Chosen (21 page)

The Chosen had grown quite proficient at hiding their trail, not only the physical evidence left behind by hoof and boot, scuffed earth, bent grass, hair on branches as the horses passed, but the disturbance that all people left behind them which anyone with magical abilities could sense.

Brok allowed himself a moment to reflect back on the training he and the other Guardians had received back on Gentra. Gerok had excelled at tracking.
I wonder if my Chosen could manage to hide from Gerok.
Brok hoped Queen Cheye would give up the search after a time and begin looking for another boy to entertain her guests in the enchanted pools. But her insistence that he was something special, something she had to possess made him uneasy.

Brok finally called a halt. His Chosen were nearly falling out of their saddles with exhaustion. Saemus and Jon went in search of firewood and the girls unloaded the gear.

“I can't believe Moira saved the day!” Gwen said as she fed the little urgit a bit of biscuit.

“If it wasn't for her, things would have turned out quite differently,” Brok said.

“What would you have done if she hadn't shown up?” Gwen asked.

“I don't know, child. Best not to think on such things. She
did
come, and in the nick of time.”

As though fate planned it all along.

Though the prophecy never said anything about urgit's aiding the Chosen, Brok thought it a little too coincidental that she came to them, traveled with them, and just happened to be intelligent enough to understand what was needed to save Jon. He shook his head.
What matters is that all of my Chosen are safe.

He went into the woods to relieve himself. As he returned, he noticed all of the Chosen sitting around the campfire, chatting about their escape and praising Moira for the hundredth time since their flight from the palace.

Not all of them.

Jon Stone was not with the others. The boy seemed uncomfortable around his fellow classmates and kept to himself, even during meals. Brok did not notice at the beginning of their flight from Siswae, as he was more concerned with eluding possible pursuit and teaching the students defensive and offensive spells. He even brushed off the ease with which Jon grasped the newly-learned spells and the ability to perform them better than any of the others. When asked how he did it, he mumbled about how he had had practice while being held prisoner. The boy was also able to perform every spell without speaking a word. As before, he attributed this to Queen Cheye. Not the Queen herself, but to an old magician who had begun training Jon from the moment he had arrived at the palace.

Brok sneered at the thought that a magician had been responsible for Jon's quick study. Magicians were the lowest of those with the power. Most of what they did do was tricks, sleight of hand mixed in with a little magic, allowing them to deceive the public. Many magicians were street performers; living off the coin they earned performing their tricks. Many latched onto monarchs or rich lords and ladies, acting as seers, and, in some cases, trusted advisors. Through trickery, bribery, astute senses, and a bit of luck, magicians were able to use some genuine information, mixed in with a bit of lies to further themselves and to fool their masters into thinking they had true power.

Few Mystics, and others who could do magic, sought to exploit that power. Most used theirs for good, serving villages and towns, healing hurts and making the occasional potion and charm. In rare instances, a Mystic tried to ally himself with a monarch in order to guide them on a true and noble path.

As he watched Jon walking toward a small stand of trees, he decided to take the time to ask Jon some hard questions. Jon paced back and forth, the toes of his boots quickly appearing and disappearing beneath his robes, arms crossed over his chest, head down, sandy blonde hair hanging in his eyes. The boy was muttering to himself, the words sounding strangely low and guttural.

“Jon—” Brok began, and then cut off abruptly as the boy turned around. Jon's normally blue eyes had gone black as midnight. It was
as if his pupils had grown larger and had seeped over the whites, covering them in inky blackness. His lip curled in a sneer.

Brok's mouth went dry and he took an involuntary step backward.

“Is something the matter?” Jon stared at Brok with those strange eyes and spoke in a voice so unlike his own. It was deeper, more the voice of a man than a boy barely past fifteen name days.

“Jon, what have you done?”

“Only what I was taught, Master Brok. The Queen wanted something regular magic could not do. She had her dark mages teach me.” His face was a mask of rapture. “You would not believe the things I can do!”

Now it all makes sense. The strength, the rapid learning.
“Jon, this power…it's not right. To take such a thing from nature and twist it to your own purpose.” Brok sighed. “Perhaps this is my fault as well. I should have told you, all of you, about the dangers of the dark power.”

“You may change your mind if we are attacked. My power will come in handy. The others cannot do even a small part of what I can. You need me,” Jon said arrogantly.

“All of us working together can handle any danger we may encounter.”
Unless the Queen sends one of her dark mages after us.
“The dark power has a will of its own. It twists the mind and soul.”

The blackness covering Jon's eyes receded quickly. He swayed on his feet. Brok rushed to catch him. Jon grabbed Brok's robes, like a drowning man clutching a piece of driftwood.

“I can't help it, Master Brok! Taking the power, feeling it all through you….” He shuddered. “I'm sorry.” Jon buried his face in his hands.

“It's alright, boy.” Brok tried to make his voice sound light-hearted and sure. It was no easy thing to resist the urge to use the dark power. It was difficult to go back to relying only on the power within yourself to perform spells; it paled in comparison to what could be taken from other life. Jon deserved to know the truth. “Jon, listen to me.” Brok pushed the boy away from his chest and gripped him by the shoulders. “It's not alright. I need to show you the consequences of the power you wield when it is taken from others.” He pointed to a blackened area where the boy had been standing as
he wielded the power. “By taking the life force from everything around you, you may end up destroying it. Sometimes, the life is only injured and can recover from the loss. But not always.” Brok looked at the blackened area sadly.

Jon's eyes widened and his skin paled. “But when I performed the magic in the enchanted pools, nothing like this ever happened. None of the guests were harmed, and there isn't any plant life around. So how was I able to do the magic?”

“I do not know.” Brok shook his head. “Did the Queen have you stand always in one spot?” He continued after seeing the boy nod. “She may have had slaves or prisoners in a room beneath you. You were drawing on their life force without ever being aware you were doing so.”

Jon turned to the side and retched.
What have I done?
“The Queen told me the symbols carved there would enable me to draw power.” The boy fell to his knees.

“You do not have to touch the power, Jon. It will not be easy to resist, but you must,” Brok said.

“Do we have to tell the others?” His face was pale.

“They might be able to help you.”

Jon sighed miserably. “I will tell them.”

The two headed back to camp, the moons providing enough light to find their way. The insects were out in force, filling the night air with their strange music. The others were sitting in a loose circle, listening to the nightly choir. Moira was keeping them entertained, trying to catch firebugs.

Jon sat in an empty spot next to Saemus and began to tell his tale, and soon the words poured out faster and faster. This was the first time he had spoken about what had happened, and once the flood gates were opened, there was no stopping it.

“Some men grabbed me while I slept. They gagged and tied me up, telling me that no harm would come to me if I cooperated. Once I was at the palace, the Queen told me that if I worked for her, she would teach me magic, dark magic.” Jon paused, glancing at his fellow Chosen, gauging their reactions.

Keera chewed a red curl and started at him with a furrowed brow; Kaelin refused to even look at him; Saemus was frowning as
though wishing he had a quill and ink to write the account down. Gwen was the only one looking at him with an expression that he could describe as understanding.

“I began learning how to use the dark magic. I didn't even know I could do it till I tried. The Queen watched me every time I did a spell with this little smile of triumph. She wouldn't tell me why I was taken. But I overheard her talking to one of her handmaids and she said that I was special somehow, and that she was adding me to her collection.”

“Adding you to her collection? As if you were a vase or something,” Gwen said.

“Didn't you try to escape?” Keera asked.

“She had me locked in my room when I wasn't learning spells and performing in the pools.” Jon blushed, remembering that they had all seen him in next to nothing. “And I was never left unguarded.”

“Well, just don't be practicing that dark magic around me!” Keera said.

“He's not going to. He knows the danger. It's not like he had any choice in learning it. The Queen made him,” Gwen said.

Keera sniffed and crossed her arms. “He just better not use it, is all I'm saying.”

“I think that's enough for tonight. Try to get some sleep. I will take first watch, Saemus, you have second, and Keera, you take third,” Brok said.

Saemus groaned. Second watch was hardest. He feared sleeping and not waking at the correct time to relieve the person on first watch, and then having a difficult time falling asleep for what was left of the night when the watch was over.

Brok ordered everyone to their blankets. He sat on a log, facing north. Every now and again he let his senses range out in a full circle, to see if anyone was near. As was often the case on watch, he thought of home, the mission, the Chosen, the Mekan threat that he knew was coming closer and closer. He allowed his thoughts to stray, certain in the knowledge that no one was following.

* * *

The man sneered at the old man's feeble touch.
I am so close and yet he is completely unaware of my presence.
He held Mystics, and others like them, in contempt. Who were they to decide using dark magic was wrong? He could do things no Mystic had ever dreamed of.

He had decided many days past to follow the old man and the young ones rather than take them back to Siswae for the Queen's justice. He wanted nothing more than to storm in and make the entire group submit to his will. His cheek muscles twitched as he remembered well his treatment by the old Mystic Faerow. And then there was Jon. Fa' Vel smiled when he recalled the first time the young man had come into his tavern. The dark magician had been able to sense the boy's propensity to touch the forbidden power lurking just below the surface.

There were many secrets attached to this group of people.
I will follow them until they lead me to the answers I seek.
Fa' Vel's onyx eyes seemed to glow of their own accord in the darkness. The scar running from cheek to chin pulled his mouth into his accustomed leer.

* * *

The next day dawned cool and crisp. A thin layer of frost covered the ground, sparkling in the sunlight, but it soon melted in the first rays of the sun. Birds began chirping, singing their welcome to the new day.

Keera yawned and shivered as she added wood to the fire. She stretched and trudged to the nearby creek to fill the water skins and splash ice cold water on her face, scrubbing the sleep from her eyes.

Keera stifled another yawn as she stood. As she turned to leave, she spied a footprint in the mud on the far bank of the creek. It looked fresh. Her heart pounded as she backed away. She was afraid to turn around, sure that someone would come springing out of the brush to snatch her.

She woke Master Brok. He jumped up quickly and followed her to the spot where she had seen the footprint. He splashed through
the creek and bent down to examine the print. A man made it. They could find no other prints anywhere around, which made Brok very nervous.
What manner of man leaves only one print?
He asked himself.
The kind that is erasing them and forgets one.
He let his senses flow out and did not sense anyone. He and Keera went back to camp where he set the students to saddling the horses.

Brok worried about the one footprint in the mud on the bank of the creek. His senses told him that there was no one about and yet here was evidence that someone was near. The Mystic's mouth suddenly went dry as he looked at Jon, rubbing Piper's nose as he bridled him.
Perhaps whoever is out there can hide from my magic.

Dare I ask him to use the dark magic?

Brok sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
Do I even have that right?
He had told the boy never to use it and yet here he was considering asking Jon to risk losing the very essence of himself in what could quite possibly be a wild goose chase.

What about having the twins try?
The Chosen looked up as Brok came near. “Keera spotted a lone footprint in the mud along the creek bank, not far from here.”

They were all ready to get moving, hoping they could shake off the pursuer. Gwen had argued that if the Queen's guards or someone else in her employ had made it, they most certainly would have come to the camp and attempted to arrest them all. Saemus had countered that if it had been a lone guard, he may have been reluctant to take on all seven of them, and be on his way to get help.

“I was unable to detect anyone in a ten mile radius, or more,” Brok said. “But the person who made the print may be beyond my reach. Or,” Here he paused. “They could be using dark magic to hide their presence from me.”

“What do we do?” Jon asked.

“I need the twins to try to locate the person responsible for making the track. I have already searched and can detect nothing. Perhaps their combined powers can do what I cannot,” Brok said.