She turned her attention back within. Where was I? Oh yes, I was contemplating what it meant to say that wisdom is the knowledge of Ehyeh. Well, Ehyeh is perfect. His principles help man live more fully, and completely, and well. To understand them, and how to apply them to different situations, is to exercise wisdom.
Would you say that, as a seventh, your first mission is to seek wisdom?
Yes.
Wisdom is for the purpose of serving Ehyeh toward what end?
To . . . further life.
Life alone?
Life and freedom.
Would you do anything for freedom?
I don’t know.
Would you fight for it?
I don’t know. She paused. Yes, I think that I would. Yes . . . I would.
Would you . . . kill for it?
She flinched at the thought, but then pondered over the question. Would she kill for freedom? I would choose not to have to, but I would if necessary, she finally conceded.
Why?
Because without freedom, life is meaningless.
What if seeking freedom causes death, while giving it away provides the means for life?
I don’t understand.
You do. Suppose someone tries to enslave you, or requires that you follow a specific way, or that you act only in the manner they desire. Would it not be better to accept the enslavement and live, than to simply die?
I wouldn’t ‘simply’ die! But I would be willing to die, if seeking my freedom required my life.
Why?
Because life enslaved is not life. It is not freedom.
Would you expend your life for others? For the freedom of others?
In many ways, I think that would be easier than to expend life for my own freedom and safety.
Interesting. Why do you say that?
Because I am—at my very essence . . . She furrowed her brow, thinking of what others had said of her over the years.
At the essence you are what?
I am a lover of peace.
Ah! A peacemaker.
Yes.
But can you have peace without—war?
Sometimes you cannot. Just as you cannot have life without death.
What do you mean?
It takes life to sustain life.
Explain.
I need to eat. I’ll take the life of a rabbit, or a plant, but I must take the life of something. I can’t survive on rocks. I’m ill from the bite of an animal or insect. The study of magic tells us that the infection in my body is made up of some tiny substance that lives off me. If I valued the life of something other than myself above all, with no restrictions and no hesitation, then I’d be allowing that . . . parasite . . . to destroy me. But I do not. I take its life to sustain my own.
So taking a life is acceptable and war is a good thing.
Eden grinned at the simplicity of the analysis. No, but war may be a necessary thing. To say that all war is wrong is foolish and shortsighted. It is to allow the possibility that others may control you, may take your life or your freedom, or that of others, while you do nothing to stop them. Failing to act, to respond to war or the legitimate threat of it, would feed the evil, help it to grow stronger . . .
So you are a peacemaker who would choose to fight.
A peacemaker must be willing to fight. So long as some would impose their ways on others, it may be necessary.
Why not let others do the fighting for you?
Because that also would be a taking from others. Indeed, it would be a taking of the worst kind. It would mean allowing others to do for me at the greatest possible expense to themselves, what I am unwilling to do for myself.
And if the one seeking to harm you thinks their way is best? That their way is so good that they should force you to accept it?
Then they would be wrong.
How can you be so sure? How do you know that you are right and that they are wrong? They believe in their position as strongly as do you.
Because if someone would force his way on me, at the cost of my life, he would be wrong. Why should he have the option of choosing his way, and I not have the option of choosing mine? I’d not force my way on him at the cost of his life, but I will defend my right to live my life, my way. If necessary, I’ll defend it with force. The alternative would not be peace. At best, it would be . . . oppression.
And what of this fact that you are a seventh but are not?
Eden sighed. I stand for . . . Suddenly, her eyes opened wide in surprise, realization having come to her. I am of a seventh pregnancy. A seventh is meant to provide wisdom, guidance. But by the rules of the Select, I’m also a firstborn—one meant to further and defend life. I am to do both. I am to seek the wisdom necessary to sustain and to support life.
She glanced back to the crackling fire. Sparks flew up and swirled in the air just as did her thoughts. She added more wood, then pulled her blanket more closely around herself. Minutes later, out of sheer exhaustion and hunger, she fell into a deep sleep.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“Leave.”
Frowning, Jo held Dixon’s arm more tightly. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do. Now, leave.” He gritted his teeth. “If anything happens to her,” he said, pulling free from her grasp, “I’ll hold you personally responsible. You’re to blame for all of this. You and Hedda.”
“That’s ridiculous. Mara’s fine. She’s just . . . having a tantrum. It’s her way.”
“You disgust me.”
Her eyes hardened. “Come on now, Dixon, she’s fine.”
He stepped back. “Have you any idea where she could have gone?”
“Mara? Oh, goodness only knows. She was always coming and going—always in a huff.” Jo cocked her brow and grinned mischievously. “You know, I never did see eye-to-eye with her on many things, but one thing’s for sure,” she whispered, “she certainly knows how to pick a handsome man.”
“Just leave. I’m going inside. I don’t want to find you here when I return.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll help you find her.”
“You will not.”
“Dixon—”
“Go!” he ordered. “Unless you have any good ideas about where I might look for her, I don’t want to hear another word from you.” He turned and walked away.
By the time he reached the front door of sanctuary, she’d caught up with him. She grabbed his arm and turned him to face her. “What is Mara to you anyway?” she spat.
He said nothing.
“Why don’t you leave? Why don’t you mind your own business and let my mother and me take things from here?”
“Mara is my business.”
“Really? So, tell me then, what is she to you?”
He turned away.
“Look, Dixon, let’s not fight.” Her voice softened as she reached for him again, and smiled weakly. “That won’t help Mara. So, come on now, let’s go find her. Maybe she went back home.”
“This is not Mara’s home.” He regretted the words the minute they were out. The last thing he needed was for Jo to start asking questions. “Go away,” he ordered again.
She sighed. “Very well. I’ll see you back at Hedda’s then.”
“Not if I can help it.” He watched her walk away, relieved to be rid of her. Then he opened the door, stepped inside, and glanced quickly about.
Built of simple stone, the air inside sanctuary was even cooler than was the day without. Clean and neat, if not fancy, the interior was minimally decorated and furnished. It had a welcoming feel to it.
“May I help you?”
He turned to find a man with nondescript features and mousy brown, lightly gray-streaked hair that hung to his shoulders, dressed in standard Oathtakers’ garb.
“I’m—” Dixon stopped short and sighed. “No, probably not.”
The man approached. “I’m Channer. And you are?”
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Dixon. Dixon Townsend.”
; Channer’s head tilted to the side. He looked his guest over closely. “Dixon Townsend. As in Rowena Vala’s former Oathtaker?”
“The very one.”
“I am honored to meet you.”
“Thank you.”
“What brings you to Barton Lake?”
“I’m just accompanying someone who’s . . . visiting family.”
“I see. Well, it seems you’re in need of some help. Is that right?”
“I’ve just come to . . . pray.”
“Very well. I’ll not disturb you.” Channer stepped away. “Make yourself comfortable. Come and go as you please. Sanctuary is open at all times.”
Dixon approached the front of the building and sat down. Leaning forward, he put one elbow on one knee and rested his head on his hand. With his other hand, he patted out a rhythm on his thigh.
He prayed earnestly. He prayed for hours, sometimes seated, sometimes standing and pacing, as the afternoon played on, then slowly waned. All the while, visions of potential harm coming to Mara, invaded his thoughts, and concerns over Reigna and Eden and their safety intruded on his meditations.
Dear Good One, how could all of this have come to pass? Please, help me. Please help, dear Ehyeh.
When spent, he left sanctuary. He stood outside the front door and looked down the village’s main street. But for the occasional wisp of smoke rising up from a chimney, the town appeared deserted. He wanted to shout, to call out to anyone within hearing, for help. Where might she have gone? Why hadn’t she returned? Was she all right?
He approached her horse, then mounted. There was no sense in staying put. He might as well look for her while the last of the daylight remained; dusk would soon descend.
He headed out in the direction she’d gone, toward the lake.
Hours later, well past full dark, having ridden past Hedda’s to confirm that Mara hadn’t gone there, Dixon returned to sanctuary. He could hardly stay at Hedda’s without Mara there.
Light shone through the sanctuary windows. When he stepped inside, he found candles burning in the wall sconces. The smell of sweet melting beeswax filled the air.
Channer, prostrate on the hardwood floor at the front of sanctuary, prayed silently. He rose to his knees and nodded in salute to Ehyeh. Then he stood and turned toward his guest. “It’s late,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Well past midnight.”
“I can go. I’m sorry I interrupted you.”
“No, please stay.” Channer gestured toward a chair.
Dixon sat. He hung his head.
“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help? I don’t mean to pry or anything, but . . .”
“No, there’s nothing. But I thank you.”
“Do you mind my asking what brings you here—specifically?”
Dixon patted a rhythm on his thigh. “Actually, I hoped you wouldn’t mind my staying here for the night.”
“No. I mean, yes. Yes, of course, you may stay. But I meant that I wondered what brought you here—to Barton Lake.”
“Like I said earlier, I accompanied someone here to see her family. Her name is Mara. She grew up here.”
“Mara? Mara Richmond? She’s here? Oh, great Ehyeh!” Channer exclaimed, smiling.
“You know her?” Dixon’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, but of course you would, if you’ve lived here for long.”
“Yes, I know her.” Channer seemed, suddenly, animated.
“You seem very . . . pleased that she’s here.”
“I . . . Well, I . . .” Channer stumbled for words. “Yes, I guess I am,” he finally said, his voice soft. “The truth is that there isn’t a day goes by that I don’t think about her.” He sat down. “I’m glad to see that she has a friend in you.”
“Did you know her well?” Dixon asked, leaning back.
“Not very. Just . . . enough.” He looked to the floor.
Dixon tapped a rhythm on his knee. “Just enough . . . to fall in love with her?”
Channer’s eyes darted his way. “Shows that much, does it? Even after all this time?”
“And were those feelings, do you think, returned?” Almost instantly, Dixon was ashamed to have asked the question. Mara’s history was her own. He shouldn’t intrude. He held up his hand. “Never mind. Don’t answer that question.”
Channer smiled sadly. “I’m sorry to say that they were not. She hardly knew I existed, though she often helped me here at sanctuary. I was a bit her senior, mind you, but I was still a younger man back then. Even so, I’d like to think that I helped her in my own way. So, how is it you know her?”
“Mara is— She is . . . my wife. She is my life.”
Channer’s smile fell. “Oh, I am sorry. I didn’t mean—”
Once again, Dixon raised a hand to stop him. “No offense taken.” He rolled his shoulders back. “Well, you see the thing is—she suffered an injury. She lost her memory. She doesn’t know who I am and . . . Well, she insisted on coming back here. She thinks I simply agreed to accompany her for safety’s sake.”
He stood, then paced. “I knew from all the things she’d told me about her life here that it was a bad idea for her to return. But what was I to do? And Hedda has been so . . . abusive. Then, if that wasn’t enough, Jo arrived today and . . .”
He dropped back into his chair. “Channer, she was angry at Jo and she just . . . rode off. I’ve no idea where she could be and I’m frightened for her.”
“Jo, huh? She’s something.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Do you know what Jo did to her all those years ago?”
Dixon nodded. “Thank goodness Mara had the good sense to find her nephew, Seth, a good home, and to leave here. But I fear that the same thing may be happening all over again—that Jo and Hedda intend to do whatever they can to control Mara—to take advantage of her.”
“She’s strong. She’ll figure it out.”
“You think so? I don’t know. She seems to have fallen under some sort of spell. And what with this amnesia of hers, she doesn’t remember anything of why she left here. She doesn’t even know how much time has passed since she did.”
Channer’s eyes narrowed. “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but . . . aren’t you a little—”
“Young for her?” Dixon finished the man’s question, then chuckled. “Well, I suppose you might think so, given how long it’s been since she’s been away.”
“Yes, I haven’t seen her in . . . a couple decades, I suppose it must be.”
Dixon grinned. “Well, of course, you know that as Oathtaker to Rowena, I didn’t age for so long as she lived.”
“Oh, right. Yes, of course.” Channer hesitated. “But still . . . it’s been some time since Rowena died.”
“Sure. But an Oathtaker to a seventh never physically ages again—even after the death of his charge.”
“Oh?”
“That’s right, and . . . weeellll,” Dixon drawled, “Mara’s also an Oathtaker. Did you know that?”
“No, I did not. I’ve heard nothing from her since she left here.”
“It’s true. She’s Oathtaker to Rowena’s seventh-born twins.”
“Twins! But no Select has ever had a multiple birth. How is that possible?” Channer asked.
“We’re not altogether sure, but it’s true. In any case, we try to keep the information confidential.”
“Then Mara doesn’t age either.”
“That’s right.”
“But,” Channer said, scratching his head, “an Oathtaker—”
“May not marry—may not be unequally yoked. Yes, I know,” Dixon finished the man’s sentence. “But that’s one of the reasons why the two of us are so . . . right for each other. In fact, the magic that doesn’t allow an Oathtaker to commit his life to anyone for so long as his charge lives . . . Well, that same magic made a way for us to be together.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You see, when the twins were just infants, I too swore a li
fe oath to protect them.”
“So?”
“So, Ehyeh confirmed my oath.”
Channer’s jaw dropped. “That’s . . . amazing! I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“It is so. Later, we discovered that since we both swore a life oath to protect the twins, and since Ehyeh confirmed both our oaths, we were—or we are, that is—not unequally yoked. Thus, we were free to marry.”
Channer contemplated the mystery of it all. “Well, then, I have faith.”
He stood and paced. “Mara figured out what Hedda and Jo were up to the last time. She came to me for help when Jo returned pregnant with her second child. She knew she’d have to leave here if she wanted to claim her life as her own. So I helped her to place Seth with a family and I encouraged her to find her own way—to glory in her own successes, and to deal with her own failures and crises.”
He sat down again, and leaned in. “It seems she did indeed, find her calling. And she found you,” he said, smiling. “I’m confident that she’ll figure it out again.”
“Have you any idea at all where she might have gone?” Dixon asked.
“Did she say anything? Before she left, I mean?”
Despite his worries, Dixon chuckled. “Yes, actually, she did. She said she wanted to shoot something.”
Channer’s brow dropped. “What?”
“Oh, Jo was . . . goading her. When Mara had had enough, she said she wanted to go shoot something.” He shook his head. “Mara resorts to sarcasm when she’s angry or frustrated. We—that is, her family away from here—all tease her. We say that sarcasm is her second language.”
Channer grinned.
“Anyway, I think she went hunting. But when she rode off she was so angry. I didn’t want to go after her and upset her even more. I didn’t want her to think I was chasing her or something. Remember, she doesn’t know of our relationship.”
“Dixon, I think I might know where she is.”
He jumped to his feet. “Where? Where do you think she went?”
“I’m not certain,” Channer said, “but if I’m right— Well, it would be a dangerous journey in the dark. I suggest we leave at first light.”
“No, dawn is still a couple hours off. She’s probably cold and . . . maybe even in danger. Please, Channer, where do you think she went? I have to find her.”
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