She nodded.
“Goodness! But . . . who’s ‘she?’ Was there another seventh with you? Are there two of you?” Mara glanced about. Nothing indicated that anyone else had been there.
Rowena struggled as a powerful contraction bit. She clenched her teeth. “I’m a seventh,” she continued when the contraction ended, her voice steady and clear for the first time. “A seventh daughter. This child, my daughter, will be a seventh daughter of a seventh daughter, and the ranking member of the first family. You must save her. Take her. Run. Promise me, I—” She choked down a sob. “I can trust you. Yes? You’re an Oathtaker.” She sucked in a breath. “I’m counting on you. Please . . . tell me I can trust you.”
“Dear Good One! Rowena, your child could be my assignment—my charge!” The Oathtaker’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I’ll help you! But first we have to get you through this labor. Oh, if this child is a girl—”
“It is a girl. Help . . . me.”
Mara picked up a nearby cloth and wet it with water from a canteen hanging at her waist. She placed the cloth on Rowena’s forehead, then retrieved a blanket from her pack to cover her against the chills that had come with her loss of blood. Once done, she examined her again. The child’s head would soon crown. Mara hoped a few strong pushes would do it, as Rowena had little strength remaining.
After pouring water into a cup from her sack, she rummaged through her dried herbs to find a relaxing, pain-numbing tea blend. When she tore it open, the smell of green permeated the air. She could not brew a tea without a fire, but it would steep at least some in the tepid water.
“Here, drink this.” She helped Rowena lean forward, then put the cup to her lips.
She drank, then turned her face away as another contraction took hold.
A small mark behind Rowena’s right ear drew Mara’s attention. It looked like a tattoo of the numeral seven, in a rosy color. “So this your sign, yes? This mark here?”
Rowena nodded.
Gingerly, the Oathtaker brushed her thumb across the mark. She’d studied for so long and finally she was face to face with one of the Select. Beautiful. Setting the tea aside, she took another look at how the birthing progressed.
“The child has crowned. With this next contraction, I want you to bear down with all your strength. Try to focus your energy. Don’t scream or cry if you can help yourself.” In an effort to lighten the intensity of the mood, she chuckled quietly and leaned in as though sharing a secret. “My grandmother always said a woman wasted good energy during a birthing when she cried out. Now I don’t know if there’s any truth to that, but if she was right, it would be wise to follow her advice. You’ve no extra strength to spare.”
She lightly patted Rowena’s arm in encouragement. “Oh, here it comes. You feel that contraction building? Yes, that’s it. Now bear down and focus. Good . . . good. Well done. I see it’s almost— Yes . . . here comes another. Right now. Push. Push!”
Rowena did not shed a tear. She bore down with astounding energy given her circumstances. Then, spent, she fell back. A single tear rolled down her cheek.
Some minutes passed and with them, several more contractions. Mara spoke gently, encouragingly. Then with one final push, the infant was born.
“That’s it! Rowena, look. You have a beautiful baby . . . girl. Oh, you’ve done it.” The Oathtaker wiped the child’s face and cleared its nose, then took some heavy string from her pack and tied the cord off as needed. Once done, she used Spira to cut the cord. She felt a tingling and almost instantly, a new scent, clean and sweet, filled the air. She breathed in deeply of its mind jarring, almost mesmerizing and complicated combination of orange, violet, iris and jasmine, accompanied by cedar, sandalwood and oak moss. For a moment, she wished she could drown in the fragrance.
Briskly she rubbed the infant’s back, encouraging the little one to breathe. The child gulped in her first breath, but did not cry. Mara laughed with relief. She’s all right! She wiped the infant down, stopping to take note of a birthmark behind her right ear. Of a light blush color, it looked like two numeral sevens, the second intersecting halfway down the vertical line of the first. She marveled at it, touching it softly, then wrapped the child in a clean soft cloth.
“Rowena, look here.” She placed the infant at her breast. “She is so beautiful. What’s her name?”
“Reigna.”
“That’s a lovely choice. And she looks like a ‘Reigna.’ She is regal. Surely she will reign in this life as would any queen.”
Suddenly, Rowena’s eyes opened wide. She grasped the Oathtaker’s arm and pulled her close. “Mara!” she exclaimed, her voice soft but firm.
“What? What is it?”
“Another—”
“Another? Another what?”
“Mara,” she repeated, as a contraction bit deeply.
The Oathtaker took another look. “Oh, goodness, there’s another!” This was indeed a miracle. No Select had ever before born twins—not one, not ever. “Easy, Rowena, you can do this.” Half giddy, Mara fought to hold down her grin.
A tear rolled down Rowena’s face as another contraction took hold.
“Almost there,” Mara encouraged. “Almost there.”
After a couple minutes, a final contraction gripped the woman. When it released, the Oathtaker held up another child. She tied off the cord and cut it. Once again she felt a tingling sensation, then the infant’s heavenly scent momentarily overtook her. Although this child looked identical to her sister, her fragrance, a combination of bergamot, jasmine, and orange, with hints of warm musk, differed. Like her sister, the infant took in a gulp of air, but she did not cry.
Mara rummaged for something in which to wrap her. Once done, she looked for the infant’s sign. It differed from her sister’s. She studied it for a moment before she could make it out, but then it seemed completely clear. It consisted of two squares. When looking at them as touching side to side, the top horizontal line of the one on the left was in a darker pink color. From its upper right corner came a downward stroke, again in the darker color. This line divided the two squares. Then, on the square to the right, only the right side vertical line was darker from the rest of the mark. Together the darker portions denoted the numerals “seven” and “one.” But when considering the mark from the other angle—as one square atop the other—the mark looked like a straight-sided numeral eight.
She turned her attention back to business. “Rowena, look.” She placed the infant next to her mother. “What will you call her?”
Her eyes rolled briefly, then refocused. “The seventh seventh ‘who is but . . . is not,’” she whispered.
“What’s that?”
“She is a seventh, but she is not.”
Mara didn’t understand, so she simply nodded. “What’s her name?”
She pulled in a shallow breath. “Eden.”
“Eden. Paradise.” The Oathtaker pulled the blanket up over mother and children to keep them warm. Then she focused her attention back on Rowena. She placed her hands upon her, praying for healing, but sensed no change. “I’m so sorry I can’t do more. I—” Hot tears welled in her eyes. She wiped them away brusquely. “Is there anything I can do to ease your pain?”
“Mmmm . . . no.” Rowena breathed shallowly. “Thank you,” she whispered. Her eyes rolled upward, then closed. Then she said softly, “I have . . . done it.”
A minute passed in silence. Mara sat quietly stroking the woman’s face and brushing back her auburn hair.
Suddenly Rowena’s eyes shot open. She grabbed a handful of Mara’s tunic. “You must run—quickly. Take them . . . to safety.” Her words grew softer as her grip loosened and her eyes closed.
“I promised I’d help you and I promise I’ll help them. I accept your daughters as my charge. I swear to you and to Ehyeh, who is above all, that I would give my life for them. I will be their Oathtaker for so long as they live.”
At that very moment, the ground shook. A sense of power, unlike any o
ther, filled the Oathtaker. It was as a welling of emotion, a filling of needy places in her heart, a song bursting. This was the confirmation—the Good One’s acknowledgement of her oath. She now owed Reigna and Eden protection for so long as they lived. She’d never heard of an Oathtaker with more than a single charge before, that was true, but then she’d never heard of a Select bearing twins, either. It had felt right to swear to protect them both. However could she have chosen between them?
“I am . . .” Rowena shuddered, suddenly overtaken with chills.
Once again Mara’s eyes welled with tears. Then she remembered. Oh, great Ehyeh! “Listen. Listen to me!” She slapped Rowena’s face, first lightly, then more firmly. She knew she couldn’t save her, but she also knew that it was too soon to let her go. “Rowena, release your power. Release your power, now!” If she did not, her children would not carry her power forward.
Slowly, laggardly, Rowena’s eyes opened and refocused. Mara’s words jarred her back fully, if for only a moment. She fought for a breath as she struggled to speak.
“Now!”
The woman whispered three simple words slowly but succinctly: “Restore . . . and . . . revive.” With that, her eyes rolled up and back, her body shuddered violently, and she exhaled the last of her breath.
In that same instant, the earth shook. The trees around the hut swayed. Blinding lightning burst and crackled causing a deafening, exploding thunder. The sky, visible through the hole in the roof, turned momentarily blood red. The children let out their first cries—
And the door of the hut burst open.
Mara’s eyes flashed upward.
There stood the most fearsome looking man she had ever laid eyes upon.
Just over six foot tall, he stood lean, but strong. A man in his prime, he’d taken on all of the bulk and muscle of a life of discipline. Bent forward in a fighting stance, his feet slightly apart, his breathing came rapid and deep, like that of a bull whose space had been invaded. In a single glance his piercing blue eyes inventoried all of the details of the cabin’s interior. Glaring, they flickered past Mara, rested on Rowena’s face for the briefest moment, then turned back to the Oathtaker. He reached up and back.
His eyes held a look of murderous intent. Fearing she and the babies were in danger, Mara reached for Spira, her only remaining weapon. Even had it not been so, it would have been her weapon of choice, as an Oathtaker’s blade never misses its mark. Grasping it firmly, she slipped Spira from its sheath and let it fly. The weapon sped through the air straight toward the heart of the threatening intruder.
As she released Spira, the man loosed a nearly identical blade. In that moment, they both knew that the other was an Oathtaker.
The blades stopped and hovered in mid-air, each just inches from its intended target, for while an Oathtaker’s blade will never miss its mark, it will never harm an Oathtaker—with one exception: were an Oathtaker’s blade to be used against its owner, his death would be instant.
Mara and the stranger looked at one another’s blades and then, simultaneously, they glanced up. Their eyes met.
The newcomer spoke first. “An Oathtaker?”
“Yes, as I see, are you. I’m Mara. Mara Richmond.”
“Hmmm,” was his curt reply. Then he said simply, “Dixon.” He grasped Spira as Mara clasped his blade. Each offered the weapon of the other to its owner and then both returned them to their sheaths.
Dixon moved forward. “Rowena. Rowena, I’m here.” Gently, he shook her.
Mara watched, her eyes riveted, expectant.
Upon touching the woman, Dixon’s eyes turned quickly from the soft glance he’d given her, to a kind of madness. He jumped up and glared. “What have you done?” he hissed.
“What have I done?” Mara crouched down, pulled away the blanket that covered Rowena, then carefully took into her arms first Reigna, then Eden. She stood back up, holding herself as tall as she could. She glared. “What have I done? Oh, nothing! Oh, well that is, except—ahhh . . . well . . . let me think here . . .”
She hesitated, playacting. “Oh, yes, I remember now. I took down a full pack of grut, helped Rowena birth these beautiful children, accepted them as my charge, saw to it that she released her power with her dying breath, comforted her in her last moments . . . Shall I go on?” She took a deep breath. “What have I done? Who are you to accuse me of anything? I have done my duty!”
“I am her Oathtaker. That’s who I am!”
“Were,” Mara snapped. “You were her Oathtaker. She’s dead. Or did I forget to mention that? So I might ask—what have you done? Where were you when she so clearly needed you? The truth is, if I hadn’t arrived when I did, I expect we would have lost them all!” Her eyes remained fixed on him.
After some seconds, he looked away. “Dead,” he whispered.
She couldn’t tell if he was stating the fact, or asking if it was true. Considering the shock he must be feeling, she decided that arguing with him would not be in anyone’s best interests. She recalled that above all, she must get the girls to safety quickly.
“I’m sorry, I did all I could. Rowena had lost too much blood before I arrived. She was a fighter, I know.”
He didn’t take his eyes from his former charge. He dropped to his knees at her side. Taking her hand into his own, he lifted it to his cheek and closed his eyes. His breathing slowed. His jaw set. Mara sensed he fought back tears. Slowly, he leaned forward to stroke the woman’s cheek, then her hair. Finally, he bowed his head and audibly exhaled.
Mara watched his easy touch, saw his shoulders sag, and his eyes pressed closed. She knew that look.
“You loved her.” She hadn’t intended to speak the words out loud, but there they were—hanging in the air.
“Well,” he said, clearing his throat, obviously restraining himself, “of course I cared deeply for her. She was my charge. She’s been my charge . . . for some time now. I’ve forgotten what life is without her.”
“No, that’s not all. You . . . loved her. I can see it in your eyes, in your touch, in—”
“She was my charge!” He held Mara’s gaze, as though daring her to challenge him further.
She said nothing. Perhaps he was trying to convince himself, but she wondered.
“You do understand the significance of the oath you just swore?” he asked, scornfully.
Of course she did. An Oathtaker’s vow came with commitments. Mara hadn’t given it much thought earlier, but when she swore her oath, she had sealed the deal. Her word bound her to the twins for so long as they lived. She could no longer follow another path. In the moment she took her vow, Ehyeh bestowed gifts upon her, attendant magic and continued youth. She would not physically age until the death of her charge. Only then could she begin her life anew, follow other dreams. The same had been true for Dixon while his charge lived. But what did his denial mean? What was he trying to imply? That because he’d sworn to accept Rowena as his charge, he’d not still been vulnerable to his own feelings, longings, desires? Had he been one who’d fallen into the state of pain that came with loving someone while subject to his oath?
“Of course I do,” she confirmed.
He folded Rowena’s arms across her breast, then brought the coverings up to her shoulders, as though to keep her from getting chilled. His trembling hands stopped every few moments to stroke her hair. Mara could see he warred with himself—wondering whether to keep his former charge in sight, or to cover her, or to look away so that he could deny to himself the reality of her death.
Not wanting to further interrupt him in his grief, Mara stepped out of the hut with the infants. She found a private space behind some shrubbery where she quickly changed out of her now bloodied garb.
On the ground nearby, she found a basket. She picked it up and examined it. Although worn, it was sturdy. She placed Eden inside, then removed the last of her blankets from her bag. With it, she wrapped Reigna up to her front side, and then grasped the basket’s handle, leaving one hand fr
ee.
Stepping back inside the hut, she picked up Rowena’s things scattered about. She examined each item briefly: a beautiful silver compact, a hairpin studded with small crystals in various colors, and the shawl. She placed them in her bag.
“I have to go. Rowena thought her children would be in great danger and I suspect she was right. I don’t believe there’s been a seventh seventh for . . . What? A couple hundred years or more? Reigna is likely the child we’ve all been waiting for. And that says nothing for Eden. Twins . . . It’s never been heard of—a Select bearing twins,” she whispered. “In any case, I promised I’d take the girls to safety at once.”
“Reigna? Her name is Reigna?” Dixon raised grief-stricken eyes. “And Eden?”
Suddenly Mara felt deeply sorry for her fellow Oathtaker, and badly for having lashed out earlier. She looked away. His pain was too real. It made her feel as though she eavesdropped.
“Yes,” she finally said, “the eldest is Reigna, the youngest Eden. Rowena named them herself. I took my oath while she still lived, and I intend to abide by it. So, I have to go. These babies will wake soon, and they’ll wake hungry. My first order of business is to find milk for them—perhaps a wet nurse.” She made her way to the door.
“Wait! I’ll go with you.” He sprang forward and grasped her arm. When she tried to pull away, he loosed his grip. “Listen, Mara. It’s Mara, right?”
She frowned, then nodded, her brow raised.
“Listen, Mara, you’re right about Reigna. She’s the first seventh seventh in ages. Many have awaited her birth for . . . a very long time. Rowena and her friends planned her very existence. As to Eden, I can only guess at the significance of her birth.” He hesitated. “Look, I can help you to carry out your charge. You need me. That is I . . . I—” He lowered his gaze. “Please. Please, let me come with you.”
She considered his words. She could use some help. “Very well then, but we’d best be on our way and quickly. Just one thing though—and don’t forget it. The girls? Reigna and Eden? They’re my charge.” She stepped out of the hut.
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