Chapter 4

The next day, Elaine's mind was still spinning with what had happened with Zachary. She could barely think of what the implications might be. Not knowing what to do or who to tell, she felt utterly alone; the not knowing who to trust with this terrible secret weighed on her like the weight of the mill grindstone. What could she say? That strange things were happening to her? That she was the one making strange things happen?

She couldn't see what was right in front of her. Magic blew on the wind, and it had come for her, seeping into her bones, changing her blood. 

Of course, magic existed, but not here. That was something for city folk, for the rich, for those wealthy enough and powerful enough to wield it. It had died out in people long ago, now only existing in nature, animals and trees. Well, and the witches who roamed the forests, but they had traded their souls to something evil, and they were driven to madness from the knowledge they wielded. But not here. Not in this sleepy little hollow. 

The next few days were hard for Elaine. She kept burning bread, spilling flour, and her little brother enraged her more than he ever had before. She kept making mistakes so much that her father growled about bringing out the switch (which he never did) and her mother took her aside and asked if she was experiencing her moon blood. 

"No," Elaine had said, reddening. "I'm fine. Just leave me be."

The guilt over what had happened with Zachary ate at her, and she could not bring herself to face him again. Several times, they passed each other in the market, but she had always promptly turned away and went in another direction. 

She wanted to avoid trouble, but trouble seemed to be headed right for her. 

The day began like any other. She and her family were serving bread to the long line of customers, and her brother was making a nuisance of himself. He kept poking her in the back, while Elaine took orders. Elaine and her family always greeted each person by name, inquired after their family, and remembered to ask the Great Sky Spirit to look after them all. Every so often, someone mumbled "Grace be to our king," and everyone chimed in, "And long life to he," just in case there were any spies in their midst. The Hollow was a small enough town that everyone just wanted to live their lives, but one never knew in these times. 

Elaine hated that she could not trust her own people She didn't know when it had started. Sometimes it seemed like it was always like this, but if she stretched her memory back, she could remember a time free from fear, when the sliver of mistrust didn't bury itself in her heart like a splinter. However, it was a small price to pay, saying thanks and giving blessings to the king. The mountain hoards were always threatening the kingdom, and the king and his soldiers always kept them at bay. 

As if by thinking about the king's soldiers, a group of them walked in the doorway. They swaggered up to the counter, their armor clinking and swords swinging, smiling as if they owned half the world. 

"King's taxes," one of them said. "Show us your ledgers." The knight pounded his fist on the counter. 

As big as Elaine's father was, he seemed to shrink at the entrance of the soldiers.

"Right away, sirs," he said, disappearing into the back to fetch the account parchments. The other customers, as if sensing trouble brewing, slowly and casually left the building. 

"Daniel, go to the loft," said Elaine's mother. 

Daniel scampered away. 

One of the soldiers looked around the room, sizing up the offerings. The bread was kept in small baskets around the room, based on the size of the loaf. 

"Not much you have here," said one, his voice sounding like gravel. 

"We have had a poor harvest, and since his majesty, Grace be to his name, has rationed the sugar, we cannot offer much more than plain worker's bread."

The soldier grunted, opened a sack, and began to fill it with loaves. Elaine's mother, her face darkening, stayed silent. 

"Hurry up with those ledgers!" bellowed the first knight. "We haven't got all day."

"Here they are," said Elaine's father, returning, brandishing the parchments. "I assure you, good sirs, we are current with the king's taxes. We always pay them on time every year."

The knight snatched the parchment from Elaine's father. His eyes scanned the document, as the other kept filling his rough, brown sack with bread. 

"You're missing payment," said the knight. "Tax increases."

"What?" said Elaine's father. "When?"

"Harold," whispered his wife. "Don't argue."

"Last month," retorted the knight. "Ten gold pieces. Pay up."

Elaine's father looked ashen, his face as pale as the dough he rolled every day. "But we don't have that," he said. 

Then I suggest you find it," said the knight. The others moved in, their swords threatening to slide out of the scabbards. 

"Please," said Elaine's father, his voice a shadow of the man he was. He hated how plaintive it sounded, how pathetic, but it was all he could do to beg for mercy at the hands of these stupid thugs. "Please show us the kindness and mercy His Majesty is known for and let us pay starting next year. We did not know about the increases for this one."

The knight slowly slid his sword out of his scabbard. He began cleaning it with a cloth. 

"His Majesty may be kind and generous," he said, rubbing the cloth slowly over the sharp steel. "But we are not paid enough to be kind. Perhaps if you have some incentive for us to show this kindness, we will report to his Majesty that you paid on time."

Elaine's father reddened. A thief. That's what this knight was. Nothing more than a bully and a thief. Elaine's father suddenly doubted that there was any tax increase at all. This was nothing more than a show to squeeze a few more pennies out of good, hard-working people like Harold and his family. 

Then, his pride got the better of Harold. Once he saw through their façade, he became stubborn, against his better judgment. He never allowed people to take advantage of him, and he wouldn't start now. 

"I told you, we don't have anything," said Harold firmly. "We will take up a petition to the king."

Sir Gregory moved in closer. He raised his sword. 

*

The last knight hated the first. Sir Gregory was always a bully. Even as apprentices, he was pulling legs off frogs, and punching the other apprentices on the mouth for no reason. He would say things like, "Give me a penny, or I'll spit on you," or "Clean my clothes, or else I'll cut off your eyebrow while you sleep."

Sir Henry had no defenses. He hated going along with Sir Gregory, but what other choice did he have? The king kept decreasing their pay year by year, until they were hardly paid more than these peasants, even though they had to face ogres, trolls, the likes of Sir Gregory and other beasts who roamed the kingdom. 

As Sir Henry filled the sack, he smothered the tiny voice in his head that told him this was wrong. His family were starving too, just like half the kingdom. This poor little hovel-village didn't realize it, but they were among the best fed. Outside, other citizens were skinnier than scarecrows, twisted with hunger, and every winter hundreds turned up dead at the Capital's walls, begging for food. They couldn't let the other peasants know they were hungry. They couldn't know that it was the king's doing, all of it. They would steal their armor, mob them, crush them with their numbers. 

And he had his wife and twin baby boys to feed. 

*

Just then, Elaine walked through the door. If Harold could have shouted at Elaine to run, he would have. But he had to remain calm. He had to get his family out of this situation, alive, if he could. He would never forgive himself otherwise. 

Elaine had just passed her sixteenth year, and she was already a beauty, a quiet one. Harold suddenly saw his daughter as through the eyes of these monsters, and he felt his heart quake with fear. 

"It appears you do have something," Sir Gregory said, softly, malevolently, sliding his sword back into the scabbard. "You. Girl. Get over here."

Elaine glanced around to her father and mother and back to the knights. 

"What's going on here?" she asked. 

"Just do as you're told, girl," said Harold. Elaine's mother's face was a contortion of fear and anger. She hoped Daniel was far, far away. 

Slowly, Elaine put her basket of bread on the counter and walked to the knights. She stopped in front of Sir Gregory. He hooked a piece of hair behind her head. This felt nothing like when Zachary had done it. It felt as though something cold and slimy were slowly crawling down her back. The cockroach was nothing to this fear. 

"I'll take her," said Sir Gregory. "Let's go." And he started to pull her away from her family, and out the door. 

"No!" shouted Elaine. Everything seemed to happen at once. Harold lunged for his daughter but was blocked by the knights. Elaine's mother began screaming and sobbing as she didn't know whether to snatch her daughter back or calm her husband, for fear that he would be stabbed by the knights. 

Instinctual self-preservation ignited in Elaine. Although she was terrified, she knew that if she did not act, terrible things would happen. She did not know exactly what those things were, but she feared the pain that the knight could inflict. Elaine simply reacted without thinking. She kicked at the knight, but her foot hit armor designed to withstand arrows and steel. She thought she heard a toe crunch and she screamed in pain, a desperate animal sound. She twisted in his arms, tried to bite him, but he grabbed her arms and began pushing her out the door. 

She dropped, as deadweight, and the knight faltered to pick her up. All she could think was, "Let me go, let me go, let me go." 

She felt it again. 

That strange, burning sensation, although this time it seemed to shimmer the air around her. Everything seemed to happen slowly, her mother's screaming, her father's yelling, her frail arms blocking the knight. 

She felt something coil inside her, something that has now become familiar, the thing she feared, almost hated. But at this moment, she didn't care what it was, as long as it helped her be free of this man. 

She closed her eyes. As she breathed out, she felt a release, and she heard a cracking from the timber above. At first, it was so soft that it barely registered. But as it grew louder, the knights paused, looked up in puzzlement. 

The heavy logs that held up the ceiling fell without warning on top of Sir Gregory. Elaine twisted and rolled out of the way. A plume of dust shot up and spread over the mill as everyone went silent with shock. The other knights feared their companion was dead until he began to yell. 

Two of the knights went to move the heavy log off of Sir Gregory, but it wouldn't budge. Elaine still felt the buzzing sensation shooting out of her, and she looked at the log with a combination of wonder and fear. The other knights joined the first two, but they still could not move it. 

Elaine suddenly felt the buzzing stop, like the cessation of water being pumped from a well suddenly cut off. The log lifted. 

Sir Gregory was screaming in pain, his arm clearly broken. The other knights went to stabilize the wound, and they rushed out the door. 

"We'll be back!" screamed Sir Gregory. "I'll be back for you and your family! You did this!" 

Elaine looked at the retreating knights, fear and relief knotting her stomach. She knew she had caused the falling beam. She hadn't meant to hurt the knight, she just needed him to let go. 

They leapt onto their horses, and sped away, with Sir Gregory trotting pathetically after them. 

*

I am hiding in the bushes, watching the knights gallop away. At first when I see them, my stomach clenches, in fear that I am too late, that they arrived first. Yet I do not see her with them. One is injured, and that is a sign. Whether for good or evil, I'm not sure, but it is a strong sign of the power that is swirling around this place, like clouds in a tempest. 

I will seek her out. But not just now. Now, I need to rest, to recuperate.

*

Elaine stood up, brushed the dirt and flour from her dress. "I'm sorry I broke our ceiling," she whispered. "I didn't mean to do it." Her secret lay in her stomach like a hard pit, sour, twisting, yearning to tear free. 

Her mother ran to Elaine, threw her arms around her. Harold began silently crying, huge tears streaming down his face. They didn't know what she meant; how could the ceiling falling be her fault? "It's not your fault," her mother crooned in her ear. 

Her father added whispering, "A ceiling is nothing compared to my baby girl." 

*

I didn't mean to do it. That was the most frightening thing. I wanted to do it. I needed to do it. But I hadn't meant to cause such pain. I just wanted him off. I just wanted him gone, to leave, to never bother me or my family again. I knew that if I went with that knight, that I might die. So I fought. 

And I couldn't control it. Things have always been nice and neat and tidy in my life. Everyday the same: waking up, grinding wheat, rolling dough, sliding trays in the oven, smelling the freshly cooked bread rising and waking the village with its potent aroma. Spending long days with Zachary. Being pestered by Bartholomew. One day after the next, always the same, like the water mill that helps to grind the wheat. 

But this. This I couldn't control. This I couldn't help. And sometimes, being out of control is the scariest thing you can imagine.