Chapter 20
The Chosen
Xavier returned to the royal chambers and found his father alone, sitting on the sofa with his face buried in his hands. The room rippled with a heavy, depressing energy that sent Xavier ducking behind the large, chestnut wardrobe by the door. Without glancing in his direction, his father rubbed his face, stood, and crossed the short distance to the hearth. He leaned against the mantle and stared at the waving flames for several minutes.
“Come here, son.”
Xavier jerked and banged his knee against the wardrobe at the sound of his father’s voice. He studied the king’s silhouette standing in front of the fiery glow. He hadn’t moved. Had he imagined him calling to him? This thought no sooner crossed his mind when his father turned toward him and spoke aloud.
“Yes, son. I called to you. Please come out from behind the wardrobe.”
Slowly, Xavier crept out of hiding and approached him. His father’s shadowed face was intimidating and hard to read, and he found himself fidgeting as he drew closer and closer to him.
“D…Dad?” he whispered urgently. “I…I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled those things at you. It was disrespectful. I’m sorry.”
“Yes, it was disrespectful,” Jeremiah responded quietly, “but, I know how it upset you to hear Lana and I fight. You shouldn’t have eavesdropped, son. You weren’t meant to hear all of that.”
He moved out of the shadows and sat on the sofa, motioning Xavier to join him.
“But, why did you do it, Dad? Why did you say those mean things to her? Don’t you love her anymore?” he asked quietly.
His father’s face flickered briefly from the unwavering, rigid mask he wore. “It’s not about love, Xavier. I cannot have Lana associated with me; it would only put her in danger.”
“Danger?” he blurted, studying his father’s face. “Wait! Did something happen at Warwood, Dad?”
Jeremiah shifted on the sofa next to him.
“Please, Dad! Tell me! I’m not a baby. You don’t have to protect me from the truth!” he pleaded.
His father looked at him with eyes brimming in pain. “But I’m your dad. I’m supposed to protect you.”
“You can’t! You can’t protect me from everything! Please Dad, just tell me!”
The king’s eyes clamped shut, and he released a frustrated sigh. After rubbing away the tension in his neck, he whispered, “Warwood isn’t the only kingdom William invaded. The kingdom of Coasta was attacked as well.”
“What? What happened?”
“The pilot I sent to warn them arrived just as over two hundred of LeMasters’ men stormed the kingdom in the cloak of night. They never saw it coming.” His voice broke, and he paused before continuing. “Many innocent people were killed. The king, his wife, and their three, young daughters were all slaughtered.”
Xavier was speechless. He simply stared at his father, waiting for him to continue.
“That is why I ended my relationship with Lana,” he concluded hoarsely. “When I go to battle, when I challenge William to take back our land, everyone close to me will be in danger. If he knew about her…he would…”
“Torture and kill her,” Xavier finished hollowly, finally understanding why he’d said those harsh things. He thought of Robbie. She was in just as much danger as Lana! LeMasters would love to find out about her and their relationship. It wasn’t fair. He finally had a chance with her, but he couldn’t continue it. Like Lana, she was in danger if she remained close to him.
“Most of Warwood is in shambles. William has stationed himself in the palace. He’s calling himself the King of Warwood. About a hundred loyalists are still there, imprisoned. William has been torturing them, trying to get them to renounce me as their king. If they do not recognize William as their absolute ruler, they are tortured to death. Even those who give in and renounce me are not spared.” His father paused, struggling to continue. Finally, with an unsettling look, he whispered, “Xavier, Mrs. Sommers is still there. She didn’t make it out.”
“Wh…what? Mrs. Sommers?”
“Milton, too,” Jeremiah added.
“Dad! We have to go after them! We have to save them!” he exclaimed, jumping to his feet.
“I will, Xavier. That is why I’ve returned, to organize the guard and plan the attack,” he told him, standing. “But there will not be a WE in any of that, son.”
“But I can help! I know I can!” he whined.
“A twelve-year-old boy has no place on the battlefield!” his father insisted, his temper rising.
“I’ll be thirteen in four weeks, Father! And besides, I’m not just any twelve-year-old! I’m the Prince of Warwood! I have more abilities than most of your men!” he blared.
“That may be so, but your powers are not yet fully developed. You’re of no use to me!” he retorted brusquely.
“Gee, thanks a lot!” Xavier grumbled.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to disagree with your last statement, Your Highness,” a deep voice called from the doorway. Abraham Vincent stood just inside the doorway with Loren, Ephraim, and Spencer.
“Abe? You cannot be serious. You’re not suggesting that he be allowed to go into battle!” Jeremiah spat.
Abraham calmly studied the king. “No, I am not. However, sire, it’s time. The boy must be told.”
“NO! No, Abe. Absolutely not!” Jeremiah shouted, advancing on the man.
“Jeremiah, he must know before…”
“Stop right there, Abe. Do not say another word, damn it!” the king interrupted harshly before turning to Xavier. “Go to your room, boy, and do not come out until I send for you.”
He didn’t argue. His father’s wild eyes were frightening, and he obeyed the order without a peep. As he shut the door, he lingered, and immediately his father’s livid voice leaked through the door.
“What in God’s name do you think you’re doing? How dare you come into my chambers making announcements and decisions concerning my son without discussing it with me first?” he yelled.
“Sire, I apologize, but it’s time for the boy to learn the truth about his destiny,” the prophet replied sharply.
“Jeremiah, Abraham is right. You know Xavier. If he finds out another way…if one of the children let it slip…his reaction will be unpredictable at best. You’ve got to tell him,” Spencer insisted softly.
“Mike, you know as well as I do the guilt he’s been struggling with. If I tell him this…it will only confirm his fears. I’m afraid he’ll do something rash!” he implored.
“That’s why it’s important that YOU tell him, Jer. You need to be there to calm him…to hold him down if necessary. I have no doubt he’ll handle the news horribly. How would any of us react if we suddenly discovered that we were the Chosen and responsible for saving the world?” Loren responded.
The men’s discussion continued, but Xavier was unable to hear a single word of it. With his heart hammering in his ears, he sank into the darkness of his chamber. Had he heard right? Had Loren said that he, Xavier Wells, was the Chosen? He was the poor bloke who was responsible for saving the world! He shook his head and dropped onto the edge of his bed. The thumping in his ears grew deafening, and he buried his face in his hands. He didn’t hear the door open or his father enter the room.
“Xavier?” he whispered.
He slowly lifted his head and eyed his father wildly.
“Son? Take it easy…just calm down. Let’s talk about…”
“No,” he moaned, shaking his head vigorously. “Is it true? Am I the Chosen? Dad, is it true?”
His father’s face was answer enough.
“No, Dad! No! I don’t want it!” he screamed, jumping to his feet. “I don’t want to be the Chosen. I just want to be a normal kid! I don’t want these powers! I never wanted them! Take them back! Take them all back!”
“Xavier, please…it’s going to be okay,” Jeremiah urged.
“NO! It’s never going to be okay! Never! I don’t
want people sacrificing their lives for me because I…I’m the Chosen. I don’t want to be responsible for the survival of the world. I don’t want any of it, Dad,” he screamed and before the king’s fumbling hands could reach him, he teleported out of the chamber.
Chapter 21
Tasks, Visions, and Death
Xavier huddled in the darkness of the fencing classroom, sobbing. It was one of the few chambers in King’s Mountain that was protected by lead. Since no empowerment could penetrate the room, this gave him a bit of time to figure out what to do next.
“It’s not fair!” he cried, stomping and punching the floor with his fists. Wasn’t it enough that he was future king and responsible for an entire kingdom? Why did he have to be responsible for the world, too? “It’s not fair! It’s not fair! I don’t want to be the Chosen! I refuse to be the Chosen. I won’t do it!”
Finally, he stopped crying and rubbed the tears from his face. With a shuddering sigh, he stared at the stone floor just beyond his feet and noticed a strange glow reflected in the polish stones.
“What the…”
Slowly, his gaze followed the light across the blackened room to its source: a long, glass case. His problems temporarily forgotten, he stood and moved toward the case. The light was coming from a sword! No, not just a sword. The Sword. The Sword of the Chosen! As he drew closer and closer, the glow grew brighter and brighter.
Then, Henrick’s words came back to him. “Well, young sire, legend states that the sword will emit a fantastic light in the presence of the true Chosen One.”
Xavier’s throat tightened, and his stomach dropped as his feet stilled. He was the Chosen! The glow confirmed it! Self-pity sank over him, and he turned away from the sword and his destiny. He didn’t want it! Then, as if the sword knew his thoughts, it emitted a sudden burst of light that lit up the entire room. He spun back toward the sword. It was made of the brightest, clearest, purest silver known to man. Adorned into its handle was the kingdom’s emblem, surrounded with encrusted diamonds and gems. Engraved along the blade’s length were the Latin words, Teneo vestri, victum vestri, sceptrum orbis terrarium.
“Know thyself… con…conquer thyself, and reign the world,” he translated, as his shivering fingers slid along the case, tracing the length of the beautifully crafted sword.
Slowly Xavier lifted the glass and warm air rushed across his face as a burst of indistinct voices swirled out of the case. Convinced that men had entered the chamber, he spun around, searching the blackened room, but saw no one. He turned back to the case. The sword’s glow had begun to pulsate and the voices continued to bore into him intermittently. Although he didn’t understand a word the voices were hissing at him, he knew without question that they were encouraging him to pick up the sword. Hesitant and with a sense of reverence, he lifted the sword from its case and found it almost hot to the touch.
The instant he touched the weapon, the chorus of voices became lucid and understandable. Seven distinct male voices chanted insistently, “Teneo vestri, victum vestri, sceptrum orbis terrarum.”
Then, one by one, each voice spoke to him.
“Know thyself!”
“Ye shall be a great king.”
“The sword belongs to thee.”
“Ye art the great King of the Light.”
“Know thyself!”
“Conquer thyself!”
“Ye shall possess countless powers.”
“Ye wilt become the greatest empowered man the world has ever seen or wilt ever see.”
“Thy powers must be mastered or ye and thy own wilt perish.”
“Conquer thyself!”
Finally, the voices came together and chorused, “Accept. Accept the weapon. Accept it and fulfill thy destiny and reign the world. Take heed, King of Kings. Teneo vestri, victum vestri, sceptrum orbis terrarum.”
Suddenly, the voices went silent and the glow and heat from the sword vanished. Xavier stood steadfast, his mind whirling over what had just happened when the door flew open with a bang, flooding him in light.
“There you are!” Loren gushed in relief. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you. Your father is all roused up, and we both know how impossible he gets when he’s agitated. What have you got there?” he finished, his voice wavering when his eyes settled on the sword in his hands. Then, with a wave of his hand, light filled the room, and he strolled toward Xavier, his eyes fixed on the sword.
Xavier snapped from his state of awe with a jerk. “Ah…a sword,” he responded stupidly.
The general strained to grin down at him and chuckled weakly. “I can see that, but how did you get it out of the case? That case has been sealed for over a century…no one has been able to open it!”
He didn’t know how to respond to that so he simply shrugged.
Loren glanced at him suspiciously and asked, “Xavier, why do you have the sword? Why did you pick it up?”
Again, he shrugged. How could he tell Loren that the sword had beckoned him to pick it up? He couldn’t tell him about the voices that proclaimed the sword rightfully belonged to him. He doubted the truth would sound sane. His eyes dropped from the general’s as he whispered weakly, “Just curious to see how heavy it was…that’s all.”
Loren stared down at him with an arched brow. “Really, now?”
But, before the general could probe further, the prophet rushed noisily into the room. His eyes darted from Loren to Xavier before finally settling on the sword. He grinned shrewdly.
“Ah, I see you’ve found your sword. Good!”
“Ah…Abe, I don’t think Jeremiah wanted Xavier to know about the sword just yet. You know what he’s capable of…”
“Stop talking about me like I’m an idiot kid who doesn’t know what’s going on, General Jefferson,” Xavier snarled, glaring up at the large man.
Then, his father burst into the room with Ephraim and Mike following behind him.
“Xavier! Thank God, I was afraid you…”
“What, Father? You were afraid of what?” he spat, quickly losing his patience with the secretive looks and cryptic words being exchanged by the men.
The group looked anxiously at the king, who stared down at his son intently. This only infuriated him more.
“God!” he yelled, his hand clenching around the sword. “Stop treating me like a little kid! And stop lying to me!”
For several moments, father and son stood transfixed, staring at one another. Finally, Abe broke their silent rivalry.
“King Wells, it’s time. Tell him. We are all here to…assist if you need it,” he told him quietly.
He looked at the older man, his chin tilted stubbornly, but after a brief glance at the men around him, he sighed with resignation and looked down at the boy.
“Okay, son. Come, I’ll tell you all I know,” he whispered.
As he led Xavier to one of the tables at the back of the classroom, the other men drifted toward the door to give father and son privacy.
Xavier wasn’t sure if the fluttering in his stomach was from uneasiness or eagerness to finally know the truth. His father sat rigidly across from him with his hands stretched out on the table’s smooth surface. For several long seconds, he simply sat there staring down at his hands. When he finally looked up, his expression diminished Xavier of any hope that there’d been a mistake. He was the Chosen.
“No. No, please Dad.”
“You are the Chosen, son. You will be the downfall of the Dark King. You are destined to be the savior of all mankind,” he whispered.
He shook his head long before his father finished, his mind refusing to accept the facts. His control teetered into near hysterics. “No!” he screeched. “No, I don’t want this, Dad. God! Isn’t it enough that I have to be king? Isn’t that enough to deal with? I don’t want this…this destiny. I refuse to be the Chosen! Do you hear me? I refuse it!”
“I’m sorry, son. I don’t want this for you either, but it cannot be changed. Hiding your head in the dirt will not
change it or prevent the inevitable from happening. If you persist in denying it, the world will spiral into destruction and doom.”
“How do you know for certain it’s me? Maybe there’s been a mistake…maybe the prophet is wrong!” he sputtered desperately.
Abraham Vincent spoke softly from across the room. “I’m sorry, young sire, but I did not make a mistake. You are the Chosen. That is why Dublin died for you and why your father…”
“Abe!” Jeremiah interrupted, glaring at the older man.
“What?” Xavier asked, his gaze jumping between the men. When neither man spoke, he blared, “What? What is it? Dad?”
Finally, his father sighed heavily and looked back at him. The grief Xavier saw in his father’s face twisted his anger into outright fear. There was more, much more, and what his father was about to tell him would change everything. “Son, during your divination…every person in attendance received visions and tasks in guiding you, in helping you to adjust to your destiny and fulfilling it. One of my tasks was… to choose between my duty as king and my duty as your father, which in the end is one and the same since you’re not only the future of Warwood, but of the world. I fulfilled this task when I saved you from the Super Flu. Secondly, I have the task of tutoring and molding you into an honest, respectable man and into a wise and honorable king.”
“But what was the prophet talking about, Dad?” he asked, sensing the king was holding back.
Jeremiah looked at Abe before answering slowly. “I foresaw a great battle. I saw us fighting side by side, but an attack came from behind us, and a dark soldier was poised to send his sword through you.” He took a slow steadying breath and added quietly, “I…did what I had to do to save you.”
“What do you mean; you did what you had to do?”
His father didn’t answer, but the answer came to him nonetheless. “Wait! You’ll sacrifice yourself to save me?” he hissed, looking at the prophet. “Is it true? He still dies?”
The Prince of Warwood and The Sword of the Chosen (Book 3) Page 16