And they had! Or had they?
The back of my neck burned with excitement, and a curious, tingling shock numbed both my brain and my fingertips on the keyboard. Professor Howard had slipped his little story into my imagination, and now I was delirious with discovery, having validated his so-called myth.
But it was too easy, far too simple. Had I really stumbled onto something the professor did not know—or had I been set up?
I cleared the computer screen and reran the search through a different search engine, this time reversing the order. “Search for O’Connor and piebaldism,” I muttered, typing. I hit the enter key and clicked my nails on the desk in a flood of anticipatory adrenaline.
There was no way Professor Howard could know that I would actually run a computer search to test his little story. And if I had searched only for O’Connors, I would have pulled up thousands of references, too many to fully investigate. Maybe the link of piebaldism had never occurred to anyone else. I did have a special interest in the subject, after all.
Searching…
The computer beeped as the screen filled with the same four references I had seen earlier. Cahira of the thirteenth century, Anika of the fifteenth, Aidan of the seventeenth, Flanna of the nineteenth. All warrior women descended from the O’Connors, and all similar in appearance.
The possibility of a link between them seemed crazy, absolutely fantastic, but what if my hypothesis were true? These four women had each lived two hundred years apart, in different countries, under vastly different conditions. None of them would have known the others existed. And yet they were all O’Connors. They had all fought as men, for at least a brief span of time. And all of them had red hair marked by a streak of white—
Just like me. My mouth flew open in numb astonishment. I was about to enter the twenty-first century, two hundred years after Cahira’s last warrior descendant. Could I be … the next one?
The thought was too incredible to comprehend. My fingers began to tremble as fearful images took root in my imagination. Were the histories of these women somehow tied into my own future? I was a student, not a soldier, but did some global tragedy or struggle lie beyond tomorrow’s sunset? The idea seemed ridiculous, totally implausible. Yet I would still be in my twenties at the turn of the century, young enough to bear the blessing—or curse—of Cahira O’Connor, if such a thing really existed.
My logic kicked in. It has to be a coincidence, I told myself. You’ve read too many books, seen too many far-out movies. You asked the computer for entries with two terms in common. Out of thousands, no, millions of web pages on the Internet, you shouldn’t be surprised that something surfaced. Professor Howard’s odd devotion to that myth spooked you, that’s all. And it’s late. You’re tired. And you’re facing a deadline…
I put my hand on the mouse and cleared the screen, but thoughts of Cahira and her descendants persisted. How could the strange timing—every two hundred years—be explained by mere chance? And how could four women have the piebald patch in exactly the same place? And I hadn’t searched for links about women who lived as men; that fact had simply come out of nowhere.
I whipped open my spiral notebook and turned to a clean page. If I couldn’t let it go, I could investigate. I’d change my topic for my semester project, and instead of researching piebaldism, I’d explore the histories of Anika of Prague, Aidan of the O’Connors, and Flanna the Velvet Shadow. And maybe, if I had time and my professor approved, I’d do a background check on Cahira herself.
And if by chance I discovered that Professor Howard was a lonely man pulling some sort of academic scam, I’d publish my findings in the college newspaper and expose the creep. But if he had told the truth, he might have just changed my life.
The first red-headed wonder was Anika of Prague, the woman who fought as a knight—in an actual suit of armor?—in Bohemia.
Bohemia? In my adolescent days, my mother had often accused me of being bohemian, but I don’t think she meant it as a compliment.
I entered “Bohemia” into the computer’s reference book program and pressed the enter key.
Thirty seconds later, there it was:
Bohemia (Bo-HEE-mee-ah), a historic region of 20,368 square miles bordered by Austria (SE), Germany (W, NW), Poland (N, NE), and Moravia (E). The traditional capital is Prague. With the dissolution of Czechoslovakia (1993), the region became part of the Czech Republic. In the 15th century Bohemia was the scene of the Hussite religious movement….
Bingo. According to the other search, my girl Anika followed a man called Hus. I hit the “print” button and skimmed the entry again. I could look up “Hus” and do a bit of checking on this Hussite movement. And maybe there’d be something under “Czechoslovakia” about this Anika of Prague.
Was all of this a quirk of fate or a divine appointment? I wasn’t sure. In that moment I only knew I had to find all I could about Anika… because in learning about her past, I just might learn something about my own future.
I typed her name into another search program and snapped the enter key.
Searching…
Ernan O’Connor
One
Mama?” Anika was six again, small and helpless, alone in the upstairs room of an inn outside Prague. Father had gone out to the stable to meet with a man who had promised to find them a horse. Anika moved through the musty chamber. It felt like pushing aside curtains of black velvet, perfumed with the odors of unwashed bodies and the scent of sour hay. In the silence of the darkened chamber she felt her mouth go dry as fear rushed in. “Mama?”
“Hush, love, I’m here.” The straw mattress rustled in the dark, then Mother’s warm hand found its way to Anika’s elbow and pulled her down onto the mattress beside her. Anika curled against her mother and hugged her knees, blinking as her night eyes adjusted to the dim light. Two other women slept on the far side of the room, the heavy sounds of their breathing blending with the snores of the innkeeper’s dogs. The two huge mastiffs slept near the door, alert to any newcomer.
Mother’s own breathing deepened and slowed; she had fallen asleep again. But Anika was not tired; she had slept in her mother’s arms on the long walk and awakened in this room. She was never tired these days; there was too much to see. Father was moving the family from a farm out in the mountains to Prague.
“The University is in Prague,” he had told Anika, “and people from all over the world go there to learn. They will need books, and they will bring books, and we will be prosperous in our little house. Wait and see, me wee bird, wait and see.”
Anika sat up and crinkled her nose at the odors in the room. The strong scent of hay that covered the floor and filled the mattresses. The warm, comforting smell of the dogs. Anika liked that smell. One of the mastiffs sensed her gaze and lifted his head, rewarding her with a calm, droopy smile. Anika raised her chubby hands and clapped them to keep the dog’s attention, but the huge animal simply lowered its head back to its paws and sighed loudly.
Anika clapped again, then giggled when the animal abruptly lifted its head. But it did not look at her this time. The dog stared at the window, where the black sky had brightened to the color of sunrise.
Anika clapped once more, willing the dog to look at her. But instead it nudged its mate, who woke instantly and whimpered. Restless, the mastiffs stood and paced between the window and the doorway, then began to growl.
“What’s wrong?” Anika swung her legs from the prickly mattress. “What’s wrong, dogs?”
The biggest dog, the male, darted toward the staircase. The female whined for an instant, then gently took the hem of Anika’s garment between her teeth and pulled her toward the dark hallway.
Anika laughed. What sort of game was this? She followed the dog, allowing the shuffling giant to gently lead her down the stairs.
In the big room below, wisps of gray smoke drifted over tables and chairs. A few red-eyed men slouched over a table in the corner while the innkeeper sat at his stool, his head propped on h
is hand, his eyes closed. As the whining dogs scratched at the door, Anika sat on the bottom step, content to wait on her father.
One of the men at the table suddenly lifted his head, like a cat scenting the breeze. “Is that smoke?” He stared out the window, then elbowed his companion. “Fire! There’s fire outside! The barn!”
Anika shrank back against the wall, watching in confusion as the men leaped up from their tables. The innkeeper awoke and fumbled for a leather pouch inside his desk. Two of the men who had been sitting at the table ran toward the door, crashing into one another in an effort to reach it. The third man rushed for the stairs, nearly tripping over Anika in his headlong dash.
“Fire!” The cry echoed now from the courtyard outside, and the air vibrated with shouts, cries, and the sound of screaming horses. Some big person—Anika could not see clearly in the confusion—jerked her from her place, slung her over a shoulder, and carried her outside.
The barn and the inn were a mass of flame, their thatched roofs blazing like hay in a parched field. The sodden men who had been sitting inside now stumbled over themselves to fetch water and buckets, and through the noise Anika heard her father’s voice: “Let me pass, you eejits; me wife and child are inside!”
“Papa!” Anika turned, throwing herself into her father’s arms, but his eager embrace was entirely too brief. “Where’s your mother, lass?” He bent down to look her in the eye, his hands tight on her arms. “Came your mama downstairs with you?”
Anika put her finger in her mouth and shook her head. “The doggie brought me,” she said simply, pointing toward the mastiff that stood howling outside the flaming barn.
Her father rushed toward the building, but a line of men threw up their arms and held him back. “Too late, man,” one of them said. “You can’t go in there now. ’Tis a tinderbox.”
And then, like a sound from heaven, Anika heard Mother’s voice and looked up. With the two other women, Anika’s mother leaned out the window toward safety and the rescuers below.
“Help them!” Ernan O’Connor shouted, pointing to the women. He ran up to the burly innkeeper and clapped his hand on the man’s shoulder, whirling him around. “By all the saints, lend a hand, man! Have you a ladder?”
“Look yonder.” The innkeeper pointed to the far end of the house. And there, in the devilish glow of the fire, Anika saw two black-robed men steadying a ladder for a plump, balding man in red who moved slowly and carefully downward, as if he had all the time in the world.
Ernan O’Connor rushed forward, and Anika ran to keep up.
“Let me use this ladder.” Anika’s father grabbed one of the black-robed men and tugged on his sleeve. “There are women still in the building, at the south end.”
“Would you take the ladder while the cardinal is still upon it?” The man’s eyes went wide with surprise. “Patience, fellow. He is nearly down, thank God.”
The man in the red robe landed heavily on the ground, and the two men in black sighed in relief. Anika’s father grabbed the ladder, but the man in red shook his head and pointed up toward the window he had just vacated. “My vestments,” he said simply, staring at one of the black-robed ones. “You must get my vestments and the satchel with the parchments.”
“But, Your Eminence—” one of the men protested.
“What sort of amadons and eejits are you?” Anika heard her father roar. With the strength of two men he laid hold of the ladder and pulled it from the window, but the black-robed ones stopped him.
“I’ll go.” After tossing a single guilty glance toward Anika’s father, the tallest man sprinted up the ladder. As black smoke billowed overhead, he crawled through the window, then a moment later a pair of bundles flew out the opening and landed at Anika’s feet.
The man in red nodded soberly and turned away, not even waiting to see if his servant would return. Other men had gathered about now. Pushing Anika back, they pounded on the ladder, urging the man upstairs to hurry down while at the far end of the building the women wept and screamed and tore their hair.
“Papa!” Anika stood on tiptoe, but she could no longer see her father. She slipped away from the crowd and found him beneath the window where the women waited. Dense clouds of black smoke rolled out the window above the women’s heads, and Anika could hear a whispering, crackling noise, as though the fire contained a horde of gremlins who laughed and cackled to themselves.
“Jump, me darling, and I’ll catch you.” Father’s voice broke with terrible sadness as he lifted his arms to Mother. “Don’t wait a minute more; just jump!”
Anika watched her mother move out onto the edge of the window ledge, ready to leap into Father’s arms. A cloud of smoke rolled out the window and hugged Mother like an old friend. Anika felt the heat slap her face; it was like the rare days when her father had money enough for two logs in the fireplace and set them to burning at once.
“Jump, love!” Mother nodded and leaned forward, but in the instant before she could slip off her perch, the roof roared like the sea and rushed downward. Amid a flood of flames and cinders and sparks the other waiting women flung themselves toward the open window.
For a moment Anika thought it had begun to rain bodies, timber, and ashes. Father was knocked off his feet as a falling beam hit him on the head. He lay sprawled on the ground, his hands extended in front of him, his eyes closed as if he slept.
As Anika whimpered softly, the innkeeper and his friends began to untangle the other bodies. Of the three women, the first was scarcely hurt at all, and the second suffered only a broken leg and some singed hair.
But Mother lay quiet and still, her head bent to the side as if she were laughing. She wasn’t burnt at all; she lay asleep on the ground. “Mama, wake up,” Anika urged. She squatted low to whisper in her mother’s ear and could smell smoke on her mother’s skin. She reached out and shook Mother’s arm; the skin was still warm and soft as a rose petal. “Mama! Why won’t you wake up?”
“Come away, child.” The innkeeper’s wife, a matronly woman with an ample bosom and lap, pulled Anika up and moved her away from the heat of the burning building. “Your mama has gone to heaven.”
Anika shook her head. “My mama is asleep.”
“No, child, her neck’s broke.” The woman dashed a tear from her soot-streaked cheek, then knelt and clasped Anika’s hands in her own. Her eyes darkened and shone with an unpleasant light as her sweaty hands squeezed Anika’s knuckles. “Your mama’s dead, child, and it’s all that cardinal’s fault. Don’t you ever forget it, you hear? As God is my witness, the Roman church and her meddling priests will be the death of us all.”
Anika did not understand, but she nodded obediently until the woman released her hands. Not knowing what else to do, she stood silent as the woman rose to watch her home burn to the ground. From somewhere in the distance Anika heard the hoarse cry of her father’s weeping.
And when the man in the red robe gathered his bundles and turned from the ghastly scene, Anika clamped her eyes shut, afraid to look upon the man who would not give her mother the ladder.
“Go away,” she murmured, afraid to open her eyes lest he still be there, mocking her with his smug little smile. “Go away, please.” The words hurt her throat, as though she’d swallowed some sharp and jagged object. “Go away, go away, go away!”
“Anika! Open your eyes, wake up!”
Her eyes flew open even as her heart congealed into a small lump of terror. But the face staring at her was not the cardinal’s. Her father sat on the edge of her bed; his hands gripping her arms and the corners of his mouth tight with distress.
“Papa?” The word was hoarse, forced through her constricted throat.
“Anika, you’re having a nightmare.” His eyes searched her face. “Are you all right?”
She took a quick, wincing breath. She was home, safe in bed. Not six anymore, but sixteen.
“Are you all right then, or shall I be having to leave a light burning for such a big lass as you?” H
er father smiled at her now, but she saw the dark memories at the back of his eyes, under the mocking humor. He knew what she’d dreamed—she’d had these dreams off and on for years. He probably dreamed of the fire, too, but he wouldn’t want her to worry about him. He was an unselfish man, Ernan O’Connor.
“Thank you, Papa,” she whispered, slipping her arms around his neck. Relaxing in his embrace, she closed her eyes, but the vague shadows of her dream still drifted across her eyelids. She snapped her eyes open again and stared over his shoulder at the flickering candle’s light as her father rocked her slowly and crooned an Irish lullaby.
A beautiful figure wins love with very little effort, especially when the lover who is sought is simple, for a simple lover thinks that there is nothing to look for in one’s beloved besides a beautiful figure and face and a body well cared for. I do not particularly blame the love of such people, but neither do I have much approval for it, because love—
“Anika!”
More surprised than frightened, Anika looked up from the book she kept hidden under her parchments. Her father stood in front of the door, his face pressed to the tiny shuttered opening.
“Quickly, me girl! Hide Hus’s tablet and the parchments! The archbishop comes.”
The worried tone in her father’s voice sparked Anika’s fear. She slammed her book shut and, with the ease that comes from long practice, dropped Master Hus’s wax tablet to her lap and shuffled the uppermost sheet of parchment beneath the others on her writing board. Archbishop Albik was not her favorite clergyman—if truth be told, Anika liked him little. But as the archbishop of Prague, in Bohemia his influential voice was second only to that of King Wenceslas.
The Silver Sword Page 2
