Red Rider Revolution Read online

Page 3


  I climbed off his saddle and grabbed the broom from against the wall. I slowly swept away the hay covering the floor, revealing the handle of the broad door leading to the secret cellar. I returned the broom, feeling the soreness in my arms, the exhaustion that weighed down my entire body. Not only from the exertion of fighting the Lycanthru, but from the fear that seized me whenever I did. I needed sleep. Real sleep, free of fits and starts.

  Free of fear.

  I lifted the cellar door and led Crimson down the enormous walkway to the underground longhouse, built to hide riders and their horses during a forgotten war. Used by Father Vestille to hide my family during the foreign invasion, when I was only an infant.

  Crimson clomped down the steps and moved directly to his spot near the wall, lying down in the abundant hay. Father Vestille had left an apple there for him. I fed it to Crimson as he lay there, seeming as tired as I was. He barely ate two bites.

  I patted his neck and left him, covering the rest of the apple with the linen napkin Father Vestille left for me. I strode to my own bed, seeing bread and cheese on the table beside it. I took a bite of cheese, but found I was also too tired to enjoy it.

  I lit the small candle on the table, then stepped back up the plank to close the door over us. Crimson was already starting to snore.

  I removed my red cloak, hanging it on the hook beside the ladder. Then removed my boots and slipped out of my trousers – the pants Pierre gave me, to give me more freedom to move and fight. I left them on the floor atop my boots and loosened the top of my tunic. Then I climbed beneath the covers, pulling them up to my chest, blew out the candle, and lay back in the darkness.

  I would never need to dress like a boy again.

  I had won.

  I woke to thin rays of sunlight poking through the planks of the ceiling. The room had warmed, almost baking my hands and cheeks. I blinked at Crimson, who stood waiting, ready to rush off to battle, like always.

  Then he cocked his head at me slightly, and seemed to realize there was no battle. I glanced about the room, wondering how long I had slept. I stretched, yawned, and smiled, eager to tell Father Vestille the wonderful news.

  I jumped out of bed and snatched up a robe to slide on. Then I hurried to the ladder, climbing up quickly and pushing open the ceiling hatch to enter Father Vestille’s quarters. Everything was bright but quiet. Sunlight broke through the closed shutters on the windows, but there was no food cooking, no sounds, nothing stirring.

  The door to his room was halfway open. I knocked lightly on the door. “Father Vestille?”

  Nothing.

  I pushed the door fully open. Could he have still been sleeping?

  The bed was made, but empty. Except for a plain dress, pressed and laid on the mattress.

  My dress.

  I stepped inside, looking around. The room was empty. I studied the dress, the one I abandoned at Pierre’s loft a few months ago when I started wearing trousers. Father Vestille must have retrieved it from Pierre and left the door open for me to find it. Apparently his way of telling me to return to normal life again. I sighed, wondering if I could.

  I pulled off my robe and tunic and grabbed the dress, holding it out as if seeing it for the first time. Certainly for the first time since I started this insane war against the wolves. Since I became something other than a normal girl who wore dresses and sat down to dinner with other people. Even though I was hideous, I still felt human then. Now I could feel that way again.

  Someone knocked on the door. I gasped, clutching the dress to myself.

  “Red? Red, you in there?” It was Pierre.

  “Just a moment,” I called, hurrying to slip my dress on. I tugged my skirt down and flattened it against my thighs, then checked myself in Father Vestille’s small mirror. I looked all right. The pink triple scars still marred my face, but seemed less repulsive now. Perhaps because of the slight smile pulling at the corners of my distorted lips. I wasn’t really hideous. Not anymore. I saved the village. Saved myself. Fell in love. I wasn’t hideous at all.

  I turned away from my spreading smile and skipped to the front door. I threw it open to see Pierre, head lowered beneath his canopy of hair. He lifted his head and smiled, his dark eyes glinting. “Hey.”

  “Hi,” I said, hearing the tingle in my voice. “How are you?”

  “Good,” he said with a nod. “You ready?”

  I blinked. “For what?”

  He tossed his head, pointing his thumb backward. “Father Vestille’s conducting a mass for everyone who was killed by the wolves.”

  “Everyone?”

  “He couldn’t do them individually, with so many attacks at once. He sent word around town this morning about it, after I told him you finished Simonet last night. People are leaving their fields for the service, before they take lunch.”

  “When does it start?”

  “Already started. Red, it’s half past eleven.”

  “Oh.”

  He smiled. “You needed sleep.”

  “Yeah. So – everyone’s at the funeral?”

  “Yeah, everybody.”

  “Good,” I said, pulling him close and kissing him full on the lips. I wrapped my arms around his back, clinging to him, caressing the hair at the back of his head. I released him, seeing his dreamy expression as he kept his eyes shut.

  “All right,” I said. “I’m ready now.”

  4.

  We slowed the horses as we rose over the crest of the hill and viewed the large gathering in the valley below, standing in front of the chapel. We couldn’t identify any faces from that height, but it was easy to distinguish Father Vestille’s stature and robe, presiding over the crowd. I recognized Pierre’s parents as well, his father’s leather vest over his paunch, his mother’s beautiful blue satin dress.

  I pulled Crimson to a halt. I still remembered the pain in my shoulders from when Monsieur Leóne shoved me to the ground, telling me to keep away from his son. I no longer wore trousers but my red cloak graced my shoulders over my dress. Monsieur Leóne – and perhaps others in the village – would still regard me as the freakish girl who acted like a man, hunting wolves at night with a repeating crossbow. I couldn’t expect them to welcome me.

  “What’s wrong?” Pierre asked, pulling Diamond alongside me. I swal lowed. “… Just surprised. I didn’t expect to see everyone outside.”

  “They’re remembering a lot of people at once, who were already buried. I think Father Vestille also wanted people to feel free to come and go, since he put this together so quickly. Come on.”

  He started forward. I remained still. “Your father’s down there,” I said.

  He held out a hand. “I’ll talk to him. After.”

  I squeezed his hand once, his strength giving me some reassurance, and we descended the hill. Pierre tied Diamond to a tree beside the other horses. I climbed off of Crimson, then hugged and patted his neck. I fed him a handful of extra oats I had pocketed from the underground longhouse, that Father Vestille left out for him. He snorted and stamped his foot once, happy to stay in place for me. Now that the wolves were gone, perhaps I could tie him up like the other horses instead of keeping him trained to wait, ready to move. But why? Why shouldn’t Crimson be as free as the rest of us now?

  We strode toward the others. Father Vestille caught sight of us descending and paused a moment, tightening his lips, seeming to fight back a smile.

  “—for we have all suffered a deep loss. These lives that were part of us, part of our larger family in La Rue Sauvage, were cruelly taken from us in these attacks. We cannot justify it. We cannot turn a blind eye to it. These people – Luc Lafayette. Vivienne Mair. Simone Neviette. Tristan LeBlanc. Cheri Verdun. Marie Beauchamp. Daphne Russeau. Jean Vincent Roquette. Cyril Bela. Monique Belaforte. Jacque Denue. – were taken before their time, by evil creatures. Before them, others were taken from us, far too soon. Four-year old Suzette Basque, and her mother, Celeste. Shortly before that, Suzette’s father, Henri, w
hom I found in the woods after he was attacked. And we must all acknowledge our great debt of gratitude to their surviving daughter, Helena –.”

  He extended a hand toward me as Pierre and I stood near the back of the crowd, still uphill. My cheeks heated up as everyone glanced back at me. I felt a sudden impulse to retreat.

  “—for her great bravery and sacrifices, in fighting off the wolves, and removing them from our village, once and for all. If not for her, we would have lost many more lives. We might not even be here ourselves to honor those we have lost.”

  Everyone stared at me. Some looking confused or curious, perhaps not recognizing me or grasping what Father Vestille was talking about. A few, like Father DuChard and Monsieur Denue, gave me a nod. Pierre’s stepmother, Lisette, beamed like a proud mother, her smile crinkling the smooth skin around her eyes. Beside her, Monsieur Leóne glared at me as Pierre took hold of my hand.

  The most unsettling look came from Celia Verdante. She was the kind of girl I could never be, wealthy and beautiful, adored by everyone, the pinnacle of achievement for every girl. She brought me nothing but scorn until a couple of months ago, when she helped me raid the royal ball to stop the Lycanthru’s attack. Now she just stared at me without expression, without turning away. Until I wanted to run more than ever. I lowered my head.

  I glanced up at Father Vestille as he continued the service. “The danger is past, thanks to Helena. But we must still live with the losses of the people we honor today. We will all be poorer without them. So we must keep them in our hearts, where they can live on forever in our memories.”

  I thought of Mama and Papa and Suzette, and my martyred hero, Francois Revelier, vowing never to forget them.

  The mass concluded after half an hour. Father Vestille prayed in Latin over each departed soul, tossing incense as he spoke. Mothers wept as their husbands wrapped comforting arms around them to pull them close. Some people hung their heads, praying or quietly crying.

  I felt hollow, wishing I could respond in a similar way. Wishing I could feel the pain of those losses. Somehow I had grown hardened to all the suffering, after all the battles I had fought, nearly losing my own life a dozen times. Had I grown too cold to care about the lives that were taken from these innocent people? They might have never been my friends, but they were still my neighbors. They remained part of my community, even if they weren’t my own family.

  Perhaps that was why I couldn’t share their sorrows like I wanted. I had already grieved for my own parents and Suzette. Already steeled myself against the sorrow, the pain, so that I could survive. First to provide for Mama and Suzette after Papa died. Then to avenge them all when the Lycanthru killed the rest of my family. I held all my tears back so that I could fight, and destroy them. Until I finally did it. Yet the tears still wouldn’t come, even for my own family. Even for myself.

  I moved away from the crowd, as Pierre followed quickly after me. I needed to get away before anyone started talking to me.

  “Helena,” someone said behind me. I whirled about, a little too fast. I still expected an attack from anyone who approached me.

  It was Monsieur Leóne, frowning down at us as he marched closer. I stepped away, fearing he planned to shove me down again in front of everyone.

  “I need to speak to you,” he said in a stern tone. “I thought I made myself clear about my son the last time we spoke.”

  “I – I – .” I found myself stammering, trembling. Facing a Lycanthru’s fangs seemed simpler than facing Monsieur Leóne’s wrath.

  Pierre stepped in, blocking his path. “Father, there’s nothing to be –.”

  “Enough, Pierre!” Monsieur Leóne snapped, silencing him. “We’ll talk later at home.” He fixed his vicious stare on me once more. “As for you –!”

  “Yes, that’s an excellent idea, darling,” Madame Leóne said, putting a hand on his shoulder as she stepped between us. “We can all talk later, over dinner. Helena, we haven’t seen you in so long, with all that’s happened. I’ll roast that lamb and we’ll have a celebration feast together. How’s that? Why don’t you and Pierre run along and we’ll see you back at the house tonight around six. Thanks for coming to the service. We’ll talk tonight.”

  She pulled Monsieur Leóne with both hands on his shoulders, guiding him to turn and walk away. He glared back over his shoulder at me, then hunched down to hiss at her. “She’s not the same girl, Lisette, don’t you see? She brought them all down on us.”

  “She forced them all out, is what you mean,” Madame Leóne whispered back. “Now hush. We can discuss it at home.”

  They moved off, as Monsieur Leóne cast another vicious glance at me. I heaved a sigh, both relieved and frightened, wondering how much Madame Leóne could persuade him before dinner tonight.

  “Sorry,” Pierre said, lowering his head with a sheepish glance.

  “It’s all right,” I said. “I’m used to it.”

  As the others dispersed, Celia Verdante strode past with her parents, still stealing glances at me. The rest of her family and friends purposely looked away whenever I met their eyes. Whether or not they believed I had protected them, they felt no need to associate with me.

  Celia passed by, stopped, then turned. She marched straight toward me, head down. Her parents noticed and turned, but stood at a distance, her father wrinkling his brow at her.

  Celia hung her head as she stopped right next to me and Pierre. She seemed to struggle to find her voice, surely embarrassed to stand so close to the strangest and ugliest girl in the village.

  “… thank you,” she muttered toward the ground. “Thank you so much for coming.”

  Then she stepped away to rejoin her family.

  I swallowed. For anyone else, that would have been a minimal gesture. For Celia Verdante, tainting her reputation by associating with the village pariah was a sacrifice. Now she would receive stares and questions like I did, as everyone wondered why La Rue Sauvage’s most desirable and well-bred young woman would come within two steps of its most offensive girl?

  Unless she was truly grateful enough to do so.

  I released a slow sigh as Monsieur Verdante extended his arm to gather Celia back into their fold and depart, lifting his chin as he stared down at me.

  “Excuse me, Mademoiselle,” an older man greeted in a meek voice. “I understand you knew my son.”

  I turned to see Jacque Denue’s father, holding his wide- brimmed hat in his wringing hands. A rotund woman with a pockmarked face stood beside him with a hand on his arm.

  “My name is Andre Denue. My son’s name was Jacque.”

  I tensed. Monsieur Denue seemed to have forgotten how his son and his friends beat me into the ground when I was only eight years old. When he shut the door of his clothier shop for fear of seeing my bloody face.

  “Yes,” I said. “I knew him.”

  He nodded. “Eh, this is my wife, Marguerite,” he introduced.

  She nodded and smiled graciously, taking my hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mademoiselle Helena. Seems we are all in your debt, aren’t we?” She beamed like a proud mother.

  “Thank you,” I said. Somehow I remembered the few manners Mama taught me and extended my arm toward Pierre. “And – this is my friend, Pierre Leóne.”

  She took his hand as well, same warm smile, same bending to greet him. “So pleased to meet you. Is it true that you also helped fight off those beasts?”

  Pierre tugged at his collar. “Well – some. But Red’s the one who –.”

  “Yes,” I interrupted. “He supplied me with weapons, and helped destroy the last of them.”

  Pierre tightened his lips, blushing.

  “Then it appears we are indebted to you both,” Madame Denue said, fixing the same awestruck gaze on Pierre.

  Monsieur Denue stared at his shoes. He lifted his head, looking wounded. “I know you were with him. At the royal ball. Can you tell me – how he died?

  I felt my stomach turn. With anger, confusion and pity
.

  I cleared my throat. “Bravely,” I said. “He died trying to save Celia Verdante from one of the wolves.”

  “Celia?” Monsieur Denue asked, wrinkling his brow in thought. “Yes, his mother said he seemed to care for her. So, he saved her life?”

  I swallowed, recognizing that was true. “Yes, he did.”

  Andre Denue nodded like an undertaker, pressed his lips together. “Well. Thank you so much. For all you’ve done.”

  “Yes, thank you, both of you. We can’t thank you enough,” Madame Denue said, giving my hand another gentle squeeze and smiling before they stepped away.

  I didn’t tell Monsieur Denue the other things his son had done. How Jacque continued to beat on me whenever he had the chance. How he handed me over to be tortured and killed by the Lycanthru.

  Pierre waited until they were out of earshot. “Noticed you left out some details.”

  I watched the Denues walk off, arm in arm, at a snail’s pace. Like a dark cloud of death had settled over them both. Despite her gracious smile when talking to us, Madame Denue now leaned heavily against her husband, as if she might fall over without him. “Jacque Denue’s dead. He was their only child. What does it matter anymore?”

  Pierre raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “Suppose it doesn’t. So. You ready to head home?”

  A swell of fear filled me. I abandoned my parents’ home months ago. I spent the last few months in hiding, living in the secret longhouse beneath Father Vestille’s hovel. I had no reason to stay there any longer. I could go back home and live at peace.

  Home.

  What did that mean for me now?

  5.

  I emerged from the woods into the clearing that led to Father Vestille’s home, now bright and inviting in the daylight. Seeing his simple hovel again filled me with warmth, like when I was a child, full of love and trust for him. After the wolves struck and Father Vestille never seemed to be around anymore, I wanted nothing to do with him for years. Only to discover he had been searching for information about the wolves himself in the surrounding provinces all that time. And I had learned that after he had risked his life by hiding me away in his secret longhouse to protect me, even though he disagreed with my war against the wolves. Now I trusted him more than ever.