Savior (3 page)

“My mother and Uncle Lester,” I shouted over the noise.

“Don’t worry, we’ve got them,” assured Jameson just as I caught sight of four cloaked figures and a woman dressed in rags soar into the air to follow us out the door.

In that brief moment, I also caught sight of others. The Sevens. They stood stiffly in front of their thrones, devoid of emotion, and each one concentrating solely on me.

I couldn't make sense of it. They held vile contempt for me, and for Jameson; they wanted us dead; and they wanted the rest of our world to know it. Yet, they were letting us go so easily. That decision seemed in direct opposition to everything they had attempted in the past.

And I was correct.

A wave of black uniforms took over my view of them, closing in like a flock of crows, and I knew The Sevens had given the Vires orders to pursue us. From the small, stone town below us, hundreds of them emerged from every angle; from behind the stone buildings, from the corridors between them, and from the walls surrounding the town.

Jameson’s arms tightened around my waist as our speed picked up rapidly.

“I have you,” he said into my ear, his breath brushing across my skin. “I have you.”

There was a hint of relief in his voice which meant he uttered the words more for his benefit than mine. He wasn’t telling me that I was safe so much as reinforcing that, finally, he’d reached me.

For me, his presence here was surreal. He wasn’t supposed to have found me. I wasn’t supposed to be wrapped in his firm embrace. I should be dead by now. I hadn’t expected to see Jameson again, or even feel his skin against mine. Yet, here we were, attempting to evade the enemies that should have already taken my life.

I kept twisting my head to see behind us, watching as we gradually outpaced the Vires. When they became specks in the distance, I finally took a deep breath.

“I think-I think we’ve lost them,” I said to Jameson, knowing he would hear me despite our speed. One of the benefits of levitation is that I don't have to compete with the atmosphere, rather it compliments me.

Still, I rotated my head yet again, searching for any sign of danger, and caught sight of Jameson out of the corner of my eye. In that brief moment, I caught a glimpse of the face I never expected to see again. His sandy-blonde hair still fell over his translucent green eyes and his tantalizing scar remained just above his upper lip.

I blinked once to distract my focus because I wasn’t ready yet to have him back. I’d given him up, let him go, released him to a full, safe life. Still, despite my effort, he’d found his way back to me.

“Do you know who’s carrying us?”

“Theleo was,” he said, staring straight ahead. I got the sense he was trying to avoid looking at me, too. “But I think your mother has taken over. She’s faster.”

My mother was innately competitive and excelled at just about everything, so his comment made sense.

“She’s going to wonder what a Vire is doing with us.”

“Your aunt will explain.”

I peeked over my shoulder and sure enough, one of the cloaks was settled in beside my mother, who wore a grim expression.

“I wonder how that will go over…,” I mused. My mother instinctively disliked Vires, and she wasn’t alone in her revulsion.

“Time will tell,” he replied complacently. “Right now, we need to concentrate on our collective safety.”

“Yes…Do we know where we are going?”

“The one place The Sevens will never think to look.”

I waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t and I pressed, “Which is?”

“One of their own prisons.” He seemed to be more attentive to our surroundings than to my questioning. I didn’t blame him, though. Outrunning Vires was a feat almost unheard of.

Considering his hint, I came to the answer. “Ah…the village. Good thinking.” As an afterthought, I added, “Who came up with that idea?”

“Me,” he replied flatly.

Neither his answer – nor the way he said it – surprised me. For the first time, the shock of still being alive washed away, making room for the awe I always felt when witnessing Jameson’s humble intelligence. It was mesmerizing.

Giving in to my desire to look at him, I found his eyes gleaming, and his lips lifted in a tantalizing smile. It was a reversal to his previously obstinate expression, and my heart instantly warmed at the sight of it.

“What?” I asked, thinking he was probably thankful we’d gotten out alive.

He chuckled to himself and then leaned in to whisper, “It’s nice to have saved
you
for once.”

I tossed my head back against his shoulder and released a laugh. “Well, don’t get used to it,” I teased.

“Oh…," he snickered confidently. “Something tells me that I’ll have plenty of future opportunities for that.”

Now offended, my jaw fell open, and he laughed mischievously. Then I felt the distinct pressure of his arms tightening around me. Unfortunately, it was fleeting. He loosened them almost immediately after.

I was tempted to tighten my own grip on his hands as they rested lovingly around me, a reaction I fought for several minutes during the awkward silence that followed. It abated only after I spoke again.

“I can’t believe they allowed you to come.” I was referring to his parents knowingly placing him in harm’s way.

His reply was steadfast and blunt. “They didn’t have a choice.”

I quickly translated that to mean no one would have prevented him in coming for me, and my heart leapt. Regrettably it was for the wrong reason. Guilt washed over me as I struggled against asking him if there was anything I could put him through that would make him stop loving me. But, I realized, I already knew the answer.

“Jameson…,” I said, my voice softer than I would have preferred.

“Hmmm?” He tipped his head down toward me and the strands of sandy-blonde hair drifting across his forehead were ruffled by the wind.

“Thank you…for coming for me.”

It looked like he wanted to say something, his face conveying that, whatever his thoughts, they were deeply provoking. In spite of them, or possibly because of them, he opted for something more platonic. “You’re welcome, Jocelyn.”

As he returned to his aloof silence, his words repeated in my mind, stinging me more than I would have imagined.

They had all the formality of a conversation between office co-workers. But what more could I expect? I had taught Jameson to keep his distance from me. In fact, that was what I had told him to do. I couldn’t blame him for repressing his feelings for me, and I certainly couldn’t hold it against him.

We spent the remainder of our flight in uncomfortable silence, the pressure of the muscles in his chest against my back consuming my awareness. Occasionally, he repositioned his hold on me or shifted the placement of his arms and my breath caught. He noticed it, I knew, but didn’t address it, which only saddened me more.

We reached the Mississippi River by late afternoon and then New Orleans. By the time the sun had fallen, we the bayou was directly below us. From above, through the broken clouds, it looked dark and mysterious, threatening even. Shadows stretched between thick clusters of trees, and patches of water peeked from between them, reflecting a granite-like surface.

I knew better.

Hidden away in the gloomy darkness, there were people our world had forgotten. Innocent people wrongly persecuted by The Sevens; those who had been ordained to live out their lives in a remote, watery village, and far worse, to suffer the punishment of having their innate abilities suppressed. Witchcraft, such an integral part of these people’s lives, was a faded dream in the village. They would still carry their family stone and perform their sacred rituals but no result ever came from either. Because of this, they were ghosts of their former selves, empty shells doomed to a life of weakness. This was only a fraction of what you received if The Sevens considered you a threat.

Jameson and I fell into that classification, so it was slightly ironic that we were beating them by secretly committing ourselves to this lifestyle before they could.

Our descent was much quicker than either Jameson or I anticipated and he again tightened his hold on me. Despite my inhibitions and his rigid estrangement, I enjoyed it for as long as it lasted. A few seconds later, we found ourselves coming to a stop on a short, wooden dock, where he unwound his arms and stepped away from me. I had to subdue the pull he had over me then or I would have followed him in the same direction.

The air smelled different here, as it always did, a mixture of salt, moss, and moisture. The abundance of cypress trees surrounding us ensured that no breeze could find its way in. Most notably, it was silent. Only croaking frogs and chirping crickets made themselves known. It felt as if no other living soul existed for miles. But, that was not the case.

From inside a shack nestled beneath the trees at the end of the dock, enraged voices made this abundantly clear. Even though they were indistinct, a result of them speaking over each other, it was clear a heated argument was taking place.

Recognizing where we landed, I recalled the last time we were here it hadn’t turned out well for Jameson or me.

He, too, seemed to be resistant about it. “Why are we at the outpost?” he asked, as cloaked figures dropped to the dock alongside my mother.

Removing their hoods, Theleo, Jameson’s parents, and my Aunt Lizzy stepped forward. The last hood to fall revealed a lanky man with a gruff, discontent face. I realized there was only one person he could be.

“Uncle Lester?” I presumed, his height causing me to angle my head almost entirely back to meet his eyes.

Aunt Lizzy responded instead. “He was waiting for you, dear…knowing you’d come when your mother was sequestered and knowing you’d need help. He found us in the crowd and gave us the cloaks to keep us concealed before leading us to you.”

I waited for him to back her up, support what she’d said, give some formal verification, but none came. Sensing this, Aunt Lizzy leaned forward to whisper, “He doesn’t speak all that often.”

“Oh,” I mumbled and immediately concluded my own reasons for it.

It was reasonable to assume that Uncle Lester had learned through his duration at the ministry to be reserved or face consequences. And I couldn’t judge him for it.

“Thank you, for helping,” I said, forgoing a hug. “Welcome home…”

He gave me an almost imperceptible nod without the slightest hint of a smile, and I stepped back, wondering what the Vires had done to him.

“Why are we at the outpost?” Jameson repeated, with more reluctance.

His mother explained, keeping a cautious eye on him as if she could predict his reaction. “There was some…”

“Reticence,” his father assisted.

“…about our stay here before we left.”

Based on that, and the escalating argument inside, any illusion that our hiding place might have been comfortable vanished completely.

Jameson’s head snapped in the direction of his parents. “Why?” he demanded, his voice gruff with annoyance.

He was offended, and he had every right. His free time over the last several years had been spent assembling and delivering supplies to the very people who now appeared wary about our presence in their village.

“This has nothing to do with you, Jameson. It has to do with me,” my mother stepped forward, sharpening her gaze at the door. “I imprisoned them.”

“I imagine you aren’t the sole person they have concerns with,” Theleo added. “You may have put them here, but my forces
kept
them here.”

“You bring up a good point,” said my mother, and I had some hope she would treat him kindly. She obliterated that with her next statement. “We need the perimeter secured and you aren’t needed here. You’ll have to leave or we risk provoking them further.”

Theleo, staggered by her rebuke, nodded in quiet agreement. He extended his hand, uncurling his fingers to show the moldavite stone he held in his palm. “This may help convince them.” He blinked and then extended that hope. “And you.”

Momentarily taken aback, my mother hesitated. Everyone understood the significance of Theleo's offering; it was unheard of to part with your family stone. He would be the first in our world to deny what was essentially his family.

The meaning of this wasn’t lost on my mother. Her lips pursed, she took it, hesitantly. He turned then and left the dock, levitating overhead for a few seconds before darting across the treetops. The tension that exchange left was almost palpable.

“He just saved our lives,” I mentioned in support of him.

She gave me a look which could only be interpreted as “I don’t care”. Her extensive experience with Vires would be Theleo’s greatest obstacle.

Heading for the door, she stated, “Right now, there are other people's perceptions we need to influence."

Realizing my mother intended on entering the shack first, Jameson stepped in front to lead the way. She gestured him aside, fully prepared to take the brunt of what was waiting through the door.

“I think you should reconsid-” Jameson began to insist, but my mother interrupted him.

She had her hand on the knob but paused. “Jameson, I appreciate the offer, but there are some doors that people need to open on their own.”

Then the thin wooden partition swung open. The first thing I heard were chairs screeching against wood floors, followed by shouting.

Jameson and I rushed to make our way in, but in an attempt to protect us, his parents blocked our entry.

A window next to me offered some insight on what was happening, albeit through dirty glass and sheer drapes. The room was full, allowing for standing room only, and those inside appeared to be divided into opposing sides. One group charged the door when my mother appeared, and the other effectively blocked them. I noticed Nolan's nose was bloodied, although it was already dry, indicating this hadn’t been his first scuffle tonight.

Jameson was eager to spring forward, poised, with his hands balled into fists. Yet, only when the second conflict erupted, and his parents were forced to protect my mother inside, did we make our way in.