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

by Cat Bruno

  Without looking up he whispered, “Bronwen, forgive me for keeping this so long from you, but I knew not what to do. At first, I thought it best to protect you. And now, I still don’t know what to do, but maybe finding Conri is what you need to get back to normal or at least move beyond where you are now.”

  Bronwen put her hand up, confused by Kennet’s rambling words, which wasn’t unusual as he often babbled when he was nervous. And after all that she had done to him today, and all that had been confessed, it was really no surprise to hear him speak so disjointedly.

  “Kenny, what are you getting at? What have you kept from me?”

  From behind the desk, Kennet raised his hands, and for the first time, Bronwen noticed that they were not empty.

  Straddled between both of his hands, nearly glowing in the mage-light, appeared a book, darkly bound and tattered, small and ancient. And, for a moment, Bronwen’s world shifted. Her vision clouded with a white haze and her mouth tasted of copper. Feeling queasy and faint, she let her knees buckle until she sat on the floor.

  Just as quickly as she had fallen, she recovered. But before she did, Bronwen glanced toward the nearest window, where a prism of light danced in the shape of a woman, white light sparkling until she felt blinded. Then, white became black, and her vision deepened, darkening, and the woman’s features were covered in shadow, suddenly hidden. Blinking to clear her sight, Bronwen continued to stare at the pane of glass, afraid, yet mesmerized, spellbound as the darkness lifted and the woman reappeared, clothed in blue.

  Bronwen gasped as the woman from Willem’s wall glimmered, smiling and haunted, then faded, the light exploding until all that remained was the softness of the mage-light and Kennet, arms still bare and heavy with the weight of the book.

  When she noticed the concern in his eyes, Bronwen bit her lip, swallowing the question she was about to ask, the answer written on Kennet’s face.

  “Bronwen, what in the hells just happened? Why are you on the floor?”

  Words seemed too empty to describe what had happened, and Bronwen doubted that she would be able to explain something that she herself had little understanding of, so she shrugged her shoulders, “Kenny, it has been such a long day. I guess that I am just exhausted and didn’t eat enough today. What is that book that you are holding?”

  Before she could get up from the floor, Kennet crossed the room, then sat next to her on the cool stone tiles, the book lying across his lap.

  He sighed deeply before turning to face her, his eyes focused and grave, then addressed her in a solemn tone, “Bronwen, I think you will find your answers here. Let me show you.”

  Bronwen sat motionless as he delicately opened the book, turning the thick leather cover to the side and gently flipping the aged pages until he settled on one bearing a strange image. An illustration that Bronwen did not recognize, unsure why Kennet had stopped his search here.

  She bent closer, lowering her head until her eyes rested on the image of a man, a human. Not Tribe. Not mage. An ordinary man dressed humbly in coarse trousers and a simply cut shirt, nothing unusual about him, thought Bronwen.

  Kennet disrupted her thoughts, asking, “Bronwen, do you know this man or what it is that he does?”

  “No. Should I know him?”

  “At this point, Bronwen, I no longer know what to expect from you,” he said, although not unkindly, “but this man is practicing the Dark Arts.’

  Bronwen frowned, unsure about what Kennet was trying to imply. While she had done many things of late that she knew would not be well received, she had never come close to exploring the world of dark magic, nor would she. Healing was her sole talent, and there was not one bit of mage-blood in her.

  He continued, “This particular man is long dead I would presume, as this book is centuries old, but what he mastered is what I believe will interest you, Bronwen. In these pages you will find a way to reach Conri. Get a message through to him, I think. But it will not be easy, and if what you do is discovered, you will most certainly have to leave the Academy. Is it worth the risk, Bronwen?”

  She whispered, “Are you saying that I would have to use Dark Magic?”

  “Yes. If not you, then someone else.”

  Bronwen struggled to catch her breath, hunched over with her hands on her knees, staring over at Kennet as she tried to determine if he was joking with her.

  “You cannot be serious, Kenny. I am no mage, and even if I were, I would not dare to do such a thing. Are there no other options?”

  “Find a mage to do the necessary spells. Pay him off to keep your secrets. Or let this whole matter go, Bronwen. There is always that.”

  Bronwen said, “Maybe Ammon could find me a mage willing to do what is required.”

  “Stop! Do you not see how much you would risk for him? If I believed this to be in your best interests, then I would use my own skills to dare the dark, but I can’t bear to see you walk such a path. And the more it is discussed, the more likely the wrong people will hear your plans as well.”

  “Kenny, I would never ask, nor would I ever permit you to do such a thing for me. Never! Do you hear me? This is my mess, not yours, and I will find a way out of it. Just let me borrow the book for a few days, and I will find another way.”

  As he closed the book and placed it back on his lap, Kennet looked at Bronwen, watching as her eyes, more green than gray in the mage-light, darted between the book and his face, a pleading look etched over her face. Never before these last few moons had Bronwen required his help to such a degree. Never had she actually needed him, and, for a moment, he liked being the one that she had turned to, and he liked having the answers that she sought. And, if he didn’t help her, Master Ammon would no doubt, and forever would she be indebted to him.

  Bronwen had long been his friend, supporting him throughout his days at the Academy and aiding him in his studies. She had even tried to help him conquer his fear of blood. She had stood by his side when he had decided that he would leave the Academy and had even promised to support him once she finished her schooling, vowing to take him with her when she left Litusia. In the end, she had convinced him to stay and was as overjoyed as he was when Master Tywinne requested that he join him at the library. Never once had she been disappointed in him, like so many others had been in his past. Never once did she make him feel like a failure.

  And now Bronwen needed him. Just once he wanted to do for her what she had so often done for him.

  With no further thought, and before he could change his mind, he said, “I know someone who could help. Let me find him, Bronwen, and bring him here. Can you wait a quarter-moon or so? It might take some time to reach him.”

  “Of course I’ll wait. But who do you mean? Is it anyone I know?”

  “It is my uncle, Bronwen, and you must not mention this to anyone. His talent is immense, but he has been expelled from the Mage-Guild, and his presence here will not do you any favors. Let me send out some letters and see if he will visit me, then I will ask him a favor. But you must be patient and not speak a word of this to anyone. Can you give me your word?”

  She was already standing up, wiping off the back of her pants where the dust from Kennet’s floor had settled, thoughts pounding against her head. He had mentioned his uncle before, but never had let on that he was still in contact with him. Bronwen had believed that he had disowned his father’s brother, as the rest of the family had done. Sometimes Kennet surprised her, and this was certainly one of those instances, and Bronwen was a little shocked still. But, when she saw him stand up with the book still in his hands, Bronwen’s head cleared.

  “May I take the book with me if I promise to only read it and not do anything until you have heard back from your uncle?”

  Kennet hesitated, suddenly remembering that he was still mostly unclothed, and then decided that he had kept the book hidden from her for long enough.

  “Just don’t do anything stupid, Bee,” he said as he handed her the small text, the title faded s
o much through the years that it could no longer be read.

  As she took it from him, Kennet glanced toward the door, which still hung open, neither of them thinking to close it behind them earlier when they had arrived from the basement. He was about to close it now, wanting to change into a clean robe, when a figure stood smiling at him from the hallway.

  Bustling into the room came Louissia, stopping short when she noticed Bronwen standing against the windows, in male clothing no less, and Kennet’s naked chest.

  For a moment, a long moment, the room was silent, all three exchanging wary glances, until Kennet finally remarked, “Louissia, what a pleasant surprise. Bronwen and I were just finishing up some work.”

  From across the office, Bronwen smiled, her face lighting up in ways that always caused Kennet’s breath to catch for a moment. Louissia paled, and she dropped into a curtsy, momentarily taken aback by Bronwen’s appearance. When Louissia looked up, Bronwen was walking toward her, hands behind her, the book leaning into her back, auburn hair blazing behind her.

  “How nice to finally meet you, Louissia! I wish that I had time to stay, but I have much to do. Thanks again for your help, Kenny.”

  Bronwen brushed by Louissia, mouth still hanging open and eyes wide, before hurrying down the main stairs, the tiny book heavy in her arms, despite its size, as she carried it in front of her.

  Kennet had walked to the entryway of his office, nearly calling out to her as she went, but then remembered Louissia, and he let Bronwen go, hoping that he had not made a mistake in letting her take the book.

  When he turned to look at Louissia, she was staring at his chest, a puzzled look across her tanned face.

  He blushed deeply, looking around for a garment to put on, annoyed when he couldn’t find anything. As he searched, Kennet felt Louissia’s eyes following him, and his embarrassment deepened. While the silence continued, Kennet tried to think of something to say, a way to explain Bronwen’s quick departure.

  Finally, he said, “So, you have finally met Bronwen. She has much to do today, or I’m sure she would not have left here so suddenly.”

  “What was she wearing, Kennet? I expected her to be in robes, or at least some fancy gown since Talia mentioned to me that Pietro had said something about her dressing above her rank. But she looked like a man! And I wouldn’t be too worried except for the fact that you are not wearing a shirt. And now I’m wondering what exactly I walked in on,” Louissia responded, hands firmly planted on her hips.

  “I have told you before that you have nothing to worry about, Louissia. The truth is that Bronwen was tending to a large scrape I have,” Kennet answered, turning to show Louissia the bandage running down his back.

  Louissia squinted her eyes and creased her forehead, examining Kennet, lightly running her fingers over the linen that covered his injury.

  Abruptly, she asked, “Well, what was that book that she was trying to keep me from seeing?”

  Kennet paled and said the first thought that came to him, “Just something that she needs for class.”

  And while Louissia’s face looked troubled with questions, she smiled lightly and said, “I don’t think that I have ever seen you wearing so little.”

  Kennet grinned, happy to speak of something else, knowing how poorly he lied, especially when it involved Bronwen.

  Feeling suddenly relaxed, he added, “Let us start anew, Louissia. Let’s go have an ale in town, not at The Gull House, of course. I only need to go back to my room first and get something more appropriate to wear.”

  Louissia smiled again, laughing as she replied, “I think you look perfectly fine the way you are, Kennet.”

  With only a slight blush appearing over his cheeks, Kennet smiled, vowing to forget about Bronwen’s problems for the rest of the evening, although he could not set the thought of his uncle from his mind.

  33

  Bronwen jogged over the sandy path that connected the library to the back entrance of the students’ quarters, grateful that she still wore the sandals and hunting outfit, and she considered adopting the clothing in place of her robes, so comfortable and practical it seemed. Yet, she knew that after spending the last half-moon in various gowns and dresses, if she showed up for class in the leather tights and cotton shift she now wore, many would look at her askance. The last thing that Bronwen needed now was any more attention, especially now that she had promised Kennet that she would be discreet.

  Her legs were tiring, and she slowed her pace, readjusting the book in her hands and trying to read the title as she did so. Even with her restored memories, and she was beginning to think that Conri had gifted her with abilities that she hadn’t originally had, like knowledge of languages that she had never studied, Bronwen could not make out the faded title that covered the center of the book. The lettering appeared to have originally been silver, yet in the dim light, she wasn’t certain. As she walked on, Bronwen wondered for a moment why Kennet had kept the book from her, knowing how desperate she was for information. She couldn’t blame him, though, and when she thought back to how she had pushed him into the wall outside of the archives, a deep humiliation set upon her. Then, she thought of the night on the beach when she had been pushed to the ground.

  As she hurried down the path, Bronwen tried to shake herself free of the memory that had crept into her mind, the face that haunted her, the rough hair that covered the man’s face, the black eyes, the overpowering smell that lingered on her skin, even after she crawled out of the sea.

  When the man’s face didn’t disappear after taking a few deep breaths, Bronwen clutched the book to her chest and ran the rest of the way home, arriving with sweat dripping down her face and an aching stomach.

  As she was about to put her hand to the center of the door, Bronwen heard a voice calling out behind her, a woman’s voice, one that she knew well.

  “Bronwen! Bronwen! I have been trying to catch you since you galloped by me back at the corner by the first-years’ building. What has gotten into you that you couldn’t hear me calling your name?”

  Clutching the book to her chest, Bronwen paused, watching as a few beads of sweat trickled off of her chin and onto the cover. She had not heard Sheva calling her name and told her foster mother so. Then she had little choice but to invite her in, and the two women quickly entered Bronwen’s living area. Sheva sat on the small sofa that she had given to Bronwen many moon years before, while Bronwen walked over to her desk, setting the book down on a high stack of healing manuals.

  She placed a smile on her face and turned to face Sheva, while her mind raced and her fingers quivered, wanting to rip open the book that Kennet had loaned her. Bronwen had never been a patient woman, and she struggled to engage in polite conversation with Sheva while her eyes darted around the room, always ending up at the desk, as if the book was glowing with mage-light.

  The two women chatted for several moments, although Sheva did most of the talking. Bronwen herself was so preoccupied that she barely noticed when Sheva had quieted. However, when Sheva stood up and walked toward the ancient desk cluttered with vials of capped oils, dried herbs strung together, and papers scattered about, Bronwen grew anxious, uncertain how to react. She froze in place, which happened to be on the other side of the desk, and mother and daughter stared across the width of the scarred surface, the wood nicked and battered long before Bronwen had even entered the Academy.

  Sheva, to her credit, looked directly at Bronwen, and with a calm, clear voice, asked, “Bronwen, what in the name of the light is going on with you? And what are you wearing? First, it was dresses that I have never seen before and now this? Where are your robes?”

  The last few moons had taught Bronwen many hard lessons, including how to lie, a skill that she had never had much use for before then.

  Bronwen mixed bits of truth together while hiding other parts, and she answered, as casually as she could manage, “Oh, Sheva, you know how little I like those itchy robes. And then, I injured myself working with
some oils when the vial that I had been using exploded, sending pieces of glass all over. A few struck me, including this area right under my eye.”

  Noticing Sheva’s shocked expression, Bronwen continued, “Oh, I’m fine now. But I didn’t feel like explaining over and over what had happened to me. And, truthfully, Master Rova would not have approved of what I was doing, anyway. So I borrowed some dresses that hid the worst of my injuries.”

  “You look like some Northern warrior woman! Why, all that you are missing is a bejeweled sword, Bronwen! Then you would be ready to tackle the darkness,” Sheva mused.

  For a moment only, Bronwen’s eyes intensified, the green shifting to gray, the gold edges hardening into copper. Just as quickly, she blinked, veiling her eyes to the mother who had raised her for half her life. But Sheva noticed the change, and, if she could admit it to herself, even heard the lies in her daughter’s words, not understanding when a wall had formed between them, and fearful that the coming moons would do nothing to tear it down.

  Into the silence, Sheva exclaimed, “Oh, Bronwen, how I love you and give thanks daily that I was gifted with you! Please remember that if you ever need anything at all, you only need to ask me. Anything, Bronwen. Just remember.”

  Bronwen walked around the desk to where Sheva stood, slightly trembling and overcome by sudden emotion, and grasped her mother in a tight hug, whispering in her ear, “I will be fine, Sheva! I have survived worse. I am sure of it. Now, will you please stop worrying so!”