by Laury Falter
Jameson added, “We do our best to remain hidden.”
With good reason, I thought. I’d seen what The Sevens do to the innocent. I couldn’t imagine what they would do to those found guilty of treason. And I didn’t want to think about it…because Jameson and I were undeniably guilty of that infraction.
Jameson was watching me, waiting for my reaction, one in particular: Acceptance.
“I understand…all of it.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “Good, that will make things easier between us.”
Before he could go any further, I cut him off. “But I don’t like it. You’re risking too much.”
A tender smile lifted his handsome face before he replied, “Thank you for caring.”
My unremitting discontent came in the form of a disgruntled frown, which he decided to ignore.
“We’ll need to set up triage, gather the wounded. Jocelyn, can you handle it?”
He wasn’t going to concede that his role was too dangerous. Not here. Not now. Knowing that would be a failed argument, I accepted his request. “Yes, we’ll need to spread the word on where to find me.”
“Thank you.”
Jameson turned to address Theleo, his tone becoming more authoritative. “We’ll also need to call a meeting to discuss security and rebuilding concerns.”
Jetting into the air, Theleo immediately accepted the implied request with a nod.
While they focused their efforts elsewhere, within hours, I had set up a makeshift hospital in the center of the village, making it as accessible as possible for those who could travel. For anyone who couldn't, I went to them.
Throughout the morning, the act of healing others became draining; the cast being held over us by the Vires radically lessened my inherent ability. On several patients, those with open wounds gushing blood or with entire torsos of broken ribs, it took several attempts.
As the sound of coughing faded around me, I knew those who needed healing were lessening in number. The line out the door was shrinking, too.
But there was something more to this renewal, our rejuvenation. For those of us paying close enough attention – and I felt many were - it showed us that The Sevens could attack us, could destroy our homes, but they couldn’t keep us down. We could, and would, rise again. Each person who walked out the door proved it.
They tried to show their appreciation, insisting I accept a piece of jewelry from their wrist or, the village's most coveted item, plastic bait. I gently rejected them all.
“No,” I repeated numerous times. “I’m not the one you should thank. It should be Jameson.”
I may have helped contain their bleeding or mended their bones, but he had saved their lives.
He had devised the plan for Theleo to hide the village in the air during the attack; he had stayed behind to make sure no one was left in danger. He had risked his life to save them.
Jameson was the true savior.
No one seemed to grasp this; I wondered if he knew it himself.
I spread this message as best I could until, at some point well before sunrise, Isadora entered the hospital. She was weary, moving slowly, preserving the little energy she had left. Her face was still scuffed with dirt and her clothing hadn’t been changed despite the tear down her skirt. This was because there was something of more interest on her mind than her appearance, something she explained in one simple question. “Are you at all aware that you’re the best witch doctor any of us have ever seen?” she pondered.
Witch doctor, I repeated silently in my mind. That term threw me a bit.
I liked Isadora and still would - even if she hadn’t helped save my life several months ago. But that didn’t remove my contempt for the term used to describe me.
“Witch doctor?” I asked this time out loud and not bothering to mask my disdain.
Why was it that I kept having unpleasant titles related to me? First Residue…and now Witch Doctor. I wondered what was next.
She took a seat, cautiously maneuvering her elderly body onto a crate serving as a chair, and went on to enlighten me.
“Witch doctors are uncommon, far more than you might think. Most reside in Africa or Europe; so seeing one here is a bit of an enigma. But it isn’t simply your presence that makes them curious. It’s the way you heal. Of those witch doctors who do exist, many use potions and salves, or carry staffs to conduct their ceremonies. You don’t need any of those materials and we notice it. What you do, how you do it…it’s never been done this way before.”
“Never?”
She slowly shook her head, allowing me time to register what she was telling me.
“A part of the reason why The Sevens have been after me for so long,” I surmised.
“One of the many,” she agreed. “They know how powerful you are, how much destruction you and Jameson will bring.”
I reflected on this while she observed me with concern. She clearly understood the position we were in.
“You both have been molded, crafted in preparation for your roles. Jameson, through a strict regimen. You, however, were given a very different lesson.” She gazed at me, as if in reflecting on some distant memory. “You were given the opportunity to understand the value of life so that you would fight to preserve it, because that is what will be needed of you. Your mother knew this, and she taught this lesson by distancing herself from you, by distancing you from all of us.”
Confused, I stated, “She sent me away to keep me safe.”
“Ah, but many reasons can lead to one decision.”
“So you’re saying she sent me away – also – to teach me?” On her nod, I pressed, “Teach me what?”
“That only through reacquiring what we have lost do we come to appreciate it. A harsh lesson, indeed.”
I had to admit, that would sound like something my mother would do if it weren’t so cruel. There had to be only one circumstance in which I could even deem that sort of method to be logical: to the extent that its result would only be justified if so much more hung in the balance. And so much more did. “You mean, my family, this world…,” I muttered. “…Jameson.”
I could see in her expression that I was correct, but she summed it up, in a way only a wise person can. “A life well lived, Jocelyn. You were taught to cherish a life well lived.”
And I did. I didn’t care about expensive cars or large houses. I wasn’t pinning for a closet full of the latest fashion trends, and my free time wasn’t spent shopping for the latest handbag. All I wanted was Jameson’s love and the safety and security for all of us to live in peace. I had attempted to give up my life so that Jameson could live to experience this himself. But, in spite of my failure, because of it maybe, I was now dedicated to ensuring the rest of our world would have the ability to enjoy this, too, without The Sevens’ repression.
In short, my mother had actually succeeded.
I leaned back, assessing Isadora. She had been confined to the village for most of her life, disconnected from the outside world and from my mother. How could she know all this? As if catching on to my thoughts, she changed the subject. “I thought that you would like to know the meeting has begun.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “To plan the security and rebuilding?”
She nodded, and I stood.
“I thought so,” she stated with a knowing smile. “My boat is tied up outside.”
“Thank you. Where are they meeting?”
She gave me directions and I headed out the door only to overhear her call out to me.
“Be careful,” she advised, and I understood just what she meant. My reasons for attending the meeting weren’t solely to stay informed. There was going to be staunch disagreement – and most of it would pertain to Jameson and me. Neither one of us were disillusioned about that.
“I will,” I called out, knowing she would hear me through the flimsy wooden walls.
I found her boat tied to the dock and made my way down the channel as quickly as I could. Even though the sm
oke had begun to clear, a menacing haze still clouded my view. No shacks were in flames any longer, but a good number of them were still smoldering, thickening the air with the stringent smell of burnt wood.
As I reached the outpost where the meeting was being held, a few coughs, from those ornery enough not to come by triage, drifted outside. Rolling my eyes, I turned my attention back to maneuvering Isadora’s boat. Without any proper training, I slammed the boat into the dock while trying to stop, consequently jarring and splintering the wood planks. The entire incident made me miss having the ability to levitate.
I tied up Isadora’s boat and hurried for the door. Opening it, I found Jameson standing in the middle of a packed room, attempting to calm everyone's fears. Soiled and exhausted faces glared back at him.
“They were coming for you, not us, you,” said a man with arms twice the size of Jameson’s. “And her…”
I looked up to find the man’s finger pointed in my direction.
“You need to leave, Jameson,” said a matronly woman, standing to prove her doggedness. “Officer or not…Nobilis or not…”
I saw Jameson cringe at her remark. Apparently, the news of his true identity had spread from New Orleans and reached the village.
The woman went on. “Relicuum or not,” she stated, tipping her head at me. “After this…after tonight, it’s clear you aren’t able to help us. Not yet. You need to leave us be.” I could see the pain in her eyes, the immutable guilt for not believing in the two people legends had slated as their saviors. And, despite her attempt to oust us, I felt empathy for her.
“Leave at first light,” called someone else from the back corner.
“No, now!” said another.
Suddenly, the room came alive with chaos, shouts overlapping each other, people springing to their feet.
I hadn’t become aware of them yet, but my family and the Caldwells were also in the room. They immediately stepped forward in unity to defend Jameson should he need it.
Jameson, who was struggling to be heard over the roar, bellowed across the room. “BY LEAVING WE ENDANGER YOU!”
His announcement silenced some, though not all.
“That’s a lie!” a fair-skinned man in the back yelled, even though the noise level in the room had lowered considerably.
“Jameson does not lie!”
I marched farther into the room before realizing I had spoken those words out loud. Heads turned and I found myself the center of attention. In staunch defense of Jameson, I stared them down, one by one, as the next words left my lips, daring them to disagree.
“Has anyone ever known Jameson to lie?” I asked, immediately demanding an answer, my voice laced with fury. “Anyone? No? Then let him speak. Don’t lie to convince others to believe you," I directed my gaze at the man who had made that same judgment about Jameson. “Let him speak." I didn’t bother moving from the center of the room when I finished, remaining in place as a show of confidence. When I nodded for Jameson to continue, one side of his mouth was turned up in a proud grin, although it straightened out when he began speaking.
“By leaving, we endanger you,” he repeated, evidently trying to drive home his message and ensure no one had forgotten his warning. “If you’re concerned about what will happen if they return and we are here, consider what happens if we are not. Theleo will not be available to lift you to safety. Jocelyn will not be able to heal you. And, don’t fool yourselves, they can return for any reason, at any time. You are at their whim, and being in that position leaves you open, vulnerable.”
Gradually, the bleak expressions around the room began to falter. I saw angry faces give way to compliance after contemplating his words. Jameson was getting through to them by merely stating the truth.
“None of us are safe. We never will be. We will live our lives in fear that the Vires will return, now and until the moment of our death. And they will return…,” he stated bluntly, “…for one reason or another. And we will remain defenseless to whatever destruction they want to inflict on us.”
He paused, surveying the now hushed room. I couldn't quite figure out what he was thinking until he started speaking again. The courage he exuded came through in his speech, causing goose bumps to rise on my arms and a feeling of rebellion in everyone else.
“What we haven’t come to terms with yet is…this is our world. We have been born with special powers, and we have every right to use them. We have every right to live without fear of false justice…without fear of corrupt governance…without the worry that we will end up here, imprisoned because we hold information that The Sevens don’t want released.”
Heads began to nod. Jaws clamped shut. Fists opened and closed. Gradually, their anger redirected, landing on the ones who had put them here in the first place.
The fear that oppressed them for so long, outweighing all other matters in life, began to disintegrate, making way for a new idea on life…one shaped by their desires and fueled by the fulfillment of their dreams. Nervous smiles flashed across the faces in front of us; chests expanded and chins rose up, proudly. Having their fears removed allowed another feeling to pour in, one set in place by Jameson.
He looked in my direction while continuing to address the room, but only after he began to voice his thoughts did I understand his gesture.
“Jocelyn told me tonight that she is tired of running. She’s ready…ready to fight for her life, her freedom, for her absolute rights that have been taken away.” Shouts of support rose up through the small shack and he returned his gaze to them, steadfast in fearless defiance. “And so am I. But we can’t do it alone. We need you. The time is now. It’s time we stopped living by their rules. It’s time we stop living in a world they feel they have the authority to control. It’s time we built our own world!”
Their shouts turned to a loud proclamation of their support of Jameson’s plan. In direct conflict with their motions a moment ago, they now nodded in consensus at those standing nearest them. Slowly, the room grew louder, more encouraging, more chaotic so that we didn't notice the man sprinting across the dock until he burst through the door, and his small, lanky body came to a wobbly stop across the threshold.
He was perspiring, clearly winded and terrified. Drawing in a wheezing breath, he made an announcement that caused everyone in the room to come to a halt.
“Another prison has been destroyed!”
5 RESPECT
“Upstate New York. Fifty dead…so far.” The message tumbled from the man’s thin lips as we stared back in denial.
It was Jameson who stepped forward. “And who are you?”
I was shocked by this question, because I thought he was from our village.
“Tavish Malik,” he replied in frustration, repositioning his lopsided turban. “They need help. Now!"
“And how do you know this, Tavish?” Jameson kept his voice steady as he interrogated the man, but I could see in his eyes that he was worried.
“I…I’m their Officer.”
Jameson blinked, fighting back his surprise, a movement anyone who wasn’t paying close attention would have missed. I knew what was going through his mind. Tavish Malik had just absorbed the bullet that Jameson had dodged.
“Jocelyn?” said Jameson, his head snapping toward me.
“Yes,” I replied. Fully aware of his insinuation, I nodded firmly. “I think I can handle it.”
Tavish began assessing me curiously. “You’re the…the…”
“Yes,” I declared, abruptly cutting him off. There was no time for stuttering. “I am The Relicuum.”
“The Relicuum…,” he finished his thought without realizing I’d already confirmed it. “Can you heal yet?” His tone was almost pleading, desperate.
“Lead me to them.”
His eyes widened, although apparently not wide enough for his peripheral vision to capture my mother shoving through the crowd.
“No, I absolutely forbid it.” She made her way to the center of the room, continuing her
protest. “Being in hiding restricts access to my sources in the ministry. Without their input, you would be completely unprotected. I cannot agree to this.”
No one in the room moved; her tone being too rigid to invite a disagreement. But then, I was her daughter.
“You have no say in this,” I told her, breaking the news as gently as I could while still maintaining the resolve in my tone.
Her eyebrows rose at my brazenness. “I did not impose strict security protocols or assemble an entire team of overseers to ensure your protection, just to allow you to place yourself in harm's way now.”
I started to defy her, but she wouldn't allow it.
“I did not escort you every holiday through every province so you could give up your life before the war has even begun. I did not….” She stopped, forcefully sighing before summing up her worries. “You don’t know the jeopardy you are putting yourself in. The world is relying on your survival.”
Her warning rang in my ears, as it certainly must have been ringing in Jameson’s. Then, she delivered a far more impactful message.
“And I’m not just talking about the witch world.”
Jameson glanced toward the door where Tavish waited, but decided my mother’s statement was important enough to delay him. “I’m not sure I know what you mean,” he ventured.
“You don’t think The Sevens would limit themselves to just our world, do you? They want both, they want all of it.”
Every one of us was taken aback. Brushing the hair from her forehead, she allowed us time to understand. I could tell this was a motion that meant she was desperate.
When no one spoke, she emphasized her point by stating, “Our world was just their training ground….”
It seemed like everything in the room went still. I couldn't even decipher if anyone was breathing. We were, instead, silently coming to terms with the reality of what my mother was saying, of what The Sevens had been doing all along:
Preparing to take control over everyone, over everything.
My mother didn’t stop there, though. She informed us of the full scope of their plan, drilling in the fear she'd already planted in us. “The Sevens aren’t like us. They don’t have the kind of power we do. Their abilities are different. So when they witnessed what we were capable of, they saw an opportunity. They created scenarios, situations in which our world became threatened…the European Witch Hunts being just one of them. Then they emerged, seemingly out of nowhere, and made us believe they put an end to the danger, essentially protecting us, when they were the instigators all along. However, that didn’t matter. The damage was done. They gained the influence they needed, and when they felt it was being threatened, they devised other scenarios to remind us that they are our protectors.”