Select

by Patricia Reding

  “I understand,” the innkeeper interrupted him. “I’ll let Nancy know as well. We’ll all follow your lead.”

  “Thank you. I’ll go get her now. Maybe later then, you can fill me in on Marshall and Jerrett’s visit.”

  “That sounds good.”

  Grateful to be with old friends once again, Dixon made his way through the growing crowd, back to the door. Just as he approached it, Mara entered.

  “I was just on my way to get you,” he said.

  “You took so long, I thought there might be a problem.”

  “No, there’s no problem.”

  “Have they room for us?”

  “They do.” He guided her back through the crowd to where Ezra stood with Celestine and the other barmaid, Nancy. When he introduced his three old friends to Mara, she gave no sign she recognized any of them.

  “I’ve assigned you the suite in the back hall,” Ezra said to Dixon. “No doubt you’ll appreciate its familiarity, having spent so much time there in the past.”

  Dixon surmised that Ezra thought something there might trigger Mara’s memory. “Thank you, my friend.”

  “Will the two of you join me for dinner later?”

  “Not me, thank you,” Mara said. “I’m afraid I’m in desperate need of some rest.”

  “How about you, Dixon?”

  “Certainly.” With that, he ushered Mara toward the hallway leading to the suite that the two of them had shared for some time along with their friends, back when the twins were just infants.

  She poured rosemary-scented water into the bowl. Rosemary for remembrance, she thought, as she leaned over the receptacle and splashed water over her face.

  She caught her breath as a sudden and unexpected panic came over her. Closing her eyes, she grasped at what felt distinctly like a memory. Then she saw, in her mind’s eye, the image of a young woman, nursing an infant.

  You shouldn’t worry about it, the young woman said.

  Worry about what?

  Oh, you know, about Dixon’s teasing you. He’s just trying to rile you up.

  I don’t know what you’re talking about.

  Really, you’ve nothing to worry about . . . He respects you enormously, you know . . . And he was jealous out there . . .

  Her heart pounding, Mara hung her head, holding to the memory.

  A knock sounded out.

  Her head jerked up.

  Care to tell me what color is on the other side?

  Then, almost as quickly as the memories had invaded Mara’s thoughts, they vanished into nothingness.

  She grabbed a towel and wiped her face vigorously, her frustration mounting. Sometimes it felt like everything might suddenly become clear. Then days would pass with no inkling of her earlier life.

  What did that woman mean telling me not to worry about Dixon? And what was that about color? She shook her head. I must remember it wrongly.

  She made her way to the door and opened it.

  Dixon stood, leaning into the frame. “How are you feeling?”

  She shrugged, frowning.

  “Is there a problem? Is the room all right with you?”

  She tried to avoid looking into his eyes, where she knew she’d be lost. “I was here before, in this very room, wasn’t I?”

  “Yes.”

  She sighed. “There was a young woman here with me. She had a child.” Mara tipped her head in thought. “Wait. Wait!” she held up her hand. “I know her. She was at that place that we left—where I was injured.” She stepped away, then turned back. “I remember now. Her name is . . . Nina. She has . . . two children. Is that right?”

  “Noooo . . .”

  She closed her eyes tightly. When she re-opened them, she smiled at him. “That’s right. She has three children. Let me see now . . . Their names are . . . ahhhh . . . Carlie, Caden, and . . . and . . .”

  “Calandra.”

  “That’s right, Calandra. I remember her. She used to follow me around.” Her brow dropped. She stared at Dixon. “She used to follow me around the compound.”

  He nodded.

  “So . . . I must have been there for some time.”

  Again, he nodded.

  Mara rushed to the door. She opened it, then glanced down at her feet. “Someone died here.”

  She stepped out, made her way halfway down the hallway, then turned back.

  Dixon stood still at the doorway.

  “Someone died right there—right where you’re standing. And . . . and someone came here to hurt Nina’s baby.”

  His brow rose.

  “That’s right, isn’t it?” She paced. “I remember someone came after the infant. It was a woman, but I don’t remember her name.” She stomped her foot. “Dixon,” she cried, “help me! The memories are so close, but I just can’t hold them. And . . . about that evil woman? I can feel her. It’s almost as though I can smell her.” Her eyes pleaded with him.

  He approached, then took her hand. “That woman is not following us. She’s dead.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Her name was Lilith.”

  “Lilith,” she repeated, as though trying the name out. “Dixon, we have to leave here.”

  “Leave! Why? We just got here.”

  “We have to go to . . . Polesk.”

  “What? Why?”

  “You said we were there before. Maybe it holds more memories for me.”

  “Mara that trip could take weeks.”

  “I don’t care, Dixon,” she said, her breath coming in quick gasps. “Please, can we go?”

  He sighed. “If you’re sure that’s what you want.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  The feed was in full swing, with most of the Little Creek townsfolk in attendance. The smell of herb-crusted roast boar filled the air. Willing hands prepared the meat, which fell easily off the bones in moist savory shreds.

  Those among the locals who were able to contribute, dodged in and out of the crowd, their hands filled with dishes they added to the fare: creamy baked sweet potatoes, generously seasoned with thyme, oregano, and cracked black pepper; a spinach salad with warm bacon dressing; baked beans with a sweet maple and brown sugar syrup; shredded, sautéed green cabbage with garlic, shallots and lemon thyme; oven roasted carrots and onions, generously seasoned with basil, marjoram and rosemary; and apple crisp, with a crunchy oatmeal and brown sugar topping. A warm smooth cinnamon scent wafted up from it and into the air, stirring the diners’ appetites.

  Off to the side and as a backdrop to the festivities, locals entertained the crowd near a roaring campfire that threw sparks into the air. Following one after the other came various singers, and a fiddler. Clearly, however, the townsfolk most enjoyed the antics of Chance, the young man who’d strutted through the town earlier that day with the boar he’d bagged draped across his shoulders. While filling their plates and eating, they howled in laughter as he impersonated some of the more notorious of the village’s personalities, interspersed with his amusing animal impressions. Basha and Therese laughed heartily along with the others, as he offered unusual facial expressions for the wildlife he purported to depict—from wolves, to squirrels, to a buzzard. Oddly, he looked very like them.

  Trumble sat next to Basha. “As you can see, we may be a poor community, but things are improving. Not long ago, these feeds consisted almost entirely of the wildlife we bagged, roasted and served. Now look!” he exclaimed, waving his hand at the tables filled with dishes the locals had added to the feast.

  “What changed?” Basha asked.

  He looked her in the eye. “After Lilith’s rampage through Oosa, the townsfolk largely disregarded the Select. They blamed them all for the daughters they lost to Lilith. They chased out of town, the few Select who’d lived here then.”

  He looked up just as Chance delighted the crowd with his rendition of a porcupine with raised quills. He chuckled at the youth’s antics, then turned back to his visitors.

  “I came here with Felicity, seeking
refuge. I wanted a place where I wasn’t known. When I arrived, I let everyone know that I was an Oathtaker, but not that Felicity was a member of the Select.” He paused, his brow furrowed. “You see, I struggled with my own faith. But eventually, I came to appreciate that the deeds of one should not be placed upon the whole. I recognized the inconsistency, the irrationality, of my own feelings. I came to understand that if I held the Select as a whole responsible for Lilith’s actions, then even Felicity was unworthy of my protection—and that was not a thought I could embrace.”

  Basha pushed her plate aside. “So you forgave the Select?”

  He shrugged. “I made my peace with Ehyeh and His chosen, though as you witnessed when we first met, I don’t necessarily trust them right off. In any case, eventually, I set out to win over the locals’ affections.”

  “Seems you did that.”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “I simply loved on them. I did all the things we believers say, but rarely do.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. I taught their children how to read and write. I helped clear additional good lands for farming. I aided in the introduction of specialty products that grew well in the area and found new markets for the goods. I helped my neighbors when they raised their homes and barns . . .”

  Basha watched him closely, his baritone voice mesmerizing her. “It worked.”

  “It did. But then I had something truly special to offer—something available to me in my capacity as an Oathtaker.”

  “What was that?”

  “My attendant magic includes the ability to heal. I offered my services whenever I could. Then I set out to bring the locals back around, one by one, to Ehyeh.”

  Basha smiled at him. “Well done.”

  He nodded. “I give Ehyeh all the credit, though it’s true that when I asked for assistance to raise a sanctuary some years ago, even the unbelievers pitched in. At that time, I still hadn’t revealed Felicity’s true identity.

  “Do they know now?”

  “Yes, they do. In the beginning, they all believed she was my sister. Only those who agreed to work closely with me at sanctuary, or who had gone through Oathtakers’ training themselves, like Raiden, knew about her true identity. The others thought she was just a lovely girl with a limited intellect, whose sweet spirit encouraged them to serve Ehyeh ever more faithfully. Eventually it seemed right to tell everyone. By then they all loved her unconditionally and wouldn’t have dreamed of sending her away.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “Hazel is bringing her, if she feels up to it. Often, after a spell like the one she had today, she rests for a long time.” He looked up and smiled. “Why, here they are now!”

  Hazel and Felicity approached.

  Trumble stood and put his arm around his young charge. “Are you feeling better?”

  She looked up at him. Her eyes spilled great tears. “I’m fine, but they are not.”

  “They?”

  “Remember? It’s like I told you. They need our help.” She shook in his embrace.

  “I’m not sure there’s anything we can do, Felicity,” he said, pulling her closer.

  “Yes, there is.”

  “All right, Felicity, what do you want us to do?”

  “Pray. We must pray. Please, Trumble, please.”

  He released her. “Wait here.”

  He walked to the campfire and held up his hand. “Please, may I have your attention. Please?”

  It took a moment for the din to die down. Then, when the Oathtaker had everyone’s attention, he shared Felicity’s concerns with them. Most agreed to stay. Those unable to do so, packed up their leftover food and their children, and headed home. The remainder walked together quietly, to sanctuary.

  When they arrived, Trumble lit the candles. Then he took Felicity’s hand. Following her lead, the two approached the altar. There, they sat.

  Through the next long hours, most of those in attendance dropped off to sleep, though Felicity repeatedly encouraged them all to pray. With quiet supplication, and the occasional song, she led the others.

  As dawn arrived, only Trumble, Raidon, Basha, and Therese, remained at her side.

  Basha and Therese were thrilled when Trumble agreed he’d return with them to the City of Light, notwithstanding his concern for Felicity’s safety. He asked his friend and fellow Oathtaker, Raiden, who had no charge of his own, to accompany them, leaving Gunter behind to watch over Little Creek in his absence.

  The campfire crackled in the cold, thin mountain air. From a distance came the laughter and chatter of a skulk of fox.

  Basha sat with her knees to her chest, her arms wrapped around them, to keep warm. Someone else had the watch for now; it was her turn to rest.

  She glanced skyward. The positioning of the three moons was most unusual. She narrowed her eyes, considering them.

  “May I join you?”

  Turning toward the voice, her heart tripped. What was it about this man that moved her? She closed her eyes, willing her heart to be still. No man had ever had such an effect on her.

  “Certainly, Trumble.”

  “I can’t sleep,” he said, as he sat nearby.

  “I understand.” Though fully conscious of his nearness, the sound from behind, of Raiden walking the camp perimeter, caught her attention. She glanced his way, then back at Trumble. Some deep longing made her want to keep him talking, just to hear his voice. Then, “How is Felicity?” she asked. “Did she get to sleep?”

  “Yes, after spending the evening in prayer. Truthfully though, she’s been much better since our prayer vigil the other night and oddly, she seems excited about this trip.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Is Therese feeling better?”

  “Yes. She’s just overtired, I think. The traveling has been getting the better of us.” Basha sighed. “It’s discouraging to find so few Select. I think it weighs particularly heavily on her. I can’t imagine what it’s like to know that there are those who’d like to see you and your kind wiped out for— Well, really for no reason at all.”

  “Lilith didn’t help.”

  “No, she didn’t. But Lilith was an exception among the Select, and,” Basha glanced upward, “I have faith in Reigna and Eden—and in Mara. I have faith that they can help open the eyes of others—that they can turn Oosa around. Much as you did yourself in Little Creek.”

  “You should get some rest.”

  “I suppose. I just needed some quiet time to myself.”

  He started to his feet. “I’m sorry for interrupting. I’ll leave you then.”

  “Oh, no!” She reached toward him, urging him to remain. She held his gaze. “I didn’t mean that you should go.”

  He glanced at her hand resting on his forearm and exhaled slowly, audibly. “Still,” he said, “I think I’d best.”

  She looked away. “Yes, of course.”

  He stood, hesitating, as though seeking the strength to move on. “Just one thing more.”

  “What’s that?”

  He looked up. “The moons. They’re strange, don’t you think?”

  She followed his gaze. “I’d been thinking the same thing. It looks as though they’re . . . changing course somehow.”

  “Felicity mentioned them.”

  “Oh?”

  “She repeated a prophecy I remember studying years ago.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It was . . . Let me think. I spent some time tracking down its origin. I think it goes something like this: ‘When the ladies look prepared to align, Ehyeh shall call forth a testing. Through thirst, hunger, and division, shall they journey.’”

  Basha glanced his way. “Lucy was studying that one. I believe there’s more to it.”

  “Yes, it goes on: ‘Three challenges shall they face. A single misstep may bring ruin; perseverance, glory. Even then they would labor for long days, seeking restoration and revival.’”

  “What do you suppose it m
eans?”

  He looked at her, then shrugged. “I’ve no idea. But the ladies appear to be aligning. They have been for some time now. I noticed it, but didn’t think of the prophecy until just now.”

  They remained quiet for a minute, both looking at the moons.

  “How will they align?” Basha finally asked. “Will the smaller two end up behind the larger one? Or will they all end up in a row, side-by-side?”

  “I’ve no idea. They just aren’t behaving in their usual fashion, it seems to me.” He stepped away. “Well, good night then, Basha.”

  She breathed in the sound of his voice. Was it her imagination, or did he seem as uncomfortable with her, as she felt with him? She dropped her head to her knees, feeling the sharp sting of tears. She’d never before questioned her oath, never before wondered whether she risked breaking it, but Trumble brought out something new in her. For the first time, she truly appreciated the dilemma Mara and Dixon had found themselves in all those years ago. The difference, of course, was that they’d eventually been allowed to follow their hearts, to pursue their dream of being together. By contrast, Basha’s oath was for the benefit of Therese, while Trumble’s inured to Felicity’s.

  Glancing at the fire, she lost herself in its dancing flames. She sighed, cautioning herself against dreaming of things that could never be.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Reigna awakened with a start, to a heavy silence. Dawn approached, lending a rosy hue at the eastern horizon. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, then stared up.

  Something is amiss. Where’s the tree cover? No, that’s not right. Where’s the sand? No, that’s not right either. Where’s the snow? No . . .

  She drew up to her knees. As she glanced about, her eyes widened. This can’t be real. Or is it?

  She reached out to the edge of a drop off surrounding her. It certainly felt real enough. She ran her hand along the edge. How, after spending the past days seeking the border of Kiln, having neared what appeared to be an exit, could they have found themselves in such a spot?

  It was then that reality flooded in on her. She sat, alone, atop a flat rock, resembling a small isolated mountain, high, high up in the air, and nothing, absolutely nothing, surrounded it.