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by Patricia Reding

  By the morning of the third day after Mara passed out, Dixon felt sick with worry. As he’d repeatedly done over the past days, he once again dropped water into her mouth and as before, she didn’t swallow. Droplets ran down her neck. Gently, he wiped her dry, and then he tried again . . . and again . . . and yet again, praying all the while.

  Finally, around noon, her fingers moved jerkily.

  “Mara!” he exclaimed. “Can you hear me? Mara?” He shook her gently. “Come back . . . Please, come back to me.”

  She breathed in deeply.

  “Mara?”

  Her eyes twitched.

  “Wake up. Wake up,” he urged.

  She mumbled.

  “I’m sorry. What did you say?” he asked.

  “Th. . . irsty,” she said, opening her eyes.

  He grabbed his canteen. “I’m so sorry. I tried and tried to get you to drink, but . . . I just couldn’t. Here.” He handed the canteen to her.

  She reached up, but before taking it, dropped her hand. “Th— I’m thirsty.”

  “May I?” he asked, making his intentions clear.

  Almost imperceptibly, she nodded.

  He tilted her head back and trickled water into her mouth. She swallowed, then coughed. He waited. When with a nod, she indicated her readiness for more, he tried again.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “More.”

  He trickled more water into her mouth. This time she swallowed easily. A minute later, he gave her more.

  Gradually, she revived. She tried to sit up.

  “No, wait, you’re too weak.”

  She waited several minutes before trying again. When finally she did, and was nearly in a seated position, he placed his hand at the small of her back and urged her forward.

  Her eyes flashed his way. Her brow furrowed.

  “What? What is it?” Is she remembering something? Or doesn’t she know who I am again?

  She shook her head soundly, as though clearing it of debris. “Nothing.”

  “Are you feeling any better?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Several quiet minutes passed. Little by little, the color returned to her cheeks and her eyes grew clearer.

  “More please.” She reached for the canteen.

  “I can help.”

  “I’ve got it now.”

  He handed it to her.

  She took a good long drink. When finished, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Better.”

  She looked around the campsite, from the canvas overhead, to the smoking fire, to the pile of ready weaponry, to the tethered horses nearby. “Where are we?”

  He hesitated. “Ahhh . . . what do you remember?”

  “I— We— Weren’t we going somewhere?”

  “We were.”

  “Where?”

  “You wanted to go back home.”

  “Home!”

  “That’s right. You thought your mother would be worrying for you.”

  “My mother?” Her eyes narrowed. Then, slowly, she nodded. “Yes, of course, I’m going home.”

  He smiled weakly.

  Suddenly she became agitated. “Goodness, we’d best hurry if we’re going to make it down the mountain before nightfall.”

  He grasped her forearm. “No, it’s all right. Relax.”

  “But we have to hurry.”

  He chuckled. “It’s no problem. We’ve been here for days.”

  “Days!”

  “Yes, it was a few days ago that—”

  “Days?” she interrupted. “What happened?”

  “I suppose you might as well have asked earlier, ‘when’ are we?” he said, grinning.

  “When? Days? But . . . that can’t be right.”

  “You don’t remember traveling toward this mountain pass?”

  She looked about. “Yes, I guess I do. What happened?”

  He stalled. He didn’t want to ask, but he had to know the answer. “Do you . . . know who I am?”

  She tilted her head, looked him over. “You’re Dixon. Right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you agreed to travel with me.”

  He sighed. She didn’t remember him—or at least she didn’t remember everything about him, or about them. “That’s right.”

  She stood, but when she tried to walk, in her weakness, she stumbled.

  He jumped to his feet and grabbed her arm before she fell. “Here. Sit right here,” he pointed. “You need to get your strength back.”

  She sat. “I’m hungry.”

  “That’s no surprise. Going without food for several days running is not a good idea.” He retrieved from where it simmered over the campfire, a pot of quail broth that he’d prepared earlier. “Here. Take it easy now. You should break a fast slowly.” He sat next to her.

  She blew on the broth, cooling it before tasting. She stretched her shoulders back, then turned his way. “So—‘when’ are we then? And where? And . . . what happened?”

  He was slow to respond, not sure what had caused her pain before she passed out. He didn’t want the incident repeated. “Well, you . . . passed out.”

  “Start at the beginning,” she ordered.

  Rubbing his boot in the sand, he laughed.

  “What’s funny?” She scowled.

  His eyes flashed her way. Mara always approached problem solving with that same statement.

  “Oh, nothing, I’m just . . .” He hesitated. “Never mind. It’s not important. I guess I’m just so relieved that you’re all right.” He grabbed a stick and raked it through the coals. “You see, we were traveling to your mother’s house. When we were about to start down the pass here, you—”

  “Killed a mountain lion,” she filled in.

  He held his breath, wondering if she’d experience the same pain again.

  She closed her eyes. “And then I had a terrible headache.”

  “That’s right.”

  She looked at him. “So, how did I know what to do? How did I know how to do that? To shoot like that? Great Ehyeh, I should be dead.”

  “Well thank the Good One you are not.”

  She pursed her lips and dropped her brow. “How did I do it?”

  He fidgeted.

  “There are important . . . really important things I’ve forgotten, aren’t there?”

  He nodded.

  “And . . . you’re among them.” Her eyes flickered, side to side, as she watched him. “Aren’t you?”

  He tapped out a rhythm on his knee. “Well . . .”

  “Tell me the truth.” Her voice was firm, her eyes hard.

  He stopped tapping.

  “Tell me,” she insisted.

  “I’m not sure what to tell you. I don’t know what happened to you here. I don’t know what to do to ensure that it doesn’t happen again. I don’t know if I would do you more good, or more harm, if I tell you things. I don’t know—” He stopped short.

  She glared. “As you say, I don’t know ‘when’ I am. I don’t know where I am. I don’t really even know what or who I am.” She set her jaw. “Why won’t you help me? Why don’t you have answers for me?”

  He cringed.

  “Why did you agree to go on this journey with me? Who are you to me, really? Who am I to you? Why would you even care to help me, or to stay here for me? Why didn’t you just leave me here to fend for myself? Why don’t you do that now?”

  He glanced into the distance.

  She stood, then threw her remaining broth on the fire. It sizzled. “Well, I guess since you agreed to accompany me, we’d best be on our way so that you can be done with your duty,” she snapped.

  “Very well. If you’re sure you’re up to it. But we could just stay the night and get an early start tomorrow.”

  “Is that what you want to do? Leave in the morning?”

  “I want to do whatever you want to do.”

  She scowled at him. “Well then, I guess I want to get this charade
over with as quickly as possible, to set you free from the burden I am to you.” She headed toward the tethered horses. “Let’s go then,” she demanded.

  Dixon remained seated.

  “Well? Are you coming?” She glanced his way.

  His shoulders slumped as he slowly exhaled. “I’m coming,” he finally said, “but not because I want to get this over with, or because you’re some kind of burden to me.”

  “I suppose it’s just your good nature, your intent to be . . . charming, that motivates you. Is that it? Well, never mind,” she spat as she turned away again.

  “Stop right there.”

  Startled, she halted in her tracks, then slowly turned to face him.

  “Let’s get something straight here. I’m not going with you to prove to you that I am anything other than what I am. I am not going with you out of some sense of duty, or of guilt. I’m not going with you because no one else would have accompanied you. I’m going because . . . because you’re—”

  “Because I’m what?” she interrupted, her voice hard.

  He shook his head. He wasn’t even sure what he’d been about to say. That he was with her because she was his love, his wife, his . . . life? He closed his eyes. Then, “I’ll do whatever I can to help you,” he said, “but there’s little I can accomplish if you insist on blaming me for your predicament—for something I can do nothing about.”

  She looked down. “Good advice,” she responded snippily upon turning her gaze back, clearly choking on a sneer, her fists clenched.

  “I know. It was yours.”

  She scowled. “What are you talking about?”

  “Those were the very words you threw at me once when I tried to blame you for something that was not your fault. You told me that you would not take on the blame or guilt that did not belong to you . . . that I was wrongfully punishing you.” He hesitated. “You were right to, and justified in, setting me straight.”

  Slowly, her eyes softened and her fists unclenched. She rubbed her head, sighing deeply. “Dear Creovita,” she whispered, “it seems I’m forever apologizing.”

  “Apologizing?”

  “Yes. I’m . . . sorry. I’m frustrated and I guess a little—”

  “Frightened?”

  Tears welled in her eyes. “Yes. Frightened.”

  He longed to go to her, to hold her, to tell her that all would be well, but he dared not.

  The sound of a hawk from afar caught her attention. She looked toward the source, then turned back and shuffled her foot in the sand. “I’m sorry,” she said again, her eyes flickering his way.

  “It’s all right.”

  “No, it isn’t, really. I’d like to think that it’s not like me, but . . . the truth is that . . . I don’t know.”

  “Well, if it’s any consolation,” he stepped toward her, “it’s not.”

  She shuffled her foot again. “It’s getting late.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m thinking maybe it would be better to wait until morning.”

  “Yes,” he agreed again.

  “We’re all right then?” Her eyes met his.

  He smiled. “We’re good.”

  They both stood, looking at one another, neither speaking.

  The hawk’s whistling cry shattered the silence.

  “So,” she finally said, “dried food or fresh?” She grinned, hesitantly. “Maybe some more of that river trout you made so well? When was that? Days ago, you said?”

  “You were out for three full days, yes.”

  Suddenly, her face lit up. Then, just as suddenly, confusion reigned over her expression.

  “What is it?”

  She closed her eyes as though watching something internally. “I think . . . That is . . .”

  “Yes?”

  She stood tall, her feet planted firmly, her shoulders back and her chin raised. “I’ve been trained. In defense, I mean. In weaponry.”

  He tilted his head. Basha had cautioned him not to throw too much at Mara at once, fearing that the information might cause her to reject things, to refuse the truth. She believed that Mara needed to come to her own realizations and in her own time. Still, she seemed to have discerned this truth. Could he confirm it safely? He certainly hoped so.

  “That’s right,” he finally conceded.

  “And that’s why I was at that place—that camp—with you and the others? I was training.”

  “You trained there some, yes.”

  She bit her lip. “Dixon, if I ask you a question, will you answer me honestly?”

  “If I can answer you at all, I’ll answer you honestly.”

  “Fair enough.” She hesitated, then asked, “How much time have I lost?”

  He straightened up. “I just told you. You were out for three full days.”

  “No. No, I mean before. How much time am I missing?”

  He blinked rapidly. If he told her of all the time she’d lost, she could only conclude that she was an Oathtaker with a charge—or at least that she’d had one at some time. What else would explain her lack of aging? But that could worry her. And what would she do if he gave her the rest of the facts? Insist on returning to the compound? Ask him to disclose information about her charge? Demand she return to the twins though she clearly couldn’t care for them? Then Lucy would learn the truth. Time seemed to drag as he considered her question.

  Finally, his eyes met hers. “Well, now I guess it’s time for me to be sorry.”

  “What do you mean? Sorry about what?”

  “You said a minute ago that you were confused and somewhat afraid. I guess I would say the same for myself. I’m confused about what to tell you. I’m afraid you might reject things and then lose the opportunity to figure them out for yourself . . . to embrace the truth.” He sighed. “Like . . . about your being trained in defense. If I’d told you that, you may have rejected it. But you figured it out for yourself.”

  Her jaw set, then slowly relaxed. “So you’re saying you won’t tell me how much time I’ve lost.”

  “I’m saying that I think it would be better for you to come to that knowledge on your own.”

  Her shoulders sagged. “So when is this information, when are these recollections, suddenly supposed to come to me?” Her frustration added an edge to her voice.

  He grinned. “I don’t know. But you just came to an important truth all on your own. It’ll happen. Just give yourself some time.”

  She rubbed her head. “So, why do you think I passed out and lost the last few days?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe your subconscious is trying to put the pieces together.”

  “Hmmmm.” Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, that’s it. I think I knew I was trained in weaponry from the moment I awakened and remembered killing the mountain lion. Maybe even before. It’s as though it was too much information for the moment and I . . . I passed out.” She nodded. “Yes, that’s right,” she whispered, as though speaking only to herself.

  He went near the tethered horses, then lifted his bow from where it rested against a tree and grabbed a couple of arrows from a quill tied to his saddle. “Do you remember anything else?” he asked, turning back.

  She thought for a moment. “I remember . . . that I’m . . . a sure shot.”

  He grinned.

  “What? Didn’t you say so yourself when I killed that beast? Don’t you believe me?”

  “Ha ha ha ha! Oh, I believe you all right! I’ve seen you. There’s no question about it. You’re as sure a shot as any I’ve ever witnessed.”

  She approached, then reached toward him.

  “What?” he asked, unsure what her gesture meant.

  “You’re a great cook,” she said, “but I’m a better shot.” She took the bow from his hand. “I’ll get dinner.” She chuckled. “You can cook it,” she added as she walked away without looking back.

  Chapter Eight

  They rode long days in the sweltering, muggy summer weather, though of late, cool nights tattled on the fall
days soon to come. They forged rivers and marched through hill and dale. A couple weeks since leaving the compound, and as exhaustion overcame them both, Marshall and Jerrett rode into the City of Light, anxiously seeking a place to clean up and to rest.

  Jerrett turned his mount toward a side street, his biceps bulging. His tattoos appeared to come to life, creating the impression that snakes crawled on his arms. Several passers-by who neared him, turned away upon the sight of him, frightened by his mass and evident power. He continued on as though unaware of their reactions.

  “You sure this is the way?” Marshall asked him.

  “Certain. Lilith took me here herself.”

  Marshall winced. He always did when someone mentioned the woman’s name.

  “Sorry,” Jerrett quipped.

  “Sorry?”

  “Yes. Even after all these years, the very name—”

  “Makes me cringe? Yes . . . she was something else.”

  “How long did you serve as her Oathtaker anyway?"

  “Oh, Great Ehyeh! I like to forget the details.”

  His friend laughed. “I understand. Like you said, she was ‘something else.’”

  “You know though, somehow this journey seems to have made me forget her.”

  Jerrett’s head jerked his fellow traveler’s way. “Her memory is still that strong? After all these years?”

  “She . . .” Marshall swallowed hard. “Lilith was my first and only charge. She was an amazing woman, beautiful and—”

  “Wait a minute,” Jerrett interrupted, pulling lightly on his horse’s reins. “Was there something more to your connection to her than—”

  “Oh no, not at all. I’m just stating the facts. She was stunning to look at, and when she chose to be, she was brilliant. But she was also incredibly self-centered. Eventually that spirit crowded out her ability to think clearly. She made my duties as her Oathtaker nearly impossible. She was willful and contrary.” Marshall paused, in thought. “And in the end, she was evil, as well,” he finally said in a whisper.

  Jerrett’s eyes darted from the pedestrian traffic, back to his friend. Notwithstanding all their years together at the compound, this was the first he’d ever heard him speak openly of Lilith.