by Laury Falter
“No, Jocelyn.” Jameson stepped in front of me, attempting to take my place. “That’s not going to happen.”
“You really don’t have a say in it, Jameson,” I snapped back, on the verge of tears.
“Yes, I do. I’m not letting you do it.”
“This is my decision,” I declared. “Not yours.”
“I’m not going to stand back and allow you to kill yourself.”
“You can’t stop me.”
He laughed mischievously. “Oh, yes, I can.” He turned to Sartorius and commanded, “My life is just as valuable. Take mine.”
“No, Jameson! No!”
He ignored me, keeping his eyes on Sartorius, awaiting a response.
While Sartorius remained stoic, Turcott smirked. He knew what the next words would be from Jameson’s lips. While they would crush me, they would elate him. This would be his most glorious moment, one he would relish long after this altercation ended.
“How quaint,” Sartorius muttered, snidely. “Lovers offering themselves up as a sacrifice to save each other. Altruism, however, is a worthless undertaking.”
I wasn’t quite sure what that meant other than he would never give his life for another. This didn’t surprise me. In fact, I expected it. None of that mattered, so long as he chose to take my life instead of Jameson’s.
Moving another step forward, I held out my wrists insisting he handcuff me.
Sartorius stared momentarily at my outstretched hands, seeming to debate internally. I figured it was a clear-cut decision on his part. He would be the one to end the life of The Relicuum. The ministry, his associates, The Sevens, would rejoice in his favor once Turcott proved I was The Relicuum. But something else was on his mind, which became clear when he addressed Jameson.
“And why is it you consider yourself as valuable as Jocelyn?”
The obvious answer from Jameson should have been because The Sevens know that together Jameson and I are a danger to them. Remove one from the equation and the outcome changes. That was the strategy I was employing, encouraging Sartorius to take my life so the equation would change. But Jameson upped the ante, making the deal just as sweet for Sartorius by giving away his true identity.
“Because, Sartorius, I am The Nobilis.”
Gasps from behind us told me the rest of the prisoners heard this confession, too.
And the truth was finally out.
Turcott was euphoric. He looked like someone vindicated after being repeatedly told they were wrong. Sartorius, however, hadn’t shown any reaction other than the knowing smirk which remained planted on his lips. He leaned forward, delivering a blow that struck my mind and my gut, equally.
Lowering his voice to a hideous whisper, he replied, “I know.”
Jameson’s eyebrows dipped briefly in shock and rose again. It didn’t change his intent.
“You have The Nobilis. You will be praised for your success. Do what you want with me. If you let Jocelyn and the rest go, I won’t fight you.” To drive his point home, he repeated, “Unlike Jocelyn, I won’t fight you.”
Sartorius gave us an amused look before responding. “The two of you act as if you have any say in the matter. Whatever gave you that impression?” He mocked us with a snide laugh. To a Vire standing behind him, apparently next in command, he said, “Apprehend the boy.”
“No!” I said, rushing forward to block Jameson. Others behind us, who still suffered from the curse, leaving them mute, collectively opposed the decision with agonizing moans. In the back of my mind, I knew they came from his family and mine.
As the Vire crossed the ground toward us, I straightened my back and lifted my chin.
“Jocelyn,” said Jameson, his voice softly calling out to me through channeling. It shook me, because I was so focused on the Vire. I hadn’t even noticed he had taken hold of my arm until he spoke. “Let me go…” he urged, tenderly.
My head snapped around when hearing that request. “No,” I said, so insulted I voiced my response out loud.
Sartorius didn’t appear to notice. He was too busy roaring his next statement. “You,” he barked, while addressing another Vire, “take the girl.”
I was looking into Jameson’s translucent green eyes when Sartorius’s command reached him, and I watched as they widened with rage.
“No!” Jameson bellowed, the force of his resistance shaking me.
Suddenly, Jameson’s body heaved against the Vire holding him, jarring him from the man’s grip. He was at my side, and his fist was connecting with the jaw of the Vire who had been commanded to take me into custody. There were ten of them on Jameson, so fast it looked like he was swallowed by black uniforms.
“Jameson!” I screamed, terror ripping through me. “Jameson!”
I clawed at the crowd then, taking skin from a Vire’s face and a moldavite stone from a Vire’s lapel, before hands came around my arms, pulling me away.
“No! Jameson! Jameson!”
They were separating us, just what they always wanted; but now, I wasn’t so confident that we’d survive the ordeal.
As the distance grew between us, my body flailed harder, fighting to get to Jameson. But the Vires were too big, too well trained, and they restrained me as if I were no more challenging than an infant. I had no leverage, with one exception.
It had been a last minute idea from Jameson, which might very well save our lives tonight. His level head in times of crises was an amazing quality, and I couldn’t have appreciated it more at this very moment. It was risky. I was told never to let anyone know I had it, until I was ready to use it, and unfortunately, it hadn’t come with a training manual.
“I’ll make you a trade,” I screamed at Sartorius, my eyes flitting between him and the mound of Vires on top of Jameson.
“I’m not interested in trades.”
“You are in this one,” I said in a rush. “Trust me.”
He scoffed. “You have a heightened sense of self-worth, Jocelyn.”
I ignored his insult. What worried me instead was that he didn’t believe me. “You’ve been looking for this object since the fourth century.”
I saw a flicker in his eyes, as understanding transpired.
One more glance in Jameson’s direction and I became desperate. He would either be crushed or removed from the pile and killed some other way. Looking over at the holding cells reinforced Sartorius’s intention to murder my loved ones and innocent neighbors, too.
I would never be more ready than right now to use this object.
Driving home my point and summing up exactly what I had in my possession, that might possibly save the lives of everyone around me tonight, I asked, “Would The Rope of The Sevens be enticing enough for you?”
I watched then as Sartorius’s eyes turned hungry.
20 ROPE
“Release Jameson and the prisoners,” I demanded. “Our housekeepers included.”
Sartorius chuckled blithely at me. “You haven’t done this before, have you?” he asked, voicing my biggest insecurity at the moment. “Let me explain. You don’t secure payment from a buyer without proof.” He drew out this last word in an insultingly slow manner.
“It’s the length of…” I motioned to its exact length. “It is a bundle of assorted hair strands from seven individuals and it is wrapped with seven pieces of skin. And it smells like sweaty feet. How would I know that, Sartorius, unless I have it in my possession?”
I waited for his answer, knowing it would be hard to devise.
“There are no pictures of it, are there?” I insisted. “No one bothered to draw it back in the fourth century before it was stolen.” I waited for a reaction, but began speaking again when I saw the muscle above his lip twitch. “I figure that was a security measure so that no one could create a counterfeit.”
“Oh, but they have attempted to throughout the years,” he assured me. It felt as if he was trying to put me in my place. “How do I know you don’t possess one yourself?”
“You
don’t,” I claimed. “You don’t, but you will never see it again if you don’t release everyone. It’s your call, Sartorius.”
He hesitated for an exaggerated moment before, very conscientiously, nodding to the Vires surrounding Jameson. The second he was free, Jameson was at my side, his stomach bleeding in several places. I placed my hand on his abdomen, feeling the curve of his muscles and rapidly whispering my healing incantation.
Sartorius returned his gaze to me after giving the order, languidly watching and attempting to feign interest in my trade.
“The prisoners,” I said, reinforcing my terms.
Releasing Jameson must have seemed like an equitable exchange, because it would be much easier to apprehend one person. However, capturing the rest of the prisoners, once released, would be an entirely different and much broader challenge, so Sartorius was less inclined.
“The prisoners, Sartorius,” I stated again. “Or you’ll never see your prized rope again.”
After the briefest pause, Sartorius lifted his hand and motioned to a squad of Vires who shuffled forward quickly, unlatching the cell doors. Our families blindly spilled out alongside our neighbors, using their hands to find their way in the dark. The Vires instantly surrounded them, apparently given the order to restrain the prisoners once freed.
Sartorius’s attention returned to me then, his intolerance clearly building. “The Rope,” Sartorius demanded, and I turned back to him.
When I hesitated, he stepped forward, closing the gap between us. “What you experienced in the hotel room may have given you a false sense of security. The forces protecting me, or rather those who failed in that endeavor, suffered from the same ailment. Even though I eliminated them, you possess what I want and that grants you a reprieve.” He was threatening me but his next words were aimed at someone I love and chilled me to my core. “Your mother is an asset to us, but as with all assets, a time will come when she will no longer be valued.” He paused, narrowing his eyes at me. “I urge you not to hasten that time.”
The memory of the first messengers, the sisters who had been so valuable to The Sevens, and their fate, hit me hard. Coldness ran up my spine as I imagined my mother’s body being bagged, dumped on a curb, and left there to rot.
The delivery of Sartorius’s message riveted me. His tone, being more ominous and convincing than anyone I’d ever heard before in my life. The sound of his voice would never leave my memory. The underlying meaning embedded within his message was unavoidably explicit to me: The Sevens were keeping my mother around to torture me. It was the very purpose I warned her about, but it had done nothing to sway her in to leaving.
I had never been angrier than I was right now. I was the purpose my mother was there; I was the purpose she was in danger; I was the purpose she would be executed.
Jameson, intending to offer support, slipped his hand into mine, and I appreciated it.
“And if your mother’s safety isn’t compelling enough,” Sartorius was saying, as he strolled toward me. “Let me explain how a healer dies. I’ve had some experience with it.” The moment he came within arm’s length of me, his hand swiftly slipped inside his jacket and withdrew a dagger.
Before any of us could react, the cold steel tip came to rest at my neck, pressing firmly enough to cause a deep indent without breaking the skin.
Jameson released my hand and swung around to flank Sartorius and me. Theleo met him on the opposite side so that we now formed a small huddle, both sides positioning themselves for a strategic advantage.
Sartorius didn’t appear to notice the movement. He had his attention pinned on me.
“A healer comes bestowed with the gift to heal themselves. But he or she is not invincible. Two precise and deftly administered techniques will end the life of a healer. A removal of the head…” He pressed the dagger farther in, nearly cutting off my circulation. Jameson shifted to strike, but I placed my hand on him. The solid, readied muscles of his forearm confirming that I acted just in time.
“He won’t hurt me,” I channeled. “He wants The Rope.”
Still, Jameson didn’t relax as my hand dropped to my side, but then, I didn’t really expect him to.
“And the other,” Sartorius was continuing on, either oblivious or unconcerned about my warning to Jameson, “is to pierce the heart.”
He dragged the tip of the dagger downward to settle it directly over this alternate choice. Here he pressed even harder, and it felt as if he were leaning against the bone that protected my heart, sending a sharp ache through the area. I ached, silently and still, for fear Jameson wouldn’t be able to control the rage I saw boiling beneath the surface.
“Both options end the blood flow permanently,” Sartorius explained. “There is no recovery, because there is no time for your healing capacity to be set in motion. I have used both techniques, but I prefer the heart.” As the point of his dagger carved into my chest, I knew it had broken the skin and drawn blood. This time, I winced.
“That’s enough, Sartorius,” Jameson growled.
“Then you’ll be giving me the rope, I assume.”
I had been biding my time, trying to give Jameson and me a chance to figure out an escape plan, but my mind had gone blank, the fear of my mother’s security and the imminent physical threat by Sartorius was now taking up a large part of my thought process.
Unable to delay any longer, and considering the cold stare Sartorius was giving me, I figured there would be no better time than now.
When I opened the pouch on my belt, pulling out The Rope, Sartorius snickered, disdainfully, under his breath.
Jameson, knowing Sartorius had been surprised to find I was carrying the rope, brushed his hand across my elbow to channel to me. It was a whisper, delivered with a tone of respect. “Well played.”
“I presume you wish me to keep this a secret?” Theleo asked, hinting at how well he knew Sartorius.
Sartorius confirmed with a nod, the excitement overwhelming him to the point of speechlessness. His mouth had grown taut and the muscles in his jaw tightened, as his breathing grew more shallow and rapid. Sartorius was excited.
The Rope had been intended to maintain balance, honesty between him and his fellow Sevens. If one were to act in a manner threatening to any other Seven, it could be used against him or her. But if Sartorius had possession of it, and none of the other Sevens knew, it gave him an advantage far beyond anything anyone could ever imagine. It was immediately obvious that this was Sartorius’s intention.
It highlighted one other notion. The Sevens had a traitor in their midst, and if one of them showed signs of noncompliance, it was likely there were others. This bode well for us. Dissension in the highest ranks gave us an advantage.
“Give it to me,” said Sartorius, but I hesitated.
This was our leverage. It was the only thing keeping us safe. I had been told not to use it until I was prepared to, but if giving up The Rope meant saving all our lives tonight then I could never be more ready.
The rope hung thick and sturdy in my hand as I delivered it to him.
His long, spindly fingers wrapped around it eagerly, gripping it with such strength it didn’t seem like anything or anyone would be able to pry it from him again.
Spinning on his heel, Sartorius prepared to leave, as he commanded blithely, “Separate the girl and the boy. Kill the rest.”
At that moment, the encampment turned into absolute pandemonium.
The prisoners, still blind and mute, but having heard the order, flailed about, unable to cast or protect themselves from the Vires surrounding them. Miss Celia and Miss Mabelle were still restrained by Vires, and Turcott sent several squads directed at Jameson. They swarmed him again, until I could no longer see any part of his body through the mob of black uniforms enclosing him.
Theleo had already taken my arm and begun pulling me away.
“Jameson! Jameson!” I shouted.
Through the attackers, his face emerged, enraged as he struck down thre
e Vires. Then, he disappeared into the wave of moving bodies again.
I struggled against Theleo as he dragged me through the hoard, farther from Jameson. My eyes darted, frantically, catching sight of Jameson’s family being restrained; mine being hauled away; and Miss Mabelle and Miss Celia being attacked.
I saw Jameson’s face one last time. It was bloodied and bruised; and seeing this made the explosive energy I felt when healing Jameson in his bedroom resurface.
Focusing on the men bent over Jameson, pummeling him, I extended my hand, palm out, and centered my retaliation on them. Directing the surge coursing through me, the men flew backwards, arms and legs streaming in the air. They landed somewhere on the opposite side of the river, near Ms. Veilleux’s ritual site.
At that point, something came over me. A focus, a clarity of thought I never knew possible. As my palm directed at a Vire, hurling them off the person they were attacking and their bodies disappearing into the night sky. One after another, Vires were tossed aside.
I released my family first, then the Weatherfords, and then our housekeepers. From there, I worked my way through the crowd, plucking black uniforms from their victims.
No one attacked me. I stood firmly planted in one spot as this all took place, only vaguely realizing that Theleo’s hands were no longer on me. His body was off to the side, in a heap on the ground.
Gradually, the Vires ceased their movement, turning only their heads to stare at the person inflicting the devastation on their forces. They saw something in me that stunned them, but I couldn’t comprehend what it might be. Plenty of people in our world were able to levitate others as I was doing now. I certainly wasn’t the first.
When the encampment grew quiet, one of the Vires turned, uttering a question that shed light on their perplexity.
“But…isn’t she the one who heals?”
That’s when I realized what I’d done. In my panic, with the safety of my loved ones and neighbors being my sole focus, I revealed that I could levitate, too, meaning only one thing to everyone else around us. I saw it in their expressions, turning from bewilderment to comprehension.
