Chosen (The Warrior Chronicles, 1)

by K. F. Breene

  “Good on ya!” Rachie congratulated, stepping forward to pat Xavier on the back.

  Shanti stepped forward to meet Rachie and punched him in the solar plexus. She didn’t have much sauce behind the punch, not having much more stamina in her body, but Rachie fell like a lead weight in a barrel of water. It was hilarious, and to celebrate, Shanti held her stomach and started laughing.

  “You boys are a bunch of funny men.” Shanti started walking.

  Thanks to the Captain, and her state, she had nothing to do but get better. She was bored already. She might just have to make a project of these boys—turn them into something worth talking to before she moved on.

  “Clowns. Ah, sir,” Xavier commented, catching up immediately.

  “Clowns, fine. Can anyone tell me why Rachie just got punched?”

  “He was supposed to be silent.”

  “Good, Cadet. What is your name?”

  “Leilius? Sire.”

  “Are you unsure of your own name, Cadet? And I am not a king.”

  Leilius flinched, realized he wasn’t going to get hurt right then, then said, “Leilius. Sir.”

  “Good. Come along you lot. And stay in pairs. You look like shit after someone ate beans. I will need more swear words, too; I love the startled faces when I use them.”

  Thankfully the walk to meet Commander Sanders was short, allowing Shanti to appear confident and unaffected the whole way. As they neared the large square of lush, freshly trimmed grass, Commander Sanders cut off his hand-to-hand combat training and approached them like a man would a raging bonfire if he was covered in flammable liquid.

  “Boys, get geared up,” Sanders barked in greeting.

  Shanti heard a “Yes, sir”, one “Yes, Chief”, and a “M’Kay.” She was able to kick one of the silent boys in the leg, taking him down, but had to settle for a rock for the other. She got him right in the back of the head. She’d always been an excellent shot.

  Sanders had her by the upper arm before she could blink. He was fast and in control. The grip was gentle but firm.

  The Captain had definitely chosen his Commanders well. Interesting.

  “If I were you,” Shanti groused in clipped tones, eyeing each of the young boys, “I would not stare when a commanding officer takes a lesser in hand. I would move about my business, or prepare for another lesson in how to get tough really quick.”

  They all gave a quick “Yes, sir” and scurried away. Granted, it looked like ants after a boot, but at least they got the vocalization down.

  Sanders’ hand tentatively left her arm.

  “I apologize, Commander.” Shanti turned toward him, surprised his height was barely above her own, especially when the rest of the men in this land seemed abnormally large. “They are a lump of coal that needs a flame. I could not have them embarrassing me. This dress is enough.”

  Sanders just stared.

  “I have been told you have a place for me to go?” she continued. “Hopefully it is not to needlepoint.”

  It was to needlepoint.

  Chapter 8

  “Junice, I am aware the Captain requires me to master this accursed discipline, but I simply do not understand it. I am not an artist. My thread pictures look like rainbow vomit. I’m not useful.”

  Shanti put down her needlepoint paraphernalia and leaned against the solid wood chair.

  She’d been in Sanders’ house, much to Sanders’ continual frustration, for two weeks. It had been long enough to ascertain that she did not belong in a domestic setting for any longer than a night at a time. And while she had put on substantial weight in the short time, she was grossly lacking in muscle coordination and mental warfare. Worse still, without access to move freely and train unobstructed, she was forced to linger, the world growing older, the Graygual moving closer. The sun was drifting toward the horizon of her duty; she had to move on, but to do that, she had to get well.

  “Patience, you’ll get it,” Junice said with a sweet smile.

  Junice was Sanders’ adorable young wife, only married a month or so, and in charge of their quaint (by their standards) three bedroom house. The woman had a quick tongue and was completely besotted with Sanders, first name Avery. He was apparently a big teddy bear, which was some kind of stuffed mammal. Others, however, thought he was just the bear part, which was some sort of large, lumbering beast.

  “Would you like to help me make bread?” Junice paused as she took a bag of flour from a shelf.

  “No. Do you need your knives sharpened again? Or polished?”

  Junice just smiled. Shanti had done it three times in two weeks. They were razor sharp and gleaming.

  “I do not understand the fascination the Captain has with needlepoint.” Shanti rested her head on her fist and staring out the window at the distant treetops. The forest called to her. Beckoned. She wasn’t strong enough to get away from her honor guard--the group of bumbling boys that followed her around everywhere—in time to climb the twenty-foot wall and jump over. The boys usually caught her halfway up and dragged her back down. Xavier had a long reach. And an irritating smile.

  “I think it isn’t that he wants you to learn it, so much as he wants you better.”

  “I do not think he cares of my health. He wants my story. Punishment, then? Is that what he is after?”

  Junice tsk’d at her. “The Captain isn’t vindictive.”

  Junice didn’t know the Captain very well. Neither did Shanti, which she was thankful for. The man was a meddling jerk. She left the house for a walk, and someone showed up to tell her to go home and work on needlepoint. She opened the window for some air and to stare out at the trees, and someone wandered by with the needlepoint message. She even got interrupted while getting Junice water, of all things. She was helping, yet still the fascination with a trivial waste of time and materials.

  She’d settled for drawing an explicit gesture on a piece of cloth and sending it to his house via messenger. She received the piece of cloth back with a message to try again, only this time, sew the gesture in needlepoint.

  It wasn’t that he had no sense of humor, as she originally thought. He just told rotten jokes.

  “What’s really bothering you?” Junice asked as she stirred a mixture of food items in a bowl.

  “Besides that frustrating man who gives obtuse orders via messenger?” Junice nodded into her glaring eyes. “I’d like to wander in the wood. It’s been some time since I’ve been able to relax and shut off. It’d greatly help my recovery, but I’m sworn to stay inside city limits. Not that that would normally stop me, but I’m too weak to figure a way out.”

  “Is that all?” Junice shook her head and put down her bowl. “You should learn to talk more, rather than just listen. C’mere, let me show you.”

  “What?” Shanti blinked as Junice dragged her up by her arm.

  “We have a fabulous wooded park here. Since I’m not your jailer, and you won’t be outside of the city, I think we’re within the rules.” Junice’s eyes sparkled. “Anyway, there aren’t any structures for children or meeting places, which means it isn’t used very often, but that might be just what you need!”

  Shanti followed Junice with roving eyes, taking in the sights and sounds of the sleepy city. Swept footpaths and gleaming houses spoke of the overall pride these people had in their dwellings. Those passing by had a smile and a nod for Junice, pleasantly trying their best not to gawk at the strange woman beside her. From Shanti’s observation, there were no poor people. Those ‘less fortunate’, as Junice would say, could claim the comforts Molly displayed —things Shanti would call luxury. This city was extremely rich, and what’s more, not afraid to spread that wealth around.

  She could’ve landed in worse places.

  They took a path around some of the largest, most ornate houses Shanti had seen thus far. Well-tended vegetation and large yards sprawled around each two-story house. Small wooden fences sectioned off each residence, declaring the land as owned.

  “
Kind of selfish, not to share the soft grass with your townspeople,” Shanti muttered.

  As they toured around the last house in the row, the crisp smell of nature welcomed Shanti in. Lush green took over the landscape; old and thriving trees grew unhindered. Wild and alive, the natural replenishment a forest could offer Shanti’s Gift softly caressed her senses, smiling and gesturing her forward.

  “How did I not know this was here?” Shanti asked in a breathy whisper, staring into the deep, lush world of green.

  “It is behind that square piece of development. City councilors get the perk of looking at trees instead of other houses or the wall. They treat it as their own backyard, but it’s actually available to everyone. It prevents hikers from having to venture outside the walls if they don’t want to. And lately, with all the Mugdock activity, nobody in their right mind wants to.”

  Shanti bowed to Junice. “Thank you, this is exactly what I needed.”

  Junice patted her on the back. “Just come back when you’re done. I don’t want the Captain angry that you were left unattended…”

  “The secret is safe with me,” Shanti said easily.

  Junice smiled and wandered away, trusting Shanti to stick to her word.

  As Shanti watched the woman leave, a gush of warmth filled her chest. Junice had been nothing but kind and patient, nurturing Shanti back to health while chatting with her like a friend. The woman had opened her home to a complete stranger, proving herself trusting and kind. And she wasn’t the only one who cared.

  Molly had popped by a few times as Shanti regained her health, checking up on her, chatting. Even the Captain—whose name Molly had said was Cayan—sent messengers to get updates on her health, and let her know he was available if she needed anything. He hadn’t badgered her about her origins or her business. He hadn’t bullied or pushed. And he hadn’t given her a jailer, as Junice had said. This city was filled with good-natured people, and despite Shanti’s attempts to the opposite, she couldn’t help feeling attached to its charms.

  Hating the guilt that settled in her chest because of the danger she was to these people just by being in their city, Shanti meandered between two large trunks, purposely not using the dirt path off to the right. The fresh smell of the forest greeted her, sweet and alive, singing in her blood. Closing her eyes, she kept walking, opening her mind, allowing the life around her to bolster her strength, seep into her Gift. This was the wood she’d needed two weeks ago. The surge of life-force that could quickly replenish what she’d diminished along her route. It would speed health, cutting her time of recovery in half.

  Wandering in deep, she found a Grandfather tree that had grown large and strong through generations. She laid her palm on the coarse bark in greeting before sinking to its base. Closing her eyes, she let her mind expand and drift. Reaching. Remembering.

  ***

  “Look at me.”

  Shanti opened her eyes, feeling the rough bark on her bare back. She felt his hand in hers, and looked into him with eyes and mind. Felt him. Was at one with him. His eyes were the color of the rich, fertile earth. His breath was sweet. He was love in a handsome smile.

  “You are beautiful.”

  The birds sang their joyful song high overhead. She looked into the eyes of the person she trusted more than any other she had ever known. “Beauty means nothing.”

  “It does when it is your soul. And you are beautiful. To me.”

  Shanti felt a smile bud.

  “Your grandfather asked that I stay away from you,” he continued, his eyes sad.

  “He can’t control me, so he is trying to control you.”

  “Yes. I have not given him an answer either way. I thought I would ask you.”

  “You know my answer.”

  “Your answer is based on your feelings. For me. Not those of your people. Our people. You need to lead them. I am not even a fighter. I am a caregiver. I can offer you nothing.”

  Shanti felt his feathery soft hair. “You can offer me yourself. And that is all I will take. Everything else is provided for me. Someone will need to care for the children.”

  “I give you less of a chance to have any.”

  Shanti shrugged. “You are the Empath. You care more about that than I do. I want you.”

  Shining brown eyes closed just before his lips touched hers. She deepened the contact, and let him in. With his type of Gift he could only sense her, but with how much love she felt, it was more than enough. For the first time, she let him in, mind as well as body. Her Grandfather’s meddling be blasted.

  ***

  With a tear rolling down her cheek, Shanti felt the mind coming, interrupting a sweet memory of times lost.

  Treading on silent footfalls, he worked his way through birds and other small critters without raising any kind of alarm. The ability bespoke an experienced and accomplished tracker, not to mention someone well versed in sneaking up on people. As he was trying to do now, she had a feeling.

  That swirling mind path made its way to within ten feet, without sound, and stopped. He hunkered down, intent and focused, watching. As the minutes ticked away, and the soothing forest air brushed Shanti’s face, that swirling rainbow started to calm. Started to decelerate until it wasn’t much more than a floating wave of colors. It seemed his Gift worked like hers, sucking in the life-force around them to replenish itself. To strengthen.

  He had the Old Blood, obviously. It was getting harder and harder to deny that fact. And yet, she hoped beyond anything that she was wrong. That he was some other anomaly that could remain untouched by the Graygual advancement. She’d seen how smoothly his city ran—even through her jail cell of needlepoint. His people were happy, everyone was fed, and no one wanted for anything necessary to life. Yesterday, when she snuck out to the yard to capture some sun on her face, she noticed him striding down the street away from her location, four advisors keeping pace. He’d noticed a child in a yard he was passing and stopped almost immediately, turned toward the yard, and helped the child rescue a ball from a roof. It had taken him half an hour. He’d had to scale a tree and leap onto the roof. He’d turned himself from an enemy jailer into a human leader. To someone with the same trials and tribulations she herself had had.

  He’d become a life Shanti couldn’t, in good conscience, take away.

  But if he was the same as her, with his Gift, it was only a matter of time before the greed and filth that was the Graygual-way corrupted him, either by turning him to their cause, or debasing him and breeding him out. If he could further the war effort, he would become enemy number one—with or without the will to do so. And for that reason, he would have to die. It was just one more part of her duty that would scar her for life.

  And how many were there besides him? It was too big of a coincidence she would stumble upon the path of the only other. There had to be more. And if so, was the Being Supreme aware?

  A shot of adrenaline pierced her. What if the Being Supreme had others? What if those others were being trained? What if the Graygual were making headway on their arsenal of minds?

  “Are you okay?”

  Shanti was up and moving before the sentence finished, startled into action. She lashed out with a foot, hammering it into his hip joint. She met hard muscle. She rammed her fist into his solar plexus, this time with much more force. His breath gushed out, but a quick step to the side had him ready for the next attack, then defending, as she swiped a foot through the air, aimed at his head. He batted her away, always on the move.

  Shanti pummeled her fists into his gut, meeting more hard muscle. Yanking his wrist down with one hand, she jolted his elbow with the other. He flung her off, making her stumble before regaining her balance. She shoved her fingers toward his eyes. Near miss. Her foot at the ready, she swung, and met solid back. A leg sweep, which he jumped over, landing perfectly on the balls of his feet, quick and agile. And much stronger.

  She was already panting. Her body was screaming. Her speed was half-mast. Her mind
wasn’t even that far along.

  He wasn’t attacking. He was taking the easy hits and dodging the damaging ones. Placating.

  Well that was a little embarrassing.

  With a grimace of defeat, Shanti halted her advance.

  The Captain stood immobile as she wound down, waiting to see if she would throw another hit. She didn’t bother. Even with a sword she couldn’t defeat him. Not in mind or body. Not yet.

  It had been two weeks and she was barely farther along. No more stalling.

  She sank to the ground, breathing heavy, the weight that had settled onto her chest making it hard to draw breath. He sat down beside her quietly.

  “You can fight.” It was that deep gravel that gave her shivers, currently subdued. He let the hush of their surroundings filter into his tone.

  “Sorry. You startled me.”

  “Sanders said you had muscle tone fit for a soldier, and calluses to match.”

  “He’s correct. Although I’m a long way from fit. Too far. I haven’t been healing in the right ways—something this wood will hopefully rectify.”

  “Those weapons are yours.”

  She nodded her head slightly.

  “I figured it when I measured the leg harness—it’s too small for a man.”

  She nodded again.

  “Is it blood sport? Is that why you fight? Are you running from the people that make you do it? I can help you. Protect you. We do not tolerate that sort of violence here.”

  A pang of longing stabbed her. If only he could protect her. If only it was something as small as a domineering mate or an imprisoning culture. She sighed, blinking tears from her eyes. “It is not sport. I train, I fight, I kill if necessary. Like you. I am not running from whatever it is you imagine. I am not preyed upon because of my sex. I was not a slave and I was never mated. Nor raped. I intend to keep it that way.”

  He nodded quietly, clearly out of his element regarding what sort of women fought when they didn’t have to. Letting it go, he murmured, “Fair enough. But you’re far from home. Are you home sick? Do you need money to get somewhere? Include me on your plans and I can help.”