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by Patricia Reding

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  After making herself comfortable, Mara sat through the night, thinking about Jo, and Jack, and Seth, and Hedda. She wept over the kindness she remembered from Channer, and of Martin and Grace’s gratitude when she brought Seth to them. She cried until she was utterly spent. Why, oh why, had she come home? Her mother berated her at every turn, while her sister behaved as foully as ever. And now she had to stand by and watch Jo make her play for Dixon. Just as when Seth was an infant, Mara wanted nothing more than to escape from this place.

  When finally she could cry no more, she saw that morning was soon to arrive. Nature awakened.

  She clicked her tongue, calling her horse to her side, then untied a bow and a quiver from the back of the saddle, along with Dixon’s saddlebag. She hoped it contained the tools she’d need.

  Leading the horse, she walked into the woods. Then, selecting a large oak, she made her way up into its branches. She made herself comfortable in a niche between two large ones, and then faced back toward the clearing.

  She wiped her eyes, swollen from crying. She missed Dixon. Visions of him came and went. Well one thing was for sure—she could hardly expect him to stick around much longer. He had his own life to see to, after all. He’d agreed to see her back home safely, and he’d done so. Sadly, over the past weeks, she’d come to expect his presence. Once they got past their early days together, those times when she was so confused and angry, she discovered that she was comfortable with him. They worked well together. They laughed readily together. As time went on, at least until they’d arrived at Hedda’s, they’d done so more and more frequently. She’d come to depend on him in ways that both surprised and troubled her. But now she had to face the reality that she’d come to love him.

  She almost cried again at the thought. Surely, he’d leave her soon. Maybe he’d already done so. After all, where was he to go when she took off without explanation? And if he hadn’t, perhaps she should urge him to do so. Would that not be the right thing to do? To let him know that she understood that he should follow his own way, just as Channer had once told her that she should do?

  As though no time had passed since the afternoon before, Mara’s anger rose anew. She wondered how Jo had managed to keep Dixon busy in her absence. No doubt the woman had sufficient wiles to keep any man occupied. Her ways had certainly worked on Jack.

  Jack. She closed her eyes, trying to recollect what he looked like—but nothing came to mind. In that instant, a new thought startled her: she felt absolutely nothing for the man. All that remained of him in her memory was her hurt and anger over Jo’s part in the events. When she thought about Jack, she felt . . . relief. She remembered someone telling her that the mourning of a relationship was over when you discovered you were indifferent toward the other person. It must be true, she thought, because she felt completely indifferent toward the man who’d once so moved her heart.

  Sighing, she shook her head to clear her thoughts. It was prime time for hunting. Although she didn’t feel the same rage she’d felt earlier, she still found herself drawn to the hunt—as though some urgent need spurred her onward.

  Something moved in the thicket.

  She turned her attention to it.

  The weak dawn light tickled at the edges of the brush where an enormous stag stood. Its antlers rose upward like prayers to Ehyeh. It dropped its nose to the ground and sniffed, then pulled its head back up with a jolt.

  Mara watched, silent.

  The animal went rigid. But for a twitching of its nose, and an occasional flicker of its ear, it stood, motionless.

  A long minute passed before it stepped forward. Then, once again, it stopped and waited. A minute later, it took another step.

  Mara could just make out, in the weak light, the full outline of its body. Silently, she put her arrow to the string of her bow and pulled it back.

  The stag glanced her way. Its ear twitched.

  She let loose her arrow. It flew straight to the animal’s heart.

  The stag stepped forward once, twice, thrice . . . Then, it fell.

  Mara climbed down. Once on the ground, she removed her shawl, tied it about her waist, and then started toward her kill.

  She pulled her knife clear of its sheath. Cautiously, in the event the animal was not yet dead, Mara approached it from its backside. She could be badly injured if it thrashed about, or tried to get up to run away. Watching for chest movement, she made her way around to the front of the animal, then checked its eyes for blinking. There was none. But for an occasional muscle twitch, the animal was still.

  With a stick, Mara touched softly on one eye. Better safe than sorry, she thought. It didn’t respond to her prodding.

  She squatted down. Locating the stag’s sternum, she inserted her knife and made her first cut. She reached in with her fingers and gently pulled on the hide so as to provide a better guide for her knife. She cut toward the abdomen, well aware that she had to keep clear of the animal’s internal organs. With precision born of experience, she completed the incision. Once done, she started removing the internal organs, beginning with those most likely to taint the meat if she didn’t properly dress her kill.

  An incredible exhaustion came over her. Her eyes played tricks on her. Colors floated before them.

  She shook her head to clear it, then pulled on the carcass, turning it on its side. Next, she allowed the entrails to roll out to the ground. She let go, and the body fell back. After extricating the remaining organs, Mara pushed the carcass over again so that it could drain.

  She sized up her kill. She’d have to drag it to the edge of the woods and then fashion some kind of pulley so that she could hang it to bleed and to cool. She wondered how she’d get it back to Hedda’s afterward, but then shrugged. She’d worry about that later.

  Once again, she lost focus. Struggling to clear her thoughts, she latched onto the stag’s antlers. Pulling, she managed to move the carcass a few feet. Then, she dropped to the ground.

  Committed to seeing her job through, Mara rested for a minute before beginning anew. In search of some rope, she flipped open the top flap of Dixon’s bag that hung around her neck. Peering inside, she withdrew items, one at a time. First, came an extra tunic. Dear Good One, it smells like him, she thought, as a whiff of his scent, of cedar and leather, filled the air. Next came a knife sharpener. Then her fingers lighted upon a book. What is this? Leaning in on the stag, one arm wrapped around its antlers, she opened it. The first page displayed a single word: “Go.” She turned it to find the same word on the next page. Again and again, every page offered but one word: “Go.”

  Go where?

  Against her will, she closed her eyes. Her head dropped forward. As she’d experienced before, shapes and shadows, colors and hues, danced before her eyes. She longed to give in to sleep. Telling herself that she’d take only a minute, just one short minute to renew her strength, she went slack.

  Suddenly, a bitter chill swept over her, shocking her awake. She jerked upright and opened her eyes.

  An all white landscape greeted her.

  Snow?

  It surrounded her. Its hostile cold bite worried its way through her clothing. Still holding onto the stag’s antlers, she pondered. Everything seemed so real. She closed her eyes again, willing the dream to pass on, but it did not.

  The piercing cold quickly became unbearable.

  She glanced again at the book in her hands. Its odd, cryptic message puzzled her. She dropped it back into the saddlebag, rose to her haunches, untied her shawl from her waist, and then wrapped it tightly around her shoulders.

  Peeking out from the surrounding white landscape, the faintest light at the far horizon testified as to dawn’s imminent arrival. Nearer, what looked like wisps of smoke rose lazily into the air.

  She pulled on the stag’s antlers and labored forward, toward the smoke, dragging her kill behind. Then, stumbling, she fell to her knees. Looking ahead, she saw that if she’d taken a single a
dded step forward, she’d have fallen down a steep incline.

  Shivering now, she looked down into the ravine. There’s a fire, thank Ehyeh. She could not withstand the cold much longer.

  She turned around and then made her way down the incline, sliding the last few feet to the ground below.

  Tentatively, she approached the fire, now dying away. From a nearby pile of wood, she grabbed some and fed the flames.

  Glancing about, she gasped. There’s someone here—two ‘someones,’ to be exact—both blanketed in snow.

  She approached the body nearest her, huddled tightly in a fetal position, a snow enshrouded wool blanket covering it. She pulled part of the blanket away and then moved a mass of copper highlighted hair away from the person’s face.

  Gracious, it’s one of those young women. What’s she doing here?

  Mara moved on to the second body. This time, she had to roll the person over in order to see her face. Yes, it’s the other twin. But, dear Good One, they look terrible!

  The young women’s faces were healed from their earlier sunburns, but now red areas, apparently from the cold, spotted their skin, and both clearly had lost weight.

  She dug into her pockets and emptied them of all the food she found there—scraps of bread, nuts, and some dried, wild blackberries. Then she added more wood to the fire and coaxed the coals into renewed flames. Once done, she dropped to her knees to warm herself.

  That was when she thought of it. The stag.

  She stumbled through the snow and then climbed back up to the top of the drop-off from whence she’d come.

  She grabbed the gutted stag’s antlers and dragged the carcass to the edge of the cliff. Once done, she walked to its other side, sat in the snow, placed her booted feet against its back, and pushed. It moved an inch or so. She pushed again. It moved another inch. Again and again, she pushed. Finally, when the weight at its front side exceeded that at its back, the carcass tumbled down the drop-off. It landed with a thud, leaving behind a pool of blood at the top of the precipice, and an avalanche of snow, below.

  After making her way back down the hill, she again grabbed the antlers and pulled. When she finally came near the fire, she stopped to warm herself, then set back to work. She’d not bled the animal, but she could still provide food for the twins.

  She set about cutting off choice parts. Her fingers, wet with blood, stung from the cold.

  Turning back to the flames, a new problem presented itself. How would she cook the meat?

  Noting a board on the ground, nearly covered with snow, she pulled on it. Once freed, she examined it. It was soaking wet from melted snow. She situated the board over the flames and then placed fresh cuts of meat on it. Then, after cleaning her hands in the snow, she sat watching and waiting.

  Before long, the smell of cooking meat rose into the air.

  She glanced at the sleeping women. When one of them moved, she approached.

  The young woman gasped at the sight of her. “Oh, Mara, I knew you’d come.”

  “Shhh. You just rest now.”

  “Goodness, what’s that I smell?”

  “Food. It’s ready when you are.”

  “I’m so hungry.” The young woman bolted upright. “Oh, where’s Eden?”

  “She’s right here,” Mara said, pointing, now knowing which twin was which. “You can eat any time.”

  “Eat?” came another voice. Eden had awakened. “Oh, it wasn’t a dream then. I thought I smelled food.” Then she noticed her Oathtaker. “Oh, Mara, I knew you’d come back!”

  “Look, Reigna, Eden,” Mara said, glancing from one of them, to the other, “I don’t know what’s going on here, but—” She stopped short, exhaustion suddenly overcoming her, unable to say more. She dropped to her knees, then fell forward, into the snow.

  “Mara!” Reigna cried.

  “If I could just rest a little . . .”

  Then, “Mara!” came a voice that only she could hear, a voice she recognized instantly as Dixon’s.

  It was then that she . . . disappeared.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “There’s a place Mara used to hunt. It’s called ‘The Meadow.’ Everyone around here knows where it is. I’ll show you, but like I said, we really should wait until morning.”

  “No, I’m going now. You don’t have to come with me. Just tell me where it is.”

  Channer smiled. “She’s lucky to have you. Come on then, let’s go.”

  The Oathtakers left sanctuary. Channer headed to the adjacent cabin, next to which he kept his horse stabled, while Dixon prepared his mount. Minutes later, they headed out.

  The first of the moons had already set. The second hung near the western horizon. Only the third sat high in the sky, but as it was only a sliver, it didn’t shed much light. Thus, the men rode cautiously.

  A couple hours later, as dawn brushed the eastern sky, they reached the edge of a forest.

  “It’s back there,” Channer said, pointing. “The path could be treacherous, so use special care.”

  With the air fresh and cool, and the early morning birds slowly awakening with their chirping and twittering, Dixon felt more anxious with each passing minute.

  Before long, they came upon a clearing. Channer stopped and waited for his companion to reach his side. “Here we are.”

  Dixon looked out, squinting. Then, his expression fell.

  “What? Do you see something?”

  “I don’t know.” Dixon leaned in for a better look. “Yes, I think I do!”

  He urged his mount forward. In the center of the clearing, he stopped, jumped down, and then fell on his knees.

  “Ahhhhhhhhhh!” he screamed, his hands to his head.

  Channer approached and dismounted. “Great Ehyeh!”

  There, on the ground before them, lay a pile of entrails.

  “Ahhhhhhhhhh!” Dixon cried again. “Ahhhhhhhh!”

  “Dixon. Dixon, it’s not her. Those are not from her!”

  On his knees, his head hanging down, his hands clasped behind his neck, Dixon looked up. “What?”

  “She must have shot something. Look! These remains are not human.”

  Dixon looked at them more closely. He’d hunted often enough to recognize the innards of a wild beast. It’s not Mara!

  He bowed until his head rested on the ground. “Thank you, Ehyeh!” he exclaimed, “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” Then he jumped to his feet. “Mara! Mara!” he cried.

  The glen was empty and silent, but for the horse Mara had ridden there that walked out from the forest. It approached, whickering. Dixon brushed its nose briefly, then raced around the clearing.

  “Mara!” he shouted, again and again.

  When he got no response, he returned to where Channer stood and, once again, dropped to his knees. “Mara!”

  At precisely that moment, she returned, appearing out of nowhere, just a few feet from where he knelt.

  “Look!” Channer cried.

  Dixon rushed to her side. He took her into his arms and pulled her close, wishing he never had to let go.

  Her eyes fluttered open. “Dixon?”

  “Oh, thank Ehyeh! Oh, thank the Good One,” he cried.

  “Dixon,” she whispered.

  He loosened his grip. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m just so . . . tired.”

  “Thank goodness you’re safe. I was so worried.”

  Her brow furrowed.

  “What? Is something wrong?”

  She shook her head. “Not anymore, it’s not.”

  Gently, he brushed her hair away from her face. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I think I’m right where I belong.”

  “Oh?”

  “In your arms. Please, please don’t ever let go.”

  Then, unbidden, a whirlwind of memories descended upon her, and she fell into a deep, deep sleep.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Having heard that her sister rested at sanctuary, Jo showed up
there unexpectedly

  “You should leave her to us,” she said, her hands on her hips. “To Mother and to me. What would you know about caring for her anyway? Or about what’s best for her?”

  “Jo, listen,” Channer said, “Dixon is right. She should stay here.”

  She turned his way. “This is none of your concern,” she snapped. “She’s been unconscious for days now, and neither of you have been particularly helpful.”

  Dixon stood at the door to the private chambers where his beloved slept. He was not about to let Jo in. “Oh, and you know what’s best for her? Is that it?” He scowled. “But for you, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  She huffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Now, let me in.”

  “No. Go away.” When she finally awakened, Dixon didn’t want Mara forced to face her sister.

  “Dixon?” came a feeble voice from the other side of the door.

  Startled, he gasped. “She’s awake!” He glared at Jo. “Go away. Now.” Without waiting for her response, he opened the door and then stepped inside.

  “Dixon?”

  He approached. “I’m here.”

  Mara blinked repeatedly, as though trying to wash something away. “Where am I?”

  Her eyes scanned the room, taking in its single window covered with a light chintz curtain from which the light of the overcast day shone through, bare walls upon which nothing hung, and wooden floors, old and distressed. A single unlit lantern sat on the nearby table, along with a pitcher and cup, both of simple earthenware.

  “Did I pass out again?”

  He pulled a chair up and sat. “Yes, you did. You’re at sanctuary now.”

  “Sanctuary?”

  “In Barton Lake. And Mara, a friend of yours is here.”

  She cocked her head. “A friend of mine?”

  “Yes. Do you remember Channer? He helped me to find you.”

  “There you are!” came a voice from the door.

  She tore her eyes from him to look up at her latest visitor.