by Sharon Hinck
The furrows on Tara’s brow deepened. “I don’t understand much about what you’ve been through, or what happened this morning. But couldn’t it just be a coincidence that more recollections returned the same day you came across him? Or maybe he helped in the way some healers just help people feel better by their presence?”
No. It had been more than that. But I didn’t know how to explain, and had no better theory to offer.
“Well, whatever happened, it’s wonderful to feel like I know myself again. I still can’t remember much about the last few years. But I’m sure it will come back.”
A wave of sadness crossed Tara’s face, but she hid it with a quick smile that dimpled her cheeks. “Welcome back.”
What was that look about? What secrets about myself did she know that I still didn’t? The small bread loaf suddenly felt like a hard lump in my stomach. I should be grateful for the parts of myself I’d recovered, but I couldn’t help worrying about the parts that were still lost.
The boy surprised me by slipping off Tara’s ample grandmotherly lap and padding over to me. He climbed onto my thin legs, and reached for my hand. He tapped a finger into my palm, and my hand closed quickly to trap it. He pulled it away and his body shook with silent giggles. As we continued to play the game, my worry melted. If this child could be so trusting and at peace in spite of being lost, I could surely trust the One for a few lost memories. I was safe in His arms. He’d let me remember what I needed to know.
A soft tap sounded at the door. Tristan must have sent a very quick messenger for Tara’s use. “Come in,” she called.
The door slid open and Lukyan limped in, leaning on his walking stick. His white hair was rumpled, his cloak uneven, and his face wore the confusion of someone waking up hard after a too-long nap. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I was speaking to the One and . . .” His gaze stopped on the boy in my arms.
Breathing hard, he walked toward me, eyes riveted on the boy.
I smiled. “My memory is returning.”
He didn’t answer me. Braced on his walking stick, he lowered to one knee so he could meet the child on eye level.
I couldn’t read Lukyan’s expression. Was it horror or awe? And what could bring on such intensity? Reflexively, my arms tightened around the child.
The boy didn’t seem worried by Lukyan’s strange tension. One hand still resting in my palm, the boy lifted the small bread loaf clenched in his other hand and offered it.
Lukyan’s hand shook as he took the bread. Tears brought a shimmer to his cloudy blue eyes. “Thank you.” The whisper scraped past his throat.
My brows knitted at Lukyan’s reaction to the boy. “I found him by the ridgeline above the village. Tara said he isn’t from any of the nearby clans. Do you recognize him?”
Lukyan didn’t look at me, still absorbed in the child. A tremulous smile lit his wrinkled face. “I . . . I believe I do.”
Chapter
21
Susan
Under the blue-streaked threads of light in the cave walls, Jake’s weary eyes took us in, then widened. The flare of recognition lasted the barest of instants before he pressed his lips together and nodded as if we were strangers.
I tried to gather my wits. “Wha—”
Mark’s hand clamped around my arm and stopped me from running forward. A world of warning filled his grip, but I tugged against him, desperate to throw my arms around my son.
Mark’s hold tightened, and he wrapped his other arm around me, squeezing hard. “Well met,” he said to Jake. “Which clan do you claim?”
The corner of Jake’s mouth lifted. “My people hail from Rendor”—his gaze flicked to me with a hint of warmth that he quickly hid—“and Braide Wood.”
I pried Mark’s fingers off my upper arm. He didn’t have to leave bruises. I got it. It was safer for Jake if we didn’t acknowledge that we knew him. “I’ve met a few people from Braide Wood,” I said, hoping the Kahlarean master would attribute the warmth in my voice to memories of old acquaintances. Meanwhile, I devoured the sight of my son. He had filled out since I’d last seen him and carried a new maturity. But he also looked haggard and tired. How much time had passed for him in the month since we’d left Lyric? I couldn’t begin to guess.
Mark turned toward Voronja. “We’d have a more productive conversation if you allowed us time alone.”
The old Kahlarean smiled sourly. “No. You will have a productive conversation with me here.”
Great. My son was a few feet away and I couldn’t hug him. And how were we going to communicate without slipping and revealing anything dangerous?
“Were you banished as well?” Mark asked.
I stared at him, amazed at his ability to sound like he was speaking to a stranger.
“Not exactly. Do you remember when the former council leader Cameron was arrested several seasons ago?”
Several seasons? That meant close to a year had passed. I pressed my lips together, terrified I’d say the wrong thing.
“Some rumors reached our clan.” Mark walked forward and sat on the edge of the table. As he tilted his head down to talk with Jake, the angle of his face matched Jake’s so perfectly, I was sure the Kahlarean would notice the father/son resemblance.
“Apparently he has friends among the Kahlareans who arranged his escape. And my recent . . . visit here.”
Conflicting emotions stormed inside my head. I was thrilled to see Jake alive, whole, healthy. This was exactly what Mark and I had prayed for, longed for . . . to find Jake. But this was the most dangerous possible place for a Restorer. Did the Kahlareans know who he was? What had he been facing, captive in this enclave, all alone?
We had to get him out of here.
“How long have you been a ‘guest’ of the Kahlareans?” I asked through a strained throat.
Jake smiled at me—the smile of a seasoned man, not a frightened young boy. “Not long. As you might guess, it wasn’t a trip I would have chosen. But I trust the purposes of the One.”
“He’s been spinning some intriguing tales,” said Voronja, head stretching forward as he followed our conversation. “But we didn’t barter for him to hear stories. Cameron told us he could provide us with the blood of the Restorer. Apparently he lied.”
“Imagine that,” I said under my breath. Cameron was a snake whose poison continued to cause harm. But if the Kahlareans didn’t believe Jake was really the Restorer, perhaps there was still hope.
Voronja loosened the straps holding Jake’s arm to the chair, pulling back the loose tunic sleeve. Crisscrossing stripes of scars, some still a furious red, marked his arm. “He doesn’t heal. And we’ve had no success with our experiments with his blood.”
Rage burned the red stripes across my vision. I ran past Mark and to Jake’s side. “What have they done?”
I wanted to touch his arm, to treat his wounds, to offer some kind of comfort. Instead, I took his hand, then rounded on the Kahlarean. “What kind of warrior tortures a boy for no reason?” Maybe their stupid experiments trying to turn Restorer blood into a weapon would give them all leukemia. Could there still be traces in Jake’s blood? Could it infect the Kahlareans? The vicious wish surged through me.
Voronja’s eyes narrowed almost to the size of human eyes. “We’re the ones who were wronged. We’ve simply asked him how to find the true Restorer.”
So now they’d torture him for an answer he couldn’t give.
And was there a Restorer now? This was becoming a street-corner shell game. After Kieran had the signs, we’d assumed he would fill that role through his generation. Jake’s Restorer signs had startled and terrified me. Now I didn’t know whether to be relieved that he no longer had those gifts or worried because he could no longer heal. What did this mean for the clans? Was Kieran the Restorer again? Or someone new? Mark knew the Verses far better than I did. Was this part of
the promise? Surely the need for help hadn’t passed. Rhus, Kahlarea, and Hazor all posed unique dangers to the clans.
Lord, what are You doing? And what do You want us to do? Guide us.
I straightened. “Cameron is the one who sold you a false Restorer. You should be asking him where the real one is.”
“Oh, we will,” said the master assassin. “When we’ve found him.” The anticipation in the old man’s voice almost made me pity Cameron. Almost.
Mark cleared his throat, somehow maintaining a calm expression. “What interesting stories have you been sharing?” he asked Jake.
A sparkle caught in Jake’s eyes as his chin lifted. “I’ve been telling Master Voronja about the One who loves all nations.”
How could he talk about love, much less try to share it with his captor? Bloody and scarred and bound in a Kahlarean cave, his faith—his forgiveness—stunned and humbled me. I’d been proud of Jake when he scored three soccer goals in one game. I’d swelled with warmth when he’d shared his testimony at our church. I’d admired him with a fierce mother’s pride as he’d endured the cancer treatments and still found strength to tease his younger sister and banter with nurses. But seeing the way he embraced his calling to follow the One, even in a place of danger and pain, strengthened and inspired a deep place in my heart.
“And even though Cameron delivered me to them for his own purposes, I think the One wanted me here.”
I listened carefully to Jake’s inflection. Wanted. Past tense. The One had sent him here for a reason, but clearly Jake didn’t feel he had to stay any more. Because we’d come to rescue him? What was the One’s plan? All I knew was that we had to get him out of here. “The purposes of the One are sometimes . . . mysterious,” I said quietly.
Jake grinned. “Agreed. I’ve been thinking a lot about Alcatraz.”
I blinked. Was that a clan name I’d forgotten? It took a moment to cast my memory back to the reference. Prison. Escape. Yes!
“By the way,” Jake added conversationally, “I was surprised to learn that the assassin’s enclave is so close to Cauldron Falls.”
Still sitting on the low table, Mark straightened. “Oh, really? I didn’t realize. We’d gotten rather turned around.”
Mark’s casual response sounded forced, but only because I knew him so well. I glanced at the Kahlarean, but he was still staring at Jake and didn’t seem to have caught the nuances of the conversation.
Mark looked toward the door. “Have you thought of Huck Finn?”
“Yeah.” Jake frowned. “But the Mississippi follows a pretty well-defined course.”
Mark shrugged “Huck didn’t know that. He just did what he had to do.”
“What are they talking about?” the Kahlarean asked gruffly.
I squeezed the bridge of my nose. “I don’t know.” I didn’t have to pretend ignorance. They’d already lost me.
Jake’s gaze cut toward the Kahlarean master. “Sitting here has given me time to think about my favorite tropes.”
I rubbed my temples. Tropes? Was it possible the torture had taken a toll on Jake’s mind? Even Mark’s brow furrowed as he struggled to make sense of that comment.
Then Mark’s frown cleared. The side of his mouth twitched.
Voronja growled. “Enough wasted words. Will you tell us—”
Mark gasped and doubled over. All his muscles clenched as he groaned with a depth of pain reserved for childbirth or kidney stones.
A new panic coursed through me as I rushed to his side. Had the trip through the portal been too much and finally caught up to him? “What’s wrong? Can you talk?”
He shook his head, body still curled around his middle.
The old Kahlarean moved in, too.
Suddenly, Mark straightened. His fist flew up, the hilt of his hidden table knife crashing into Voronja’s throat. By the time I’d stumbled back a few steps, he had the Kahlarean pinned against the table. “Get his weapons. I can’t hold him long.”
Already, the Kahlarean was slipping downward, eel-like. I raced forward to help. Between us, we wrenched the venblade holster from his wrist, fighting to keep the blade from pricking either of us in the struggle.
Mark took him down to the floor, struggling to keep his grip on the man. He lifted the kitchen knife.
“Dad, wait,” Jake yelled. “Don’t kill him.”
Both Mark and Voronja froze. “Jake, we aren’t going to get far if I don’t,” Mark said through clenched teeth.
I plucked the knife from Mark’s hand. Let the men debate about what to do next. I couldn’t stand seeing Jake bound and helpless for another second. I used the blade to cut the straps holding Jake to the chair.
Jake stood slowly, wobbling as he tested his legs. Then he crouched beside his father. “Voronja is the one Kahlarean I’ve talked with here. If he dies, everything I’ve shared will be lost to his people.”
Mark’s hands found Voronja’s throat. A lifetime of rage and fear shook his muscles. I couldn’t be sure he was hearing Jake.
“Dad,” Jake said again.
Something in Mark’s eyes changed, and he hesitated.
Then, in a sharp flurry of movement, the Kahlarean twisted, broke Mark’s grip, and sprang free. In the time it took for Mark to rise from his crouch, Voronja reached into a cubby near the door and faced us with a half-sphere geode in his hand.
Jake stepped between us and squared off with Voronja.
“Why did you tell him to stop?” the assassin asked, his knobby fingers resting on the lever of the syncbeam that could vaporize us all. “You had me at your mercy.”
“Mercy,” Jake answered. “Yes, that’s the word. The One had mercy on me, and asks me to show mercy to others.”
“So all those tales, they aren’t just words? You’d die for them?”
Jake’s chin lifted and an inner light touched his features. “My life is His.”
Cords of tension squeezed my ribs until they threatened to crack. For once I couldn’t find words to add. All I could do was wait.
The assassin stared into Jake’s eyes as time stretched. Then he slowly lowered his arm. “You’ll never be able to escape the enclave . . . without help.”
Mark and I risked a few breaths, but still didn’t move. Jake just grinned. “Any suggestions?”
Voronja’s attention turned to me, and he sized me up. Then he pulled his hooded mask from his head and held it out to me. “My clothes will fit you.”
Confused, I shook my head.
“Mom, breathe. It’s another trope,” Jake said as he took the hood from Voronja and slid it over my head.
“Good idea.” Mark still sounded a bit shell-shocked. I touched his arm, the only comfort I could offer in the moment.
“Would someone explain it to me?” My words came out muffled as Jake slid the fabric mask over the lower part of my face.
Voronja pulled off his cloak.
Jake held it for him while the assassin bent to slip off his soft leather shoes. “You remember. The conventions in TV shows.”
Mark spared a quick grin my direction. “Like if you’re a prisoner, pretend you’re sick to get the captor to let down his guard.”
And Mark had once laughed at me for getting my ideas from Nancy Drew?
Jake helped the assassin untie the straps of his wrap-around shirt. “Or disguise yourself as one of the bad guys.” He held up the shirt—black and form fitting. “It’s not going to fit Dad or me.”
No. He couldn’t be serious. True, I had the smaller frame, but I was still a little taller than most of the Kahlareans we’d met. And most importantly, I didn’t move like a wraith.
But Mark was helping Jake divest Voronja of the rest of his outer clothes. “Hurry and change. The hood will hide most of your face. Just keep your hands hidden.”
Too desperate to argue, and
fresh out of options, I pulled on the assassin’s uniform. My fingers trembled as I tightened the drawstrings on the pants.
“Just think ninja.” Mark dropped a light kiss on my nose, then turned to face Voronja. “What will your people do to you?”
Even in his uniform’s dark under-layer, the elderly Kahlarean carried himself with dignity. “I’ll need to be seriously injured to justify your escape. And tied well to give you time before I can free myself.”
Jake beckoned to his dad, and together they tied Voronja to the chair, fashioned a gag from my shirt, and knotted it in place. Jake hefted the awkward syncbeam and met Voronja’s eyes. “I’ll remember you to the One. You and your people.”
The man nodded, then closed his eyes. Jake clocked him on the side of his head with the geode, the sickening crunch loud in the small room. With his head lolling forward, Voronja’s pale skin and knobby joints made him look old and frail.
Jake dropped the weapon, watching while a trail of blood slid down Voronja’s face. “I hope that will be enough to convince them.”
Mark handed me the arm holster that Voronja had worn.
I glared at him, squaring off for an argument. “I’m not carrying a venblade.”
Appreciation flared in his eyes. “That’s right. Keep thinking angry and powerful. Your posture almost looks Kahlarean now.”
“It’s not an act. Those things are way too dangerous.”
“The sleeve doesn’t look right without it. Someone could notice.”
Jake stepped between us. “Forget the venblade. Just wear the holster with the knife.”
Mark adjusted the lower part of my black hood, pulling it up to cover all but my eyes. He gently pushed a few last strands of my hair out of sight. “I know you’re scared,” he whispered. “You can do this.”
Scared didn’t begin to describe it. “Where are we headed?” The rock ledge that brought us into the enclave would be impossible to scale downward. I shuddered.