G.A. Albrethsen's Blog: Age of Restoration, page 7

Removing it…

Removing it, she leaned up against a lamppost and felt for the source of her pain. A blister had apparently formed while she had been dancing that had since popped. She felt the stickiness on her fingers, along with the sting.

Running in shoes not particularly made for it had been yet another bad idea. Paz wasn’t wearing socks or stockings, but she figured it would be better to go barefoot and risk getting an infection rather than end up injured from falling. She tossed her shoes into a nearby trash can and decided to continue down the street she was on, since she still didn’t know which direction she was headed.

Behind her, the voice in Bluetooth’s ear crackled, “Okay, they’re cutting us loose. Where are you now?” When Bluetooth answered, the voice asked, “Which way is she going?”

“I don’t think she knows,” Bluetooth said. “Wait, she’s staying on T.”

“We’ve got to head south,” the voice said, “and we’ve got one-way streets for the next two blocks. We’ll catch up with her at the intersection with Vermont.”

It didn’t take long to get to the next corner, but when she did, Paz realized she was heading in the opposite direction of where she wanted to go. Or, at least she thought she was. The numbers were getting smaller, which meant she was on an easterly course. She wanted to head west, out of the federal district and toward Virginia.

Now she wasn’t sure what to do. She could continue in the direction she was going, which had to be wrong, or she could double back. The latter didn’t sound like a good idea for the same reason she had avoided it in the first place. She wanted to get as far away from Brad as she could. She didn’t think anyone was following her, but she hadn’t really checked to make sure. She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder and kept running.

“Still on T Street,” a somewhat winded Bluetooth said. Where are you?”

“Just leaving Twelfth and getting on Vermont,” the voice said.

“You’ll have to hurry if you want to catch her at the crosswalk.” Bluetooth now realized they had underestimated Paz’s athletic prowess, even if it were true she had no clue where she was going.

“We’ll make it. Just maintain contact.”

“Easy for him to say,” Bluetooth’s companion muttered after Bluetooth relayed the message.

To read more of THE FOOLISH AND THE WEAK, go to Amazon and click on the free sample, or simply buy the ebook. Also available on iTunes and Barnes & Noble.

In his ear…

In his ear, the voice said, “We’re working on it.”

Paz felt a boost of confidence as she continued on. While the alleyway had been convenient for her, the lighting was poor and it was hardly public. She had been propelling herself on pure adrenaline, too, and now she could feel it wearing off. She knew from running cross-country how to moderate her stride. It was time for her to calm down and let that training kick in.

After she settled into a good, steady pace, her mind couldn’t help but wander back to her predicament. She was the only one to blame. She was not familiar with Washington, DC and knew parts of the city could be dangerous at night—her parents had certainly told her that enough times—and she was a good hour and a half away from her grandparents’ home, where her family was staying. That was by car. How long would it take her to get home on foot, even if she didn’t get lost? It was already nearing eleven.

Taking a taxi home would have been the most logical option, but in her escape, the pouch she normally carried her money in had been ripped from her neck and was now likely in the possession of Brad or one of his cohorts. Her cell phone, house key, and ID were also in it, so she couldn’t even call home, nor could she get in the house once there, without waking someone up.

Even running, it took a while to get to the end of the block. Paz couldn’t tell until she was almost at the corner, what street she had been approaching. Not that it helped much. The street name certainly didn’t, nor did the block number just yet, but a direction was also included on the sign. Apparently, she was in the northwest part of the city. As she checked for cars, she felt a jab of pain on the bottom of her left heel. The entire sole of her shoe had come away and flapped each time she lifted it.

The objective…

The objective of ‘Bluetooth’ and his companion had been to herd Paz in the other direction, where their associates waited in an SUV. With the police showing up, though, the two on foot didn’t know if their cover had been blown, so they let Paz go. Ordered to follow, they first made sure they had not been detected by the police officers and then took up pursuit while maintaining a discretionary distance from Paz.

Not that Paz would have noticed them. In her current state of mind—trying to blink away tears of rage so she could pick her way through the dark—she probably would have overlooked anything that didn’t run into her and knock her down. Her reason for flight was not the drug bust at Feral but her tardy conclusion that she was an idiot for being there at all.

An idiot, because, Brad, the young man she had gone to the club with, was not nearly as cool as she had made him out to be in her mind. He was just another twenty-something jerk, who after downing a couple beers, had proceeded to grope her.

She had sneaked out to Feral with Brad after her mother had explicitly told her she couldn’t go. Now, she was suddenly vulnerable and vastly outmuscled by not only Brad, but either of his buddies who were there and might want to see her succumb to, and perhaps get in on, whatever obscene intentions Brad might have with her.

The alleyway came to an end and she emerged onto a street. Paz had no idea where she was. To her left, she could see a corner, but it was the same street that fronted Feral, and she felt the need to avoid it. She didn’t want to risk any chance of Brad knowing which way she had gone. So, she took off to her right and hoped she had made a good choice.

Back up the street, Bluetooth communicated her position. “She’s heading east. You clear yet?”

Paz Kirkegaard burst…

Paz Kirkegaard burst through the back exit of Feral, a trendy Washington, DC dance club. After a furtive glance up and down the alley, she chose a direction and took off.

As she did, eight police cars arrived—no flashing lights or sirens—from two different directions to converge on the hot spot. The sixteen beat officers who piled out and rushed to surround the premises weren’t there for the eclectic mesh of local and not-so-local bands. An anonymous tip had come in several minutes earlier indicating that drugs were being sold in the establishment—though not by anyone affiliated with Feral—and the police were there to lock down the club until their search warrant showed up.

Paz was so far down the alleyway, she wasn’t even aware the authorities were there. She was also oblivious to the two figures who detached themselves from a doorway as she hurtled past them.

“We’ve lost containment,” one of them said over a Bluetooth earpiece. “Where did all the uniforms come from?”

“Keep on her,” a voice answered in his ear. “We’re hemmed in.”

Do you know…

“Do you know when my vision will come to pass?” Paciencia asked, putting aside their emotions.

“No.” Abrem shook his head. “There are still many unknowns.”

“I am more concerned about who the aggressor is,” Tilda said, “and whether or not there are others.”

“As I said, there are still unknowns.” Abrem took a deep breath. Certainty and determination rang in his voice when he spoke again. “While this vision is unprecedented in our history, with dangerous ramifications, there is no doubt in my mind that it shall come to pass, and that you, Paciencia, are meant to be there when it does.” Abrem punctuated those last words by rising to his feet. “Mandate or no, we have always been at the mercy of He Who Grants All Life.”

“Then, I will leave immediately.” Paciencia’s words seemed to linger for a time, as if giving either Tilda or Abrem an opportunity to object.

“Who else will you tell of this?” Tilda finally asked Abrem, ignoring Paciencia’s declaration.

“Those who are to know already do. Given what is to come, I will not have to tell anyone else.” He peered over Tilda’s shoulder to give Paciencia a farewell glance and then mustered a wan smile. “Good night,” he said with a slight nod.

A section of the wall disappeared to allow Abrem to leave. As it reappeared, Tilda rested her head against it. Moments of silence enveloped the two women as each pondered what had been said.

“Are you well?” Paciencia finally asked.

Tilda sighed. “You are not my flesh and blood,” she said softly, “but I have treasured you as such. I do not cherish the thought of losing you to the outside world.”

Paciencia smiled. It wasn’t New Columbia or their mandate, after all. It was her safety that worried Tilda!

Paciencia tried to reassure her. “I will return as soon as I am able.”

Tilda lifted her head. “Then, be off,” she said, apparently deciding she had said too much.

Resolute, Paciencia turned to leave. As she did, Tilda stopped her. She looked forlornly into the younger woman’s eyes, embraced her soundly, and kissed her forehead.

Tears welled up in Tilda’s eyes as she whispered, “Hasten back.”

Abrem shrugged…

Abrem shrugged. “It appears that you are to engage an unidentified foe in the outside world, with powers not known to it.”

“While the rest of us do nothing?” Tilda asked, rubbing her brow. Her voice sounded tired now.

“Paciencia is to face this challenge alone,” Abrem answered. He leaned forward with earnest. “We can still assist her from here … check the archives for clues … perhaps the space between realms …”

As his voice trailed off, Paciencia finally realized what was in Tilda’s voice, what now was reflected in Abrem’s eyes—sadness.

There were all kinds of troubling aspects to this vision, the greatest, of course, being what it could mean to their society and their centuries-old mission. A select few from the outside world knew of New Columbia. The secret of its existence was part of the mandate the people lived by—their executive order. A battle like the one in Paciencia’s vision would undoubtedly raise questions and lead to investigations by the nations of the outside world. While it was most unlikely that any person or nation could find New Columbia, it was just as unlikely that anyone in the outside world possessed the power Paciencia was to confront there.

That was what Abrem meant by “powers not known” to the outside world. New Columbia had technology and individuals capable of such feats. The outside world did not. That suggested someone from New Columbia was behind this. Of it all, that possibility was the most unthinkable, and yet….

Was this why Abrem and Tilda were so upset?

As Tilda glanced…

As Tilda glanced at a bare section of the floor, a divan and two ornate armchairs appeared there out of thin air. The two women took the chairs, leaving Abrem the divan. As they sat, the Seer cleared his throat.

“Before I begin, I want to …” He stopped speaking and looked down at the floor, his eyelids fluttering.

“You first saw this vision when she was born,” Tilda abruptly chanted. Her eyes, momentarily glassy, returned to full sternness.

“Yes …”Abrem smiled, but he did not look up.

“You were instructed to wait—” Tilda chanted again, the glassiness returning. She didn’t finish the sentence.

Paciencia did that. “—until I had received it! You have known all this time!”

“And I did not,” Tilda said. She closed her eyes and bowed her head. “I would have liked to have known.” The statement was not accusatory, but a gentle entreatment. It was not directed at the Seer.

Abrem sighed. As he looked up at Tilda, his expression matched hers.

“I have long said that I am not so much a seer as I am a safe—a keeper of knowledge until it is granted and bestowed.”

“Can you tell me what it means?” Paciencia asked.

Come along…

“Come along,” Tilda commanded, her voice cutting through. “I want to be nearing his chambers before—”

A pleasant chime sounded in their ears, and then a portion of the room’s outer wall vanished to reveal a tall man in billowing robes.

“—Abrem arrives,” Tilda finished. Her face fell in disappointment.

“Hard to outsee a seer,” Abrem said, winking at Paciencia. The younger woman couldn’t help but return a smile. To Tilda, he added, “Given the lateness of the hour, I will be brief.”

“You have seen it, then?” Paciencia asked, even though the mere presence of Abrem meant the answer was yes.

“Perhaps we should all sit down,” Abrem suggested.

And yet…

And yet, Tilda had not received it.

“You believe me,” Paciencia stated, stiffening.

“Yes, yes,” Tilda answered quickly, her left hand flailing as if she could wave the uncertainty away. “The question is, why only you?”

Paciencia felt relief wash over her. Worse to her than the vision and what it meant was the possibility that someone, especially her beloved Tilda, would think she were capable of fabricating it.

“Quite the quandary,” Tilda added solemnly. Suddenly, the corners of her mouth curled and there was a gleam in her eye. “I wonder if the Seer has …”

Before she could finish speaking, the older woman’s eyes stared blankly into space.

Paciencia knew the look well. Tilda was seeing something. Was she finally receiving the vision, too? Then Paciencia gasped, the involuntary inhale she always had when she was swept into dream state. No, this wasn’t her vision at all. This was….

It seems…

“It seems I am not privy to your vision, child.”

Paciencia stood in the archway of her caretaker’s suite, her head bent respectfully, her arms folded. The words of her elder echoed oddly in the open space and rang for several moments in Paciencia’s ears.

While still considered young, Paciencia was fully aware of the repercussions of the vision she had received. Her people had lived in near seclusion for more than two hundred years; it was their primary mandate. The recurring vision she had just conveyed to Tilda—her surrogate mother—appeared to go against that mandate entirely.

This wasn’t the first time Paciencia had been given a vision—far from it. In each instance, however, Tilda had received it, too.

To Paciencia, it made no sense that Tilda had not seen this particular vision. When the visions were not wholly personal, particularly when they had far-reaching implications, like this one did, others would see them, too, thus confirming the vision’s validity.