Savior (19 page)

“You are in danger. Your disappearance has been noted, and The Sevens have deployed units to track you.”

Jameson and I already knew this, but what occurred to me while standing a foot from Eli was the fact that he was speaking to the crowd, telling them that they were the ones being hunted, the ones at risk. It was what The Sevens had promised the prisoners and they were now making good on it.

“Sartorius has begun interrogating those in the provinces who they believe will have information on your whereabouts. This includes your family and known acquaintances at the time of your incarceration.”

Although this disclosure brought uncomfortable looks and awkward shuffling from the crowd, they digested every word Eli spoke.

“It is for this reason that your Officer and I have conferred and devised a plan to counter these attacks.”

He nodded at Jameson and as they switched places, with Jameson preparing to ‘take the stage’, I realized what I was watching. Our village had become a town with true leadership. And, eventually, when enough people had arrived, it would become a city, and so would begin the new world Jameson had been working to achieve.

“Eli and his men…,” said Jameson, his voice booming with clout across the water, “…have provided a list of the locations Sartorius will hit. Starting tonight, we’ll be bringing those people back with us, just as we’ve done with most of you. We’ll be giving them refuge, the kind The Sevens promised our ancestors and never delivered.”

He broke off his speech, appearing to be contemplating something. When he addressed the crowd again, there was determination in his expression unlike any I’d ever seen before.

“These attacks are not just an assault on the innocent people in our world. They are also an assault on the very ideals our world lived by before The Sevens – the philosophy that we have a right to live out our lives freely; that independence should take the place of reliance; and that there is no place or legitimacy for a corrupt leadership.

“If we are serious about upholding these ideals, it will not be enough to gather in the village; or to hope we will encounter no repercussions while we wait for The Sevens' time in power to end. If we are serious about those ideals, we must decide between the forces that could drive us apart and the hopes we hold in common.

“Tonight, we must establish that our future will be determined by people like you and me, and
not
by The Sevens. Tonight, we must declare that this violence and domination has no place among us! Tonight, we should remind each other that so long as we work for the justice and the liberty we deserve, it
will
be given; and that this rising tide of freedom will never be reversed again!”

The crowd responded with a deafening roar, resonating across the water and through the bayou. Those in the trees shook the limbs. Boats swayed as excited feet pounded against their hulls. Docks shuddered and shacks vibrated against stomping feet and clapping hands. The village felt alive with energy.

I watched in wonder as Jameson united us, driving away the fear The Sevens had instilled and replacing it with a renewed spirit.

When the commotion died down enough, a lone voice rose up. “And who will lead us then? In this new world of ours?”

It came from a man directly in front of Jameson, standing at the front of his boat, his family collected behind him.

He was the only one to show resistance, and surprisingly, it was someone Jameson knew.

“You bring up a good question, Daniel.” Simply by the sound of his voice, I knew he’d expected it. “The Sevens took over power without giving us the choice. It won’t happen again. The most balanced way to prevent it is by electing a council from the people.”

And there it was…proof to all present that Jameson had no expectation of molding our future around the one set in the past. This was no coup. It was no revolution. It was a path to a new life.

“And in the meantime?” the man persisted, turning to face the crowd before Jameson could answer. “Who will lead us? One needs to be designated. Only one is capable, as foretold in the history books.” He pivoted from side to side, addressing everyone around him, sending his boat wobbling. “The Nobilis?”

Again, cheers erupted, this time being directed at Jameson.

His blank expression remained firmly planted in place, neither flattered nor intimidated. And it was then I understood just how good of a job his parents and Miss Celia had done to prepare him for this moment. This role had nothing to do with his goals or his desires. It wasn’t driven by ego or greed. It was a responsibility…to the people crowded around him and to the rest of our world. He wasn’t elated, surprised, or complimented by their support - and he didn’t particularly need it. He would do his job regardless because that was his destiny.

To get to this point, he would have had to do everything right: studied to receive excellent grades, acquired effective negotiation skills, mastered multiple languages, and successfully establish a secret network connecting those throughout our world. This would be taking on duties far above his age-level. In short, he had perfected himself.

There was only one time when he had broken the rules, breached this unwritten contract as The Nobilis…when he fell in love with me. That wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t foretold or expected. And although it severely disrupted his life and his family’s wishes, he remained unyielding in it.

And I for him.

Jameson, who still hadn’t spoken despite the crowd raging around him, held up his hands and quieted them.

“I accept,” he stated simply, and again, the crowd ignited.

Renewed optimism filtered across the village, an almost electric hum carrying it through the air as people who had been downcast for so many years became encouraged.

The euphoria that followed didn’t vanish as easily as the crowd. While boats moved apart and people began sliding down from the trees, talk of justice passed along from person to person. They did just what Jameson suggested…they reminded each other to hope.

Jameson turned back toward us, keeping a tight rein on his emotions. “Lester, we’ll need you and your unit,” meaning my cousins and Jameson’s siblings, “to begin identifying skill sets of each person in the village. Divide them up, designate one or two to oversee them, and begin training exclusively on those skills. They’ll need to be ready once Spencer and Dillon lift the cast suppressing our abilities.” Without waiting for a response, he turned to his parents and my Aunt Lizzy. “Your help to assemble and organize them would be appreciated.” Their gestures indicated their agreement, and he turned to the defectors. “Eli, are your men prepared for tonight?”

“No rest for the weary?” asked Eli, complying by stepping forward, although his remark applied to everyone Jameson had just spoken to.

“What’s the first prison on the list?” asked Jameson.

Eli unraveled a small white piece of paper. “The Central Province…Zimbabwe.”

“Jocelyn?” he asked, his tone just slightly softer than it had been all evening.

“I’m ready,” I confirmed.

We left then, heading for another penal colony, but this time, we had designated leadership and our own small army.

11  MALEKO

“For the fifth time, they are not taking visitors.”

Eli’s voice grew louder with each word, both because he was approaching and because he was becoming more irritated. Having been a Vire most of his life, he wasn’t familiar with someone opposing him.

Ironically, the person who responded was flat out irate. With each tersely pronounced word, she hammered her cane against the dock, rattling the shack where Jameson and I were eating dinner with our families.

“I. DON’T. CARE.”

Her rotund body moved past the window in a blur, Miss Celia following with her nose in the air.

They were inside before Eli could forewarn us, bursting loudly through the door to demonstrate their defiance.

“I’m sorry,” he said, after appearing in the entrance. “They wouldn’t-”

“It’s all right, dear,” Aunt Lizzy called out. “We know them.”

Miss Mabelle blew air across her lips in annoyance and dropped onto a stool hard enough to make the legs of it bow out beneath her weight. Settling her cane against the wall, she glared up at him. “Stoppin’ me is as easy as stoppin’ a freight train,” she informed him proudly.

Unsure of what to think of her comment, Eli turned, hesitantly, and left for his post.

“Saw you coming?” Vinnia deduced.

“From the edge of the bayou,” griped Miss Celia.

“Think they was Vires, the way they act,” Miss Mabelle complained.

“They were,” Oscar commented, flatly.

While Miss Celia’s head snapped back in surprise, Miss Mabelle scoffed. “More of ‘em? Ain’t that just wonderful….”

My mother, who had tired of the exchange, blurted, “Miss Mabelle…Miss Celia…What have you heard?”

Our housekeepers brought news with them on every visit, which Miss Mabelle now delivered blunt and emotionless, as was her tradition. “More shops in yer world bein’ destroyed. Some schools, too. Haven’t hit private residences yet.”

Mrs. Caldwell shifted uncomfortably in her seat at the makeshift table. “Where?”

“Rome, Barcelona, some across Ireland.”

“So they’re hitting the Central Province first,” Jameson cogitated, as his gaze dropped to the floor.

“Will be movin’ on to the next province soon ‘nough,” warned Miss Celia. “Thought you had a list,” she added brusquely. “Weren’t ya workin’ down it before them Vires could attack?”

“The list was good for six weeks. Then the Vires caught on to us and reorganized it,” I explained, thinking back to the number of people we’d brought with us over the last few weeks.

Our village had become the city Jameson predicted. Vendors had sprung up bartering fish for freshly baked bread or living supplies. The outposts, meant to foresee coming threats, had to be built farther and farther out as shacks for new arrivals quickly dominated the area. They had now been designated as gathering places and for new arrival orientation. The saxophonist had a flute and horn added to his band and they played nightly to people heading home for dinner.

Oddly, there had been no crime. It was as if everyone knew we were bound to each other, relying on our neighbors to survive. In short, the village didn’t resemble the world we had left; instead it was the ideal of what we were hoping to achieve.

Only Miss Mabelle and Miss Celia brought news of crimes.

“And The Sevens?” my mother persisted. “Any movement from them?”

Miss Celia shook her head. “Still sittin’ up there in they ivory tower…thinkin’ nothin’ kin touch ‘em.”

“Good,” Jameson remarked. Noting the turn of heads in his direction, he swiftly added, "Then they won’t be expecting us when we do strike.”

An uncomfortable silence followed as we contemplated when that would take place. While Uncle Lester had assembled his growing army, sorting them by ability; they would be overseen by The Caldwells and The Weatherfords who hadn't been given any other assignments. Even so, we definitely weren’t ready. And we wouldn’t be until Spencer and Dillon found a way to break the cast over the penal colonies.

“Got somethin’ ta fill yer time, though,” said Miss Celia, seeming to read our thoughts. “Word gotten ‘round ‘bout you two bein’ The Relicuum and Nobilis and you’ve piqued some interest.”

Charlotte scoffed. “Figures….”

Miss Celia ignored her. “They’s even more interested afta’ learnin’ you two in love.”

I caught Jameson looking in my direction and I had to fight not to move in his direction, although there was no stopping the butterflies in my stomach. Just the thought of him being in love with me was enough to stir them.

Miss Mabelle noticed, but barely acknowledged it. “Anyways,” she muttered, “you two been gettin’ invitations.”

“For what?” I blurted in surprise.

“People want ta meet ya!” Miss Mabelle snapped and then sighed in irritation.

Miss Celia answered me, but more politely. “Dinner mostly. You celebrities now. They want some time wit you. Probably want to see what true love look like.”

Charlotte snorted in disgust.

Again, we paid no attention to her.

“Where would they meet?” asked Mrs. Caldwell, bringing up a factor none of us had contemplated. “Not in the village?” She seemed appalled by the idea of it. And she had reason. Collectively, including our housekeepers, we had kept what was happening in the village out of the gossip channels.

“At they house,” replied Miss Celia, appeasing her further by adding, “We be certain ta go along, Missus Caldwell.”

“When?” asked Jameson, finally becoming intrigued.

“Tomorrow night,” said Miss Celia with a sharp nod, as if it were already a concrete plan.

“They didn’t give us much warning,” he stated.

“Sometimes things happen the way they do,” retorted Miss Mabelle, seemingly immune to the looks she was given for it.

“All right…Can it be postponed?” he asked.

“Why?” I cut in, becoming interested now, but for a different reason. It was clear that he was contemplating something, his excitement having mysteriously dwindled after hearing the timeframe.

“No,” replied Miss Mabelle, flatly.

“Why?” I repeated, which Jameson recognized with a fleeting look.

Continuing to ignore me, he muttered something to himself that sounded like, “…don’t want to wait…”

“Wait for what? What happens tomorrow night?” I demanded.

Knowing he couldn’t disregard me any longer, Jameson addressed me quietly, “I have something planned.” And he left it at that. But I didn’t.

“What?”

He sighed, clearly frustrated by me, but in the end, he chuckled in amazement. “You…,” he groaned. “I’ll tell you when I’m ready. Now, what are your thoughts about dinner?”

Having to subdue my irritation at being kept in the dark, I replied plainly, “Yes, I’ll go.”

With that, Jameson confirmed, “We accept.”

“Good, they in Massachusetts so we be havin’ dinner at eleven o’clock,” asserted Miss Celia.

Nolan laughed, sending his green fish soup spraying across Charlotte, who screeched and rapidly wiped it away. “Sorry,” he said to her, although there was no true remorse in it, before turning to Miss Celia. “At night? Eleven o’clock at night?”