Chosen (The Last Guardians Book 1)

by C. V. Gregorchuk

  Orden followed the foal’s movements as it wobbled away from him to stand in the other corner. It turned its back on them, short black tail swishing with a dry sound. Orden looked down at the full bottle of milk in his hand. He shook his head, “Then what is it ye came here to ask me?” His voice was low and rough, he sounded tired.

  “I came to ask you if I can go home.” Orden’s eyes snapped to her face, and she felt a definite chill under that icy gaze. He was about to tell her no. He was about to extinguish the small flame that burned inside her, and there was nothing she could do to stop him. For a split second, Mia wished she hadn’t asked the question at all. At least then she could keep telling herself she could go home.

  Orden cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. “You cannot go home-” He stopped at Mia’s sharp intake of breath as her world came crashing down around her for the second time in three days. It was strange, she didn’t remember putting so much effort into building it back up in the first place. “Until there is peace in Nethea.”

  The tightness in her chest was unbearable, Mia could barely breathe past it. Honestly, she was afraid to in case a stray breath put out the guttering flame inside her. What did that mean? “So- what?” She couldn’t even finish the question.

  “You asked if ye can go home.” Orden said, facing her straight on, “My answer to your question is that you cannot go until there is peace in Nethea. It is not something that will happen in any short amount of time. Neither is it something that can happen without your contribution.”

  “But, but I can-” The barn went in and out of focus. Mia looked down and found the ground rising and falling beneath her feet. She sat abruptly on an upended barrel, her hands cupping her knees as she rode out the torrent of relief unleashed by the things Orden had left unsaid “I can go- home?”

  There was some shuffling around, and then he was standing against the stall door looking down at her, his arm resting on top of the gate. “Come in here girl,” Orden said gruffly, opening the door. Mia sat for a moment longer, skeptical of her legs’ ability to hold her weight. Orden didn’t wait for her. Leaving the door open he disappeared back into the stall. Mia stood up and swayed, she grabbed onto the post to steady herself. “Close the gate,” Orden said as she came into the stall. She did. “Here,” He gestured for her to come over to where he knelt in the straw, the foal in front of him. She went slowly.

  “You didn’t answer my question.” Mia said, kneeling in the straw beside him.

  “Did I not?” Orden simply took her by the wrist, twisted her palm face up and held it in front of the foal’s nose. “Let him scent you.”

  His hands were rough against her skin, at odds with the moist, velvet texture of the little horse’s nose as it bumped against her fingers, its breath warm and damp. Orden released her as the foal nibbled at her, dragging its lips over her fingers. She dared to rest her other hand on the horse’s neck and actually smiled when the little thing didn’t immediately freak out. Orden was silent as the dead beside her; she felt his eyes intent on her.

  “I will not make a promise I’m not sure I can keep,” Orden said, his voice barely above a whisper. Mia’s hand stilled on the smooth, creamy hide and she kept her eyes fixed on her knuckles. “There is a chance you can return home-”

  “Stop talking.” Mia cut him off abruptly. She turned her head to look at him and nearly balked at the ferocity in the lines around his mouth and eyes. “Don’t say anything else.” Mia whispered. She’d heard all she needed to hear. It was enough.

  Mia held the Orden’s gaze for as long as it took for him to read whatever he would in her face. When he looked away, his expression had softened marginally. “Here,” He offered her the bottle of milk, “you try.”

  “I don’t think-” He silenced her with a sideways glance. Mia took the bottle from him. “Fine but it’s not going to work.” She winced as the warm glass rubbed against the raw blisters in the crease between thumb and forefinger in both of her hands. “I just?”

  Orden grunted in approval as Mia maneuvered the sodden clump of fabric at the end of the bottle toward the horse’s mouth. The little guy sniffed at it but wouldn’t take it. Orden sighed. Mia wasn’t ready to give up. She inched closer, “Come on little guy,” she murmured, “come on.” Mia scratched the white, lop-sided blaze in the center of the broad forehead, reaching higher to tickle his ears, pleasantly surprised by the softness of the hair there. She nudged the bottle against the foal’s muzzle, only for him to pull his head away. “It’s okay baby,” Mia crooned, “it’s just some milk.”

  A long tongue snaked out to lick the droplets left on velvet lips, and Mia stopped breathing. “There you go. That’s it,” She tried again to brush the makeshift nipple against the foal’s mouth, this time he didn’t back away but stretched out his lips to nibble experimentally at the fabric. Mia’s heart was high in her chest, beating against her clavicle. Come on, come on, she urged, willing the horse to drink, to take nourishment and grow like it was meant to. Mia had no idea how this had become so important to her in such a short amount of time, but it was. Somehow everything now depended on the little horse in front of her and getting it to eat.

  The force with which the tiny animal drank was astounding. Mia had to work to keep hold of the bottle so that he wouldn’t rip it from her hands and spill it all over the stall floor. “Wow.” She said looking at Orden who wasn’t exactly smiling but as close to as Mia had seen in the short time she’d known him.

  He nodded, “He will be your responsibility from now on. You will need to feed him three times a day and make certain to keep his stall clean until he is stronger and can be moved into the pen.”

  “What about my training?” Orden stared at her, “I thought we would be-” Mia trailed off not sure what she thought.

  “I thought you needed to process things.” He was testing her, deliberately throwing her words back in her face.

  Mia bit down on her molars. “I have.” She said stiffly. The events of the previous night jumped to the front of her mind, and she was nearly overcome by a huge wave of embarrassment. God, she’d made a scene. What else could I do at that point with the information I had? There was no way she could have known. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear though, at least it wasn’t all of it. Mia pulled the now empty bottle from the foal’s mouth and got to her feet. She wished Orden would stay kneeling on the ground; it would have been nice to look down at him instead of up into his rough features when she said what she thought he wanted to hear. “I want to start my training. Today. Now. Will you help me?”

  Orden tilted his head on its axis and swept his eyes over her face, taking in the determined set of her mouth, the directness of her gaze. “No,” He said and walked away.

  Chapter 32

  Mia watched Orden let himself out of the stall, too shocked to notice that he’d left the door open for her to follow. No? He said no? “Wait!’ She called after him, snapping out of her stupor. The foal threw its head back as Mia bolted out of the stall, swinging the door shut behind her as an afterthought. “Hold on a second.” She caught up to Orden in the doorway. “Hey!” Mia shouted when he still didn’t stop, “I’m talking to you!” She grabbed him by the elbow, and he went rigid at her touch.

  Orden angled his head down at her hand on his arm, and then he looked at her over his shoulder. Mia dropped his arm as if scalded and took a step back. She took a deep breath, “Since the day I got here you’ve been trying to get me to ‘accept my fate’ and start training and now when I tell you I’m ready, you won’t? What the hell?” She was breathing loud, like, really loud. Mia made a conscious effort to slow down, to pull the air in through her nose.

  “I’m curious,” Orden faced her, “what is it ye think you are asking when ye demand me to train you?”

  “Uh-what? Is that a trick question?”

  “No.”

  “I, uh, I don’t know.” Mia answered, flustered, “You’re the one who was talking about my uh, my power o
r whatever.”

  Orden nodded as if she’d confirmed what he was thinking. He shook his head; “You are not ready for that, not by any measure.”

  “What?” Mia demanded, “What do you mean? Why not?” What now?

  “By the Seeker, do your questions never cease girl?” Orden growled, his brows drawn together in a ferocious glare. In the silence that followed Mia heard the rustling of straw from the stall and the whistle of wind passing through the cracks in the barn walls. When she did nothing but hold her ground and glare back at him Orden’s scowl intensified. “Awakening your Power will cause you great pain. The sort of pain that would damage you in your current condition, perhaps irreparably.”

  “My current-my current condition?” Before she could stop herself, Mia looked down at herself. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

  “You need to become stronger.” Mia made herself meet Orden's eye, “Physically and mentally. Ye must first learn to use the weapons you were born with before we can begin to awaken the Power that lies buried within your blood.”

  Mia felt the fight drain out of her like a slow leak in a tire. Time was something that had become incredibly precious to her in the past few hours, and this sounded like it was going to take a lot of it. “And what does that look like?” She asked in a resigned tone, already knowing that whatever he had planned was going to suck.

  Orden took a long hard look at her, sweeping his eyes over her body. Mia resisted the urge to fold her arms over her chest under that assessing gaze. When his eyes had traveled back to her face, he said, “You will need to start running, to strengthen your heart. I will teach you to fight, and you will learn the skills required of you as a Guardian.”

  “Yup,” Mia exhaled, “this is going to suck.”

  He ignored her, “And when you have passed every test and shown me you are ready, then and only then will I show you how to access your Power.”

  The sun broke through the clouds, its golden light intensifying the colors of the outside world. Greens became brighter, sharper; Mia could pick out each individual leaf on the trees across the yard. “How long is this going to take?” She asked as a light wind ruffled the leaves, exposing their silvery undersides.

  “That, girl, depends on you.”

  Mia dragged her eyes up to Orden’s face. “Then let’s get started. Right now. I don’t want to waste anymore time.”

  Chapter 33

  He didn’t make it easy for her. Those first few days of training were the most difficult and brutal of Mia’s entire life. A hard knock on the door served as an alarm clock, waking her up well before the sun showed its face. Then it was a slow roll out of bed accompanied by the anxiety brought on by her impending run.

  Every morning Mia ran around the damn alfalfa field until her lungs were past burning and ready to explode. She almost died the first time. It was only one lap around the perimeter; she should have been able to do it. She wasn’t that out of shape. In the end, it had her on all fours in the wet grass, heaving, and retching as her body tried to bring up more than bile.

  Mia started eating again, inhaling every meal only to regret it the moment Orden tossed her a wooden sword or gave her some grueling chore to do. He showed her no mercy, pushing her to the breaking point every single day and then expecting her to do it all over again. Mia refused to complain.

  Not when she woke up in the morning stiff as a board and aching. Not when every inch of her was covered in bruises ranging in color from deep purple-black to a sickly greenish-yellow. Mia could complain about how tired her eyes were from deciphering the books Orden had her reading every night. Books written in a neat, confident hand; English, for the most part, except for some rearranged vowels and consonants. Books that left her with more questions than she knew what to do with. Mia could complain about how utterly exhausted she was every minute of every hour. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Orden already thought she was weak and undisciplined. If the look in his eyes wasn’t clear enough, his words definitely were.

  So Mia kept going.

  She got up before the sun and ran around the alfalfa field until she couldn’t take another step. She ate meals with the family, silent as a zombie, hands shaking as she lifted the utensil to her mouth. Mia did whatever chore Orden thought up for her. Anything from laundry to plowing the alfalfa field with a stubborn horse and a too-heavy plow. She got up when Orden knocked her down. Mia got up even though her head pounded and a new bruise formed on her skin. She got up knowing that before they were done for the day, she’d have a thousand more like it. And she read those books, soaking in as much of the early history of Nethea as she could before she inevitably fell asleep, usually no more than a page or so in with the book open on her chest. If this was the price for going home, then Mia would gladly pay it.

  She was racing against time.

  It had been two days alone in the woods, four days before she’d started training, ten days of hell so far. Mia had been here for sixteen days in total. Sixteen days since she’d disappeared from Bella Abelson’s house party. Sixteen days that her parents had been looking for her with nothing to go on except whatever Jake had told them. Mia hoped that he’d lied, for his sake and her parents’. The truth was too crazy. He must think he was crazy. That was when she stopped herself. When Mia shoved all thought of her life and loved ones into a small box and kicked it into the furthest reaches of her mind. If Mia dwelled on it too long, she would cry and if she started crying she might never stop. She couldn’t afford the time that would waste.

  The only emotion Mia let herself feel, really feel, was anger. It gave her the energy to get up when she felt like she could sleep for a week. It pushed her to run one more lap even when her legs burned, and her lungs heaved. It pulled her off the ground and sent her flying at Orden over and over again. It numbed the pain. And it never ran out. Mia felt it there, smoldering in her blood, ready to bust out at the slightest provocation. Provocation, which Orden supplied in surplus.

  “Pathetic,” Orden said, watching as Mia rolled onto her stomach and stood on shaky legs.

  Mia said nothing as she rubbed her dirty hands on the soft doeskin leggings Hanna had given her the day before, refusing to acknowledge the new aching spot on her jaw where his elbow had connected seconds ago. Her eyes stung with tears of pain and anger and her head was pounding. Mia stalked over to where her weapon lay in the grass and picked it up. She faced him, “Again.” She said, grinding the word between her molars before spitting it out. Mia could feel it again, the sensation that she was being watched. A weight between her shoulder blades.

  “Why?” Orden dug the end of his wooden sword into the dirt, “The result will be the same as before. You do nothing differently, ye do not learn.”

  “Learn?” Mia gripped the smooth handle of her weapon until she could feel her nails cutting into her palms. “How am I supposed to learn anything when all you do is whack me with that stick and insult me? You’re not teaching me anything. You’re punishing me.” Her voice cracked, Mia bit down on the inside of her cheek.

  Orden lifted his chin with a quick jerk of his neck and stared at her across the grass. A troubled look passed over his features, so quick Mia must have imagined it. “And what, precisely would I be punishing you for?”

  He wasn’t going to deny it then. “I don’t know,” Mia said, meeting his eye, “because I don’t want to be here. Because- because I’m not as strong as you want- as you need me to be. Because I’m a girl.” Mia welcomed the anger curling up from her belly. Let it envelop her in its protective warmth. Orden stood there and took in every word she said without argument or correction. His silence spoke louder than words. “It doesn’t matter.” Mia found herself saying, lifting her weapon in front of her, “I’ll prove you wrong!” She charged at him.

  Chapter 34

  Vander watched her.

  He watched her long before he was aware he was doing it. It happened without intention, a consequence of adapting to his new living arrangements. The
first time Vander had been returning from an early flight when he’d heard the pounding of feet on the night-damp soil and ragged breathing. Through the trees he’d spotted her, linen shirt plastered to her skin, flyaway hairs streaming back from her face as she ran. The following day he’d watched from the barn as Orden sent the stick she used as a weapon flying out of her hand and put her on her back; time after time.

  Pathetic.

  Weak and quick to anger, which only made her stupid. The girl carried on like nothing Vander had ever seen, screeching and squawking in frustration, glowering and snarling like a territorial she-wolf. “Again,” she’d shout through clenched teeth. “Let’s go again.” Every time she went down, she got up again, too stupid, too stubborn to walk away.

  Some mornings Vander woke to her soft murmurings, snatches of words traveling up to the loft where he slept upon the straw. Unable to sleep he would lie there listening to her nonsense and the harsh sucking noises the foal made as it drank from the bottle. He supposed he should be pleased that the little horse was eating at all but the only thing Vander felt in recent days was irritation.

  “Oh do go and be unpleasant somewhere else.” Breahn had said to him one evening after pouring a second bucket of well water into the pot to boil. She’d wiped an arm across the damp, flushed skin of her brow and glared up at him where he’d leaned against the stone hearth. “It’s enough I have to prepare a bath for her, I don’t need ye here glowering over me like a bear with a thorn in its arse.” Vander had made a face at her and left in search of some useful thing he could do.

  Tasks that had once belonged to him, work he took pride in doing well was given to the girl. Orden’s attempt to make her stronger. It had been especially painful for him to witness the mess she’d made of the alfalfa field with the plow. And the horse! The poor horse suffered such abuse at her hands, or rather her tongue. Vander did not know the meaning of most of the words she’d used, but he knew by the way she’d bellowed them that they were foul. With the girl taking over his work, it was not difficult for Vander to imagine himself as a leaf floating upon a stream, aimless and futile. A slave to the water’s current. The night Orden asked him to take the yearlings to Keswick, nearly one full cycle after the girl’s arrival, came as a welcome relief.