Ephemeral and Fleeting

by Patricia Reding

  “This is where Mara and the girls were captured,” Fuggy said. Around him flew his fellow flits, Spec, Evan, Cindy, Prissy, Ethan, and Blink. Together they and the Oathtakers had made their way successfully across the border from Marshall’s camp to where they now stood.

  The flits fluttered about the Oathtakers as they trudged through more snow and then made their way down an icy path that led to the cabin in which Aliza stayed.

  Before they could knock, Aliza opened the door. Growling, she fell back into a fighting crouch, her blade, Gloriam, in hand.

  “Oh!” she cried a second later, upon recognizing them. “I wasn’t expecting you two!” She stood to her full height and re-sheathed her weapon. Then, “Welcome, Commander,” she said, nodding Dax’s way, “and Dixon,” she greeted him. “I see you’ve brought some company with you.”

  The men entered, the flits following.

  She closed the door behind them all.

  Mercurial, the only flit who’d still been with Aliza prior to her guests’ arrival, made his presence known when he also greeted the visitors.

  “Have a seat—and something to eat,” Aliza said, gesturing toward the table. “Tell me—what’s been going on? I’d begun to worry. I’ve heard nothing since Fuggy last headed to the city. I’d have sent Merc out, but he was my only remaining option in the event of an emergency.”

  The men sat. Then they explained to Aliza all they’d learned from Mara’s communication via the magic compact.

  “It’s just devastating!” she cried. “All three of them captured.”

  “Yes,” Dixon said. “So we’re going after them.”

  “Is there no other way? Honestly, we can’t afford to lose the two of you, as well.”

  “Without the twins, we’ve lost most everything anyway,” Dax muttered.

  Sighing, Aliza stood. She paced. “I feel so responsible. If only I’d been here at the time . . . I might have heard them out there when they arrived. I might have helped.”

  “Where were you?”

  “I’d received a report of a half dozen children preparing to cross the border not far from here. I set out to meet them, and to direct them on to Marshall’s camp for help.” She shrugged. “But when I arrived at the place, there was no one there. What’s more, those living nearby knew nothing of any children in the area.”

  The men exchanged a glance.

  “Is that a common occurrence?” Dixon asked. “I mean, for someone to deliver such a report to you? And who would do that anyway?”

  “It’s not unheard of for some local to let me know of something he sees.” She sat down again. “But I’d never met this man before.”

  “Maybe we do have a leak,” Dax suggested, glancing Dixon’s way.

  Dixon looked off. “It’s difficult to imagine, but I suppose it’s possible . . .” He turned back. “Aliza, are you finding your efforts here to be of much use?”

  “Honestly, no. As I had Fuggy report earlier, without assistance right here, I can’t really tell, of those seeking entrance into Oosa, who represents danger. Worse, there’s not much I can do to stop anyone even if I do suspect harmful motives.”

  Dixon sat up straighter. “Then . . . come with us,” he suggested. “We could use your help. Perhaps we could make our way into the prison where Zarek is holding Mara and the twins more easily if you used your magic as a mask to help us gain access.”

  “I suppose I could.”

  “You could pretend to be escorting us to the prison.”

  “Yes, that could work.”

  “What of us?” Merc asked, as he fluttered forth, then landed on the tabletop.

  “We’ll take three of you along for sending messages back,” Dixon said, “and leave the others of you here until we return. Or, if you prefer, you could wait for us at Marshall’s camp.”

  Aliza turned to Dax. “What do you think, Commander?”

  “I think it’s a plan,” he said, “provided that going forward, you refer to me only as ‘Dax.’ We don’t want to raise any suspicions.”

  “Well then,” Merc said to his companions, “I’ll go along with them. Why don’t you join me, Spec and Evan?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Overwhelmed, and feeling she required direction, Lucy spent the afternoon in the inner prayer room of sanctuary. The faithful—numerous members of the Select and their Oathtakers—filled the space. She relaxed to the sounds of their prayers and supplications. Their worshipping had always raised her spirits, and today was no exception. In truth, however, it also made her miss some of her old friends. In particular, she longed to see Leala and Fidel. Their insight was often just the thing she needed at times like this.

  “Perhaps I should head back to the palace for a spell,” she mused aloud, “so that I can visit with them. There’s little I can do here, after all.” With that, she headed out to the vestibule.

  When she was ready to leave the building, she watched out the window at an unexpected winter rainstorm. It made everything slippery when it froze to the ground.

  A minute later, when the downpour momentarily let up, she stepped out, keeping her head down.

  “Lucy!” someone called.

  She turned to the sound. “Oh, it’s you, Percival.”

  He neared, then stood, his thumbs looped inside his leather belt. “I was wondering, Lucy, if you might like to catch a quick dinner tonight.” He shuffled his feet. “I have to go over some of Dax’s plans yet this afternoon, but—”

  “I’m sorry,” she interrupted, “but I . . . shouldn’t.”

  He looked up and held her gaze for long seconds. “Are you sure I can’t talk you into a good meal and a night of music? I know this place that grills the best steaks you’ve ever had. And the music!” His eyes widened. “The owner is a gifted fiddler and— Well, you could even dance on the tabletops if you like.” Smirking now, as though satisfied with his attempt at humor, his brow rose. “Come on. Say you’ll join me.”

  She shook her head “I—”

  “You know, Lucy,” he said, “I’ve no intention of giving up.”

  “Ahhh, well, I—”

  He pursed his lips. “My momma didn’t raise a quitter.” With that, he turned to go. Glancing back, he waved feebly. “I’ll see you soon.”

  Grinning and shaking her head, she watched as he sauntered off. Then she headed out to follow her ritual path toward the river. She needed time to think—to focus.

  Before long, she arrived at the river’s edge. With the sun now peeking through the clouds, she stood just where the underground spring fed into the waterway, keeping the area immediately around it, from freezing. The water lapped on the shore, making a mesmerizing, slapping sound, and rattling the rocks gathered there. They sounded as though they were chattering to one another.

  She looked up. She couldn’t wait for the gulls to return, to fill the air. She loved that time of year when they flew together in circles, swooping and diving, as though dancing at the prospect that spring was on its way. It was the picture of happiness.

  But there will be no happiness in Oosa if something isn’t done—and soon.

  “Lucy?” A man called as he neared her side.

  She glanced his way. “Oh, hello, Petrus.”

  He drew his pursed lips to the side. “I have not seen you for some time now. Is there something wrong? Or . . . have you been avoiding me?”

  She exhaled audibly. “Avoiding you? Oh no . . . not exactly. I’ve just needed time to think.”

  “I see.” He looked down. “I can go.” He turned away.

  “No!” she exclaimed, grabbing his arm. “Please don’t.”

  He turned back, slowly.

  She caught his eye. “Petrus, I—” She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. It seems I owe you an apology.”

  His brow dropped. “What? Why?”

  “Well, a while back, someone pointed out to me how . . . selfish I’d been—in seeing you.”

  “Selfish!” He frowned. “What are you
talking about?”

  “Yes. Listen, I—” She rubbed her forehead. “In truth, I’m confused. You see, I don’t think this thing between us— This—whatever this is—can go anywhere.”

  He said nothing.

  “I was flattered, Petrus, that you sought me out, and I . . . Well, I allowed for more than I should have.”

  He scowled. “You make no sense.”

  “It’s just that I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. We—you and I, together—” She dropped her gaze. “Well, it could never work, Petrus.”

  “I see.”

  “You know my mission.” She glanced back. “And the truth is, that I don’t want to lead you on, but—” She stopped short.

  “But?”

  “But I need your help.”

  Shaking his head, he stared at her. “I see.”

  “Please, Petrus, I’m not asking for me.”

  “Oh no, of course not.”

  She sighed. “Now you’re angry.”

  “No, Lucy, I am not angry . . .” He sighed. “But then I suppose that I am not all that surprised, either.”

  “I just . . . can’t.”

  He nodded. “So what is it you think I can help you with?”

  She watched him closely, sensing his anger in the furrow of his brow and the set of his jaw. Then she told him about the situation with Mara and the twins, and of Dixon and Dax’s recent departures.

  “Dax left, too?”

  “Yes. So you see, we need someone who can help to work out a plan for rescuing the twins—someone who also can assist with Dax’s plans for upsetting Zarek’s war machine. I think you’re the right man for the job.”

  He said nothing.

  “Please, Petrus, I’ve seen the way your mind works. I know this would be the perfect position for you and— Well, in truth, we need you.” She wrung her hands. “Dax turned his plans over to the best person we currently have for the job, but he’s a healer.” She shrugged. “And, frankly, that’s where we most require his talents.”

  Petrus stepped away, and then paced, his boots sloshing through the ground cover of mixed snow and rain.

  After a long quiet minute, he finally, turned back. “Fine,” he said, although he refused to look her in the eye. “I will do it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Basha hadn’t intended on making her way to the border, nor of exposing Therese to the risks there, but when Marshall informed Lucy and the others in the City of Light, of the urgency of the situation, she relented. Two hundred and fifty Oathtakers accompanied her to his camp. None of those troops, trained for warfare and now in top fighting shape, had living charges of their own. Thus, she told herself, they could assist in keeping Therese safe. Further, Effie and Fleet had commissioned a number of flits to travel with her. They would provide the means for her and Lucy to communicate regularly. Still, she worried, since after she’d informed Trumble of her intentions, he insisted that he and his charge would accompany her as well. Despite her cautions to the contrary, he felt certain that Felicity’s connection to the twins would be of help to her and his other new-found friends and colleagues.

  Given that the palace was situated fairly close to the border, within days after setting out, Basha and her entourage arrived at Marshall’s camp. It was situated at a spot approximately a league—the distance a person could walk in an hour—from Chiran. There, they would set up their accommodations.

  Her first order of business was to find Marshall, who assured her that his company would assist her group in getting things in order. Then she addressed those under her command.

  “Let’s get to it!” she ordered. “Everyone to their assigned duties!”

  The air filled with the clamoring of weapons and tack as those tasked to see to their mounts, did so. Others set up tents. Still others quickly prepared campfires, expecting the night would grow colder. Meanwhile, several people attended to preparing dinner for the lot of them. Finally, those designated to keep an eye out for potential danger, spread out, along with some of Marshall’s troops, in all directions. They would act as sentries, changing out for freshly rested replacements every few hours.

  After informing Marshall of her plans to scout out their surroundings, Basha and Trumble set out on foot for a better look at the area.

  “Marshall confirmed that a number of young men have been making their way across the border near here,” Basha said. “He believes they may have been trained by the Chiranian guard.”

  “That may account for some of Felicity’s recent troubles,” Trumble replied.

  “Oh? She’s having problems?”

  “Nightmares—about the men in black—again. I suppose that was to be expected. After all, you will recall that she tried to warn us about the possible capture of Mara and the twins.”

  “Yes.”

  Basha winced as she recollected a spell Felicity suffered shortly before Mara and the twins had set out on their mission. Out of the blue one evening, the girl had crumbled into a heap on the floor of the palace dining room. Everyone present had rushed to assist her, but not even Trumble could ease her pain. Hours later, she still sat, nearly comatose, staring into space, trembling and weeping. When she finally spoke the next morning, she simply repeated the same phrase, over and over again: “The trap is sprung. The trap is sprung!”

  Unfortunately, as Trumble was unable to decipher her meaning, Basha had not provided Lucy with advance warning. Later she learned that it was the very next day that Zarek’s men had taken Mara and the twins captive, quite near where Basha now stood. Since then, Felicity had suffered long spells during which she refused to communicate with anyone.

  Basha worried for the girl; she looked deathly. Her eyes were sunken and red, and ever-present dark circles graced the hollows beneath them. Moreover, she often refused to eat, and she’d dropped weight. She looked less like a sprite—and more like a ghoul—by the day.

  “I wish you’d stayed back at the palace with her,” Basha finally said. As much as she enjoyed Trumble’s company, she also realized that his nearness to her presented its own difficulty, namely, staying true to her oath; he moved her as no other man had ever done. Moreover, it put Felicity in harm’s way. “It would have been safer,” she added.

  He glanced at her. “What? And miss out on all the fun?”

  When her eyes met his, she smiled. “I’m concerned for her, but I’m glad you’re . . . That is, we can certainly use your assistance here.”

  Just then, Trumble ducked down behind a nearby tree trunk. He grabbed Basha’s elbow and pulled her toward himself even as he directed her attention, with a nod, at something ahead.

  Dusk had descended, making visibility difficult, but then Basha made out movement before them. Keeping her eyes on it, she crouched down at his side. From there they watched as three young men made their way toward them. The last in line held a rope. It was tied at its other end, around a young woman’s neck. Repeatedly stumbling, the gag over her mouth muffled her cries. All the while, her captors talked and laughed as though nothing was amiss.

  When the group came within a few feet of the hidden Oathtakers, the leader spoke. “The border’s just that way,” he said, pointing. “We’ll be able to deliver her tomorrow.”

  Another of the youths chuckled. “We’ve still got tonight then,” he said.

  Basha’s stomach turned. There was no mistaking the young hoodlum’s intentions.

  “Ha!” the leader laughed. “I don’t know. She’s worth more to us if we deliver her . . . unhandled. Still, I suppose we could take less for this one—make the most of our time with her while we can.”

  Trumble caught Basha’s eye. Then he glanced toward the first of the youngsters as he soundlessly unsheathed his blade, Amora. Looking back at his cohort again, he pointed toward the last of the hoodlums.

  She understood his gesture. He would take out the first of the youths, she the last. Once done, they would see to the remaining captor.

  Quickly, she unsheathed h
er blade, Honora.

  He lifted one finger and mouthed the word, “One,” then another as he mouthed the word, “two,” and finally, he held up a third finger as he whispered, “three.”

  Immediately and simultaneously, the Oathtakers jumped out from their hiding place and threw their blades. So unexpected was their attack that when each of their targets fell, the remaining youth stood frozen for a moment. Then, once he’d processed the situation, he reached for a weapon.

  By that time, Trumble was once again armed. He threw his blade. It found purchase in the young man’s chest.

  He dropped. His screech mingled with the muffled screams from the woman he and his comrades had held captive.

  Basha retrieved Honora and then ran to the girl. “I’ve got you,” she said. “Everything is fine now.” Quickly, she removed her gag.

  The girl’s piercing scream rent the air.

  “Quiet!” the Oathtaker cautioned, holding her hand over her mouth. “There may be more out there! Do you understand?”

  Her eyes wide, her breath heaving, the girl nodded.

  “Good.” Basha released her. Then she slipped the rope off from around her neck, and cut the bindings at her wrists.

  “Oh, thank Ehyeh you’ve come!” she cried.

  “Do you know if there are any more of them out there?” Basha asked, her eyes scanning the line of trees ahead.

  “I’ll look around,” Trumble offered. Then with Amora in hand, he turned away.

  “I haven’t seen anyone else for a few days now,” the girl said.

  “What happened?” Basha asked.

  The young woman, likely in her mid-teens, pointed at her former captors. “They nabbed me and told me they intended to deliver me to ‘Succedunt.’”

  Basha cringed.

  “You’ve heard of it?” she asked. “This ‘Succedunt’ place, I mean?”

  “It’s not a ‘where,’ it’s a ‘who,’” Basha said. She proceeded to explain to the girl who the succedunt were.

  She covered her mouth with her hand. “I had no idea what they were talking about. Oh, thank you for coming!”