Wildwood Dancing (38 page)

“He has to, eventually. He must confront Cezar. I suppose he might need time to prove his identity. Maybe I should have told Cezar what happened. But it sounds so mad:
Your brother’s alive—he was a frog all those years
.” I had not told my sisters about Cezar’s choice. I had not explained how Drǎguţa’s gift had turned our cousin’s life gradually to the dark.

“I can’t believe Cezar hit you,” Paula said in a small voice. “Jena, if he insists on talking to us one by one …”

“Don’t worry,” I said with false confidence. “I won’t let that happen.” But my stomach was heavy with dread, and my bruise throbbed as I remembered the look in Cezar’s eyes. It was the look of a man who believes the whole world is against him—of a man who will do anything to change the ill hand he thinks fate has dealt him. And although part of me shrank from seeing Costi again, for the memory of his set face and wounded eyes filled me with guilt, another part of me was wishing, wishing above anything, that he would come.

*   *   *

Being cooped up indoors was driving me crazy. Toward the end of the afternoon, I seized a moment when there were no guards around and slipped out, bucket in hand, to give the chickens their mash. The light was fading and the shadowy courtyard was deserted, save for a solitary figure standing stock-still, right in the center. It was an old woman dressed in black, with a basket over her arm. The basket was empty. I felt a prickling sensation all over my skin. A moment later I heard a horse’s hooves approaching along the path that skirted the woods. Cezar was back.

“Go,” I muttered, setting down my bucket and hurrying over to the old woman. “Go quickly!”

The crone made no attempt to move away. She had shed the tiny uncanny form that I was accustomed to, but I had known her instantly. She looked just as she had long ago, when three children had ventured to a forbidden place to play at kings and queens. The old woman grinned at me, and her little pointed teeth confirmed her identity.

“Go!” I urged her again. “Cezar’s coming!” Images of the hunt were in my mind: those men with their iron implements, their tight jaws, and their eyes half angry, half terrified.

“I know,” said Drǎguţa calmly.

And it was too late. He was there, riding into the courtyard. He dismounted by my side, glaring at the unexpected visitor. “Be off with you!” he said. “If you’re expecting handouts, you’ve come to the wrong place. We’ve nothing for beggars at Piscul Dracului.”

“Not at all, young man,” said the crone, gazing up into his
scowling face. “It’s my turn to bestow largesse. I have something for you.”

Cezar opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again as Costi stepped out from the shadows by the hen coop to walk across to us. His dark curls had been cropped short and he was freshly shaven. He wore a plain white shirt, a waistcoat embroidered with ivy twists, and dark green trousers with riding boots. He looked just as wonderful as he had in my dreams. The green eyes were cool and the mobile mouth unsmiling as he came up to me. Over his arm was my cloak.

“I think this is yours,” he said politely, holding the garment out to me.

Cezar froze, staring at him. I took the cloak but said nothing—for the moment, I had no words. I had known that Costi would come back, but not like this, not suddenly, without any warning, and with the witch of the wood beside him.

“Jena,” said Cezar in a strangled whisper, “who are these people? What are they doing here?” His eyes went from Costi to Drǎguţa and back again; he looked as if he were caught in a terrifying dream.

“I’m your brother, Cezar,” Costi said. His voice was unsteady; I saw in his face that he was half expecting the same rebuff I had given him last night, and dreading it. There was anger there, certainly, but it was not as strong as the love and the desperate hope in his eyes. “Maybe you’ve forgotten me. It’s a long time since that day by Tǎul Ielelor when we gave up our most treasured possessions.”

I found my voice. “It’s true,” I said. “He didn’t die. He was
bewitched into another form until he came back to himself not long ago. Drǎguţa didn’t drown him, she saved him. She made him into a frog. He’s been here all these years, Cezar. He was Gogu.”

“The frog,” Cezar said blankly. “No. No, it can’t be. It’s nonsense. Are you saying … Are you telling me—? I don’t believe you. You’re not my brother, you can’t be. Costi died. I saw it.” He was looking at the witch now, and I saw him open his mouth again to call out, to summon the guards and have her seized.

“No—” I began, but Drǎguţa gave the tiniest shake of her head. I fell silent. In her eyes I saw that the guards would not hear my cousin shout, that nobody would come until her business here was done. It was as if Piscul Dracului and all the woods around it were frozen while the four of us played the game to its conclusion in the quiet courtyard.

“This is your doing, Jena!” Cezar blustered. “You encouraged this—this
thing
—right onto our doorstep! You harbored that wretched slimy creature, you lied and cheated and used every trick you could think of to stop me from finding out the truth about your escapades. You’ve probably been crossing over into the dark realm whenever it suited you, as if that didn’t set a curse on the whole valley. No wonder evil made its way into our midst. No wonder—”

“Cezar.” Costi’s voice had gone ominously quiet. “How did Jena get that bruise? Did you strike her?”

“A misunderstanding,” Cezar muttered. “Anyway, that’s none of your business. You can’t just walk in here and tell me you’re Costi—it’s ridiculous. Who would believe you? You can’t prove a thing. You don’t have a scrap of evidence.”

“There’s this,” Costi said, and he drew out a chain he had around his neck. On it hung the silver ring of Vǎrful cu Negurǎ, the ring given only to each generation’s eldest son.

“You could have found that in the forest—”

“Cezar,” said Costi simply, “you are my brother. You did wrong that day, long ago. But we were all very young, perhaps too young to understand what our choices would mean. It has been a long time of learning. We can mend things now; we can work together to set this right. That is what Father would wish, for he always put the good of the valley first. There’s plenty of work here for both of us. I will gladly share the responsibilities of estate and business and community with you, if you agree to let our cousins and the folk of the wildwood lead their lives without interference. Cezar, it’s never too late to take a different path. Come, take my hand, and let’s start afresh. Will you?”

There was a moment’s charged silence, in which I held my breath, watching Costi’s face. It made my chest ache to see the longing there. Until now, I had not really understood how lonely and terrible those years as a frog must have been. Soft pillows and loving words do not make up for the cruel punishment of being trapped, helpless, in a body that does not allow you to live your life as your true self. I marveled at Costi’s capacity to forgive. I willed Cezar to put out a hand, to stumble through an apology—to begin to be the man his brother believed he could be. But he stood there rooted to the spot, and there was a darkness on his face.

“Think well on this,” Drǎguţa said. Cezar started; he seemed to have forgotten she was there. “Today I return your
gift, for the game is almost finished. This is a second chance, Cezar—the opportunity to choose again. As your brother says, you were young, though not so young as Jena, who made her choice more wisely than you. Each of you gave up a precious treasure. That, you chose out of love. But when the meaning of the game became clearer to you, you sacrificed love for power. You were caught up in a terrible snare, a net in which you wrapped yourself more tightly as the years passed. Now your brother offers you the chance to untangle it; to step free and move on. He has learned his lesson. Have you learned yours?”

It seemed to me that as the witch of the wood spoke these words, a shadow grew around her. Now she was not a bent old woman, but a towering sorceress—her face pale as ice and her eyes full of a terrible judgment. A wind blew across the courtyard, scattering dead leaves before it.

“Vǎrful cu Negurǎ is mine,” Cezar said, and I saw Costi flinch as if he’d been struck. “It’s mine. I’ve worked for it and suffered for it. You’ll never prove your identity: nobody will believe such an incredible story. And don’t expect Jena to back you up—she’s in enough trouble already, with her foolish escapades. She knows what will happen if she doesn’t obey me. Try telling your lies to Judge Rinaldo, and see how far they get you.” His words were defiant, but he was shivering. “And you,” he added, not quite looking at Drǎguţa, “get off my land, before I call the guards. Try this again and my men will hunt you down, and every last one of your foul demons with you.”

“Oh, I’ll be gone soon enough,” the witch said. “A little of your company goes a long way. Costi, you’d best tell your brother how you spent your day.”

“I’ve been with Judge Rinaldo and the village elders,” Costi said quietly. “Doing a lot of talking; a lot of explaining. Maybe you’ve forgotten that the judge and our father were educated together; they knew each other as very young men. Apparently I look a lot like Father did back then. He and the elders have accepted my identity, though not without considerable surprise at the tale I had to tell. They asked many questions.”

Cezar was ashen. “You told them?” he whispered. I saw acceptance of the truth in his face at last, and with it a terrible realization of the dark thing he had set on himself. “You told them what I did?”

Costi regarded him levelly. “That my life was your price for a chance to be the eldest son?” he said. “No, Cezar. I would not shame my own brother thus. Besides, I did not want to damage your chance of a better future. I told them the tale of a boy become a frog—of enchantment and promises and the power of the Other Kingdom. They thought it strange and wondrous. For a little, it will be the talk of the valley. In time it will be forgotten that I was ever anything but a man. The story will become folklore, another strange tale of witches and goblins to tell around the fire at night. Now I think it’s time the two of us went home and discussed this further, for there must be changes. The first will be the removal of these guards you have set all about our cousins’ house. There’s no need for them. Piscul Dracului is safe from the Night People.”

Cezar stared at Costi, at me, at Drǎguţa. “How can you know that?” he asked.

“There’s much to speak of; this is not the time or place,” said Costi. “I will say one thing to you before we leave here. If
you ever hurt Jena again, I’ll strangle you with my bare hands. That’s a solemn vow, Brother.”

He made this startling speech without once looking me in the eye. I did not know what I was feeling; my head and heart were full of confusion. He had seemed so cool to me, and now …

“I’m not accepting this,” Cezar said, glaring at him. “What about all the work I’ve done: looking after the business, watching over the girls, organizing the hunt for the Night People? You can’t just walk in and take it all!”

“Watching over the girls?”
The last of the warmth had gone from Costi’s voice. “Have you forgotten that I’ve been here all the time? I saw you set guards on them and threaten them. I watched you crush Paula’s aspirations and rob the valley of its good priest. I saw you humiliate Iulia. I saw you put your clumsy paws on Jena and expect her to like it. Being a frog didn’t relieve me of my intelligence or my powers of observation.”

“You piece of pond scum!” hissed Cezar. “You think you can march in here and help yourself to everything! You don’t deserve to be master of Vǎrful cu Negurǎ: you haven’t done a scrap of work to earn it—you don’t know the first thing about running the business! All you know about is …”

“Being a frog?” Costi raised his brows. “Believe me, if there had been any choice in the matter, I would have stayed in human form. In fact, I don’t think I’ll have as much difficulty picking up the reins as you believe. What Jena learned about the business, I learned, too. Her shoulder made an ideal vantage point for reading all those ledgers.”

I was watching Cezar’s face—pale as parchment and distorted
with outrage. Before my horrified gaze, something snapped. He strode forward to seize his brother by the throat. I screamed. Costi struggled, long limbs thrashing. His face turned crimson as he fought for air. His eyes bulged. Cezar was backing him toward the high stone wall by the hen coop. Drǎguţa stood quietly, watching the two of them.

“It’s
her
fault, that witch’s, she tricked me!” Cezar babbled. “It was supposed to be mine, all of it, the estate and Jena, too, that was what it meant, King of the Land, but it was a hollow promise! Even with you gone, I could never be more than second best! It’s wrong! Wrong!” With each repetition he shook Costi as if he would smash his head against the stone.

Nobody was coming out: my screams had not brought a single guard. “Stop it!” I yelled. “Let him go!” I grabbed Cezar’s arm in a desperate effort to intervene. The game was not supposed to end with me watching one brother kill the other, right before my eyes—it could not be so. “Stop it, Cezar!”

Cezar knocked me away and I fell, painfully, onto the stones of the courtyard. In the moment’s respite allowed him, Costi performed a sharp upward jab with his knee. Cezar sucked in air—his grip slackened. Quick as a flash, Costi wriggled out of his brother’s hold and retreated, both hands up in front of him, palms out. “Enough,” he wheezed. “You don’t want to do this.”

“The game is finished.” Drǎguţa’s voice was solemn. Her gooseberry-green eyes moved over each of us in turn: me struggling to my feet, Costi gasping for breath, and Cezar just standing there with a look on his face that made me want to cry. He
had made his choice, it seemed, and it was a waste—a waste of what could have been a good life.

“My work is done here,” the witch said. Basket over her arm, she turned and trudged away across the yard as if she were indeed just another wanderer who had passed by, hoping for a crust of bread or a few coppers. None of us said a thing.

When she was gone, Costi cleared his throat and looked his brother in the eye. “We’re going home now,” he said, and his voice was as bleak as winter. “I’m sorry you are not prepared to accept me. I never forgot that we were brothers, even as I watched you bully the girls and mismanage Father’s affairs. After this, I don’t want you anywhere near our cousins, Cezar. We’ll discuss what few options are still available to you. Come—I’m certain Jena is longing to see the last of us.”