They stepped out in the faint moonlight.
“Where are we?” she asked.
He squinted, seeking a better view. “I think that’s a roadway there,” he said, pointing. “It’s difficult to tell in the dark, but it looks like the place I took Cark to so that he could speak with Grik.”
“When I was along?”
“Yes.”
“So, where is it, exactly?”
“About an hour closer to the border between Chiran and Oosa.”
“What do you suppose this tunnel is for, anyway?”
“Hmmm,” Marshall muttered. “Well, it’s a natural tunnel, that much I can tell. I mean, Cark didn’t make it, though he may have known of it and planned the construction of his home above the entrance to it.”
“Why would he do that?”
Marshall pondered. “You said he’s stealing from Zarek. Maybe he intends to get the gold out this way. Or maybe it’s just a means for a quick disappearance, should he require one some day.”
She glanced his way. “Marshall, I have an idea . . .”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Autumn, fast approaching, interrupted summer’s warmth with blustering winds that billowed fallen leaves. Caught up in eddies, they collected in hidden corners between buildings. A bevy of them welcomed themselves inside behind Marshall as he stepped into his quarters. Freshly showered and donned in a clean uniform, he found himself, yet again, daydreaming of Chaya. He wondered, not for the first time, what it was about the woman that seemed to take over his every other thought. Why did her bluebird-colored eyes haunt him so?
He answered a knock at the door from a messenger delivering a note to him. Come at once, it read. “Where is he?” he asked the man.
“At his residence.”
“I’ll be right there.”
The courier made his way out, scrunching up his shoulders to shelter himself from the gusting wind.
The Oathtaker found Cark’s presence increasingly disturbing. He couldn’t look at the man without recalling the miseries Chaya experienced at his hand. Only yesterday, he’d accompanied the two of them to the larger camp. She’d worn a lightweight shroud that only partially concealed the new bruises on her face. Upon sight of them, Marshall had become incensed. Still, if the plan for her escape that they’d outlined was to succeed, he couldn’t afford raising Cark’s suspicions.
He took his channel from his other suit. A wicked weapon, it made him shudder. Scowling, he placed it carefully into its special sheath on his clean suit, then made his way to Cark’s home.
A servant opened the door and then directed him to the man’s office where he sat at his desk, studying a document.
Cark put his hand up, indicating he shouldn’t be interrupted. A few minutes later, he put the report down. The sound of crinkling parchment broke the silence. He looked up.
“Good. You’re here.”
“Sir?”
“I’ll be traveling again.”
“Shall I accompany you, sir?”
He leaned back. “No, you’ll stay here as before.”
The Oathtaker cautioned himself against showing any emotion while he tried to identify his feelings. An odd sense of elation that he’d have time alone again with Chaya, overcame him. He nodded.
Cark looked out the window. “I’ll be a couple of days at most.”
An old woman who served as housekeeper, announced her presence. “Anything else, sir?” she asked.
“No, Hagar, you’re excused until I return.”
“Very well.”
He turned back to Marshall. “I expect you can see to things here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Wait here while I get my bags. I’m leaving right away.” He walked out.
Marshall glanced about. Hanging from the back of Cark’s chair was the man’s jacket, and in the sheath thereon, his channel.
This is it. This is my chance!
Quickly, he made his way around the back of the desk and grabbed the garment, even as he heard footsteps in the hallway, returning.
“Mansur?”
He looked up.
Cark stared at him, his jaw set.
The Oathtaker approached, holding out the man’s jacket. “Here, sir,” he said.
Cark stared a moment longer, then slipped his arms into the sleeves. Once done, he buttoned up. Having become even more robust over the past weeks, he left one more fastener than usual, undone. When through, he turned away, gesturing for Marshall to follow.
“Keep an eye on her. Keep your distance. You know the drill.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll lock behind you.”
Cark stepped out.
The Oathtaker gulped in a deep breath. That was close.
“Mansur?”
He turned to the sound of Chaya’s voice. As always, the web of her eyes caught him. His breath stopped.
“You should stay away until he’s gone.” Tearing his eyes from the sight of her, Marshall moved a curtain aside and watched Cark leave camp. Then, turning back, he held out his hand.
She looked down. “Mansur! Did you? Really?”
He approached. “I think it’s time you knew my real name, Chaya.”
Her brow furrowed. “You’re not Mansur?”
“My real name is Marshall.”
“Marshall,” she repeated, the sound of her voice like a caress. “Yes, that sounds right.”
He grinned. “Just be certain you don’t use it in Cark’s presence.”
“I won’t.” She looked back at the channel he held. “Is that really what I think it is?”
“It is. It’s Cark’s own. Now, of course, the question is whether you can actually use it.”
“It’s the only way.”
“Probably.”
“But how did you— When? How—” She stammered as she reached for the weapon, then held it up to examine it.
He laughed softly. “Just moments ago. I replaced it with a blank that I lifted from the infirmary—and nearly got caught getting!”
“Oh, Marshall!” Spontaneously, she wrapped her arms around him.
He froze.
She released him and stepped back, her eyes downcast. “Oh, I am sorry. I . . . forgot myself.”
“Don’t be sorry.” In truth, he’d not wanted her embrace to end. It frightened him, but it also made him feel whole, somehow. “Don’t be sorry,” he repeated, his voice a raspy whisper.
“Oh, Marshall. Why can’t the men of Chiran be like you?” Tears welled in her eyes as she turned away.
He stepped up behind her. When he placed his hand on her shoulder, she turned back. Holding his gaze, she rose up to the tips of her toes, leaned in, and kissed him slowly, softly.
He pulled her closer, then brushed the back of his hand against her cheek. “Oh, dear Good One,” he moaned, “what am I doing?”
She rested her head on his chest. “I don’t know. But being close to you is all I’ve been able to think of for some time now. I wish this moment would never end.”
She ran through the forest. Brush and bramble scratched and scraped her legs.
Her slipper fell off. She stopped, backtracked the few steps necessary, reached down, grabbed it, and then hopping on one leg, continued forward as she struggled to put it back on.
Faster. I have to go faster!
The uneven forest floor suddenly gave way when Chaya came upon a drop off. She tumbled down . . . down . . . down. Instinctively, she rolled into a ball.
A moment later, she came to a resounding stop at the base of a tree. The impact jolted her.
As she tried to sit up, she touched the back of her head. Blood covered her fingers. Stunned, she struggled back to her feet.
The sound of the jingling tack of the advancing horses filled the air.
There they are. They’re gaining ground!
She crouched back down and then crawled around the tree. Her heart pounding violently, she glanced back.
The men at the top of the hill pa
ssed by without stopping.
She exhaled slowly, waited a minute, then looked up again. They’re back!
They stopped. Their horses breathed heavily, loudly.
She scooted her way along the ground. Blood dripped from her head and ran down the back of her neck. Wiping at it, she looked up again.
The men dismounted. They searched for her trail. It wouldn’t take them long to find it. She’d left behind a path of broken twigs and disturbed soil, and now they also had blood to follow.
Fighting her rising panic, she breathed in deeply, seeking to quell the bile rising up the back of her throat. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the strangely soothing smell of the soil and decomposing leaves that surrounded her. Then, once again, she glanced back.
One of the men, having found her trail, stepped from the edge of the drop-off.
He’s coming!
She jumped to her feet, then ran.
They’re closing in. Faster. Faster!
Catching her outer tunic on a branch, she pulled to a stop. She fought to free herself. The fabric ripped some, but wouldn’t give way, so she slipped her arms out of the sleeves and then resumed her escape.
The trees grew thick. Their branches scratched her as she rushed past. As she dodged a low one, she lost her footing. After righting herself, she set off again.
When a rotting log crossed her path, she jumped over it before chancing another look behind. They’re getting closer!
Her chest heaved.
A “twang” sang out from behind. She skittered sideways, ducking, as an arrow rushed through the air, just over her head. In that moment, her foot caught on a tree root. She fell, face forward.
She pulled herself free. Her ankle throbbed. She got to her hands and knees and then tried standing, but her ankle gave way. She hopped on her other foot, willing herself to continue.
The men grew closer . . . closer.
Run! Run! Run!
Whuff!
Someone hit her from behind. When her face met the ground, the thick, pungent smell of the forest floor greeted her.
A man held her down. He grabbed her arm, then flipped her over, smiling wickedly, his gray eyes alight with the satisfaction of having taken down his prey.
“You got her!” one of the others cried.
He laughed. “Well . . . not yet. But make no mistake—I mean to.”
She closed her eyes, breathing heavily, her heart racing. Her attacker’s intent was clear.
She looked at him. Her blue eyes glistened like a beacon amidst the grays, and browns, and greens, of the forest. She was as good as dead, she knew.
“No sense wasting her,” one of the men said.
The man atop her glanced his way. “Wait your turn,” he growled.
Chaya screamed.
Marshall jumped.
He first experienced the phenomena of a premonition shortly after he swore his oath to protect Lilith. Representing a part of his attendant magic, the visions came upon him rarely, but when they did, their power nearly crippled him.
He couldn’t dispel from his mind, the image of Chaya’s terror-filled eyes. He could still smell the rotting foliage of the forest floor, and the sounds of the birds’ calls still echoed through his mind.
The sighting had come upon him without forewarning, just as he’d sat to breakfast. He’d watched the events transpire, almost as though it was he the men pursued, and not Chaya. He shuddered in remembered terror.
He feared what she’d say when he told her that she couldn’t act now, that she’d never escape Chiran if she did. He knew what would happen if she tried. Could he convince her to wait? What pains might she endure from Cark in the meantime, if he did? What if she determined that she cared not about the consequences, so long as she rid herself of her husband? Was she willing to pay with her life for acting too soon?
He looked out the window at wagons entering the camp and at the guards who checked each of them thoroughly.
He had to tell her. He had to warn her, to convince her to wait until he could assure her that she could escape safely.
Movement in the hallway, caught his attention. Chaya had awakened.
“Marshall,” she greeted him as she entered.
Still looking out the window, he watched raindrops bead up on it, then run down in rivulets. Closing the curtain, he turned her way.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked, his voice shaking. His premonition still held him in its grip.
“As well as a prisoner can.”
He waited until she sat, then followed suit. “Breakfast,” he said, motioning at the bounty before them, his hands still trembling.
She poured a cup of tea.
His appetite now gone, he pushed his plate away, placed his elbows on the table, and then dropped his head into his hands. He tried to shut out the memory of the images he’d seen.
After a quiet minute, he put his hands in his lap.
“Something’s wrong,” she finally said.
Would she listen to him now that she had Cark’s channel and thereby the means to protect herself, to rid herself of him?
“What is it, Marshall?”
He had to tell her the truth. He had to convince her of the danger she faced.
“What do you know about an Oathtaker’s attendant magic?”
She blinked repeatedly. “Magic? Oh yes, you said you’d tell me more when you lit that . . . ‘flare,’ I think you called it, in the tunnel.”
“Yes.” He sighed. “When an Oathtaker swears an oath for the protection of one of the Select, he’s granted special powers. We call our power our ‘attendant magic.’”
Her eyes darted back and forth. “I see. What about this magic? Why does it seem to trouble you so? What can you do?”
“Actually, different Oathtakers have different powers.”
“And your powers are?”
“I can get by on very little sleep—which can prove most helpful.” He smiled weakly. “I was up all last night watching . . . you.” He glanced quickly at her, then looked away again. “I can hear things from long distances.” He pulled his shoulders back, stretching them. “And,” he said, looking back at her, only to drown momentarily in her eyes, “I occasionally have . . . premonitions.”
“Premonitions.”
“Glimpses of things that may come to pass. They don’t have to, but when the visions come upon me, they are very . . . real. It’s almost as though I’m living in that moment, as though what I see is happening to me.” He breathed in deeply. “The sights, the sounds, the smells—they’re all there.”
“And you’ve had one of these premonitions.”
“Yes.” He grimaced. “Chaya, you can’t do it. At least not yet.”
“What?”
“You will be pursued. You will—”
“I don’t care,” she interrupted. She set her jaw, then nudged his arm to get him to look at her. “Do you hear me? I don’t care.”
“You would if you knew what awaited you.”
She watched him closely, her lips pursed. “You think it could be worse than this? Worse than the indignities that Cark—” She stood, then turned away and left the room.
Following, he grasped her arm. When she tried to pull away, he tightened his grip.
“Stop! You’re hurting me!”
He released her. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry! I swear, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You’re just like the rest of them!” Her eyes glared.
“No, I’m not. I swear it. Listen, Chaya, listen—”
“I’m not listening to you!”
“Please. Please, listen to me.”
She stepped away.
“Chaya,” he pleaded, “I know, Cark is a— There are no words, I know. But what if—”
“I’m not listening!” She put her hands over her ears.
He went around her, then stood in her path. “What if there were not one man who abused you as Cark does, but a half dozen? What then? What—”
“I wish it wasn’t true, but it is. I wish—”
Sounds at the front door interrupted them.
She brushed past him, then raced up the stairway.
The door opened, and Cark entered.
Oh, dear Good One! Will she take my warning to heart? Now that Cark had returned, it was all in her hands, and she now possessed the tool that might bring about her doom sooner, rather than later.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Late in the day, they stopped at an inn to eat. There, they spoke with a young man about the surrounding area, then resumed their journey.
Before long, they came upon an open space in which no trees grew. It stretched out, seemingly without end, sandy, flat, dry, and brown.
“What did the man at the inn call that place?” Eden asked, pointing at it.
“It’s called ‘Kiln.’ They also call it ‘The Tearless.’”
“Right. ‘Kiln.’ A desert. We’ve never seen a desert before.”
“He said it was dangerous and that once in, you can’t find your way out.”
“And that some people claim it grows,” Eden added.
“Seems odd.”
“That’s what I thought. How does a desert grow?”
“I’m not anxious to find out.” Reigna looked about. “I think we should camp here for the night. There’s good tree cover over there.”
“Any water?”
“Not sure.
“Well if not, we’re good for now. My canteen is still full.”
“Yes,” Reigna said, “mine is, too.”
The twins dismounted and then tethered their horses to a nearby tree. Here, at the edge of the desert, ran a visible divide. Where they stood, green grasses, fully foliaged trees, and the sounds and smells of life, abounded. But were they to step a short distance further, they’d be within Kiln, a place of death, over which even now, a buzzard flew. From its beak hung a strip of flesh.
Reigna stood for a moment, watching. “So, that man at the inn— He said its called ‘The Tearless’ because once within it, you grow so dry, so quickly, that you can’t even shed a tear.”
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