Ephemeral and Fleeting

by Patricia Reding

  “I’m not holding him to anyth—”

  “If he has any feelings for you,” Mara interrupted, “and you give him any reason to think he has a chance with you, then you are.”

  Lucy clenched her jaw. “I just . . . want to see him. That’s all.”

  “What have you told him?”

  She shook her head. “I haven’t told him anything. When we first met up, I was on my way to the palace to check on you. I merely suggested that I’d see him upon my return. And so I have.”

  “You shouldn’t see him.”

  “Why not?” She scowled at Mara. “I’m free. He’s free.”

  “Because it’s unfair. When you encourage him, you keep him from finding his proper future. You know, Lucy, you might not be interested in spending your life with him, but someone else may.”

  “Sometimes you confound me, Mara.” Lucy folded her arms. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re cheating him. And you are cheating any other woman out there who could be looking for him. For so long as he thinks he has a chance with you, he’ll deem himself unavailable. Then, when—if—the right woman does come along, he may well miss his opportunity.”

  Lucy held her gaze. “Well, but maybe I should . . . make sure.”

  Mara pursed her lips. “You sound sure enough to me. Now, if you can honestly say that you might change your mind, fine. Then you go on seeing him. But if you’re certain that you’ll not spend your future with him, you must let him know that—and you must do so immediately.”

  Hanging her head, Lucy nodded. “I’ll think about it,” she said.

  Chapter Twenty

  Zarek pulled himself back up from the floor, from whence he’d prostrated himself in the presence of the three lords of the underworld, and then took a seat.

  “He hassss reported,” Daeva said. “They are on their way. You musssst ssssend ssssomeone for them, immediately.”

  “Even though it’s too early to invade?” Zarek asked. “Whatever else happens, I want the prize—I want Oosa for my own.”

  “And you shall have it.”

  “But we don’t want to put anyone else on notice.”

  “Concern yourself not with that. You are nearly ready for a masssssive campaign anyway. Sssso much is in placccce. The young men you had trained are already making their way into Oosa.” As Daeva contemplated the idea, he laughed. Thick smoke rose up in the air. Then he added, “You have even managed to hide a few of your elite forcessss—thosssse who appear young enough to mix in well amongsssst the children—as they crossss the border. Once there, the ssssuccedunt will know what to do.”

  “I admit,” the emperor said, “that I look forward to their deaths. Still, I—”

  “Oh, no! No, you musssst not kill them.”

  “No! Why?”

  “You musssst not cheat Brother Pestifere of the joy of witnessssing the event. He hassss worked long and hard for thissss. Indeed, I could not deny him the pleasure. So, I have promissssed him that he will not miss out. Resssst assured, he will return ssssoon enough. Then you may use the great ssssword to take them all out.”

  Zarek scowled.

  “It will only be for a time. Meanwhile, you will continue working toward your goal of ssssecuring your victory over Oossssa.”

  Zarek paced. “So, what do I do?”

  Daeva laughed. “You must have your men capture them all. They mussst be certain the Oathtaker remainssss unaware of what goessss on about her. They should knock her out—drug her if need be. That will do the trick. After relieving her of her blade, they are to keep her sssseparate from her chargessss, and return here with the three of them.”

  Zarek shook his head. The chains of gold and silver hanging about his neck, jingled. “Yes,” he said, “I understand—about her attendant magic power to travel away with them if she’s able to touch them.”

  The underlord chuckled. “You know the prisssson cellssss that Brother Pestifere prepared at my direction?” he asked. “Have your men put the twins in one, and their Oathtaker in another. When they lock the Oathtaker up, they are to jam her blade in the locking mechanissssm at its door. I ordered Pesssstifere to have each of them made out of an Oathtaker’ssss blade—that is, out of the blade of one who had not been true to his vow. Thus, those cellssss are now linked to my world—to Sinesssspe. And do not forget—I rule the underworld.”

  As Daeva paused, the air filled with smoke.

  “The Oathtaker will be unable to retrieve her blade—unable to move it—unable to form any weapon that could assisssst her in escaping her confinessss. Trusssst me. It will keep her imprissssoned. And for so long as she is unable to get her chargessss within her grassssp—she will do whatever issss demanded of her. She would never abandon them.”

  “And then I wait for Brother Pestifere to return,” Zarek said.

  “That issss right. Have patience, my son. Patiencccce.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  He sat back, then slowly exhaled. He should be grateful things were going so well. Now he just needed to keep his head down—although in truth, doing so was getting more difficult all the time—if he was to see to his plan to fruition. He’d smile, but his face hurt. The gesture still felt so foreign to him. Yet to fit in, he’d had to learn how to do it once again. He recalled a time when smiles and laughter had come more easily to him—but even then, he’d offered them, as often as not, to satisfy others, not himself. In any case, those days were long gone.

  He bent over, dropped his head in his hands, and then rubbed his face brusquely. At times like this, times when he was alone and with little enough to do, he always found his thoughts wander—just as they did now.

  In his mind’s eye, he could see his young charge. He’d met his parents not long after he’d completed his Oathtaker training.

  And not long before she . . .

  The boy’s father had almost fallen to an assassin, and so he’d traveled to the nearest city, hoping to find an Oathtaker who would be moved to swear to the protection of his young son. That’s where he’d met them all.

  And, foolish me, I agreed to do it.

  He remembered his first meeting with the boy. He’d sworn to protect him because he’d been told that following Ehyeh was the way. He’d heard that he should do good works, please others, and advance the Good One’s cause of life and freedom . . .

  But then I changed my mind—because the cause did not advance me. I could follow no other path. I could not follow what—who—I loved.

  “Grrrrr,” he growled.

  And that was when Daeva found me.

  The child was nice enough as children went, he recollected. Although a typical boy, enjoying recreational pursuits, he’d also proven himself to be quite the scholar.

  But he was not smart enough to know what was coming his way.

  The man stood, then looked out the window. Sanctuary fairly glistened in the light of the early setting winter sun, and around it, bustling activity filled the grounds.

  He drew the curtains closed and then returned to his brooding.

  Daeva became impatient with me. I could excuse my delay no longer . . . And besides, she had rejected me.

  He winced. In truth, she would never have had to have said a word. He knew where she stood.

  Once again, his memories drew him back. He recalled everyday events: how he’d assisted his young charge in his studies; how he’d counseled him regarding all manner of outdoor living craft; and of how he’d accompanied him on rides through the forest and then returned him safely to his parents’ home located on the River Nix that separated portions of Oosa from Chiran. Although Oathtaker to his young charge for only a short while, he’d quickly grown weary of the inevitable once Daeva pointed out to him that he did, indeed, have a choice—and that there was one way out—a payback of sorts.

  And so, to free myself . . . I killed him.

  His charge had taken ill. The sounds of the boy’s sniffling and coughing grated on his nerves. Fortunately
, with the child’s parents having left to attend the late spring festival in the City of Light, he had all the time to act that he could possibly need.

  He cleaned up after their dinner and then sat with a cup of lemongrass tea. Its rich green and sweet citrusy scent rose into the air. All the while, he mused, as he had over the past months, of the different means by which he might do the deed.

  I could cause him to have an accident with his ride.

  I could throw him from a cliff.

  I could lace his tea with poison.

  I could drown him.

  I could . . .

  But . . . no. He wanted the prize Daeva had promised him—the reward for taking his young charge’s life with his Oathtaker’s blade.

  He tiptoed to the door of the boy’s room and peeked inside. There the child slumbered, with his arms and legs all akimbo, as in his illness, he had trouble sleeping. His mouth hung open as he labored for each breath.

  Placing one foot before the other, he proceeded cautiously.

  The floorboards squeaked.

  The boy struggled to open his eyes.

  “Are you feeling all right?” he asked him.

  Nodding, the child closed his eyes once again.

  What am I waiting for? Daeva promised he would hex me so that others would forever see me as youthful looking. I should act . . .

  As he couldn’t risk that the child might scream or cause a disturbance of some other kind, it would be best if he covered his mouth. So, with blade in hand, he took a pillow from the end of the bed, ran his fingers over its smooth, whisper soft, cotton exterior, and then stepped closer.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  As darkness surrounded them, interrupted only by the light of two three-quarter moons, they landed in a shallow patch of snow. Melting water trickled beneath its crusty surface. A breeze stirred up into the air, the fresh clean scent of the earth from portions of the ground recently freed from beneath their wintry blanket, the result of a week of mid-season mild temperatures.

  Feeling odd, weak, Mara thought her knees would buckle beneath her. The sensation startled her. Traveling didn’t usually cause such a reaction. Shaking her head to clear it, she released her hold on the girls. Then, struggling to remain upright, she spun on her heels, even as she pulled Spira from its sheath, in the event danger presented itself.

  Satisfied when the moonlight revealed no cause for alarm, she leaned over, her hands on her thighs, laboring to catch her breath.

  “Are you all right?” Reigna asked, resting her hand on her back.

  “Yes.” Mara shook her head. “Errrr, no . . . I— I don’t know.” She stood upright, then sucked in a deep breath. “I just need a minute, I think.”

  “What is it?”

  She stepped out. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “Come on now. That’s it—just there.” She pointed toward light emitting from the window of a nearby cabin even as she fought for another breath. “Fuggy was to tell Aliza to expect us.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right, Mara?” Eden asked.

  “I’m . . . sure.”

  Lifting her sluggish feet, she brushed past the first in a line of scraggly cedars. Their newly fallen flat needles, wet from melted snow, cushioned her footfalls.

  “Stay close,” she cautioned, her words slurred together.

  Reigna, just behind, glanced back at her sister who hesitated long enough to take in a deep breath of the rich, cedar-scented air.

  Just then, the hoot of an owl sounded out.

  Startled, Mara crouched. With Spira in hand, she scanned the tree line.

  At that very moment, out from behind the evergreens, several men sprang.

  She threw her blade at the one nearest her. “Run!” she cried. “Run!”

  As the man’s knees gave way, Mara stood to her full height. She felt slow. She feared she’d crumble. Pulling on all her reserves, she staggered to the man’s side to retrieve her blade. Once done, she fell to her back and then rolled away.

  She fought her way back to her feet, just as another man came in at her, low on her right side. “Run!” she called out again as she stabbed at him, finding his soft middle. She felt his warm blood spurt out on her hand as he dropped.

  Sucking in a great breath, she scrambled back to a fighting stance. Her feet unsteady, she swayed.

  From all around came sounds of swords pulled free from their scabbards.

  When yet another man charged her, Mara engaged. No sooner had she committed herself to thrust her blade than, out of the corner of her eye, she saw yet another come at her. This one wielded a wooden club.

  “Go! Go, girls!” she cried.

  He pulled his weapon back and then swung it around.

  She looked up just as it connected with her head. When a resounding thwack sounded out, she dropped to the ground, unconscious.

  As the twins both cried out for her, the attacker grabbed her arms. He turned her over and snatched her blade. After stopping for a second to admire its gleam in the moonlight, he stuck it in his belt. Then he took her arms again and dragged her away.

  Reigna, having pulled her sword free, lost sight of where he went with Mara. Holding her weapon in both hands, crouched into a battle position, she danced in a circle, ready to meet an attack from any side.

  Meanwhile, Eden, holding her bow with an arrow nocked, neared her sister. “They’ve got her. They’ve got Mara!” she cried.

  “Let her go!” Reigna ordered.

  “Ha ha ha! Such spirit!” one of the intruders taunted.

  He, and three of his companions, all heavily armed, advanced. Then he struck with his sword.

  Eden loosed an arrow that missed its target, as Reigna parried the man’s attack. She grunted when he lunged, striking out at her again.

  She defended against his move, feinting to her left. As she did, two of the men jumped between her and her twin.

  “We’re surrounded!” Eden cried as she grabbed a dagger sheathed at her waist and then stabbed at the man nearest her.

  He jumped back a split second before she made contact. At that same moment, two more men rushed her from behind. One of them grabbed her free arm, and twisted it.

  Arching her back, she cried out in pain.

  He grabbed her other wrist and squeezed until her grip released and her weapon fell to the ground.

  As he pulled her away, his arm wrapped around her neck, she kicked back at him, apparently seeking to make contact with his knee and thus, potentially, to cripple him. Instead, he placed his foot in front of her, tripping her.

  Meanwhile, Reigna struck at her opponent. Their blades rang out in the still night air.

  Then Eden landed with a thud, face down in the snow.

  When her twin saw her fall, she drew back.

  One of the men dropped to his knees, then straddled Eden from behind. After pulling her arms back, he proceeded to bind her wrists together. Once done, he dragged her back to her feet.

  “Enough!” Reigna cried as she threw her weapon down. “Enough.” She had no intention of leaving Mara, or Eden. Moreover, she knew she couldn’t possibly fend off all of their attackers on her own.

  Reigna’s opponent and another man approached her. When the first of them reached her side, he wrenched her arms back and then tied her hands together. Meanwhile, the man who’d captured Eden, drew nearer, with her in tow.

  “Well, well, what ’ave we ’ere?” Reigna’s captor said as he looked from her to her sister. “Twins. Select twins. Why we’ve bin lookin’ fer you fer some time.” He leaned in. “Very ’commodatin’ of ya tuh concede like that and all,” he whispered at her ear, mockingly.

  Then, as the man ordered that his comrades assist him, Reigna felt something flutter near her ear.

  “Fugacious,” she cried, upon recognizing the flit, “go for help!”

  Fuggy flew into the air. Then he watched things, below.

  One man carried Mara, thrown over his shoulder, away and into the woods. The others led the twins
off, prodding them onward with their weapons, steering clear of the crusty patches of snow that might tattle on their presence should anyone unexpected be in the vicinity. They chose instead to march on the ground from whence some of the former snow cover had recently melted.

  No one said a word.

  Before long, they reached a stream. The recent mid-winter thaw had melted most of its former ice cover near its banks. The water trickled, almost musically, its peaceful serenade at odds with the goings on.

  From a nearby thicket, those of the men not carrying Mara, or leading the twins, pulled out two well-worn riverboats. No longer cautious to remain silent, they dragged them across the ice and rocks to the water’s edge. The air filled with the sounds of pebbles grating against the bottoms of the vessels. Then came a splash when the men dropped them in. Once settled, the water licked at their sides in an almost soothing rhythm.

  “Put her in ’at one, Pretty Boy. Right there,” one of the thugs directed the man who carried Mara.

  “Got it, Mad Dog,” his comrade responded as he dumped Mara into the boat.

  Mad Dog laughed. “Now, boys, we’ve a ways tuh go, so keep yer swords ’andy in the event we ’ave tuh chop through any ice on our way.”

  Fuggy flew in closer.

  Reigna looked up. She gestured with a tip of her head, for him to go for help.

  He shook his head “no.”

  “What do you want with us?” she asked their captors.

  “Shut up!” Mad Dog ordered.

  “But—”

  “No more, or we gag ya.”

  She fell silent.

  Eden leaned toward her sister. “I could kill them,” she suggested. “Remember what Lucy said? On my word and at my touch—”

  “No! You know the price.”

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right. It could mean losing Mara. Besides—”

  “I said, ‘shut up,’” Mad Dog ordered. He approached. Then he grabbed Reigna’s head, jerked it back, and stared into her eyes. “Ya wanna be gagged?”