Savior (11 page)

“Sure. We’re not fighting….”

A mischievous smile crossed his face. “Maybe we should give them a different kind of show….”

I was about to remind him that I wasn’t mad and had absolutely no interest in arguing, when his arms came around my waist and pulled me hard against his hips.

My back naturally arching in response to his force, he brought his free hand to my shoulders and gently pulled me forward until our lips met. Instantly, I sank into him, my body connecting with his, and recognizing the need for him far too readily. His lips were soft, yielding, and gentle, enticing me, making me hungry for something deeper.

Then, without warning, he slipped out of our embrace.

Breathing heavily, he tucked his head and admitted, “That was far more teasing for me than for them…If
I
didn’t stop that, I’m not sure anything could have."

Releasing me from his arms, he turned, still trying to clear his head. We started walking again, but now our focus was much more on each other than those around us or our destination.

“I-I think,” he reflected, “I underestimated what you do to me.”

“Good,” I said, playfully.

“Good? Do you know what could have happened there?”

“No, what?” I asked, innocently. I could definitely imagine but would rather hear it from him.

“I could have given them more of a performance than they would have wanted to see, or you would have wanted to show. I could have shown them some very real action…”

I held back a smile at his inadvertent confession. “You-You’re interested in some action?”

Stopping again, he turned to me, an incredulous expression fixed on his handsome face. He sighed then, while laughing at the same time. “Do you know how hard it is to have you sleeping twenty feet away, to listen to your footsteps across the floor every night, to watch the light go out in your shack through the gaps in my walls and not do anything about it?”

“You pay attention to all that?”

“Every night. And I have to fight myself to not leave my shack and head for yours."

“You do?” I asked, incredulous. I had no idea.

He stared back at me, dazed. “Yes…You don’t feel the same?” He suddenly turned from me. “No, forget it, I don’t want to know.”

Stepping down into the boat, he attempted to end the conversation, but I didn’t let him.

“Yes, Jameson, I do. I just-I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Standing in the hull of the boat, he was looking up at me, doing an impressive job of maintaining his balance.

Quietly, as if still taken aback by our conversation, he openly confessed, “I do, Jocelyn.”

He held out his hand, offering me a stable way down to him, which I took, our hands never releasing once inside the boat.

As we crossed the waterway to Jameson's parent's shack, I remained stupefied by our brazenly honest admissions. I knew he was affected by it too. The look on his face and the tension in his shoulders gave it away.

Over the course of those days, I felt like we had been given a reprieve by the Vires, even while anxiously waiting on the news of another prison being annihilated. We knew an attack was inevitable, and when I wasn’t thinking about Jameson, I was battling the guilt I felt for being the precursor to another round of lives being lost. News of it finally came while I was seeing the wounded, an evening practice I established with Isadora. We had just left the last shack on Isadora’s list when Jameson and Theleo landed in front of us, their descent causing the dock to rattle beneath our feet.

Theleo escorting Jameson was an anomaly, so whatever had brought them to us was out of the ordinary - and urgent. I knew immediately that something was wrong.

As Theleo began to speak, Jameson and I looked at each other and the vigilance in our eyes conveyed everything I needed to know before Theleo finished.

“Great Britain. Almost entirely decimated. The Vires spent days there, returning in sporadic flights.”

I sighed, feeling the pain of their suffering in my heart. Memories of New York - where infants were pressed to their mother’s chests and the elderly had collapsed in pain against the trunks of trees - entered my thoughts, and I found my teeth grinding together as I suppressed another wave of guilt coursing through me. “Their Officer told you?”

Jameson confirmed it. “He’s at my place.”

I gave Isadora a silent confirmation that our visitations were over, which she acknowledged by gesturing for Theleo to take me. He did and we reached Jameson’s shack in seconds.

The Dissenters’ Officer to the Vire prison in Great Britain approached me as I came into view, his gangly limbs carrying him across the dock in haste and his English accent reaching me before there was solid ground beneath my feet.

“Relicuum,” he said. Noticing my surprised reaction, he continued, “Yes, I know who you are. Word of you is spreading.” After making that clarification, he returned to the business at hand. “My name is William Harrison. We were attacked three days ago…” he paused before admitting, “It may still be continuing. And we need your help.”

Jameson stiffened. “You believe we’ll find Vires there?”

William looked at him, grimly. “It’s very possible.”

As I watched Jameson begin to frown, I interrupted before he finished his assessment of the dangers. Otherwise, I was certain he’d find a way to keep me here. “Great Britain’s a long way. We shouldn’t waste any more time.”

“Agreed,” said William, firmly.

Picking up on Jameson's hesitation, Theleo inquired, “Jameson…?”

“Oh…,” he chuckled. “I’m coming.”

“As am I,” said Theleo, stepping forward with resolve.

Of course, I knew Theleo’s reasoning for accompanying us. He was one of the most infamous Vires, having taught many of those we might encounter. Unquestionably, he would be needed. Most importantly, from his perspective, his sole purpose right now, his self-proclaimed reason for breathing, was to ensure I was kept alive. I wished my mother were here to witness it; it might cause a rip in that defensive boundary of hers.

“Ready when you are, William,” I said, avoiding Jameson’s eyes so I wouldn't catch a glimpse of his discontent; an emotion I had clearly caused.

William wasted no time. Shooting into the air so fast the bayou became a blur and then disappearing altogether, the ends of our cloaks snapped fiercely against the wind whipping past.

We were well over the Atlantic before Jameson spoke again.

“You’ll need to stay close to me.”

“I know.”

“I mean it, Jocelyn. Vires could be in the prison when we get there.”

“I heard him, too, Jameson.”

I sensed he didn’t want to let me out of his sight for some reason.

“You think I’m going to do something dangerous, don’t you?” I speculated, referring to our last conversation in the air when he admitted he didn’t believe I thought about him when in danger.

“Are you?” he asked, cutting to the heart of the issue.

“What do you consider dangerous?”

“Don’t play with me, Jocelyn,” he said his tone firm but soft. “You…I’ve had the feeling recently that you’re considering something…”

“What?” I asked simply, avoiding his eyes so he couldn’t see the truth in mine.

“I don’t know,” he sighed, a reaction that made me think he was filled with anxiety. “Something…but I do know that you feel guilty about what’s happening to the prisoners.”

My silence served as confirmation.

“You know it’s the Vires doing it, not you.”

Knowing that I firmly disagreed with him, I bit my lip to prevent myself from responding.

“The lives being taken are by their actions, not yours or mine." He continued to openly evaluate me. “You’re not planning on giving yourself to The Sevens again to end their attacks, are you?” When I didn’t respond, he pushed again, “Jocelyn…are you?”

William interrupted then. Being entirely focused on his responsibilities, he was unaware of it. Regardless, I was thankful for it. “I’ll put us down outside the perimeter. We can move in from there.”

“Good,” Jameson quickly replied, interested in returning to our conversation. “Jocelyn…?”

He was waiting for confirmation of my intentions, and he didn’t appear to be open to another diversion. So, I gave him the most direct, honest answer I could pull together.

“If I did, I wouldn’t use you as the excuse this time.” Of course, I didn’t mention that the result of my death would effectively end our proclaimed destiny and he could live out the rest of his life in relative safety. That would be a nice bonus.

Staring back at me, his face motionless, he said, “No…no, you would do it to end the attacks.” Exhaling angrily, he continued, “But what you don’t understand is that the attacks would only-”

His words abruptly stopped and all I could hear was the wind howling in my ears. We dropped straight down as if we’d been pushed from a skyscraper with lead weights around our ankles. There wasn’t even time to assess the prison from above.

Without warning, my feet slammed to the ground, my legs crumpling beneath the force. As I felt the stinging pain screaming through my limbs and radiating into my torso, I released a groan of sheer agony. I then felt Jameson’s hand wrap around my arm, lifting me to my feet.

“Sorry for the speed,” William said, surveying the area, which clearly was a higher priority. “I couldn’t risk us being seen if Vires are present. Looks like this area is clear, though.”

As Jameson did a cursory visual inspection of me, Theleo and William assessed our surroundings.

“Are you all right?” asked Jameson, still holding me up.

“How’s my hair?” I retorted, glibly.

Satisfied that I was okay, Jameson chuckled and turned his attention to William.

“Where are we?”

“Near the peat bog.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything,” Jameson replied casually.

“Right, the prison is this way,” he said, heading slightly to our left.

We followed him down a well-trodden path wound between trees and expanses of moss-covered lakes. We remained quiet, trying not to draw attention to ourselves, but a few minutes into the walk, Theleo whispered back to us.

“Don’t look down." Of course, that warning had the opposite effect, compelled us to do just that.

The moment I did, I placed a hand over my mouth, preventing the gasp that nearly slipped out. Still, after I noticed the body parts protruding from the mossy bog right beside where we were walking, there wasn’t much I could do but look. The dark waters had tanned their skin to leather, and in the moonlight, I discerned that they all shared the same hair color - a deep-orange red.

My first thought was that these were family members, left here by the Vires to slowly rot together for eternity. But I was wrong.

“These were the
original
Dissenters,” Jameson declared softly.

“How do you know?”

“Their hair,” he explained. “It’s a reaction to the bog water over time.” It didn't take long before he wasn't able to contain his emotions any longer. Understandably disgusted, he muttered, “Centuries of deaths…innocent lives stolen….”

“Yes,” grumbled William, his voice edged with resentment. “These are the ones the previous Officers couldn’t save.”

Theleo remained silent, avoiding the gruesome sight of them, but I still caught a glimpse of the deep scowl he wore. And I had the feeling that this may be one of the very reasons he defected.

As we proceeded, the woodsy smell of moss was replaced by a scent that made my stomach churn. There was no smoke this time, the fires having long since died out. This was different.

Glancing back at me, Jameson recognized my reaction. “Decomposing bodies….”

Not from the bog, something told me. Unfortunately, I would have preferred not to have differentiated it because it only meant the smell was coming from up ahead.

Flinching at the thought, a single notion invaded my awareness: We’re too late….

Sickened as much from the smell as by the fact we hadn’t been here earlier, I tried to keep my concentration on any sign of Vires. I saw none. Only bodies were stacked haphazardly throughout the colony, their limbs twisted at odd angles across the dirt. Of the few survivors who remained, they focused on slowly dragging the dead to the nearest pile.

“Jocelyn?” Jameson’s voice penetrated my grief.

“Sartorius is getting more violent,” I muttered.

Knowing there was only one thing we could do about it, he urged, “Are you ready?”

He extended his hand and I took it, his fingers curling around mine, a small embrace that felt like so much more. I was instantly flooded with relief, a warm wave of serenity, melting my misery away so my thoughts could clear; and I knew Jameson was delivering it. He had seen the effect the dead have on me, and he was channeling tranquility to me so I could finish what we had come to do.

“What are you doing?” I murmured.

“Helping you,” he said, his voice strained against his draining energy. As we walked, I fed on it, the powerful intensity Jameson harbored, even after weeks in the village. It gave me the strength to expel the healing force that came from being a witch doctor.

It dawned on me then that Jameson had given me the strength I needed to heal the last prison, and it was his force that made it possible for me to do it here and now.

A quick look at him proved it. The strain was evident on his face, his jaw locked down against it, his nose flaring at the pressure he was under. He was the pinnacle of strength as he worked to overcome the cast against the prisoners that no one else could.

Gradually, those who hauled the dead, straightened their backs and lifted their heads as whatever afflicted them began to heal. The dogs who had been limping through the destruction in search of their owners no longer hobbled. The bark on trees began to grow back into place. By the time William came to a stop in front of us, the smell of rotting flesh had lifted, too.

His gaze flashed between Jameson and me and the effect we had on the prison, remaining silent until we reached the farthest perimeter.

“That was…,” he said, staggering in shock. “…incredible.”

“And it’s just the beginning,” said a woman appearing in the doorway of a makeshift cabin.