Ephemeral and Fleeting

by Patricia Reding

  Just then, Trumble returned. “I didn’t see any more,” he said, “but we’d best get back as quickly as possible.”

  “Right.” Stepping away, Basha motioned for the girl to follow. “I’m Basha,” she introduced herself, “and this is Trumble,” she added, tipping her head in his direction.

  “I’m Nadine,” the girl responded. “Where are you taking me?”

  Basha explained how they’d come to stay near the border in the event the Chiranians invaded Oosa. By the time she was through with her story, they’d arrived back at camp.

  “You can stay with us here tonight,” she said, “and then make your way back home in the morning.”

  The girl stopped cold. “But I haven’t a home to go back to. It was just my older sister and me—and she went missing several weeks ago. When those young men took me, they burned our house down.” A tear trickled down her cheek. “I suppose they must have been the same ones who kidnapped my sister.” She paused, in thought. “Goodness! I need to rescue her!”

  Basha shook her head. “I’m sorry, but you shouldn’t even try. You heard them. They intended to sell you. No doubt they sold your sister already—and there’s no way to know where it is in Chiran that she might be now.”

  The girl choked back a sob. “May I stay here with you then?”

  “Truly, that’s not a good idea. It really wouldn’t be safe. But we can give you directions to somewhere that might be.”

  She took the girl’s arm and headed toward her tent. “Don’t worry now. We’ll help you.”

  After grabbing a quick meal, Trumble saw Felicity to bed. Then he returned to the main bonfire in the midst of camp where Basha sat. As he neared, the frozen ground crunched under his footsteps.

  She glanced his way as he sat down a few feet away. “Is she sleeping?” she asked him.

  “Yes. Raiden’s keeping an eye on her.”

  “Good.”

  At that moment, Therese arrived. She sat at her Oathtaker’s other side.

  Basha put more fuel on the fire. As sparks flew up into the air, she asked her, “Is Nadine all right?”

  “Yes, I think she’ll be fine. I left her with Chaya and Erin. They’ll add her to the others for whom they’re making arrangements. Marshall says they’ve been sending a group off about every other week.”

  “Good.”

  “Yes. Some Oathtakers will escort them to a nearby city. Then they’ll work with the sanctuary there to arrange for homes for the youngest of them, and to find work for some of the older ones.”

  For a moment, all was quiet.

  “They’ll set out first thing tomorrow morning,” Therese added.

  Basha sighed. “Marshall says that they’ve seen this before—young Oosian women taken captive for sale in Chiran.”

  “It’s disgusting.”

  “It certainly is,” Trumble agreed.

  Just then, a scream sounded out.

  “That’s Felicity!” Basha cried as the three all jumped to their feet.

  They ran to Trumble’s wagon, skirting their fellow campers along the way. As they neared, Basha pushed through a group congregated nearby.

  Upon their arrival, Raiden jumped down. When he caught sight of Trumble, he visibly relaxed.

  “What is it?” Trumble asked.

  “I don’t know,” Raiden said, shaking his head. “She was sleeping peacefully, but then she screamed suddenly. She’s in there now, crying. Great Ehyeh, she sounds so desperate. She’s . . . inconsolable.”

  Trumble stepped up at the back of the wagon and entered it, Basha, at his heels. Once inside, she made a flare. She used it to light a nearby lamp.

  Felicity sat, staring into nothingness, weeping uncontrollably. Her shoulders shook with the fury of her despair.

  “Felicity?” Trumble called her, as he took her hands.

  Her eyes wild, she turned his way. “You have to help her,” she pleaded.

  “Who?”

  “Ella.” A cry escaped her.

  “Who is ‘Ella’?” he asked.

  She closed her eyes. “She’ll waste away. Someone must rescue her.”

  Basha stroked the girl’s hair. “Shhh . . . Shhhh, now,” she said.

  Felicity reached out for her. “Will you help her?” she asked.

  “Who?”

  “I told you. Ella. She’s too weak.” She pulled back, then looked again at her Oathtaker.

  Trumble pressed her shoulders back. “You need to sleep now,” he said. “We’ll do what we can for Ella.”

  Moments later, Felicity closed her eyes. The spell having passed, she drifted off to sleep.

  “Who is she talking about?” Basha asked.

  Trumble shook his head.

  “Has she done this before?”

  “She asked me to pray with her last night for ‘Ella,’ and I did, but like I said, I’ve no idea who she’s talking about.”

  Basha was baffled, as she also, knew of no “Ella” to whom the girl might be referring.

  “Is there anyone in Little Creek by that name?” she asked.

  “No. To the best of my knowledge, Felicity has never met anyone by that name.”

  “Huh. Well, she’s resting easy now, anyway.” Basha turned to go. “I’ll ask around to see if anyone knows who she might be talking about. I suppose it could be one of the children we’ve taken in.”

  “Good idea. Thank you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Huddled low together in the midst of a birch grove, Dixon, Dax, and Aliza, watched and listened to the commotion below, as the flits fluttered over their heads.

  A half dozen succedunt soldiers, all on horseback, led along a string of prisoners roped together in a line, stumbling along their way. One man fell, then struggled back to his feet so as not to be dragged along.

  The leader pulled his black hood back and hooted into the air. “This is as good a place as any,” he cried as he pulled out a sword with a long curved blade and raised it in the air. His mount prancing, he turned it back toward the end of the line of captives.

  The prisoners, all covered in dirt-encrusted, shredded clothing, stood shaking before him, as he rode up and down the line.

  “So, we’ve some believers of Ehyeh in our midst,” he said, chuckling.

  The Oathtakers exchanged glances, then turned their attention back to the goings on.

  “You even have your own sanctuary,” the man mocked. “As you’re aware, Zarek doesn’t allow for that.” Suddenly serious, he glared at each of the prisoners, in turn. “So, we’ve confiscated your goods—and your women,” he added, to the hoots of his cohorts.

  One of the prisoners rushed toward him, pulling on the ropes that bound him, causing those of his fellow abductees nearest him to fall to their knees.

  The succedunt leader laughed. “That’s right,” he said, “on your knees!” Then he called out to his fellows, “It’s time!”

  Like a carefully choreographed dance, each of the other guards pulled out a similar sword with a curved blade. Their weapons glistened.

  “We have to do something,” Dax said.

  “They’re going to kill them!” Aliza cried.

  As the guards, now armed, prepared to dismount, Dixon turned to her. “You need to make them think you’re one of them,” he said.

  “I— Sure—”

  He rummaged in his pack, then pulled out two ropes. Quickly, he tied one to the other, leaving three exposed ends. He tossed one to Dax.

  “Wrap that around your wrists—loosely,” he ordered. Then he tossed another end to Aliza. Finally, he wound the last end around his own wrists.

  “This is crazy, Dixon,” Aliza said.

  “Tell them you’ve been sent with orders to round up all those you can, to march them back as slave labor for a new program Zarek has put in place. Now, there are only a half dozen of them. When we get close, take one out with your blade. Retrieve it quickly, then get another. Now, hurry!” With that, he jumped to his feet.

&nbs
p; Aliza engaged her attendant magic. She didn’t know how she would appear to the guards, but she knew each would see her as someone with authority over him.

  She rushed forward, with Dixon and Dax behind, behaving as though she pulled them along.

  “That’s enough!” she cried when she neared the Chiranians.

  The soldiers all turned her way. One by one, they lowered their weapons.

  “I’m taking your prisoners from here,” she said.

  They exchanged glances.

  “I’ve been ordered to round up additional slaves. Now,” she looked the guards over, “hand me that rope.”

  One of them turned back toward his mount to retrieve the end of it. As he did, she reached back for her blade, even as Dixon and Dax dropped the ropes from around their wrists, so as to do the same.

  She threw her weapon, then rushed forward to retrieve it from the chest of the dead man in which it now protruded. Meanwhile, each of her cohorts did likewise.

  Commotion erupted as the remaining guards held up their swords. Then, clearly confused, they dropped them again.

  Focusing on the man who’d gone to retrieve the rope that bound the prisoners, Aliza threw her blade at him. When it met its mark, he dropped to his knees. Seconds later, he fell to the earth at the feet of his mount.

  Whinnying, the gelding danced in place.

  Meanwhile, both Dixon and Dax killed another of the soldiers. A thud sounded out as each body fell to the earth.

  When the Oathtakers had vanquished all of the guards, Aliza disengaged her magic.

  Dixon retrieved his weapon from the last man he’d killed. Then, taking up the end of the rope that bound the prisoners together, he approached them.

  “Thank Ehyeh!” one of the men cried.

  “Where did you come from?” another asked.

  Dixon started at one end of the line, cutting each man free, as Dax did the same from the other end.

  Meanwhile, Aliza addressed the prisoners. “Where did they take your women?” she asked.

  “They locked them in our sanctuary, then led us out here,” one of them said.

  “Did they leave any guards over them?”

  “No. They told us they were going to go back for them. But we’ve heard tales of their doing this in other villages. Sometimes they lock the doors and then set fire to the place.”

  “I see.”

  When all the prisoners were free, Dixon met Aliza at her side. “Go home now,” he said to the men. “Release your women.”

  One man dropped to his knees, then prostrated himself. “Thank you,” he cried.

  “Get up,” Dixon ordered him. “Go free your women.”

  He stood. “How can we ever thank you?”

  “You don’t owe us any thanks.” Dixon re-sheathed Verity. “Now, tell us about this sanctuary of yours.”

  “What do you want to know? Our village has always served Ehyeh. Our sanctuary has stood there for centuries.”

  “I’d advise you not to use it for now. It’s not safe.”

  “We know that, but we’re faithful—”

  Dixon held up his hand. “Listen, you can be faithful followers without a sanctuary. My advice to you is to burn the building down yourselves. If you value your lives, put on a show of your loyalty to Zarek.”

  The man glared at him. “But—”

  “We won’t be here to save you the next time. Do what you can to protect yourselves. If the succedunt think you’re behind Zarek, perhaps they’ll leave you alone. Now, I’m not suggesting you do anything contrary to Ehyeh’s interests, I’m merely proposing that you don’t make it obvious that you support them. Only then can you be safe.”

  “One thing’s for sure, you’re not Chiranians,” the man scoffed.

  Dax neared him. “Oh? Why do you say that?”

  “Because here in Chiran, no one is safe. When violence and savagery are glorified, it’s just a matter of time . . .” The man shook his head. “They’ve already taken most of our children,” he added, a cry in his voice.

  “What?” Aliza asked.

  He looked back at her. “They train the boys to help them. They . . . use the girls.”

  She grimaced. “Where did they take them all?”

  “We heard something about a prison in Darth.” He shrugged. “But we don’t really know.”

  Dixon sighed. “And things are the same elsewhere here, in Chiran?”

  The man nodded. “They are.”

  “Well, go then. Save those you can.”

  With that, Dixon approached the now-dead guards’ mounts. Then he led three of them back to where his fellow Oathtakers stood. He handed the reins of one to Aliza, and those of another, to Dax.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “I’ve got it,” Dax added.

  “Let’s go then,” Dixon ordered.

  Chapter Thirty

  Things couldn’t be going better. Still, so much depended on him. He completed his report to Daeva and then, deep in thought, paced.

  The underlord’s goal was to turn all mankind to his cause—not because he had any particular affinity for the people, but because he harbored resentment and hatred against Ehyeh. Now, with his plan having been in operation for decades, success finally neared.

  Memories drowned the man’s thoughts.

  Oh, dear, his poor innocent little charge was dead. The thought almost made him smile. Having accomplished the deed, he waited for the child’s parents to return—and then did away with them as well.

  His next order of business was to ask around about Mugger. Upon discovering that the man had moved to Chiran, he set off in pursuit of him.

  He thought back to that day at the swamp, with his former tutor. He’d delivered to the man exactly what he’d deserved. But he’d never anticipated finding Zarek there.

  Finding the child had been a bonus.

  Born a descendant of the Hazarik, of a family of succedunt warriors, the boy’s mother neglected him, just as the man’s own had neglected him. The child crimped her style. So she’d pawned him off on the first person she could find who would board him. Little did she know of, or perhaps she simply didn’t care about, Mugger’s long history of molesting young ones.

  The man shook his head to dispel the thought. His own mother had been just like Zarek’s. She, too, had pawned off her spawn without ever looking back, refusing to listen when he’d tried to tell her the truth. He recalled a visit he’d made to her once. He couldn’t have been more than twelve or so.

  “Mother, about Mugger,” he had said. Although difficult to find the necessary words, he’d proceeded to tell her everything.

  But she didn’t believe him—or couldn’t be bothered to believe him. Perhaps she simply didn’t want the truth. It might obligate her to take him away—to see to his welfare for herself. No, it was easier for her to deny the evidence he’d set before her.

  And so, she did.

  Oh, I hate her.

  And love her.

  Just like Lucy.

  “Grrrrrrr!” he growled. No matter how many times he’d told himself that his mother was an evil woman, and that she’d deserved what he’d done to her, he couldn’t help that he still had feelings for her.

  He paced, allowing his thoughts to wander, once again.

  Yes, Zarek was a bonus.

  He thought again about how the child had approached him, following Mugger’s death. “Teach me,” the boy had said.

  He told him he’d think about it—that he would have to earn his way. So, first things first: he had to determine how far the child would go.

  “See that house, right there?” he’d asked the boy.

  He nodded.

  “I want you to go to the door and knock. When she answers, here is what you are to do . . .”

  Smirking, he watched his memories unfold once more in his mind’s eye.

  Zarek approached the house and then, hesitating, looked back. Upon getting a nod of approval, he knocked.

  A woman an
swered. Then the two conversed quietly for a minute before she invited him inside.

  That’s when I followed. I crouched below her window and listened.

  “So, you just moved here with your mother,” she said. “Well, I had a boy of my own, very like you, once upon a time.” Her chair squeaked from her massive weight when she sat. “And you say she’s offering free herbs to women who find themselves in a . . . precarious situation? Hmmm. Why would she do that?”

  “She wants to show her goodwill—to build up her clientele. Here,” the boy said as he reached into his pack, “she said you could try this tea.”

  A moment passed in silence. He envisioned the boy handing the item over.

  “You should taste it now,” the child said. “She wants to be certain that it meets with your approval. She says she can adjust it, if need be.”

  Once again, the chair squeaked, presumably as the woman stood. Moments later, shuffling footsteps retreated, then returned. Next came the sound of water sloshing into a cup.

  “How strong does it have to be?” she asked.

  “Oh, just let it steep for a bit.”

  Seconds later, he said, “Go on, you can try it now.”

  For a minute, there was naught but silence. Then came the sounds of a great gasp.

  “What’s wrong?” the boy asked, a smile in his voice.

  The cups and saucers on the table rattled as she clutched its edge.

  And that’s when I entered.

  Her hands to her throat, she looked up, her eyes wide. “Help,” she cried. “Hel—”

  He stepped up. “You need my help, Mother?” He smiled—it was a humorless gesture.

  Staring, she stumbled into her chair. It crashed to the floor.

  “What is it, Mother?”

  “Hel—”

  “You want my help? Well . . . let me think now.” He tapped his finger to his lips. “What did you do when I asked you for help? Hmmmm . . . let me think.”

  Her eyes opened wide.

  “Does it hurt, Mother?” he mocked her.

  She grabbed his arm and pulled him, choking and gagging all the while.

  “Yes, I see that it does. Hmmmm, let me see what I can do for you.”