Savior (2 page)

She’d been leaning to the side, chin propped in her palm, surveying those before her with disinterest. Now a broiling stare emanated from her, one that was very distinctly pinned on me.

Before long, a second pair of eyes landed on me, and another, and another. Hoods began turning in my direction, curious as to who could draw this much attention from The Sevens. At that point, my path forward became increasingly easier as the cloaks in front parted the way.

The room quickly fell as silent as a graveyard. Only a whistling breeze filled the hall.

As I came to stand just beyond the first row of the crowd, openly visible to all, the Seven seated in the middle gestured for the two men on stage to step aside.

Sartorius sat on the right; still pale from a wound Theleo had given him during their last interaction together, but sitting straight enough to pull off the appearance of authority. He did show a hint of nervousness with the consistent, rhythmic tapping of his index finger; a moldavite stone embedded in a ring on that finger glinted with each flick. Clearly, he wasn’t happy to see me, despite being my grandfather. Regardless, I didn't acknowledge his apathy, because I had never expected a warm welcome. He wasn’t concerned about my safety so much as being able to harness my power. It was inopportune for him that my presence here put his plan at risk.

Sartorius was the only one I knew by name, but I opted against calling out to him. Instead, I spoke to them all at once.

“I came for my mother.”

“BOW!” roared the Seven that had gestured the men off stage. His sagging cheeks trembled from the intensity of his outburst. He propelled his torso forward, displaying his fury in a rush, the white, gold-trimmed robe he wore rustling at his release.

Right
, I thought.
Forgot that part
.

I hesitated long enough to convey that I was choosing to comply of my own freewill, before bending slightly forward at my waist. I did, however, keep my eyes on them.

Once upright, I repeated more sternly. “I came for my mother.”

“We are aware,” he stated, his answer confirming they had lured me here under that guise.

I noticed that he made no motion to get her.

The Reception Room grew still as everyone present scrutinized me; those behind me because they wondered who I was, The Sevens because they already knew.

“Where is my mother?” I asked, this time between clenched teeth. I could hear Theleo’s voice in the back of my mind warning against showing anger, and I brushed the thought aside. If he reached the hall already and was listening to my exchange, he wouldn’t be impressed. But withholding my vehemence at playing with my mother’s wellbeing wasn’t an option.

Still, none of them moved.

I was about to demand they bring my mother when another Seven spoke.

“You will be reunited soon enough,” he said, offhandedly. Wearing a ceremonial Chinese robe, he appeared to be of a higher rank, but he sat just to the left of the center.

I was getting the impression there was a hierarchical rank among The Sevens, even if it was only by a slim measure, and that the one in the center – with the loose cheeks – held the highest position of them all. The fact that Sartorius sat almost toward the end of the row denoted he was a lesser Seven; and I wondered, briefly, if my existence and the threat I posed to these seven individuals had anything to do with it.

Regardless, I was growing impatient.

There was really only one way to motivate them to move and that was to announce why I’d come.

“I’m here in exchange for my mother and my uncle.”

Several of them widened their eyes in response to my declaration, but still nothing was said. No movement was made. Oddly, verbalizing my plan seemed to cause me more turmoil than anyone else in the room.

This was likely because I understood the full weight of my words… the exchange, my surrender, meant I would never see Jameson again. As if that reality were a trigger, memories of him began flashing through my mind; the rugged scar above his upper lip, the sparkling green of his eyes, the untidy strands of sandy-blond hair that always fell over his forehead all found their way into my consciousness. The feelings I’d kept so well suppressed began to surface, crumbling the facade of audacity I’d created in order to leave Jameson in the first place and get to this very point in time without him. My heart began to ache.

Focus
, I told myself.
Focus, at least until the job is done
.

“My mother and uncle,” I seethed.

I did finally receive an answer; in The Sevens' own way of delivering it.

The one in the middle stood and calmly allowed his thick robe to settle against the stone floor before he began to speak. When he did, his voice was loud enough to be heard by everyone in the room. “There have been rumors of a breach in our security in the Northwestern province…of an uprising on the outskirts of New Orleans, Louisiana. I have learned through my many years that these rumors oftentimes defy the truth. They are abominations that must be put to rest at once. We will not –cannot – tolerate rebellion.” With this warning, he pinned his focus on me. “Do you deny the allegation of involvement in this uprising?”

“Release my mother and uncle.”

“Do you deny the allegation of your involvement in this uprising?”

I remained silent, unwilling to participate in this charade.

“She does not deny the allegations. She admits her contribution to this crime. As does her mother. They are both Dissenters.” With that, he pivoted to address a man in a tailored black suit to his right. “Bring out Isabella Weatherford. Prepare the ropes.” As if implying an afterthought, though I knew better, the man tipped his head at me before stating, “And for her – the guillotine.”

His instructions brought out a murmur from the crowd, prompting several Vires to move with haste.

The first one to react responded for everyone, “At once, Peregrine.”

“NO!” I bellowed, taking several steps forward, my boots slapping hard against the stone floor, closing the distance between Peregrine and myself. “Free my mother and free my uncle!”

Ignoring my demand, two Vires on each side of me began marching in my direction, either intent on restraining me or on protecting those they served. I didn’t give them a chance to do either.

Swinging both palms out in their direction, my energy left me and hit them with enough force to send their bodies flailing against the wall where they’d been standing.

“Restrain her for the execution,” commanded Peregrine.

Another group charged me, and I propelled them off their feet. They landed in a pile, their limbs intertwined, some of them face down.

While readying myself for another assault, a single voice rose above the clamor, bold and defiant. The very sound of it stole my breath and shook me to my core. Its arrival was both a comfort and a disappointment. I fought the feeling of relief in hearing it while knowing it shouldn’t be here. Not now. Not yet.

“There will be no execution.”

Everyone in the room paused, including The Sevens.

My heart staggered as I slowly, hesitantly turned and faced Jameson.

Glorious was the first word to enter my mind. It summed him up perfectly. He had stopped in the center of a pool of sunlight, radiating him from all sides, highlighting the line of his tense muscles and resolute set of his jaw. Standing legs astride and fists readied at his side, he was a man prepared to fight. His steely glare, settled on The Sevens, told me that he was also ready to die in that fight.

If The Sevens cared, they didn’t show it.

With the exception of Peregrine, who had been on his feet when the disturbance broke out, The Sevens remained seated. None of them expressed any emotion, in their posturing or on their translucent faces.

“Jameson, please…leave…,” I implored, desperate to see him safe again.

His eyes dropped to mine, both angry and hurt that I would even propose it. “Would you?”

No, I wouldn’t
.

“So it is true,” declared the woman who had first seen me enter the room. She appeared dumbfounded. “The Caldwells and the Weatherfords
have
united.”

Despite the tension gripping the Reception Room, a buzz began running through the crowd, reverberating off the walls. No one here had seen it with their own eyes, until now; and they were suitably shocked to watch the members of two families best known within our world for their deadly feud standing side by side defending each other.

The commotion was short-lived, abruptly ending when a grating noise from the corner of the room caught us all off guard. A stone door was sliding open, revealing absolute darkness.

Slowly, a woman emerged, one I would have recognized anywhere, despite the strands of damp hair clinging to her cheeks and the dirtied rags hanging from her shoulders and hips.

I noticed her hands were restrained, as the Vires used her elbows to push her forward into the room, nearly causing her to collapse.

She remained alert the entire time, scanning the room until her eyes landed on me. They widened, filling with anxious terror, which didn’t settle well with me.

My mother was normally stoic. But then, she knew what was coming.

Peregrine drew our attention to him once she had been positioned at the side of the room.

“You understand, Jameson…” said Peregrine, making no secret that he had immediately recognized him, “…that you have just secured your death, as well?”

“No one will die here today,” he replied, showing no fear.

To anyone else in the room, this exchange wouldn’t have made sense, although Jameson, my mother, and I understood. Jameson would suffer death for the same reason as us. His life, his very existence, threatened the sanctity of The Sevens' reign.

“Jameson Caldwell is a traitor, a Dissenter, as are Jocelyn and Isabella Weatherford,” said Peregrine before falling silent to survey the room. When he opened his mouth to speak, the roar of his voice shook each one of us. “WE WILL NOT ABIDE REBELLION!”

Jameson’s voice did not waver as he delivered his message to the room. “We rebelled to save lives from your tyranny.” Knowing this announcement was more for the benefit of those clustered behind us than for The Sevens, I couldn’t contain my smile.

As if Jameson hadn’t said a word, Peregrine muttered, amused, “Three birds for the price of one. Excellent.” After the briefest of pauses, he reiterated, “Set the execution for three.” Returning to his seat, he paused briefly. “And set the ropes short. The Caldwells and Weatherfords are known for lengthy limbs.”

Sartorius, the whites of his eyes visible across the room from where I stood, nervously rose to his feet. “Peregrine, I call for a private discussion before we proceed.”

Another Seven – this one wearing a turban – pronounced, “They are admittedly Dissenters. Treason is a crime. Death will be the punishment.”

Ignoring him, Sartorius urged, “Peregrine, a private word, please.”

In the midst of this tense exchange, whispers began from the back of the room, creeping forward through the crowd. Unlike the commotion before, they were distinct, as if a message was being passed from one person to the next.

“Jocelyn…”

“…Weatherford…”

“The girl…”

“…is Jocelyn Weatherford.”

“The girl is Jocelyn Weatherford!”

The anxiety in the room gave way to excitement, as voices rose and bodies shifted for a better view of the front.

From the main entrance, through the moving wave of hooded faces, I thought I caught sight of a few familiar ones. Theleo was making his way toward me. Aunt Lizzy and Jameson’s parents were here, too. And they were coaxing the crowd.

As if on cue and following a predetermined plan, Jameson spun to face the crowd.

“If the name sounds familiar to you, it is because the rumors Peregrine mentioned have reached you. There was an uprising outside New Orleans, Jocelyn Weatherford was involved, and, yes…she is The Relicuum.” The clamor coming from the mass of people grew louder and more fervent. “She is the one standing before you,” Jameson said, turning and gesturing to me so there was no confusion as to who he was referring to. “And she is about to be executed by The Sevens.”

“They want to execute The Relicuum!” shouted a man from the crowd.

Cries of rejection over this act began and escalated rapidly, stirring the people further.

It was at this moment that I understood what was taking place. Jameson knew The Sevens held the power. We had walked into their home where they kept a fighting force dedicated to carrying out their commands – the ones wearing black uniforms and moldavite stones who stood in the corner awaiting orders. There was only one defense Jameson could use.

And so the crowd became his weapon.

The Sevens, who had been engaged in their heated argument, came to this realization at the very same time as I did. Just as I felt Jameson’s arms come around me, I saw a mass of black uniforms charging directly for us.

2  PRISON

“Hang on,” Jameson’s voice called out as my feet left the ground.

A second later, we hovered above the crowd, which was now a single mass of swaying black uniforms and cloaks worn by observers meshing together to become one.

In the back of my mind, I recognized what was happening. Someone from below was levitating us, because it certainly wasn’t me.

Jameson grunted, making me think he’d been attacked, but I realized it was because we’d been moved. We suddenly found ourselves lingering an inch below the rafters, with those Vires who had been charging us passing by below, narrowly missing us.

Several of the Vires had left the ground in the middle of their sprint toward us, shooting into the air, arms outstretched, hands reaching for us; but whoever controlled our movements was deftly making sure we avoided them.

“Who…?” I began, but my breath rushed from me as we were sent across the room again.

Below us, the crowd recognized the danger they were in and began swarming toward the doors, funneling through them like a black stream.