Chapter 8
Be assured those will be thy worst enemies, not to whom thou hast done evil, but who have done evil to thee. - Tacitus
Attacked
For what felt like hours, Alana practiced her singing with Erik as they drove along the lonely road under the stars. He made her sing "Scarborough Fair" over and over, stopping her when she sang incorrectly and explaining what the problem was and how to correct it. Then he would sing the verse to her, in his soft yet powerful voice that sounded like something from a dream, and she would find herself singing back to him in the right key, with perfect pitch. In no time, she had mastered the song and could sing every line without making a single mistake. She had no idea she was able to learn so quickly. Erik confessed that he could not do as much at the time as he wished; he would have liked to play an instrument to accompany her, and he wanted to teach her to read music, but he had to drive the cart so that would have to wait. In the meantime, he taught her other songs and they practiced together.
He was so authoritative on the subject of music, Alana thought. From what little she had seen of him, he had seemed for the most part unsure and reluctant about many things. But when he was making music or even talking about it, he was home. His eyes got brighter and his speech grew less forced as he taught her some of the things he knew. Alana could tell he had an incredible wealth of knowledge and that he loved sharing it, maybe even delighted in it, and she wondered if he'd ever trained any others before. He couldn't possibly have trained anyone in Détente. No one had even known he was there in that little house. She would have asked him about it, but she couldn't get a word in as he was constantly telling her about the rules of music, or one of his favorite composers. In fact, it was hard to remember any thoughts she'd had while he was talking; it was as if his voice completely filled her mind, demanding her respect and attention, and the moment he opened his mouth to sing, he became the only person in the world. His voice had a strange but wonderful hypnotic effect to it, and soon Alana lost track of time or place.
Finally, they stopped at a stream so Raven could get a drink of water, and they could stretch their legs a little. Alana found herself feeling a little lightheaded and disoriented. She drank deeply from a canteen of water they had brought and tried not to stare at Erik, who incidentally was looking at her, slightly concerned, something of his old melancholy expression returning to his face.
"Is something wrong?" They both said at the same time.
"No." They also said at the same time. Alana laughed, and Erik looked a little less gloomy. Her lightheadedness faded almost instantly.
Neither one of them spoke for a while, and Erik kept watching the landscape around them. They had just come out of the forest and now the road stretched on through a series of gently rolling hills covered with tall grass and lit by the brightness of the night's full moon. He appeared to be listening, too, but for what Alana didn't know. She couldn't hear anything
Suddenly there was a rustle in the grass. Then, large, rough hands grabbing her around the waist. She screamed, and struggled to break free, but the hands seized her wrists and twisted her arms back painfully. She could feel hot breath on the back of her neck.
While she was struggling, four other men had come charging out of the tall grass. One went for Raven and the cart, but the black horse, panicked by the commotion and the perception that the man was her master's enemy, galloped off at full speed, pulling the cart of supplies with her. The men started shouting and cursing in a language Alana didn't understand. She saw all four of them surround Erik, brandishing clubs and knives.
Alana kept fighting the man who had hold of her, but with her arms twisted back behind her, wrists locked and being crushed by his iron grip, she couldn't get away. He started dragging her back with him into the tall grass, moving back toward the forest.
"Help me!" She tried to scream, but, choked with fear, the sound was little more than a loud, gasping whisper. She could see Erik and the other attackers, glimpsed Erik dodge a blow to the head from one man's club, spin around him almost invisibly fast, and deck the man in the back of the head with a powerful blow, sending him crumpling to the ground.
Suddenly the grip on her wrists loosened. The man who had her must have seen his companion fall and feared for the other's life. She ran forward, picking up her skirts, but she was too slow, and too soon, her captor caught her again. This time, he spun her around. It was dark, but she could see his long black hair, scruff of a beard, and tanned skin, a gold tooth glinting inside his mouth. He laughed in her face.
"You put up a good fight," he said in heavily accented French. "But give up." He let go of one of her wrists and caressed her face. Only for a moment, because Alana quickly brought up her hand to slap his cheek, but he caught it and laughed again. "Don't fight. It will make things much…easier." He pulled her along with him once more. Alana struggled the entire way, straining to break free, dragging her feet on the ground to slow him down, but nothing worked. She craned her neck to look behind her…Erik would save her, just like last time.
But she couldn't see him. The other attackers were standing around something. Something she knew had to be his body lying on the ground. She screamed.
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Erik kept his eyes closed, trying not to think about the throbbing pain in his head, waiting for the perfect moment to attack. He didn't have long to wait; he had to go back and get Alana before the other man did anything to hurt her. One of the thieves had hit him in the head with a club hard. But not hard enough. They thought they had knocked him senseless, and stood over him, chattering in their language, a language he happened to understand.
It was the same gypsy tongue he had been spoken to in and learned to speak during his childhood, when he'd been with the nightmarish traveling fair.
"All right, we've knocked him out, let's take these fancy clothes of his and meet back up with Guaril."
"And the girl."
They all laughed. Erik seethed with rage. He had an idea of what they were planning to do with her, and he had to stop them. He prepared to attack.
"What was he doing, going to a masked ball?" another said, still laughing. "Let's take this first."
Erik felt the hands touch his mask, and almost involuntarily his own hand came up, seizing the other man's, and, with a horrific crunching, snapping sound, he crushed it completely. The man stumbled back, falling to his knees and screaming in agony. His companions backed away for a second, staring with him at his destroyed hand.
"What are you waiting for you fools?" The fallen thief shouted. "Kill the bastard!"
Meanwhile, Erik had gotten to his feet, but he was weakened from the many blows he'd already received, and the men fell upon him so suddenly and violently that he was tackled back to the ground. One thief, a younger man, leaped on top of him, hitting him over and over again with his fists. Erik managed to reach out and grab hold of the man's neck, squeezing as hard as he could. But that took up both of his hands, so as the young thief, choking for breath, reached out to pull the mask off his face, Erik could not stop him. The mask was ripped off, landing in the grass beside him.
Erik froze. Panic. Fear. Shame. Rage.
The man on top of him pried himself free from Erik's grip, which had suddenly loosened. He just stared into Erik's deformed face, but the others screamed.
"It's a monster!"
"Look at that!"
One made a sign of the cross.
"Let's kill him!"
"No let's keep him. We can sell him to a circus, or keep him ourselves and charge people to look at him!"
"Quiet!" shouted the young man who'd ripped the mask off. "I recognize this one." The thief's eyes blazed with hatred, and Erik suddenly recognized him, sending a new torrent of fiery rage blazing through his body. "He was with a circus. Years ago. My father's. He's the monster who killed my uncle!" He spat in Erik's face. "I'll kill him myself. Somebody, give me a knife! I want to cut his throat and see his blood spill onto the grass!"
"No, Emilian! He's worth too much money to us alive!"
Something inside of Erik snapped. They would not take him. He threw the thief off of him, sending him flying into the air. He charged at another, but the man just panicked and ran away. He seized the nearest thief by the arm, lifting him up with one hand and flipping him to the ground. That man, relatively unhurt but terrified at the sight of the unmasked, deformed Erik in all his fury, ran off too, along with the man with the broken hand. That left Emilian, standing up where he had fallen, holding a wicked-looking knife.
"You killed my uncle." His voice shook with fear and loathing. "Everyone said you put a curse on the circus, too, with your devil's magic. After you took off, most of us grew sick."
"You were already sick. All of you, long before I left." Erik came closer to Emilian, towering over him.
"Don't try to make yourself out to be the victim here! We were just simple people, trying to make an honest living. You were always a problem, always trying to escape, always fighting…"
"I was a prisoner!"
"…most of us ended up dying in the outbreak," Emilian continued. "You cursed them. You killed my uncle, and you killed the others too!"
Erik lunged at him. In no time, he'd thrown Emilian to the ground, delivered a painful kick to his opponent's side, and taken his knife. "Then I suggest," he snarled, pointing the knife at him, "you take this opportunity to avoid their fate." He pointed in the direction the other thieves had gone. "GO!" he roared.
Eyes wide with terror but still burning with hate, Emilian got to his feet and ran off.
Erik let out a deep breath, and whistled as loud as he could for Raven. She wouldn't have gone far even in her fear. Then he turned his attention to his missing mask. It was somewhere in the grass. He had to get it back. He crawled back and forth on the ground, searching, feelings of desperation rising up inside him. He had to get it back before his horse came. He had to. He needed to rescue Alana. She couldn't see him. Where was the cursed thing?
Hoofbeats. Raven was coming, galloping towards him as quickly as she could pulling the cart behind her. Suddenly his gaze fell on something white. There, in the tall grass! He seized the mask and put it on. Raven skidded to a stop, and Erik unhitched her faster than he ever had in his life. He sprinted to the cart, hurriedly took his sword from one of the bags, leapt onto Raven's back, and kicked her into a gallop, urging her for more and more speed.
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After seeing Erik on the ground, surrounded by the murderous thieves, Alana's struggling had only grown more frantic and violent. They'd probably killed him, and she would be stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, with this criminal who would do God knows what to her, maybe even kill her too. She started crying, pleading with her captor to let her go; he only laughed in her face again. But she wasn't going down without a fight. She slowed him down as much as she could, planting her feet firmly on the ground. Or she constantly moved, dragging her feet, planting them firmly on the ground, charging forward and pushing him into trees when she could, tripping him, anything she could do. Now, Alana quickened her stride and rammed him into a tree trunk with all her might. He hit his head hard, cursing. He dropped Alana's wrists.
Free.
She took off running, picking up her skirts and sprinting as fast as she could through the undergrowth. Thorns and branches tore at her dress, ripping the soft fabric, and cutting the skin on her arms. She could hear the man running after her and forced herself to speed up.
Suddenly, she saw the four other men tearing through the woods straight toward her. She stopped, panicking for a brief moment, then ran left, but her moment of hesitation was her undoing. Her captor caught up to her and grabbed her again, shouting something triumphantly at his friends, who, strangely, looked like scared children.
It didn't take long to see why. Alana heard the hoof beats before she saw him. The five men that had been so terrifying at first were shaking in their boots now. Then, Raven burst through the dark forest, with Erik on her back, a sword held high in his right hand. His expression was pure rage and determination. Alana's heart soared. Erik wasn't dead. He'd come back for her. She'd never been so happy to see anyone.
However, it was a different story for the five terrified thieves. One, who had an injured hand that now just hung limp, actually whimpered. Raven came to a stop, Erik pointed his sword at the men, and the four who'd fought him before stepped back, shouting something frantic at the man who still held Alana. Immediately, he let her go, and she ran to Raven's side, realizing for the first time that she was trembling uncontrollably, tears running down her face. She patted the horse's neck, taking deep, gasping breaths and trying to calm herself down. It was all over, and she was safe now. Once again Erik had saved her. She looked up and opened her mouth to thank him, but he was already speaking.
He was talking, no, shouting, in a foreign language, the same one the thieves used. They stood, silently, wincing and cringing at the harsh words, all looking very frightened except for the youngest one. He glared darkly at Erik with pure hatred but was unable to stop himself from shaking where he stood. Erik spoke slower, quieter, pointing his sword at each thief in turn, then suddenly began shouting again, making the whole forest echo with his voice. With a flourish, he pointed his sword to the sky dramatically and thundered a few final, foreign words. Then all five men took off running like the devil himself was at their heels. They were out of sight within moments.
Alana breathed a sigh of relief and heard Erik do the same. She looked up at him. "Thank you," she whispered, having trouble finding her voice.
"It was nothing," Erik said, taking her hand and pulling her up behind him onto the horse. "Now hang on." He told Raven to walk, and they set off at a relaxing pace. Alana put her arms around his waist and rested her chin on his shoulder, exhausted but feeling exhilarated after all the adrenaline of that night.
"Are you all right?" His voice had become velvety again and almost honey-sweet, in stark contrast to the harsh tone he had used when shouting at the thieves.
"I'm a little shaken, but I'll be all right in a while," Alana said honestly. "I wish I could say more, but all I can say is thank you, so much. Once again, you saved my life."
"It is an honor to protect a friend," Erik's voice was calm, but Alana could feel him shaking too, most likely from the adrenaline. "You don't have to thank me."
"But I want to," Alana smiled. "What about you? Are you all right?"
"Yes," Erik answered quickly and firmly, but she had seen him. He had a bloody nose and a gash to the left of his exposed eyebrow, and probably many more wounds from kicks and punches he'd gotten in the fight. His mask was stained with dirt and blood, a grim, unnerving sight.
"Are you sure of that?" She made sure he didn't miss her doubtful tone.
"I will be fine. I had hoped we wouldn't have to stop in any of the small towns on the way to Paris, but by the looks of it we will not reach the city for a while, and you could use some rest. I can tell you are still badly shaken...what did that man do to you?"
She shook her head. "Nothing. I kept fighting him, and even escaped from him a few times, so by the time you showed up, he hadn't had time to do anything. I was so afraid, though. I saw you on the ground and I thought you might be dead…"
"You believed those petty thieves could kill me?" Erik's tone was incredulous but amused.
"I didn't know," Alana said. "I should have known you would send them off running like frightened little children! What on earth did you say to them in that language? What language was it?"
"Just a little motivational speech in their own gypsy dialect," Erik said calmly.
"How do you know that language?"
"I…" he hesitated. "…I lived and traveled with some gypsies during my childhood, and I picked up the language."
"Lived with the gypsies?" How interesting. What other kinds of adventures had Erik had in his life? "What was it like?"
After a long while Erik finally said in a strange, dark tone, "Like nothing I can describe, and like nothing you can possibly imagine."
Neither one spoke for the rest of the night. They were both too exhausted, and Erik's words had undoubtedly ended all conversation anyway. Once they had returned to the cart and Raven was hitched up again, they set off for the main road and the nearest town in silence.