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Page 9
“Here you go,” he said upon his return, handing back her canteen.
He moved a few feet to her side, away from the wafting smoke, and sat. A memory came to mind of a night shortly after the twins were born when he’d accompanied Mara to find a safe place for them. He could never have imagined back then that the two of them would have ended up together for all these years. That night, as they’d sat near a campfire very like this one, Mara informed him that she didn’t want him to travel with her any longer. She’d rightly ascertained that he’d blamed her—unfairly—for Rowena’s death, and she refused to deal with him in light of it. He’d been wrong to blame her. For some time thereafter, he believed his charge’s death was his own fault. But over time, he’d come to appreciate the truth: the blame for what had happened to Rowena belonged to others. Fortunately, he and Mara got past their early difficulties. He chuckled involuntarily at the bittersweet memories.
“What?” she asked.
Still smiling, he shook his head. “Nothing. Just thinking.”
She watched him. “Me too.”
His eyes flashed up. “Oh? You’re thinking, huh? About anything in particular?”
She picked up a stick, then turned the potatoes. Sparks flew up, up, up into the cool air. She glanced from one to the other of the two half moons in the sky and then turned back. She added more sticks to the flames. Then, “I was just thinking,” she said, “that I don’t really know— That is, I can’t remember . . . I mean, I . . .”
“Can’t remember?”
She faced him full on, blinking repeatedly as though in doing so, she might clear up her missing memory. “You told me that I took a fall and hit my head.”
“That’s right.”
“And that’s why I don’t remember some things.”
“Right again.” He turned the cooking meat.
“But . . . what was I doing there in the first place?”
He opened his mouth as though to speak, then closed it. He tilted his head. “It’s a long story,” he then said.
“I’ve got time.”
“Right.” He tapped a rhythm with his hand to his thigh. She hadn’t asked him anything until now, and he couldn’t leave her questions entirely unanswered. But how much could he tell her without frightening her?
“Well, you lived there . . . at the compound.”
“Hmmmm.” She hesitated. “For how long?”
Mara had lost nearly two decades. What could he say? He didn’t want to confuse her unnecessarily, but she finally seemed ready to talk and he certainly hoped something might trigger her memory. “For some time,” he finally responded, noncommittally.
“Who were all those people there?”
“Like I told you before, they were your friends. They are your friends. A sort of family, really.”
A strange screeching sounded out. Mara flinched.
“Mountain lion,” he said in response to her unasked question.
She wrapped her cloak more tightly around herself. “Is it dangerous?” she asked, her eyes scanning the forest edge.
“Could be. We’ll keep the fire going through the night. That should help to keep the wildlife at bay.”
“How is it you know so much about . . . Well, about all of this?” She waved her hand. “About traveling this way? About hidden dangers?”
“It’s like I told you before. I’m an Oathtaker. It’s all just part of my training.”
“And that’s why you have magic powers. Because you’re an Oathtaker, I mean. It’s why you can start a fire with a flick of your fingers. Yes?”
“That’s right.”
“What other powers do you have?”
Her question surprising him, he shot a glance at her and grinned.
“What?”
He shook his head, chuckling. “Nothing. I just remember the last time you—” He stopped short.
“What? The last time I what?”
“It’s just that you asked me that same question shortly after we first met.”
“And what did you say?”
The sound of the screeching mountain lion called out again.
Dixon turned toward the darkened woods. The animal grew closer. He stood, then took a couple larger branches from the pile of wood he’d collected earlier. He placed one end of each into the flames. They might need torches to fend off the wild cat before the night expired.
“Well?” she asked when he sat back down.
“Well? Oh, yes, sorry.”
“What are your other powers?”
Again, he grinned. “Is that the question? What are my other powers? Or are you asking me what I told you the last time you asked me that question?”
She pulled back, her eyes narrowed. “Isn’t it the same question?”
“Not exactly.” He chuckled. “The first time you asked me that question, I told you that I had the gift of charm. You thought I was serious, and you laughed at me.”
She tilted her head, thinking. “Huh.”
“Huh?”
She blinked rapidly. “I guess if I really think about it, you are quite charming. I mean—whenever we have to deal with the locals you—I mean they—”
“Are charmed? Well, I’ll take that as a compliment even if you don’t share their sentiments,” he said with a sad smile.
She looked hard at him. “No . . . I’d say you got it right the first time. It’s true. You are rather . . . charming.”
He grinned, though his eyes welled with tears. “I appreciate that more than you could know.” Dixon’s mother had told him many years back that if he ever found a woman who thought him charming, he was sure to have found his life mate. When Mara first told him that she indeed found him to be so, the idea both delighted and frightened him. It delighted him, because he’d already come to love her. It frightened him, because while he wanted to spend his life with her, he believed it impossible. He didn’t know then that there was a way for the two of them to marry, notwithstanding Mara’s life oath to protect Reigna and Eden.
“Wait a minute!” she suddenly exclaimed. “You’re an Oathtaker. Those girls— Those young women— The ones at the compound— They are Select, aren’t they?”
“You mean Reigna and Eden? Yes, they’re Select.”
“Yes! Reigna and Eden. Is one of them your charge?”
His mouth dropped open. He struggled to find words.
“Because if that’s so, you should never, ever, have left them. I could have made my way home on my own. I don’t want to be responsible for putting anyone in danger. I—”
“No! No,” he said, holding his hand up to stop her, “neither of them is my charge.”
“Do they have Oathtakers? Things are very dangerous for the Select.”
“Yes, they do.” He removed the sizzling hare from the fire, then dropped the meat onto a tin plate at his side. “They’re in good hands,” he said, hoping to change the subject. The last thing he could tell her was that she was their Oathtaker.
He pulled the meat apart, then put some on each of two plates. Next, he prodded the cooked potatoes out from the coals and quickly dropped one on each dish. “Dinner is served!” he said, handing one to her.
The mountain lion came closer to their campsite as the evening wore on, so Dixon insisted they keep the flames going strong, that they sit together back-to-back nearby, and that one of them would always stay awake and on guard. But after telling Mara to sleep, he never awakened her for her turn at watch. She was startled and embarrassed to find upon awakening, that she’d changed positions in the night. Curled up, with her head on his lap and her backpack serving as a pillow, one arm circled about his knee, while her other hand held one of his. She felt badly when she noticed later that he moved about stiffly, as though he’d been forced to stay in the same position for an extended period of time. She apologized, but he just waved his hand and told her it was nothing.
Who is this man? she wondered, not for the first time. He really was kind and helpful and—tough. He
never gave up on anything, was always ready to assist her and . . . yes, it was true—he was rather charming.
Dixon caught some freshwater trout in the nearby stream and stuffed it with tarragon growing at the outskirts of the campsite. When he was through cooking it, Mara watched on as he broke the fish open. The flaky white meat steamed in the cool morning air. She inhaled deeply of the herb’s light lemony-licorice scent that filled the air, then groaned involuntarily, in appreciation, when she first tasted it.
He chuckled.
Her eyes flashed his way. Is he laughing at me?
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”
Feeling herself blush, she looked away. “Next time I’ll do the cooking.”
“Oh, you’re not enjoying it? That was a groan of dismay?”
Quickly, she turned back and found him smiling. He’s teasing me! She grinned. “It’s wonderful.” She took another bite.
He nodded. “I hope you got enough sleep. This will be a long day if we’re to make it off this mountain before nightfall.”
“Is that why you didn’t wake me when it was my turn to watch?”
He shrugged. “You just seemed so comfortable. I didn’t want to move you.”
“Still, I should have taken my turn.”
“Not a problem.”
“So, tell me . . . I take it . . .”
He took another bite of his trout. “What?”
“I take it we . . . were friends.”
He grinned, but then his smile vanished. He swallowed hard and looked away. “Yes,” he finally said, “the best of friends.”
She lifted her chin. “And that’s why you offered to see me back home.”
“That’s right.” He dropped his fish bones into the fire. “You about ready to go?” he asked as he stood.
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” His eyes narrowed. “Whatever for?”
“For putting you out like this. It seems a bad way for someone to treat a friend.”
“Don’t give it another thought. It’s not a problem, really.” He grabbed his saddlebags. “We’d best get going.”
She picked up her things. She found it odd that he always seemed to want her to talk, but now that she did, he avoided her questions. “I’m ready.”
They saddled up, then rode slowly through the morning with little conversation.
By midday, determined they could make it down to the flats before nightfall if they made no more stops, they ate dried meat and cheese while moving on.
Following a pathway bordered with wild thyme that led down the mountainside, they came to a stretch wide enough to ride side-by-side.
Mara pulled up near to Dixon and rode silently for a time. Then, “I’m sorry,” she suddenly said.
He slowed his mount. “What for this time?”
“For taking you from your friends . . . your family.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about.”
She hesitated. He seemed sincere. “Well, thank you for helping me. I don’t know if I’ve thanked you.”
“You have. Look, the trail narrows there. See?” he pointed. “I’ll ride forward. Try to leave a little distance before you come. I don’t want to risk one of the horses spooking the other.”
As he rode ahead, his mount acted up. It stomped and resisted his directions. He patted the equine’s neck to quiet it, then turned back to wave Mara forward.
At just that moment, a mountain lion dropped from a tree about midway between the two Oathtakers. It screeched.
Dixon shouted for Mara, even as he reached for his bow and nudged his horse back, all while nocking an arrow.
Time seemed to slow as events unfolded.
The animal’s front and back legs sprawled outward as it flew through the air. Once again, its screech was deafening.
He took his shot. “Mara!” he cried again when he missed. He reached for another arrow. Before he could nock it and take aim, another scream sounded out.
“Mara!”
In the next instant, the cat’s body twisted. Then it fell to the ground with a resounding thud.
Frenzied, Dixon turned his horse back.
Mara held her bow, her mouth open wide in surprise.
“You got it!” he exclaimed. “Thank the Good One. I couldn’t get a good shot!”
Trembling, she dropped her bow and looked up at him. “It must have followed us from the camp, waiting for the right moment—”
“I think so,” he interrupted.
“But— But how—” She brought her shaking hands up and stared at them.
“How what?” He clutched her elbow.
“How did I do that?” Her eyes met his. “I didn’t even know I knew how to shoot. And look.” She pointed at the dead cat on the ground. “My first arrow landed right between its eyes, and my second, to its heart.”
“You’re a sure shot all right.”
Her eyes narrowed. “But how can that be?” Suddenly, she grabbed her head with her hands. “Ahhhhh!” she cried. “Ahhhhh!”
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“My head! Ohhh! Ahhhh . . . my head!” She started slipping from her saddle.
He dismounted in a flash, then reached for her. “Here, I— We don’t want you falling.”
She dropped into his waiting arms.
He carried her to a grassy knoll tucked under the hanging fronds of a great weeping willow, its wispy foliage yellowing in the late summer.
She screamed in pain.
As he crouched down, she went still in his arms.
“Mara!” he cried. “Mara!”
As she submitted to unconsciousness, her body went limp.
“Mara!”
She did not respond.
Fearing the worst, Dixon set his beloved down, gently. He leaned in, his face near hers, his fingertips at the side of her neck, checking for her pulse. His stomach turned over in a panic. His hands shook. He lamented that he stood in the middle of unknown country, having left behind all of his Oathtaker friends, and that he had not the power to heal.
There it is. Yes, there it is. She breathed.
Her head dropped to the side.
“Great Good One, help me. Don’t take her from me,” he prayed. He placed his hand under her neck, then turned her face toward himself. Though frightened, a sense of gratitude came over him. At least in this state, she didn’t suffer, whereas her screams of pain had been so intense. He took her back into his arms.
He bowed his head, reminding himself not to panic. For now, he’d do what he could: hold her, love her.
The hours passed. Eventually, it became clear that they could no longer make it down the mountainside before nightfall.
Unaware he’d been holding her with such intensity, he relaxed his grip. His arms hurt. Gently, he put her on the ground, then retrieved his saddlebag.
He flipped the top open and dug through the items inside. He pulled out a cotton blanket, rolled it up, and then placed it under her head. Once done, he scavenged for firewood. He couldn’t leave the two of them to the elements overnight. Darkness would fall fast and cold.
When he’d collected a pile of wood sufficient for the night, he reached forward and flicked his fingers. Fire erupted with an intensity that seemed to match his mood.
He knew he should eat, so after tethering the horses to a nearby tree, he took from Mara’s saddlebag, some dried meat and fruit. Then he returned to her side.
He crouched down and reached toward her. “Mara?”
She did not respond.
Once again, he took her into his arms. He pulled her close and buried his face in her hair. Breathing in deeply, he choked back a sob.
Dusk descended. The light, or near absence thereof, turned everything into a single color—the single color gray. It seemed appropriate. It matched his mood.
Soon, night sounds chimed out. Owls hooted, bats squeaked, and a far off skulk of fox, laughed.
He held Mara. He worried. He waited. He prayed.
He forced himself to partake of some dried meat and fruit, but it was tasteless. The world would be tasteless without Mara, he thought. Ehyeh, what are you trying to show me? To teach me?
He worried more, then waited more, then prayed more—with increased fervency as the hours passed, though he really didn’t know what to pray for. He couldn’t find words. Two thoughts raced continually through his mind: dear Ehyeh, help me with her, and dear Ehyeh, I thank you for her. So he continued through the night, repeating his thoughts, his supplications, his gratitude.
Morning dawned. Dixon hadn’t slept at all, which meant he’d now gone two nights without any, since he’d not awakened Mara the previous night to take her watch. Still, his prayers buoyed him, sustained him. He felt he couldn’t sleep now, even if he wanted to.
The sun advanced in the east. Slowly, the sky turned mauve, then rose. In time it changed to blue.
Still, she lay motionless.
He had to maintain his strength. There was no telling when she’d regain consciousness.
He retrieved more dried meat from her saddlebag. It would sustain him—in body, at least.
While sitting silently, the sky turned from blue, to gray. Bad weather approached. He needed to attend to details, but first, should water the horses. He did so, then collected more firewood. After accumulating a sufficient stack, he retrieved a canvas sheet from his bag. In a pinch, it would shelter them from rain.
He tied ropes to each of the four corners of the canvas, then tied the other ends to nearby trees. At least we’ll stay dry . . . or mostly so anyway.
The day wore on and still, Mara did not move.
The rain came and went, and still, she did not move.
The rain moved on. She remained motionless.
Once again, night fell.
Dixon fed the fire regularly, holding Mara whenever he could.
She did not move.
Night turned to morning, with no changes.
Another day and night came and went, but Mara’s condition stayed the same.
Dixon’s worries returned. Maybe I should tie her to her horse and make our way down the mountain pass. No, it’s too treacherous. I’ll have to wait this out.