“You’re going to kill them, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
Iolana and the Messenger walked down a long, muddy road. The sky was bleak and the air was raw. Iolana shivered. Tall trees reached out over the road, oppressing the mood even further than the gray sky could have hoped to. Creatures made noises in the forest out of eyesight, but it didn’t stop Iolana’s eyes from darting every time she heard them. The day was growing long, yet the Messenger walked steadily and with purpose, like a monster through what would be his greatest nightmare. Iolana grew uneasy amid the silence.
“Might I ask where we are going?” she said tentatively.
“No,” replied the Messenger. Iolana shrunk back. She was beginning to feel as if her supposed hero was not as safe as she had hoped. “It’s for your safety that I do not tell you.” The Messenger turned his head toward Iolana. “Trust me.”
Iolana took a look at the Messenger’s tortured face. Deep, scarred lines traced patches of discolored skin. His eyes, she thought, inhuman.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Fire,” he replied and looked back toward the road.
“I’m sorry.” Her words trailed off to a whisper and she bowed her head toward the ground and sniffled from the cold air.
“Once I have completed my errand and taken care of the men who assaulted you, we will return you to family. Your memory should be back by then. Everything will be all right.”
Iolana nodded her head but otherwise did not respond. Her mood had been shaken. Something was wrong but she didn’t know where she was or where she had come from. She felt trapped, claustrophobic. A light appeared through the trees at the end of a path that branched off from the muddy road.
“This way.” The Messenger pointed toward the light. Iolana silently nodded again and followed.
The path leading away from the main road was uneven and had small trees growing intermittently through it. It was more dry than the main road and softer to the feet. It seemed, somehow, more inviting to Iolana and she was happy to be traveling toward light. The light was coming from a lantern mounted on the porch of a small cottage. The windows of the cottage were lit up and smoke came from the chimney that sprouted out of the moss-covered roof. The faint smell of a broth hung in the air. The Messenger walked up the three crooked steps that led onto the porch and knocked on the door that had been painted a warm crimson.
Soon, shuffling was heard and the creaking cottage door gave way to a smiling, old woman. Her small, curly head, rosy cheeks and toothy grin made Iolana smile, despite the cold.
“Hello,” the old woman said. “What can I do for you?” Her words carried such an air of innocence and sincerity that Iolana found herself immediately warmed by the woman.
The Messenger contrasted the woman’s warmth with his own verbal ice. “We need shelter,” he said. “Just for the night. We are missionaries in the service of the Holy. My name is Murray and this is Catherine.” Iolana looked at him oddly as he gave the woman a false name, but the old woman did not seem to notice.
“The two of you must be freezing out there. Please, come in, come in.” The old woman stepped to the side and ushered the two travelers into her home. “I would be more than happy to provide you a room for the night. You deserve far more than I can provide, doing work for the Holy as you are, but you’re welcome to what I have. It’s only me who lives here. I’ve got a stew on in the kitchen. I’d better be checking it. The two of you make yourselves at home.”
The small woman waddled out of the room and into the kitchen, which emitted the glorious smells of a bubbling stew. The two travelers looked at their surroundings. The cottage was small. The room they stood in had a sofa with pillows and upon one of the pillows sat a fluffy, gray cat. It looked up at the Messenger with green eyes and meowed. The Messenger shriveled his nose, but the cat meowed again and plopped onto its side, doing everything that it could to entice petting. Three doorways left the room where they stood. Two bedrooms and the kitchen where the old woman could be heard humming tunes while she tended to the stew. Iolana sat down next to the cat and began rubbing the scruff of its fluffy neck. The cat stretched its neck and purred in appreciation.
“Why did you lie about what we do?” Iolana whispered to the Messenger.
“I didn’t lie about what I do,” he answered.
“Oh,” said Iolana. She was confused. Why is he telling the truth about himself, but not me? she wondered. And what kind of holy man tracks people like an assassin? Iolana’s head began to spin and she rested it upon the back cushion of the couch.
“You look famished, my dear.” The old woman had come back into the room. “Supper is ready,” she smiled and nodded.
“Thank you, you’re very kind,” said Iolana, “but you haven’t even told us your name yet.”
“Oh,” started the woman, “it’s been a long time since I’ve had to tell anyone my name. I guess I just forgot.” The woman shook her head, slightly embarrassed. “My name is Madeline MacArthur and supper is now being served in the kitchen.”
The Messenger and Iolana followed Madeline into the kitchen. She motioned for them to take seats at the table, and after they had, she served them heaping bowls of stew with carrots, celery, large chunks of yellow potatoes and meat that looked like chicken. The Messenger uttered a brief thanks and dug into the steaming bowl.
“Careful, son, you’ll burn yourself,” chided the old woman. The Messenger looked up from his bowl. “I’m sorry,” the woman said. “Didn’t mean anything by it. I assume it was fire that did that to you.” The Messenger nodded. “That’s how my Henry left me. Fire took him away. Burned in a bakery fire in the village, about two miles east. I don’t really know how many years it’s been. A few, I guess. Maybe more than a few.” The woman looked down at her stew and began to cry. Iolana stood up and walked over to the woman, placing her hand upon the woman’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” said the woman sniffling. “I didn’t mean to make a scene. I just miss him. That’s all. I’m sure the two of you would feel the same, Holy forbid, one of you passed.”
Iolana started. “Oh, we’re not…No.”
“Oh, my apologies,” Madeline said. “Shouldn’t have assumed.” The old woman looked up into Iolana’s face. “A pretty girl like you must have somebody.” Iolana shook her head. “Well, don’t worry, dear, you’ll know when you’ve found them. It’s funny how you just know. Cynics would call me a romantic, but intelligent people, people who understand, they know instinct. It’s just the way it is, whether it’s a place, a thing or a person. The heart knows home. It can feel it. That’s why the heart is the first thing to break when you lose it.” One more tear ran its way down Madeline’s cheek. “I don’t mean to ramble.”
“It’s fine,” Iolana said. “We don’t mind at all.” She smiled down at the woman and Madeline smiled right back.
Iolana left the woman’s side and returned to her stew. As she sat back down, an image of a young man’s face entered her mind. It was one of the men who had attacked her in the mountains. He was lying in the snow, looking up at her. She couldn’t stop looking into his eyes. He looked at her so oddly, almost as if he… A chill ran up Iolana’s back and she shuddered. Both Madeline and the Messenger looked over at her.
“Sorry,” she said. “I think I’m just tired.”
“I’m sure the two of you have done quite a bit of traveling. When you’ve finished that stew, I’ll show you to the guest room.” Madeline smiled at the two travelers and then returned to her stew.
Once everyone had finished eating, Madeline MacArthur showed her guests to their room, said her goodnight and proceeded to her own room.
“Take the bed,” said the Messenger. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“Thank you,” said Iolana.
She didn’t undress, but instead stayed clothed and laid upon the bed. She was so exhausted, and even though she was in a very strange place, surrounded by unfamiliar people, she fell into a deep sleep as soon as
her head hit the pillow. The Messenger laid upon the floor next to the bed, closed his eyes, and waited. The deep breathing of sleep came from Iolana quickly. He tried to hear for Madeline. Minutes passed and soon he heard the sounds of the old woman sleeping. The Messenger slowly lifted himself up from the floor and watched Iolana as she slept. Why am I doing this? he thought to himself. What is the purpose of keeping this woman, this creature, alive? He turned his back on the sleeping Ancient and quietly left the cottage. He walked a small distance from the cottage and sat down amid the darkened wilderness.
I wish to speak with you, my Holy.
Moments passed and the Messenger remained alone. The woods were completely silent. Even the wind didn’t dare interrupt the Messenger’s meditation. He briefly thought about reaching out a second time, but just as he did, his response came.
I am here.
I thank you for your response, my Holy. I am finding myself confused and in need of clarity.
Speak, my son.
I do not understand why we waste time on this evil, ancient woman. Why do we not put an end to her? There was silence in the Messenger’s mind. The Holy was not responding. I do not mean to doubt you.
Yet, you do.
I am sorry.
Have I not given to you?
You have.
Have I not shown you truth?
You have.
Where is your faith?
The Messenger’s mind was again silent. He was backed into a corner.
My faith is in you, my Holy. I will carry out your plan.
It is important that the Ancient stays with you. Do not lose sight of her. You must gain her trust. She can be used for our purposes.
And of the brothers Floyd, and their party?
Leave that to me.
Yes, my Holy.
The Messenger stood from where he sat and walked back toward the small cottage. He entered silently and found his place beside Iolana’s bed. Tomorrow they would continue on their journey, a journey into the Messenger’s past. He closed his eyes and fell asleep to the memories of lightning, rain and fire.
Chapter 5: Reservation for Three
Never miss an opportunity to hone your skills. Rachael repeated the lesson he had taught her as she walked through the marketplace. The streets were packed with the villagers of Garrison, purchasing wares and their weekly fare. Rachael focused her hearing as she stood in the midst of the crowd. This was how she gathered information. This was how she tracked Edgar. She would surround herself with people and wait for the rumors. She closed her eyes and let it begin.
One man yelled at a fruit vendor. “You had green apples last week. What am I going to tell my daughter? She loves green apples.”
“I told you,” the vendor yelled back. “I’ve sold out of them. Do you think I can just make more appear magically?”
“What will I tell my daughter?”
“Tell her that the apples were spoiled, just like she is.”
Rachael took it all in. Listen for everything, she thought. Across the street a woman argued over the price of fish.
“These are expensive, don’t you think?”
“I sell my fish for the same price as they do in Elderton.”
“Well, they have more money in Elderton.”
Rachael tried to focus harder. Listen, she repeated, listen. And then the unexpected came, though her senses found it and recognized it immediately. The bad ones always give themselves away. She listened to the rise and fall of voices, a wall of static closing around her, but there was a dead spot, a silence, a hunter that was stalking its prey. However, it was Rachael who hunted the hunters. She opened her eyes and saw him. He was older than they usually were, but nonetheless adept. She watched him glide through the crowd unnoticed. He was of medium build; he had salt and pepper hair, and a leathery face with beady eyes. He had found his target and was now closing in upon her. Rachael stayed her distance but never lost him. She wondered why no one ever noticed these people, their silence was deafening. Although, before she began her training, she would never have noticed them either. He was almost upon his target now, an elderly woman looking at some linen. She carried a purse over one arm, but she allowed it to hang loosely at her side. Now was Rachael’s time to move. With a surprising quickness Rachael slid through the crowd, gaining on the beady-eyed man with every beat of her heart. He was upon the old woman now; she never knew that he was there. The woman leaned over, touching the linen to her face, while the man dipped his hand into her purse. Rachael pulled a knife from her boot, and in a flash, had it at the man’s throat.
“That is not yours,” she said to him. “Put it back.”
The man withdrew his hand from the woman’s purse and slowly raised his arms in surrender.
“I-I wasn’t gonna do nothin’.”
Rachael spun the man around. He was shocked to see that such a small woman had stopped his plot.
“Run,” she said to him and brought the blade down across the man’s arm. He gasped, clutching at the small laceration, and then he ran off through the crowd. The old woman stared at Rachael in astonishment. “Keep your purse tight to your side,” Rachael told the woman. The woman nodded blankly and Rachael turned and walked away.
Rachael walked out of the village and found respite by an old willow tree. She didn’t want to spend too much time in the village before her real business would take place. She grabbed a piece of grass and played with it between her fingers. What would Joe think if he could see me now? She smirked and shook her head.
“He’d hate me,” she said aloud with a glimmer of satisfaction.
Rachael wore a hooded black cape and pulled the hood down over her eyes. A nap would be a just reward for her good deed. She wanted to be sharp for tonight. She had a date.
•••
Rachael awoke to a warm breeze caressing her cheek and the sun, waving goodbye to her as it departed over the hills. Tonight would be a special night, she hoped. She could feel herself getting closer to Edgar all the time. Tonight she would gain the information she needed that would lead her directly to him. It has to be tonight, she said to herself. She had heard the rumor yesterday morning while in the marketplaces. She spent as much time as she could in these types of places. Small villages gave everything away. There wasn’t a person living there that could keep their mouth shut. Rachael had gained much of her information about Edgar this way. It was how she knew that people were now referring to him as the Messenger, and it was how she had learned of all the horrible things he had done. It’s also how she had tracked him into the White Mountains, though she always seemed to be one step behind. This time would be different. It had to be.
This time the informant would be a Mr. Beauford Bumble. Mr. Bumble was the village librarian and when he walked into the marketplace yesterday morning, he had no idea that Rachael had heard everything that he said. He had no idea that she heard him jingle change in his pocket as his mouth watered over freshly baked pastries, or that as he turned away from those pastries in a triumph of self control, Rachael had seen him accidentally walk into a beautiful, young girl who blushed at his apologies.
Rachael listened as Mr. Bumble attempted to impress the girl with his position of village librarian and Rachael locked onto him when he began to tell the girl a story of a recent visitor to the library who was looking for a cookbook. Beauford said the woman had hosted dinner guests recently. Beauford said the woman described one of them as being a man with a scarred face.
Rachael watched the girl’s eyes light with suspense. “Do you think it could have been?” said the girl.
“I can tell you more if you’ll meet me for dinner tomorrow night.”
So sly, Mr. Bumble, Rachael had thought as she heard Bumble and his belle make a dinner date for this very night.
“Mr. Beauford Bumble,” said Rachael as she walked back toward the village of Garrison with a slight skip in her step. “I hope you’ve made a reservation for three.”
•••
Mr. Beauford Bumble walked the streets of Garrison with his head held high and poesies firmly gripped in his fist. It was not every day that Beauford was awarded a dinner with a beautiful girl. He was quite satisfied with himself indeed. Lynn was her name and Beauford found himself singing her name in his head while he walked to their rendezvous.
Vivian’s Vines was the restaurant that Beauford had suggested and Lynn seemed pleased with his selection. Vivian was known for vinting some of the finest wine in the region. Often, customers would come from far outside Garrison to have a meal at her restaurant. Tonight, however, business was not as booming as Vivian’s Vines was accustomed to. Where there was usually a line waiting to be seated, there was only Lynn, patiently waiting for her Bumble and his fist full of flowers.
“You look beautiful, Lynn.”
“Thank you, Beauford. Are those for me? You’re so sweet to have brought them.”
“Shall we get a table?”
“Yes. Could we sit in the garden? The moon is beautiful tonight.”
“Of course.”
Mr. Beauford Bumble approached the hostess and pointed out the table where he and Lynn would like to sit. Vivian’s Vines had a beautiful garden on the outside of the restaurant. The tables located in the garden were usually the first to be taken, but with business as slow as it was on this night, all customers had their choice.
The two hopeful hearts took their seats and Beauford promptly ordered a bottle of Vivian’s finest. Lynn smiled and shied, being quite impressed at Beauford’s monetary indiscretion.
As their wine bottle was delivered, the hostess seated a small and unremarkable woman two tables away from the newly acquainted pair. She ordered a glass of wine and a plate of fresh fruit. Mr. Bumble and Ms. Lynn hardly noticed her presence.
“Now Mr. Bumble,” said Lynn, swirling her glass of wine. “You spoke earlier of certain rumors that were quite chilling, and I must say, very intriguing.”
“My dear, you are very mistaken. There was no rumor involved. The story I have is very true. The woman I spoke with most certainly had herself a brush with death.”
Everflame: The Complete Series Page 30