vagabond. It was the Phantom she wanted. The memory of his touch tingled on her flesh all day and she rode to the woods with her belly quivering. She ran through the trees that first night, breathless when she stepped into the main chamber of the Caverns, only to meet the Sorcerer with pointer in hand, the covered easel behind him. She stopped in her tracks, the heat in her blood suddenly chilled.

“Second rule of seduction,” he said, laughing at the look on her face. “Keep your lover off balance. Never ever be predictable.”

He threw off the tapestry and revealed a sketch of a peculiar looking fruit, one she’d never seen before. When she asked about it, the Sorcerer smirked and corrected her. Then he pointed to a mirror he left for his pupil on the table and gave her first assignment. Her face burned once she understood.

“You must be joking,” she said.

“This is part of our agreement. What did you think I would be teaching you?”

The girl averted her eyes from the Sorcerer and his drawing.

“You must know your own body,” he said, “if you are to become a superior mistress.”

“Are you teaching me to be a courtesan? I never agreed to that.”

“Of course not, unless that’s what you choose.”

“What you’re suggesting is defilement,” she murmured.

The Sorcerer peered at her and the grooves along his brow dug deeper.

“I suppose that’s enough for tonight.”

He turned to the wall with shelves carved deep in the stone, bypassing the vials and cauldrons for the row of silver goblets and bottles of wine. The Sorcerer took one of each and came back to the table. He swiped the bottle with one hand, the cork popping in his fist, and poured a red black stream into the goblet.

“But you need to understand such proper ways no longer serve you,” he said. “Assuming such ladylike virtues ever did.”

He held the wine out to her until she took it.

“Take some time to refresh yourself.”

The girl grew more at ease as soon as the Sorcerer disappeared into the maze of corridors. The weight of the goblet felt good in her hand, the silver cool against her fingers. Taking a sip, she savored the lush warmth in her mouth and closed her eyes. She thought of this assignment and flushed again. What the Sorcerer wanted her to do was unthinkable. She took another sip and leaned back into the cushions. Opening her eyes, she studied the sketch. Then she glanced at the mirror and back to the sketch, wondering if the likeness of her was true.

“You always were a curious little minx.”

She heard that drawling voice and froze. The air teased against the lobe of her ear and trilled down her spine, yawning her body open. No more words were needed. The girl was already reaching for the Phantom as she turned to him and he pulled her into his arms, bringing her flesh to life with his touch. He nibbled along her throat while unlacing her gown. Her bodice slipped free and the girl shuddered from the caress of his calloused palms over her breasts and down her belly. The unfamiliar taunt of desire had already penetrated her before he reached under her rump and picked her up, pressing her against the Cavern walls, the black stone cold and hard against her back. The girl knotted her legs around him, yearning to take him inside her.

As they had the first night, they made love until exhaustion made its claim. The girl fought off the urge to sleep, but she succumbed. In her dreams, she relived the pleasure of their coupling, only to wake up to the loathing that made her want to crawl out of her skin when she saw the Sorcerer of the Caverns watching her. Thus their time always came to an end.

But hatred was far from her mind the following night when she wound her way through the lilies to the runaway stallion. She rushed through the woods and spiraled down to the Sorcerer waiting for her with his pointer and easel, the pages of drawings concealed.

The girl always closed her eyes when the Phantom came for her. When she didn’t see the Cavern walls around her, she could forget that the Horse Trainer may no longer be alive. She could forget that even if he were, the Horse Trainer would not be as she once knew him. With her eyes shut, she could fall into the fantasy and allow his Phantom to consume her. When she didn’t see him, his touch went deeper and his smell transported her to the summer she learned what it was to feel joy. The Phantom could have her any way he wanted, so long as her craving was satisfied and the throbbing of her empty space quiet. It was the only time she felt whole.

In the early weeks, she detested the lessons. But the Sorcerer with his pointer and his easel was a reality she couldn’t deny. Many weeks passed before she finished the first assignment and gave in to her own pleasure. It was a revelation when the inner fortress she lived in all her life crumbled once she did. The Sorcerer never had to teach her anything twice after that.

Most of his lectures had little to do with carnal skill. Her mentor was adamant that seduction must begin in the mind before the body would surrender or the heart would be claimed. As she listened to him talk about the greatest lovers in history, the girl realized it was the Sorcerer who was seducing her, even if he needed the essence of the Trainer to do so. She also understood that, for all his knowledge, there was only one truth. She would never gain mastery over another until she was mistress over herself. This lesson was the most difficult. Every time the Phantom came for the girl, her self-command dissolved in the throbbing of her hollow.

She began keeping her eyes open when they made love. She was frightened the first time she witnessed his surrender. She even had to fight the urge to close her eyes and fall back into fantasy. Then she became fascinated with his pleasure, exploring ways she could bring him to higher peaks. The first time her Phantom Lover surrendered to an ecstasy she orchestrated, the thrill spread through her body. That climax was like nothing she dreamed possible, the tingling exploding until both body and mind were shattered. Then she came back stronger.

Her appetite for lovemaking became insatiable. The girl and her Phantom Lover made a game out of it, a competition to be the one to bring the other to the edge, only to send them into the abyss and fall in afterwards. They laughed often, for pleasure was assured. But the girl couldn’t get enough of that feeling when it was she who brought the Phantom to surrender.

The girl often had to fight to keep her hold on reality when fantasy threatened to intrude. Sometimes she almost succumbed to the belief the Phantom was the Horse Trainer. When he looked at her a certain way or kissed her with more tenderness than ardor, but especially when he laughed, he was so much like her friend that joy burst inside the girl, and she embraced the Phantom as her beloved. But waking up to the Sorcerer always reminded her of what she was really doing.

Finally her loathing disappeared. As summer drew to a close, she had a sentiment akin to gratitude when she saw the Sorcerer. Her days transformed along with her nights from the time their arrangement began. A few weeks after she started going to the Caverns, the girl went for her late afternoon ride, but changed course. Instead of going south through the village or west towards the Ancient Grove, she steered the horse east of the manor and followed the river winding through a young forest. She didn’t know what compelled her to go to this place where she hadn’t been in years. She used to come here with the Horse Trainer on those afternoons they weren’t inclined to go to the Abandoned Valley. She hadn’t been back since he was gone.

In these woods, the Trainer had introduced her to the ways of the wanderer. The unlikely mentorship started because she didn’t believe his stories about stowing away in the lowest reaches of the ships, escaping from angry sheikhs, and traveling across deserts by camel. She didn’t think such adventures were possible for a penniless vagabond. She remembered how ashamed she’d been when she saw the outrage in his eyes. The Trainer noticed and smiled.

“I’m a lot of things,” he’d said. “But I’m no liar. I dare you to find out just how wrong you are, little Miss.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can show you how a man can live off nothing. You just have to be willing to learn.”

During the rest of that summer, she often regretted accepting that challenge. Those were the only lessons she struggled with in her life. The Trainer didn’t make it easy for her, and she hated him whenever he laughed at her. But he taught her everything he knew. He showed her how to make a pole and line to catch fish, how to shoot a rifle, even how to hunt with a knife if that was all she had. He insisted she skin her own kills and cook the meat in a skillet over a fire, which he also taught her to make. He instructed her in building a camp when she had something to work with, and even when she had nothing. It took the entire summer for her to master these strange skills, but these lessons gave her the most gratification of everything she’d ever learned.

She hadn’t thought about that season for years, pushing those days to the furthest recesses of her mind. But as she cantered the reddish brown steed around the bend of the river, she kept her eye out for their favorite fishing spot. Their poles were still there. The long sticks leaned against the tree, as if they were waiting for them to return and cast their lines. She dismounted from her horse and picked up the pole she’d struggled to carve until it was right. She bent it slightly and chuckled when the wood split down the middle. She wasn’t at all surprised when she tried the Trainer’s pole and found it still strong and flexible. The girl hesitated for just an instant before throwing off her skirts and jacket. Clad in peasant breeches and a blouse, she crouched and clawed through the mud for worms. Before long, she had her line cast in the river and after an hour, she pulled in her first catch. Practicing these forgotten skills, the past intertwined with the present to bring her a peace she hadn’t known in too long. The girl often looked around. The Trainer’s presence so strong she almost expected to find him. But the memories were enough.

That day, the girl floated in a haze of reminiscence. She even forgot her ostracism and brought her catch to the kitchen, just as she had that summer. Then the sight of the Cook stopped the girl in her tracks. The corpulent spread of the woman’s back bent over the stoves thrust her back into the present. Pain exploded in the girl’s core that sent an upsurge of bile to the back of her tongue. Before she could move, the Cook turned around, her murky eyes flickering to the line of trout. Her face mottled when she flushed. The Cook averted her eyes and mumbled thanks as she took the fish from the girl’s hand.

Her contentment went sour and the girl cursed her absence of mind. But the next night she thought better of it when she saw the main course was filet of trout on a mound of string beans. The girl tasted the Cook’s shame in each bite, and savored her dinner more than she had in a long time. She came back to the kitchen the following afternoon, and held a skinned rabbit above her head. Again the Cook flushed, yet reached for the offering. When the Cook’s fingers brushed against her knuckles, she looked up and the girl saw she was afraid. Something shifted inside the girl in that moment. In the face of the Cook’s fear, she felt invincible. She came to the kitchen every day, relishing that sensation every time the Cook reached for her kills.

The girl had become somebody she didn’t understand. By summer’s end, she welcomed the silence that had sent her to the river in despair. Her near exile served her well, making it simple for her to come and go as she liked. In being an outcast, she found her freedom.

She wondered if she had grown taller. When she walked, her limbs stretched longer with each stride. She was stronger and more agile, riding the stallions with more boldness than ever. She breathed deeper, the smoky air tingling her nose and throat. The trees seemed on fire when breezes swayed the branches and ruffled the leaves. She relished the layers of herbs and spices in food that had more taste. When she listened to music, the notes vibrated through her, trilling along sinew and bone. Everything around the girl pulsed with life and she couldn’t get enough.