Challenge

by Montgomery Mahaffey

  The Wanderer laughed with everybody else in the tavern, but the noblemen had no idea of the crude joke played on them. Revelers cheered the feisty wench, tossing coins on her tray and pushing notes down her cleavage. The tavern keeper waited with raised brows as she made her way through the crowd. He placed more drinks on her tray and pointed to the stage, but his severity relented with the grin he couldn’t suppress. The wench made a show of a loud sigh with longing gaze to the latrine. But her revenge was enough and she sashayed to her premier table.

  He spotted the girl leaning against the back wall of the stage. She grinned when she looked at the serving wench delivering the fresh round of drinks. She too had appreciated the prank. But she still planted herself in the line of vision of the handsome nobleman. She was a caricature of provocation with her elbows hooked around the railing and arch of her back exaggerated. The pose was made more ludicrous by her beggarly garments and disheveled hair. The Wanderer shook his head, almost embarrassed for her. He wasn’t surprised when the nobleman glanced at her and flicked his eyes away, his mouth curled in a sneer. But his hauteur didn’t affect the girl in the least. She continued her vigil.

  The Wanderer frowned. Her intent was clear. But when she stared down the handsome gentleman, her eyes were every bit as cold staring as when she had looked at the Wanderer. When the nobleman glanced her way again, she grinned with a hint of disdain. An expression her target recognized.

  The nobleman scowled and turned away, making an effort to converse with his friends. But his company grew more tedious with each round of drinks. The Wanderer knew her target felt her gaze boring into him from the tension in his back and the rise of his shoulders. The nobleman couldn’t resist the lure of her stare and he looked back at the girl again. Her grin had spread into a smile, her large teeth gleaming. A spark of fear lit up his dark brown eyes for a moment, and the handsome face paled. The smirk disappeared from his face when the girl threw her head back and laughed. He turned towards his friends again, but his determination to ignore the girl didn’t last long. After a few minutes of trying to engage with the drunken louts around him, the nobleman looked back at her. Her blue eyes glittered and she leaned her head to one side, her chin tilted in much the same way as his.

  His ale suddenly distasteful to him, the Wanderer struggled to get the liquid down his throat. It wouldn’t be long before the nobleman succumbed and left his friends to go to her, his fascination more apparent each time he turned her way. He had to hand it to the girl. He had never witnessed the arrogant seduced through insolence. But the thought of the girl with the nobleman left the Wanderer seething. His fingers were white as they gripped his mug, and he downed the bitter ale until there was none.

  He hadn’t noticed the drunkard slumped next to him until the other hiccoughed, the spasm jerking his elbow into the Wanderer’s side. The stranger mumbled a garbled apology, glanced at him with reddened eyes, then bobbed his head towards his mug. Irritation swelled inside the Wanderer. The raucous noise, putrid scent of spilled ale, being elbowed by a stranger, and the sight of the woman he desired seducing another man were more than he could tolerate. Deciding he’d had enough, he slid off his stool.

  “That one’s back in town,” the drunkard muttered. “She’s the devil, she is.”

  The Wanderer stopped and peered at the man slouched over his mug. He wasn’t facing the stage, but instinct told him the drunkard spoke of the girl he followed.

  “Pardon me, Citizen,” he said, touching the slumped shoulder and pointing towards the stage. “Do you know that girl?”

  The drunkard’s head jerked up and his eyes cleared for a moment as he looked between the Wanderer and the girl. His face was white.

  “Hell no!” he shouted. “And you don’t need to know Ella Bandita either!”

  The drunkard slapped him hard on the chest before slithering off his stool and weaving through the crowd, shouting at the foolhardy lust of stupid young men.

  But the Wanderer hardly noticed. The room started to spin at the sound of her name. His vision blurred and his knees buckled. He gripped the edge of the counter to steady himself, the shaking in his thighs beyond his control. The Bard’s stories meshed with images of the girl from the woods, intertwining until his mind was a kaleidoscope of memory and legend.

  The Wanderer looked towards the stage. The girl was staring at him. Even from a distance, he saw that muscle twitching in her jaw. Suddenly, everything about her made sense.

  The handsome nobleman of the fancy dress quartet made his move, leaving his pack of friends to go to her. But he was already forgotten. The girl pushed off the railing and disappeared into the crowd, aiming straight for the Wanderer. He willed his legs to move, but he couldn’t. His limbs were frozen. Then she stood before him. Her dagger was in hand, the tip pressed into his belly.

  “Let’s go, Wanderer.”

  He looked around for anybody to help him, but the revelers were blind to his distress. Ella Bandita gripped one of his arms and kept the blade at his side below his last rib. A sense of unreality pervaded the Wanderer as he made his way through the crowd. The cheery voices of the bar wenches, the rancid perfume of the night ladies, and the leering gazes of the men made a bizarre tapestry of raw living, a mirage that had to be a dream.

  But the moment was real. He knew that as soon as they stepped outside. The salt of the ocean was cleansing, the chill of night oddly refreshing. Tall lamps illuminated patches of the wharf and left others in shadows. The Wanderer looked up and down, but all was still. After the chaos of the tavern, the emptiness of the docks was eerie.

  Ella Bandita slid her dagger back in its sheath and slapped him hard across the face.

  “You stupid fool,” she growled. “Why did you follow me?”

  “Why do you think?”

  His cheek stung where she struck him, but he almost laughed out loud. The Wanderer knew he was in the worst trouble of his life, yet he still wanted her. His flesh thrilled in her presence and he had to restrain the urge to grab her. Ella Bandita shook her head slowly.

  “Damn you,” she muttered, and pulled her pistol from the holster.

  Pressing the barrel into his spine, she pushed the Wanderer off the wharf and into the trees where her stallion waited. She needn’t have bothered with the weapon. The turmoil of his mind and body left him paralyzed, unable to resist her will. When they came to her camp, he saw it was much the same as the one in No Man’s Land, except the clearing amongst the trees was smaller. The autumn leaves were past their peak, but they glowed from the branches and on the ground in the milky light of a waxing moon.

  Perhaps it was her scent that made him do it. Being so close to the honey musk that haunted his dreams drove the Wanderer to some kind of madness, taking him back to the night in his tent when the girl woke him up from a nightmare. Before Ella Bandita could dismount, he tightened his hold around her waist and brought his mouth to her neck.

  “Stop it,” she said, pulling away. “You’ve gone too far this time.”

  “You don’t want to do me harm,” he murmured into her ear. “Do you really think I’m going to make trouble for you?”

  “Trouble was never something I was concerned about, Wanderer. At least, not for me.”

  She managed to wriggle from him and jump off her horse. The Wanderer dropped to the ground after the girl, and reached for her again. But Ella Bandita evaded his grasp.

  “You already got what you wanted,” she whispered. “Now it’s my turn.”

  She pulled the pendant she always wore from her blouse and held it out, the crystal facets sparkling in the moonlight. Then the Wanderer was surrounded by a whirlwind of colors. His heart pounded hard inside his chest and his pulse rang in his ears. He remembered that first morning when the girl collapsed his tent in the clearing, then that day at the hot springs pool.

  “Of course,” he thought. “That’s her crystal stargaze. How could I not have known?”

  The lights swirled faster around him and the Wa
nderer was spinning, lifted from the ground by the cyclone of color. He sighed against his will, the air drawn out of him by an unseen grasp. His heart beat once in his throat and then there was nothing. He was released and fell to his knees, struggling for breath until he had enough. But something was missing. Pain throbbed inside his chest, its echo resonating in the space that was now hollow. His hand was shaking when he touched for his pulse and found it was gone. When he looked up, he saw his heart beating in the hand of Ella Bandita.

  Her eyes glittered and her teeth gleamed. Her nostrils flared when she inhaled his scent. She moaned softly and brought the hand to her mouth.

  “Follow your heart…”

  The memory of his grandfather’s counsel tore through the Wanderer. He howled and grasped his throat, frantic to find his pulse. When he looked at the girl again, there was terror in her eyes. He lunged for her, but Ella Bandita stepped aside. He catapulted to the ground and crouched on his haunches, ready to spring. Ella Bandita reached with her other hand for the small pouch on her holster. Before he could attack again, she blew between her thumb and forefinger.

  “Wolf!”

  It couldn’t have been more than a pinch of dust, but a cloud glistened around the Wanderer before his body collapsed. The transformation was immediate. Before he knew it, he stood lower to the ground and was much warmer, suddenly impervious to the cold. Ella Bandita’s scent was stronger, and he turned towards her. He could see her easily, his vision unaffected by the dark. He also saw his heart beating in her hand and growled. He could feel his pulse vibrating outside of him, and the hairs rose on the back of his neck.

  Ella Bandita cursed when he lunged for her again. Then he stumbled. When his face hit the ground, pain shot through his skull. He extended his arms to push himself up and saw his hands were paws covered in black fur. Then he realized he was on four legs instead of two, the black coat of fur stretching along his torso, the thick tail dropping between his back legs. His ears twitched from the sound of whimpering, and he knew he was the animal making that plaintive cry. How could this be? He was a man, not a wolf.

  Just before a loud crack made him drop to the ground, he heard her chuckling. Ella Bandita had her pistol pointed to the sky and cocked the hammer again. Then she brought the gun down and aimed right for him. He got up and fled into the trees before she pulled the trigger. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this confused or frightened. He tripped often as he ran, stopping once he realized she wasn’t coming after him.

  “Follow your heart…”

  He remembered his grandfather and his hollow space throbbed. He had to return. That woman had his heart and he had to get it back. He stayed in the trees close to her camp and wailed to the sky. He could hear his heart beating inside her tent. He could sense her agitation, her tossing and turning while he howled for the rest of the night.

  The next morning, Ella Bandita seemed weary. There was heaviness in her limbs he’d never seen before, and he saw shadows under her eyes when she glanced his way. He stared at her from behind a tree, his body rigid in case she shot at him. But she turned her back and broke down her camp. His lips quivered while he watched her pack. He imagined throwing himself at her, sinking his teeth into the nape of her neck until the bones crushed. This instinct to violence frightened him. The Wolf needed all his human will to restrain himself. But the girl took no notice, mounting her horse and kicking its flanks.

  The Wolf couldn’t keep up with her stallion. But he followed the deep prints and never lost track of that smell. He stumbled along the way until he discovered his rhythm and ran on four legs. By evening, he came to a province twenty miles west of where he started that morning. There were woods outside the town gates, and he found Ella Bandita’s camp in the trees a few hours later. His nostrils fluttered at the scent of his heart, his pulse a relief to hear.

  Ella Bandita frowned when she saw him. The Wolf kept his distance, remaining silent until darkness. Then he started howling, his grief ululating in waves until the first light of day. When she came outside, he saw the circles under her eyes had grown darker. She ignored him, packing up and leaving for the next town. The Wolf followed.

  So it went for a week. He was relentless. The scent and sound of his heart made him desperate to get it back. Whenever he saw his reflection in creeks and rivers, he was shocked. The sight of his big snout, sharp teeth, and long ears was upsetting. His eyes were the only feature he recognized. Instead of a feral lupine gaze, he kept the black eyes of his mother and grandfather. As the days passed, he fed on nothing but water and the tiny fish he managed to catch. But desperation wasn’t enough to keep him going. He could feel himself wasting away.

  Then the morning came when she didn’t leave. She had camped at the edge of a forest in the middle of a valley. From his vantage at the peak of the western hills, he saw she didn’t get up until late morning. But the circles under her eyes were nearly black when she came out. The Wolf was as exhausted as she, and he was relieved she rode off without packing up.

  He spent the day trying to hunt something to eat. But the squirrels escaped him easily, for he was too weak to catch them. He stopped near her camp to take a long drink from the creek, swallowing as many silvery fish as he could. The sun was dropping towards the western hills and his nemesis hadn’t yet returned. He listened for the beat of his heart and his hollow throbbed when he heard nothing. Then he realized his heart must have been in the satchel on her back. Of course, she wouldn’t have left it behind.

  Evening was giving way to night by the time she rode in. The moon was full, just above the eastern hills and directly across from the setting sun. Intent on stalking a wild hare near the creek, the Wolf was dimly aware of the pounding hooves. But his prey noticed the approaching steed and leapt away before the Wolf was close enough to catch him. The clap of gunshot was unexpected and the Wolf dropped to the ground. But the wild hare collapsed in a dead heap.

  He turned and saw Ella Bandita dismount from her horse. She didn’t glance his way as she gathered her kill. But he still went back to the western hills, watching her peel the skin and cut the meat in strips. His stomach rumbled. He didn’t know which was more painful, his envy or his hunger. He was convinced his mind played a cruel prank on him when Ella Bandita took the plate, walked up the hill to where he lay, and set it before him.

  But his nose didn’t deceive him, the smell of blood made the Wolf lurch for the plate. Then he remembered that kindness was not her nature and managed to restrain himself. Perhaps Ella Bandita had only come to torment him, making an offering only to take it away. He glanced over to see her sitting on the ground, her arms wrapped around her knees. The Wolf could no longer resist the fresh meat. But he made himself eat slowly. The last thing he wanted was to vomit the first meal he had in a week.

  The Wolf was so focused he didn’t notice what she was doing. He looked up when he was finished, and had to swallow hard to force his food back down. She had eaten half of it by then. Blood dripped down her chin, the heart still pulsing in her hands as she took another bite.

  “Relax,” she said. “It isn’t yours.”

  She watched him while she ate, chewing slowly until a mess of blood was all that remained. Even those traces disappeared after she took a damp rag and wiped her face clean.

  “I would have liked that gentleman’s heart,” she mused. “I would have liked it very much.”

  He was confused. The Wolf didn’t recognize the face of the arrogant nobleman until he thought back to the night at the tavern.

  “I’m certain he’s grateful to have kept it.”

  The Wolf was surprised to hear the thought spoken aloud. He believed it must be a trick of his imagination until Ella Bandita smiled, her thick teeth stained with blood.

  “Well, well,” she said. “So you can still talk. The circus would love to have you.”

  The Wolf was so relieved that he couldn’t hear the mockery in her tone.

  “Please give back my heart and make me a
man again.”

  “I can do a lot of things. But I can’t make a man out of you. That’s your job.”

  “Why can’t we just forget about this? I won’t tell anybody. I’ll leave you alone.”

  “But everybody already knows who I am and what I do,” she replied. “And you should have left me alone a long time ago.”

  “But I’m not the kind of man you prey on,” the Wolf implored. “In all the stories I ever heard, you go after the proud, the corrupt, and the wicked. You leave the innocent alone.”

  “What makes you think you’re innocent, Wanderer?”

  He paused, his mind going back to No Man’s Land. His refusal to leave and his determination to satisfy his desires was incredible, even to him. He remembered that lust from a distance. Even when he thought about the days they spent coupling, it seemed those memories belonged to another. What he could relive with no effort at all was his anger and pride after their first confrontation. He even recalled how his wanting increased with his dislike.

  “You make a good point,” he said. “But I wouldn’t say that I’m not innocent.”

  Ella Bandita cocked one brow and leaned back, propping herself up on her forearms.

  “That’s certainly one way of looking at it,” she said. “But I can’t say I agree.”

  “If you feel that way about me, then why did you come here with food? You must want something.”

  “You’re right. I want you to leave.”

  “Give back my heart and I will.”

  “No,” she said. “You pushed me too far.”

  “Then I’ll keep following you. As long as you have my heart, I’ll follow.”

  The Wolf got up and paced back and forth. Rage throbbed in his hollow and spread through his veins. He remembered the night he admitted to himself that he hated the girl in the woods and he remembered pushing that sentiment away because it made him ashamed. But he didn’t resist now. For the first time since he lost his manhood, the Wolf felt strong. He saw fear in the eyes of Ella Bandita as she tracked his every move. He knew there was power in hatred.