Savior

by Laury Falter

  Over the course of those days, I felt like we had been given a reprieve by the Vires, even while anxiously waiting on the news of another prison being annihilated. We knew an attack was inevitable, and when I wasn’t thinking about Jameson, I was battling the guilt I felt for being the precursor to another round of lives being lost. News of it finally came while I was seeing the wounded, an evening practice I established with Isadora. We had just left the last shack on Isadora’s list when Jameson and Theleo landed in front of us, their descent causing the dock to rattle beneath our feet.

  Theleo escorting Jameson was an anomaly, so whatever had brought them to us was out of the ordinary - and urgent. I knew immediately that something was wrong.

  As Theleo began to speak, Jameson and I looked at each other and the vigilance in our eyes conveyed everything I needed to know before Theleo finished.

  “Great Britain. Almost entirely decimated. The Vires spent days there, returning in sporadic flights.”

  I sighed, feeling the pain of their suffering in my heart. Memories of New York - where infants were pressed to their mother’s chests and the elderly had collapsed in pain against the trunks of trees - entered my thoughts, and I found my teeth grinding together as I suppressed another wave of guilt coursing through me. “Their Officer told you?”

  Jameson confirmed it. “He’s at my place.”

  I gave Isadora a silent confirmation that our visitations were over, which she acknowledged by gesturing for Theleo to take me. He did and we reached Jameson’s shack in seconds.

  The Dissenters’ Officer to the Vire prison in Great Britain approached me as I came into view, his gangly limbs carrying him across the dock in haste and his English accent reaching me before there was solid ground beneath my feet.

  “Relicuum,” he said. Noticing my surprised reaction, he continued, “Yes, I know who you are. Word of you is spreading.” After making that clarification, he returned to the business at hand. “My name is William Harrison. We were attacked three days ago…” he paused before admitting, “It may still be continuing. And we need your help.”

  Jameson stiffened. “You believe we’ll find Vires there?”

  William looked at him, grimly. “It’s very possible.”

  As I watched Jameson begin to frown, I interrupted before he finished his assessment of the dangers. Otherwise, I was certain he’d find a way to keep me here. “Great Britain’s a long way. We shouldn’t waste any more time.”

  “Agreed,” said William, firmly.

  Picking up on Jameson's hesitation, Theleo inquired, “Jameson…?”

  “Oh…,” he chuckled. “I’m coming.”

  “As am I,” said Theleo, stepping forward with resolve.

  Of course, I knew Theleo’s reasoning for accompanying us. He was one of the most infamous Vires, having taught many of those we might encounter. Unquestionably, he would be needed. Most importantly, from his perspective, his sole purpose right now, his self-proclaimed reason for breathing, was to ensure I was kept alive. I wished my mother were here to witness it; it might cause a rip in that defensive boundary of hers.

  “Ready when you are, William,” I said, avoiding Jameson’s eyes so I wouldn't catch a glimpse of his discontent; an emotion I had clearly caused.

  William wasted no time. Shooting into the air so fast the bayou became a blur and then disappearing altogether, the ends of our cloaks snapped fiercely against the wind whipping past.

  We were well over the Atlantic before Jameson spoke again.

  “You’ll need to stay close to me.”

  “I know.”

  “I mean it, Jocelyn. Vires could be in the prison when we get there.”

  “I heard him, too, Jameson.”

  I sensed he didn’t want to let me out of his sight for some reason.

  “You think I’m going to do something dangerous, don’t you?” I speculated, referring to our last conversation in the air when he admitted he didn’t believe I thought about him when in danger.

  “Are you?” he asked, cutting to the heart of the issue.

  “What do you consider dangerous?”

  “Don’t play with me, Jocelyn,” he said his tone firm but soft. “You…I’ve had the feeling recently that you’re considering something…”

  “What?” I asked simply, avoiding his eyes so he couldn’t see the truth in mine.

  “I don’t know,” he sighed, a reaction that made me think he was filled with anxiety. “Something…but I do know that you feel guilty about what’s happening to the prisoners.”

  My silence served as confirmation.

  “You know it’s the Vires doing it, not you.”

  Knowing that I firmly disagreed with him, I bit my lip to prevent myself from responding.

  “The lives being taken are by their actions, not yours or mine." He continued to openly evaluate me. “You’re not planning on giving yourself to The Sevens again to end their attacks, are you?” When I didn’t respond, he pushed again, “Jocelyn…are you?”

  William interrupted then. Being entirely focused on his responsibilities, he was unaware of it. Regardless, I was thankful for it. “I’ll put us down outside the perimeter. We can move in from there.”

  “Good,” Jameson quickly replied, interested in returning to our conversation. “Jocelyn…?”

  He was waiting for confirmation of my intentions, and he didn’t appear to be open to another diversion. So, I gave him the most direct, honest answer I could pull together.

  “If I did, I wouldn’t use you as the excuse this time.” Of course, I didn’t mention that the result of my death would effectively end our proclaimed destiny and he could live out the rest of his life in relative safety. That would be a nice bonus.

  Staring back at me, his face motionless, he said, “No…no, you would do it to end the attacks.” Exhaling angrily, he continued, “But what you don’t understand is that the attacks would only-”

  His words abruptly stopped and all I could hear was the wind howling in my ears. We dropped straight down as if we’d been pushed from a skyscraper with lead weights around our ankles. There wasn’t even time to assess the prison from above.

  Without warning, my feet slammed to the ground, my legs crumpling beneath the force. As I felt the stinging pain screaming through my limbs and radiating into my torso, I released a groan of sheer agony. I then felt Jameson’s hand wrap around my arm, lifting me to my feet.

  “Sorry for the speed,” William said, surveying the area, which clearly was a higher priority. “I couldn’t risk us being seen if Vires are present. Looks like this area is clear, though.”

  As Jameson did a cursory visual inspection of me, Theleo and William assessed our surroundings.

  “Are you all right?” asked Jameson, still holding me up.

  “How’s my hair?” I retorted, glibly.

  Satisfied that I was okay, Jameson chuckled and turned his attention to William.

  “Where are we?”

  “Near the peat bog.”

  “That doesn’t tell me anything,” Jameson replied casually.

  “Right, the prison is this way,” he said, heading slightly to our left.

  We followed him down a well-trodden path wound between trees and expanses of moss-covered lakes. We remained quiet, trying not to draw attention to ourselves, but a few minutes into the walk, Theleo whispered back to us.

  “Don’t look down." Of course, that warning had the opposite effect, compelled us to do just that.

  The moment I did, I placed a hand over my mouth, preventing the gasp that nearly slipped out. Still, after I noticed the body parts protruding from the mossy bog right beside where we were walking, there wasn’t much I could do but look. The dark waters had tanned their skin to leather, and in the moonlight, I discerned that they all shared the same hair color - a deep-orange red.

  My first thought was that these were family members, left here by the Vires to slowly rot together for eternity. But I was wrong.

  �
�These were the original Dissenters,” Jameson declared softly.

  “How do you know?”

  “Their hair,” he explained. “It’s a reaction to the bog water over time.” It didn't take long before he wasn't able to contain his emotions any longer. Understandably disgusted, he muttered, “Centuries of deaths…innocent lives stolen….”

  “Yes,” grumbled William, his voice edged with resentment. “These are the ones the previous Officers couldn’t save.”

  Theleo remained silent, avoiding the gruesome sight of them, but I still caught a glimpse of the deep scowl he wore. And I had the feeling that this may be one of the very reasons he defected.

  As we proceeded, the woodsy smell of moss was replaced by a scent that made my stomach churn. There was no smoke this time, the fires having long since died out. This was different.

  Glancing back at me, Jameson recognized my reaction. “Decomposing bodies….”

  Not from the bog, something told me. Unfortunately, I would have preferred not to have differentiated it because it only meant the smell was coming from up ahead.

  Flinching at the thought, a single notion invaded my awareness: We’re too late….

  Sickened as much from the smell as by the fact we hadn’t been here earlier, I tried to keep my concentration on any sign of Vires. I saw none. Only bodies were stacked haphazardly throughout the colony, their limbs twisted at odd angles across the dirt. Of the few survivors who remained, they focused on slowly dragging the dead to the nearest pile.

  “Jocelyn?” Jameson’s voice penetrated my grief.

  “Sartorius is getting more violent,” I muttered.

  Knowing there was only one thing we could do about it, he urged, “Are you ready?”

  He extended his hand and I took it, his fingers curling around mine, a small embrace that felt like so much more. I was instantly flooded with relief, a warm wave of serenity, melting my misery away so my thoughts could clear; and I knew Jameson was delivering it. He had seen the effect the dead have on me, and he was channeling tranquility to me so I could finish what we had come to do.

  “What are you doing?” I murmured.

  “Helping you,” he said, his voice strained against his draining energy. As we walked, I fed on it, the powerful intensity Jameson harbored, even after weeks in the village. It gave me the strength to expel the healing force that came from being a witch doctor.

  It dawned on me then that Jameson had given me the strength I needed to heal the last prison, and it was his force that made it possible for me to do it here and now.

  A quick look at him proved it. The strain was evident on his face, his jaw locked down against it, his nose flaring at the pressure he was under. He was the pinnacle of strength as he worked to overcome the cast against the prisoners that no one else could.

  Gradually, those who hauled the dead, straightened their backs and lifted their heads as whatever afflicted them began to heal. The dogs who had been limping through the destruction in search of their owners no longer hobbled. The bark on trees began to grow back into place. By the time William came to a stop in front of us, the smell of rotting flesh had lifted, too.

  His gaze flashed between Jameson and me and the effect we had on the prison, remaining silent until we reached the farthest perimeter.

  “That was…,” he said, staggering in shock. “…incredible.”

  “And it’s just the beginning,” said a woman appearing in the doorway of a makeshift cabin.

  Leaning to one side and made of slender branches and reeds, it was assembled as best it could be, given the limited resources of the surrounding area. The only thing setting it apart from the nearby dwellings was the living being standing in the doorway.

  She was older and frail, most likely somewhere in her nineties. Her paper-thin skin hung under her eyes and draped over her delicate arms. Her movement was slow and precise.

  Oddly, she seemed familiar, but I couldn’t quite place her.

  Having seen my reaction, William leaned in, keeping his voice low, and revealed the source. “Wanted Notices.”

  I turned to give him a quizzical look.

  “You’ve seen her on Wanted Notices from The Sevens. A few of the posters were accidentally distributed outside our world and she became the original likeness of a witch.”

  “Ah,” I mumbled, evaluating her closer.

  Her hair was a frizzy mess, twice the size of her head, sprawling down her back like something threatening to consume her. Her nose was stereotypically curved like all caricatures of witches I had seen when I was younger. She wore red and white striped stockings peeking out from beneath a black dress that hung to her knees. In her hand, she carried a black, pointed hat. The only thing the other world had gotten wrong in their renderings of her was the lack of a family stone. She wore a sodalite on her wrist.

  Showing she was no longer interested in being the topic of our discussion, she easily drifted through the door and disappeared into the shadows but not before beckoning us to follow her.

  Inside, she paid close attention to Theleo as he took a place near the door. She examined him intently, but did not voice her thoughts. I wondered if she recognized him as a Vire even without his moldavite stone. The fact he was a Vire prodigy was well-known enough.

  Theleo didn’t seem to notice that she was paying attention to him. The bug crawling up the doorway took precedence. He gingerly plucked it off the jamb and placed it in the pocket of his cloak.

  “Giorgia,” William addressed the woman as we came to a stop. “I’d like to introduce you to-”

  “Thank you, William,” she said, her Italian accent thickening. “No introduction needed,” she replied, almost methodically, before turning to Jameson and me. “This has been expected for some time.”

  Tottering over to the only piece of furniture in the room, she sat down on a bed that looked as if it had more bumps than smooth areas. I took the time to assess her dwelling and got the impression this prison was worse off than ours.

  “We make due,” she said. It took me a moment to realize she was noticing my expression and was reading further into it.

  “I…” I began, allowing my voice to fade at the realization there were no words of substance that could support my thought. She appeared not to care, instead lifting her eyes to us and observing us openly. “Finally, you have arrived….”

  “We would have been here sooner if we’d known.”

  “Ah, yes,” she replied, perceptively. “William had some difficulty leaving us once the Vires arrived, no? Not to be blamed…Not to be blamed. Best Officer we have had. That is not what I meant. This meeting…I’ve known for some time would take place.”

  She noticed Jameson and I exchanging a questioning glance and addressed us directly.

  “You have begun to visit the prisons, no?” Without waiting for an acknowledgement, as if she already knew the answer, she continued. “The prophecy is unfolding. You were to arrive at some point.”

  It was Jameson, with his advanced ability to reason, that picked up on the insinuation.

  “You know about the prophecy?”

  She sighed. “Not enough, I’m afraid. Not enough.”

  “How much do you know?”

  Her gaze deepened, becoming somber. “I have seen the records.”

  In our excitement, Jameson and I marched forward, stopping just a foot from her.

  “Have you read them?” he inquired, his forehead wrinkling with critical interest as he questioned her.

  “A part.”

  “That’s why she’s here…imprisoned,” William interjected. “The Sevens separated those who have seen the records, making it harder to piece together the future.”

  The magnitude of this news amplified my shock, causing everything but my mind to go numb. Of course The Sevens would take that action, I thought, leaving those sources alive in case the records were ever damaged, lost, or stolen.

  Because of my surprise, my question that followed came out no high
er than a whisper. “What part have you read?” I sounded desperate, a result of one section in particular capturing my interest, the part about The Relicuum taking the life of The Nobilis.

  She glanced at the door, the only way we could be overhead. Or, possibly, she was evaluating Theleo again, wondering if what she was about to say would be safe in his presence. After a long pause and apparently overcoming her inhibition, she went on to explain the part she had seen in a way one does when they leave a room silent with tension.

  “I was given the earliest recording, the start of the rest. In it, the first channelers saw not only the future as it must be, but the future that would exist if you, Jocelyn, were to reject your role in it. You have been questioning it, no? The first channelers saw that you would. Your yearning to leave your responsibilities is so great, so strong that it left them unsure of the path you would take, so they traced both paths. I was given the one you rejected.”

  Whether it was the sadness in her eyes or pure instinct, I couldn’t be sure. I just knew what she was about to tell me would be devastating. My muscles tensed. I was bracing myself as if I were running full speed at a wall without the ability to stop. My mind went blank, unable to detect anything other than the sound of her voice. Suddenly, it felt like I was seeing her at the end of a long tunnel which nothing else could breach but the words she spoke.

  “We suffer complete annihilation. The world, as we know it - gone. Families torn apart, forced into slavery to carry out The Sevens' will. Entire cities in flames, widespread death, leaving a trail of burnt bodies. All hope is lost.”

  As she went on, I couldn’t be sure how long I stood there. Time was inconsequential as images of the devastations she recounted took full control of my awareness.

  I felt sick, my stomach having tightened from the reality of her warning.

  There was no way out, no recourse, no solution, no sidestepping my duties. There were two paths: either millions would die…or the love of my life would die. The sarcastic side of me wanted to ask what was behind door number three. The somber side allowed this new reality to sink in. But the strongest part of me knew this was my wake-up call, my fair warning, the unavoidable writing on the wall.