The Complete Chosen Trilogy (The Chosen #0)

by N. M. Santoski

  “I thank you all for attending the dedication of my son’s body to the numina from whence it came. My wife and I had eight children, of whom Trevor was the last... our miracle baby. He was the only son I had left, and the second son I have lost to violent means. He was the heir of my body, and of my numina. He was husband to a wonderful woman, and the father of two sons, though he met only one. His wife, in her grief, delivered their second son just yesterday, and she is too tired and heartbroken to be here. He was torn from us all too soon, by force.” He stopped to control his anger and grief, and his wandering eyes caught sight of his eldest, Marie... his only remaining child. She’d stopped talking to him long ago—after Eric had died in Vietnam. Her stern face and set mouth told him she blamed him for this brother’s death, too. She stood tall next to her daughter and son-in-law, holding her first grandson in her arms. Swallowing, he looked away from her and held up Trevor’s medallion.

  “My son was Lord Younger Fulmen—he would have been Swordsmith and Lord Fulmen after my death. No man should have to bury his own son, and no community should have to bury their future leader. Today is the death of our hope. I have decided, as is customary for Power users, to allow my son’s numina to reclaim his flesh. I ask that you all remain a safe distance away.”

  He lowered his hands to his son’s marred chest and placed the medallion on his sternum, then pushed Power through his hands and through the medallion, into the body. The flesh began to fill with blue light, small fragments crackling away into nothingness. The smell of ozone filled the room, thankfully absent of the sickly sweet scent of burning flesh. It was as if Trevor’s form was made of tiny bits of blue ash, swirling upward through the open roof into the night sky. Gradually, his flesh gave way to bone, glowing blue with Power as it stripped him of even his bone marrow. By this point, the energy passing through the medallion had seared it deep into Trevor’s breastbone. His name and the Power symbol were still visible, marking his skeleton forever. Panting heavily, John removed his hands and sagged against the table’s supports.

  “It is done,” Lord Artifex intoned when it was obvious that John needed a moment to collect himself. “Let us now process to the crypt, where Trevor Aeron will rest amongst his ancestors.”

  A handful of Trevor’s closest friends, Robert among them, carefully folded the velvet over the bones and created a small bundle that they reverentially carried between them. They led the procession to the catacombs, John directly behind. The bones still glowed, even through the heavy cloth.

  They settled Trevor’s remains down in the crypt and, one by one, the mourning numina departed. Soon, only John and Robert remained to place the bones in their final resting place next to Trevor’s mother, dead less than two years. Once his bones were safely interred in an ossuary beside his mother’s urn, Robert limped forward and silently cut a small strip of the velvet now lying folded on top. John frowned, but before he could speak, Robert was tucking the strip into his pocket and returning his small utility knife to his belt.

  “For Mara, since she can’t be here. That is one of our traditions.”

  The Swordsmith could only nod as he looked over the ruins of his once prolific family. His parents, brothers, sisters, wife, and children.... all but one daughter who no longer spoke to him and his grandchildren, kept here, in the dark. He was alone.

  By the time Monday morning arrived, Michael and his fellow Artifex numen had transformed the funeral setup in the Atrium into an entire sunken courtroom out of the bare dirt floor. Several of the younger children were putting out the small cushions for the older people, and John winced when he saw his own seat was boasting a thick one. The numen were settling in for a trial that was sure to end in at least one death sentence, if not more.

  John took his place in the seat normally associated with the judge and laid the Sword of the Nine out in full view, declaring this an official Council matter.

  The lions were brought up from below and contained by Lord Artifex and his people, sitting in individual rocky prisons until they were needed for questioning. The volatile numen were silent, watching with hooded eyes as proceedings began.

  John spoke first. “Good people, since the victim in this case is my son, I cannot, in good conscience, adjudicate in this matter. Lord Artifex will take my place for the majority of the questioning of the accused.”

  “Thank you, Lord Fulmen. Let the record show that the lions have declined representation. I call the first defendant, Christopher Anken.”

  The walls containing that particular man began to slide forward, shoving him between them until he was housed directly in the center of the pit.

  “Mr. Anken,” Form began, “Were you one of the lions present on the night of June 26th?”

  “Yes.”

  Artifex ignored his sullen tone and probed deeper. “Could you explain to us, in your own words, what happened that night?”

  “Jantzen told us we had a job to do and asked for some volunteers. Five of us offered to help him, so we left our camp out in the woods and headed back toward Caer Anglia. We came across Jenkins and Aeron--”

  “That’s Robert Jenkins and the deceased, yes?” Form interrupted.

  “Yeah. We caught them on their way back to Caer Anglia and gave them a hell of a chase. When we had them up against the baileys, they climbed the wall, but Jantzen took a chunk out of Jenkins’ ankle, and we managed to pull Aeron down. I think he broke his neck-- I heard something break, anyway, and once we smelled the blood, we...we couldn’t resist,” he muttered, trailing off.

  “And you murdered Trevor Aeron,” Michael pressed.

  “He’s dead by our hand, I guess.”

  “Would you say you were following orders?”

  “Yes, sir, that sounds about right.”

  “No more questions, Lord Fulmen.”

  John nodded his assent, and Ankin was placed back amongst his fellows. One after another, they were each pulled forward, and each gave a similar retelling of events.

  Finally, the alpha male was hauled in front of the court. Unlike the others, he had absolutely no remorse-- his eyes were shining with malice as he stared, not at Michael, but at John.

  “Why would you order your lions to do such a thing?” Michael asked, and every numen in the crowd was hanging on the answer.

  “I was hired to kill Trevor Aeron, and my Pride was the fastest and most effective way to do that.”

  Gasps and muttering broke out in the Atrium, but John just stared steadily at Jantzen, who looked back with a smirk.

  “That is a very serious allegation, Mr. Jantzen.” Lord Artifex circled back to the other side of the cage the lion was sitting in, hands clasped behind his back.

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Is the person who hired you in this courtroom at this moment?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  That affirmation set the entire room whispering. People began eyeing each other suspiciously, and John leaned forward, waiting.

  “Name the person who hired you.”

  Jantzen rose to his feet inside his prison, relishing the moment. He turned slowly toward the seated Council members and extended his hand, pointing out the culprit. “John Aeron.”

  The explosion of noise in the Atrium drowned out anything John may have said, but his gestures were perfectly clear. John was reaching for the Sword of the Nine when Michael whirled on him, clenching his fist and sending dirt soaring over John’s body, encasing all but his head and neck. He turned back to Jantzen.

  “What was your payment for murdering Trevor?”

  “Lord Fulmen was going to allow my Pride to come back to Caer Anglia, but I knew when we were captured that he was a liar and an oath-breaker. I’m not going down for him. He blackmailed us with promises of being welcomed back, and then he put us on trial!” he snarled.

  “Liar!” John shouted, unable to contain himself.

  “Mr. Jantzen, do you have proof of Lord Fulmen’s oath? Do you have his marker?”

  “It di
sintegrated the second we came back within the walls-- guess his oath was satisfied with that. He broke the spirit of it, though!”

  Angry shouts and stomping feet were overpowering John’s cries of protest from his dirt prison. Dirt literally grounded his Power, making him unable to use it to break free. He was trapped, and the Sword was still resting on the table, outside his reach.

  “John Aeron,” Michael said. “It pains me to say this, but you have been accused of complicity in the murder of your own son. You will be held overnight until we can gather our case, as is our custom.”

  “I demand representation,” he spat.

  “Very well, who shall represent him?”

  There was silence in the Atrium as all shifted, unwilling to defend a possible filicide. An uneven footstep fought its way through the crowd.

  “I will do it,” Robert said, his face completely white.

  “He may have had your brother-in-law murdered,” Michael said. “Is that not a conflict of interest?”

  “I will defend him, for I do not think he did it.”

  Hoping to avoid a riot as the crowd began to turn into a mob, Michael agreed. “Very well. Guards, put him downstairs in one of the completely earthen cells. No one is to have access to Lord Fulmen until tomorrow.”

  “I have to talk to him!” Robert immediately protested. “How else can I build my case?”

  “You will have one hour, Mr. Jenkins, and one of my numen will be present at all times. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Excellent. Take him away.”

  John was pushed down along the floor in his inelegant prison, numen jeering at him from all sides. A few in the back were stunned into silence, mostly the older ones who had known John from his first terrifying days as a sixteen-year-old Swordsmith. He saw his daughter-in-law sitting near the front, her face paper white. He kept his mouth shut as they took him to the basement but let his mind race, attempting to figure out if he had any legal recourse. Numen justice was swift and brutal, and he felt completely at odds with what was happening. Was it this easy to destroy someone?

  He spent all afternoon and evening trapped in the dark. Incredibly narrow slits in the dirt gave him enough air to live, but the oppressive claustrophobia was hard to shake. Every once in a while, one of the lions would attempt to taunt him, but he kept his silence and just tried to think.

  Finally, he heard scuffling outside his cell. He rose to his feet, moving toward the source of the noise, but there was a shout and a thud before he could call out. He immediately called upon his numina, fearing the worst.

  Instead of someone there to kill him, he heard Robert’s voice outside his cell. “It’s me! For the gods’ sake, discharge, John!”

  He complied, tossing the handfuls of Power into the walls and watching them splash into nothingness.

  “Clear?”

  “Yes, go!”

  Robert began bombarding the dirt walls with water, quickly sliding off layer upon layer of mud and carving a gaping hole in the prison.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I assume you didn’t hire Jantzen to kill your son?”

  “No!”

  “We need to get you out of here-- they’ll execute you if you stay.” John passed the unconscious guard without a glance and tried to keep up with Robert’s surprisingly brisk pace.

  “Where are we going? The Sword! I need to--”

  Robert grabbed his arm and forced him along the passageway. “We have it covered!”

  “Who’s we? And how on Earth...” John groaned. “Please don’t tell me you involved the baby!”

  “Okay, I won’t.” Robert refused to speak again until they were out in the back garden, under one of the weeping willow trees. A cloaked figure stood silently beneath it, arms crossed. Upon closer inspection, it was Marama, wrapped in the blankets from her bed and cradling her newborn son.

  “Mara, what are you doing here?”

  “I may think that you’re indirectly to blame for Trevor’s death, but I would never believe for a moment that you maliciously planned it,” she scowled. “The Sword is over there, with a bag of clothing and some supplies. It… didn’t seem happy to have the baby handling it, but it allowed him to touch it without hurting him.”

  John ignored the Sword for a moment and faced his daughter-in-law, eyes glowing fiercely in the dark. “Mara, I need you to listen to me very carefully. Someone is planning something against all of the Power users. I don’t know what it is, but we are all in danger. First the disappearances, then Trevor’s death, and now I’m being framed? Let me take Nolan with me.”

  “Are you insane?” she hissed, clutching the baby tighter. “He’s only a few days old! We can protect him here!”

  “For how long? A week? A month?”

  “No one even knows Nolan is a Fulmen numen! We could disguise him as an Aqua—Lady Keopelani would lie for us.”

  John groaned, putting a hand to his face. “No, no, Michael asked me and I told him the truth.”

  “You what?”

  “I didn’t know there was a murderer on the loose at the time, Mara!” John snapped.

  “Enough of this,” Robert finally interjected. “Mara, he’s right.”

  “Robert!”

  “No, he is. Let’s say we never catch whoever it is, and they never give up. Who will train Nolan? There are no other adult Power users here in North America besides Selenita, and she certainly isn't strong enough to do it. The Power will kill him if he doesn’t learn to use it, and he can’t learn it here! Better to have him with his grandfather than with the gods-know-who in Wales. Besides...” he paused and almost stopped, but steeled himself to continue. “We don’t know who we can trust.”

  The trio was silent; Nolan’s quiet snuffles were the only sound in the night as she thought over his words.

  “You’ll bring him back to me.”

  “As soon as it’s safe.”

  “You’ll protect him.”

  “With my life.”

  “He needs his things.”

  “I will provide for him when we get where we’re going.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “I think it’s safer if you don’t know that.”

  “Let me go with you,” she begged suddenly. “Three can hide as well as two.”

  “But not as well as one,” John countered. “The baby is an extension of me, and by the time he can make his own decisions, he will be well trained enough to avoid detection. Please, Mara, don’t make this more difficult than it already is.”

  “How will you know when it’s safe to return?”

  “I have my ways,” he said evasively, not wanting to give her the real answer: when Nolan was old enough to defend himself. He couldn't tell this young widow, body still aching from bringing her son into the world, that she wouldn’t see him for nearly two decades. His words seemed to satisfy her, though, for she swallowed and offered her son up, almost in supplication.

  John took the baby gingerly, scooped down to fetch the Sword and his duffel bag, and turned to face the siblings. Robert was holding his sister in the circle of his arm, holding her up as she watched her son disappear. He paused, wanting to take the terrified look off her face.

  “GO!” Robert practically shouted. “You’re wasting time!”

  John turned on his heel and began to sprint for the baileys, which barely even rippled as he passed through them. Robert and Mara waited for him to turn to the right, into the large lot where the numen parked their cars for the summer, but he turned left and disappeared directly into the trees.

  “Where is he going?” Mara whispered, broken.

  “Off the grid.” After a heartbeat of silence, Robert turned her back toward the house. “Let’s get you back in bed and get our story straight, or I’ll be the next one in that cell.”

  ***

  When the Artifex numen never returned to Michael after escorting Robert Jenkins to the cells, he became concerned and decided to inv
estigate. He found the man unconscious in front of the empty cell, and no John in sight.

  He bent down to take the man’s pulse and found it, beating slowly. He cradled the man’s head in his hands and snapped his neck in a single twist, lowering his body back to the floor. He rose to his feet and entered the lion’s cells one at a time, confining their sleeping forms in dirt and breaking their necks before they knew what was happening. He left Erick Jantzen for last.

  “What do you think, boss?” Erick asked after Michael sealed them inside the cell. “Pretty dramatic, huh? How’d I do?”

  “You fulfilled our contract perfectly, Erick, I cannot deny that. It is a real shame that our partnership must end here.”

  “What does that mean? We made a deal!”

  “As you stated in the trial, the marker for that deal has now been fulfilled—you have returned within the walls of Caer Anglia. You have fulfilled your part of the bargain; I have fulfilled mine. You have outlived your purpose.”

  “Purpose? I am the alpha lion of the New England pride! I hold the loyalty of fifty lions in my hands!”

  Michael shrugged. “For a leader of so many, you certainly do not protect your interests well.”

  Jantzen snarled, and it was obvious to Michael that the alpha was preparing to shift into his lion form.

  Michael waited patiently. At the moment Jantzen leapt for him, Michael stepped to the side and did two things simultaneously: caught the lion with a stun gun and sent a pillar of dirt from the wall holding the cell shut into Jantzen’s body, crushing him against the opposite wall. He continued to push the dirt forward until he heard the audible cracks of bones breaking.

  “I’m sorry, Erick,” he said quietly, sure the lion could still hear him. “You made a critical error—you jumped too soon. John would have never killed his son without knowing for sure that the new baby was a Fulmen heir. Now, if I’m to have people believe that John is dangerous, you and your lions have to be dead. It’s a pity—you were a useful tool.”

  He returned to his bed, where a familiar face was staring at him from underneath the covers.