Red Rider Redemption (The Red Rider Saga Book 3)

by D. A. Randall

  “I, too, have heard the rumors that Helena Basque is this ‘Red Rider’ character. That much I believe to be true. As to her making the village safer – Well, it’s hard to accept that a deluded young girl is responsible for killing all of those wolves. They must have been killed by other hunters or died of some disease. After all, how many of them have died over the last two months? Nearly a dozen of them? All by her hand?” He lifted his palms, doubtful.

  I allowed myself a grim smile. It had been fourteen. Actually.

  From this same perch, I had listened to hushed conversations of men leaving La Maison de Touraine. Night after night, they had gossiped about wolves attacking people on various farms and at isolated cottages. I had visited those places later, confronting the wolves when they attempted another strike. Pierre’s silver-tipped bolts had allowed me to dispose of each wolf with efficiency and precision, save for that one frightful night when I lost my balance and my crossbow all at once, while fighting the worst Lycanthru I had ever faced. Thankfully, I managed to burn that monstrous wolf with a nearby torch before he devoured me.

  I had spared several innocent lives, just as I had saved Favreau’s daughter that first night I fought the Lycanthru. And I had kept count. I had killed thirteen wolves between the encounter at Favreau’s farm and the following battle outside Brocard’s barn. Adding in the other fourteen wolves I had eliminated over the past two months, I had reduced the Lycanthru’s ranks from eighty-eight to sixty-one.

  On the street beneath me, Brocard prattled on, smoothly depicting me as the true monster of our battles. “Whatever this crazed girl has become, she is clearly not someone to rely on as a protector. I find it far easier to believe that this pitiful girl, deranged with grief, has lost all sense of control and gone on a mad killing spree. Even if she is killing a few of those wolves, as you imagine, what will she do after she’s finished them all? Who will she kill next, to satisfy her bloodlust? No, I fear Celia is right. The streets of La Rue Sauvage are far more dangerous since Helena Basque started running wild.”

  There, Brocard, I agreed with you. The streets have become far more dangerous.

  For you.

  I learned nothing further from Brocard and the others that night. They soon switched to other topics, as Brocard invited Celia to a masquerade ball as his personal escort, and offered to arrange an escort for Marie as well. The girls were delighted at his invitation and quickly forgot their concerns about my activities and mode of dress.

  I didn’t learn anything from the others gossiping in the streets below, either. It seemed as if the wolves were holding back, striking less often over the last three weeks. Or perhaps they were busy planning some new attack.

  It was just as well. Celia’s callous remarks had already distracted me for the rest of the night. Although they shouldn’t have. I was perfectly used to people drawing away from me, repulsed by my scars. But it had been a while since I had heard anyone say it.

  When the first man departed, I felt a strange compulsion to follow him. Somewhere in my soul, I foolishly hoped he might defend me to someone else. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to hear those words until they were spoken. To know that a few villagers in La Rue Sauvage – even a handful – were grateful to have me here.

  But I remained on the roof, where I needed to be, hoping for Brocard to meet another member of the Lycanthru and reveal something I could use.

  He didn’t. I had trudged back to retrieve Crimson from the public stable, then rode home, ending a cold, wasted night. I had gained nothing from my eavesdropping except the confirmation that, despite my mother’s hopes, I could never have joined Celia Verdante’s circle, even if I wanted to.

  As if my facial scars were not hideous enough, I had become some sort of mysterious shadow in the night. A legend to some. A myth to others.

  And an aberration to well-coiffed girls like Celia and Marie Beauchamp.

  7.

  I had left the village of La Rue Sauvage to ride into the woods, the full moon lighting our way home. Or at least, lighting the way to the place where I had started taking shelter.

  We had arrived at the open clearing within a few minutes and I glanced in all directions to make certain no one was about. Then I had urged Crimson to the back of the stone hovel and dismounted. I strode to the pile of hay scattered across the ground, kicking it aside in clumps. Revealing the wooden double doors underneath it. I pulled up on the ropes tied to each door handle, then led Crimson down the wide ramp to the secret longhouse below, where light still issued. He strode to his corner, where a fresh mound of hay had been set out for him.

  I turned toward the cot on the other end of the room, beneath a lit hanging lantern. A plate sat on the table beside it, covered by a linen cloth. I moved to remove the cloth, receiving a welcoming smell of bread and lamb, still slightly warm.

  Something shuffled on the floorboards overhead. Then a knock on the floor.

  “Helena?” Father Vestille called down. “Are you there?”

  “Yes,” I answered. “You can come down.”

  He didn’t usually hear me come in, or call down to me. And I didn’t often invite him into the secret longhouse. But I wanted some company after listening to Celia Verdante and her friends tonight.

  The trap door opened above the ladder and he descended slowly on the creaking rungs. I swallowed. It still unsettled me to see him in his nightshirt. Or wearing anything other than his priestly robes.

  I still found it hard to believe he had offered to shelter me beneath his hovel, in this underground room left over from previous wars. That after all the times I had turned him away, he had taken me in.

  “Are you all right, Helena?” he asked, swiping his bald head.

  I nodded.

  He pointed at the table. “You saw the lamb, I see. I just cooked it a couple of hours ago, around midnight. I hope it didn’t get too cold.”

  “No, it’s fine. I mean, I haven’t eaten it yet, but – I’m sure it’s fine. Thank you.”

  We stood together in silence.

  “Are you, ah – are you warm enough down here?” he asked. He glanced down at my legs, dressed only in a boy’s trousers, then looked away quickly.

  “Yes,” I said. “Just fine.”

  He nodded. Then cleared his throat. “Well, as long as you’re all right –,” he said, turning to the ladder.

  “No,” I said, taking his arm before I could stop myself. “Um – please. Stay a while.”

  He patted my hand. “Of course.”

  I strode to the cot, sitting on it and grabbing the bread. I was about to bite into it, then remembered to bow my head and give silent thanks. Despite Celia Verdante’s remarks, despite the lack of progress against the wolves, I had a great deal to be thankful for. I was alive. I was safe. Father Vestille had seen to that, from the first night I battled the wolves. Finding him and this underground hideaway was a genuine miracle.

  I opened my eyes and bit into the soft bread. He sat on the chair beside me, watching me chew.

  “So,” he said finally. “Did anything happen tonight?”

  “Not at all,” I said between bites. “Nothing happened. At least – nothing with the wolves.” I chewed a bit slower. “Father Vestille. Do you think – I’m strange?”

  He cocked his head. “How do you mean?”

  I cocked my head in return, smirking at him. “Father Vestille. You’ve seen how I dress.”

  His eyebrows raised in a confused shrug. “Yes, well. I’m sure you have your reasons.” He met my gaze, saying nothing further.

  “Wearing trousers makes it easier to move, and ride, and fight. I could barely maneuver in a dress.”

  He pursed his lips. “I understand.”

  I finished chewing. “The day of Mama and Suzette’s funeral – when I stormed out, saying I would end all of this – I went to Monsieur Leóne’s shop. I meant to gather bolts for Papa’s crossbow, and whatever knives I could gather, to go hunt down the wolves. Pierre came and found
me there. I made him promise not to tell anyone. Because I knew they would stop me, and then the wolves would keep killing.”

  Father Vestille nodded. “All right.”

  “He gave me a new weapon he had made. My repeating crossbow. And we discovered that a touch of silver kills the wolves, so we tipped all of my bolts with it, along with the grappling hook he made me, and my blades.”

  He wrinkled his brow. “Blades?”

  I flicked my wrist, causing a flat metal knife to slide out of the top pocket of my glove. He flinched, his eyes bulging. “Blades.”

  He swallowed. “I see. Go on.”

  “I wanted to keep wearing his mother’s hooded cloak. The one I wore to the funeral. It’s just like the one Grand’Mere made for me when I was a child. Before – Before the wolf scarred my face. Before they started taking everything from us. It helps me feel braver. Brave enough to face them.”

  His cheek twitched. Then he sighed and gave me a look of assurance. “I’m sure it does.”

  “And my red hood frightens the wolves, the moment they see me coming, now that they know I can kill them. That’s why I wear this.” I heaved a sigh as I finished, waiting for his reaction.

  He stroked his chin. “That all makes sense, Helena,” he said. “But – where exactly did you get those – trousers?”

  I glanced away, shifting on the cot. “From Pierre. They’re his.”

  “Ah. I see,” he said. “Well, that makes sense as well. He’s always been a fine young man, and a good friend of yours. The very sort who would loan you the shirt off his back. Or in this case, the – eh –.” He waved away the rest of his sentence.

  “He doesn’t know everything, Father,” I said. “I haven’t told him what I told you. He doesn’t know Duke Laurent is behind it.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “I’m glad of that. But may I ask why you withheld that from him, if he knows the rest?”

  “The same reason I haven’t told him I’m staying with you. If he knew, and one of the Lycanthru questioned him, he might give something away by mistake, and –.” I swallowed, unable to finish.

  “You care about him a great deal,” he said.

  “Of course,” I said. “Anyone I can protect, I will.”

  He lowered his chin, fixing his gaze on me. “But Pierre, in particular. It seems.”

  I frowned. “Pierre is a good friend. Too good. I won’t risk him getting involved in this any further than he already has.”

  Father Vestille sat a little taller, suppressing a smile. “I understand. And now I can see why you dress this way. I feared you might be – well, trying to draw the wrong kind of attention. But I see it’s quite the opposite. You’re – well, dressed for battle, and trying to draw as little attention as possible, for Pierre’s sake and the sake of others in the village.”

  I swallowed and stared at the dusty floor, taking another bite of bread. I chewed slowly. “The people in town think I’m some sort of freak.”

  “You’re not,” he said with a firm edge. “I’ve known you since you were born. You’ve always been a kindhearted girl. Impulsive, rash at times, but you’ve always cared deeply about others. And I know that’s why you’re doing what you’re doing now. No, I don’t think you’re strange. I think you’ve suffered a – terrible tragedy. And I think you’re dealing with it as best you can. I only wish –.” He broke off.

  “What?” I asked.

  He shook his head.

  “You wish I wasn’t killing the Lycanthru,” I said for him.

  “I wish you weren’t risking your life,” he said. “Or taking any of theirs.”

  “Father, they’re dabbling in black magic to turn themselves into wolves. So they can attack innocent women and children.”

  “Yes, they are,” he said. “They’re choosing to align themselves with evil. But these are still men, Helena. Not monsters.”

  “Not any more,” I said. “They gave up their humanity when they started drinking that Lycanum potion, and they continue to give it up whenever they want to kill again.”

  “And how will you keep them from killing you?”

  “I don’t know!” I burst, feeling the start of tears. He stared at me, looking as shaken as I felt.

  “Helena, I want you to have a future. I want you to have a life you can enjoy.”

  “Father. If we don’t stop the Lycanthru, no one in La Rue Sauvage will have a life.”

  He stared back at me, his own eyes seeming to moisten. Then he wiped weary hands across his face. “I have long prayed for these killings to stop. For the Lycanthru to be destroyed,” he said. “But this is not what I prayed for.”

  My blood brewed inside me. I would never have chosen this life, either, if I had a choice. No one asked for my consent before allowing my parents and Grand’Mere and Suzette and Francois to be devoured by these horrid beasts. I set my jaw. “While you pray, I act.”

  He looked back at me, his face tired but serene. “While you act, and kill, I pray and trust God to act.”

  “Can’t we do both?” I pressed. “Didn’t David kill Goliath? Didn’t he fight the armies of the Philistines?”

  “There is a significant difference between you and King David.”

  “I know. He was a man.”

  “No. I mean, yes, he was, but I meant to say that David was anointed. He was chosen from among all his brothers and commissioned by the prophet Samuel to serve the Lord’s purpose. Is the Lord leading you to do this personal crusade, or is it your own plan?”

  I bit my lip. “… I don’t know.” I folded my arms and turned away. “Father Vestille, I’m sorry I haven’t given you the answer to your prayers. We don’t always get the answer we pray for. But we do receive an answer. We can challenge it and keep praying for something else, or we can be grateful we were heard. I don’t know if this is what I’m meant to do. I feel it is. It’s all I know to do. It’s all I can do.”

  He kept silent for some time. Then he sighed. “Do what you must. I will continue to pray for you, to remain safe. And you are always welcome here, for as long, or as briefly, as you wish.”

  I sat fuming, unable to answer. “Thank you,” I finally said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I should get some rest. I may have a busy night tomorrow.”

  “Of course,” he said, standing to his feet. “If you need anything at all, I’ll be right upstairs. Just call.”

  I swallowed. I still wanted to be angry at him. “I will,” I said.

  He ascended the ladder and gently closed the trap door.

  I had stared at Crimson as he settled down in the hay to rest, and thought of Francois, the woodcutter who had saved me from the wolf that killed my Grand’Mere. He had not known what he was doing. Had not known his silver ax would kill that oversized wolf. He had later told me that a hero was simply someone who took action to do what needed to be done. “Stand up and do something,” he had said.

  That’s what I had been doing, in the only way I knew how. I had chosen my destiny. Or perhaps it had been chosen for me, but I had willingly agreed to it. I had volunteered to ride and hunt and fight the wolves until they were completely destroyed. Even if it meant I would have to sacrifice my future. Even if I would have to become something less than human to do it.

  Even if it would kill me.

  I continued urging Crimson through the dark woods, fighting the nausea in my gut and struggling to focus on the narrow trail. The wolves would soon close in, and I was too weak to fight them.

  My head lolled and I glimpsed the moon overhead, shining through the pine leaves, as I tipped sideways and fell off the saddle. My shoulder hit the ground but I jerked in time to roll across the dirt, softening the fall. Twigs and pebbles dug into my back as I lay still, gathering my breath. Crimson stamped his hooves and snorted, staring hard at me. His image blurred and doubled again.

  As another wolf howled in the distance.

  I groaned and struggled to my feet, grabbing at the stirrups to keep my balance. How would I ever make i
t home in time?

  I rested against Crimson’s flank, my head throbbing with pain as I squeezed my eyes tight. Lord, help me. Bring me home safe. Bring me home.

  What had Laurent done to me? I shook my head, trying to focus, trying to remember what he had said. That he could hurt me as much as he wanted, as badly as he wanted, as long as he wanted. No matter where I went.

  But the Lycanthru had already done that. They had stolen everything that mattered most, and robbed me of any future, any life. Until there was no one left to protect us. No one left to fight them except me.

  And I could barely stand.

  I was dead. Just like the rest of La Rue Sauvage.

  MY CURSE

  8.

  Crimson’s hooves snapped tiny twigs that lay scattered across the path. He had grown careless, moving slowly as I hung against his flank, barely able to lift my head. We still heard the distant howls as we trudged to Father Vestille’s hovel, my heart pounding with each passing minute. The moon was full, the night half-gone. But they would search the woods until they found us. How much farther?

  Lord, help me, I prayed. Bring me home safe to Father Vestille’s hovel. Bring me home.

  I clenched my teeth, forcing myself to sit up in the saddle as I bit back the churning of my stomach. I squinted at the trail ahead.

  Which opened onto a clearing less than fifty yards away.

  We had made it.

  Another series of howls made me gasp. No time to celebrate. Not until we were hidden inside.

  I urged Crimson forward at a trot, hurrying to the edge of the forest. We entered the clearing and I slid down from his saddle as quickly as I could. My heels stung upon hitting the ground and I felt a fresh wave of dizziness. I leaned against Crimson for support as he moved to the rear stable, letting him walk me alongside him like an old woman. I longed to collapse in the fresh hay strewn across the ground, but I forced myself to remain standing. Still resting on his flank, I kicked hay away from the twin trap doors in the ground. Then I carefully bent down to grab one of the secret handles.