The Red Rider (The Red Rider Saga Book 1)

by D. A. Randall

  I took her hand. I meant to pry it away, but found myself leaning against her palm. I should have known she wouldn’t reject me. I couldn’t let Grenault devour her. I had to stop him, whatever it took.

  I drew away from her touch. “My parents aren’t here now,” I said, fighting against the catch in my throat. “And someone has to fight, for the families of other children.”

  Not to mention their mothers.

  Her eyes seemed near tears as she studied me and gave a slight nod. “Just know you can always come here. For whatever you need.”

  I swallowed. “Thank you.”

  The door opened again behind her. Monsieur Leóne came in, carrying a pile of metal bars. “Pierre, I’ve found some more supplies to – oh. Helena.”

  He stood and stared at me as his family fell silent. He and Papa had been close friends for years. Yet despite Madame Leóne’s hospitality, I seemed to have worn out my welcome with Pierre’s father.

  I said nothing.

  “You’re, ah – you’re well?” he asked.

  Madame Leóne stepped to his side. “Helena just stopped by to visit, Frayne. Isn’t that nice?”

  Monsieur Leóne continued to narrow his eyes at me. “Yes, Lisette. Glad to see you’re all right, Helena.” He looked up and down at my outfit. “You’re – You’re staying safe?”

  “As safe as I can be,” I said.

  “Here, Papa, let me take those from you,” Pierre said, stepping forth quickly to take the stack of metal pieces from him. He carried them to a shelf as I stepped in front of Pierre’s satchel bag of bolts that lay on the wooden table. Monsieur Leóne noticed me shifting my position, but didn’t look beyond me.

  “Helena, I’ve heard talk,” he said, focusing on my hooded face. “I hope it’s just talk. People are saying you’ve been spending your nights hunting down the wolves that have been attacking everyone.” He looked hard at me. “That’s not so, is it? You’re not doing anything so dangerous, alone in the woods, chasing after these savage beasts that have been devouring innocent young girls like you for several years. Are you?”

  I clenched my jaw. “Someone has to.”

  His nostrils flared, his angry breath visible.

  I should have told him what he wanted to hear. That I would never dare do anything so reckless and foolish. But somehow, the way he was interrogating me made me want to tell him exactly what I was doing.

  “Don’t you realize what will come of this?” he demanded. “What those monsters will do to you, and to everyone you come in contact with? How do you expect to escape the fate of all those other poor souls they butchered?”

  I glanced at Madame Leóne as a reflex, meeting her sympathetic look. I clenched my jaw. “Papa taught me how to hunt. I can stop them.”

  “It didn’t do much for him, did it?” he snapped.

  Madame Leóne gasped. “Frayne …”

  He made a pained face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean – Helena, I don’t want you hurt. I don’t want to see you torn apart the way – !” He swallowed. “Just stay away from them, Helena. Stay away. Before we have to bury you, too.”

  He marched past me as Madame Leóne moved to take his arm.

  “Frayne, please. Mind how you’re speaking. She’s only a child.”

  “I know she’s only a child!” he exploded. “I can spare her feelings, or I can spare all of our lives! Which would you prefer?”

  She closed her mouth, and the room felt hollow.

  He was right. I couldn’t expect to survive. But if I didn’t try to stop them – if no one tried – we would all die. I bit my lip. If I had to die to save our province, or even a few of our people, wasn’t that worth doing?

  Wasn’t it worth my life to save Madame Leóne?

  I stiffened my neck and jaw to keep myself from crying. I couldn’t lose control. Not here. Not now.

  Madame Leóne turned back to me. “Helena. We only want you to stay safe, dear. That’s all.”

  I turned my back to her, before she saw the tear forming in my eye. “I know,” I said, steeling myself as I quickly smeared it away. I turned to face her. “You need to stay safe, too.”

  She wrinkled her brow. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean – I mean there’s a lot more going on out there than you know. Just – Just be careful.”

  She continued to stare at me with a look of confusion. “… All right, Helena.”

  “I’m getting some wood for the furnace,” Monsieur Leóne interrupted. “Helena.”

  I turned to Monsieur Leóne. He stared at me like a judge passing sentence.

  “You can stay here with us if you like,” he said. “But not if you’re going to keep chasing after these wolves. I can’t have you bringing them to our doorstep.” He cast a hard glance at Madame Leóne and Pierre before storming out the back door toward the shed.

  Pierre hung his head.

  Madame Leóne touched my shoulder. “Helena. I know he’s – brusque. He’s frightened for you. Frightened for all of us.”

  I stared up into her soft round cheeks, framed by chestnut hair, her green eyes sparkling. The left eye seemed lazier than the right – I had never noticed it before. I took a deep breath. “I know. But if we mean to survive, someone has to take the fight to the wolves. I’ll see you both later.” I grabbed the satchel of bolts and strode out the door.

  “Stay safe, dear,” Madame Leóne said softly.

  “Take care of yourself, Red,” Pierre called before the door shut behind me.

  I knew they all cared. I knew Monsieur Leóne wanted to protect me, the same way Papa always did. I knew he was frightened for me.

  I was frightened, too. For myself and for Madame Leóne. But fear was a luxury I couldn’t afford.

  I had to find a way to destroy Grenault, before he destroyed me.

  I couldn’t hesitate.

  4.

  Where are you going, little girl?

  I gasped and glanced back into the dark woods.

  Nothing there.

  But I had heard the voice again. The same voice I had heard throughout my journey.

  I touched my smooth cheeks. They held no scars.

  I was seven years old again.

  I see you, Mademoiselle …

  I tugged the red cloak around my shoulders and returned to the slender trail snaking through the forest. The early morning wind rustled the full leaves of pine and oak trees overhead, as their gnarled branches seemed to reach for me, stretching, grasping, clawing.

  Mademoiselle …

  The guttural voice continued from somewhere close by. Just beyond the shrouded trees and broken branches littering the path.

  I gripped my basket tighter and started forward at a steady pace. I would exit the forest soon enough, then head straight to the warm house in the valley below, straight to the arms of Grand’Mere.

  Mademoiselle …

  Something shuffled alongside me. Fresh leaves tore from the trees, churning into the air and floating to the ground like wounded birds.

  The beast was following me.

  I hustled forward. Then gasped.

  The monster stood before me. Stood. A large black wolf with blue-gray eyes, standing on its hind legs, and – smiling.

  I could swear it was smiling.

  “Where are you off to in such a hurry, Mademoiselle?” it asked. Its voice was cold and coarse, but the beast clearly spoke. Perhaps it wasn’t a wolf, only a man who looked like a wolf.

  “I – I’m going to my Grand’Mere’s house,” I stuttered. “Now leave me alone!”

  “Ah.” The wolf sounded intrigued. “She lives close by? I wouldn’t want you wandering too deep into the woods – where it’s not safe.”

  “She lives – just over the ridge.” I could hear my own breathing. I was talking with a giant wolf!

  It glanced over its furry shoulder at the trail. “Not that far. Well, then. Pleasant journeys, little girl.” He craned toward me. “See you soon.”

  I stared at
him, shaking. He darted aside and disappeared into the forest without a word.

  The bitter cold crawled up my neck and arms. See you soon? I had just met this creature moments ago. Why would he expect to –?

  Grand’Mere.

  I started forward, my legs feeling stiff and wooden. Then I broke into a run. Through the dark forest where the rising wind whistled and moaned in the hollows of tree trunks. Out of its eerie silence across the broad meadow just beyond its mouth, leading straight to Grand’Mere’s house. I jumped onto her porch, twisted the doorknob, and bounded inside.

  Come in, little girl, the voice called. Come see your Grand’Mere.

  The wolf was already there, on top of Grand’Mere’s bed. While my little legs raced through the forest, it had loped ahead of me and now circled across her mattress, pawing at her bloody nightgown and cap.

  She was dead.

  The wolf jumped down to padded across the cherrywood floor toward me. It stood again on its hind legs, like a strange sort of wolf-man, grinning at me, its blue-gray eyes alight with a look of hunger.

  I hurled my basket, which bounced off its snout, scattering bread and honey everywhere. The wolf chortled, then drew closer and raised its paw. Its claws glinted like silver knives in the window’s sunlight. It swiped at my face and the entire world turned into a red fiery agony.

  Then I had screamed.

  “Helena!”

  It was Papa’s voice. He had been shaking me.

  “Helena, wake up. You’re having another nightmare.”

  His voice had sounded gruffer than usual. Then I realized he was whispering in the blackness of my bedroom. I couldn’t see him but I felt his presence, his face inches from mine.

  I fell against him and hugged him tight. His strong arms had encircled me, his scruffy moustache tickling the top of my head.

  I was nine years old. I buried my scarred face in his thick shirt. It was dark but he was fully dressed.

  “Time to rise, Helena,” he had said. “Wipe your tears and get ready.”

  He drew back, allowing the sparse light from the living room candles beyond him to highlight his huge frame. I blinked a few times, starting to make out some objects in the room. My table and chest, where I had laid my burlap cloak. The one I had worn ever since Papa put away the red one Grand’Mere had made for me. So that we wouldn’t attract too much attention when outdoors.

  I smeared away the fear from my eyes. It was early morning. Mama would still be asleep. I had forgotten my plans with Papa.

  He stood, his commanding shadow filling the open doorway. His darkened hand retrieved his musket from where he had rested it against the wall. “I’d rather you stay home,” he said. “But if you’re coming, get dressed. Now.”

  My bedroom suddenly felt as black and cold as a tomb. I had to embrace that darkness, or I would forever cower from it. “Yes, Papa,” I said.

  The giant shadow nodded once. “Very well, then,” he said. “Let’s go hunting.”

  5.

  I had kept in a line behind Papa, following his footsteps through the forest as precisely as I could. I carried the crossbow he had used during the war, while Papa held his musket. We had tied Royale and Crimson to a tree trunk far behind us, and we now trudged through the soft mud. Last night’s rain had left everything damp, but Papa assured me we would find a few animals up and about, foraging early in the day.

  His instructions from the previous day still rang in my ears.

  Step where I tell you to step. Keep silent when I tell you to keep silent. Shoot when I tell you to shoot.

  He would brook no disobedience, no hesitation. Papa had always been stern and brutally practical, and I would never dare to disobey him. But this was different. If I disobeyed him here, even for an instant, we could both be dead.

  My foot sank into a puddle and got stuck. “Papa!” I cried.

  He whirled and glared at me, hushing me to silence.

  I shrank back. “But – I’m stuck.”

  He stared down at my foot and started toward me. Then stopped himself, setting his jaw. “So get free.”

  “I’m trying,” I said. “It’s just –.” I glanced up at his hard eyes. He would not help me here.

  I moved my other leg closer to the mudhole, balancing on more solid ground. Then I tugged hard and pulled my foot free.

  But it was bare.

  “My slipper!” I squealed. I crouched down, reaching into the mud. I couldn’t feel it anywhere. “Papa, help me find it.”

  He shut his eyes a moment. Then stared at me without emotion. Without kindness. “We’re not here to find slippers, Helena.”

  “But you’ve got boots,” I said. The bottom half of his boots were covered in mud, but nothing slowed him down.

  “Find your slipper or leave it, and keep up.”

  He turned and walked ahead. I understood then that he would not be my Papa today. And I would not be his little girl. He was my master, taking me in as his apprentice. He would not coddle me or wipe away my tears, and he would not let me hinder him.

  I fished around once more for my lost slipper. Then stood. “I’ll leave it,” I said, hurrying after him, careful to avoid rocks and broken branches.

  A few minutes later, he stopped and raised his hand. I froze.

  He crouched slowly, then beckoned me forth. I crept forward with the crossbow. He pointed at a collection of tree trunks farther ahead. I squinted, seeing nothing. Then a tiny movement. A brown rabbit, sniffing at the ground, whiskers twitching.

  I raised my crossbow.

  “Wait,” he whispered. “Wait …”

  I fixed my sights on the bunny, but it took no notice of us. Its ball of soft fur made an easy target. “Now,” Papa said.

  I stared at the rabbit. I loved the taste of rabbit, and I had begged Papa to take me hunting. I wanted to be able to protect myself from the wolves. To be strong and safe.

  “Helena, now.”

  But seeing that helpless bunny …

  “Shoot, Helena!” he whispered louder.

  The bunny’s ears pricked. It turned slightly toward us.

  “Helena, now!”

  Its ears rose higher. Then it sprang away.

  “Shoot!”

  I followed it with my crossbow and fired. My bolt struck a rock that blocked my path.

  The rabbit scampered into the woods and disappeared.

  The cold of the forest seeped into me, its silence unsettling.

  Papa exhaled slowly. “You – cannot – hesitate,” he said.

  “I – I’m sorry, Papa.”

  “I know,” he said. “But your sorrow won’t give us any dinner.”

  I bit my lip.

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “You can’t be afraid to shoot. You’ve got to shove your fear aside. That was only a rabbit. So if you hesitate, you go hungry. What if it was a –?”

  He paused.

  “A wolf,” I finished.

  He sighed. “Yes. What if it was a wolf? And you wait to decide whether to shoot. He won’t wait to kill you. Will he?”

  I swallowed. “No, Papa.”

  “Shove your fear aside and shoot.”

  He stood and walked farther on. I hung my head. I wanted to learn how to hunt but I couldn’t. I could never be as cold and determined as Papa.

  He paused. Then turned back to see me, still on my knees, fighting to keep from sobbing. I breathed out puffs of cold air, gathering my strength as he watched me and waited. I couldn’t disappoint him again. Even if I never learned to hunt, I couldn’t let myself slow him down any further.

  I steadied my breathing. He watched me take control of myself. Then he walked back to stand over me. “Hand me the crossbow,” he said.

  I released a slow sigh and surrendered it to him. He took it without a word. Instead of keeping it, he tugged the bowstring taut, setting it for my next attempt. I didn’t have the strength to arm it myself. Handing it back, he said, “Keep up.”

  Then he walked ahead. I rose
and followed.

  Further along the trail, I slipped and stuck my foot on a branch. A branch with thorns. I couldn’t help crying out as I fell to the ground.

  Papa whirled. “Helena!” he said, hurrying toward me. He stopped himself again, standing still as he dropped to a whisper. “What happened?”

  “I cut my foot,” I said, lifting it to see. The thorn had cut into the center of my sole. I tugged it out and it started to bleed. I squeezed my hand against it. “I need Mama to dress it.”

  His voice turned to iron. “Mama’s not here. Dress it yourself.”

  I raised my empty palm, glancing about at the rocks and dirt surrounding us. “I don’t have anything to dress it with.”

  He stood like a statue. “Then bleed.”

  I gaped at him, as if all the wind had been sucked from my lungs. “… What?”

  Papa’s eyes narrowed into slits. “You wanted to join the hunt. I told you to stay home. If you want to hunt, you get bruised and bleed and dress it yourself, however you can. If you want Mama to dress it, I’ll take you back home.”

  I swallowed. Of course I wanted Mama to dress it. But if I let him take me back, he would never bring me on another hunt.

  I looked down at my white cotton dress. The dress I loved most.

  I tore a strip from its bottom.

  Glancing up, I saw Papa’s eyes bulge, as I gathered some leaves to press them against the wound and stop the bleeding. Then I wrapped the cotton strip around my foot four times and tied it off. I looked up again to see the hint of Papa’s smile.

  We continued trudging through the woods, finding nothing but mud and puddles and dead branches. Then Papa stopped suddenly and raised his musket. He had spotted something.

  He stood and stared at his boots. Then beckoned me forward with two fingers. I crept to his side and he pointed.

  A tiny fawn had wandered into view, bending to nibble at some fresh leaves on a shrub. Where was its mother? Why had it gotten itself lost?