Select

by Patricia Reding

  “You’ve come from the City of Light. Is that what you said?” Trumble asked.

  “That’s right,” Basha said. “We’re . . . on a mission.”

  He tasted his tea. “Oh, hot! Best let it cool for a minute. Hazel must have boiled the water again.” Shaking his head, he grinned. “She’s a simple soul and truth to tell, not the best of assistants, but we do what we can to help the locals. I’ve reached out to her, trying to draw her and her husband, Udell, into the fold. He’s been resistant, but the fact that he’ll attend the feed tonight suggests that he may be coming around.”

  “That’s good of you—and thank you for the warning,” Basha said as she placed her cup back down. “Anyway, yes, we’ve come from sanctuary in the City of Light. A small group of us—Oathtakers and Select—have taken it upon ourselves to . . . well essentially, to take a census of the remaining Select in Oosa. Ideally, we’d like them to meet together in the City of Light.”

  Trumble’s smile fell. “Oh? Toward what end?”

  “Well,” Therese said, “times are . . . difficult.”

  “Go on,” he urged, his gaze intense.

  Her eyes flashed toward her Oathtaker, then she nodded, acknowledging their unspoken understanding. “We have reason to believe that Oosa is in danger from Zarek in Chiran.”

  “Why?”

  “He seeks to rid the world of the Select once and for all. We need to be prepared.”

  Trumble leaned back. “And who are you two?”

  Basha picked up her cup again, then blew on her tea to cool it. Tentatively, she sipped at it. “Therese is a member of the first family. I am her Oathtaker.”

  His eyes darted from her, to Therese, then back again. “The first family?”

  “That’s right. I’m a third,” Therese said.

  “Lilith’s sister,” he asserted, his expression grim.

  “Well, I prefer to be recognized as Rowena’s sister, but yes, that’s right.”

  “From what I heard, Lilith’s three oldest sisters died long before she did.” He sounded angry, rather intensely so.

  Therese brushed hair from her brow, exposing the scar that ran across her forehead. “The rumors of my death were greatly exaggerated. But not for want of trying, I am sorry to say.”

  “Does that scar mean something?”

  “Yes.” She tasted her tea. “Lilith tried to have me killed. I fell from a cliff, down to a river. For years,” her eyes flickered toward her Oathtaker with a silent acknowledgement, and yet another apology, “all thought me dead.”

  “What brought you out of hiding?”

  “Rowena’s last born.”

  “Oh?”

  “Well,” Basha said, “actually, Rowena’s last born is . . . are . . . twins.

  “Twins? That’s impossible.”

  “Not impossible. Their names are Reigna and Eden. They’ve been in hiding since—”

  “Since Lilith’s death march through Oosa?” Trumble stood. He crossed his arms, holding himself fully upright and tense.

  Watching him closely, Basha’s eyes narrowed. He seemed to be holding smoldering emotions at bay.

  “How do I know that you two aren’t just trying to finish off what Lilith started? That you’re not just—hunting on your own?”

  Therese shook her head. “I . . . don’t understand. What do you mean?”

  He clenched his jaw. “You know, on second thought, I think this interview is ended.”

  “No, please,” Basha jumped to her feet, “let us explain.”

  His nostrils flared. “By all means, explain away.”

  “Lilith went bad, that’s true, but she operated on her own.” Basha looked away, gathering her thoughts, then turned back. “We’ve been working for years now to keep Rowena’s youngest daughters safe. It was those girls who Lilith sought to kill when she rampaged through Oosa all those years ago.” She looked down. “By any chance, do you know Lucy Haven?”

  “I’ve heard of her,” Trumble grunted. “Never met her though.”

  “Lucy worked with Rowena, seeking to bring about a seventh-born daughter of a seventh-born daughter. Rowena died moments after she bore her twins. You see, their Oathtaker had come upon her a short time before. She helped Rowena. Her name is Mara. Mara Richmond. Well, Mara Townsend, now.”

  “I don’t understand, he scowled. “Why would she change her name?”

  “She married Dixon Townsend,” said Therese.

  His eyes shifted from one of his guests to the other. “But you said she’s Oathtaker to the twins, and that they still live. So, it seems, that’s not possible.”

  “Please, sit down,” Basha urged. “There’s much to this story. We’ll fill you in, we promise. We didn’t come to cause trouble. It’s obvious you’ve done a wonderful job with this sanctuary, and from what we’ve seen and heard, you’ve done a wonderful job in this community. We’re here to help.”

  He exhaled slowly, his eyes still smoldering. “Very well then, explain.”

  Basha sat. Slowly, he followed suit. Then she and Therese told him their story. Though it took some time to explain their history, eventually they answered all of his questions.

  “You should know that you’re not the only one who carries scars as a result of Lilith,” he finally said when their story came to an end, his eyes resting on Therese.

  “Oh?” she asked.

  He lifted his left hand. “Compliments of Lilith of the first family.” Sorrow replaced the anger his voice had previously held.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “But that’s not the worst of it.”

  “Oh? What else did she do?”

  He tipped his head toward the back room where Felicity slept. “Felicity,” he whispered.

  “Felicity? I don’t understand.”

  He paused, seemingly to search for the right words. “I haven’t been exactly truthful with you,” he finally said.

  “What about Felicity?” Basha asked.

  “She’s not my sister. I tell that story in an effort to protect her identity—her . . . status, if you will.”

  Basha reached for the tea, only to discover that the pot was empty. “And what might that be?” she asked as she set it back down.

  “Felicity is Select. I am her Oathtaker.”

  “I see,” said Therese. “Now, tell us, what does this have to do with Lilith?”

  Trumble closed his eyes. In his mind’s eye every detail rushed in, as though the events had all transpired earlier that same day.

  A loud bang echoed through the building as the front door crashed open. Four soldiers, their weapons held high, charged into the room.

  He reached for his Oathtaker’s blade with his right hand. His left rested atop the sleeping child at his side.

  “Move aside!” the first soldier shouted. His sword blazed in the light of the room.

  Trumble’s life seemed to flash before his eyes. He could take out one—at best, two—of Lilith’s men with his blade. Four were at least two too many. Still, he’d sworn his life for the child’s safety. He must do all he could to protect her.

  He released his blade with a flick of his wrist, then reached for another knife in a sheath at his waist.

  At that very moment, the child awakened and cried.

  “Get her!” one of the men shouted.

  “Quickly!” another ordered.

  “Dorn is down!” a third cried.

  “Never mind Dorn. Get him!” the clear leader amongst the murderous men shouted to one of his cohorts, gesturing toward Trumble. “You!” he ordered another, “get the child!”

  One of the soldiers rushed Trumble, his sword ready to strike.

  The Oathtaker threw up his left arm to fend off the attack as he curled forward and turned inward, his blade exposed, seeking the man’s unprotected belly.

  The soldier’s blade came down upon Trumble’s hand, slicing smoothly through skin, muscle, and bone. The Oathtaker’s blood burst forth, its bold crimson color screaming for at
tention. It splattered across the oncoming soldier.

  Trumble fought to stay on his feet, even as he prepared to fend off another blow.

  The child’s eyes widened. “No!” she cried, her tiny little voice breaking strangely into the raucous battle.

  The man who appeared to lead the group, stopped midstride. “Never mind, let’s go!” He turned away. “Hurry!” he called over his shoulder.

  “But what about the child?” one of his men asked.

  “Didn’t you hear her? She spoke.”

  “So?”

  “So, Lilith said to ‘take any too young to speak.’”

  The soldier who’d attacked Trumble, backed away. The Oathtaker’s blood dripped off the edge of his blade. He smirked, then turned back to his leader. “What of Oden?”

  “Never mind him. Let’s go.”

  “Trumble?” Basha interrupted his thoughts. “Trumble?”

  Slowly the clouds over his eyes seemed to part. His spirit returned to the present. He trembled. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Are you all right?” Therese asked.

  “You asked what Lilith had to do with Felicity.” He lifted his crippled hand again, turning it side to side, looking at it, and seemingly addressing his next words to it. “Years back, I served as a liaison between sanctuary in the City of Light, and the one in Polesk. I’d only been doing so for a short time. One cool autumn day, on my way back from a trip to the city, I took a ferry across the River Nix. The boat was in ill repair, but I was already a day behind schedule and needed to get back as quickly as possible. Reluctantly, I boarded the ferry. Just as we reached the deepest, widest part of the river, some patching on the vessel gave way. Water rushed on board. In the ensuing panic, several people went overboard.

  “In the water, I saw a young woman with a child. I jumped in, intending to help her. When just a few feet away,” he closed his eyes for a moment, then continued, “she reached her arms out to me. In them, she held her infant. ‘Take her! Take Felicity!’ she cried. ‘She’s Select! Save her!’”

  The Oathtaker swallowed hard before turning his gaze back to his visitors. “As I reached for the infant, the woman’s eyes looked up and away. She knew she was going to die, but she did all could to save her child before the water claimed her life.”

  “Oh my,” Therese said.

  He shrugged. “I never knew the woman, but she died with strength and dignity. I swore my oath to protect Felicity right then and there.”

  He rose, walked toward a window, then gazed out at the murky, water-sodden air.

  “I took Felicity with me to Polesk. I was with her when Lilith’s murdering cohorts claimed the infants of the city. At the urging of an Oathtaker who’d been sent out from sanctuary earlier that day, I’d intended to go there before Lilith arrived. But Felicity had been ill and . . .”

  “Trumble, how did you manage to escape Lilith’s henchmen?”

  “Escape? Oh, we didn’t escape.” He turned back toward his visitors. “Not exactly. Lilith’s men came . . . She was the tiniest little thing, Felicity was.” A smile came unbidden to his lips as he recollected the infant. “And precocious!”

  He approached the table, then sat down again. “Felicity looked to be an infant still when I saved her from those waters. But the truth is that I have no idea how old she was at the time. She spoke very early on. She was just this . . . tiny little sprite who said the most amazing things!” He grinned, but then his smile faded. “When I defended her—when Lilith’s men came for her—they attacked. Felicity awakened from her nap, saw what was happening, and screamed a single word: ‘No!’”

  He looked down at his crippled hand. “When they heard her cry out, they turned away and left us.”

  “Thank the Good One.” Therese said.

  “Yes, I’m grateful her life was spared. But I’m afraid they damaged her nonetheless. She was old enough at the time to speak. But then she just . . . quit. Speaking, that is. She didn’t talk again for . . . I guess it was nearly three years.”

  “Goodness.”

  “From the day of the attack, she’s suffered from— Well, you saw what happened.”

  The women both nodded.

  “The first time she spoke after having gone silent for those years, was to inform me of a vision she’d had during one of her spells.”

  “A vision?” Basha asked.

  “Often when she has a spell, she sees things, but she lacks some ability to communicate all of what she sees. She has a very . . . simple, a very . . . childlike view of everything she sees. Sometimes she lacks the words, the understanding, to fully convey her thoughts.”

  “Are these like prophecies of some kind?”

  “No, she doesn’t envision things of the future. She sees current events.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “From time to time, Felicity has provided us with critical information at the very time an event is occurring.” Trumble paused, running the back of his hand across the whiskers below his chin. “She’s been bothered for some time now about visions she’s having of two young women. She wakes up insisting that we all pray for them. She’s not satisfied until we fill sanctuary with believers and do so. A couple times now, she’s insisted we keep at it from dusk to dawn.”

  “Who are the women she sees?”

  “I’ve no idea. I wish I could do something more for them though, and perhaps buy Felicity some respite from her spells. They’ve sapped her energy over the past while. But,” he shook his head, “I just don’t know who they are, or where they are, or what we can do to help them.” Scowling, he closed his eyes. “Often I find the girl crying, and I’m unable to console her. I sent her out today hoping to provide her with a change of scenery, to distract her thoughts. But as you saw, the visions returned. I expect she’ll insist on another prayer meeting this evening.”

  “I’m sorry for all her pains,” Basha said.

  He looked at her and nodded, then turned his attention to Therese. Suddenly, his brow furrowed. He tipped his head in thought. “Wait a minute,” he said. His eyes flickered from her, to Basha, then back again. “Felicity thought she recognized you.”

  “That’s right,” Therese said, “but it’s not possible. She was mistaken, was all.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “But I’ve been in hiding for some time now. I’ve never met you before. I’ve never met Felicity.”

  “I told you, her visions of late have concerned two young women. She says she sees two girls, but that—” He exhaled slowly as he looked Therese fully in the eyes. “She says they have the same face.” His brow rose. “It never made sense to me before, but I think I understand now. Twins. Her visions have been about a set of twins.” He bit his lip. “Twins that I suspect, very much resemble . . . you.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  The long journey to the City of Light proved uneventful, though from time to time, Mara and Dixon sought refuge from someone they believed followed them. Though neither of the travelers ever got a truly good view of the person, both felt, from time to time, a man’s presence. It kept them on high alert even now, as they entered the bustling city where hawkers cried out, informing passers-by of their wares, while town criers delivered the news from each street corner.

  Dixon turned Mara’s way as he pointed to a side street.

  She turned in, at his direction, then came to a sudden stop.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  She shivered. “I’ve been here before.”

  He grinned. “Yes, you have.”

  “When? What did I do here? I feel it was something . . . clandestine.” She blushed.

  Dixon laughed heartily. “Perhaps that’s because that’s where we’re headed—to The Clandest Inn.”

  Her brow lowered. “The what?”

  “The Clandest Inn. It’s just ahead there. See?”

  Before them sat a weathered, two-story building, with stables tucked behind. A carriage just leaving the premises pic
ked up speed as it passed by.

  She turned in, stopping only when the hostler walked toward her. She dismounted, then handed the man her reins before turning to find Dixon standing behind her, instructing a groomsman.

  “Can you give me just a minute inside?” he asked her. “This place belongs to an old friend of mine, Ezra. I’d like to confirm that he has room for us before we unpack all our things.”

  She shrugged. “Sure. I’ll wait here.”

  He entered the inn. A flurry of activity greeted him, as barmaids rushed from table to table, their hands filled with foaming mugs of ale. Several visitors surrounded a fiddler plucking out the notes of a familiar ballad.

  He approached the bar, just as the man behind it turned his way. “Dixon!” he cried, the crow’s feet at his eyes becoming evident.

  The Oathtaker smiled broadly. “Ezra, it’s been too, too long.”

  “I’ve been wondering about you ever since Marshall and Jerrett stopped by.”

  “They were here?”

  “Yes, some time ago.”

  “That’s interesting.”

  Ezra frowned. “They said you and Mara left the twins. Whatever for?”

  “It’s a long story, Ezra. Suffice it to say, I could find no other way.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Quickly, Dixon told Ezra of Mara’s condition. Just then, one of the barmaids, an exquisite creature, approached his side. He turned her way. “Hello, Celestine,” he said.

  “Dixon,” she greeted him with a kiss to his cheek, “how nice to see you.”

  “He has news,” Ezra informed her.

  “Oh?”

  “Look, Ezra, why don’t you fill her in while I go get Mara before she wonders what’s keeping me. Remember, not a word about—”