Ephemeral and Fleeting

by Patricia Reding

  He, sitting behind his makeshift desk, took to his feet even as the grut pulled on its chain, seeking to get closer. Meanwhile, Yasmin, Farida, and her sister, Ghazala, along with Mouse and Clementine, scurried out of the emperor’s way. Then the women all stood against the back wall, trembling with fear.

  Striver entered behind Zarek, made his way to Broden’s side, and then, simultaneously with him, bowed.

  “Broden!” the emperor called. “I need the assistance of a couple of your women.”

  “But I require their assistance here—to keep order.” His eyes flickered their direction.

  Zarek approached the women. Upon sight of Clementine, he reached for her. Cupping her chin, he lifted her face up.

  Trembling all the while, her eyes remained downcast.

  As he glanced back his son’s way, he raised a single brow. “You . . . surprise me . . . son.” He looked his guards’ way, and then laughed before turning back. “I’d have thought this one too young for your tastes.”

  “Ahhh, no, you ahhhh . . . you misunderstand,” Broden said. “She . . . is my taster. It’s like I told you, I’ve grown concerned that someone—”

  “Save it,” the emperor interrupted, rolling his eyes. “I certainly don’t care. You might as well put these young ones to use—however you can.”

  “Sir,” Broden acknowledged, although the idea Zarek suggested sickened him—made him want to kill the man.

  “I’ll take the young one here and . . . that one,” Zarek pointed at Yasmin.

  “Ahhh . . . May I ask what you need them for?”

  When the emperor smiled, Broden thought the man appeared truly happy about something, perhaps for the first time ever.

  “I’ve a few new . . . special guests,” he said. “Well, in truth, they are prisoners. In any case, I require the assistance of your women to help to see to their needs.”

  “I can do that.”

  “No, Broden, these are, as I said, ‘special.’ Your women are merely to keep an eye on them—not conscript them for your . . . pleasure.” He puffed his chest out. “But never fear, I’ll have them returned to you each evening.”

  “Understood.”

  Zarek motioned toward Yasmin, then Clementine. “Let’s go,” he ordered.

  The two stepped forward, their eyes never leaving the grut.

  “Ahhh, the beast won’t hurt you,” the guard who held its chain said as he pulled back on it. “I’ll see to that.”

  “Yes,” Zarek added, “so long as you don’t step out of line, you should be fine. Although . . . the beast does have a special affinity for the Select.” He grinned at Broden. Then, “Let’s go,” he ordered once again.

  With their eyes looking to the floor, Yasmin and Clementine both acknowledged his order with a nod and, with that, they were off.

  “What was that all about?” Striver asked after they departed.

  Broden bit the inside of his cheek and rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. But I’d sure like to find out. Do you think you could follow them? Discreetly? Find out where they go?”

  “I can try.”

  Without further ado, Striver set off.

  To the taunts and jeering of the troops they passed along the way, Yasmin and Clementine followed Zarek and his guards. They wound through rooms they didn’t recognize, and down hallways, along a route that Yasmin began to think felt decidedly circuitous.

  Finally, Zarek marched into an area immediately recognizable as a prison. The smell of used chamber pots, of sweat, and of mildew, assaulted her. She fought back a gag reflex as Clementine covered her nose and mouth with her hands.

  “Stay by the door here,” Zarek ordered the guard with the grut. Then he continued on, waving for the women to follow.

  Soon, he halted before a cell. Gesturing toward it, he said, “You’re to keep an eye on these two and report anything you witness that seems out of the ordinary.” He grinned.

  Looking inside, Yasmin immediately recognized the prisoners as sisters, due to their similar size and hair color, but their faces were so dirty that she couldn’t tell them apart. They sat against the back wall, clinging to one another.

  Zarek gestured toward the next cell and then approached it.

  “You’ll do the same for the one in here,” he said.

  Yasmin looked in the cell. The woman inside sat in a corner, silent, but glaring. Her one eye, black and blue, was swollen almost shut. Her hair tangled about her face as she whipped her head the emperor’s way. A heavy chain attached to her wrist at one end, and to the block wall at the other, jingled.

  “Now . . . I suspect they’re feeling rather . . . vulnerable—that things are at the moment, futile even. That could make them unpredictable. So watch yourselves. In fact, my guards will be keeping their eyes on you and listening to everything. You’re not to speak with the prisoners.

  “I’m giving you this assignment since you,” he nodded at Yasmin, “have proven yourself . . . trustworthy . . . when it comes to your prison duties.” He turned to Clementine. “As to you, just do as you’re told.” He crossed his arms. “Should you need them, the guards will assist you. Also, someone will arrive after dinner each evening to escort you back to your rooms.” He glared at them before turning to go.

  “Oh, one more thing,” he said, glancing back. “Discussions—including with your master—about anything you see or hear here, or about anything that goes on here, are prohibited. Is that understood?”

  “Yes sir, Master Zarek, sir,” Yasmin said. “But—” She glanced out at the grut.

  “The beast will remain there,” Zarek said. Then he leaned in, as though sharing a secret. “It’s my added insurance that these prisoners do not escape.”

  “Yes, master.”

  With that, Zarek turned on his heel and marched away.

  Yasmin approached the guard posted just outside the hallway that led to the prisoners’ cells to ask him for the prisoners’ food.

  He stepped away. Moments later he returned with a bucket of gruel and a ladle. “Come back in a minute,” he said, “and I’ll have water for you.”

  She set the gruel on a table situated outside the cells and then returned to wait for the guard. A minute later, he brought to her, a bucket of skanky water.

  Yasmin marched down the hallway, put the water down, and then grabbed the bucket of gruel. She went to the cell housing the two prisoners. There, she dropped to her haunches, reached through the bars for the two misshapen tin bowls that sat inside on the floor, and pulled them closer. Then she poured a scoop of gruel into each.

  “Ahhh,” she cried, her hand to her mouth, as she nearly gagged upon sight of a worm wiggling in it. Then, swallowing down her disgust, she repeated the procedure at the other cell. Once done, she pushed the bowl as far inside as she could.

  She stood and then, “Oh!” she cried, as a rat ran across the top of her feet before disappearing down the hall. Her hand to her chest, she willed herself to remain calm. When her breathing settled, she returned the bucket of gruel to the table and grabbed the one filled with tepid water.

  She approached the sisters’ cell and once again knelt down before the iron bars. “You’d best eat quickly,” she whispered. “I just saw a rat. You don’t want to invite those scavengers in to stay.” She filled the sisters’ cups.

  “What’s your name?” she heard Clementine ask the woman in the other cell.

  “Clementine! They’re watching us!” Yasmin cried through gritted teeth.

  “But—”

  She rushed to the girl’s side and grabbed her wrist. “Keep silent,” she ordered as she marched her away. Then, returning to the cell, Yasmin filled the prisoner’s cup before walking away again.

  After several minutes, noting that none of the prisoners had touched their rations, Yasmin returned to the cell that held the single inmate, and squatted down.

  The prisoner stared at her.

  “You should eat,” she whispered.

  “Take it a
way.”

  “But—”

  “Take it away. As you said, we don’t want the rats getting it. But the truth is that I’m not that hungry—or thirsty.” Her eyes flickered toward her bowl and cup. “Not just yet, anyway,” she added.

  Yasmin reached for the bowl, then paused.

  “Take it away.”

  “What’ll I do with it?” she whispered as she stole a glance toward the guard. “They’ll know you’re not eating.”

  The prisoner’s brow rose. She shook her head. “Empty it in a chamber pot where it belongs.” With that, she turned away.

  After Yasmin did as she’d been bidden, she approached the other cell. “You should eat,” she repeated.

  One, then the other prisoner, turned away. “Throw it,” they said, in unison.

  “Well?” Broden asked as he entered his rooms after working in the women’s prison all day, to find Striver. “Where did he take them?”

  The tutor shook his head. “I don’t know. I followed them down a hallway and through one of the grand rooms, but there were too many guards stationed along the way after that. As it was, I had to hide so they wouldn’t catch me. Then I made my way back here, to your rooms, to wait for you.”

  Just then, the door opened. A guard ushered Yasmin and Clementine in. “I’ll be back for you tomorrow morning,” he said, before slamming the door shut behind them.

  Broden rushed to their side. “Are you both all right?” he asked.

  Each acknowledged, with a nod, that she was fine.

  “Where’d he take you?”

  Yasmin scowled. “I’m not sure. The route was so . . . convoluted. I felt like we were going in circles. Then, when we were through for the day, they blindfolded us before bringing us back here. That trip was shorter.”

  “So there must be more than one way there . . .” Broden paced. “How many prisoners are there? And, what’s so important about them anyway?”

  “There are three of them.” Yasmin approached the table, filled with a spread of food, and then turned back. “I don’t know what’s important about them, but they’ll starve if left to the rations allotted them.”

  Striver stepped up. “You and Clementine should eat,” he said. Then, “Is the prisoners’ food really that bad?” he asked.

  Turning away, Yasmin held her hand to her mouth, as though willing back her bile. Then she cleared her throat.

  “It is, yes,” she said. “They refused to eat any of it—told me to empty their bowls in a chamber pot where the gruel belonged.”

  “Yasmin!” Clementine cried.

  When she looked the girl’s way, her eyes went wide.

  “What?” Broden asked them.

  “We’re not to speak of what we saw to anyone—including to you,” she said, realizing the import of Clementine’s warning.

  He looked the girl’s way. “Well then, you’d best keep things to yourselves.”

  “Thank you. Now, before we can eat, we really should clean up. Come on, Clementine.”

  The girl neared Broden. “I’m scared,” she said.

  He put his hand on her shoulder. “Shhh . . . shhh, it’s all right,” he tried to assure her. “You know I can’t make you any promises—but I’ll do my best to keep you from harm.”

  He approached a window and looked out at a regiment of guards, marching on the snow-spotted lawns. High above, a single sliver moon shone as the sky was turning to dusk.

  “Striver?”

  His tutor approached. “Yes?”

  “We have to figure out where the guards took them,” he whispered, “or better yet, get Carlie in there. She’d tell me whatever goes on, no matter the danger.”

  “You have to be careful, here.”

  Broden bit his lip. “I know. I’ll think of something.”

  “Good night, Yasmin, Farida, Ghazala, Clementine,” Broden said, nodding at each of them in turn. Once they departed and closed the door behind, he turned back to the table where Striver and Carlie sat. He grabbed the teapot, joined them, and then poured three cups. The sweet apple-like scent of chamomile rose into the air.

  “Carlie,” he said leaning forward, his brow furrowed, “I have to find out who Zarek’s prisoners are.”

  “How do you intend to do that?” She patted his arm. “Broden, you could put Yasmin and Clementine in even greater danger than they already are.”

  “I know.” He hung his head. “But my bigger concern is putting you in more danger.”

  “Me?” She pulled her hand back. “Why? How?”

  “Carlie, my little Mouse—” He stopped short.

  “What?” Her eyes narrowed.

  “I can trust you.” He held her gaze.

  “Broden,” Striver interrupted, “we talked about this.”

  She looked at each of them in turn. “You’ve talked about this?” She stood, shaking her head, her brow furrowed and her arms folded. “You are the only thing that stands between me and those animals, Broden.” She glared at him. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

  He stood before her, cupped her elbows in his hands. “I need to get you in there.”

  “No.”

  “Carlie, please. I know you’re brave—even more so than you think you are. You’ve withstood so much here already.”

  “I said, ‘no.’”

  “There has to be a reason Zarek is keeping those prisoners secret,” Striver said.

  “Yes,” Broden agreed. “Mouse, listen. What if Jerrett returned here, to Chiran, with others, and the Chiranians captured them? You know he must have told Lucy about me. Maybe he didn’t think I was a traitor after all, and he decided he needed help to rescue me. Maybe he brought Velia along, or Lucy—or both of them—and they were captured.”

  She pulled free of his hold. “Broden, you’re reaching here.”

  “Please, at least think about it. If the prisoners include anyone we know . . . Listen, this could be our means to get you out of here.”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. “This is crazy.”

  “Carlie,” he said, putting his arms around her, “I wouldn’t even consider risking it if I didn’t think . . .” He pulled back. “Listen, Zarek is awfully pleased with himself about these new prisoners.”

  She nodded.

  “It’s true we’ve never seen him like this over anything before,” Striver agreed.

  “That’s right,” Broden said. “So there has to be something special about those he’s holding.”

  “But Broden,” she said, “I—”

  “I need to know who it is. Please, Mouse, at least consider it. I don’t know how we could make it happen, but if you’re willing, and if an opportunity presents itself, we could at least try.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  After Fuggy left Mara and the twins at Zarek’s prison, he returned to Aliza’s camp, near the border, to report what had transpired. He discussed with her whether they should send Mercurial to the City of Light to inform the others, but it was Fuggy who had all the pertinent details. So, concerned something might go missing in the translation, they agreed he would head there himself, after a day or so of rest. Finally, he took off, only to arrive just in time for the next meeting of the leaders. It was then he discovered that Mara had already managed to get word to Lucy, via the magic compact.

  As Dixon paced, Dax repeatedly rapped a quill against the edge of the table.

  “Dax, kindly stop that tapping,” Lucy said. “It makes it difficult for me to think. And Dixon,” she added, turning his way, “would you please sit down? We all need to concentrate, to figure out a plan here, and . . .”

  She slapped her hands on the table, startling them both. “Honestly, the both of you are getting on my nerves.”

  Dax dropped his quill. He folded his arms and leaned back, sighing. “I can’t believe this happened,” he said. “We should never have allowed them to go.”

  “Do you think we have a leak, like Mara suggested?” Percival asked.


  The other attendees turned his way. “No. She was just . . . She wasn’t serious,” Dixon said as he took his seat.

  “Still—”

  “I can’t believe that,” Lucy said. “No, it was just— Zarek got lucky, is all. You know he’s had his thugs out looking for the twins for decades. And they certainly are easily recognizable. That’s got to be it. Don’t you think?”

  When no one responded, she turned to Fuggy. “What can you tell us about what happened?” she asked him.

  Fuggy’s wings drooped as he reported all that he’d seen and heard. When he got to the part about the thugs threatening Mara and the twins, Dixon shot to his feet.

  “We have to get them out of there!” he cried.

  “We need a plan, Dixon. That’s what we’re doing here,” Lucy reminded him. “Now, please sit back down. Let’s get to work.”

  He resumed his seat. “We should send someone after them,” he said. “We can’t just wait around here while Ehyeh-knows-what is happening.”

  She patted his hand. “What do you propose then?”

  “I’ll go.”

  She scoffed. “And leave—“She stopped short, shaking her head. “No, Dixon, there’s got to be another way.”

  “I’m going.”

  “I’ll join you,” Dax said. “We’ll check in with Aliza at the border, then make our way.”

  Lucy scowled. “Mara said not to go.”

  Dixon patted a rhythm out on his thigh. “I don’t care what she said. I’m going.”

  “And if you’re captured as well?” Lucy asked. “Or Dax? Come on, Dixon, it would be a fool’s errand.”

  “Then I’m a fool.” He turned to Dax. “Get your things together.”

  Lucy sat up straighter. “Dixon, I need the help of at least one of you for awhile. We need to reassign duties here if you’re going to be missing for a time. So if you insist on going, I suggest that you send Dax now to Marshall’s camp. He was going to head there anyway to check on things. Then, after we’ve worked things out here, you can meet up with him.”