The Girl from the North (Pathway of the Chosen Book 1)

by Cat Bruno

  Bronwen whispered her words low but knife-like, “Conri, what is this? Is nothing mine alone?”

  As her fury increased, so did the wind, gusting around them, throwing Bronwen’s fire-red hair across her face, shielding, for a moment, the ferocity in her eyes.

  “Bronwen, you mistake my intentions yet again. Why is it always this way between us of late? Calm yourself.”

  “Why is it always this way? Because I never get to remember the way it was before, Conri! Never! Each time we meet is the first time. Is it not so? Is that not the game you play with me?”

  In her anger, Bronwen screamed, passionate and intense, “Will you block it all again?”

  “I hate you, Conri. Gods, I hate you,” she whimpered, her voice suddenly raw from the screaming and swallowing the salty air.

  Conri, for a slight moment, seemed taken aback by Bronwen’s outburst. He shrugged before removing his dark jacket.

  Then, laying it on the sand, he said, “Bronwen, sit with me for a moment and let me explain. The tale I tell is a lengthy one. But perhaps it is time you heard it in its entirety.”

  Bronwen stood up, rising from her knees, a flame-haired statue with eyes neither green nor gray, skin pale and freckled. Her forest-colored gaze stared, unfocused, at the now-calm sea, which should have surprised her but did not. Moments before, her life was right where she wanted it to be. She had been so satisfied and pleased. Now she watched the tranquil sea and realized nothing was as secure as she thought it to be, nor was it as simple.

  It was too much. Too unreal. Reality blurred, blended with the newly emerging details of her past and Bronwen was stunned. Silent and scattered, she continued to stare at the sea, lost.

  “Bronwen, please sit down! Let me explain. Stop acting like a child.”

  His last word echoed, and Bronwen’s eyes snapped around, locking in on Conri’s dark, unreadable gaze.

  “Explain? Are you even capable of telling the truth, Conri? Why should I believe anything you have to say?”

  “Bronwen, what has happened to you? Why make this difficult? I have never done you any harm. Indeed, perhaps a little gratitude on your part would be appropriate. Have you any idea what I have done for you? If not for me, you would likely be dead. Yet, you forget that.”

  Laughing bitterly, Bronwen answered, “I forget everything, Conri, only to be reminded again when you see fit to open those locked doors that only you have the keys for. You hide my memories from me and then ask why I forget.”

  “Give me a few more moments of your time, Bronwen. I will try to explain to you why I feel the mind-locks are necessary, help you understand how I have been protecting you. As I always have.”

  “Protecting me? Following me, disrupting my life whenever you see fit, erasing my memories, manipulating my future. That is how you protect me, Conri? Forgive me for not thanking you.”

  “Bronwen, you forget with whom you are dealing. Perhaps your time among these Southerners is to be blamed. Do not anger me, though, for I am still who I have always been. Now, sit and allow me to explain.”

  Bronwen could hear the veiled threat in Conri’s words, but pushed ahead regardless. “I will only sit and listen if you vow to tell me the truth and vow to let me keep all the memories you have so generously given me. If you cannot swear to that, on your Tribe’s honor, then I will walk away now.”

  Conri laughed again, this time a dark, mocking sound that ignited the now crashing waves.

  “Walk away? Oh, Bronwen, perhaps he is right and I have been too easy on you. How far do you think you could get from me? Have you learned nothing over the years? Have you not studied anything beyond the Healing Arts? Mayhap you should travel to Rexterra and ask the mages there about the Tribe. Perhaps I should have never brought you here. You have so much to learn. But, yes, I will try to answer your questions tonight. So, sit and listen for a moment.”

  “But, do not provoke me Bronwen.”

  Before she moved, she said, “Your word, Conri. I would have your word.”

  Sighing and looking toward her, he said, “You shall have the truth, Bronwen. My word is given.”

  Bronwen joined Conri, and sat down next to him on his jacket, a gap of only a large hand-span between them. It was quite dark now, the moon casting a small sliver of light upon them. The wind had subsided once again, yet Bronwen shivered.

  Conri quickly rose, walking toward the back edge of the beach. He searched through the high grasses and returned with some driftwood, carefully placing it in a small hole before igniting it with a quick snap of his fingers and a deep, exhaled breath. Bronwen should have been startled, but now she just accepted his magic for what it was, her memory clear and sharp.

  They sat in silence, both staring into the flames for quite some time, and Bronwen wondered how simple her life would be without him in it. She nearly jumped when he started speaking.

  “Bronwen, I have cared for you since the first moment I saw you, bloodied and wandering along the King’s Road in Planusterra.”

  Shocked, Bronwen, who had promised to listen without interruption, whispered, “You expect me to believe that, Conri? I am not so naïve as to think that you are capable of such feelings.”

  Conri reached out and gently picked up Bronwen’s slender hand and held it between his pale, smooth hands.

  He appeared so cool, so foreign, his skin was almost translucent, his eyes so dark. Even seated beside him, Bronwen was aware of how tall Conri was, perhaps the tallest man she had ever met. His hair was shining, as dark as an empty sky. Conri noticed Bronwen staring at him, and he smiled. A smile so dazzling that it made Bronwen’s face color instantly, until her cheeks matched her hair. She pulled her hand away until it was safely in her own lap.

  Conri extinguished his smile.

  “Please no more interruptions. You promised to listen. And I promised to speak. So let me continue.”

  And continue he did.

  *****

  After Conri finished, Bronwen understood so much more. She had answers for questions that no one had been able to answer before now, although she wondered why he had chosen now to explain so much. She still couldn’t recall everything, possibly due to the head injury that she had suffered before Conri found her, she presumed.

  “Conri, why tell me this now? After over ten moon years, why now?” Bronwen asked.

  “Bronwen, you are young yet, but, yes, now you are of an age, where, among my people, you would be seen as an adult. I waited to tell you because it served no purpose for you to know or remember anything until now. But there is change coming.”

  “Until now? Conri, this is my life! You brought me here! You left me here! You mind-locked me! You, from a distance, have done all of this. Yet, I am Master Apprentice now. And one day I will be Master Healer. If anyone ever learns of my ties to you, my future here will be finished.”

  “This has to be the last time we meet,” Bronwen added.

  Jumping up, she turned, ready to leave. “I appreciate all that you have done for me, Conri, and I’m sorry if I haven’t told you that before now. But I am happy here. This is where I want to stay.”

  She took a few steps away backward without looking back at him.

  And was stopped by a powerful grip on her left forearm.

  Without turning around, and through gritted teeth, she said, “Conri, let me go!”

  Conri responded by stepping into Bronwen’s back, and holding her closer, tighter, until her back was pushed up against his chest.

  He whispered into her ear, “Bronwen, enough of this madness. You asked for the truth and that is what I have given you. I am not finished yet.”

  His voice was thick, almost threatening, yet laced with something else as well.

  She struggled against his grasp, and only managed to get herself drawn tighter against Conri’s chest. His breath was warm against her cheek. She tried to push back against him and knock him off balance to loosen his grip. He did not move, but his breath grew hotter against her ch
eek.

  Conri’s eyes darkened, deepening from a smoky plum to a cold, hard black. His hands shifted and released her forearm. Bronwen felt the shift and reacted, again struggling to free herself.

  She fought to turn around, but another thought surfaced and snapped her confusion in half. A comment that Conri had made just moments before haunted her thoughts. He is a Tribesman. Bronwen began to understand.

  Conri was not only struggling against her at the moment. He was fighting an even more dangerous battle against himself. And now she was beginning to understand why. Bronwen could feel it happening as he pressed against her, and she wanted to witness it firsthand, his transformation, despite the threat to her own well-being, as he had never before been like this, not in the moon years that she had known him.

  Once again he shifted his body, and clasped his arms around Bronwen’s body, tightening his grip until she was almost unmovable. Then, Conri breathed so deeply that Bronwen shook upon his exhale.

  “Conri, I can’t breathe. You are holding me too tightly,” she gasped.

  Conri fought for control, not hearing Bronwen’s plea.

  His vision darkened, casting a red haze over the already dim night. His mouth watered, and he swallowed quickly, not wanting the drool to drip down his chin like a hungry animal. The night was silent to him, with neither sound nor movement. No waves crashed, no wind hummed, even as Bronwen’s hair fluttered about her.

  He was hungry, his stomach empty and aching. His hands opened and closed until Conri grasped Bronwen’s robe in his fist, unaware of what he did.

  Conri bit his lip forcefully and drew blood, tasted the sourness on his tongue, swallowed it. He bit down again, even harder this time, sucking the blood off his lip, out of necessity.

  The blood seemed sweet now, and Conri slowly reclaimed a little control.

  “Stay still, Bronwen, please,” Conri hissed, his voice unrecognizable, thick and low.

  He needed to release her. He had to release her. But he couldn’t, not yet, not now. More than anything, Conri wanted to let her go, shove her warm, soft body away from him. However, what the man wanted, the Tribesman did not.

  He was Chief. He was his god’s chosen leader. He was powerful, deadly to all Cordisians. He never asked, he took. He never apologized. He seized what he wanted. Anything, anytime. Every time.

  Except now.

  Until now. Now, he waited.

  “Bronwen, please forgive me. Do not move. Do not fight me. I will not hurt you. But you must not fight me.”

  He had spoken again in the Old Tongue, yet she understood.

  Bronwen quieted and tried to control her shaking body. His voice was so harsh that he had nearly growled the words. She had never seen him like this and had never witnessed him act this way, even in her memories.

  Bronwen was finding it difficult to resist the urge to fight. Every part of her screamed out to run, to escape. But still, she wasn’t certain how Conri would react if she moved. She understood little once again.

  “Conri, tell me why you are here this time. What do you want from me?” Bronwen asked in a soothing, lilted voice, swaying back into him.

  Conri snarled, his voice raw and raspy.

  “Bronwen, yes, I do require something from you. But not right now. Do not move. Do not speak.”

  His hands still grasped her robe, clinging to the light-colored cotton with an unnatural touch.

  Let him change, she told herself impulsively, before slamming the back of her head into his face, throwing her full body weight into the blow.

  She felt his nose crush against the back of her skull and hoped that the force stunned him enough to loosen his grip.

  When she noticed his hands relaxing, Bronwen quickly spun around until she was facing him.

  Then, she looked up at Conri’s face and watched as blood, so dark she thought it to be black, traced an ebony trail from his nose to his mouth. She watched in dismay as his tongue lapped at the blood, watched his throat constrict as he swallowed. Bronwen stared, eyes aghast, at the stranger before her. What have I done?

  His skin, moments ago so pale and luminescent, was darkening as she watched, until it shined like polished onyx. His eyes once so purple and luxurious were empty now, blackened and hard, glistening with hunger.

  She thought that she had seen his clothing fade, but dared not look, terrified at what she might find. Bronwen could not move, paralyzed with fear and shocked at what she had done. She staggered backward, one step, then two, and wanted to turn and run, but afraid to expose her back to him. While she was stepping away from him, he raised his hand, shadowed now too, and gently caressed his face until the blood was gone, no sign of the injury remaining. The softness of the movement scared Bronwen more than the strength of his grip had.

  She did not know the man who stood before her.

  Shaking with fear and regret, and a tongue dry and heavy, Bronwen called out hoarsely, “Conri, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  Her words were lost on the wind and silenced by the thundering waves. Conri’s only response was a growl so deep his chest shook, and she stepped back.

  He was staring at her, head slightly cocked to the right, and she hoped that he could hear her. Once again, he neared her, and before she could react, he was holding her, grabbing at her robe with his face bent toward her.

  Bronwen whispered, “It is me. The same child you rescued all those years ago. Remember how small I was then? Remember how much I talked? I used to chatter on endlessly, until you would remind me that the trees could be listening. I laughed once and told you that the trees only had ears in the North. Oh, how I loved that pony you had given to me. I forget her name. It was a Northern name, I think. I used to brush her mane until it shined as bright as Luna herself.”

  The memories were overflowing now, and Bronwen continued.

  “Remember our trip through Arvumia? We would ride near the streams, and I would often jump off the pony to pick those delicate red flowerbells. I never tired of them, for I had never seen anything quite like them before. Each time I picked one, you would ask me if I had had enough yet. Yet you never made me stop.”

  “I remember the day we arrived in Tretoria. And you told me that I was home now. I knew I was not home. I didn’t want to leave you, Conri. I begged you not to go! How I cried when you left me outside the gates! I felt alone, more lost than I had ever been before. You brought me here to keep me safe, and I understand now.”

  “I remember wishing that you were my father.”

  “Enough,” he gasped.

  Conri pushed Bronwen from him, and she stumbled before regaining her balance. She turned and looked at him, no longer afraid of what she would see. Conri lowered his head until he was staring at the sand. After several long, quiet moments, he raised his eyes.

  Bronwen looked away before his gaze could reach her, unable to accept what was so obvious, what she had ignored for so long. Bronwen felt ashamed at provoking him earlier, yet something else stirred in her as well. Something veiled and wild, yet caused her life pulse to quicken. She looked away until he began speaking.

  *****

  “Bronwen, that was a dangerous game you played. You do not fully know who I am and what I am capable of doing. Be more careful next time. And obey me.”

  He hesitated, then added, “We both know that you are no longer that same child. If you were, I would not be here.”

  His words were low, as if he had struggled to say them. It had taken him much to control himself. Too much, he knew.

  Let her remember this, he thought, let her see me for who I am.

  And, with the decision made, he turned and walked away from her, his hands at his side, her mind-lock undone. Quickly, more quickly than was normal or natural, he was gone.

  Bronwen stared where he once stood, wondering if he had been there at all. Except for the pounding of her heart and the throbbing pain in her arms where Conri had held them, Bronwen might have believed it all to be a dream.

&nbs
p; She lifted the sleeves on her robe for confirmation, strangely relieved to see the bruises starting to show on her forearms.

  He had been right. She was no longer that child. With reclaimed memories, Bronwen’s world had suddenly shifted. Conri had kept his word and departed without mind-locking her. Yet, somehow, she did not feel like she had won.

  Interesting, she thought, kicking sand over the shrinking flames, covering the fire and embers until no light remained.

  3

  The sun had set hours ago, and Bronwen had missed the evening meal. Sheva would still be cleaning up the campus cafeteria, so Bronwen slowed her pace. As she walked, her thoughts flickered between what she now recalled and what she thought that she had known. With each step, she became more confused. Her mouth tried to form a few words from the Old Tongue, the language of the Elders, but the lilting dialect would not roll from her tongue, even though she had no trouble understanding what Conri had spoken.

  She could taste the words, yet she could not form them. Frustrated, Bronwen kicked at the sandy path as she walked, spreading dust around her feet.

  “Bronwen, is that you?”

  Bronwen relaxed as she recognized the man’s voice. She turned and started walking toward him until they met, nearly crashing into each other.

  The man stopped to adjust his glasses before speaking to Bronwen. The night was dark, and the nearest mage orb offered only a glimpse of light.

  “Bronwen! What are you doing out here? You missed the evening meal. What is that you’re holding?”

  Looking toward where he pointed, Bronwen realized that she still held Conri’s coat, and, even in the darkness, the black fabric seemed to have an unnatural sheen to it. When she shifted it in her hands, a mixture of scents--pine, salt, and musk--greeted her, and her heart quickened as if Conri was behind her yet again. Bronwen shuddered, then looked toward Kennet.

  “Kenny, we need to talk. Can we go somewhere more private?”