by Sharon Hinck
“Hold on.” A soft light began to glow in Mark’s hand.
I squinted at the object in his palm. It had a surface similar to a small heat trivet, but this was in the shape of a cube. “Hey, I haven’t seen anything like that here before.”
“You spent all your time in Braide Wood. They aren’t exactly the high-tech capital of the world. Now, if you’d been at Rendor . . .”
“Where’s that?”
“Near the River Borders. It’s my clan. Um, Susan, could we discuss it later?”
It annoyed me when Mark was practical. But he was right. It was dangerous to linger down here. I scowled at his back, but followed him as he moved cautiously down the narrow hall, pausing now and then to test doors. The scrape of each door he pushed open echoed hollowly and sent nervous chills up my spine.
After some time, we found an open warehouse area the size of a twelve-car garage. In the pale light of the cube, it looked to be completely empty. Occasional drips of water interrupted the silence, and over the musty smell of the room, I noticed burnt-marshmallow scents again.
Mark sniffed. “Someone needs to get a transtech down here. One of the lightwalls is fried,” he whispered.
“If there are lightwalls down here, why don’t we turn them on?”
He made a dismissive sound. “We don’t want to attract attention.”
“Well excuse me if I’m not up on my breaking-and-entering skills. And you didn’t seem to mind using the lightwalls when you were in Cameron’s office.”
Mark ignored my grumbling and headed toward an opening on the other side of the large room. He ducked ahead of me into the new hallway and disappeared from sight. The rasp of a footfall sounded in the empty space. I paused to look behind us. Was that an echo of Mark’s last scraping step, or was someone else near?
Suddenly, a scuffle broke out somewhere ahead, and a sound echoed like a boxing glove making contact with a practice bag.
I drew my sword and ran into the hallway. It turned ninety degrees to the right a few yards ahead, the angle outlined clearly by the glow of Mark’s light cube, which rested abandoned on the ground.
Where was he? My heart raced, and I tiptoed toward the edge of the circle of light thrown by the cube. Hugging the wall, I peered around the corner. I advanced a few uncertain steps into the darkness of the long corridor. “Mark?”
A large shape barreled out of a doorway at me. A sword flashed.
My pulse jumped again, and I swung my blade to block. Our swords connected with a ringing clash that bounced off the bare walls. As I strained to hold him back, the artificial light caught his face.
“Wade?” I asked, stunned.
“Susan?” He looked as confused as I felt.
I pulled my sword back to disengage. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m rescuing you. It took forever to get another transport, and I’ve been searching Lyric all afternoon. I finally tracked you to the basement of this building. I checked, but the Braide Wood Council chief didn’t know anything about a troop of guards coming to get you. Susan, something funny’s going on.”
“Tell me about it. Where’s Mark?” I stepped around Wade to scan the hall beyond.
“Who?”
“My husband. He was right in front of me.” I started forward, sword still at the ready.
Wade grabbed my arm. In the eerie glow of the light cube, I could see him biting his lip. “Tall guy? Wearing a councilmember tunic?”
“Wade, what did you do?” I ran deeper into the corridor and stumbled over a body. Dropping to my knees, I felt for a pulse. Mark groaned, and my fingers found a big goose egg on the back of his skull.
Wade followed me, lifting up the light cube. “Susan, I’m sorry. I thought he was one of the men holding you here. I already ran into one Council guard farther down that hall and had to knock him out. What’s going on?”
“It’s a long story. Help me get him up.”
We propped Mark against the wall, and he touched the back of his head gingerly and blinked a few times. “What happened?”
“Wade thought you were a councilmember and ambushed you.”
“I am a councilmember.” Mark turned to snarl at Wade. “What do you have against councilmembers?”
“I came here to rescue her,” Wade declared staunchly.
“What?”
“Guys, can we sort this out later? We have to find the Records.”
Mark staggered to his feet. He used the wall for support and glared at Wade.
“Wade,” I said, quickly stepping between them, “keep watch while we search. I’ll explain everything later.” I paused to give him a warm pat on the shoulder. “Thanks for coming to find me.” It really did do wonders for my morale to see his eager, friendly face.
Mark recovered his light cube, and we continued down the hall. “What did he hit me with?” he complained, touching the back of his head again. “And how come you were so much happier to see him than you were to see me?” His headache must have been fierce, because Mark is almost never cranky.
“Honey, we need to focus here. Wade said he knocked out a Council guard down this way. What do you want to bet he was guarding the Records for Cameron?”
We ducked into several side rooms. A few had odd supplies stacked in them—crates of woven fabric, panels of the smooth material used on heat trivets, even a large pot made of rough Shamgar clay and filled with dark stones. We spent frustrating minutes rummaging.
“Mark,” I murmured, as we tiptoed down the hall to the next door, “aren’t the clans going to raise a huge fuss about Cameron’s Council guards taking their copies of the Records by force?”
“Of course. When the Council meets after the Feast, you can count on every chief councilmember demanding their Records back and protesting what Cameron did. I don’t know what excuse he’ll give, but he’ll probably pretend to back down and return them. By then it will be too late. He’ll have changed them. Hold this.”
Mark thrust the light cube at me. He had discovered a door that was locked, and he needed his hands free to retrieve the gadget from his belt and work the electronic latch. He frowned, intent on his task, and tilted his head in concentration, the way he did when he helped Karen with algebra homework.
Maybe he really was still the Mark I had known and loved for so many years. Lots of people had secrets in their past. Of course that past didn’t usually involve an alternate universe, portal stones, and foreign clans.
“Susan, wake up.” Mark snapped his fingers in front of my nose.
I blinked and followed him through the now open door.
This small room was lined with arched cubbies built into the walls. Mark grabbed the light cube and twisted something at its base. The light grew to fill the room. We could see that most of the storage alcoves were empty, but a reflection glinted from one of the cubbies. Inside stood a silver cylinder, about two feet high. The metal had the same luster as my sword.
My hand caressed the hilt resting securely against my hip. I walked closer and saw that the cylinder was actually a stack of several round blocks. I reached to take them.
Mark grabbed my shoulders and pulled me back. “Don’t touch them,” he said softly. He knelt, eyes riveted to the cylinder, and dialed back his light cube to a soft glow. Reverence radiated from him.
Any thought that he didn’t still have ties to this world fled my mind. But instead of allowing it to add fuel to my anger and distrust, I treasured this glimpse of a part of his life I had never known before. What had it meant for him to leave the world where he had grown up and never to have come back before now? What had he missed—besides the rolling hills and glowing towers of Lyric? What homesickness had he felt over the years?
He was mouthing words, probably praying.
I waited, listening for any sounds outside.
At last, he stoo
d up and scanned the room. He found a blanket that had been tossed against the wall and carefully wrapped it around the stack of Records, cradling them in his arms, taking care not to touch them.
We found Wade faithfully keeping watch at the entrance into the large warehouse. Mark was so focused on his burden that he barely gave the young man a glance. I paused to thank Wade and arrange to meet with him after the Feast celebrations.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Wade asked.
“Yes. Everything is fine. But I’m glad you’re here. We’re going to need help.” He looked gratified and lumbered back into the darkness toward whatever entrance he had used in his search for me.
Slowly and silently Mark and I retraced our steps through the basement, up the stairs, and down the dark corridor of the Council offices. A connecting courtyard led to the large building that housed Mark’s borrowed rooms. In no time, we were home behind a locked door, with the Records on Mark’s table, still respectfully covered with a blanket.
“We did it!” I said. The adrenaline rush made me giddy.
Mark looked away from the Records and seemed to notice me for the first time since he had opened the door to their hiding place. “I love the way your nose wrinkles when you smile,” he stated with a grin.
“It does not.”
“Yes, it does.” He walked toward me. “And you get one little dimple right . . . there.” His finger touched the side of my lips. He was flirting with me. My predictable, comfortable, reliable husband of twenty years was flirting with me. An unfamiliar councilmember who’d had an eighteen-year history on this world before I ever knew him was flirting with me. Which man was he, really?
I stepped back, flustered.
He smiled slowly and closed the distance between us again. His head bent toward me.
In the second before his lips could find mine, I thought of how much he had hidden from me for our entire marriage. I jerked my head away and ignored the disappointment in his face. “So now what?” I gestured to the Records.
“I’m going to check each of them to be sure Cameron hasn’t tampered with them. You get some sleep.” He was sounding cranky again.
“Are you sure you don’t want any help?”
“Just go to bed.” He sighed. “Tomorrow’s the Feast day, and you’ll want to be rested.”
I wanted to ask him what the Feast day involved, how he planned to examine the Records, and how this would affect our strategy of meeting with each clan’s councilmembers. But he had turned away, and I was too tired to listen to his answers anyway. I washed up and found my way to his bedroom. As soon as I eased myself down onto the pallet, I was confronted again with everything that had happened.
Tristan had let Case take me. He hadn’t put up so much as a token resistance. He was the head guardian of Braide Wood, but he didn’t even try to protect me.
Cameron had broken me—broken more than my attempts to hide information from him. I’d never experienced physical pain like that before. It had changed something inside me. The whole universe felt different now.
And Mark . . . Mark had let me believe I knew him all these years when I really didn’t. Worst of all, God had let it all happen. The Rhusican woman’s words thrummed like a low chord in my brain. He didn’t rescue you. He gave you to us. I curled into a tight ball and let tears run down my face in silence.
I didn’t pray for my family in this world or any other. I didn’t bring any verses to mind to ponder as I fell asleep. It didn’t seem worth the bother.
Chapter
22
I must have slept, because I was startled when Mark’s hand touched my shoulder.
“Susan. Wake up. It’s Feast day.” The eagerness in his voice reminded me of our kids on Christmas morning. He offered me a mug of clavo.
I groaned in gratitude and propped myself up, reaching for it. As I sipped, I studied Mark.
He must have been up all night. His eyes were bleary, but there was a suppressed energy in him that I hadn’t seen since his favorite hardware store discounted all their table saws.
“What did you find out?”
“They haven’t been changed. I listened to key sections of each clan’s Records, and they’re intact.” He glanced toward the front room, and worry dimmed his excitement. “May the One forgive me.”
Touching something as sacred as the ark of the covenant had to be unsettling. “I’m sure He understands. He knows your heart.”
Mark gave me a grateful smile. “It was wonderful to hear them again.” His voice was wistful. How had he managed to cut off the first half of his life and leave it behind when he came to my world?
He pulled the mug from my hands. “Come on, sleepyhead. It’s almost first light, and we want to get to the tower before it’s too crowded.”
Although I was intrigued to see the rituals of the season-end Feast, maybe it would be wiser to stay here and have a day to rest. The bruised ache remained in my chest, puzzling me. Even sitting up in bed made me light-headed. But the clavo helped, and I managed to get up, dress, and eat a little breakfast.
Mark wore his formal Council uniform again. I grabbed the cleanest of the “tramping in the woods” clothes from my pack.
Mark suggested I wear my cloak and keep the hood pulled up to hide my face. “There’ll be so many people, no one will notice another stranger in the crowd. But until we begin meeting with councilmembers tomorrow, it might be best for you to keep a low profile.”
Sound advice. I couldn’t handle one more surprise or confrontation right now.
When we left the building, the streets were full of people. They all moved in silence and in the same direction, as dim as shadows in the pale glow of first light. Joining the procession gave me an eerie feeling, and I was grateful when Mark put an arm around my shoulders.
As we neared the huge central square, near the main entrance tunnel of Lyric, a growing sound captured my attention. Slowly my ear sorted the soft hum into the sound of thousands of voices barely raised above a whisper, singing a low melody, overlapping in a fugue. The quiet round was more moving than if it had risen at full volume.
Called by the One,
Draw near.
Maker and Protector,
He is here!
The phrases repeated and pulled us forward toward the tall tower. Open doors led inside from all directions. Men and women flowed inward, heads bowed, lips moving in the quiet call to worship.
Mark and I passed under the closest archway into the huge round hall within the tower. I caught my breath. Colored light glowed within crystal-lined walls. Above us, the tower stretched for hundreds of feet toward vaulting skylights, with no other floors or balconies.
“Mark,” I whispered, tugging his sleeve so he’d lean down, “why all this empty space?” In this very functional and practical world, the extravagance and luxury were a startling contrast.
Mark put his mouth so close to my ear that his words tickled. “It’s to leave room for the One. This is where we welcome Him.”
Goosebumps rose on my skin, and I looked up again—half expecting to see a burning flame or swirling cloud. However, the space remained empty of anything visible. It overwhelmed me to realize that even though thousands of people filled the floor of the tower, hundreds of times as much open space soared above us.
Once, on a backpacking trip to the mountains, I stood at the base of a rugged, snow-covered peak. Looking up, I knew in the marrow of my bones that the One who created these mountains was much bigger than I’d ever understood before. That day I was comforted by my smallness. The weight of the world—even of my failures—didn’t rest on me.
Today a tingle crept along my spine. All at once, the huge tower over our heads was full—full of a presence that I suddenly wanted to hide from.
There was no way to go back. More people had filled in behind us, and we were
surrounded on all sides.
Mark kept an arm around me, and the edges of my hood blocked my face as I absorbed the murmuring music and watched the gathering people.
God, how can You make me feel so hungry and so full at the same time? And why do I want to run toward You when I also want to run away?
Slowly, a round dais in the center of the tower began to rise, revealing a group of perhaps twenty people wearing long robes in the white-gray color of first light. They all faced outward in a circle with their faces raised to the vaulted space above us. The dais began to turn slowly.
For a moment, I had the disorienting feeling that the floor beneath me was spiraling in the opposite direction. When I looked down at my feet, the illusion vanished.
The singing faded and a weighty silence rested over all of us. When I looked back toward the dais, I recognized a blonde, sparrow-boned figure. Linette stood on the round stage as one of the songkeepers representing Braide Wood.
We were quite a distance away, but I let my eyes stretch their focus and saw her face clearly. Dark rings marred the pale skin under her eyes. She had to be frantic, waiting for word from her missing fiancé, Dylan. Yet her gaze focused upward into the full empty space with passion and trust.
Instrumentalists that encircled the stage began to play resonate wooden wind instruments, leather covered drums, and stringed circles that they plucked like a lap-harp to release a mellow sound like a classical guitar. The songkeepers proclaimed a worship song that swirled upward into the far reaches of the tower. Linette’s face rotated out of sight for a time, but I thought I could make out the clear, high pitch of her voice.
Cover us,
For we cannot hide;