Field of Blood by Wilson, Eric (pdf e book reader .TXT) 📕

station steps, Gina shook her head. “I have no memory of that.”

She was still rocked by the assertion that he’d been the one to instruct her in the art and warfare of chess. This meant he’d been there earlier, much earlier, in her childhood stages. It meant, too, he was older than he appeared.

“Since when does all of life get categorized by one person’s memories?” Cal asked her. “Do you remember being taught how to walk? Or to form sentences? C’mon, that’s just arrogance talking.”

“You knew me when I was little?”

“Not as well as I woulda liked. Nikki was very protective of you.”

“Tell me about it.” Gina thought of her mother’s overbearing ways and her disapproval of every boy Gina had expressed feelings toward. Still, she had the feeling there was something Cal was not divulging.

“Please,” a female muncitor said from the bus. “It’s getting late.”

“Pass out snacks,” Cal responded, more sympathetic this time. “Got a bag of licorice, plus some apples, in a box behind the driver’s seat. That should keep the kids quiet for now.”

“Thank you.”

Gina’s gaze climbed the neighboring slope, skimming over the stands of conifers and catching the glow of the alpine village that was just out of sight. It was a well-known destination, its streets clogged with vacationing families, beer-drinking tourists, and honeymooning couples. She imagined up there, somewhere, the Collectors were waiting.

“Okay, Cal,” she said. “Since you claim you were my teacher . . . In the Immortal Game, what is White’s subtle little move that sets up the final sacrifice?”

“Why is it you always need proof ?”

“You haven’t exactly been a rock of stability, you know.”

“You sure tell it like it is, don’t you?”

“What other way is there? And since you refuse to answer the question, I’m going to assume that—”

“Pawn to e5,” he said. “White’s nineteenth move.”

Gina’s mouth was left gaping. She bit her lip, then shook her head. “Whatever. It’s a famous game. Sure, there’s lots of people who could spit out that answer.”

“Then think about this . . .”

“What now?”

“You: Regina.” He tapped his own chest. “Me: Cal.”

“Sorry. I don’t get what you’re trying to . . .” She threw her head back and laughed. She thought of the piese de sah, her stately pieces with their individual abilities and assignments. “Cal. In Romanian, it’s the word for knight.”

“Always hopping into the middle of things. You know, e5’s also a great spot for a knight.”

“I can’t believe it. Out of context, I just never put the two together.”

“Here’s something else to jar your memory.” Cal reached into the inner pocket of his coat and withdrew a bundled object. “It’s from your chess set.”

Gina accepted the offering. She unfurled leather straps and found the sheath Jed had made her, accompanied by the antique dagger.

“Where’d you get this?”

“From Nikki.”

“I thought I’d never have to see this thing again. What’s she want you to do, bleed out a few more of my sins while you’re with me?”

“No, I took it from her.”

“And she let you do that? Said, ‘Here, take this family heirloom.’ ”

“It was mine to start with, and now I’m giving it to you.”

“I don’t want it.”

“What we want and what we need—sometimes those are two different things, Gina.” Cal jerked his chin toward the hill. “And you’re gonna need it. This is your chance to do all the things right that Nikki did wrong. Just don’t reject the truth because of the lies she’s added to it.”

“The truth? Uh, run that by me one more time.”

Cal rested a hand on the spot just below her throat. He said, “The answer dies within.”

“And that means what?”

Waiting for his response, Gina told herself to remain aloof. She’d been overloaded with head-spinning information and nebulous legends, and she was already distressed by the walls that were crumbling inside.

Hold on. Just hold yourself together.

“Like we talked about in Chattanooga,” Cal said, “it’s all about dying to your own will each day, while keeping the spirit alive. Identifying with the Nazarene’s suffering, while living for what really matters. It doesn’t always mean happiness, but it does mean being content. Believe me, those two are not the same thing.”

“Well, buddy boy. Thank you. Very profound.”

“Hey, I try.”

Gina moved her hand to Cal’s, felt her heartbeat fall into rhythm with his. Though baffled by his rhetoric, she sensed meaning and experience pulsing through his words. Despite her reservations, her fears, she found that she wanted to hold on to that.

“So,” she whispered. “Guess it’s up the mountain I go.”

“You sure you wanna do this?”

She looked at the children in the bus, even turned on a reassuring grin for the darling girl in the front seat, for the twins Petre and Pavel Podran, and for Dov Amit, whose face remained a blank mask of survival. His welfare was on her shoulders.

I’m not letting another one die.

She strapped the dagger to her thigh, let her dress fall back over the leather sheath, and said, “I’m sure.”

Spurred along by her grin, young Petre came bounding from the bus. His good behavior had earned him a ride on this field trip, yet he now seemed intent on reaching Gina despite the muncitor at his heels.

“You get back in this bus, Petre,” the man ordered. “You do it now.”

“Gina, I gotta tell you something.”

“Petre,” the muncitor was calling.

“Gina, please.” The twin arrived at her side.

Cal slipped into gruff mode again and gripped the kid’s shoulder. “What’re you doing, young man? Do you want a lashing for getting out of your seat?”

“See there?” the muncitor said. “Look at the trouble you’re in.”

Petre shot Cal a jealous look, then fixed round, black eyes on Gina.

“What is it?” she asked, taking his hand.

“My brother’s scared. It’s dark on the bus.”

“Well, you go back and stay close by him then.”

“Where’s a bathroom?”

“It can wait,” the muncitor said.

Petre shifted from one foot to the other, putting on a display that was obvious if not heartfelt in its deception. “But I really have to go.”

“Or maybe,” Gina said,