Savior

by Laury Falter

  “Why they comin’?” grumbled Miss Mabelle. “We don’t need no escort.”

  Theleo, who had faced Miss Mabelle’s wrath before, interceded. “They’ll be taking over accompanying the remaining villages.”

  “Hmm, at least until someone recognize what they are,” she said, making a good point.

  “Were,” corrected Eli. “What we were.”

  Miss Mabelle scrutinized him before sniffing in suspicion, and it made me realize the deep-seated mistrust Voodoo practitioners felt with Vires. While I’d never considered it before, it didn’t surprise me. Voodoo practitioners had been watching the Vires' activities for years. Miss Mabelle seemed in no hurry to resolve the issue tonight, instead turning to Theleo and snapping, “We ready now.”

  Our housekeepers issued constant demands to Theleo along the way, something he took well, but that Jameson and I watched with keenness, ready to step in if needed. We reached the east coast swiftly, which I figured was a result of our housekeepers' incessant pestering.

  We hovered momentarily over the Atlantic Ocean, the twinkling lights of a small town nestled in the trees spread out before us.

  “That it,” said Miss Mabelle sharply, pointing her cane to the north. “Get us over there.”

  Theleo did as she instructed, following the jerky, irritable motions of her cane until settling us down on the outskirts of town.

  “Where are we?” I asked, surveying an isolated house down a long, tree-lined lane.

  “Salem,” replied Miss Celia in a whisper, although it didn’t seem anyone was remotely close enough to overhear.

  “Salem, Massachusetts? Well then, let’s hope no one saw us land…,” I said in all seriousness.

  Following my line of thought, Jameson added, “Might trigger our persecution here all over again.”

  Realizing there was still a chance of it, we searched the sky for Theleo, Eli, and the other men. Thankfully, they were gone.

  Miss Celia and Miss Mabelle started for the small, clapboard house just as the windows lit up from inside. It seemed our host had been waiting up for us as promised.

  There was only the sound of crickets and a slight breeze through the trees in this remote part of town, giving it a peculiar, lonely feel. The house, which boasted two steep gables and a small porch, seemed lost in the woods, and yet, was somehow welcoming at the same time. By the time we reached it, smoke had begun to flow from the massive chimney built straight through the center.

  As we arrived at the door, it swung open, five crooked fingers appearing to be the only things holding it. From beyond them, the first thing I noticed was the intense aroma of herbs, a mixture of them, wafting toward us. It was followed by the sounds of a crackling fire and then a giddy screech.

  The head of a woman peered around the edge of the door, beaming with excitement. Even though her skin showed signs of age and her hairstyle was outdated - being pulled back in a loose bun - her friendliness showed her youthful spirit.

  “I have tea,” she offered quietly and I got the sense our host was trying to restrain her enthusiasm.

  “Rose petal,” announced Miss Mabelle, unceremoniously moving past her without being invited in.

  Miss Celia followed her lead. “Orange peel for me, Cornelia.”

  “And for The Relicuum and Nobilis?” our host whispered, merrily, her shoulders weakening from her eagerness and beginning to shake.

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “None, but I appreciate the offer,” replied Jameson.

  She waved us inside urgently and then shuffled toward the cavernous fireplace, which seemed to comprise most of the room.

  Other than its main feature, the entire downstairs consisted of a few rugs strewn across the hardwood floor, a few worn sofas, and a small table with a single chair. There was, however, an abundance of art and dried herbs hanging from every available spot on each wall, and a number of cats resting in various spots around the room.

  Cornelia was several feet shorter than me, a result of my long legs and her incredibly hunched back. I noticed this as I towered over her.

  “Can I help you with that?” offered Jameson, when he caught her struggling by the fire to lift the pot of what appeared to be water.

  She shooed him away, hobbling around the room, chasing cats out from each seat. Miss Mabelle and Miss Celia immediately sat in the chairs, while Jameson and I steered away from the chair marked with the indent of her small frame. Instead, we sat on the nearest couch, our legs touching, his hand settling over mine.

  As she shuffled around, dusting pieces of clay that had become personal artifacts despite being unfinished, she asked in a manner that was both playful and serious, “Stirring up a bit of trouble for The Sevens, are we?”

  “I’d say they’ve given us our fair share,” replied Jameson.

  “Indeed…,” she mused, “…yes, indeed." She waved a hand wildly in front of her face. “Introductions,” she mumbled as a reminder. “That is Beatrix, Shallow, Color, Trot…” She went on to name every cat in the room, forgetting the names of the last two and brushing it off with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “My memory is a bit foggy now,” she remarked, continuing to tidy her home.

  “How exactly did you hear about us, Cornelia?” asked Jameson cordially. “You live a little removed from the heart of downtown Salem.”

  “Yes,” she sighed in reflection, temporarily becoming lost in her thoughts. “After the trials, we moved farther out into the woods where it was safer.”

  “You mean…The Salem Witch Trials?” he clarified.

  She stopped her dusting and peered through the dim light at him, her frivolity from earlier now gone. “They knew we existed. But not a one of us was ever found. Not a one. Only the innocents were hung. We learned our lesson, though. Tolerance would come at a price none of us were willing to pay. So we lived out our lives in secrecy, which is the tradition in our world as it is.”

  “But, Cornelia, those trials were back in the 1600’s…,” Jameson commented.

  “1692.”

  I stared at her, wondering if she’d gone senile.

  “Have you absorbed all your abilities yet?” she asked, suddenly changing the subject and redirecting her question at me.

  “Oh, um, all except the elements.”

  Oddly enough, when she giggled, it was very fitting. “That was my gift. Bit rusty, though. Haven’t used it in years.”

  I noticed the pieces of art she’d picked up were being arranged on a small table beside the fire as she spoke.

  “Water in the pot, boiled to hot, find your way, into the clay.” We then watched as the water streamed over the pot’s edge, glided over to the clay mugs, separated, and spilled into each one.

  She turned toward us, excited by her success. “Still have it!” After a brief pause, she added, “But you’ll need to come get it…I don’t levitate.” While that seemed to spoil her fun, she appeared to overcome it quickly. “I have a special brew I’ve made for dinner, too. Oh…” she muttered and went very still. “I-I’ve forgotten to put it on. I came over here,” she said, moving back to the fire, “and…oh, my memory is just a bit cloudy."

  “It’s really all right, Cornelia. We’ve already eaten.”

  “Oh, all is well then. All is well,” she surmised with a shrug and began to stoke the fire.

  The room fell silent with only the crackling of the fire filling the air. I got the feeling that Jameson was about to suggest we head home, when she turned to him, her eyes once again somber and lucid.

  “Do you know I’ve only known one other channeler?”

  “You know I channel?” he replied.

  We were getting the feeling our traits weren’t entirely a secret anymore; although, we had no idea just how well Cornelia knew us in comparison to the rest.

  “It was how we helped identify you, Jameson.”

  “I’m-Excuse me?” He sat up, locking eyes with her, curious as to how she knew him.

  “You were more of a
challenge than Jocelyn. The records weren’t as clear about you. But clear enough, oh yes, they were clear enough.”

  I was beginning to wonder if we were witnessing another one of her senile moments.

  “What do you know about the records?” he asked, stiffly.

  She turned from him suddenly, her hunched back shielding her face. “Record,” she stated quietly. “I know about the one.”

  “Which one?”

  “The record that recounts the starting of the war.”

  By this point, I was sitting up and our housekeepers were observing us with humor in their eyes.

  “Did you know about this?” I asked Miss Mabelle.

  “That really the question you want ta be askin’ right about now?” she retorted.

  Taking her cue, Jameson asked, “How does the war start? And how do you know about it? Do you know Maleko? Kalisha?”

  Cornelia exhaled slowly, as if trying to deflect pain. “Maleko,” she whispered, tears beginning to gather in her eyes. “He was so young when I took him in. Fresh from the Vires' way of thinking. On the run from them, you see. They were vicious, tearing apart everyone they found in their path. But they wouldn’t have found him. Not here.” She said this with a strong hint of satisfaction. “He would have lived his life in peace, for once. But he chose a different path. He wanted to correct the wrong, to redeem himself – which he did by ending his life to protect another.”

  “Cornelia, did he show you the record before he passed?” When she didn’t answer, he persisted. “Cornelia?”

  Slowly, she twisted back toward Jameson. “No, no he did not.”

  Jameson exhaled and I could almost feel the pent up hope seeping from him. My heart broke too at hearing the news.

  But then, Cornelia smiled. “He didn’t show it to me…Maleko channeled it to me.”

  Jameson’s head snapped up, his eagerness returning. “Do you remember what it said?”

  “My memory is a bit hazy, but that – oh, yes, that - I do recall. It was terrible, so terrible I couldn’t watch the entirety of it.”

  “What-What did you see?” I urged, purposely keeping my tone soft and encouraging.

  Cornelia shuddered at the memory of it, but hobbled across the room toward us anyway. Once in front of us, she held out her hand in a sign that meant she was ready to channel her thoughts.

  Jameson appeared momentarily frustrated. “My channeling is a bit rusty, too,” he admitted. “It’s limited to the transfer of energy.”

  Her expressed confusion, before understanding finally settled in. “Ah,” she mumbled. “So that’s where you’ve been hiding…in a penal colony.”

  For a hazy mind, it was rather sharp still, I noted.

  “I can try, Cornelia,” I offered. “Jameson will just need to assist.”

  We formed a circle then, taking hold of each other’s hands, and in the end we found her memories to be clear, although fragmented.

  I couldn’t blame her. She knew the future and it was bleak. It was no wonder her mind conspired against her in an attempt to forget. I concluded that was the very reason her memory had become foggy in the first place.

  Disappointed, Cornelia dropped her hands and returned to the fire, staring into it as shadows crept across her somber face. Embers danced through the air around her, flashing in her now hollow eyes, giving her the look of someone lost in deep, solemn thought.

  “Something horrible this way comes,” she murmured.

  “Cornelia?” prompted Jameson, appearing concerned.

  Still mesmerized by the flames, she began to speak, and a tremble started in the core of my body. “A false truce will be offered. And the lives of innocents will be tried. And an exodus will lead to a failed revolution. Those who you trust the most will turn on you; alliances will shift; allegiances will change. You will give everything to save each other…everything,” she sighed, in quiet desperation. “Great sacrifices will be made; lives will be given in battle and in solitude; all hope will be lost.”

  When she was overcome with silence, we waited. Jameson tightened his hold on my hand, trying to ward off my tremors. It helped…some.

  “Can you remember anything else, Cornelia? Anything specific?” Jameson urged.

  “You will lead the provinces, Nobilis. They will rise up against The Sevens, secretively at first, and then, they will become bolder in their attempts. But before that happens…very soon now…The Sevens will find you and will take the one you love the most. And while your love was the spark, it will be your capture that stokes the flames.”

  Jameson, was the first word to go through my mind. The Sevens would take him.

  I waited for the sorrow to overtake me, but it never came. Resolve to keep it from happening was all I felt, the same kind I’d carried with me since standing in front of The Sevens preparing to give my life for Jameson and my family. This time, however, it was far more potent.

  A wisp of smoke gusted down the chimney and swirled around Cornelia’s feet, reawakening her.

  “Someone,” she cleared her thoughts with a delicate shake of her head. “Someone has arrived,” she announced just as a knock came to the door.

  “Best be goin’ now,” suggested Miss Celia. “Pleasant visit,” she added warmly, which seemed ironic, because it hadn’t been. Nonetheless, she and Miss Mabelle were at the door before Jameson and I could stand. However, we weren’t quite ready to leave.

  Jameson approached our host and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Cornelia,” he said.

  The woman’s head drifted up, the glassiness of her eyes still gradually subsiding.

  “Thank you.”

  A smile played on her lips and then quickly fell away.

  I began to express my appreciation when her hands came up and flattened against my cheeks, the cold dryness of her fingers feeling rough against my skin. “Things aren’t always what they seem, child. As the war goes on, remember…Things aren’t always what they seem.”

  My face twisted in confusion as I remembered I'd heard that warning before. Before I had the chance to ask about it, Miss Mabelle’s cane hit the floor.

  “Best be goin’ now,” she restated, this time with more persistence.

  I followed her out the door as Cornelia’s last statement dwelled in my thoughts. There was no denying that I’d heard that phrase before, and that it had proven to be true. But what wasn’t what it seemed? I had a sense that Cornelia didn’t know – which was the only reason Miss Mabelle’s prompting got me to move – and that only the passing of time would give me the answer.

  Theleo waited at the bottom of the porch steps, which told me that he had been the one who stirred the fire in the chimney, on his swift arrival. He wasn’t alone, though. Levitating above us were over a hundred men, women, and children from the prison they’d just visited, their bodies appearing as murky silhouettes against the moonless sky.

  Despite the number of people Theleo was levitating, we returned to the village in what felt like record time. He was getting stronger, I noticed.

  Vinnia greeted the new arrivals as usual, and the process to situate them began. After our housekeepers, Jameson, and me were deposited on Jameson's dock, Theleo, Eli, and the other defectors left for their outpost locations, never bothering to land.

  Being ones who didn’t linger, Miss Mabelle and Miss Celia turned to leave immediately only to be stopped by Jameson.

  “You set this up, didn’t you?” he called out to them, appearing to already know the answer. “You found her and knew she would have information we would need, didn’t you?”

  They stopped together, side by side, motionless. Without the creaking of the dock beneath the weight of their footsteps, the village grew tranquil again, amplifying their lack of a response.

  Miss Mabelle’s head jerked, though not far enough around to actually see us. “Can’t make no one do nothin’,” she spat. She didn’t like being called out.

  “Well,” Jameson sighed. “Thank you for arranging it.”
>
  By the time he said this, Miss Mabelle and Miss Celia were already on their way toward the next dock. Not bothering to stop or turn around this time, Miss Mabelle grumbled a succinct answer for both of them. “Yer welcome.”

  As they left, we watched the docks rolling side to side beneath Miss Mabelle’s weight. Miss Celia had no problem keeping in step, and the steady, rhythmic tap of Miss Mabelle’s cane slowly dissipated.

  “Think they’ll be able to find Kalisha?” I asked, feeling some optimism that Jameson and I weren’t the only ones searching.

  “I hope so,” he said, exhaling in an effort to rid himself of the tension.

  As our housekeepers disappeared entirely in the night, I turned and headed for the door to Jameson’s shack. I had only taken a single step when Jameson’s hand took hold of mine.

  “Not yet,” he said, and gave me a mischievous grin.

  “Not yet?” I repeated curiously.

  He didn’t clarify with words, instead leading me to his boat at the edge of the dock.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, noticing no one else was awake. A visit was out of the question this late at night.

  “I told you,” he replied, softly, “I will let you know when I’m ready.”

  “But you’re not ready now?”

  “No,” he said emphatically, as he maneuvered the boat away from the dock.

  Escorting me through the waterways, we worked our way toward a remote part of the village. When we first headed out, shacks lined both shores of the channel. They progressively lessened in number until we passed the last of those being constructed and became shrouded by the wetlands.

  The moon reflected on the calm surface of the water and fireflies glimmered throughout the trees, lending a mystical feel to the bayou. The hint of moss and saltwater always present in the village was stronger here, giving the bayou an oddly fresh scent. I felt like we had entered an entirely different world.

  As he navigated us around a cluster of cypress tree stumps, a structure came into sight.

  “What is that? A…a platform?” I asked, peering through the shadows.