Chosen (The Warrior Chronicles, 1)

by K. F. Breene

  Then there was the dry, lackluster healer. He had her dressed in a long slip-type thing, which he called a nightgown. Apparently people in that town, or village, or city—Shanti had no idea how big the place was—liked to wear long drapes beneath their covers. They wanted a loose, flowing garment to trap their legs and get tangled as they slept. This made sense to them, somehow.

  Once she was covered, the older healer listened to her heart, felt her bones through her limbs, and said things like, “You have quite a lot of muscle tone. How does a woman come by so much?”

  Shanti used the same dry tone as she answered: “I’m not sure if you are aware, doctor, but the muscle in a woman’s body, like a man’s, can be developed.”

  “Your eyes are a strange shade of blue. More violet, actually. Is that normal amongst your people?”

  “I don’t imagine anyone would have the audacity to remark that I am normal, doctor. Slightly unhinged, certainly.”

  “Your skin is too light.”

  “Racism does not become you.”

  “Why is your hair so pale?”

  “Genetics, doctor. Same as why yours is so dark. Just what do they teach in medical school here? Or does school for that discipline not exist? Are you a witchdoctor, sir?”

  Finally the doctor got so irritated he informed her that if she didn’t supply answers to his questions, he wouldn’t be able to help her. To which she sighed gratefully, stepped out of the sack of fabric, and slipped back into bed. She was starved, not hurt. With food and rest, she would be fine.

  He was not thrilled with her assessment.

  The rest of the time was spent eating as much as possible, as often as possible. Molly brought food whenever Shanti asked and watched over her while she ate, for which she was thankful.

  Marc came each day, more nervous than anything, but also desperate to tell her how well he was doing in class. He was focusing, just like she said. He already knew everything they were teaching, but now he was proving it, trying not to care what they thought. Trying to make sure he focused, just like she said, right? That he should focus?

  He groveled for her praise and blushed when he got it. He never mentioned the little…episode from the first meeting, and he was careful to always direct his eyes at his feet or her head. The small dose of shame was apparently working, and to make sure it stayed effective, Shanti stayed well away from his mind. And thoroughly covered.

  Two hours before dawn the day they planned to leave saw Shanti on her feet in the small room. The air was changing, taking on the sweet, fresh smell of early morning. She was up, moving about the room, testing her legs, getting her heart rate up. Her muscles were hard and brittle, but they were mending. A few more days at an easy walking pace, with food and water, and she’d be fine. She had to be.

  An hour before dawn Shanti paced as the birds started their morning chatter. They weren’t the only ones. There were signs of life within the house; Molly moved around much too early.

  Dread tickled Shanti’s stomach. She hadn’t wanted to alert anyone she was leaving. She wanted to be a wisp of vapor, there and gone and out of people’s minds the second they turned around.

  Half an hour to go. Hopefully Marc would show up early. Hopefully—

  Shanti’s pacing was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. She froze in the murky brown of pre-dawn. Shadows stretched across the floor and hovered over the door. The knock sounded again, hesitant. The door opened slowly on well-greased hinges. Molly poked her head into the room. Shadows veiled her eyes, but her plain oval face pointed at Shanti, motionless for a moment of analysis.

  “You’re up,” Molly accused.

  “Yes. I am leaving today.”

  “The Captain is always right.” She said it as though she thought he was magic. The door swung wide, admitting the dressed woman. “Well, you aren’t a hostage, make no mistake, but the Captain wants to talk to you before you go.”

  “I am afraid that won’t be possible. I am leaving within the hour.”

  Molly smoothed her apron, something she did when uncomfortable. In an apologetic voice, she said, “Young Master Nickles won’t be escorting you. You have no provisions and no idea where you’re headed. Also, your bag of…articles has been recovered. The Captain wishes to speak with you about it this morning.”

  Hope deflated. Shanti physically felt better, her body having always healed quickly, but she’d been on the brink of starvation. Another day would’ve been death. She was no miracle case; her muscles were stringy and depleted, her Gift not even at a quarter of its potency, and any real movement had her breathing heavy. If it came to a fight, she’d be taken down.

  So what then were her options?

  Shanti paced toward the window and looked out at the darkened street. Early morning dew sparkled, the street looking sleek and wet. Her only other choice was to flee. If she could exist in the wild long enough to rejuvenate, she could sneak back in and steal her bag.

  She turned back to the bed, her gaze scanning the light sheets and woven blanket, then flitting to the nightgown neatly folded on the bed stand. Then she shook her head. How would she get out of the city, hardly able to walk, let alone run, with a nightgown and a blanket? Not to mention she had no food, and no weapons to procure any food.

  Resigned, she turned back to the window. “What sort of person is this Captain?”

  Sensing compliance, Molly sprung to life, her sizable breasts swinging wildly. “Oh, he’s just great, he is! Strong in mind and body and absolutely loved by everyone. Especially the women.” She threw Shanti a glinted eye, an undercurrent of meaning Shanti didn’t catch, before bustling out of the room, returning a moment later with a folded heap of fabric. “He inherited the post, of course, because that’s how we do things here. The firstborn son takes the mantle. But the late Captain, God rest his soul, passed away before his time. Here, dear, put this on.”

  Molly handed Shanti a soft white slip with tiny straps, intended to cover her torso. Molly unfolded short pants a moment later and passed those over as she continued, “He didn’t have any brothers or sisters, of course, so he had to learn the post by himself at a young age. Oh, he’s got the council to help him with big decisions, but the weight rests on his shoulders. And there isn’t anyone better to take the burden!”

  Molly picked up a shimmer of green fabric by the top corners and gently lifted. It unfurled into the biggest, thickest, fluffiest dress Shanti had ever seen.

  Shanti wondered why a dress had been brought out when she had already stepped into a top and pants, but she had more important things to ponder. “He has the city and fighting camp both at his disposal? He has the power to control both?”

  “Oh yes. But he’s borne it marvelously, like I said. Fair and just, that’s our Captain. If you do wrong, watch out, but he weighs all the elements and makes his decision. It’s always the right one, mark my words. He always knows.”

  “That’s a lot of power for one man. Power generally spawns corruption.”

  Molly waved that thought away and scoffed. “Maybe with bigger cities, but not our Captain. He is as solid as an oak, he is.”

  Molly carefully laid down the heap of green dress and picked up a rectangular swatch of fabric with thick ribs sewn into it. From one edge dangled laces, along the other edge were holes.

  “What is that for?” Shanti asked with skepticism.

  Molly held the fabric between two hands and pushed it at Shanti’s midsection, securing it around her torso, then working around and attempting to tie her in.

  “No!” Shanti exclaimed, struggling out. “I will not be tied and delivered like a package!”

  Molly’s face contorted into an expression of half confusion, and half frustration. “My lady, you have to put on the proper attire to meet the Captain!”

  Shanti pointed at the material. “That is something women wear? Why?”

  “It supports the breasts, cinches the waist, and makes the figure just exquisite, dear, you’ll see.” Molly stepped
forward again, fabric stretched out in front of her like a fireproof blanket and Shanti the flame.

  Shanti danced to the side, clumsily banging her hip on the corner of the bed in her attempt to evade Molly. She rethought fleeing. “No, thank you. No way. Are women here insane? Are their lives so easy that they have to invent challenges in their dress? That device cuts off breath. I am weak enough as it is.”

  “This is fashionable, my lady!” Molly shook the fabric at her.

  “Fashion, ah yes. A fool’s game, if I am not mistaken. No, I am good as I am. Give me a wrap or cover for the morning and I should be fine.”

  The fabric dropped slowly as Shanti’s words sank in. Molly’s gaze drifted down Shanti’s body. An eyebrow quirked. “As you are?”

  “Yes, some pants would do me fine. Possibly some that covered my entire leg, but I will take whatever you have. This region is hot, so I need not be completely covered.”

  “Pants? You can’t wear pants! Like a man? Oh no, dear. No, no. You can’t appear in front of the Captain without appropriate clothing. I will bend on the corset, which is… well, you are not from here, so okay. But pants? I couldn’t. How would that reflect on me?”

  Shanti looked down at her starved body, moderately covered by white garments. “I don’t understand. Why I am wearing this if not to…wear it?”

  Molly shook her head in exasperation and tossed the corset on the bed in a temper. She carefully snatched up the green dress. “You will be presented in a dress, and that is final. I will not look the fool in front of the Captain, no matter your plans.”

  Anger was so uncustomary of the homely woman that Shanti was struck speechless. Before she could protest further, enough fabric to double as a sail cascaded over her head.

  “At least you’re skinny and shapely so the dress still looks decent,” Molly was saying as she worked the dress tightly around Shanti’s middle. “I don’t know what we’ll do about the breasts. You’re young, and they’re perky, but they’re nowhere as high as they should be.”

  A metal contraption made a zzzzziiiiieeeee as it worked up her back, securing Shanti into the “fashionable” death trap.

  “Now.” Molly stepped in front of her to survey her work. Her eyes lingered on Shanti’s chest, her eyebrows falling. Shaking her head, she moved forward, one hand grabbing the top of the fabric over her breasts, the other reaching in to grab boob.

  “What are you doing?” Shanti exclaimed as she struggled back, trying to get the woman’s hand out of her top.

  “You need to move them to the top of the dress! You can’t have them squished down the middle into your waist!”

  “I’m fine as I am. I don’t want young people getting the wrong idea, seeing my breasts.”

  “You just can’t—“

  Shanti slipped steel into her voice. “No. This will do. I am not here as an ambassador, so I will not strive to adhere to customs. I am a traveler who wants to be on her way.”

  Molly’s eyes burned, but, thankfully, she backed off.

  It gave Shanti another dose of humility. If she could barely fight off a middle aged, pudgy nursemaid, how would she defend herself against fighting men?

  Deep in thought, she didn’t realize Molly was leading her further into the modest house, which she had learned was a residence that occasionally gave aid to those in need or recovering from a malady. Suddenly she was standing in front of a full length mirror and Shanti got her first look at the fashion.

  She looked like a shimmery green monster.

  The tight bodice hugged her skin, leading down into a skirt shaped like a bell that reached entirely to the ground. It was adorned with layers and ruffles. Then there were the sleeves. Huge bunches of fabric puffed up, nearly to her ear. The only skin exposed was her arms and chest, where her breasts were apparently supposed to pop out like a child’s toy.

  “Why such heavy garments in a hot climate?” Shanti wondered aloud. “And why the peep show but fear of nudity?”

  “Well…this is the fashion.”

  “Fashion excuses common sense?”

  Molly shook her head in frustration again, not daring to travel along the logic road when it pertained to looking the part.

  Shanti could always strip if it came to fighting, not that it would help much in her current state. Still, slipping out of the dress would at least mean she’d be able to breathe when they took her down. “Fine. Can we go?”

  “Just a minute, dear, almost time. We won’t have time for breakfast—I didn’t anticipate dressing taking so long.” Shanti earned a scowl.

  “Why are you not wearing a similar monster costume?”

  Molly scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Molly left Shanti standing in utter confusion as she hurried to the kitchen. Shrugging, Shanti had her first look around. Then she gawked. The first thing she noticed was all the leather and wood. It was everywhere. She was familiar with the wooden items—her people had excellent woodworking techniques and trees in plenty--but the leather was something with which she had little experience. Her people weren’t farmers. Their leather items came from wolves and smaller animals, or were traded for extravagant sums. Yet Molly, who didn’t have much, or so she said, had a full set of leather furniture. Not to mention many artifacts that were metal. By Shanti’s standards, this room was cloaked in wealth.

  Shanti sauntered over to the couch, the gobs of fabric adorning her person so loud she’d have to ask her enemies to plug their ears so she could sneak by. What a ridiculous fashion these people employed. Like most ceremonial dress, it was completely without purpose. It was also extremely uncomfortable. It was work just to wear the stuff.

  Shaking her head, she felt the leather. Soft as an infant’s backside. And squishy. It was more inviting than a feast.

  As she was about to sink into the welcoming leather, Molly screeched. “You’ll be all creases!”

  “Do you stop sitting after you get dressed up?” Shanti asked in confusion, butt halfway to the cushion.

  “You have to know how to sit, or else you’ll look like a day old kitten!”

  “Your people trap themselves in garments that don’t allow them to breathe, let alone move naturally, showing parts of skin that make young boys crazy, then forbid sitting unless a new approach is learned? Are you playing a roark on me? A…what’s the word…joke?”

  Molly was shaking her head again, dragging Shanti to the door while shoving a biscuit into her mouth. “The Captain expects it.”

  “Ah, so the Captain is responsible for these torture devices. And no one has rebelled? Called down his service?”

  “He’s not—just—it’s fashion!”

  They stepped outside onto a clean cobblestone street, where every so often a large metal pole reached into the sky with thick candles nestled into a decorative steel cage at the top. Shanti noticed a man walking through the street with a long metal rod, reaching up into the metal cage to extinguish the small flame. The street held many small abodes like Molly’s, most with activity now that the sun rose, but a few without.

  “Is this a main path?” Shanti asked curiously, taking in the stonework that overlaid the ground.

  “Street, you mean? This is one of four main streets, yes. The smaller streets aren’t lined with candles—just the main ones. That’s why I live here—just in case someone from out of town needs a place—”

  Shanti deafened her ears, a skill she’d learned within the first half day in that small room with the chatty woman. She turned her thoughts, instead, to her surroundings. One main path of four. Rather wide, too—big enough for two teams of horses pulling a cart each. It was a city, but not an incredibly large city. Harder to blend in with the difference in coloring and feature, but not impossible.

  “Miss Molly.” It was a youth’s deep voice not yet filled out into the drum of manhood.

  Shanti spun quickly. Her mind blossomed open, the net of her consciousness spreading out around her in a ten span radius—shockingly small for two day
s of rest. She should’ve done it earlier, though. She needed to stop being a tourist.

  A large, young man strode toward them, arms swinging with lanky abandon. Wide shoulders nearly taking up the whole of the footpath, his muscles were already defined though he was probably only Marc’s age. Shanti had no doubt he would only get bigger. He had the potential for great strength and prowess, but now he walked more like a floppy puppy that still needed to grow into its feet.

  “Xavier!” Molly said in a gush. “Who would’ve thought I would get all the promising new boys stopping by!”

  Xavier. Shanti had heard that name before—the man she had taken down. His mind shed pleasant expectation, happy to meet a stranger and enjoy the morning walk. He harvested not one ounce of fear. He not only did not know her capabilities in mind or body, but he thought her harmless. And if she were wearing that corset, not able to breathe, sit, or bend at the waist, he surely would’ve been correct.

  She retracted her Gift, backing away from mind contact. She needed the strength. Plus, moving like a stick man held together with yarn, two strikes would be enough to take him to the ground. Even in this horrible green dress.

  “I’m supposed to escort you. Sorry I’m late—“ His gaze hit Shanti and he staggered forward, hands half reaching either to fall or grab.

  Shanti kicked her shoes off—horrible stilt type things that increased her height but decreased her ability to walk--and her fingers tugged down the metal at her back, ready to tear the thing off and engage.

  Then he smiled. “Sorry, ma’am. Last time I saw you, you were a pile of dirt. You clean up well.”

  Shanti hesitated, and then got her fingers slapped away by Molly. Shifting and reclaiming the tiny square of metal, she said, “Do your people have problems with washing? I found the soap acceptable.”

  “He’s saying you look pretty, dear,” Molly explained, swiping Shanti’s fingers away again before re-securing the dress.