Oathtaker

by Patricia Reding

  The Oathtakers headed to the river, its waters lowered from a long hot season. Mara mimicked Dixon, snapping off a goodly portion of a nearby bush to brush the ground behind so as to leave no obvious tracks for their pursuers. Upon reaching the riverbank, they dropped their branches.

  He stepped into the water and walked upstream.

  “We’d best leave as little to track from the area as possible,” he said without looking back.

  They continued in silence for some time as the sun raced for the horizon. Soon everything appeared the same nondescript, drab, brown-gray color.

  Reigna cried. Mara picked up her pace. When she caught up to Dixon, she grasped his arm, bringing him to a halt.

  “We have to find food for the girls soon,” she said, breathing heavily, “or all of Oosa will know our whereabouts.”

  “There’s a goat farm up the river another hour or so. We could get milk there. I’d rather not have to stop for aid and attract any attention, but we’ve not much choice.”

  “If we walk along the bank, perhaps we could make better time.”

  He stepped to it. Water sloshed from his boots. He started off, clearing a path as necessary.

  Reigna and Eden were slight children, but Mara found it difficult to carry them both and all of her gear. At times her feet failed to respond to her command. She nearly tripped, righted herself, then walked on. Finding a sturdy branch, she adopted it for a walking stick. Every so often she stopped to catch her breath. She never saw Dixon look back.

  A distant howl carried through the air. Crickets chirped and frogs croaked. Birds swooped down toward the forest interior to find their warm beds for the night.

  When Reigna cried again, Mara stopped. She crooked her finger to let the child suck. The gesture satisfied her, but the Oathtaker couldn’t walk this way and carry Eden’s basket at the same time.

  She set out again, having fallen considerably behind. She could just make out Dixon’s silhouette ahead in the fading light. With a renewed commitment, she increased her gait. Finally, she reached him.

  He moved aside a branch blocking their view. Wild herbs and grasses spotted the rocky pasture ahead. The fresh scent of creeping thyme filled the air.

  “Where are we?”

  He motioned toward a small building. “There’s the place I mentioned. The old man and his wife are faithful followers of the Good One. I’m sure they’ll help us.”

  The twins both cried out in earnest. Doubting she could quiet them again, Mara took the lead.

  Full darkness descended, leaving for light only a sliver of the first of the three moons and scattered stars in the night sky.

  In her impatience, she tripped on a stone. Dixon’s hand at her elbow to steady her, surprised her. With no attempt to get her permission, he slipped Eden’s basket from her grasp.

  “Go ahead, lead on,” she said, then followed him to the farm.

  The small thatched cottage showed signs of wear. It leaned slightly to one side as though it had grown weary of holding its own weight and rested on one hip. Planters at its windows sported scented violas, while a large flowerpot at the steps provided an assortment of herbs at the ready for kitchen use. The citrusy scent of lemon thyme, the clean smell of lavender, the earthy scent of oregano, the freshness of mint, and the piney aroma of rosemary, filled the air.

  Upon the cleanly swept porch sat a full rain bucket near the front door. A dipper hung over its side.

  Dixon approached, but didn’t knock. “Drake!” he called out over the infants’ cries. “It’s your old friend, Dixon. Dixon Townsend. Are you in?”

  Mara started. “Dixon Townsend!” she whispered. “Townsend? Like of the Brecken Townsends?”

  He shrugged off the query. “Drake!”

  She remembered hearing stories about the Townsends at her local hood. There was something about their having served as Oathtakers to some of the more famous Select in years past, and of their having assisted with Oosa’s governing Council. Was there some kind of scandal, too? Yes, there was something, but just what, she couldn’t recall.

  The door cracked open. The light of an interior lamp made a silhouette of Drake’s frame. His wild gray hair stood up as though it had somewhere it would rather be going. His ears, somewhat pointed, made him appear almost elfish. When he turned, the light caught his face. Time had begun to tell its story there. It was the tale of a man who loved to laugh.

  “Dixon, old friend! May the Good One bless and keep you. What brings you out on a night like this?”

  “Oh, just helping a friend to make her way back home. We ran into a bit of trouble and I’m afraid we’re in need of a hand. We hoped you’d be willing to sell us some milk for her girls here, and perhaps allow us to rest in your barn for the night.”

  “Sell! Barn!” The old man shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous, Dixon. Come in. Come in!” he urged. “Maggie,” he called out in a voice bigger than he, “we’ve company!”

  Making her way into the kitchen in response to Drake’s call came the shortest full-grown woman Mara had ever seen. She’s almost as round as she is tall!

  Maggie’s bright blue eyes sparkled as she greeted Dixon with a full embrace. “How very good to see you. It’s been too long.” Quickly, she drew for her visitors, sturdy ladderback chairs with braided rag cushions. Mara found the woman, like her husband, instantly likable.

  “Oh my,” Maggie cried when Mara unwrapped the girls. “What beautiful children! Why, Dixon, what a surprise! We had no id—”

  “No, no, Maggie!” he interrupted, shaking his head emphatically.

  Is he blushing? For the first time, Mara saw him smile. She was startled at how handsome he was. He’d only had scowls for her. Realizing her mouth hung open in astonishment, she quickly closed it when he turned her way.

  “This is Mara, a . . . friend of mine.”

  “Mara Richmond,” she said by way of completing the introduction.

  “I’m helping her get back home. It’s a long story. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to be bored with the details,” Dixon said, waving his hand. “In any case, her girls are very hungry—as you can hear.”

  Maggie gazed at Mara. “Milk hasn’t come in yet, huh hon’?”

  The Oathtaker’s mouth dropped open. Now am I blushing?

  “Well never you mind,” the old woman said, wagging her head, her gray hair bouncing. “Sometimes it takes a day or two. When my oldest was born, why I thought it would never come and worried myself near to sick. Then wouldn’t you know, when it finally did, I had enough to feed my poor neighbor’s twins when she took ill and dried up.” She laughed at her own story. “I have some nice fresh goat milk right here. It’s still good and warm.”

  Mara asked how she could assist, but Maggie assured her she had all well in hand. She made a bottle out of a clean spongy cloth and an old, small blue glass bottle. Together, they fed the infants. The girls suckled greedily.

  With the twins fed, Maggie served her visitors warm bread just from the oven, fresh goat cheese, thin slices of ham, and apple pie. While they ate, she fussed over the twins. So round and soft, the girls nuzzled close to her and soon fell asleep. She offered to set up a cradle.

  “Please, don’t go to any trouble,” Mara protested.

  “No trouble! It’s my pleasure. You just sit there and rest. I’ll have things ready for the little dears in no time.” Maggie handed the girls off.

  Dixon held Eden. He snuggled her closely and firmly, while he and Drake enjoyed their ales. “Mara is fearful. She thinks she may need a wet nurse. I guess her sister had the same problem.”

  Now, I know I’m blushing!

  Drake turned her way, frowning in his sympathy for her imagined plight.

  “So I was wondering if you knew where we might go for such help.”

  “A wet nurse, huh?”

  Her blush grew, its heat intensified. She wasn’t accustomed to being the center of such personal discussions. She glanced Dixon’s way and found him smirking
mischievously, apparently enjoying his playacting at her expense.

  “Well, there’s the mission home the Oathtakers at Polesk set up. I understand they’ve taken in a number of refugees.”

  “Refugees!” Mara exclaimed.

  “From Chiran, yes.” Drake pulled a pipe and tobacco from his front frayed pocket. With a gesture, he inquired whether she minded. She did not. Turning to Dixon, he offered the pouch. Dixon refused with a shake of his head.

  “Why are there refugees from Chiran here in Oosa?” Mara asked.

  Maggie made her way back into the kitchen. She sat down with a sigh. “We don’t know the full story, but we’ve heard rumor. For some reason, young women are leaving Chiran for Oosa. They claim they’re in danger there. So the hood in Polesk takes them in and allows them to stay there until they can make it on their own. We take contributions at our local sanctuary to help with the expenses.”

  “From what we’ve gathered,” Drake added, “the women often arrive pregnant or with newborns.”

  “That’s odd,” Dixon said.

  “That’s what we thought,” Maggie agreed, “but we know one of the members of that hood. Ted . . . Ted . . . What’s his name Drake? You know, we met him once here in the village?”

  “Baker.”

  “Not Ted Baker,” Dixon said. “Really? Why, he and I go way back. He worked with my father. He is a very special man.” He patted his knee. “I didn’t know he’d settled in Polesk.”

  “I believe his family originally came from there,” Maggie said.

  “You’ve spoken to this—Ted Baker?” Mara asked.

  “Yes,” Drake responded, exhaling pipe smoke.

  “What did he say?”

  “Not much. He’s still sorting out the fact from the fiction. But in any case, Polesk sounds like the place for you.”

  For the first time in hours, Mara relaxed. She motioned for Dixon to hand Eden to her, then closed her eyes, cuddling the infants. She listened as the others talked, their voices soft and low, about the hood in Polesk, as well as of more mundane matters. When their voices grew quieter, she opened her eyes and looked at the girls. As they gazed back, she hummed softly. To her surprise, words to an old lullaby she thought she’d long since forgotten, tripped from her lips:

  Hush, hush, close your eyes;

  Feel the slowly passing time.

  Hush, hush, from above,

  Come dreams of peace, dreams of love.

  Hush, hush—

  She stopped short. The room was silent. Drake sat, his head on the table, his eyes closed, his breathing steady, as a faint snore escaped Maggie’s lips. Turning Dixon’s way, Mara caught a look of surprise in his eyes before they slowly closed.

  As the infants too, fell asleep, Mara wondered if being an Oathtaker, if having accepted a charge, had been right for her. Could she do this? Her oath meant, at least for now, that she’d given up the pleasures of a family of her own.

  Yes, it was right! Don’t go back there. Don’t remember. Besides, it’s too late to turn back now. She warred with herself about whether or not to go down memory lane, in the end deciding she’d best not. It would do little to serve her now. Even so, she couldn’t help wishing that she could stay put in this simple farmhouse with these good people. She smiled weakly and then, she was out.

  “Mara . . .” Dixon shook her arm. “Mara.”

  Her eyes flashed open. Momentarily confused, she focused on her surroundings, then yawned and stretched her arms over her head.

  “The sun will rise in an hour. We need to go.”

  She stood. The chair had been her resting place for the night. When she’d awakened briefly in the deep hours, she’d placed the girls in the cradle that Maggie had prepared. Then she’d fallen promptly back to sleep and the girls hadn’t awakened her to feed. She rubbed her stiff neck.

  The twins stirred. Reigna wore a newborn’s smile. Eden twitched.

  “I’ll need to feed them. Do you know where they keep the goat milk?”

  “Here.” Dixon handed her a cup of milk. “There’s a cooling cellar beneath the front step. I took enough for a few more feedings, and a chunk of ice. We’ll have to be careful if it’s to last the day.”

  She put some milk to warm in a small pan over the hearth fire. She took her time soaking in the heat, as the morning was a cool one. Then she tended to the children.

  By the time Eden finished eating, Drake and Maggie were awake and the Oathtakers were ready to go.

  “Take this.” Maggie handed Mara a package of fresh bread, meat and cheese. “It’ll be some time before you find a village of any size. You’re sure to get hungry on the way.”

  Mara received the food with thanks.

  Dixon shook Drake’s hand. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  “Don’t mention it.” The old man’s hair, if possible, was in even greater disarray than the evening before. “We were delighted to have you. We don’t often get visitors in these parts. Now don’t be a stranger. We’ll look to see you around again soon. And you,” he said to Mara, “take good care of those little ones.”

  “Thank you, Drake, for everything,” she said.

  “Now don’t forget what I said about your milk coming in,” Maggie whispered to Mara. “You just relax and everything will be fine.”

  The Oathtaker nodded. There was no need to correct the woman’s mistake. It might be better if people believed the girls were her own. There would be fewer explanations to make that way. “Thank you, Maggie, I will.” She approached Dixon. “Do you think they’ll be in any danger because of our stopping here?” she asked quietly.

  He tipped his head in the affirmative.

  “Is there anything we can do? It seems poor recompense for their kindness.”

  “No.”

  She frowned.

  “Welcome to the life of an Oathtaker. Sometimes we do what we have to do.”

  A hot breeze blew steadily. The sun, past its zenith, burned strong. With a long day of traveling already behind them, Mara’s back ached from carrying Reigna strapped to her front side, as well as Eden’s basket.

  She slumped to the ground at the edge of the trail and leaned against a small cottonwood, its leaves shimmering in the faint breeze. She needed to get off her feet, if only for a short time, and to cool down.

  Dixon, who’d gone ahead as usual, turned around as he rarely but at least occasionally did. He turned back.

  “We’ll need more milk for the girls soon. They’re going through what we got from Drake and Maggie quickly,” she said as he approached.

  “Hmmm.”

  “So we’re headed to Polesk, right?” she asked, in an attempt to open a conversation. He’d said next to nothing all day.

  “Mmhmmm.”

  She sighed. His reluctance to speak frustrated her.

  “We’ll need to make camp soon,” he finally offered. “Early tomorrow we’ll reach a village where we can get horses and more milk.”

  “Good. By then, according to your best guess, our window of protection will have nearly expired. Is that right?”

  “Mmhmmm.”

  She shook her head, struggling not to be annoyed.

  “I’ve been thinking about what Drake and Maggie said. I’ve been on the run and keeping a low profile for some time, but even then I’ve heard some troubling things.”

  His speaking surprised her. “Such as?” she asked.

  He fumbled through his pack for their foodstuffs. He broke off a piece of bread and ate it. When Mara held her hand open, he tore some off and handed it to her. She was gratified that he looked embarrassed for not having offered on his own. Then he motioned for her to help herself to the rest of the food.

  “And?” she urged again.

  “I don’t know how much you know about—shall we say, politics—in these parts, but for some years Oosa has kept a close eye on the goings on in Chiran. Zarek, the leader there, has made it quite clear that he intends to expand his sphere of influence. He means, some wo
uld say, to ‘take over the world.’”

  “Good work if you can get it, I suppose.”

  “Hmmm.”

  No laugh. Has he no sense of humor? Or did he just not find that amusing? “So what do the plans of this—Zarek—have to do with our finding a wet nurse for the girls?” It was frustrating having to drag information from him bit by bit . . . by bit.

  He shrugged. “Word is that he’s building himself an army in an unconventional manner. He’s been supportive . . . No, that’s not quite right. He’s been instrumental in the cause to ‘rid the world’ of the Select. Zarek encourages the birth of all Chiranian boys. He gives gold and other favors to the parents of them. Not so for girls. As a result, there’s been mass infanticide of girls born in Chiran.”

  “I’d actually heard things to that effect, but I found them too awful to believe.”

  “Let that be a lesson to you,” he chided. “Wanting or not wanting something to be so, doesn’t make it so, any more than repeating a lie makes it the truth.”

  “Yes of course, Dixon, I’m well aware of that.” Goodness, he’s exasperating! “I misspoke.” She paused, annoyed. “What I meant to say was that the plan sounds so awful, it’s difficult to believe anyone would agree to it.”

  “Make no mistake. Zarek keeps much truth from the Chiranians. They do as their ‘great leader’ says for fear of losing their own lives if they don’t. He’s convinced them that the Select are the scourge of the world, responsible for all their ills. Some say he’s added Oathtakers, and even simple believers, to the list of infidels he tells his people he must rid the world of.” He scowled.

  Mara nibbled at her bread. “So you were saying how this relates to our finding help for the girls.”

  Just then, as on cue, Reigna fussed. Soon it turned to full out crying. Mara offered her some milk. The infant suckled hungrily, then turned her face away and cried again. After several more efforts to get her to eat, she did, greedily.

  Dixon waited for the infant to quiet down, all the while watching the trail ahead.

  Farmland surrounded them in sections of green and gold. An occasional lone oak spotted the scenery, stretching its mighty arms toward the sun as though trying to catch it. Along the pathway, intersecting the jumble of fields and outlining the way forward, trees and berry bushes, haystacks and fencing, stood out.