Ephemeral and Fleeting

by Patricia Reding

  “Have you discovered anything helpful from your studies?” she asked him.

  He leaned in. “There are vague references in The Book of the Blood here,” he said, waving a copy of the book in his hand. “I’ll look for them.”

  “And,” Skylar piped in, “there are some things here in When the Two May Overcome that might pertain.” He motioned with the black book that he held.

  “What do they say?”

  He opened the book, its leather cover crinkled with age. He turned to the first of several pages marked with a black satin ribbon.

  “This one says something about ‘deliverance,’” he said.

  “Read it, please.”

  The professor turned the page over, then back again, its rustling sound filling the air. “This part discusses magic trinkets. It says, ‘In those days when deliverance is sought, trust not illusion when I am born.’ I’m sorry,” he said when, looking back at her, she grimaced, “that’s all there is to it.”

  Lucy stretched her shoulders back. “So, what’s it about?”

  “Well,” Fidel piped up, “frequently, when analyzing prophecy, we translate the term ‘deliverance’ to ‘rescue.’”

  “That’s right,” Skylar said.

  “So, it could read, ‘when rescue is sought, trust not illusion when I am born.’” Lucy stood, then folded her arms. “I seem to recall something about a magic trinket—and being born—and the used of the term ‘illusion.’ Hmmm.”

  “If you could remember what that was,” Basha said, “it might help.”

  “Wait!” Lucy cried. “It was about Rowena’s old shawl. Do you remember it, Basha?”

  “Oh, yes, I do.”

  “The words that came with the shawl mentioned something about being born. But maybe it wasn’t about something being birthed. Maybe it was about its being worn!”

  “Do you think?”

  “Mara told me that the twins had discovered that they could disappear when they covered themselves with it. So, I think that’s it.” She looked at each of the others, in turn. “I suppose, somehow, in a rescue attempt, they’re to make use of it. What do you think?” she asked Skylar.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “What else did you find then?”

  Fidel turned the pages of his book. “Here’s something,” he said. “This one speaks of the twins, of that I’m certain.”

  “Oh?” Basha turned his way.

  “Yes, and it, too, mentions deliverance—which we’re assuming for the sake of our discussion, means ‘rescue.’” He looked down, squinted, and then read: “‘Before evil claims all, the seventh seventh and she who is but is not, may seek deliverance. Pray for faith, that the bowels of the earth may heave.’” He looked back up at her.

  “Any idea what it means?” Basha asked.

  “Sorry. None whatsoever,” he said.

  “Maybe it’s a reference to when the twins chose Ehyeh. Do you remember how they sought escape from The Tearless? Then, when the moons aligned, the earth shook so violently?”

  “Yes,” Lucy said. “Well then, it seems that that prophecy was already fulfilled.”

  “Still, there may be hope for Chiranians in general,” Skylar suggested.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Listen to this.” He turned the pages of his book, and then read out loud:

  Shall the tree determine the circumstances of its seed? A miniature kernel, containing its own survival, in itself is neither good, nor evil. That from which it is derived determines not the kernel’s end. Consider, rather, the ground in which it sprouts, the purity of the water sprinkled upon it. Even when germinated in darkness, yet in clear light, it may thrive. Even when cast in the ashes, when transplanted to nourishing soil, it may live. Even that which emerges, surrounded by acidic waters, may find new life at the base of a fresh spring well.

  He closed the book.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The book is about the twins overcoming,” Skylar said. “I think it’s cautioning us against seeing all Chiranians as evil. If they could be shown the way of life and freedom, through our example, they may follow.”

  “I see. Still, there’s nothing useful there for us regarding an escape plan.” Lucy sighed. “Is there anything else?”

  “No,” Skylar said.

  “I’ve one more here,” Fidel said. “‘Lose not faith when deliverance is sought. The despot inevitably offers the seed of his own destruction.’”

  “So,” Lucy ventured, “we’re to wait for Zarek to make a mistake of some kind?”

  “Perhaps he already has,” Basha said. “He should have killed them all, straight away. Instead, they’ve—we’ve—been given time to seek their rescue.”

  “Well,” Fidel said, tapping on his book, which now sat on the table before him, “there’s nothing more here.”

  Velia leaned in. “Lucy, without more information, are you still planning to go Chiran?” she asked.

  “I feel I must.”

  “Alone?”

  “Actually, no.” She picked up her quill, then put it back down. “I’ve decided that Petrus will join me, as he suggested.”

  “Don’t you think he should stay here? After all, isn’t he working on our defensive plans?” Jerrett asked.

  “He is. But his viewing things there up-close could ultimately be to our benefit.” She glanced at each of the others in turn. “I can see you don’t support my plan, but I feel I must see it through.”

  “When will you leave?” Basha asked.

  “Shortly. I’ll keep you informed. But for now, I need to check in on how the investigation into Percival’s actions is coming along.”

  She strutted down the hall. When she arrived outside the room in which Percival was held, she nodded at the Oathtaker guards. One of them opened the door for her. Its squeaky hinges sounded out.

  Lucy stepped inside.

  Percival sat, Petrus facing him.

  She glanced at the men, then pulled up a nearby stool. She addressed Petrus. “Anything?”

  “No, sorry,” he said, scowling at the prisoner. “Nothing.”

  “Percival,” she said turning his way, “the Council has determined that we’ve not enough evidence to exact any punishment.”

  He sighed with relief.

  “However, they agree we do have enough to continue to hold you.”

  He shook his head. “I’ve done nothing.”

  “Let’s hope that’s the case. Still, I’d like to hear you explain how it is that we found this,” she said, handing him a book, “in your rooms.”

  “You— You searched my rooms?”

  “Yes. So, can you explain that?” She pointed at the book.

  He turned the item over. “I— I’ve never seen this before. I know that there’s a copy or two around. I think I’ve even seen you studying one, but—”

  “You deny that was in your room?”

  “I do.”

  “Hmmm. And I suppose you can’t explain this either.”

  She handed him a map. Someone had designated on it, the same place she’d noted earlier, where Dixon, Dax, and Aliza, were staying in the barn. Another marking showed the town of Wylie, the place to which Lucy had traveled earlier, after setting a trap to determine if they had a leak in their ranks.

  He took the item and perused it. “I’ve never seen this map before.”

  She stood, tapped her foot. “Very well then, Percival. Until we can get to the bottom of this—”

  “I’ll remain in custody? But Lucy, the troops need me.”

  She leaned in. “Don’t think too much of yourself,” she seethed. “Now, I’m told that the Council is willing to offer some leniency here. Perhaps life imprisoned, rather than the death penalty—”

  “I’ve done nothing!” he persisted.

  “I can’t help you, Percival, if you are unwilling to help yourself.” With that, she turned to the door and then made her way out.

  The crowd co
nsisted of a group of nearly thirty Oathtakers, many with the ability to heal. The charges of some, accompanied them. The room erupted with their collective shouts and exclamations.

  Lucy pounded her fist on the desktop. “That is enough!” she ordered. When silence ensued, she continued. “The evidence supports this.”

  “I refuse to believe it,” came the voice of someone from the back of the room. “Percival Ferreolo is one of the best of the healers. He healed my Oathtaker from a terrible injury. If he meant to do harm, why would he prove so helpful in keeping our troops in such good fighting form?”

  “I understand, Joed,” Lucy responded. “Still, wouldn’t you agree that his assistance would prove as good a way as any to divert the attention of you all away from him?” Her gaze scanned across the room. “And from the looks of things, the plan worked.”

  “He is not a traitor!” Joed insisted. “What is this ‘evidence’ of which you speak anyway?”

  Frustrated, Lucy rubbed her temples. “We searched his rooms. There, we found a map of Chiran—one unlike any I’ve ever seen before. It was quite detailed—and on it were markings of . . . significance.”

  “So?”

  “So, we also found a copy of Serving Daeva.” She paused, letting the others take that fact into account. “How else would you account for that?”

  Joed stepped to the front of the room. “Those are the very things we’ve been using in our efforts to design a plan to oppose Zarek when he invades,” he said. “Percival, as you well know, was left with Dax’s materials when he left the city. Those items are no different from the ones that all of us use and study here every day. We make the best use of resources of that nature that we can. So, if that’s your evidence, you might as well take me into custody right now, as well.” He held his arms out, his hands close together, inviting her to bind him.

  “That’s right!” came cries from some of the others, a few of whom joined him, their hands also held out.

  “Turn Percival loose!” someone demanded.

  Lucy stared at Joed, her jaw set.

  “Look,” he said, putting his arms down, his hands still fisted. “You have no evidence. If you think what you found is incriminating, then take me into custody. For that matter, why don’t you arrest my Oathtaker, as well?” he added glancing at him over his shoulder.

  “Joed, don’t be—”

  “Ridiculous? Is that what you were going to say? I have maps and books in my quarters. You’d best get there quickly so that you can confiscate them and then arrest me, too.”

  She sighed. “Be reasonable.”

  “I am being reasonable. Percival has admitted to nothing, yet you use the flimsiest of evidence to hold him. The healers need him,” he said, pacing. “Percival knows more about healing than anyone here,” he added, coming to a halt, “including remedies that require no magic power whatsoever. You know, when the real war hits, there won’t be enough magic to go around.”

  “Yes!” someone in the audience exclaimed.

  “Agreed!” cried another.

  Once again, shouts and exclamations sounded out, and once again, Lucy pounded the desktop. Then, “Has Salus returned?” she asked.

  The din continued.

  “Has Salus returned?” she repeated, louder this time.

  As the ruckus died down, Joed spoke up. “No,” he said, clearly confused as to the question, his brow furrowed.

  Lucy held her lips tight, then tapped the table. Finally, when she had everyone’s attention, she said, “There is evidence that Percival was the last person known to have seen him.”

  Joed took a step back. “What are you talking about?”

  “I was informed that Salus headed for a seedy little pub one day. I understand that he hasn’t been seen since. I took Percival there with me to investigate, notwithstanding his efforts to avoid going. In any case, the barkeep recognized him as the man who met Salus there. And he said that they left there—together.”

  “Surely he was mistaken.”

  “That’s what I thought—at the time. By itself, that information didn’t convince me. Eyewitness accounts are, after all, notoriously unreliable. However, I think otherwise now.”

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. “We also found this in Percival’s room.” She opened it and then held it out for everyone to see. There, was written: “Meet Salus at The Swindler’s Cup, at evenfall.”

  Eyes squinted and mouths dropped open in surprise.

  “With all that has transpired, we must consider that Salus came into information that Percival did not want out,” Lucy said.

  “Why reach that conclusion?” Joed asked. “Isn’t that a bit far-fetched, even with that so called evidence?” he added, pointing at the slip of paper Lucy held.

  “Perhaps. But if it was your Oathtaker purportedly last seen with Percival, wouldn’t you want to get to the bottom of all this?”

  When no one responded, Lucy stood. “We’ll take your concerns into consideration, but in the meantime, for the safety of us all, I insist we act with caution. Percival remains in custody.” With that she reached down, slapped closed the book that sat before her, and then made her way out.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Broden marched down the hall, Carlie and Clementine at his side. Two succedunt soldiers accompanied them, one in front, and one behind, apparently as a consequence of Zarek not wholly trusting his son.

  As they entered the area of cells in which the emperor held the Oathtakers and the twins, Broden addressed the men. “You can go now,” he said.

  One of the succedunt shook his head. “We stay,” he said. “Zarek’s orders.”

  Tipping his chin up, Broden headed for the last of the cells—the one housing the twins. He looked inside, then motioned for Carlie and Clementine. “See to them,” he said.

  “How could you?” Reigna asked, glaring at him, disappointment and anger in her voice. “You’re one of us. How could you?”

  Feeling the eyes of the guards on him, his brow rose. He bit his lip and then said, “You know nothing about me.”

  She drew to the bars. “I know you’re a coward and a traitor,” she seethed.

  Eden stepped behind her sister, grabbed her arm and pulled her away. “Leave him, Reigna.”

  Just then, Carlie returned with the bucket of gruel.

  Reigna snapped her arm free from her sister’s grip. Then, once again staring Broden down, she pointed Carlie’s way. “How could you treat her as you have? What happened to you?”

  Eden chimed in. “We always believed in you, Broden. We’ve always had faith in you. Tell us this isn’t what it looks like.”

  Broden, pulling to his full height, noted the guards watching him closely. Then, looking Carlie’s way, he nodded. “Get on with it,” he ordered.

  Carlie and Clementine saw to filling the prisoners’ bowls with their daily gruel. Unfortunately, with the succedunt keeping such a close eye on things, they were unable to leave with them all, the packets of food that Carlie had brought along.

  Meanwhile, Broden approached Mara’s cell. Signs of pain laced her face and sweat stood out on her brow as, on her hands and knees, she panted. Clearly, she was in great pain.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he asked. He struggled to keep concern out of his voice. He didn’t dare make the guards suspicious.

  “She’s miscarrying if you must know, Broden,” Reigna, having overheard, cried out. “Because of you, your father, and his monsters, yet another life will expire.” She choked back a cry. “How could you?”

  Broden glanced at one of the guards now standing before him. “Well, I guess that’s the price that comes with defying Zarek’s plans,” he said, dismissively. Then, looking back at Mara, he struggled to keep his emotions in check.

  He stood and moved on, briefly glancing into each of the other cells. Once through, he turned back to the succedunt guards. “You can go now,” he tried again.

  “No. We’re to stay at your sid
e.”

  “I see. Well, I’ll assist with the chores then.” With that, he headed for the bucket of water.

  When they returned later to Broden’s quarters, he ordered all the women, but for Carlie, down for the night. Then he convened with her and Striver. On the table before them sat a carafe of wine and three brass drinking vessels, all of which Striver filled.

  “Now what?” the tutor asked.

  “If I could just get alone with them—just for a minute—perhaps I could convince them of my innocence,” Broden said.

  “They all looked at you like they wanted to kill you,” Carlie said, patting his hand. “I’m so sorry. I wish they knew. I wish we could tell them.”

  “I need a plan. Something to get the succedunt off my back.”

  “Maybe there’s a way to—” She stopped short. “Oh, never mind.”

  “To what?” he asked, sitting up straighter.

  “It’s— No. It’s not an option.”

  “What?” he persisted.

  She closed her eyes and sighed, then looked back at him. “If there was trouble in the women’s prison, they might have to call all the guards to assist.”

  “But we’re no longer working there—in the women’s prison,” he said.

  “No. But Striver and the others are.”

  Just then came the squeak of a door opening.

  “Master?” someone called.

  Broden rushed to his feet as Yasmin, Farida, and Ghazala, made their way out of their room and toward him.

  “May we speak with you?” Yasmin asked. Then her eyes skipped in Carlie’s direction. “And to Carlie?” she added.

  His eyes narrowed, he looked at her, then at Carlie, then back again. “What did you call her?”

  “I called her by her name.”

  “Ahhh,” Broden stuttered, “sure.” What had Yasmin heard between them, he wondered.

  “I recommend that you use us. Use me, Farida, and Ghazala.”