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by Patricia Reding

  “Who are you?” Reigna asked.

  “Why, I am your friend,” he said. “You may call me Malefique.”

  “Malefique,” Eden repeated.

  “Yes, that is right.” He stepped closer.

  “Stop there,” Reigna ordered. “What do you want with us?”

  “I am here to help you.”

  She lifted her chin. “Oh? How do you intend to do that?”

  He reached for his belt.

  “Move slowly,” she cautioned.

  He smiled. “Tutt, tutt. I will not harm you. I was just looking . . .” He rummaged for something. “Oh, here it is.” He untied the item and then looked back at the twins, holding a canteen. He made a drama of opening it, then brought it to his lips and took a long drink. When he finished, he shook it.

  “Uh-oh. All gone.” He turned it over. The last few drops of water, like tears, dribbled to the ground.

  Eden struggled to remain standing, while her sister maintained her fighting stance.

  Once again, Malefique advanced.

  “Stop!” Reigna ordered again. “Why are you here? What do you want?”

  “I want to help.”

  She sneered. “You’ve just finished off your water—the one thing we could have used. How, pray tell, can you help us now?”

  He shook the canteen again. “Oh, fear not. There is plenty more where that came from.” He paused, his head tilted. “Is that what you desire? Water?” He raised his brow. “But that is such a small thing . . .”

  She waved her hand. “Look around you. Look at us.” She pointed at her sunburned face. “What kind of fool are you to ask if it’s water we want?”

  His gaze hardened. “I am no fool.”

  “Of course we wish for water,” she said, a sob in her voice.

  “Let me help your sister.” Malefique reached toward Eden.

  Reigna jumped in front of her twin. “Stop there.”

  He raised his hands. “I will not harm her . . . nor you.”

  “Have you more water?” Eden asked, dropping to her knees.

  “Eden,” Reigna cautioned.

  “Oh, that is easy enough to get,” Malefique said, directing his comment to Eden. “You are weary. I see that. I can help you.”

  “Please,” she pleaded.

  He sat on the ground, his legs folded, his hands resting on his knees. “I can get water for you.” He leaned in.

  Her eyes seemed glued to the man. Then, as though fighting against herself, she turned to face her sister.

  “It’s a trick,” Reigna said.

  “You don’t know that.” Eden made no attempt to hide her anger.

  “Eden, close your eyes.”

  She glanced Malefique’s way.

  “You need not take orders from her,” he said. “I will help you, even if your sister will not.”

  “Eden, close your eyes,” her twin again said.

  “He said he could get more water.” Eden’s breath came in short, quick gasps. Her eyes darted from the man, to her sister, then back again.

  “At what price?” Reigna dropped down beside her. “Listen to me. Something is not right. Close your eyes. Do not look at him,” she said, tipping her head toward the stranger. “I’ll take care of this.”

  “But he can get us water,” she persisted.

  “Close your eyes—now.”

  Reluctantly, Eden did. Moments later, her breathing returned to normal.

  Reigna turned to Malefique. “What price, this water you offer?”

  He smiled. “So, you are interested after all.”

  “What price?”

  He shook his head. “I ask little. Just that you . . . follow me,” he said, looking into the darkness.

  “Follow you?”

  “Yes, follow me. I will provide for you.”

  “Perhaps Ehyeh will provide.”

  “Oh? And where is He now when you both are in such need of His assistance?”

  “Where would we follow you to? And for what purpose?”

  “To wherever I lead,” he said, smiling, “and for whatever purpose might make itself known.”

  He exuded something odd, something evil, Reigna thought. He seemed inhuman somehow. “Go,” she ordered him. “Leave us.”

  “You do not want water?” Once again, he held out his canteen. He shook it. The sound of sloshing water sounded out.

  Her eyes followed as he slowly unscrewed the top.

  He reached it toward her. “For you,” he offered. “I can provide for you. Do you know anyone else who can? And . . . I ask so little.” He paused, his brow raised. “Unless, of course, you think, as you suggested, that Ehyeh will provide . . . before it is . . . too late.”

  Her eyes remained fixed on his canteen.

  He turned it on its side. A trickle of water ran to the ground. Instantly, the sand absorbed it.

  “All we have to do is follow you?”

  “That is right.” He held out his canteen. “Here, take this, and follow me.”

  “Where to?”

  “Reigna, stop!” Eden cried. “Stop!”

  Her twin tore her gaze from the canteen. She looked into Eden’s hollow eyes. “But you need it. I need it.”

  “Stop, Reigna. You were right. It’s a trick. I can see that now. This idea to follow him . . . It’s not my calling and it’s not yours. Shut him out, or you’ll be lost.”

  Breathing in deeply, Reigna trembled. Nodding, then lifting her sword, she shouted, “Begone!” as she swung it.

  Before her weapon made contact, Malefique, and the light he carried, disappeared.

  The twins looked at one another. The light from the single current moon sparkled in their eyes.

  “Dear Good One,” Eden said, “what just happened?”

  Reigna dropped to the ground.

  “What did he want with us, do you think?”

  Reigna shook her head. “I thought I was going to follow him. I thought I was going to take it. The water, I mean. I almost did. But I knew I shouldn’t. I knew . . . Oh, Eden!” she wailed.

  “It’s all right. I know what you’re thinking. If it hadn’t been for you, I think I would have followed that creature anywhere.”

  Too dehydrated to make tears, the twins clung tightly to one another.

  “I know,” Eden comforted her sister, “we can’t even cry. This place was well named ‘The Tearless.’”

  “I don’t understand. Why would Ehyeh allow this to happen? All our lives our elders have told us how important we are to Oosa, how we were chosen, how we could move Oosa into a new age.” Reigna held her head in her hands and shook it. “Mara said that when we were born, when Mother released her power to us as infants, her final words were ‘Restore and revive.’ Were they all wrong? Mistaken? Or were they just premature? Maybe the things that they believe are for us, are actually intended for someone else. That must be it or . . . Well, how else could we have ended up here?” She choked back a sob. “I’m afraid, Eden. I think we might die here.”

  “No. No, no, no! That’s not possible. Everyone agrees—Mara, Dixon, Lucy, Fidel and Leala—everyone who’s sworn an oath to protect us, says they witnessed the Good One confirm their vow. There has to be something else happening here.”

  “But why did Malefique come when we were at our weakest? Why would Ehyeh not do so? Why would He allow for that?”

  “Maybe Ehyeh had nothing to do with it.”

  “Oh, Eden, why did we leave the compound? I wish you’d never let me talk you into it. We’d still be safe. This is all my fault.”

  Eden rubbed her twin’s back. “That’s not true. You know it. Don’t you remember how Kader and his thugs were headed that way?”

  “Well, at least there, the others would have protected us. Now we’re alone and . . .”

  “Do you remember what Mara always says?” Eden asked, rocking her sister in her arms. “She says that Ehyeh will use everything—even the bad things—for good. So, maybe this has been a part of His plan
all along. Or, at least, maybe He can make good use of it.”

  “Ha! To what end?” But even as the word tumbled from Reigna’s lips, understanding dawned on her. “Oh, Eden, I think I understand!” She grabbed her twin’s hands and looked her in the eye. “Why did we set out from the compound?”

  Eden shrugged. “I’m not sure I know.”

  “You do know. Why? Why did we leave the compound?” Reigna shook her twin. It was as though a new energy suddenly filled her.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You do too. So, tell me. Why did we leave the compound?”

  “Because we didn’t like being ordered around?” Eden scoffed. “Well, let me tell you that right now, I’d glory in being ordered about. That creature was so horrible.”

  “That’s not it. Why did we leave the compound?”

  “So we wouldn’t be there when those thugs invaded it to capture us?”

  “No, that’s not it either. We didn’t even know when we left that that merry band of thieves would try to nab us. We didn’t know anyone was headed for the compound to find us.” Reigna grinned. “Come on. Why? Why did we leave the compound?”

  Her twin moaned. “Because we’d lost our minds?”

  Reigna shot to her feet. “Stop it!”

  Startled, Eden closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m only making this harder for you. I fear I’ve lost my fight. I don’t know. Maybe we should have taken Malefique’s offer.”

  “We should not have! We did the right thing.”

  “Well, you’re the warrior, not me.”

  Reigna got down on her knees before her twin. “Eden, we left the compound because we wanted to find our own way, because we wanted to discover if all the things the others say and believe about us, are true. But most of all—I think we know those things are true and we sought to find the Good One’s favor. We want to take our rightful places.” The scant moonlight danced in her eyes.

  Reluctantly, her twin nodded.

  “I didn’t expect any of this, that much is true,” Reigna said, waving her hand to indicate the surrounding desert. “But then, I can’t rightly say I expected anything in particular.” She sighed. “I can say what I wanted. I wanted to find my place. I wanted to discern our—no, my path. My plan. My calling. I thought that you agreed to come along with me because you wanted to do the same.”

  After a long, quiet moment, Eden nodded.

  Sitting back down, Reigna pulled the blanket back over their shoulders. “I want to find my calling and I want to follow it. If such a thing exists, then I have faith that . . . that—”

  “That we’ll discover it and overcome all of this?”

  “That’s right. We will overcome.”

  “If we don’t die first,” Eden muttered.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  After sharing a quick and cold breakfast of dried bread, meat, and apples, Mara was returning gear to their saddlebags in preparation for the ride ahead.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “What’s what?” Dixon turned her way. After stopping the previous night to camp, Mara had hunted for dinner, but then she’d been quiet the entire evening. He surmised she was lost in thought, perhaps putting pieces of her memory together. It was possible that the countryside looked familiar to her—that it tugged at her subconscious. He sincerely hoped so.

  “That.” She pointed to something on the ground.

  Crouched down on his haunches near the campfire, Dixon threw the last of their water on it. He stood as Mara bent down for the item, then rushed to her side and picked it up before she could.

  “Oh, it’s . . . nothing,” he said. “Nothing to worry yourself about.” He couldn’t tell her that it was a compact that allowed him to communicate with Lucy magically, that if the woman wished to reach him, she’d leave a message with it—one Mara would hear if she opened it. He’d purposefully avoided the thing as much as possible during their travels. He didn’t want to know anything Lucy might have to tell him. Even so, he knew, because he’d felt its vibrations from time to time, that she’d left some communications. Each time, he opened it just enough for them to stop. He had no intention of reporting anything to her.

  He turned the item over in his hands, nervously, running his fingers over its fine silver and the detailed etchings on it.

  She looked at him. “Whose is it?”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.

  “Oh, I see.”

  “What do you see?”

  “It’s . . . magic.” She bit her lip. “Like your Oathtaker’s blade.”

  He blinked fast and hard. Then, he smiled. “That’s right. An Oathtaker’s blade is magic.” Is she remembering things at last?

  She reached behind her neck. “You wear it back here. Right?”

  “That’s right.”

  She closed her eyes tightly. “Does an Oathtaker’s blade have . . . a name?” She looked back at him.

  He smiled. His eyes sparkled. She’s remembering! “Yes.”

  “What do you call your blade?”

  “Verity.”

  “Verity,” she repeated. “Truth.”

  “That’s right.”

  “May I see it? Your blade?”

  He exhaled, audibly. “It’s a very . . . dangerous weapon. One infused, as you said, with magic.”

  “Right.” She paused, her eyes narrowed. “Tell me more.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “How does it work?”

  “It’s infused with magic after an Oathtaker completes his studies and passes his final exams. The magic lives for so long as the blade’s owner.”

  “And it never misses its mark,” she said.

  “Right, again!”

  “What else?”

  He shrugged. “It may not be used against another Oathtaker. The blade’s magic would identify the other person as an Oathtaker, and it would stop in mid-air. In fact, such a blade can only take the life of an Oathtaker if it’s that Oathtaker’s—”

  “Own blade,” she finished his sentence.

  He grinned at her. “That’s right.”

  “What else?”

  “It’s never to be used against a member of the Select.” He bit his lip. Of course, Mara had used her blade, Spira, against Lilith. Because of that, Lilith’s line was forever cut off from the possibility of becoming the ranking line of the Select. But Mara hadn’t wrongfully used her blade against her. As Oathtaker to Reigna and Eden, the rightful ranking members, whose position Lilith had tried to usurp and whom she’d tried to kill, Mara—and Mara alone among the Oathtakers—was able to take the woman’s life. The act wasn’t held against her, as it amounted to a righteous judgment.

  “And if it was? Would it stop like you said? In mid-air?”

  “You mean if it was used against a member of the Select would it stop in mid-air?” He shook his head. “No. But an Oathtaker who wrongfully uses his blade against an innocent member of the Select, forfeits his life.”

  She pursed her lips. “Yes, that sounds right,” she said. “Do you think I could wear a blade like that?”

  “An Oathtaker’s blade?”

  “No, I just mean a blade back here,” she motioned with her hand behind her neck.

  “I don’t know why not.”

  “May I use one of your tunics?”

  He grinned. “It would be a bit large on you.”

  “That’s all right.” She smiled. “I want to—really.”

  He dug in one of his bags and retrieved a garment. “It should probably be washed,” he said, handing it to her.

  She pulled it over her head, then rummaged through one of her bags for some rope to use as a belt. Once done, she sheathed a knife in the place the tunic provided. Just then, she sniffed, once, twice.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed quietly.

  “What?” Is she remembering something?

  She held her hand to her mouth. “Nothing.”

  He grasped her arm and turned her toward
himself. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m . . . fine.” She turned away. “We should get going.”

  “I’ll fill our canteens. It’ll only take a minute.”

  “I’ll finish up here, then.”

  She retrieved the last of her bags that sat near the campfire. Returning to the horses, she tied the bags to the back of her saddle before confirming that those tied to Dixon’s were also secure. As she finished up, he returned with their filled canteens.

  “Are you still comfortable with where we are?” she asked.

  “Yes, we’ve—” He cut himself off before sharing that they’d traveled this way before.

  “Yes?”

  “We’ve been making good time.”

  “Have you been here before?”

  “In the area, yes.” He looked out, into the forest. The first rays of the morning sun had broken over the horizon to infiltrate the green-black woods. With the instant warming of the ground, moisture rose in the air, lending an ethereal quality to the view.

  He turned, helped her onto her saddle, and then got up on his own.

  “So, where are we exactly?” She nudged her mount forward.

  He made his way to her side. “We’re not far from the border of the Usta province.”

  “Getting closer to home.”

  He couldn’t help but notice that the thought didn’t seem to bring her happiness. “That’s right. We should be nearing Lentontown by nightfall.”

  “Great. It’s not far to Parkton from there.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And just past that is Barton Lake.”

  Once again, he wondered if her memories were returning. Then again, she’d grown up in the Barton Lake area of Usta. Parkton and Lentontown were nearby. But it was there—between the two townships—that the two of them had first met at the wayfarers’ hut where Rowena had given birth to Reigna and Eden. So, was she remembering anything from those days? Were her memories returning? Or was she simply speaking of her long ago past?

  Mara woke with a start. She’d been dreaming. But of what? She tried to concentrate, but the more she reached out to grasp the fleeting thoughts, the more readily they slipped away. She could recall only anger . . . and fear.