“I guess. But . . .”
“What is it?” Mara pulled forward. Her wristband tightened.
“Do you think Carlie could bring something else—other than food—for me?”
Mara sighed. “I don’t know. From all we’ve been able to tell, she’s every bit as much a slave as we are. She helped us today, but she’s yet to speak to us . . .” Her voice trailed away to nothing. Then, “What do you want from her?” she asked.
Eden paced, each footstep audible as the dirt ground into the rock beneath her feet. “I need some . . .” She went quiet again.
“Some what?”
She returned to the bars and gripped them. “It’s my moon cycle, Mara,” she whispered. “Do you think she’d bring me some clean rags?”
“Mine, too,” Reigna said, approaching her sister’s side. “You know ours always coincide.”
Mara pulled back, her mind in a jumble. Then, shaking, she brought her hand to her mouth. “Ahhhh!” she cried.
“What is it?” Eden asked, her voice worry-laden.
“Oh, dear Good One, no,” Mara muttered. “No, no, no.”
“What? What’s wrong?” Reigna asked.
Mara’s tangled thoughts raced. How long had it been since her memory had been restored? How much time had passed since she’d found the girls and taken them to the City of Light? Gasping now, she struggled to recall details.
“What is it?” Eden asked again. “Please, Mara, you’re scaring us!”
She’d returned with the twins to the city. Then, her memory fully restored, she was reunited with Dixon. She could remember a moon-cycle coming several days later, but . . .
Her hand again at her mouth, tears welled in her eyes. She groaned. She felt her middle. Notwithstanding the minuscule rations they’d lived on for the past few weeks, she felt bloated.
She concentrated, but couldn’t think of another cycle since she’d been reunited with Dixon. How long after that was it before she’d started to feel ill? How long was it before she’d traveled to the City of Light where the girls were training?
“Oh, great Ehyeh,” she moaned.
“What?” the twins asked simultaneously.
“Oh, girls,” she said, panic making her voice shake. “You know, at the palace, when Vida’s children brought us the grippe?”
“Yes,” Eden said. “What of it?”
“And I was sick for weeks?”
“Yes.”
Mara choked back a cry. “Oh, gracious Good One!”
“What? Please, Mara, you’re really scaring us,” Reigna said.
“I don’t think I was just . . . sick.”
“What are you talking about?” Eden asked.
Now, gasping for breath, Mara cried, “Oh, Reigna, Eden! I— I think I’m pregnant!”
Mara wept for hours, as sleep eluded her. She was certain now. She’d not been ill when she’d returned to the palace—she’d been suffering from morning sickness. It explained everything: the long weeks during which she felt constantly nauseous, the fact that she was so tired all the time, and why she exhausted so quickly while training. It even explained her itchy skin and her heightened sense of smell. For weeks, the mere whiff of something unexpected had made her stomach lurch and her head spin.
But how could this have happened? When Dixon had taken her from the compound to travel to her mother’s home, Lucy was unaware of the true situation. No doubt, she thought Mara was adequately protected—and she was. Since Dixon was a stranger to her at the time, she’d not been intimate with him. But then . . .
She thought back to the day when she’d been reunited with Dixon after the hearing. That was when Lucy had given her some barrenseed tea. Mara recalled thinking it tasted a bit different than usual, but she hadn’t had any in all the while that her memory had been lost to her, so that fact didn’t particularly trouble her.
She concentrated on what happened after the hearing. Lucy had marched up to her and insisted that they meet in private. When they found their way to a conference room, she’d rustled inside her pack.
“Here,” she’d said, removing a bag of something.
Mara reached for the item. “What is this?”
“Barrenseed tea.” Lucy scowled. “I expect you weren’t drinking it during your travels?”
“Ahhh, no, I . . . I guess I wasn’t.”
“Is there any cause for concern, do you think?” Lucy clenched her jaw. Her eyes seemed to bore into her.
Mara stood tall. “First of all, Lucy, it’s really none of your concern.” She shook her head. “But in answer to your question: no, there is no cause for concern.”
“The two of you have been traveling—alone—for some time.”
Mara stared at her. “Honestly, Lucy, there are times . . .” She folded her arms and stepped away, then turned back. “As you are well aware, I had no memories of my past. Dixon was a stranger to me. And I don’t find myself . . . intimate . . . with strangers—ever.” She huffed. “So you can put your mind at ease.”
“When I learned the truth about how you’d lost your memory, I thought you might not be protected. I brought that with me,” she said, pointing at the tea, “so that I could get it to you when I met up with you, as I assumed that eventually, you might need it.”
Again shaking her head, Mara looked back up. “It’s like I said, Lucy, it’s none of your concern.”
“Well, I’m just trying to help. You’re the one who asked me—”
“Forget it.” Mara marched to the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Yes, she’d been angry. But she’d used the tea that Lucy gave her—religiously. She’d made a morning cup of it every day since she’d been reunited with Dixon.
There’d been times in the past when she’d not been particularly regular in her moon cycles. Usually that was when she’d been greatly stressed. But she was certain now that she indeed, carried a child. It explained so much—her rounded abdomen, for example—notwithstanding the small rations on which she’d been living. It even explained the strange feeling she’d experienced from time to time in the past week or so. It was . . . ephemeral . . . a fleeting thing—like a butterfly gently brushing its wings inside her.
Now, she understood.
The child had quickened.
Dusk having just settled, she found it odd that she perspired so profusely, given the coolness of the night. Still, the load she carried was significant—almost too much to bear. Her arms, back, and knees, ached.
Sweat ran down at her temples. It tickled—in an irritating sort of way. More trickled down at her hairline, then ran into her eyes, fogging them over. She tried to brush it away at her shoulder, but the movement caused a shift in her weight that left her unbalanced.
She fell, intentionally twisting on her way down, as she dared not land on the little ones for fear of crushing them.
Grimacing upon landing on her left forearm and hip, she choked back a sob. A shot of pain jolted through her lower back, but that wasn’t the worst of it. It was her elbow that spasmed. It tingled all the way down to her fingertips, leaving her arm numb. She rubbed it in an effort to relieve the sensation.
Fortunately, the babies hadn’t awakened. She had to keep them quiet or they’d all be discovered. With one of the little ones tied to her frontside, the other resting in the basket on her arm, she sat up. She’d stop for a minute to catch her breath, but knew she mustn’t take long.
She looked out. A distant stream sparkled in the moonlight. Above it, bats flew in quick, broad circles, dipping sporadically, then with faint flutterings of their wings, rising again. Every few seconds, they repeated their jerky, almost spasmodic, maneuvers.
For a moment she considered stopping longer, but then decided against it. They were in the open. Besides, if she could get more distance before morning, she might actually outrun their pursuers. And fortunately—for now at least—the babies slept. She had to get them to safety, and she had to do so soon.
On sight of a lo
ng sturdy stick on the ground nearby, she grabbed it. It would help her to walk. Planting it firmly in the ground, then grasping it for leverage, she rustled back to her feet. Once done, she rearranged the items she carried, then placed one tired foot in front of the other.
Time passed slowly. Each step required greater effort than the one before.
Finally, as dawn brushed the morning sky, she came upon a cave. She glanced inside, hoping she’d discovered a refuge.
But then came an unexpected sound from behind.
She looked back.
They’d found her! How could that have happened? How had they made their way so close without her knowledge?
She opened the covering of the babe in her arms and stole a glance. Goodness, but the infant did not look well. So tiny, so fragile . . .
Wait. Did she? Or did I imagine it?
Gracious Ehyeh, don’t let it be. Don’t take her.
She picked up the infant’s tiny hand and placed it at her lips. She closed her eyes momentarily, afraid to look, then opened them again to watch for the babe’s breath.
There it was—the slightest rise and fall of her chest. But in the faint morning light, her skin looked almost . . . blue. Surely, she couldn’t survive much longer.
“Ahhhhh,” she cried. With that, she awakened and sat upright.
“Mara?” Reigna cried.
Breathing hard, she put her hand to her chest.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. I’m— I’m fine.”
“What happened?”
“Just a . . . a nightmare.” She paused. “I’m so sorry, Reigna. I fear for you two—and it’s all my fault.”
“Please Mara, that’s not so.”
She closed her eyes, but when the image of the nearly dead child met her consciousness, she opened them again. She couldn’t look at it.
Oh, Ehyeh, what have I done bringing the twins into this?
She choked back another cry upon recollecting that it was not only her charges in danger—so, too, was her own child—Dixon’s child.
She wept with the realization that she’d failed on every front.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Leading their mounts behind, as the uneven ground made the going treacherous, they traveled through a marshland, encrusted with ice. From time to time, one of them broke through, causing water to rush up unexpectedly. Their boots drenched, and their feet nearly frozen, they nevertheless drove on until dusk when they happened along an old farmstead, its buildings aged and battered. The barn’s door hung on rusted hinges, while a single cracked window graced the building’s frontside.
Avoiding the house itself, in the event it might be inhabited, the Oathtakers, along with the flits, Mercurial, Spectrum, and Evanescent, entered the barn. There they found several empty stalls. Some old damp hay, frozen to the floor, crunched beneath their steps.
An orange striped tomcat looked up as they entered. The hair on its arched back stood up as it spat at them before running off.
“Why don’t you leave your mounts here and then check around for some dry hay and fresh water?” Dixon asked Dax and Aliza. “These horses need to eat and drink.”
He bent down to examine a cut on the front leg of the gelding he’d been riding, the result of sharp edges of ice they’d meandered through. Then, “I’ll have to get some lavender oil balm on these cuts, I see,” he commented.
As his cohorts headed up a rickety ladder to the loft above, Dixon grabbed a pitchfork and shovel, then mucked out a stall. Once done, he led into it, the mahogany bay gelding he’d ridden. Then he approached the next stall to clean it out.
“Watch out below!” Dax called out.
A second later, from above, a bale of hay, and then another, dropped to the floor. Each landed with a resounding thud.
Dixon looked up. “Is it dry?”
“It is,” Dax said as he headed down the ladder. He stopped suddenly. “Watch the third rung here, Aliza,” he called out. “It’s loose.”
“Got it. Thanks. I’ll be right with you. I just have to get my pack.”
“Good thing,” Dixon said as he entered the next stall. “That it’s dry, I mean.”
He scraped from the ground and then shoveled up, a pile of the old hay. He dumped it outside the unit.
“We could lose good horses to mold in wet hay,” he commented.
“It should be fine,” Dax said.
Just then, the cracking of splintering wood, followed by a muted scream, and then a loud crash, sounded out.
Dixon and Dax ran to the source, just as Aliza, having broken through the floor, landed face-up next to a bin of grain. Several planks followed behind, one hitting her soundly on the head. Specks of hay and billowing dust rained down on her.
“Ohhh,” she cried.
“Are you hurt?” Dixon asked, crouching down at her side.
“Ohhh . . . Ohhh . . .” She moaned. “Ahhhh . . . I went back for my pack and the floor gave way.” She grimaced. “Ohhh.”
“Let’s take a look.” Dixon leaned over her. He felt each of her legs. All seemed well. He picked up her right foot and moved it around. “Does this hurt?”
“I can’t tell. I hurt everywhere.”
He lifted her other foot and repeated the procedure. When she didn’t cry out, he took her left elbow.
“Ahhh!” she cried. Her body jerked upward.
He pulled her sleeve up. One glance was all it took. She’d broken her arm halfway between her wrist and elbow. The bone poked out through her skin. His gaze flickered toward Dax who, standing nearby, bit his lip.
Aliza watched the exchange. “Great Ehyeh, but it hurts.” Tears streamed down her cheeks as she tried to sit up.
“Wait. Stay. Don’t move,” Dax said, holding his hand out.
Her eyes widened. “What is it?”
Dixon pulled back. “Aliza, you broke your arm. The bone is . . . Well,” he said, looking down, “neither of us is a healer—so that’s not good. That means I’ll need to take you back.”
“No, Dixon! Please, don’t. We can’t leave Dax here alone. He has no magic to protect him.” She wiped away an errant tear. “If someone finds him, we could lose him.”
“I really should take you back.”
“Please, please, don’t.”
He pulled his shoulders back, and sighed heavily. “All right, if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
“Well then, I guess I’ll have to set your arm myself.”
She choked back a cry. “Will it hurt?”
“Yes, I won’t lie. It’s going to hurt. Quite badly, I’m sorry to say—and we’ve nothing much to dull the pain.” He turned to Dax. “There’s a flask of spirits in my pack. Would you get it?”
“Oh, dear Good One. What have I done?” Aliza asked, lying back, her tears now flowing freely.
“You’re going to be fine, but if you’re staying here, then I can safely say that we won’t be going anywhere for some time.”
She covered her face with her other hand and moaned. “It hurts so much.”
Dax returned with two flasks. “Here’s yours—and one from my pack as well,” he said, handing them to Dixon. Then, “I’ll go find some ice,” he added as he walked away.
“Good idea.” Dropping the flasks, Dixon watched him exit, then turned back to Aliza. “Do you think you can sit up?”
She nodded.
“Wait.” He pulled his cloak off and wrapped it around her arm. “All right, then. Here we go.” He put a hand behind her back to assist her.
Groaning, she sat up, then leaned against the bale of hay that Dixon put behind her. “I can’t lift it,” she said. “My arm, I mean.”
“Yes, I know,” Dixon said, “that’s because of the break.”
Dax returned with his arms full. “There are icicles hanging from the lowest part of the north side of the roof over there,” he said, gesturing with a tip of his head. “I broke off a bunch—and I can get more if needed. Also, I fo
und a water pump.”
“I’ll need the ice here,” Dixon said, patting the floor at his side. Then looking about, he spotted a weathered wooden bucket. “You could fill that,” he added, pointing at it. “If we wet some cloths and then wrap them over ice, we can put them on each side of her arm. We don’t want to freeze it—but it could help to dull the pain for when I set it. It’ll also keep down some of the swelling that’s sure to follow.”
Dax nodded as he put the ice down.
“Oh—also, see if you can find a flat board about this big,” Dixon gestured with his hands. “I’ll use it as a splint after I set her bone.”
As Dax set out with the bucket in hand, Dixon grabbed one of the flasks.
Seconds later came the sounds of shuffling footsteps from near the barn door. Convinced they did not belong to Dax, Dixon jumped to his feet and reached for Verity. But before he could do more, Aliza spoke.
“I’ve got this,” she whispered to him. She turned her magic on so that she would look and sound to their visitor as someone with authority over him. She didn’t need to know any more. His own imagination would fill in the gaps.
At the door stood a man in aged and ragged clothing. The wrinkles in his skin were like those on the mug of an old bloodhound. Staring at Aliza, his mouth opened and closed repeatedly, as though he was at a loss for words. He licked his puckered, chapped lips.
“What?” she asked him, her voice clipped.
“I— I didn’t expect you back, is all,” he said.
“Why wouldn’t I come back?”
He stood, stammering.
“Well?”
“It’s just that when you left Mother and me, Father, you said you’d never return.”
Despite her circumstances, Aliza had to stifle a grin. Apparently the person the old man saw as someone with authority over him, was his long-lost father.
“Well,” she groaned, fighting to get each word out, “have you taken good care of the farm in my absence?”
“I have, Father.”
“Good.” She glanced away, then turned her gaze back on him. “But I don’t see any livestock.”
“Zarek confiscated it all.”
Ephemeral and Fleeting Page 28
