“Seth? Where is Seth?”
“I don’t know—and I suspect Mara doesn’t either. It might be best not to mention him . . . or how much time has passed since you last saw your daughter.”
At just that moment, Mara returned.
“Well, Mama, I have some bread, meat, and cheese that we purchased in a village a short while ago. I also have some berries we picked on our way here. How does that sound?”
As Hedda said nothing, Mara, with Dixon’s help, prepared a quick meal for them all, in silence.
“So, when will you be heading back to wherever it is you came from?” Hedda asked, directing her query in Dixon’s direction.
“Mama,” Mara scolded.
“That’s all right, I understand,” he said. “Actually, I thought I’d see to some business in the area. Is there somewhere to stay around here?” he asked Mara. “An inn perhaps?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “You’ll stay here . . . with us.”
“I don’t know, Mara, we’ve not much space,” Hedda chided.
“It’s no problem. I’ll set up Jo’s old room for him.”
Watching the exchange, Dixon sensed that Hedda didn’t respond only because she sought not to appear even more impolite than she already had. Then, “That’s all right, Mara,” he said, “I’ll find someth—”
“No, Dixon, I insist you stay here.”
He nodded. He didn’t know if there was any part of Mara that didn’t want to be parted from him, but he couldn’t help but feel that she feared being left alone with her mother.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Reigna lifted her canteen, then took a swallow. The water was warm, but satisfying nonetheless. “Oh, thank Ehyeh that Mara brought these to us. Had she not, I fear we’d be dead by now.” She wiped her mouth off with her sleeve.
“Yes.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. We’d best be on our way.”
“Something’s wrong.”
Eden dusted off the sand from her face. “I just don’t understand why she left us again.” She kicked her foot in the sand. Powdered sugar-like granules billowed into the air. “Did we do something wrong?”
“I don’t know.” On her knees, Reigna dug down to unearth some of their provisions that were partially buried there. Sand covered her hair, her face, and her clothing, and had even found its way into her boots. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”
“But why would she leave again?”
Reigna retrieved her sword. She set its tip in the ground and leaned on it. It sank into the sand. She pulled it back out. “I don’t know. All I know is what we set out to do. Maybe Mara’s presence would infringe on our ability to see our mission through.”
“You think she left us here intentionally?”
“I’ve no idea.”
“But what about that horrible man who came? She’d never leave us alone if she knew of him.” Eden shuddered. “Do you think he’ll come again?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you suppose he wanted from us? Why did he want us to follow him?”
Reigna looked out to the horizon, past mound, upon mound, upon mound of sand. She squinted. “Eden, look there,” she pointed. “What is that?”
Her sister looked out.
A change in the atmosphere became more evident with each passing second. The sky, red with sand, began to clear. Something in the air tossed and swirled. An enormous dust devil formed, spun upward, and then as suddenly as it had taken shape, dissipated.
Reigna glanced skyward. “Those are rain clouds!”
“Let’s follow them.”
“Wait! She put out her arm, stopping her sister. “That’s the opposite direction from where we’re headed.” She watched intently.
Within moments the sky appeared to burst open and in the distance, rain fell.
“Let’s go!” Eden cried.
“No! That’s the wrong way.”
“But, it’s water.”
“No. Stop.”
The wind picked up, once again filling the air with sand. The sisters ducked their heads to avoid the swirling debris.
“Please, Reigna, we have to go. We need the water.”
“Just wait. The rain is coming this way.”
Eden cried with joy. “Rain! Water!”
“Come on, let’s keep going. When it gets here, we’ll fill our canteens. In the meantime, we won’t have wasted any time, and we’ll have made our way closer to the exit.”
They set out, each catching an occasional glimpse behind.
“It’s coming!” Eden called, a few minutes later.
Within seconds, rain drenched the young women. Lifting their heads, they reveled in its coolness. Then they removed their cloaks. The downpour soaked their hair and ran down their faces.
Reigna held her canteen out. “Fill yours, too,” she said.
So hard did the rain fall, that within minutes, the young women had filled four canteens—the two they’d originally carried, and the two that Mara had delivered to them. They danced about, gleefully.
Thoroughly soaked, their thirst fully quenched, and cool for the first time in days, they trudged on.
Suddenly, Reigna stopped short. “Stop. Stop. Stop!” she ordered. Once again, she held her sister back with an outstretched arm.
“What is it?”
“The sand is moving.”
“What?”
“Stand still. There . . . Do you feel that?”
Eden halted. “Yes, I can feel it now. What is it?”
“I don’t know. Let’s keep going. Go. Go!” Reigna directed, all the while trying to find surer footing. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I can’t get a firm foothold.”
“Look!” Eden cried, pointing.
A torrent of water came crashing toward the twins. As it neared, the ground broke open, and a river gushed out. Its sound was deafening. At the head of the waterway, its frothy edges seemed to take shape, like faces of evil—like three faces of evil.
“Run!” Reigna exclaimed.
Within seconds the wall of water nearly overtook them, but the twins turned aside just as it passed by. It took along, the ground from before where they stood, and left behind, a ravine.
“Goodness,” Reigna said, “look at what the water uncovered.”
There, sat a newly formed gorge before them, and within it, a small building.
They made their way down the edge of the ravine. Reigna slid the last several feet before assisting her sister.
Before them sat a wooden hut, not larger than six short paces long, and six paces deep, and not higher than the top of their heads at its peak. It boasted a front door made of thick oak planks with a rusted handle of black wrought iron.
They approached, then peeked around the side of the building. Its back remained enshrouded in sand.
Reigna stepped to the door. She turned to glance at her sister and, as she did, batted her eyes to remove something that stuck to her lashes.
“What is this?” she asked. “Sleet?” Flakes of tiny, frozen ice pellets hit her face and then slowly melted away. “It’s cold,” she said, shivering.
Eden laughed joyously. “Just think! Hours ago we’d have been thrilled by it. Now, soaking wet, we’re complaining.”
Her twin chuckled. “Surely, this can’t last long.” She grabbed the black, wrought iron handle. “Now, let’s have a look.” She pulled the door open, then peeked inside. “It’s empty,” she whispered.
“Wait . . . Look here,” Eden said. “The sleet is turning to snow.”
Within moments, just as the rain had come down in a torrential downpour earlier, the snow increased in volume and then, almost instantly, it started collecting in piles.
Seeking refuge from it, the twins entered the hut.
“We’ll wait the storm out in here,” Reigna said, watching the falling snow.
Just then, the wind descended with a roar.
She
closed the door, turned around, and then sat in the middle of the floor. She dropped her head in her hands.
“What’s happening, do you think?” Eden asked.
“I don’t know. But I wonder . . . Do you think we’re even in Oosa any longer?”
Chapter Thirty-Three
The days passed eventful, but exhausting. Mara, with Dixon’s assistance, thoroughly cleaned Hedda’s home. They swept, dusted, carried out refuse, filled mouse holes, discarded old, useless, and broken items, washed windows and their and curtains, cleaned walls, and repaired furniture. They took time out to arrange for a local handyman to fix the roof, cleaned up the yard, and went through all of Hedda’s cupboards to determine what food they should acquire to fill them.
With each successive day, the air in the house seemed to improve, while Hedda’s attitude grew, if anything, worse. Daily—no, more like hourly—she commented on how she appreciated Jo’s attentiveness, while Mara had failed her. Dixon listened constantly for any reference to the passage of time since Mara had left home, hoping to insulate his beloved from hearing any shocking revelations. Fortunately, they didn’t come, and gratefully, Hedda refrained from asking after Seth. Also, since she couldn’t see her daughter, she didn’t comment on how Mara hadn’t aged in nearly two decades.
Each evening after Mara saw her mother down for the night, Dixon found her walking the grounds, and each evening he joined her. Only then did they find peace. Their ways with one another grew more comfortable as time progressed and as they reflected on their journey to date. They even found occasions to laugh together.
One evening while out walking, Mara confessed that she blamed herself for her mother’s condition. Though Dixon tried to convince her to the contrary, she seemed unable to shed the guilt that Hedda so frequently and so fervently urged to grow within her. It was as though Mara had upon her return, handed Hedda a whip, and the woman hadn’t hesitated to use it against her daughter—repeatedly. Consequently, when in the woman’s company, Mara behaved as one thoroughly scourged.
On her behalf, Dixon visited Hedda’s neighbor, Baird, who in years past, had organized the community so that someone brought Hedda a meal each day. Baird had also enlisted the help of some of the neighborhood children to check on her from time to time. He even stopped in periodically himself—usually, Dixon discovered, when Jo visited. He extended Mara’s heartfelt appreciation to the man for all he’d done on her mother’s behalf and, over his objections, compensated him handsomely for his prior assistance.
While at Hedda’s, Dixon occasionally commented that he’d soon see to his business in the area, yet he remained at all times, near Mara. He was in no hurry to leave her in her mother’s manipulative hands, much less to depart from the area in general. Above all, he wished she’d recall her past so that the two of them could get back home and to the twins. Even so, in all that time, he refused to retrieve any messages Lucy left for them, via the compact. Rather, as he’d done earlier, whenever he noticed that Lucy had sought to contact them, he opened the trinket just long enough for the vibrations it gave off, to stop. Given his inability to assist should problems arise anyway, he preferred to know nothing of them.
For her part, Mara tried to encourage him to see to his own business, but she did so with little fervency and, she was forced to admit to herself, without sincerity. As each day came and went, the prospect of his leaving her became more real and, to her surprise—and even chagrin—more painful.
Dear Good One, I’ve fallen for this man . . . The thought both frightened and elated her. She sought out frequent opportunities to be physically close to him, and felt most at ease when they worked together side-by-side, or when they laughed together in their easy, carefree manner.
One day, after Dixon finished chopping some wood, he, Mara, and Hedda, sat down for lunch. The smell of fresh baked bread lingered in the cool autumn air. With foodstuffs they’d purchased in the nearby village, Mara had made sandwiches with prosciutto, salami, aged provolone, grilled sweet red peppers, and salty olives. She served fresh fruit and a green salad on the side.
Dixon found it interesting that of all of the food they’d purchased, Mara had chosen to make one of his favorite meals. Was she remembering something? Or was her choice simply accidental? He remembered the first time she’d been introduced to the sandwiches—one of his favorites since boyhood—when the two of them, along with a group of Reigna and Eden’s earliest supporters, first visited the City of Light. There they’d stayed at The Clandest Inn, owned and operated by Dixon’s old friend, a spymaster, Ezra. Dixon’s cousin, Celestine, who worked at the inn, had made the sandwiches for them, knowing they were among his favorites.
Hedda, in her usual foul mood, wouldn’t be denied the opportunity to berate her daughter for each of the faults and shortcomings that she was sure Mara possessed. “These sandwiches are too thick,” she said, the bread “is too crusty,” and the fruit “is over-ripe.” And if all that wasn’t bad enough, the laundry was still damp, and Mara was too slow to mending Hedda’s undergarments. Anything and everything that the woman could pick on, she did.
Since arriving home, Mara had become more and more subservient to her mother, yet Dixon sensed at the same time, a streak of defiance taking root within some small recess of her being. It was feeble, to be sure, but her expressions confirmed that it existed. Secretly, he cheered her on whenever she defied her mother in any way, or over any detail, however minute. Hedda was bad for Mara’s wellbeing, and he was anxious to get her away from the woman as quickly as possible.
“These olives are too salty,” Hedda added, as she slapped her sandwich down on her plate.
“I’m sorry, Mama. Here, let me take them out for you.”
“Did you bring that pile of wood in yet, Mara? It’s getting cold and—”
“I did,” Dixon interrupted. “You remember, Hedda. You heard me.”
She scowled.
“Mara,” he said, “I was thinking of going into the village to visit sanctuary there. Why don’t you come with me? It would do you good to get out.”
She blinked repeatedly, cocking her head, as though picking up some distant sound.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Of course, she is,” Hedda said. “She’s fine here. Aren’t you, Mara?” The woman seemed committed to separating the two of them.
“Mara?” he asked again.
She turned his way, locked eyes with him. “I think I just remembered something.” She rubbed her head. “But no, that can’t be.”
“What did you remember?”
“I’m not sure. It seems so long ago, so that can’t be right . . .”
“What?”
“I remember a . . . city. I don’t know why. I don’t . . . recall. You told me I should . . . get out.” She shook her head to clear the foggy memory. “Oh, never mind, I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“Really, you act as though there’s something wrong with her,” Hedda said. “She’s fine. She’s just been away from home for too long. You should go along and leave her to—”
“No, Mama, I think he’s right. It would be good for me to get out for a bit. I could use some fresh cool air and some sunshine.”
Surprised, Dixon couldn’t restrain his grin. He winked at Mara.
Blushing, she looked away. “I’d like to go. Just let me clean up here first.”
“Hmmmph,” Hedda said.
“Is there anything we can get for you, Hedda, while we’re out?” Dixon asked.
“Oh, don’t mind me. I’m sure I’ll be just fine. I’ve managed this long without any help.”
A long quiet minute passed.
“Mama, how long—”
“Mara,” Dixon interrupted as he stood, “let me help clean this up, and then we’ll be on our way.”
She glanced his way. Her eyes narrowed.
Just then, came a sound at the door.
“Hello!”
The door swung open and a woman entered. In a dress
of black with a full skirt and a closely fitted bodice, she seemed to scream silently for attention. Her low square neckline framed her plentiful bosom in a way that left little to the imagination. She wore her hair arranged loosely on the top of her head. Tendrils dropped down and around her face, giving her an I just got out of bed—with someone look.
Sudden recognition came upon Mara. “Jo?”
The woman approached. Her eyes narrowed. “Mara? Is it you?”
“Yes.” Awkwardly, Mara embraced her sister, then stepped back. “Why, Jo, you look so . . . different.”
The woman scowled, ever so slightly, and then smiled—insincerely, Dixon thought.
“Well now, isn’t that funny, because I was just about to say that you haven’t changed a bit. It’s as though you haven’t aged a day. How— Where—”
“Excuse me,” Dixon interrupted.
The sisters turned his way. He glanced from one of them to the other. Mara was the epitome of class and of strength, whereas Jo looked . . . preposterous. There was some outward beauty to her to be sure, but the way she presented herself negated what attractiveness she otherwise possessed. Strangely, she reminded him of Lilith from days gone by.
“Well, well, who have we here?”
She even sounds like Lilith, he thought. He noted the woman’s face, made up, presumably in an effort to enhance youthfulness, although to his eye, her extravagant use of cosmetics had the opposite effect. Thick eyeliner and a smoky topaz shadow gave her eyes a mysterious, yet insincere, look. Her rouge was overdone, and her lips were too . . . red.
She approached his side, her bosom seeming to arrive long minutes before the rest of her, then extended her hand. “And you are?”
Mara stepped up. “Jo, I’d like to introduce you to a . . . a friend of mine. This is Dixon Townsend.”
Jo’s eyes narrowed when Mara identified him as her friend. “Dixon,” she said, holding his gaze.
“And Dixon, this is my sister, Jo.”
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