The Chosen (The Compendium of Raath, Book 1)

by Michael Mood

  “I've never seen anything like this,” Yarrow said, leaning further over to inspect it. The front of her robe fell away from her chest and Halimaldie caught a glimpse of it before her long black hair fell down and intervened.

  “I got it from some sort of infected gemstones. There was . . . a Foglin involved.”

  “Lower your voice,” Yarrow said. “I don't want the other patients disturbed with such thoughts. Now, where did this happen?”

  “On one of my ships,” Halimaldie said more quietly. “I got a shipment from the southlands near the Vapor. One of the crates held slimy black gemstones and the you-know-what was in another.”

  “May I use magic on your hand?” she said, looking up at him.

  In the back of Halimaldie's mind he wondered if this was a ruse. A confidence show. “Yes,” he said. “If you think it will help. Or if it won't take too long. I'm on a tight schedule today.”

  “More infected cargo to see to?”

  Halimaldie chuckled. “Hopefully not infected, but cargo yes.”

  “Well then hold still,” Yarrow said. She sat up straight and breathed deeply, closing her eyes. She held Halimaldie's hot, pulsating hand between her own smooth cool ones. Yarrow began to move her hands around Halimaldie's in a slow pattern, circling it with a rhythmic motion.

  Nothing seemed to be happening and Halimaldie started to speak, but then stopped himself. He could almost swear he saw a pale barrier around his hand. It could have been the lighting or the trance he had fallen into from Yarrow's calm, repetitive motions.

  “You're rotting from the inside out,” Yarrow said, her voice tense. “I might be able to stem the flow of this, but this is so . . . wrong.” She shuddered.

  “That's not good,” Halimaldie said.

  Yarrow shushed him. Little beads of sweat were forming on her forehead despite the coolness of the room. She was definitely doing something, but Halimaldie was unsure he would ever know what.

  “If I tie it here . . .” she muttered. She moved her hands slightly and made complex patterns with her fingers. She shuddered again then, taking one of her hands away to steady herself against a low table. “It shouldn't spread anymore,” she said, breathing heavily. “But you're going to have to keep it wrapped in bandages. It can't breathe through that leather glove. It would be better yet to keep it open to the air, but under the circumstances I'm not sure that's the best idea.”

  “Would any of your . . . sisters have a better idea about what's happening?”

  “I am the most knowledgeable,” Yarrow said. “If I had some sap from the Dryad Tree I could probably do more, but that is not a possibility right now.”

  “Can you buy sap like that?” Halimaldie asked. “I have the means of getting most anything I want.”

  “And that is what you are used to, I'm afraid,” Yarrow said, her eyes sad. “But that is not the way of the whole world. You suffer under a delusion, Halimaldie. But you did not come here to be judged and philosophized to, I do not think.”

  Halimaldie didn't know what to say. He didn't usually let himself be spoken to that way. Perhaps Tell can get away with that from time to time, but a tree witch . . .

  Halimaldie realized then for the first time that he had bought in, on some level, to the same rumors as everyone else. He had never really had time for hatred, but to even think of Yarrow as something as crude as a “tree witch” was doing her, and everyone like her, a great injustice. He'd heard there were women who could steal your soul, make beasts kill your family, and even force you to fall in love with the ocean so that you might walk willingly into it never to return. He had thought it metaphor.

  Now he knew that those ideas were based in reality. And also that they probably weren't entirely true.

  Suddenly he very much wanted to be judged by this woman and he shuddered at the thought of how long it had been since he'd felt that emotion: wanting to be told what he was doing wrong, wanting to be instructed on how to be better.

  He looked down at his hand. Nothing seemed different. Were my eyes playing tricks on me? I swear I saw something shimmering around it . . .

  “Thank you,” Halimaldie said.

  “Oh, good,” Yarrow said. “I thought you had slipped into a coma.”

  Halimaldie laughed. “I was just deep in thought. What can I do to help your cause here?”

  “Let me get your hand wrapped up first,” Yarrow said. “I think you know how to help us here, Halimaldie. Protectors can do a lot, but we can't do it all.” She wound the bandages carefully around his hand, then tucked them gently in so they would stay put. “I apologize again that I can't fully heal it."

  “Nonsense. You've done a lot for me. For one thing, you've opened my eyes to a situation I didn't know existed. That's beneficial to me, but it can also be beneficial to you. My brother's been telling me about this place for years, but I never came here. I never saw it.”

  Yarrow smiled sadly.

  “And my advice,” said Halimaldie, “is that you should charge for your services here. You do amazing things.”

  “Most of the people we help don't have any money.”

  “That's so strange,” Halimaldie said.

  Yarrow only gave him a quizzical look. Then Halimaldie said something that surprised him.

  “I would like to see you again, Yarrow.”

  “I know,” the woman said, her voice sad. “I'll do more research, I'll try and figure out what-”

  “No. I mean . . . socially.”

  Tully flew from the rafters onto Yarrow's shoulder again. “You suffer from many delusions about this world, Halimaldie,” she said.

  “I want you to dispel them.”

  Yarrow laughed and turned her head to the side, blushing. “Your offer is very generous,” she said. “And I must say that I'm intrigued . . .”

  “But?”

  She hesitated. “There is no but.”

  “That's good,” said Halimaldie. “I hate buts. That came out wrong.”

  Yarrow smiled and indicated the door. “May I lead you out?” she asked. "I'm very busy today."

  “Oh, shit, me too,” Halimaldie said, pulling a contract from his inner coat pocket with his non-bandaged hand. “The pearls could be coming in right now and I'm not there. That's gonna look odd. I will call on you again, Yarrow.”

  “I hope that you do,” she said, smiling. Her teeth were white as snow.

  -4-

  Halimaldie was ready to yell the praises of the hospitals and their Protectors all over the city of Haroma, but he stopped himself. He had no proof of anything yet. He thought he'd seen magic, but he didn't really know. It wasn't really proof even if his disease stopped spreading. That could be coincidence. He thought maybe he'd just been so overawed with Yarrow that he'd let himself get far, far too romantic.

  He intended to think about everything further, but there was someone waiting for him just outside the hospital.

  “How the fuck are ya? I'm Trance Raynman,” said a gruff, burly man. He extended his right hand towards Halimaldie who had to shake it awkwardly with his left. “The hell kind o' grip is that?”

  “Sorry. I'm . . . injured.”

  “Ya, I see the bandages now,” Trance said. “Sorry 'bout that. You'd think us Kingsguardians would be more sensitive to injury.”

  “So, the Kingsguard is ready for me, eh?" Halimaldie asked. "Well your timing couldn't be worse. I haven't made any arrangements to leave just yet.”

  “And when were ya gonna do that?” Trance asked. “We never said when we'd come for ya. Ya aren't a dumb fuck, so I suspect you're just stallin' fer time.”

  “It took you five days to come get me. You're not exactly in a hurry either.”

  “Got caught up in crown bureaucracy. Happens from time to time.”

  “Well, look. I just need to write a few letters and inform some of my intermediaries of the change in plans. If we go by ship it'll take two months to get to the mines, anyway. Over land, maybe even longer. So I don't see how a fe
w hours are going to make or break us.”

  “A few months?” Trance said, a smug look on his face. “You've never traveled with a group of Servitors before, have you?”

  “No,” Halimaldie said slowly. “But I've got the feeling that I'm about to.”

  Chapter 16 – A Bird in Flight

  -1-

  Wren vomited into the stream she had just been drinking from.

  “Mistress, I told you not to eat those berries.”

  “You said you weren't sure,” Wren said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

  “That's close enough to 'no' isn't it, mistress?” Tessa asked. The little mouse was standing on her two hind legs, looking up at Wren with concern.

  “I don't know. I don't think it was those berries anyway, Tessa. I've felt like this ever since . . . ever since . . . I'm just . . . weak.”

  Wren had journeyed far in the past week, but Tessa assured her that they still had a ways to go. She only found herself able to travel in spurts. She slept during the day sometimes and tried to make up for it at night. A few hours on, a few hours off. It was as fast as she could go, some riding, some walking.

  The bear was still with her, as well as four of the raccoons. Two of them had scampered off. Wren had asked Tessa where they had gone, but the mouse had no idea, merely stating that raccoons were rather unpredictable creatures.

  Wren stood up, wiped her mouth, and began walking through the dark night again. She felt morning would be upon her soon. Her feet were killing her despite the softness of her boots. “How much farther is it, Tessa?” she asked.

  “It is hard for me to tell, mistress. Do you feel anything pulling on you?”

  “Not really." Wren inspected her glowing symbol, thinking that maybe it could be some sort of compass. It was slightly brighter than it had been yesterday, but otherwise the same.

  Tessa's whiskers shivered in the night. She scampered up onto Wren and settled in the breast pocket where she had been riding most of the time. “Shall we continue our journey, mistress?”

  “Are we sure we know where we're going?” the girl asked.

  “I am sure,” said another voice, and Wren whirled toward it. It was the bear.

  “I can hear you!”

  “Oh, you can, mistress?” the bear asked. “I have been trying to talk the whole time, but the words wouldn't come out. Now that you have the power to hear me I have found my voice.”

  It was a deep, reassuring voice. The bear spoke unhurriedly compared to the mouse.

  “Well, bear,” Tessa said, “now that you've found your voice, tell our mistress what you know of our destination.”

  “It is magnificent,” the bear said. “The Dryad Tree stretches so tall that it is difficult to see the top of it. It is the very hub of life itself. I do not feel a pull from it as strongly as I did when I was there the first time, but it was the height of a summer when I was last there. It is early spring and I am not sure the tree is in full bloom yet. Perhaps that is why I don't feel it.”

  “And there is someone there that can help me understand what is happening to me?” Wren asked.

  “Oh, I think so,” said the bear. “Others who share your power.”

  “There are more people who can do what I can do?”

  “There are,” said the bear.

  Wren thought for a moment. “Bear, do you have a name?”

  “No.”

  “Can I give you a name?”

  “Yes.”

  Wren thought of the way the bear had saved her, breaking through the glass window and the wooden trapdoor.

  “May I call you Crasher?”

  The bear tilted his head and seemed to be deep in thought. “A nice name,” he said. “It will not offend me if you call me this.”

  “Okay, Crasher,” Wren said. A wave of nausea swept her suddenly, and she became dizzy. "Tessa, I think I'm too tired to go on right now.”

  All of the animals quickly gathered around Wren, then helped her find a spot to sleep. They had been in dense forest for most of their travels and today was no exception. The seven of them had just started to hunker down in a shelter formed by the trunks of two fallen, massive trees, when something caught Wren's eye. Or possibly it Called to her, as Tessa had referred to it.

  A small bird was perched on a branch and it bobbed its tail up and down rapidly. Its tiny head flicked from side to side. To Wren it almost seemed that it wanted her to follow it.

  “Tessa, Crasher, come with me,” she whispered. She didn't know why she was whispering, it just felt like one of those times.

  “Where are we going, mistress?” squeaked the mouse. “I thought we were settling down for a bit.”

  “Do you think that bird wants me to follow it?” She was excited by the idea of trying to use her newfound magic.

  Tessa flicked her whiskers. “I do not know, mistress. Don't ever tell a bird I said this, but most of them are embarrassingly stupid. I have had a hard time communicating much with any of them. Plus they're always up in the air and I am not.”

  “Well, I think he wants us to follow him,” Wren said. As soon as she started walking towards the bird, it flitted to the next branch. Once she was near again he flitted again.

  The bird kept hopping branches and Wren - with Tessa in her pocket and Crasher padding heavily behind her - followed it. The sun wasn't quite rising yet, but there was a glow on the horizon.

  For the first time Wren tried to use her Calling. She had come to undertand that she could sort of feel the presence of animals - at least Crasher and Tessa - and so she tried to harness that power and control it. She quested out around herself and found success. She felt a large animal ahead of her. She followed her sense and found a horse. The animal was tethered to a tree about a hundred feet away. She recognized it.

  What's Ghost doing out here?

  Suddenly Wren heard talking and she froze in place.

  She peered around the trunk of a tree and saw a group of three men near Ghost. Her stomach sank, fear taking hold, but the men were paying her no attention. They were focused on a fourth man that they had tied to a tree.

  That man was her father.

  -2-

  “What are they doing, mistress?” Tessa asked.

  Wren was absolutely terrified. “I don't know,” she whispered, "but they've got my father.” She covered as much of her glowing mark as she could so that the men wouldn't see the odd light. “Nobody move. Let me figure out what's going on.”

  “Where is she?” one of the men boomed in a familiar voice. It was Jon Hatfeld.

  Her father stood silently, strong ropes binding him to the tree. His face was bruised in a few places and blood ran from one of his ears.

  “You know the punishment for what you have done, Cole,” Jon continued. “But we could let you off easy if you tell us where the girl is.”

  “How about you eat shit, Hatfeld?”

  “I don't understand why you're so belligerent,” Jon said. “Cole, we've been friends for a very long time. We've had the same goals, same ideas.”

  “Well that's obviously different now,” Wren's father said. He let out a series of rattling coughs.

  Something was very odd about this situation. Wren's gut told her something very different than her brain. She was actually sympathizing with her father. Something about Jon seemed different and wrong.

  “Give me the knife,” Jon said to one of the other men. That man handed Jon a long, wicked-looking knife of a design that Wren had never seen before. “Cole, it didn't have to happen this way. I want you to think about that at least, before you die.”

  Her father spat with all his might, trying presumably to hit Jon in the face, and even though he put everything behind it, it fell short.

  I can't let this happen, Wren thought.

  She turned and whispered into Crasher's warm, fuzzy ear and the bear nodded his approval.

  “This is not the best day, Cole,” Jon was saying. He brought the knife high into the air and wa
s just about to bring it whistling down when Crasher tore out from behind the tree.

  The bear roared, and even though he was facing away from Wren, the sound was terrifyingly loud in the otherwise silent forest. The men scattered, running as fast as they could. Even Jon with his long, wicked knife was running away from Crasher who was charging powerfully, fur pulsing with the pounding of his massive feet.

  Soon only Wren's father remained, tied to the tree and apparently unafraid.

  Then he did something that shocked Wren. He said, “Hello, bear.”

  Crasher stopped in his tracks and used his massive claws to slash the ropes that held her father in place. Her father shook off the ropes and swung himself up onto Ghost's back. “I feel Lia's hand in this. Did you know her, bear?”

  Crasher stood silent.

  “Well, if she yet lives, tell her thank you.” Then he cut Ghost's tether and rode the panicked beast away into the rising light of the morning.

  -3-

  “He said my mother's name, Tessa,” said Wren. “And he tried to talk to you, Crasher.”

  The bear licked his own nose. “There was some kind of residual power in that one, mistress. I do not think he possessed a Calling himself, but I do think he knew something of it.”

  “Mistress,” Tess said, “if I may ask, why didn't you want your father to see you?”

  “I don't know, Tessa. I just didn't, alright?”

  “Yes," Crasher said. "Sometimes we are unsure why we do things, mouseling, but we do them just the same. Mistress may have very powerful intuition about these sorts of things.”

  “What is this?” came a new voice. One of the raccoons had stumbled upon something lightly buried in a pile of leaves.

  Wren walked over to see what the little creature had found. It was Jon's knife. He must have dropped it as he was fleeing Crasher. Wren struggled with whether or not she should pick it up. There was no good way for her to carry it, but it seemed too useful a tool to just leave lying around.