Birthing Ella Bandita by Montgomery Mahaffey Page A

reminded her of what she was really doing.
    Finally her loathing disappeared. As summer drew to a close, she had a sentiment akin to gratitude when she saw the Sorcerer. Her days transformed along with her nights from the time their arrangement began. A few weeks after she started going to the Caverns, the girl went for her late afternoon ride, but changed course. Instead of going south through the village or west towards the Ancient Grove, she steered the horse east of the manor and followed the river winding through a young forest. She didn’t know what compelled her to go to this place where she hadn’t been in years. She used to come here with the Horse Trainer on those afternoons they weren’t inclined to go to the Abandoned Valley. She hadn’t been back since he was gone.
    In these woods, the Trainer had introduced her to the ways of the wanderer. The unlikely mentorship started because she didn’t believe his stories about stowing away in the lowest reaches of the ships, escaping from angry sheikhs, and traveling across deserts by camel. She didn’t think such adventures were possible for a penniless vagabond. She remembered how ashamed she’d been when she saw the outrage in his eyes. The Trainer noticed and smiled.
    “I’m a lot of things,” he’d said. “But I’m no liar. I dare you to find out just how wrong you are, little Miss.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I can show you how a man can live off nothing. You just have to be willing to learn.”
    During the rest of that summer, she often regretted accepting that challenge. Those were the only lessons she struggled with in her life. The Trainer didn’t make it easy for her, and she hated him whenever he laughed at her. But he taught her everything he knew. He showed her how to make a pole and line to catch fish, how to shoot a rifle, even how to hunt with a knife if that was all she had. He insisted she skin her own kills and cook the meat in a skillet over a fire, which he also taught her to make. He instructed her in building a camp when she had something to work with, and even when she had nothing. It took the entire summer for her to master these strange skills, but these lessons gave her the most gratification of everything she’d ever learned.
    She hadn’t thought about that season for years, pushing those days to the furthest recesses of her mind. But as she cantered the reddish brown steed around the bend of the river, she kept her eye out for their favorite fishing spot. Their poles were still there. The long sticks leaned against the tree, as if they were waiting for them to return and cast their lines. She dismounted from her horse and picked up the pole she’d struggled to carve until it was right. She bent it slightly and chuckled when the wood split down the middle. She wasn’t at all surprised when she tried the Trainer’s pole and found it still strong and flexible. The girl hesitated for just an instant before throwing off her skirts and jacket. Clad in peasant breeches and a blouse, she crouched and clawed through the mud for worms. Before long, she had her line cast in the river and after an hour, she pulled in her first catch. Practicing these forgotten skills, the past intertwined with the present to bring her a peace she hadn’t known in too long. The girl often looked around. The Trainer’s presence so strong she almost expected to find him. But the memories were enough.
    That day, the girl floated in a haze of reminiscence. She even forgot her ostracism and brought her catch to the kitchen, just as she had that summer. Then the sight of the Cook stopped the girl in her tracks. The corpulent spread of the woman’s back bent over the stoves thrust her back into the present. Pain exploded in the girl’s core that sent an upsurge of bile to the back of her tongue. Before she could move, the Cook turned around, her murky eyes flickering to the line of trout. Her face mottled when she flushed. The Cook averted her eyes and