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

by Cat Bruno

  Her feelings for Conri were difficult to understand, and she knew that what had happened the last time they had met only further complicated the relationship. Conri was not some boy from Litusia, she knew, even though she had little experience with any man. But, she did understand, with Kennet’s help, that the Tribe lived and breathed differently than most, even the mage-touched. Their appetites were greater, their need for sleep less, their desires ten-fold of any normal man. She wondered if Conri could shape-shift like the book that Kennet had loaned her had suggested, and she wondered if she had ever seen him in his non-human form.

  Again, she wondered if she was ready for the answers that he would give.

  “I am a healer, trained and dedicated to life, blessed by the light. I am a life-giver,” she cried, leaning back until she was sitting on the now closed trunk, holding her head in her hands.

  Tears fell, salty on her lips, but Bronwen shook free of them. She was no longer as she once had been, and while the thought terrified her, she would not run from it.

  Not anymore.

  *****

  The rain continued throughout the day, and the sun was overthrown by dark clouds that scattered heavy rain. By the time that Kennet and Aldric arrived at Bronwen’s, their clothes were dripping, but her cheeks were dry.

  When she opened the door to allow the two men through the wards, Kennet looked at her face, and said, hoarsely, “You would still do this, then.”

  Bronwen embraced him, surprising Kennet when her body shook as she hugged him closer, pulling him into her room before gently closing the door behind them.

  When she released him, she said “Kennet, why am I here? In Litusia, I mean. For moon years, my life was not my own, although I never knew it. Tonight, I seek answers.”

  Out of the silence, Aldric asked, “What is it that you want answered, Bronwen?”

  She looked from Kennet to Aldric, her eyes clear, shimmering in the grayness of the room, “How to be a Kingmaker.”

  Aldric’s response surprised her, as he smiled and bowed, deeply and without fault, as if prince to queen.

  Rising, he added, his voice suddenly full and sweet, “Beata esa illa tacta aba filiolus, my child.”

  “Blessed be those touched by the gods.”

  It surprised no one that it was Bronwen who had translated Aldric’s words. The mood of the room shifted, and Kennet felt as if he couldn’t breathe. He swayed on his feet as the room darkened around him. When he closed his eyes, an image appeared.

  A woman with dark hair, nearly black and streaked with red. Pale skin with freckles dotting her nose. She was clothed in the colors of the night and looked as if she was ready for battle, garbed in dark leggings and a snug-fitting, supple tunic. Across her chest was hard leather, and Kennet knew it to be armor. On her feet were thick-soled boots, similar to those a warrior might wear.

  The woman turned and looked at him, and Kennet stumbled. Sparkling green eyes greeted him. Then, as he watched, the green darkened, until her eyes were nearly black. He gasped and fell to his knees, but still he watched her. She smiled softly at him, opening her hands and holding her palms up, a gesture of peace.

  Kennet continued to watch the girl, no longer afraid. He watched as a small flame ignited in her left hand, burning bright and hot, but harmless to the one who controlled it. In her right hand, a sprig of lavender appeared, and the air around him became pleasantly scented.

  The girl nodded delicately when she saw recognition and understanding cross Kennet‘s face, vanishing in a shimmering haze.

  He could feel hands on him, yet his sight was still blurred and his tongue too thick to use, so he rested his forehead on the cool stones, and waited for the mage-touched vision to clear. When it did, he noticed that it was both Bronwen and Aldric who carried him to the bed, laying him atop Bronwen’s small cot.

  “Kennet!” Bronwen called, gently shaking him, “What in the hells happened?”

  Murmuring, he answered, “I have seen her, Bronwen. She has darkness in her, yet she shines as bright as the sun.”

  And as he spoke, he knew his words to be truth.

  Across his body, Bronwen looked to Aldric, who stood quietly, a look of worry across his face. “What does he mean?”

  Aldric shook his head, but recognized the effects of true-sight. His nephew had never mentioned mage-sight, but there could be little doubt as to what had happened.

  Sitting up on the cot, Kennet spoke, his words dim but haunting.

  “Your daughter, Bronwen. I have seen your daughter.”

  Bronwen paused, staring at Kennet’s face, and then she turned to Aldric, hoping that the man would intervene. Kennet looked to his uncle, who had had little to say since they had arrived at Bronwen’s. He could see no doubt in his uncle’s eyes.

  “Kennet, what are you talking about? Are you telling me that in addition to your ability to spark mage-light, that now you have mage-sight too? Surely this is not the time for nonsense!”

  “I have no reason to lie to you, Bronwen, and I will not try to explain what happened just now, for any words I used would fall short. Perhaps I should not have spoken, but I was so overcome by what I had seen that I could not stop myself.”

  “It is the truth, all the same,” Kennet added, looking toward where Bronwen stood.

  Before Bronwen could interject, Aldric stated, “Our ancestors have long been blessed with all forms of mage-craft, and while Kennet was not able to do well with his mage-study, he still carries the blood of our kin in him. I would not doubt the truth of what he has said, although it makes little sense now. And perhaps it should have been left unsaid for now, nephew. There will be time for such talk later.”

  Swallowing hard, Kennet whispered, “The time is now. Conri is the girl’s father.”

  He exhaled loudly and waited for the room to crash around him, knowing there was no turning back now, and that, surer than ever, Bronwen traveled a path that had long been hidden. For a moment, he pitied his friend, the girl who had come mysteriously from the North with no story and no memory.

  Bronwen shook her head and tried to clear the words that Kennet had uttered from her mind. Her chest was tight and a prickling tingle ran through her body, and she knew, with a depth that she never realized possible, that what Kennet had said was truth. A truth older and stronger than anything that had come before in her life. The words that Kennet had spoken were words that her body already knew, learned long before and remembered only now.

  In a voice that she hardly knew as her own, Bronwen asked, “Has nothing that I have done mattered? Am I to be nothing more than a breeding mare?”

  Both men looked at her with concerned faces, yet neither rushed to her side.

  When she noticed that her cries were the only sounds echoing off the stone walls of her room, Bronwen stared back at both men, letting her glance shift from one to the other, judging what they might be thinking. Kennet looked sick, his eyes reddened and his skin a grayish tint, while Aldric appeared calm, staring back at her with eyes free of pity, waiting in silence, which, she realized, he often did.

  She addressed him first, “What do you make of what your nephew has said? Is it possible that I am to bear a child of the dark? Will I even survive such a birth? What would such a child even be? More monster than human?”

  The bitterness in her tone surprised him, but Aldric knew her path would be a hard one to walk and answered gently.

  “Bronwen, the men of the Tribe are still men. Some tales have them to be animals, but they are still men. While some Tribesmen shape shift, they always return to their human form. I have heard of children being born of such a union, yet know of none myself. But, I know little truth in of any of this, to be true. There is only one man who can answer your questions.”

  “Conri,” she whispered.

  “Yes, I do believe it is time that you have asked him what he knows. The choice is yours, Bronwen, but I will do all that I can to help.”

  Jumping up from the cot, Kennet
said, “Bee, we can end this all now. Perhaps what I saw was only one option, and your future is not yet marked in stone. Let it be. You do not have to do this.”

  “Kennet, I have seen her too.”

  “What?”

  Bronwen repeated, “I have seen her. I think. I didn’t know it at the time, but now it seems to make sense, although I don’t know how it could be possible, as I have no mage-sight. I will show you the girl, but we must go to Master Ammon’s villa. Come with me.”

  She walked to the corner of her room and grabbed a knitted blanket, which she draped over her, letting it fall past her shoulders. Without pausing, she went to the door and out into the dark night, realizing that more time must have elapsed than she would have guessed, as the rain still fell but the night no longer held any trace of sunlight.

  When she heard the footsteps behind her, Bronwen knew that Aldric and Kennet followed, and she continued on the path that headed toward the beach, walking in silence. As they neared the edge of the Academy’s grounds, the rain still falling, Kennet summoned a small ball of mage-light and floated it above them.

  As the light hummed, Bronwen veered to the right, atop a slight hill that looked down toward the sea, and although she could not see the waves rolling, she could hear them throttling the coastline, the coming storm adding to their force. Willem’s villa was close now, and the trio would be upon it soon. As they walked, Bronwen tried to figure out what she would say to him, showing up in the darkness with one he would never have welcomed ordinarily.

  Soon, his villa appeared as she crested the next mound, the white, stone walls that surrounded it shining in the darkness, scrubbed clean by the strong rain. She paused long enough for the others to catch up with her.

  When they were beside her, Bronwen said, “Before we go any farther, I need you to promise me that what you see and hear inside his home will be kept in trust.”

  Aldric answered quickly, “Bronwen, my word was given when I first laid eyes on you, and I give it again now. You have my loyalty now and forever, in a way that I have never offered another. Many would not accept the word of a man tainted by the dark, but I offer it nonetheless, and will do so as long as you will have me.”

  Bronwen flashed him a smile that struck like lightning across the gray sky, igniting a fire in Aldric that he had not felt in years, since the days when he would watch Leorra work under a different sky. He bowed deeply, heart fluttering as his forehead touched the wet sand, rising only when he heard his nephew speaking.

  “Why do I feel that there is more that you have not told me?”

  “There is some that I have kept from you, Kenny, that is true. But none of it matters now, especially if what you say is true. Still, I need your promise, Kennet, or he will never let you enter,” she answered.

  He said, with some annoyance showing, “Fine. Let us continue before we wash away up here. You have my word.”

  Reaching for a metal key hanging about the gate, not hidden at all and swinging about with the wind, Bronwen unlocked the gate and led them to the intricately carved door that looked as if it had been worked in Rexterra, the swirling columns on either side belying its origin, as none in Tretoria would use such a design. Bronwen knew the massive door held a heightened ward, and she knocked gently before stepping back from it.

  Moments later, the door swung open and Willem stood before her, his face as smooth and fine as ever, but covered with a mask of concern when he realized it was she. Without speaking, he looked past her at the other two, his gaze falling hardest on Aldric, who stood silently with his head bent and eyes cast downward, as if he could not look upon Willem. Suddenly, Bronwen suspected that there was more to Aldric’s actions than simple humility, recognizing his silence as the weapon that it was.

  Into the bellowing storm, Willem yelled, “You bring him here, Bronwen? Did I not ask you to allow me time to find Conri for you?”

  Bronwen nearly stumbled off the raised stones at his words, deep and angry, and shakily replied, “Willem, if you would let me explain, you would understand why I have come.”

  “Willem? Bronwen, you risk too much,” he interrupted, his hand raised in warning.

  She hadn’t realized that she had addressed him so and opened her mouth, ready to apologize, but before she could, he was talking again, looking to Aldric and Kennet with eyes serious and stern.

  “You may enter only once I have your word that whatever is seen and heard will not go beyond my walls. The girl does not quite know the game she plays, does she mage?”

  If she hadn’t known before, now it was clear that Willem knew Aldric, or at least knew who he was. She listened as Kennet and Aldric both vowed silence, and, not for the first time, did she know that Master Ammon was but a role, and Willem showed how Rexterran he could be, more warrior than healer.

  Once they were all inside, Chien appeared, her arms full of linens, some of which she offered them, others she used to dry the puddles they had left on the floor. After they had dried off, Aldric stepped toward Willem, and Bronwen’s life pulse quickened. She wanted to walk toward the men and interrupt the confrontation, but her feet would not move, and she shivered underneath her damp clothes, linen wrapped around her shoulders. Steps from her, the two men talked in clenched-teeth whispers, and she nervously looked toward Kennet, who shrugged, neither able to hear what was discussed.

  Her teeth chattering, she called across to them, “What is it that you’re going on about?”

  Without moving, Willem looked to her, his blue eyes as sharp as a blade, and hissed, “Aldric has informed me of what you have planned, and I will not let you follow through with such madness. If Conri had wanted you, he would have found you. And, unless I am mistaken, he has not.”

  Matching his tone, she replied, “I am not here to seek your approval, sir.”

  Willem raised his eyebrows, unaffected by her show of bravado, and turned back to Aldric.

  Vision blurring and her life pulse jumping, she rushed over to where the men stood, and grabbed Willem’s tunic, with more force than she had expected, turning him to face her as she screamed, “Do you know Aldric?” Her eyes blazed and burned, gray and green swirling.

  With a laugh and a glance at her hand where it had torn his tunic, he answered, “Of course I know him Bronwen. Do you forget that I spent the first half of my life in the King’s City? Do you not recall that the Mage-Guild is also housed there? Really, your naïveté surprises me sometimes. Yes, our paths crossed from time to time, and while we were not friends, our enemy was a mutual one.” Seeing the spark ignite in her eye, Willem continued, “And you will hear no more of it, Bronwen, for my time there, as well as Aldric’s it seems, is done.”

  After a long silence, Bronwen stepped back, releasing him, and asked, “Would you mind if I showed Kennet and Aldric the mural of Marina? Kennet believes he has the seen the girl as well.” His face had relaxed, and Bronwen sensed that as long as she was not discussing Conri, Willem would be quite agreeable.

  She was not wrong, as he nodded and indicated that they should follow him down the hall. As he opened the door, Willem stumbled, leaning onto the wall before righting himself. The next moment, he recovered and they all stood staring at the wall.

  Kennet walked toward the mural, his eyes unnaturally bright, and fell to his knees, his forehead pressed to the floor, bowing. No one in the room spoke and all eyes were focused on the tall, lanky boy who still kept his head to the ground, his body shaking gently beneath his healer’s robe. As the others looked on, Kennet rose, coming up to the wall, as close as he could get, then he ran his fingers over the woman, tracing her from the top of her wavy hair, down her curved shoulder, past her arm, then on to her hip, finally all the way to her crossed ankles. He seemed struck, as if in a trance, and where his fingers trailed lightly over the woman, she seemed to light up, and Bronwen did not know if it was a trick or true.

  Willem stepped toward the boy, as if to break the spell, but, before he could grab Kennet, Aldric stepped n
ear, shaking his head, and standing between his nephew and Willem. Bronwen had not moved from just inside the door. When Kennet turned to face her, both Aldric and Willem stepped closer.

  “She is no monster, Bronwen. She is more than I had hoped.”

  When Willem looked to her, her eyes glowed, wet with unshed tears, and he rushed to her side, placing a protective hand at her back.

  “Bronwen, what is this about?” he whispered.

  Shaking her head, Bronwen stepped back until she felt the large-framed bed, falling onto it. She rubbed her eyes and could hear Willem talking to her, yet his words were garbled, and she could not open her mouth to tell him so. Kennet’s words echoed in her head, both what he had said in her room and his words now, here, with the swirling woman listening. She had a daughter. No. She and Conri had a daughter. It was nearly too much.

  Finally, when she was able to speak, she looked up and asked, voice cracking and raw, “Kennet, you are certain that the painted girl is the same one from your vision?”

  The look that crossed Kennet’s face burned brighter than a rising sun, and he said, “It is her, Bronwen, although her name differs, I believe. I cannot hear what she whispers into her mirror, but I think that she asks for you.”

  Into the silence, Willem hissed, “What is the meaning of this, Bronwen? Do you know the woman from the mural? If so, why only tell me this now, when you could have mentioned it before?”

  When Bronwen would not answer, Willem turned yelled, “Aldric, what do you know about what is happening here?” Willem looked with poorly hidden disgust as Aldric shifted his weight and placed his gaunt hands into the dirtied pockets of his faded trousers.