Chosen (6 page)

Lieutenant Marshall walked past the row of pallets along the east wall and made his way to the small room at the south-east corner that had been set aside for himself and General Smith. It had two beds separated by a bearskin rug. There was even a small stove in one corner to provide heat during the winter months. A window faced due south, offering a good view of the river.

Robert got undressed, folded his clerical garments, and placed them in his wooden chest. These were his most prized possession, along with the family Bible. They had been passed down from father to son for many generations. The leather was soft and supple and dyed the purest, deepest black. As he closed the chest, he suddenly
realized that the tradition of passing on the garments would die with him, as he could not have a family so long as he was a Protector. He often thought of what life would be like with a wife and children, a home of his own, working in the fields. The thoughts seemed foreign to his brain. He was a Protector and always would be.

Perhaps I can find a family with a young man worthy enough to take my place and wear these garments
.

* * *

General Ted Smith rode his sorrel mare at a leisurely pace, reins held in one hand casually draped over the saddle horn. His brown and grey shoulder-length, unkempt hair was tied back with a strip of leather encircling his temples. His piercing ice-blue eyes scanned his surroundings. To his left and right he could see towers of concrete, about twenty feet high. They were heavily weathered and full of pockmarks. Several large pieces of rusted metal could be seen jutting out, like strange limbs dangling from an immobile beast. No one knew what these towers had once been. There were no windows or doors, and seemed to be constructed of solid pieces.

Forka knew what they used to be. His studies on Gentra revealed much about the lives of the humans who came before. The towers were all that was left of elevated highways. The roadway itself had long since fallen. The remnants, if there were any, were now covered in soil and trees and other plant life.

All around the General stood huge mounds of what appeared, at first glance, to be small hills covered in grass, flowers, vines, and weeds. Closer inspection would reveal that some of the mounds were in fact the fragments of stone and concrete buildings, long since overgrown. Buildings were now homes for birds, scores of insects, and feral cats. Trees, grass, weeds, shrubs, flowers, and climbing vines covered almost every available space, some even growing inside of the abandoned buildings.

Rusted hunks of metal could be found in neat rows, and sometimes jumbled together, all covered with dirt and plant life. General Smith knew that these objects were once automobiles,
contraptions that the humans of this planet used to get from place to place. He also knew that they traveled on hard, straight surfaces called roads. He glanced up at the crumbling highway and shook his head.
Not any more they don't.

The General continued his survey of the surroundings, aware almost instantly of how he and the four Chosen that accompanied him could use the features of the terrain as protection in case of an attack by the Horde or the Cowboys. The leaders of the two roving bands of thieves and murderers, Samson and Wild Bill, were as smart as they were savage. All of the Protectors were able, to some degree, to assess the landscape and determine which features offered the best defense, or possible escape route. The General had taught the Protectors this valuable skill, along with advanced battle tactics, when he had arrived in the encampment from Gentra.

General Smith sent 2
^nd
Lieutenant and Chosen Mark Vincent ahead to Watchtower 1 to see to it that the ferry was brought over from the opposite shore, thus reducing the wait to cross the river. The General was not a patient man; he found waiting of any kind intolerable. It was bad enough dealing with all of the delays of everyday life but having to await the signs to appear revealing that the time has come to take the Chosen to the portal was unbearable. Ted was on edge every second of every day, quite unlike life on his home world of Gentra. He felt like a coiled spring with no release; he was not sure how much longer he could go on waiting.

But for all the inner tension and stress, he was outwardly calm. The only indication of his turmoil was his ever-moving eyes.

Ted smiled when he saw Brent Fields following behind Mark Vincent. Brent had taken to the man from the minute they met. Mark had been one of the few advocates for allowing Brent to join the Protectors, despite Brent only having one arm. It didn't take long for the other Chosen to demand his participation in their group, ignoring the protests from the other Protectors. Ted had made the announcement, his authority overriding the doubts of those who thought the young man couldn't perform his duties. It came as no surprise to Ted that Brent had never faltered in his dedication to the Jhinn, showing himself just as capable as those with two arms. He was one of the Chosen. Destiny controlled his fate.

“This waiting must be killing you, sir.”

Ted glanced over at Tess Golden. Her hair had come out of her braid and flew wildly around her head. She shared a smirk with fellow Chosen, Martha Stevens, who lounged lazily on her gelding as it plodded slowly toward the river.

“I don't know what you mean, Tess dear. Our General is a pillar of patience,” Martha said.

“You're right, of course. Whatever was I thinking?” Tess winked at Martha.

Ted ignored the two and gave his mare a soft kick with his heels. They topped a small rise and stopped. Before them lay the river, sunlight glinting off the surface like a thousand jewels. The cottonwoods and aspens along the shore were bedecked in golden yellow leaves, blowing in the cool fall breeze. The General shaded his eyes and could barely see the ferry half-way across, making its way to the large wooden watchtower.

He clicked to the little sorrel and he and the four Chosen made their way off the hill. They passed between several ruined buildings and homes. The General knew that they were safe; the men in the watchtowers had eyes as sharp as hawks and would sound the alarm if any movement was spotted in the vicinity. The closer they got to the river, the muddier the ground became. The horse's hooves made loud, wet, squelching noises as their feet pulled from the thick, brown mud. The General's sorrel tossed her head and whickered in disgust.

Ted grinned and leaned forward to pat her neck. He was amazed at the intelligence and different personalities that horses possessed. The animals reminded him of the scrago back home on Gentra. He regarded his sorrel with special affection. She was easily the smartest horse the Protectors had. He rode her almost exclusively and therefore they had a special bond, able to read each other's thoughts. She was invaluable in skirmishes, acting with speed and agility without having to rely on her rider for guidance.

General Smith's men kept pestering him to name the spirited mare but he could never settle on one that fit her spirit, strength, and intelligence. The others were free in sharing their ideas but he refused every one. Her namelessness made her unique. The General
was of a mind to keep her nameless and free, as if burdening her with a name would somehow diminish who she was.

The ferry arrived amid splashes and shouting as the men aboard hopped into the river, pushed the large wooden platform closer to the bank, and secured it with ropes made from milkweed fibers.

The General and the Chosen dismounted and led their horses on board the ferry. He walked to the edge of the craft while the others took up positions at the four corners and grabbed the long, wooden poles. They pushed off into the slow-moving river and used the poles to maneuver across.

Once on the other side, the ferry was secured. It always remained on the west side of the river, the encampment side, making it more difficult for an enemy to cross, just one more line of defense for the Jhinn.

“Protector Stevens, ride ahead and assemble my Lieutenants at the bunkhouse. I want them ready when I arrive.”

“Yes, General.” Martha nodded in salute, winked at her friend Tess, and galloped due west toward the encampment.

General Smith and the others arrived at the bunkhouse in half an hour. He handed a Protector his reins and ordered all but Robert Marshall, Mark Vincent, Sloan, Brad Phillips, Tess Golden, Martha Stevens, and Brent Fields to vacate the common room until the meeting was finished. No one questioned the orders; the General usually met with those seven before sharing information with the other thirty or so other Protectors. Inside, the Lieutenants were waiting, seated at one of the long tables.

The General took his usual place. A crude map drawn on a piece of leather with charcoal covered the table. Ted looked at the seven Chosen seated before him.

When he had first learned he was to be Guardian of planet Earth, he had been disappointed. He had argued with the Masters, convinced that they had somehow made a mistake in the interpretation of the prophecy. He did not believe that these men and women deserved the honor of being Chosen.

He alone knew all of the details of the last eight hundred years of history of planet Earth. Most humans had only the barest inkling of what had caused the near destruction of all of the people of this
world. And while it was true that the destruction of Earth was a bad twist of fate, Forka had stubbornly believed that if only man had worked harder to get along with one another, they may have been able to come up with
some
sort of solution to save their planet.

After further study, he grudgingly admitted to himself that it was entirely possible that there wasn't much anyone could do to save Earth. It was almost as though a ball had been sent rolling and that it moved inexorably forward despite the best efforts of the leaders of the planet. But the feeling had remained, just under the surface, rising every now and then to cast doubt on his duty as a Guardian and everything he had been asked to give up for his destiny.

But after only serving the Jhinn as their General for a few short years, he realized the error of his ways. The kindness, compassion, willingness to work hard, and the undying loyalty of the Protectors chipped away at his doubts, making the twenty or so years he had spent with them more rewarding than he could have ever imagined.

As he met the eyes of his seven Chosen, he felt the familiar doubt creeping into his gut, worming its way through his veins. It had been impossible for leaders of the human race to stop the destruction of their planet; how could the Chosen save the entire galaxy from the Mekans?

A
STRA

“Kaelin! Hey Kaelin, wait!”

Kaelin Barlow groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. She sighed and realized that she would have to be more direct if she wanted to avoid the unwanted attentions of Jon Stone.

Ever since the incident at Midsummer Festival, Jon had been following her everywhere, bringing her flowers, professing his love for her in grandiose stories he had made up just for her. Kaelin tried to be polite and keep him at a distance, but he had yet to take the hint. She had even tried to avoid him, going so far as to hide behind trees and buildings when she saw him walking by. She couldn't spend the rest of her life hiding from one lovesick boy.

This is the last straw!
This time his bellowing had interrupted her most special fantasy and daydream. She was married to a wealthy, tall, strong, and devastatingly handsome lord who worshipped the very ground upon which she tread. She was pampered lavishly and had a houseful of servants to see to her every whim. Her fantasy was the image of the life she desired above all else. She was never going to settle for an ordinary boy.

She faced the grinning boy with her arms crossed and a frown on her face.

“Hi, Kaelin!” Jon found himself tongue-tied, as he always was in the presence of Kaelin Barlow. He reached out to take her hand and then stopped with his arm raised as he noticed the look on her face and her uncomfortable posture.

“Is there something wrong?”

Kaelin closed her eyes and steeled herself for what she was about to do.

“Jon….” She began haltingly. “I don't know how to say this without hurting you.” She took a deep breath and forced herself to meet his eyes. “I have tried to give you hints, hoping you would figure it out on your own, but it obviously isn't working.”

She cringed as she saw the blood rush to Jon's face. He clenched his fists and folded his arms across his chest. She could see he was shaking.

“Jon, I am sorry that I don't feel the same way you do. I know I should have been honest with you, but I didn't want to hurt you. I treasure your friendship and I was hoping things would go back to the way they were before Saemus and I…”

Kaelin stopped mid-sentence, realizing she was rambling. She had never felt so miserable, yet she knew that she was doing the right thing. She also knew that she had waited too long to tell Jon the truth of how she felt towards him; she could tell by the look on his face that they could never go back to being friends.

Jon stood, naked and exposed as he felt each word like a physical blow. He clenched his jaw and through sheer force of will kept the tears at bay. He refused to cry in front of her. He looked at the ground and shuffled his feet, trying to think of something to say, but he was at a loss. He berated himself for being so naive as to think he could ever win the heart of a girl like Kaelin. He wished he could take back all of the things he had said and done these last few months.