Savior (25 page)

“To wage war on The Sevens.”

A collective gasp was heard around the room. While this future, this endeavor, had been written about in books within our world, it came as a shock to them to learn that the time had now come. That was evidenced by the alarm and dismay in their expressions. But Jameson gave it no attention.

“We will fight with everything we have, with our power and with all the strength we can find. We will wage war against The Sevens’ destructive tyranny and end their dark record of crime.
That
is our intention.”

Thomas laughed through his astonishment, seeming to scoff at the notion. “Well, what do you expect to gain?”

Jameson remained undeterred in his resolve, despite the almost sarcastic reaction he was receiving, and it made me proud.

“Victory,” he replied, bold and simple. “Victory no matter how long or hard the path may be; because without victory, there is no survival.” He raised his voice, making certain he would be heard by everyone in the room. “Without victory, there will be no survival of our world, or of the world beyond it, because The Sevens' plans are not limited to us. Therefore, we have no choice but to be victorious or there will be no survival of anything we stand for.”

A murmur erupted across the room but Jameson didn’t withdraw from it, instead speaking over it. “Join us,” he urged. “Before it is too late.”

The spellbound audience responded with confusion and distress, suddenly debating it amongst themselves as Jameson settled back in his chair. A few seconds passed before Thomas quieted the room with a gesture of his hands.

“What is it you are asking from us? Money? Is that what you need?”

Jameson’s face tightened at the realization that, despite his best efforts, their obtuse reality remained firmly unaltered. “No, we need your participation.”

Thomas’ eyebrows shot up, and immediately, he began rejecting the idea with a vehement shake of his head. “And jeopardize all that we have?” he stated, with a sweep of his hands at the impeccably designed room, intending for it to encompass the rest of the elaborately designed house.

Jameson stared back for an extended time before making a final attempt to break through their thoughtless denial of their situation. “Your money will not protect you, Thomas. It will be your downfall.”

Thomas stood, pushing back his chair and laying his napkin on the table before heading for the door in the now tensely silent room. With his hand on the knob, he looked back to Jameson, saddened and disillusioned.

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

As Thomas left the room, Jameson stood.

“Thank you all for the opportunity to get to know you.”

I was on my feet and ready to leave the moment Jameson began speaking. As if on cue, our housekeepers emerged through the doorway, waiting with their hands clasped in front of them and appearing stoic.

After offering a firm smile and a slight bow of my head, I followed Jameson from the room, the intense feeling of being observed pressing on me as all eyes bore into our backs.

We met Theleo outside the front door where we acknowledged that all of us had done our parts tonight. And then we were carried up through the cloudless sky.

We followed the same process the following night, and the night after it. Theleo, Eli, and the remaining defectors would escort us to our host’s home. While Jameson attempted to convince our hosts of their foolishness, Theleo and the defectors would leave to transport the prisoners back to our village. At the end of the evening, Theleo would then return to escort us back.

This became our new routine and for weeks, despite the lack of enthusiasm, or absolute disagreement by some, we continued to try and gain support to retaliate against The Sevens. Then, Miss Mabelle and Miss Celia arrived in the village with an invitation to meet with someone almost as influential and just as infamous as Jameson and I had become. She sent a message along with the invitation, one that stunned us all:

The Sevens wish to declare a truce.

14  TRUCE

“It’s a trap, you know it is,” said Vinnia, urging us not to go without actually saying the words.

The dread was almost tangible inside Jameson’s parent’s shack, where we stood listening to Miss Mabelle deliver the verbal invitation. Both of our families, my mother’s sources, and the defectors had all gathered.

“Trap or not, we need to go,” asserted Jameson, unwilling but ready. “They’re calling us out. If we don’t show, they’ll let everyone in our world know we passed up an opportunity to prevent a war.”

We all knew the truth. The Sevens didn’t understand the concept of peace or of a fair and balanced coexistence. By my mother’s account and their own actions, it was clear that The Sevens had one goal in mind…complete domination. This understanding left everyone of us on edge.

“I forbid you to go,” my mother stated resolutely.

“As do I,” added Jameson’s mother. “They can’t say you passed up the chance then.”

Jameson gave his mother a look that showed he appreciated the effort but it wouldn’t work.

“Then I’ll go in your place,” said Mr. Caldwell, standing to prove his point.

“Thank you,” said Jameson to his father. “But I won’t allow that.”

Miss Mabelle clucked her tongue and wagged a finger at him. “Don’t matter. Ain’t no one else invited but Jameson n’ Jocelyn.”

Mr. Caldwell glared deeply at her but made no effort to refute. Being the one who brought us the message, that would be considerably hard to do.

My mother was now staring me down, waiting for my response, which we both knew would not be to her liking. “This is not your choice. It’s mine. And I’m not letting Jameson go there without me.”

He gave me a brief glance but didn’t add to my bold declaration. I thought it was because he knew that he didn’t have a choice in the matter, either. Then I met his eyes and I knew that he intended to argue with me on that point.

To head it off, I reiterated with insolence, “If Jameson chooses to go, no one can stop me.”

Since I was facing the room, I only heard his reaction. It was a disgruntled sigh which, knowing Jameson, was being accompanied by a frown.

“People
will
understand if you don’t go,” insisted Vinnia in a halfhearted attempt to make us reconsider.

I shook my head at her assumption. “Everyone we’ve solicited for support over the last weeks has been…,” I paused to search for the most accurate depiction, “…reticent. We aren’t…We can’t convince them of the danger they are in.”

“Well, getting yourselves killed at the truce meeting should do it,” Charlotte commented, intently assessing the condition of her cuticles.

I replied, with blatant sarcasm, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, dryly, without bothering to look up.

Choosing to ignore his sister, Jameson asked, “Who are we meeting with?”

Miss Mabelle sneered slightly before answering and I wondered if she knew the person. “It be with The Surveyor.”

“Who is The Surveyor?” I asked with a shrug, knowing it was likely that I was the only one in the room without a clue.

Jameson leaned his head toward me to explain, as the rest of the room listened in. “Within each province, a Surveyor has been selected by The Sevens. These Surveyors are given the authority to do whatever is necessary to keep the peace within that designated area. They are essentially The Sevens’ political arms within the provinces. So, while the Vires disturb the peace by implementing The Sevens plans, Surveyors cover up the aftermath of their efforts.

“For example, when the Surveyors took possession of their territory, it included executing those who previously held the responsibility of enforcing laws on the local level. Both Caldwells and Weatherfords held those positions and, like many others, they were consequently found dead. As their numbers dwindled, their posts were never filled, giving Surveyors unchecked power over each of their provinces. They are, to put it precisely, the highest ranking emissaries to The Sevens.” To Miss Mabelle, he asked, “When does she want to meet?”

“Tonight. Offer expires tonight.”

“Of course,” Jameson sighed. “Allowing us no time to prepare.”

There were several nods of agreement about this notion from those around us.

“An hour until sundown,” said Oscar, assessing the fading light through a window next to him.

“We should get ready,” Jameson quietly urged, leaning again to speak only to me.

Keeping my voice low, I agreed, “Renew our energy….”

Still, the rest of the room heard, making it obvious we intended to go.

Sighing with defeat, Mrs. Caldwell redirected the conversation to a more pragmatic matter. “Miss Mabelle…Miss Celia, you may as well stay for dinner. There’s no sense in leaving and returning.”

They quietly agreed, changing their position from housekeepers to guests, and that appeared to be the trigger for everyone to leave. As chairs scuffed across the wood planks and people rose, Jameson took my hand and guided me out the door.

Without having to be told, I knew where he was leading me. Tonight, we would need the energy that filled us only by lying next to each other.

As the boat carried me toward his shack, I stared blankly at the rippling water, sensing a realization fighting its way to the surface.

And then I gasped and Jameson was instantly attentive to me. “What? Are you hurt?” he asked, his gaze sweeping across my body.

“A false truce,” I muttered to myself. “A false truce will be offered.” Shaking away the surprise, I explained to him, “Cornelia forewarned us this would happen, remember?”

He thought back to our meeting with her. “Yes,” he said, hesitantly.

“This-This is part of the prophecy, Jameson. Tonight is part of the prophecy.”

He stared straight ahead, contemplating it. After several seconds he asked, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

And a chill ran through me because he’d finally acknowledged what my mind refused to. It was skirting the issue, not wanting to define the evening before it began. But, in truth, it had already been defined, so Jameson’s next statement came as no surprise.

“Cornelia said the records explained how our love was the spark, but it will be our capture that stokes the flames.”

I nodded, gravely.

His somber attitude didn’t diminish when we reached his shack, not even after we were beside each other in bed. It was obvious from the tension in his muscles and the restriction in his breathing. He was distant, making me leery; and after several minutes, I couldn’t handle it any longer.

I turned over, placing my chin on his chest. Staring at him, I noted that his eyes were busily scanning the roof as if it could predict the future for him.

Slowly, he tilted his head and peered down the side of his cheek at me, the scar above his lip teasingly seductive.

“What?” I pressed, knowing he was contemplating something that was weighing heavily on him.

He sighed and the rise of his solid chest rolled my head to the side, but it moved back into place as he exhaled the frustration he was feeling. “I’m trying to figure out a way to keep you here.”

“Tonight?” I raised my voice. He frowned in response, indicating that my instinct was correct…he didn’t like my reaction to the idea.

“You can stop,” I informed him. “Because I’ll be going with you.”

“Hmm,” he muttered, not necessarily disbelieving me but rather fixed on finding a reason to prevent me.

“It’s the words ‘false truce’ you’re worried about, isn’t it?” I prompted.

Tightening his jaw, he answered, “Yes.”

“Combined with the word ‘capture’?”

“Yes.”

“Well, the positive side is that we’re aware of it. And what they don’t understand – yet – is that their actions will start the war they are trying to prevent. In a way, it’ll be poetic justice.”

“You still don’t get it, do you? The war…this war means nothing to me without you. If they are successful in taking you this time…” He shook his head, trying to clear the disturbing thoughts. “Whenever the idea of living without you gets inside me, I…I feel vacant, hollow. I don’t see any future and I don’t want to think about the past.” He paused to sigh deeply, wrought with desperation, and I almost interjected. But then he spoke again, his voice lowering, despondent and tortured. “There is no reason for existing without you, Jocelyn.”

Despite my growing anger over this discussion, my heart wrenched in my chest at his confession.

But, I had one to make, too. “I-I feel the same way.”

Abruptly, he rolled onto his side, positioning himself to look directly at me. “Then don’t go, Jocelyn,” he implored. “Don’t go.”

“But, Jameson, that’s exactly
why
I’m going. If either of us is going to survive whatever The Surveyor has in store, both of us need to be there. We are stronger together.”

“You don’t think I know that?” he said, his voice strained. “You’re talking about manipulating our power to fend off an attack, but Jocelyn, we are so much more. Without you, I feel nothing. I want nothing. I have no desire, no will to live.
You
make me strong. Not your power, Jocelyn.
You
.”

By the end of his rant, he was trembling with emotion, which stirred something deep in me, a feeling I could only attribute to guilt.

I gave him time to recover and when his jaw was tight again and his body was still, I shoved aside the feeling of being insulted as, I whispered, “You’re assuming they will kill us at this meeting or sometime shortly after.”

“They will,” he stated flatly, attempting to change my mind.

“Then there’s really only one thing we can do,” I said quietly.

“What’s that?” he asked, tired but calm now.

“Survive.”

15  SURVEYOR

Just after sunset, Theleo set us down on an uninhabited part of the Oregon coast. From the air, the tops of trees stretched from the coastline for as far inland as my eyes could take in. From the light of the full moon breaking through the passing clouds, I got a quick peek at our destination just before we descended…a structure that was perched on the edge of a cliff and was inaccessible by any route other than levitation. In short, it prohibited guests unless they were invited.