by Laury Falter
“Release my mother and uncle.”
“Do you deny the allegation of your involvement in this uprising?”
I remained silent, unwilling to participate in this charade.
“She does not deny the allegations. She admits her contribution to this crime. As does her mother. They are both Dissenters.” With that, he pivoted to address a man in a tailored black suit to his right. “Bring out Isabella Weatherford. Prepare the ropes.” As if implying an afterthought, though I knew better, the man tipped his head at me before stating, “And for her – the guillotine.”
His instructions brought out a murmur from the crowd, prompting several Vires to move with haste.
The first one to react responded for everyone, “At once, Peregrine.”
“NO!” I bellowed, taking several steps forward, my boots slapping hard against the stone floor, closing the distance between Peregrine and myself. “Free my mother and free my uncle!”
Ignoring my demand, two Vires on each side of me began marching in my direction, either intent on restraining me or on protecting those they served. I didn’t give them a chance to do either.
Swinging both palms out in their direction, my energy left me and hit them with enough force to send their bodies flailing against the wall where they’d been standing.
“Restrain her for the execution,” commanded Peregrine.
Another group charged me, and I propelled them off their feet. They landed in a pile, their limbs intertwined, some of them face down.
While readying myself for another assault, a single voice rose above the clamor, bold and defiant. The very sound of it stole my breath and shook me to my core. Its arrival was both a comfort and a disappointment. I fought the feeling of relief in hearing it while knowing it shouldn’t be here. Not now. Not yet.
“There will be no execution.”
Everyone in the room paused, including The Sevens.
My heart staggered as I slowly, hesitantly turned and faced Jameson.
Glorious was the first word to enter my mind. It summed him up perfectly. He had stopped in the center of a pool of sunlight, radiating him from all sides, highlighting the line of his tense muscles and resolute set of his jaw. Standing legs astride and fists readied at his side, he was a man prepared to fight. His steely glare, settled on The Sevens, told me that he was also ready to die in that fight.
If The Sevens cared, they didn’t show it.
With the exception of Peregrine, who had been on his feet when the disturbance broke out, The Sevens remained seated. None of them expressed any emotion, in their posturing or on their translucent faces.
“Jameson, please…leave…,” I implored, desperate to see him safe again.
His eyes dropped to mine, both angry and hurt that I would even propose it. “Would you?”
No, I wouldn’t.
“So it is true,” declared the woman who had first seen me enter the room. She appeared dumbfounded. “The Caldwells and the Weatherfords have united.”
Despite the tension gripping the Reception Room, a buzz began running through the crowd, reverberating off the walls. No one here had seen it with their own eyes, until now; and they were suitably shocked to watch the members of two families best known within our world for their deadly feud standing side by side defending each other.
The commotion was short-lived, abruptly ending when a grating noise from the corner of the room caught us all off guard. A stone door was sliding open, revealing absolute darkness.
Slowly, a woman emerged, one I would have recognized anywhere, despite the strands of damp hair clinging to her cheeks and the dirtied rags hanging from her shoulders and hips.
I noticed her hands were restrained, as the Vires used her elbows to push her forward into the room, nearly causing her to collapse.
She remained alert the entire time, scanning the room until her eyes landed on me. They widened, filling with anxious terror, which didn’t settle well with me.
My mother was normally stoic. But then, she knew what was coming.
Peregrine drew our attention to him once she had been positioned at the side of the room.
“You understand, Jameson…” said Peregrine, making no secret that he had immediately recognized him, “…that you have just secured your death, as well?”
“No one will die here today,” he replied, showing no fear.
To anyone else in the room, this exchange wouldn’t have made sense, although Jameson, my mother, and I understood. Jameson would suffer death for the same reason as us. His life, his very existence, threatened the sanctity of The Sevens' reign.
“Jameson Caldwell is a traitor, a Dissenter, as are Jocelyn and Isabella Weatherford,” said Peregrine before falling silent to survey the room. When he opened his mouth to speak, the roar of his voice shook each one of us. “WE WILL NOT ABIDE REBELLION!”
Jameson’s voice did not waver as he delivered his message to the room. “We rebelled to save lives from your tyranny.” Knowing this announcement was more for the benefit of those clustered behind us than for The Sevens, I couldn’t contain my smile.
As if Jameson hadn’t said a word, Peregrine muttered, amused, “Three birds for the price of one. Excellent.” After the briefest of pauses, he reiterated, “Set the execution for three.” Returning to his seat, he paused briefly. “And set the ropes short. The Caldwells and Weatherfords are known for lengthy limbs.”
Sartorius, the whites of his eyes visible across the room from where I stood, nervously rose to his feet. “Peregrine, I call for a private discussion before we proceed.”
Another Seven – this one wearing a turban – pronounced, “They are admittedly Dissenters. Treason is a crime. Death will be the punishment.”
Ignoring him, Sartorius urged, “Peregrine, a private word, please.”
In the midst of this tense exchange, whispers began from the back of the room, creeping forward through the crowd. Unlike the commotion before, they were distinct, as if a message was being passed from one person to the next.
“Jocelyn…”
“…Weatherford…”
“The girl…”
“…is Jocelyn Weatherford.”
“The girl is Jocelyn Weatherford!”
The anxiety in the room gave way to excitement, as voices rose and bodies shifted for a better view of the front.
From the main entrance, through the moving wave of hooded faces, I thought I caught sight of a few familiar ones. Theleo was making his way toward me. Aunt Lizzy and Jameson’s parents were here, too. And they were coaxing the crowd.
As if on cue and following a predetermined plan, Jameson spun to face the crowd.
“If the name sounds familiar to you, it is because the rumors Peregrine mentioned have reached you. There was an uprising outside New Orleans, Jocelyn Weatherford was involved, and, yes…she is The Relicuum.” The clamor coming from the mass of people grew louder and more fervent. “She is the one standing before you,” Jameson said, turning and gesturing to me so there was no confusion as to who he was referring to. “And she is about to be executed by The Sevens.”
“They want to execute The Relicuum!” shouted a man from the crowd.
Cries of rejection over this act began and escalated rapidly, stirring the people further.
It was at this moment that I understood what was taking place. Jameson knew The Sevens held the power. We had walked into their home where they kept a fighting force dedicated to carrying out their commands – the ones wearing black uniforms and moldavite stones who stood in the corner awaiting orders. There was only one defense Jameson could use.
And so the crowd became his weapon.
The Sevens, who had been engaged in their heated argument, came to this realization at the very same time as I did. Just as I felt Jameson’s arms come around me, I saw a mass of black uniforms charging directly for us.
2 PRISON
“Hang on,” Jameson’s voice called out as my feet left the ground.
; A second later, we hovered above the crowd, which was now a single mass of swaying black uniforms and cloaks worn by observers meshing together to become one.
In the back of my mind, I recognized what was happening. Someone from below was levitating us, because it certainly wasn’t me.
Jameson grunted, making me think he’d been attacked, but I realized it was because we’d been moved. We suddenly found ourselves lingering an inch below the rafters, with those Vires who had been charging us passing by below, narrowly missing us.
Several of the Vires had left the ground in the middle of their sprint toward us, shooting into the air, arms outstretched, hands reaching for us; but whoever controlled our movements was deftly making sure we avoided them.
“Who…?” I began, but my breath rushed from me as we were sent across the room again.
Below us, the crowd recognized the danger they were in and began swarming toward the doors, funneling through them like a black stream.
“My mother and Uncle Lester,” I shouted over the noise.
“Don’t worry, we’ve got them,” assured Jameson just as I caught sight of four cloaked figures and a woman dressed in rags soar into the air to follow us out the door.
In that brief moment, I also caught sight of others. The Sevens. They stood stiffly in front of their thrones, devoid of emotion, and each one concentrating solely on me.
I couldn't make sense of it. They held vile contempt for me, and for Jameson; they wanted us dead; and they wanted the rest of our world to know it. Yet, they were letting us go so easily. That decision seemed in direct opposition to everything they had attempted in the past.
And I was correct.
A wave of black uniforms took over my view of them, closing in like a flock of crows, and I knew The Sevens had given the Vires orders to pursue us. From the small, stone town below us, hundreds of them emerged from every angle; from behind the stone buildings, from the corridors between them, and from the walls surrounding the town.
Jameson’s arms tightened around my waist as our speed picked up rapidly.
“I have you,” he said into my ear, his breath brushing across my skin. “I have you.”
There was a hint of relief in his voice which meant he uttered the words more for his benefit than mine. He wasn’t telling me that I was safe so much as reinforcing that, finally, he’d reached me.
For me, his presence here was surreal. He wasn’t supposed to have found me. I wasn’t supposed to be wrapped in his firm embrace. I should be dead by now. I hadn’t expected to see Jameson again, or even feel his skin against mine. Yet, here we were, attempting to evade the enemies that should have already taken my life.
I kept twisting my head to see behind us, watching as we gradually outpaced the Vires. When they became specks in the distance, I finally took a deep breath.
“I think-I think we’ve lost them,” I said to Jameson, knowing he would hear me despite our speed. One of the benefits of levitation is that I don't have to compete with the atmosphere, rather it compliments me.
Still, I rotated my head yet again, searching for any sign of danger, and caught sight of Jameson out of the corner of my eye. In that brief moment, I caught a glimpse of the face I never expected to see again. His sandy-blonde hair still fell over his translucent green eyes and his tantalizing scar remained just above his upper lip.
I blinked once to distract my focus because I wasn’t ready yet to have him back. I’d given him up, let him go, released him to a full, safe life. Still, despite my effort, he’d found his way back to me.
“Do you know who’s carrying us?”
“Theleo was,” he said, staring straight ahead. I got the sense he was trying to avoid looking at me, too. “But I think your mother has taken over. She’s faster.”
My mother was innately competitive and excelled at just about everything, so his comment made sense.
“She’s going to wonder what a Vire is doing with us.”
“Your aunt will explain.”
I peeked over my shoulder and sure enough, one of the cloaks was settled in beside my mother, who wore a grim expression.
“I wonder how that will go over…,” I mused. My mother instinctively disliked Vires, and she wasn’t alone in her revulsion.
“Time will tell,” he replied complacently. “Right now, we need to concentrate on our collective safety.”
“Yes…Do we know where we are going?”
“The one place The Sevens will never think to look.”
I waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t and I pressed, “Which is?”
“One of their own prisons.” He seemed to be more attentive to our surroundings than to my questioning. I didn’t blame him, though. Outrunning Vires was a feat almost unheard of.
Considering his hint, I came to the answer. “Ah…the village. Good thinking.” As an afterthought, I added, “Who came up with that idea?”
“Me,” he replied flatly.
Neither his answer – nor the way he said it – surprised me. For the first time, the shock of still being alive washed away, making room for the awe I always felt when witnessing Jameson’s humble intelligence. It was mesmerizing.
Giving in to my desire to look at him, I found his eyes gleaming, and his lips lifted in a tantalizing smile. It was a reversal to his previously obstinate expression, and my heart instantly warmed at the sight of it.
“What?” I asked, thinking he was probably thankful we’d gotten out alive.
He chuckled to himself and then leaned in to whisper, “It’s nice to have saved you for once.”
I tossed my head back against his shoulder and released a laugh. “Well, don’t get used to it,” I teased.
“Oh…," he snickered confidently. “Something tells me that I’ll have plenty of future opportunities for that.”
Now offended, my jaw fell open, and he laughed mischievously. Then I felt the distinct pressure of his arms tightening around me. Unfortunately, it was fleeting. He loosened them almost immediately after.
I was tempted to tighten my own grip on his hands as they rested lovingly around me, a reaction I fought for several minutes during the awkward silence that followed. It abated only after I spoke again.
“I can’t believe they allowed you to come.” I was referring to his parents knowingly placing him in harm’s way.
His reply was steadfast and blunt. “They didn’t have a choice.”
I quickly translated that to mean no one would have prevented him in coming for me, and my heart leapt. Regrettably it was for the wrong reason. Guilt washed over me as I struggled against asking him if there was anything I could put him through that would make him stop loving me. But, I realized, I already knew the answer.
“Jameson…,” I said, my voice softer than I would have preferred.
“Hmmm?” He tipped his head down toward me and the strands of sandy-blonde hair drifting across his forehead were ruffled by the wind.
“Thank you…for coming for me.”
It looked like he wanted to say something, his face conveying that, whatever his thoughts, they were deeply provoking. In spite of them, or possibly because of them, he opted for something more platonic. “You’re welcome, Jocelyn.”
As he returned to his aloof silence, his words repeated in my mind, stinging me more than I would have imagined.
They had all the formality of a conversation between office co-workers. But what more could I expect? I had taught Jameson to keep his distance from me. In fact, that was what I had told him to do. I couldn’t blame him for repressing his feelings for me, and I certainly couldn’t hold it against him.
We spent the remainder of our flight in uncomfortable silence, the pressure of the muscles in his chest against my back consuming my awareness. Occasionally, he repositioned his hold on me or shifted the placement of his arms and my breath caught. He noticed it, I knew, but didn’t address it, which only saddened me more.
We reached the Mississippi River by late afternoon a
nd then New Orleans. By the time the sun had fallen, we the bayou was directly below us. From above, through the broken clouds, it looked dark and mysterious, threatening even. Shadows stretched between thick clusters of trees, and patches of water peeked from between them, reflecting a granite-like surface.
I knew better.
Hidden away in the gloomy darkness, there were people our world had forgotten. Innocent people wrongly persecuted by The Sevens; those who had been ordained to live out their lives in a remote, watery village, and far worse, to suffer the punishment of having their innate abilities suppressed. Witchcraft, such an integral part of these people’s lives, was a faded dream in the village. They would still carry their family stone and perform their sacred rituals but no result ever came from either. Because of this, they were ghosts of their former selves, empty shells doomed to a life of weakness. This was only a fraction of what you received if The Sevens considered you a threat.
Jameson and I fell into that classification, so it was slightly ironic that we were beating them by secretly committing ourselves to this lifestyle before they could.
Our descent was much quicker than either Jameson or I anticipated and he again tightened his hold on me. Despite my inhibitions and his rigid estrangement, I enjoyed it for as long as it lasted. A few seconds later, we found ourselves coming to a stop on a short, wooden dock, where he unwound his arms and stepped away from me. I had to subdue the pull he had over me then or I would have followed him in the same direction.
The air smelled different here, as it always did, a mixture of salt, moss, and moisture. The abundance of cypress trees surrounding us ensured that no breeze could find its way in. Most notably, it was silent. Only croaking frogs and chirping crickets made themselves known. It felt as if no other living soul existed for miles. But, that was not the case.
