by Jane Shoup
Milainah stood behind the altar. “Sit,” she invited.
Forzenay took a seat first. Kidder and Graybil sat behind him.
“I’ll stand,” Vincent said coldly. The pretty, young Seidh who had led them in touched his shoulder as if to console him, only his knees went weak at her touch and he all but fell onto a bench. Stripe quickly sat.
“I understand the heaviness of your hearts,” Milainah said.
“Do you?” Vincent challenged.
Milainah’s gaze fell on him. “And your frustration.” She looked at the others, one at a time. “Men ignore the spirit realm until there is no other alternative but to turn to it. But, in the neglect, gods forget about humans. It’s not difficult. We are far beneath them. How often do you think of … beetles?”
Kidder shifted in his seat. “I’m going to assume that’s a rhetorical question,” he muttered quietly.
“A dark force has been summoned and, for the first time in many centuries, certain gods have reacquired a taste for humans, their pain and their passion.”
“Are there not gods that can be called upon for help?” Graybil asked.
“We can beseech, but, as I said, we are far removed from them.”
“So what are we supposed to do?” Vincent snapped. He was out of patience. Ammey was being held captive or perhaps being sold at a slave market, or worse, and the Seidhkona was talking of gods and spirits.
“Bellux-Abry seeks to annex Shilbridge,” she said. “And there are citizens of Shilbridge that welcome the alliance. If it happens, their foothold will be strong. Too strong. By the events in Draven, you delayed the process, but you must not allow this alliance to form.”
“How can we stop it?” Forzenay asked.
“Use any means,” Milainah warned.
“And Ammey?” Vincent spoke up again. “We have to go after her!”
“No,” Milainah rejoined. “You must not. Her path is crucial. You must not interfere with what is to be.” Her eyes had begun to glow. No one else dared speak for the moment.
“Thank you for the guidance,” Forzenay said, breaking the silence.
Milainah looked at him with affection and sorrow. She stepped around the alter and past them, pausing to touch his shoulder. He stared straight ahead, full of conflict. She continued on, beckoning to Vincent. “Walk with me.”
Vincent rose and fell in step beside her. It was less demeaning than having the serene looking Seidh escort him. The two of them walked in silence until they reached a vine-covered archway formed from the branches of pearwood trees. The scent was sweet, and sunlight filtered through making strange, delicate patterns on the ground.
Milainah finally spoke. “Your feelings are understandable, but what you seek is not to be.”
He came to an abrupt halt. “What are you saying? That I will not see her again?”
She turned back to face him. “I believe you will see her again, though not for a time.”
‘Not for a time’ was too vague for his liking.
“Her path is not your path,” she continued. “Although both are imperative.”
“Do you know what her path is?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know it’s imperative? What could she do that’s so imperative?”
“We will know in time.”
He seethed with frustration. “Do we have a say in this? Does she?”
“Did you not make the decision to put a greater good ahead of yourself?”
“I was referring to her.”
“You think she did not, then? Do you believe she lacks courage?”
“No!”
“Resolve?”
“Is she being hurt?” he demanded, exasperated that he’d lost control of the conversation.
Milainah hesitated. “She will know pain,” she replied quietly.
Vincent huffed and shook his head in disbelief. “You tell me that and expect me to do nothing?”
“No. To do what you are called upon to do. More is at stake than you can fathom.”
“Yes, war. And it all sits on our shoulders!”
“War between men is not the worst that can happen,” she warned. Her eyes began to glow again. “At this point, it is the least.”
Her admonition chilled him. When someone touched him from behind, he jumped. He turned to see a young Seidh standing behind him. “Come,” she beckoned.
He turned back to Milainah, but she was walking away. He considered pursuing her, but to what end? As he followed the young guide, he felt chastised and more conflicted than ever. Milainah claimed that war was inevitable, but if that was true, was he wrong to care more about Ammey than a war that would occur no matter what? “Where are we going?”
“To the pool of restoration.”
“Ah. So a bath will fix what ails me?”
The young woman did not respond. She led him to a large pool of bubbling, white water. Besides a towel and robe, there was a filled wooden goblet. “I will return,” she said with a bow of her head.
He watched her leave and then went for the goblet. He sipped and found it rich and mildly sweet. He drank it down and then disrobed. Admittedly, he did need a wash, but it wouldn’t fix a thing except his odor.
The water was so hot, it took a few minutes to work his way in and fully submerge. He swam to a submerged rock chair and leaned against the smooth boulder. The water bubbled around him and foamed under his chin. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly, trying to mentally loosen the knot the tension inside. There was no need for the tension since his decision was made. He was going after Ammey on his own. The others could go on to Shilbridge, but he would go to Bellux-Abry and find her. He had to.
Of course, he had qualms. If Milainah was right about her being ‘the one’, what might he be destroying when he rescued her? But all he cared about was saving her. He heard a splash and opened his eyes to see two women moving toward him as if they’d come from within. Before he could adjust to that shock, a woman emerged from the water right in front of him. She held her hand out to him. “Let go of the past,” she urged in a whispery voice. “Vincent of the Five.”
They were not real. They were the result of the drink he’d consumed. Seidh magic. And yet he was pulled into the water and other hands were on him, massaging and stroking. He was being turned around and around as voices spoke.
“Stay to your mission.”
“The daughter of the McKeaf is watched.”
“The Seidhkona keeps her in sight.”
“Your task is crucial.”
“You must remain part of the Five.”
“You must remain part of the Five,” a different voice said.
Vincent closed his eyes to battle dizziness.
“You are needed.”
“Forget the daughter of the McKeaf for the present.”
“Leave her to make her way.”
“To make her mark.”
“Her mark.”
“The mark.”
“To make a difference.”
“The difference.”
He became cognizant of the stone bench beneath him and opened his eyes to find himself alone in the pool, siting precisely where he had been. He waded back to the side and climbed out, weakened by the hot water and disoriented by the strange experience.
“Are you ready?” his guide asked as she walked toward him with a soft wrap to dry with.
He accepted the wrap and covered himself with it. “I can’t say that I feel restored,” he replied. “Resolved, perhaps.”
“To remain with the Five?”
He sighed. “Yes. To remain with the Five.”
Chapter Eighteen
Ammey leaned against the wall with a sigh. If not for the water mill, she would have been very impatient, but she’d always loved watching it. As a young girl, she’d fantasized about riding the paddles up and around. Once, when she was six, she’d attempted it, but Anthony had seen what she was up to. He’d grabbed her off, forced her squirming body across h
is lap and spanked her mercilessly. With her other brothers laughing, her pride injured and her rear end on fire, she’d screamed in fury. She’d been planning on telling her father straightaway. Instead, Anthony,who was nearly seventeen at the time, had dragged her inside and did the informing. Baba had listened, despite her furious yelling, and concluded, “Had he not tanned your hide, my girl, I would have.”
It was the beginning of a short-lived feud with her eldest brother, one she was forced to give up since it was apparent she could not win because of their age difference. However, one day, she told herself, she’d be older and he’d be old and then she would get him.
She heard a familiar peal of laughter and shifted around to see what Julia was laughing at. To her surprise, she was involved in an intimate looking conversation with Anthony. The two of them looked happy and so right together. How funny! It was what they’d always planned on.
When Ammey turned back around, Kidder was sitting next to her and next to him was Saren.
“What are you smiling at?” Kidder asked her.
“Julia and Anthony. She always wanted to marry him.”
“Ammey wanted to marry me not long ago,” Saren said smugly.
Her jaw went slack. “I never,” she objected, but her face had grown hot, making her look guilty.
“She falls in love easily,” Kidder remarked. “She loves another now, but he loves someone else.”
Ammey looked beyond them to Vincent locked in a passionate embrace with Theresa. No! When had they met? It made no sense.
“And now she’ll pout like a child,” Saren said to Kidder. “Just watch.”
Furious enough to cry, Ammey sprang to her feet, determined to get away from them. She had not made it far when she saw something in the water. Something floating downstream. It was a small, dark cross with a white face painted upon it. No! That was no cross. It was a person. A child. It was Catherin. She was floating face up in the water. Dead.
Ammey jerked awake, shaken from the nightmare. Slowly, she realized someone else was in the room. She turned her head and saw her father sitting in a chair near her bed. He was studying a paper, probably a battle plan. He was so involved in it that he hadn’t noticed she’d awoken. She wanted to let him know, but her throat hurt too badly to speak.
Because she’d been choked, she suddenly remembered.
Who had done that?
A dark haired woman came into the room. It was her sister! As Theresa stepped closer, her expression grew menacing. “You let a child die,” she taunted softly. “They hated me, but now they hate you.”
It wasn’t true! Catherin wasn’t dead. That had only been a nightmare. But her father rose from his chair and she could see how disappointed he was. He left the room and Theresa followed him, gloating. Ammey wanted to call to him, she wanted to explain, but she had no voice.
The nurse dipped the cloth, wrung it out and put it back over the young woman’s forehead. She heard the floor creak behind her and was glad someone had come to relieve her. She turned to see who it was and her heart gave a great jolt upon seeing Marko Corin standing at the foot of the bed. “Sire,” she exclaimed.
“Has she wakened?”
“No, m’lord. She tosses and talks in her sleep.”
“What does she say?”
“I cannot make sense of it,” she managed.
Corin moved closer to the woman and touched one side of her face with the backs of his fingers. “She’s burning with fever. Get her bathed in cool cloths. I’ll summon the surgeon again.”
Ammey struggled to get out of bed because she had to speak to her family. She had to make them understand about Catherin. Walking felt difficult, as if she was treading through deep water. She did not know this place. It was not their home. She finally made it to the door, but when she opened it, she found herself in a formal salon. She got chills because she had been here before.
A group of people were there, including her father and three of her brothers. Theresa was there, too, with her intended, Joseph Romero, and his father, Hector. Ammey shivered. She’d lived through this before. Her family had come to bring a wayward daughter home. The first moments after being escorted into the salon of the Romero home had seemed hospitable enough, although Ammey was the only one who had taken a seat as offered.
“Theresa will not be returning with you,” Joseph Romero declared, his expression full of revulsion.
Ammey, who was fifteen, was taken aback by the man’s hostility.
“We know the truth,” Hector Romero said with a curl to his lip.
“What truth?” Anthony asked hotly, insulted at their tone.
“The truth about unspeakable acts of abuse,” Joseph stated.
What abuse were they talking about? Ammey looked at Theresa, wondering why she was not speaking, why she stood looking so defiantly at her own family.
“What are you saying?” Lucas McKeaf demanded.
“Your daughter was defiled by her brothers, General McKeaf,” the older Romero said in a low voice.
Ammey’s jaw dropped. She wanted to speak up in denial, but it was as if all breath had been knocked from her. Her brothers looked as if they’d been shot through the heart and her father stood stock still as he stared at Theresa. Theresa refused to meet his eye, but her chin came up. Not only was she not denying the charge, she was supporting it. She had claimed it in the first place.
“I am pained to be the one to tell you, general,” Hector said.
Tom was the first to recover his wits. “It’s a filthy lie! And if you repeat such slander—”
“You said this?” Lucas McKeaf directed to Theresa, his voice devoid of emotion. The betrayal was too profound. He could not yet absorb its full impact.
“It’s true,” Theresa replied. Still, she did not look at him.
“She is a liar,” Anthony declared. “And a loose woman.”
“What a cowardly way—” Joseph began.
“She was caught with a man when she was thirteen,” Tom interrupted. “And punished.”
Lucas held up his hand to silence his sons.
“But it never stopped her,” David spoke up for the first time.
“I said we would not speak of it again,” Lucas McKeaf thundered, silencing them. He turned to face Hector Romero. “What she has claimed is a lie.” He looked at her. “A calculated lie and a betrayal of her family. We came to get her, to protect her, but she is beyond our compassion and our duty.”
Hector Romero considered the McKeaf for a long, silent moment. “What of her?” he asked, casting a suspicious glance at Ammey.
They all looked at her. Ammey felt sick to her stomach. She felt panicked.
“It’s my understanding that she’s suffered, as well,” Hector added.
She shook her head. “No,” was all she could manage to utter. It sounded breathy and small when what she really wanted to do was to shout it. To make matters worse, she felt her face glow with heat.
“She would deny it,” Theresa said quickly.
“Because she does not wish to be turned out,” Joseph Romero said to his father.
“She is under their control,” Theresa added.
“We would take you in, girl,” Hector pledged compassionately. “And keep you safe.”
Hector Romero’s sincerity was apparent. He meant well because he believed what Theresa had sworn. He believed her brothers were monsters. She stood. “It is a lie,” she pledged, staring directly into his eyes so that he would know her heart. “I swear it on my life.”
Hector looked from her to Theresa.
“She is loyal to them,” Theresa said, speaking quickly. “I told you. She will never admit what they do.”
“You have made your choice,” Lucas McKeaf said to his eldest daughter. “And now you will live with it. I wash my hands of you.”
For the first time, Theresa looked alarmed.
“You are no longer a McKeaf,” he concluded. He beckoned to Ammey and turned to leave.
�
�General,” Hector called. “Wait. Please.”
Lucas looked back at the older Romero.
“Your daughter could be examined,” Hector Romero said quickly, taking a step forward. “Your youngest.”
Ammey noticed the flicker of fear on Theresa’s face. It seemed she had not considered this possibility. What did an examination mean? Being interrogated by a seer or a holy man? For some reason, her father seemed enraged at the idea. “I would never allow her to be put through such an ordeal,” he exclaimed.
Theresa looked relieved and Joseph seemed smug.
“It would help to clear your name,” Hector stated.
“My name?” Lucas repeated. He was incensed.
“I will do it,” Ammey spoke up, her voice suddenly stronger.
“Ammey,” David said sharply.
Ammey ignored him. “Whom do I speak, to?” she asked Hector Romero.
Hector looked puzzled. “Speak to?”
“We are leaving,” her father announced.
David strode forward to get his youngest sister, but Ammey was locked in silent communication with Hector. If she had the power to help restore her family’s honor, she would do it.
“It is an examination of your … person,” Hector explained awkwardly.
“Come. You don’t understand,” David said with quiet urgency having reached her.
She yanked away from him. “I understand our honor is at stake because of a lie!”
“Amaris,” Lucas McKeaf said sternly.
“Baba, I want to clear our name,” she begged.
Hector had drawn close to her, his expression zealously searching. “Are you a virgin?” he asked her just above a whisper.
She gasped. For the first time, she fully understood what they were talking about, what they had been talking about all along. She was too horrified to utter a sound.
It didn’t matter. Hector saw her face and he knew. “Never mind,” he said. He looked at David and then at Lucas. “I see the truth.”
“Father Romero,” Theresa spoke up.
He glared at her. “Do not call me father. Ever!”
David put his arm around Ammey and led her away. She felt so strange and bewildered. What had come over Hector Romero? And why would Theresa have sworn to such an unspeakable lie about her own family?
