Challenge by Montgomery Mahaffey Read Free Book Online Page B

here looking for you?”
    “ I’d rather hear about
your grandfather instead.”
    “ Was it because you
crossed the border illegally?”
    “ It could be for lots of
reasons.”
    “ Give me one.”
    The girl shook her head and took her first
bite. The Wanderer was gratified when she closed her eyes and
sighed deeply, but hunger pulled his attention to his own plate.
The supper was better than he expected, the meat tender and the
hash softened, the infusion of herbs stronger with the base of
animal fat. He chewed until he no longer distinguished one flavor
from another. When he took his next mouthful he moaned, amused to
see the girl scowling at him.
    “ I take it you prefer
silence while eating.”
    “ I don’t care how much
noise you make,” she retorted. “But are you going to talk about
your grandfather or not?”
    “ Why do you want to know
about him?”
    The girl didn’t answer right away. She ate
until her supper was half finished. Then she turned towards the
Wanderer again.
    “ I don’t know,” she said.
“I guess he sounds like an interesting topic of
conversation.”
    Although her voice held the casual tone of
boredom, the Wanderer narrowed his eyes. He even set his plate down
and peered at her.
    “ Well if you’re going to
be like that,” he said. “Tell me why the Lawmen showed up and I’ll
entertain you with stories about my grandfather.”
    “Forget it,” she snorted. “I didn’t ask you
to lie for me.”
    “I know you didn’t. But—”
    “But nothing. I don’t owe you an
explanation.”
    They finished the rest of the meal in
silence. The Wanderer had to exert himself to eat slowly, for his
relish had diminished. He couldn’t stop thinking that this strange
girl who refused to speak to him for a month had shown interest in
the Bard. The lure was irresistible.
    “So what do you want me to tell you?”
    “Whatever you wish to share,” she said. “Did
he teach you how to cook?”
    “Not really. He taught me how to
forage.”
    At first, the Wanderer found talking to her
difficult. Her inscrutable expression implied indifference,
stemming the flow of his memories and making his speech come in
hesitant bursts. But her face grew soft as she fixed her eyes on
him and unlocked his past. Then the Wanderer lost himself in
stories of the Bard. He even smiled as he described how strict his
grandfather had been in the woods, refusing to let him gather alone
until he’d made no mistakes for a year. Growing up, he’d always
been frustrated with the Bard’s exacting standards. But later, he
was grateful. He could always feed himself when he had nothing, the
marks of nourishment and poison similar all over the world.
    “ You learned that much
during visits?” she asked.
    “ I grew up with
him.”
    His throat tightened and the Wanderer
stopped talking. The girl frowned, waiting for him to continue.
When he didn’t, she held up her empty plate.
    “ Supper was quite good,”
she said. “If your grandfather didn’t teach you, how did you learn
to cook?”
    The Wanderer was relieved the past rushed
back so easily. He opened up again to the vivid images in his mind,
returning to the nights for stories when he taught himself how to
pair herbs and spices through his sense of smell. He could hear the
logs crackling, his back warm from the flames of the past, the
Bard’s voice ringing through the cabin. Drifting in the sea of
those memories, he murmured the adage his grandfather had repeated
as the years passed.
    “ Follow your
heart.”
    “ What!”
    Her voice had taken on a jagged quality. The
sharp point of one word pierced the images from the past and those
memories dissolved. The Wanderer was pulled back to the present, to
the woods of No Man’s Land, to the lingering aroma of supper, and
to the fading light of a dying fire and his neighbor. She seemed
feverish with her cheeks flushed.
    “ What did you just
say?”
    “ That was something he
liked to end his stories with,” he replied.