Oathtaker

by Patricia Reding

  “Polesk has a reputation for being a worldly, cosmopolitan city. People come from all over Oosa to study at, or simply to visit, sanctuary. As a result, political and religious thought and argument ran rampant, as do education, the arts, and the inevitable crime and graft that money and power attract,” he told her.

  Before long they made their way to the outskirts of the city. Its sounds and smells nearly assaulted them. People bustled. The smell of cooking food wafted through the air.

  Dixon’s stomach rumbled in hunger. Mara slapped his arm lightly with the back of her hand, caught his eye, and then joined with him in a good laugh.

  As they rode on in silence for a time, they both kept a close look out so that no detail would escape their attention.

  “Really and truly, Dixon. Honest to the Good One. A full pack,” she interrupted his musings some time later.

  His head snapped to meet her gaze. “What did you say?”

  “You asked if there was really a full pack of grut. Yes, again I say, there was a full pack. Honest to Ehyeh!”

  His eyes bore deeply into hers. “I didn’t ask you anything.”

  “Of course you did.” Her brow dropped. Her expression turned serious. “Just now, you asked me—again—if there really was a full pack of grut the day . . . Well, you know, the day Rowena . . . died,” her voice fell off to a whisper.

  “I didn’t ask anything.” He shook his head. Then suddenly, he smiled. His entire face lit up. “Mara! Your attendant magic!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Your magic. Your magic!”

  “Magic! I just answered your question was all.”

  He grasped her arm. “Mara, didn’t you know? When you accept your charge, you take on attendant magic. It’s to help you to fulfill your duties. Apparently your magic is, or at least it includes, the ability to read thoughts.”

  Her mouth dropped open. She was befuddled. “Well of course I know about attendant magic. But that can’t be it. I’m sure you spoke out loud.”

  He shook his head.

  “Are you sure? It’s not that unusual for someone deep in thought to speak out without knowing it.”

  “No, I did not speak out loud. I was just pondering over your story about the beasts. It’s just so amazing. You heard me, but you didn’t hear me speak. You heard what I thought.”

  “Hmmm. Well if that’s true, then think something else and we’ll see if I can do it again.”

  “We can try, but it may not work.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, an Oathtaker’s attendant magic is not generally ‘magic on demand.’ Not initially anyway. It takes practice before it becomes second nature. So you should test it however and whenever possible. But sometimes, especially in the beginning, it manifests itself in small ways, simply to alert you of its existence.”

  He turned his gaze to the increased flow of horses and carriages. With a wave, he directed her off the main route.

  “You’ll need to be careful with this,” he whispered. “You don’t want anyone to know about this ability.”

  She stared at him, her brow lowered. “What did you mean when you said my magic is, or at least includes, this ability?”

  “Considering that Reigna is a seventh and that Eden is— Well, I don’t rightly know what she is. Anyway, in light of their position, you’re likely to be graced with significant power. Your magic is just coming into being. Be on your guard for anything out of the ordinary.”

  “Such as?”

  He thought for a moment. “Actually, now that I think about it, we may already have seen your magic operating a couple of times without having been aware of it.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Well, like the night you sang everyone to sleep.”

  She laughed. “That’s ridiculous. I sang the girls a lullaby. You others were just sleepy.” She lowered her gaze. “Oh, Dixon, I can’t bear to think what happened to Drake and Maggie. I feel so responsible. Still, I’m sure you’re mistaken—about this lullaby business.”

  He grinned, raising a brow.

  “You’re not serious.”

  “Completely. Actually, I wondered about it at the time. I was tired, but when you sang, I was completely unable to keep from falling asleep. I just never gave it another thought.” He hesitated. “And about Drake and Maggie,” his demeanor turned serious, “I know how you feel. But you should never take on responsibility for the evil deeds of others.”

  Mara recollected the night with Dixon’s friends and the strange look in his eyes before he fell asleep. “But . . . what does singing others to slumber mean? What possible use would such attendant magic, if it’s true my song had such power, serve?”

  He shrugged. “Not sure. Maybe just that you can help others sleep. But it might be something much greater.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, such as being able to bring about specific actions, intentions—to be able to strongly influence others if you set your desires to song.”

  She stared at him. His expression was solemn. “You’re really serious.”

  “Deadly.” He grinned. “Then again, it may be nothing significant at all.”

  “What else? You said we might have seen my powers a couple of times.”

  “Mara, when that Heri thug attacked us, you seemed to know just how to get the information that we needed. Quite easily, really. And then you told me he spoke truth. Did you guess what would work best to get him to talk? Did you guess he was telling the truth? Or did you, somehow, know those things?”

  “I can’t explain it, but I can tell you that I knew—with certainty.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “So, you think maybe I have the power to identify truth from falsehood?”

  “Perhaps. It’s possible, though that is a rare power.”

  “What else? What other kinds of attendant magic powers do you know of?”

  “Well . . . it could be the power to do something like being able to hear things, conversations even, from great distances. Or to see beyond a normal range, or even through solid objects. To . . . understand an animal’s thoughts, or to influence others’ thoughts. To infuse objects with magic power. To heal. To take on the pain of another. To speak or to understand languages previously unknown to you. To change the physical form of something. To create illusions, or . . . to move things by thought, or . . . to run or move very quickly, or—”

  “Like you,” she interrupted.

  “What’s that?”

  “You know—like when you ran toward me to cut off Heri’s attack. I’ve never seen anyone move so fast in all my life! It was as though my eyes couldn’t take it all in as quickly as it was happening.”

  “That’s right—that’s part of my attendant magic.”

  “What other powers do you know of?”

  “Hmmm, let’s think.” He paused. “Oh, I know. It could include something such as being a perfect shot.”

  “I am a perfect shot.”

  He chuckled softly.

  “Really, I’m a perfect shot!” she argued. “Well in target practice anyway.” She scowled. “I did miss a couple of tries at the grut that day.”

  He said nothing, just grinned.

  She frowned at him. “I’m telling you the truth. I’m considered a very good shot. I hit almost every target, almost every time. How else could I have taken down that pack of grut?”

  He held her gaze. “Perhaps that’s why Ehyeh called on you when Rowena needed help.”

  Dust rose in the air from the passing wagons, distracting their attention.

  “We’ll need to talk more about this, Dixon, but right now we need to see to the girls.”

  “Right you are.” Urging Sherman forward, he grasped Mara’s arm again. “Just remember what I said. Be on the lookout for anything—anything out of the ordinary. Once you identify a power, it’s good to practice it so that it’ll be there for you when you need it. Having said that, don’t forget that your powers are
for the benefit of your charge, not simply to make life easier for you.”

  She thought over the events of the past days. She couldn’t recall having noticed anything else out of the ordinary. “What is your attendant magic? I mean—aside from being able to move very, very quickly?”

  “Several things. I received attendant magic with Judith, and of course with Rowena, I got additional powers. For example, I can go long periods with little or no sleep—when I condition myself for that, and . . . other things.”

  “Such as? Wait! No, don’t tell me. Such as the power to light a fire with the flick of your fingers!”

  “You caught me,” he said, smirking, “but that’s pretty simple. I’m sure you’ll be able to do that. There are some things all Oathtakers can do.”

  “Huh. So what other powers do you have?” She glanced out at the crowds.

  “Well, let’s see here. The . . . the power to charm,” he said, with a lift of his chin.

  She jerked her head back his way. She thought he was joking, but he hadn’t cracked a grin. His jaw was set as firm as ever.

  “Charm?” Her mouth dropped open. “Oh, dear Good One, that is rich!” She tried to hold back her mirth, then burst out laughing. Though he was now fully frowning at her, she laughed until tears rolled down her face. “Charm!” she repeated. She held her stomach, it hurt from laughing so hard. “But of course!”

  Scowling, Dixon turned to face her. Then the infection caught, and he too burst into raucous laughter.

  A small boy played with a large black and white dog. The animal yipped and spun around, chasing its tail, then ran after a stick the boy threw.

  The Oathtakers rode toward him. When they neared, Dixon dismounted. “’Lo, there!” he called as he helped Mara to the ground.

  The boy turned and smiled. “Hello!”

  “I wondered, could you direct us to the nearest Oathtakers’ quarters?”

  “Sure! My dad, he knows some Oathtakers. And my brother is one. Course he doesn’t have a charge yet, but he’ll be a great Oathtaker some day! He’s big and strong. I want to be just like him when I get tall.”

  Dixon chuckled at the boy’s way of identifying adulthood with one’s height. “Your brother’s an Oathtaker, huh?”

  “Who’s there?” came a voice from off to the side.

  “That’s my dad there,” the child said, pointing. He threw his stick again, then jumped with glee as his pet shot out to retrieve it. “Go get it, Bear!”

  “Bear! Now, that’s a funny name for a dog,” Mara said to him.

  Dixon left her with the boy and went to meet his father. The man sported simple garb. His short sandy brown hair accentuated his bold chin and prominent nose. His smile was friendly and quick.

  Coming within easy speaking distance, Dixon greeted him. “Good day. We’re just making our way into town and could use some directions.”

  Mara and the child drew near.

  “Patrick,” the man said with a grin, ruffling his son’s hair, “I see you’ve made fast friends again.” Then he introduced himself. “I’m Francis.”

  “Nice to meet you, Francis. I’m Dixon, and this is Mara. We’re traveling and have found ourselves in some need. Your boy tells us you know some Oathtakers.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I have a good friend who I hear is with the hood here in Polesk. ‘Ted’ is his name. Ted Baker.”

  “Ted! Ted Baker? Well isn’t that something? I was just on my way to see him at the Oathtakers’ mission home. My mother, Faith, lives and works there.”

  “We understand that the hood hosts some . . . unusual guests.”

  “Yes, that’s right. Of course Ted would be the one to give you the full account, but I’m happy to take you there with me.”

  “Oh, that’s so kind of you,” Mara said.

  “My pleasure.” Francis took his hands from his pockets and with a wave, summoned Patrick who had wandered away, back to his side, as Bear jumped and yipped excitedly over the visitors.

  “Patrick, run and tell your mother we’ll be gone for a few minutes. Leave Bear inside, and then you can come along with us—if you promise to be well behaved.”

  “Oh, I’m bein’ haved, Dad! I’m bein’ haved!” the boy cried as he ran toward the house, Bear leading the way.

  When Patrick returned, the group set out. Mara and Dixon led their horses. Wagons loaded with goods passed them in both directions, their drivers calling out to people in the streets to clear the way.

  Stands scattered along the roadway became more frequent. Their offerings were rich and varied: handmade silver jewelry; pastries; sausages by the foot; goat cheeses; rice pudding sprinkled with cinnamon, its sweet aroma wafting in the light breeze; hats; gloves; patterned handbags; scarves and shawls dyed to every color imaginable, and portraying diverse designs, scenes, and patterns; handmade soaps boasting by their fragrances, their fresh herbal ingredients; flowers of every hue and scent; books, both new and used; stationery; and more.

  One station caught Mara’s attention with its array of exotic feathers for decorating hats, or for use as quills, canes with hand carved eagles and other wildlife on their handles, various trinkets claiming to hold magical powers, perfumery, and other assorted gewgaw and frippery.

  “We appreciate your willingness to help us,” Dixon said. “We just came from Mara’s sister’s place.” He glanced her way. “Her sister died tragically bearing the little ones here.” He gestured toward the infants.

  “Yes, I promised Cecile I’d care for them. It’s just that they’re not taking well to goat milk. So, we asked around. We heard about the home the Oathtakers run here and thought perhaps . . . Well, we’re hoping to find a young woman who could be of assistance.”

  “It’s possible.” Francis walked on, hands in and out of his pockets in a sort of nervous gesture. His long stride kept the company moving forward at a brisk pace.

  “So it’s true the Oathtakers keep a home for refugees from Chiran?” Dixon asked. “Amazing, isn’t it? Anyway, we’re hoping one might join us. We could help her to make a new life here in Oosa.”

  “I’d be ever so grateful,” Mara said.

  Just then, a stand displaying knives with beautifully carved handles caught her attention. She stopped mid-stride. She surveyed the table of goods, then picked up a blade to examine the intricate pattern on its scrimshaw handle. It depicted, in minutest detail, the form of a hawk, its eyes piercing, the vanes and barbs of its feathers exquisitely complex and detailed. She placed the knife back down as the attendant made his way to assist her.

  “Lovely blade, Miss, lovely,” he said as he lifted another for her to see.

  She looked at the item he presented, then put it back down. Again she picked up the knife with the scrimshaw handle, testing its weight and balance. “How much?”

  “Oh, that one is a beauty. A rare one. Yes, indeed. But luck is with you. We have a great sale today. Just two gold marks.”

  She turned the blade in her hands. “One and a half.”

  “I don’t know. That one’s special. The blade comes from Sugu. They’re famous for their fine workmanship.”

  “One and a half gold marks,” she repeated, looking the vendor in the eyes as confirmation of her final offer.

  He wiped his hand through his hair. “Well, all right, it’s a deal.” He slipped the weapon into a simple leather sheath and handed it to her.

  She paid the merchant.

  “Might I interest you in anything more? We have these lovely—”

  She waved her hand. “Thank you, no.”

  Patrick, who stood at her side, reached toward the knives. Fearing he’d harm himself, she grabbed his hand. “Careful, little man, those aren’t toys.”

  “Patrick,” Francis cautioned.

  “I’m bein’ haved, Dad! Look, no knife!” The boy released Mara’s grasp and held his hands up, palms out, grinning broadly.

  Francis took his son’s hand, then picked up the conversation wher
e they’d left off. “As a matter of fact,” he said, “there may be just the person for you at the home. ‘Nina’ is her name. She’s just arrived, so she’s not had time to make this her home or to make any friends here yet. She’s grieving terribly.”

  He pulled Patrick, who found the sights alluring, back to his side. “She had a child of her own, but the poor thing was born as she was escaping Chiran and it didn’t survive. She was very near the border at the time. I believe it all happened just a few days ago.”

  “Oh, how very sad,” Mara said. “Do you think she might be willing to join us when we return home to—”

  “Princhon,” Dixon interrupted. “We’re headed back to Mara’s family home.

  “That’s right,” she continued, taking in a long breath. “I hope my mother will find some peace in having Cecile’s children with her.” She looked back to Francis, tears welled in her eyes. “We would be ever so grateful if you could put in a good word for us.” She wiped at her eyes as though embarrassed for having allowed her emotions to show. Glancing at Dixon, she noted his surprise. It seemed he hadn’t expected her to be so convincing an actress. She nearly grinned in response, but held herself in check.

  “Well, you look to be good folks. I don’t suppose either of you is a trained Oathtaker?”

  Instinctively, Mara reached for where Spira rested. The light cloak draped over her shoulders concealed her weapon. She said nothing.

  “I am, as a matter of fact,” Dixon said. “That’s one of the reasons we thought to check in with the local hood.”

  “Have you no charge either?” Francis asked.

  Dixon hesitated. “No, I . . . I’ve no charge.” He swallowed hard.

  “It’s a shame what’s happened to the Select, don’t you think? I fear for Oosa,” Francis said.

  After some minutes the group arrived at a large oak beam house in the midst of town. The dwelling was worn, but sturdy. The walkway leading to the front door was void of all vegetation but for a few scraggly weeds that had found purchase along the edges of the house. Clothing hung on lines running from the side of the building to poles in the yard where a handful of children played. Chickens rambled aimlessly, pecking at the grain and gravel on the ground near an outbuilding behind the house.