Remembered by E. D. Brady

came here. He took the twins away in his horse and carriage.”
    “What? Who was he? Do you mean that Cora and Max were
kidnapped also?” Emily demanded, feeling mind-numbing panic.
    “I don’t believe your siblings were taken against their
will,” Mrs. Wellum replied “I don’t know who this young man was. I had never
seen him before. He had dark hair and was extremely handsome. At any rate, Cora
waved to me as they passed. She looked terribly sad, but not the least bit
frightened. I’m sure they must have known him. I’m sorry I can’t tell you
anymore.”
    Emily put her face in her hands and let out a pained moan.
Where would she begin to look for them? They were still considered children
after all, even if only marginally.
    “Annella, my husband has gone to town, to market already. He
will know where the twins are. I’m sure he tried to tell me who took them away,
but I tire of his gossiping at times. I turn a deaf ear to him,” Mrs. Wellum
offered sympathetically.
    “Thank you,” she said, getting to her feet. That gave her
hope, but not much. She was sure that Mr. Wellum would have more information,
but what if it was too late? What if she never found them? She stood up and
made her way to the door. “Thank you, Mrs. Wellum. Thank you very much.”
    “Good luck, dear,” Mrs. Wellum replied. She walked her to
the door, her hand still covering heart. “You have no idea what a blessing it
is to see you again. I thank the heavens that you made it home safely.”
    In spite of the empty, desperate feeling inside of Emily,
she couldn’t help noticing how at home she felt. It was all so familiar, and it
was beautiful.
    She knew every little house on either side of the road. To
the right was a sharp hill—behind the houses—that ended with another road, and
across that road was the ocean, it’s water bluer than any she’d ever seen.
    Everything was much brighter here as if a veil had been
lifted from her eyes: colors more vivid, sounds sharper, and smells more
potent.
    She watched the ocean all the way down the hill until the
road turned left, away from the sea and towards town.
     Two story buildings came into view—the town of West
Vistira.
    She looked down at her clothing: jeans, sneakers, and a New
York Mets hoodie. This was not good. People in Vistira did not dress this way.
Women and girls wore long skirts or dresses. Pants or trousers were worn only
by men, and jeans were none existent. Luckily, it was early morning, and not
many people were in the streets yet.
    She pulled the hood of her sweatshirt up over her head,
trying to pull it as far down her face as possible. She walked with her head
down, hoping to be unnoticed, knowing that her clothing might make that
impossible. If everyone in town thought she had died, the last thing she wanted
was to be bombarded with attention and awkward questions.
    Turning left unto Main Street—where the market was held
every day—she looked up to see a large building that was the town’s center. It
was out of proportion with the rest of the buildings—gray stone, enormous, with
a large tower on the left hand side, making it look almost like a castle. The
words ‘The Citadom’ sat etched into the stone above two large wooden
doors. The sight of the Citadom caused a twinge, a strange flutter in her
stomach. It seemed to hold something of significance to her, but she couldn’t
recall what.
     She did remember, however, that this building housed
Vistira’s government and law enforcers. But the men of the Citadom were not
like typical police, they were more like peacekeepers, healers, and spiritual
advisors all wrapped into one. They were commonly referred to as Peacemen.
    The men of the Citadom were handpicked for this position,
sometimes at a young age, due to some outstanding quality or sixth sense, like
strong initiations, healing talents, or they may display strong leadership
abilities. They took an oath to serve the public and forfeited a normal