Chosen (2 page)

Her fear of the trench was soon forgotten, however, as the group neared their destination. The Guardians passed through the entryway of a long hallway. They crowded closely together, allowing their gelatinous bodies and arms to softly brush up against one another. They found themselves gripping one another's hands
and giving an occasional squeeze of comfort and encouragement. Their escort stopped before a dark doorway and opened the door, gesturing with his arm for the four Guardians to go inside.

The portal chamber was lit by glow rods hanging from the ceiling, giving the room a bright, cheerful look. Directly ahead was the activated portal. It was rectangular in shape and was surrounded on all four sides by strange symbols, from the simple to the inordinately complex. Six Masters flanked the portal, three to each side. The Masters to the left were female, their bodies trailing behind as long trains. Their arms and finger-like appendages were smaller than those of the three male Masters who hovered to the right. The bodies of the males were broad and darker than the females.

All six had the same violet eyes: deep, dark, and full of wisdom and mystery. Their penetrating eyes scoured the four Guardians as they approached. They fanned out and stopped a short distance from the six Masters. The middle female and the middle male Master glided forward and bowed deeply.

“You first came to us as the Elected. You leave now not only as Guardians, but also Masters, sent forth to guide and protect the Chosen,” the female, Briska, stated.

“Time is short. The danger the Mekans pose to the galaxy grows with each passing day. The fate of the entities that inhabit our galaxy depends upon you, and your ability to keep the Chosen safe.

“You have been instructed as to the signs and portents that will appear when the time is right for you to take your Chosen, travel to the portals, and bring them to Gentra.” When Briska finished, she glided back between the other two female Masters and fixed her gaze upon Master Ferrok, who now floated alone facing the Guardians.

“Gerok, from this moment forward you now hold the title of Master. Go forth, and meet your destiny,” Ferrok declared. Gerok swam toward the portal, and after a moment's pause, passed through.

“Brok, from this moment forward you now hold the title of Master. Go forth, and meet your destiny.”

The same declaration was repeated for the other two Guardians, Mirka and Forka. After the four Guardians had passed through the
portal, the Masters exited the chamber except for Master Ferrok. He remained behind, facing the portal, lost in thought. A slight vibration in the water behind him interrupted his uneasy deliberations.

“Do you still doubt what we have done, Ferrok?” Master Briska asked.

“We alone have the knowledge to save the galaxy. As long as the Guardians do not disclose the prophecy to the Chosen before the signs appear, then we will not be interfering with fate. We cannot take the chance that something happens to the Chosen before the signs appear,” Ferrok said.

“I hope you are right, Ferrok. We have done all we can. The fate of the galaxy now lies in the hands of the Chosen.”

A
STRA

“Concentrate. You must never allow your thoughts to wander when using magic.” Master Brok stood in front of the five students, his hard gaze falling on each in turn. “The consequences to yourselves and others can be dire if you do not have full control of your power. Bah!” He flung his skeletal arms up in frustration and raked his bony fingers through his thick white hair.

“That is enough for tonight. Lessons will resume when Midsummer Festival concludes.”

The only sounds in the house were the sound of the students scrambling to their feet, gathering food pails, and the soft click of the door as the last one left. Brok stood alone, calmed by the silence, and watched the shadows lengthen as the sun began to set. Hunger finally drove him toward the kitchen where he fixed a cold supper of bread, cheese, and dried apples he had picked from his orchards. He carried his supper and a mug of ale outside and ate his food while the twin moons rose, one remaining barely visible above the horizon, bathing the village of Heart Stone in light. As Master Brok watched the night sky, he marveled at its mysterious beauty. Memories of his home world flooded his mind as he stared without blinking at the moons of Astra.

He longed to swim again in the warm waters of Gentra, savoring the colors emitted by the sherubite crystals while gazing at the vents that rose from the ocean floor. Brok thought the vents somewhat resembled the Astran Shadow Mountains. The behemoth mountain
range was located to the north of Heart Stone, a great granite wall stretching as far as the eye could see.

He did admit this planet was also beautiful, although very different from the beauty of Gentra. The feel of grass beneath ones feet was truly a marvel. The smell of the flowers in bloom, the sound of the wind as it blew through the leaves of the trees, and the sight of the sun rising, which bathed this foreign world in a warm golden light. The morning and evening were his favorite times. He loved watching the world come to life, the dew as it sparkled in the new morning light, the birds chirping welcome to all who cared to listen. He equally loved the evening, the sky turning from bright blue, to midnight, to black, slowly filling with the twinkling of millions of stars.

He remembered how he felt when he discovered this planet also used the honorific title of Master to address the men folk. Among the four Guardians, only Brok was able to use his given name, which pleased him more than he would have originally imagined. Mystics-in-training gave up their surnames, and the name Brok was not so foreign as to arouse suspicion that he was not of this world. All these things helped to relieve his homesickness.

Brok retrieved his hand-carved wooden pipe and a small bag of pipeweed from the pockets sewn into his black robes. He lit the pipe and took a few puffs, the smoke curling around his heavily lined face. Heart Stone grew the best pipeweed and shipped it to the far reaches of Astra.

Brok glanced up as he heard a horse approach the front of the house. He stood slowly and walked toward the noise, speaking just before the person reached to knock on his door.

“Good evening.”

The man jumped nearly two feet, with his hands over his heart as he landed.

“Dear Spirits!” the man said, somewhat unsteadily.

Master Brok couldn't help but grin at the man. Willam Stone was short and rather obese. Brok was surprised by how high the man had managed to jump. Willam was bent over, breathing heavily and mopping his brow with a white handkerchief.

“I do apologize, Master Stone. It was not my intention to frighten the wits out of you. Please, come around back and join me
for a smoke.” Brok produced a second pipe from his robes and offered it to the still breathless man.

“Well now, Master Brok. That's a little more neighborly of you!” Willam managed as he followed Brok to the back of the house. “It really isn't right, scaring one in such a fashion…” The rest was lost as he popped the pipe between his teeth and took a long draw, which produced a fit of coughing turning his face an alarming shade of red.

“
Latus eris”
Brok whispered the words of power and Master Stone's coughing subsided as quickly as it began.

“Now that is being
very
neighborly Master Brok!” Willam laughed as he took a seat on a stump.

The two men sat in silence and smoked their pipes, blowing the occasional smoke ring.

Master Stone cleared his throat and glanced at Brok. “I came here tonight to speak with you about Jon.”

Brok nodded his head as the man's words confirmed his suspicions. He had been waiting some time for the parents of this particular pupil to approach him.

Willam took a deep breath and rubbed his hands together with nervous frustration.

“I don't know what to do about the boy. His mother and I are beside ourselves. He keeps going on and on about wanting to be a traveling storyteller. A storyteller!” The man stood and began pacing, gesturing angrily with his hands.

“That is no profession for a boy of Jon's talent. He could have a good life as a Mystic, serving people, helping people. As a storyteller, he would live in shoddy rooms, stables, and tell stories for a few measly coins and a meal.”

Willam turned to Brok, a look of pleading on his face.

“What can we do? How can we keep him on the right path?”

Brok took a moment to collect his thoughts before answering. He had to use great care here. It was tempting to tell this man, this
father,
the truth about his son's destiny. Jon Stone, with his other four classmates, Gwen Heath, Keera Flint, and the Barlow twins Saemus and Kaelin, was one of the Chosen. Although still unaware of their fate, these children carried the heavy burden of saving the galaxy from the formidable Mekans.

The five students believed they were under the tutelage of Master Brok merely to become Mystics, who were spiritual leaders for many Astran towns and villages. They were eagerly sought after and highly regarded. Being experts in herb lore and magic, a Mystic held a distinct and honorable position. Despite Master Stone's ambition for his son to become a Mystic or Jon's desire to be a storyteller, Jon was destined for more important things.

“I would not be concerned about your son's future, Master Stone. He is young yet, and still has a young man's dreams. Before his training concludes, he will realize his gifts are needed in ways other than for the amusement of telling stories. Listen, enjoy his stories, and be assured that your son is destined for great deeds.”

Willam took a moment to allow Master Brok's words to sink in. “Thank you for putting a father's fears to rest. I only want what is best for him.”

After saying their good-byes, Willam rode away towards his home. Brok re-filled his pipe and sat down to enjoy a last peaceful smoke before heading to bed. As he blew rings toward the Astran twin moons, he thought of the students' performance during their earlier lessons. He shook his head ruefully. Who could blame their distraction, knowing that on the morrow, Midsummer Festival began? Brok was also looking forward to the festivities.

Town folk from two neighboring villages, Willow Haven and Oak Brook, would travel to Heart Stone and join in the fun, erecting tents in any available open spaces. Women would meet at the Town Center, a grassy area filled with flowers and surrounded by willow trees. Large ovens were wheeled from the smithy for baking a variety of goods. The air would fill with the most tantalizing aromas: sweet cakes, pies, pastries, cookies, meat pies and rolls, jams and jellies, and various kinds of bread. Contests were held for women and young girls to display their sewing, exhibiting many impressive quilts, dresses, and bonnets.

The men would gather and practice archery, knife throwing, fencing, sword and quarterstaff fighting, carving, sheering, and bird calling, wanting to hone their skills for the various competitions that would occur during the course of the entire week. Those men who brought ales and ciders for the judges' consideration and for local
sampling set up their barrels inside the inn. Eventually the brewers' generosity led to disdainful sniffs from the women who later found their men rather drunk.

The children could be found everywhere, playing Catch Me if you Can, playing at sword fighting with large sticks, fishing, sneaking treats from the tables laden with baked goods, and racing their horses and ponies. It was virtually impossible to keep them near their families' camp, so each adult would kept a watchful eye on any children within the vicinity.

Everyone looked forward to the festival, pausing to enjoy life while spending time with family and friends from the other villages and outlying farms and homesteads.

Brok tapped out his pipe and returned it to his robe's inner pocket. He stood, placed his hands at the small of his back and stretched. Smiling, he realized this simple task had become another luxury he had really come to enjoy since arriving.

Brok stumbled into the house, cracking his toe on the door jam.

“
Incendia”
He uttered, silently cursing the pain in his foot from lack of foresight.

A small, pink, spherical ball of light appeared and hovered above his outstretched hand. He proceeded to limp toward his bedroom. A slight flick the ball of light winked out. He shrugged out of his robes, his wrinkled skin pebbling with goose pimples from the cool night air. He crawled under his blankets and as his body warmed, he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

The first day of Midsummer Festival began cool and bright, but quickly warmed as the sun rose above the horizon. Some folks had arrived from Willow Haven and Oak Brook the day before, and Brok watched them emerge from their tents, with faces full of excitement.

Brok walked down the winding dirt path from his house to the main road that led through Heart Stone. He approached the Town Center and his stomach gave a rumble as he caught a teasing whiff of the food baking in the ovens located at the edge of Town Center. Many of the goodwives had already begun creating their culinary
masterpieces. Brok continued walking toward the north side of the green and made his way down the stone-paved path to the Meadows Inn.