Savior (28 page)

Uncertain expressions, shrugs, and blank stares were my only responses.

“There has to be a reason for The Sevens to take them,” I stated, hearing the aggravation in my voice.

My mother, who knew The Sevens better than anyone in the room, speculated out loud, “They’re doing it to prove they aren’t impotent. They failed at abducting you and Jameson so many years ago; they failed at keeping the identities of The Nobilis and The Relicuum a secret; they failed at preventing us from building an army. All of this will come to light soon enough. They know it and they are using their standard fallbacks to contain the provinces - fear and submission.”

“Yes,” mouthed Jameson, his gaze still pinned to the floorboards. “Yes, but I think there’s more to it.”

“What more could they possibly want?” challenged Charlotte. “They have everything but you.”

“Exactly.”

“You think this is another trap?” ventured Mrs. Caldwell.

“No, it’s a warning, a message – to the provinces – and to us. They’re telling us the war has started and there won’t be an end to it until Jocelyn and I submit.”

I caught my mother’s expression, which was one of thoughtful agreement, and knew Jameson was correct.

Jameson looked at Miss Mabelle and Miss Celia, who were standing together in a corner, listening. “That’s it, isn’t it? This is part of the prophecy.”

Miss Celia’s lips pinched closed before iterating a phrase I vaguely remembered hearing once before. “And the lives of innocents will be tried…,” she mumbled.

“Tried…That was the word that stood out to me when Cornelia said it,” Jameson recalled, with an underlying hint of guilt. “You would think it would have been ‘taken’…And the lives of innocents will be taken. But it wasn’t. She said…And the lives of innocents will be tried.”

Spencer groaned quietly with understanding. “Tried implies judgment, a verdict or sentencing.”

Miss Celia tipped her head once toward him very slowly, a disheartened expression fixed on her swarthy face.

My stomach sank, feeling like a deep abyss, because I understood something with absolute clarity. This was a farce, just as the truce had been. Innocent people were being abducted and tried, but it was Jameson and me who The Sevens truly wanted.

“They cannot be our sacrifices,” I declared, and Jameson took hold of my hand, insisting on restraint from me.

“I agree.” Turning to my mother, he asked, ““What will The Sevens do with them?”

“If they’re found guilty?” asked Burke.

Without taking his eyes off my mother, Jameson grimly replied, “They will be.”

“The Sevens have a penchant for hanging. It’s visible to the masses and the bodies can be kept on display as a reminder.”

The vacant feeling in my stomach expanded, giving me the strange urge to look down and prove my midsection still existed. I resisted. It was there. I was intact. The people who we were discussing were in greater peril than me.

“Where would the hanging take place?” Jameson contemplated out loud, and the answer came in unison from everyone in the room.

“The ministry.”

Jameson gave Theleo a grave look, who headed for the door. It was immediately obvious to me that he was heading for Eli and the other defectors.

They were leaving for the ministry.

Jameson followed them outside, until he realized I was doing the same.

“You need to stay,” he urged, his breath emitting in a transparent, white mist against the darkness of the night.

The air had cooled considerably which was refreshing against the nervous perspiration that had started on my forehead. Regardless, I shoved aside these thoughts and squared my shoulders in defiance, feeling the fabric slide down my back as if it were giving me a soft pat of approval.

“It’s too dangerous, Jocelyn.”

I tried to protest, but he wouldn't allow it.

“I can’t guarantee your safety this time.”

“And you could every other time?” I challenged.

“Yes,” he replied with resolute confidence. “It’s the only reason I allowed you to come.”

I thought back to times I’d left the swamp alongside Jameson over the last months. While we had been saving prisoners with visits to the penal colonies and working on convincing others in our world to stand up to The Sevens during dinner invitations, he had ensured our security every time. There had been only one exception.

“What about tonight for the meeting with Lacinda? You allowed,” I grimaced at the submissiveness of that word, “me to tag along then.”

“Why do you think I asked Theleo to stay behind?” He let that sink in before adding, “I told you. This war…life itself …means nothing to me without you.”

The stress in his voice made me hesitate, but only briefly because another thought filtered in.

“If we’re late, those being hanged will need to be healed.”

“We’ll bring them back.”

“What if there isn’t enough time?”

He didn’t have a chance to respond. As he opened his mouth to speak, several heavy thumps sounded behind me and the dock vibrated beneath our feet.

The defectors were here.

“Theleo,” I said, turning to face him. “People…relatives… friends…. Will they all be allowed into the ministry to see the hangings?”

Just asking the question made me nauseous at the notion. I clenched my teeth and waited for his answer.

Theleo glanced at Jameson, intending to communicate silently with him. Apparently, he now knew me well enough to be cautious of my questions. The fact that my eyes were locked on Jameson, preventing him from responding, left Theleo unable to distinguish the best course. So, evidently, he told me the truth. “I assume they will want as many people present as possible, in order to spread the word throughout the provinces.”

I turned back to Jameson, before audaciously pointing out, “They’ll never see me coming.”

Jameson frowned in response. “They’ll expect you to be there, Jocelyn.”

“Because they’ll know I’m the only one who can heal their victims,” I pointed out as a reminder that my interests weren’t the only ones to take into consideration.

Jameson sighed, shaking his head at what was clearly against his better judgment.

“You’ll stay in the back,” he commanded, though his voice was softly urging. “Theleo and Jeremiah will remain with you.” He rotated his head to lock eyes with them. “At. All. Times."

“Yes, Nobilis,” they replied synchronously.

But Jameson was most worried about my consent. He leveled his stare at me and didn’t move until I spoke.

“I understand.”

He hesitated, making sure I did, and then gave me a sharp nod.

Apprehensively shaking his head, he said to Theleo, “All right, take us to the north side.”

The first time Theleo and I traveled to the ministry it took over an hour. This time, it took only minutes. We arrived just as the sun was coming over the horizon and spilling across the gently rolling hillsides.

It felt surreal to be here once again at the break of dawn, as if all those months in the swamp hadn’t passed at all. The parched grass and sparse trees were the same. The rising mist along the seaside to the east once again billowed like a thick strand of grey lining the horizon. The fields below seemed just as unoccupied as they had been before. The only difference, and it was remarkable, was the aftermath of the attack on the ministry.

As Theleo set us down, just a few feet from the rear wall, we were given a good view of the crumbling stone walls and punctured roofs. Repairs were complete on some of the posts and walls, evident where dark new stones met weathered white ones; but more was left to be done. I imagined the restoration had started the hour after the attack had ended because The Sevens wouldn’t want their fortress to remain tarnished. It was too great a reminder of their weakness.

The soft howl of the wind across the stone wall in front of us and the crunching of the grass beneath our feet as we landed were the only sounds that could be heard. The sun rose on the opposite side of the ministry from where we were now, so the dark stretch of shadows here gave us a few minutes to assess our surroundings.

Scanning the walls for Vires, I found none, which seemed odd to me. I wasn’t the only one who thought so; Jameson, Theleo, and Eli all wore concerned, puzzled expressions. Nonetheless, as Jameson approached a lone staircase, we fell in behind him.

We walked as silently as possible, keeping our thoughts to ourselves as we ascended the back side of the ministry, diligently watching the walls for any sign of Vires. Strangely, we reached the thin corridor running behind the ministry without crossing paths with a single one. Even as we made our way to the corner, the edge of our cloaks dragging along the unkempt stone walkway, I sensed something was wrong.

The Sevens were driven by image. The fact that dust, dirt, and leaves had collected here seemed to oppose everything their ego would allow. Maybe they didn’t pay attention to areas less frequented? Or maybe the restoration had utilized every one available, leaving no one to care for the grounds? Turning the corner, I considered the reasons, but I knew the truth eluded me. It wasn’t until we walked the side perimeter of the ministry and reached the face of it, that I learned why. Directly in front of the ministry, two sets of stairs circled the sides as if they were arms extended for an embrace. They formed a natural, secure courtyard in the middle. When I had last seen it, the dirt floor had been swept clean, manicured topiaries planted along the walls were still standing, and, most importantly, the center had been empty. There had been no wood frames; no platforms with trap doors; no broad, woven ropes; and no bodies hanging from the ends of them.

It almost brought me to my knees.

Jameson, with his constant attentiveness over me, noticed. He caught my arms before my legs could buckle, and I ended up against his chest, facing outward, his lips against my ear.

“Don’t look,” he whispered tenderly. “Don’t look….”

Still, I couldn’t close my eyes, or shift my focus away. It was too solidly locked on the faces of those I had met as recent as a few days ago. They had been alive, breathing, full of energy, reason and insight. Their voices drifted through my mind, leaving the words they’d spoken in support of the ones who had done this to them indelibly and forever imprinted in my memory.

There were seven of them, as promised by the rumors that had brought us here – one for each province. Their skin, from their faces to their feet, was covered in grime. Their bodies wore rags, similar to the ones The Sevens had dressed my mother in when she had been held captive. Useless strips of cotton for what they considered useless lives.

“Didn’t bother to bag their faces,” commented Jeremiah from my left side. His voice was devoid of all emotion, that part having been trained out of him specifically for these types of circumstances.

“No,” replied Theleo. “They wanted their relatives to witness the details of their final seconds alive.”

“Men,” Jameson warned abruptly, and I knew it was for my benefit.

I released a groan, forcing my legs to straighten under me. I would not allow this to affect me to the point of being carried out of here. Theleo’s voice fought its way into my consciousness, where it was muddled in the midst of my emotional turmoil.

“We should leave,” he suggested.

That would have been the prudent course of action. There was nothing more we could do here, so it was logical, too. The Sevens had won this battle. They accomplished what they set out to do….

The lives of innocents had been tried. And they had been found guilty for crimes we committed.

What crimes? My mind screamed. What crimes did we commit? Being born into a role that was foretold to end The Sevens reign? Falling in love? What had we done to get here? How did we get here?

As these thoughts hammered me, my subconscious was working its way through the murk of understanding another angle.

“We’re too late,” someone said. “We’re too late….”

The statement was so distressing that I didn’t immediately realize it came from me.

“We’re too late….”

Yet, I found myself descending the steps. Vaguely, I was aware of my hand sliding down the thick banister and of the rubble rolling beneath my fingers and palms. My feet felt like weights were attached to them, dragging me to each consecutive step below, listlessly and without any aim at placement. Each time my ankle twisted, hands were there to catch me. Jameson, I concluded. It was his voice coaxing me back, calling my name, but I was unable to respond.

The sight I was taking in owned me.

Sliding off the last step, I met the gravel courtyard floor, without thinking to survey the alleys that led into it, without contemplation as to whether Vires were lurking in their shadows. Instead, my legs carried me automatically toward the bodies that dangled alone in the silent courtyard. They were left as warnings; just as Jameson said would be the case.

My feet heaved forward, step by step, until I reached Thomas Chatterley, the first in line, the first to lose his life.

The very last words he spoke to us came back to me, a sinister reminder of the perception Jameson had been struggling to break.

It isn’t money that protects us. It is The Sevens.

Without thought, or any intention of disrespect to his family or to Thomas, my hands lifted and landed gently on his feet. The cold rigidity of his skin felt odd and unreal. It should be warm, elastic, alive. The grit covering him loosened beneath my touch and sprinkled to the ground, some colliding with the bottom of my cloak.

I knew it wouldn’t work. Reason told me so. And still I tried.

Conjuring the energy from deep inside, I gripped Thomas, my fingers curling around to the pads of his feet, my palms stretching over the ridges of his toes. Incantatio sana, I thought loud enough the words could have come from my lips. Incantatio sana. Incantatio sana. Incantatio sana. Incantatio sana!

In the end - when his feet moved only in reaction to my actions and his chest remained flat, his eyes not moving from their downcast, lifeless gaze - my head fell and my hands quivered as I uttered his name in a ragged whisper…