Chosen (The Warrior Chronicles, 1) (38 page)

“I need to be on my way.” It was unclear if she was answering them, or just continuing with her monologue. “This battle will draw attention. The Inkna will wonder how someone beat their
Sarshers.
They will wonder if it was in-house. From what I heard over the last year, Sturgane was more ambitious than the rest. People might think the Graygual removed him, which will keep the Inkna quiet for a time. They will figure it out eventually, though. Then they will raise the alarm and the Graygual will be drawn here. They will search harder for me. That will lead them to you. Then to the discovery of Cayan. Then to war.

“I need to get help. I also need to be on my own. It is better. For me. I have lost most of my people already, and the others will stay lost unless I can get help. I do not want to mak
e friends just to lose them. I will never again have the one I loved. He didn’t go with them. And my Chance died. So I’m a nomad until I get help. Or I am dead. I feel dead already. I’m not sure which I dread more—alive with this pain, or dead and answering for my sins. It’s all the same, maybe. I will eternally get no rest. What a terrible job, this Chosen.”

“Does the Captain know?” Marc asked, not sure what to say about the rambling. She was, without a doubt, spilling secrets
. Marc knew that. But he didn’t know how they were important. Or why.

She shrugged. “Not from my mouth, but I’m sure he suspects I must go. Or maybe that I will go. Who’s to say what goes on in that head of bricks?”

Marc got up slowly. He didn’t know much, but he knew that if she died or left, they were sunk. That Inkna army would have taken them down without her battling with her mind. She needed to train the Captain to do it. If there were more people that used that type of fighting, which it sounded like there were, she had to stay on their side. She had to. Or they would end up like the people here—poor, distraught, or used for unspeakable things. Marc wouldn’t see his sister handed over, or his father starving. He wouldn’t!

“Leilius, watch her. I’ll be back,” Marc said as he
turned.

“But—“

With her eyes still closed and her head leaning back against the tree, the sun sprinkling her face through the leaves, a smile soaked up Shanti’s face. “I only bite during sex, Leilius, and you are too young for that.”

Marc paused when he finally found the Captain. The man was sweat-stained and exhausted, but he wasn’t giving up. He was helping the townsfolk with the manual labor, right alongside his men, cleaning up the destruction that the battle caused. The strength of the man was awe-inspiring. He could lift twice what the man next to him could manage, and could work for longer. That fact didn’t help Marc’s desire to be somewhere else besides where he was, stiffly walking up to the large man with a plea on behalf of a foreign woman that the Captain probably didn’t care about in the least—other than to laugh at her clumsy  execution of their language and confusion of their customs. Marc had never understood his leader’s humor where it concerned S’am, but then, he had never understood the Captain, full stop. It was best to just steer clear.

But here he was, tremors from head to foot, wringing his hands like a maid caught stealing, shuffling up and clearing his throat. “Sir?” he said weakly.

After a moment, watching the Captain wrestle a giant beam to the side, Marc tried again. “Captain, sir?”

The large man turned and looked down at him. He wasn’t that much taller, but it certainly seemed that way now, or any time
Marc had been stupid enough to get a dose of the Captain’s full attention.

He felt like a worm watching a giant boot descend.

“Cadet, yes. How are the wounded?”

“Um, okay, I guess. Sir. Five are dying. Shanti—uh, S’am, the foreign woman
—is easing their troubles somehow. She doesn’t say how, but it seems to help. They look peaceful.”

“And you can do nothing for them?”

“No, sir. I tried. They have wounds that cannot be sewn or otherwise healed. Too deep or internal, with too much blood loss. If we had a full hospital it would only make a difference to one of them, and that would probably still be a losing battle.”

“I see. And what of Sanders and the two others?”

“Sh—the foreign woman, um—“

“Calling her by her name is
acceptable, Cadet.” The Captain’s voice softened, if a steel sieve could be called soft.

“Yes, sir. Well, she is doing something with them, too. It is sapping her energy, though, sir. She is fading. Visibly fading.”

The Captain’s eyes glowed faintly for a quick moment. It was eerie and a little scary. The man didn’t need any more ways to freak Marc out, but he kept finding them. “Yes, I see. I will monitor that, Cadet. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

The Captain went to turn away but Marc didn’t leave. It was not why he had come. Not the only reason, anyway. Sometimes he truly hated his life. “Uh, sir?”

He was met with that stare again. He wasn’t being rushed; the Captain always had time for everyone, but a guy didn’t have to be prodded to want to walk away. Not with those hard eyes trapping him. “Yes, Cadet?”

“Um, well, two things. One, she won’t eat. She just keeps saying she’s not hungry. She’s only had a small amount since the en
d of the battle yesterday. Lucius is busy, and I know you are too, but Commander Sanders can’t help because—well, he’s…you know—and no one else will probably be any good. Her body is trying to heal, she is trying to heal others as well…she needs to eat or she’ll get sick. Or worse.”

The Captain was walking before Marc had finished. Since he hadn’t gotten to the second problem, and he
hadn’t been told he was excused, he jogged to catch up.

“And the second thing?”

Oh good, following had been the right decision.

He cut off a sigh as the impatient blue gaze swept his way. “And, uh, maybe you don’t care, or are glad, but she said she’s leavin
g after her shoulder heals. It’s not a bad wound—it won’t take long to heal. Not with her accelerated rate, anyway. She says she is better off alone. She also made a comment that she would have no people unless she got help—“

The Captain stopped abruptly and turned to him. “Tell me exactly what she said.”

Marc’s legs started to tremble. Oh God, he should have written it down. He relayed as much as he could remember and did broad strokes for the rest. He tried not to stammer, but his brain was having a hard time refraining from telling his legs to run. When he was done the Captain was silent for a beat.

“Who else heard?”
he finally said.

“Leilius. That’s it.”

“Do you know what it means? What she meant?”

“Uh-mm, I assume it meant that some of her people made it to safety and are awaiting her return with help. She must have stashed the best and the brightest if they hope to have a chance, right? And that she had thought this man that she loved was going to safety with them, but he didn’t. And even though she just
killed the man who killed him, then well, if that’s true, it’s bringing the grief right back up to the surface, I would guess. And someone who was paired with her, to protect her, like Lieutenant Lucius does, died. So probably for her, right? Probably to help her escape? She’s obviously as powerful as everyone seems to think she is, so she’s the jewel that everyone wants to claim to win the war, right? And now there is you…um…”

Something had changed
in the Captain’s face. His eyes turned hard and intense. Marc lowered his eyes and tried to shrink out of the way, hoping the Captain left him standing there and moved on.

“Insightful.” No such luck. “Do you have reason to believe Leilius put any of that together?”

“Uh, n-no, sir. He was too worried about the tears.”

“Whose? Shanti’s?”

“Yes, sir.”

Marc heard a deep breath and a slow exhale. Then, “I’m sure I don’t have to impress upon you that that is information you are not to share?”

“N-no, sir. You are the one I thought should have that, uh, knowledge. Sir.”

“Correct. Well done.” His feet didn’t move, and since that was all Marc could see of him, he didn’t really know what was going on, and he didn’t want to look up to find out. So he waited quietly.

“So she does have people.” The Captain sounded like he was half talking to himself. “They must have saved some, knowing they couldn’t win. What a decision to have to make. She had to send her people to their death, hide those that gave them the best chance for their future, and save herself. She had to play God with those she had known all her life—deciding who lived and who died. Even had to track down the captured and kill them in an act of mercy. Could I have done that?”

Rhetorical? Probably. Marc continued to stare at the ground and pretend like he couldn’t hear the conversation spoken to the top of his head.

“This man she speaks of was not a soldier,” the Captain went on. “Lucius has heard that from her nightmares. He was good with children. He stayed behind, which means the children were taken to safety. He was probably trying to buy them time so they could escape. Noble. So they saved children, caretakers, and their best soldiers. Interesting. I wonder where they were hidden…”

“They saved those with f
ighting skills and the mental part, too, sir.” Marc flinched. Why did he have to speak? And now he’d caused silence. That couldn’t be good.

“And they followed her ruling. They valued her leadership. They had faith that she
should go alone to get this thing done. They thought a young woman was the best choice to walk across the land in search of an ancestor a hundred or more years removed with nothing but weapons and her father’s ring. And she almost made it.”

“She thought our forest was still intact. If not for that, she would be long gone,” Marc said in resignation. If the Captain was determined to make him a sounding board, he might as well move the thoughts along.

“We are not alone in this, either, Cadet.”

Marc didn’t know what he was talking about, so he said nothing.

“But she has to go—I see that now.”

“But sir, you can’t let her leave!” Marc said in desperation. “We cannot withstand those
Starchars,
or whatever they are. You have power, I hear, but you can’t heal with your mind. Or cause pain. Or whatever else she does that helps the army. You can’t—“

“That is enough, Cadet.” The Captain’s deep, gravel
ed voice set Marc’s bones to vibrating. Marc could feel a warning tingle in his ball sack that said he was probably about to be bodily thrown somewhere. He was prepared for flight and was not ashamed to admit it.

“She has to leave,” the Captain went on, walking now, “but you are right, she has valuable skills we need to harness. For right now, though, she needs to stay alive, and her spirit needs to heal. You are in charge of monitoring that, and reporting to me whenever she suffers a blow. The rest
of what she said you will not speak of to her or anyone else, save me. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Suck your emotions deep within you. She does not seek them unless it is dire, so if you keep your thoughts close to your chest, she should glean nothing of this conversation.”

Mark had no idea what that meant, either, but it was always wise to agree with the Captain. “Yes, sir.”

As they walked up, Shanti grimaced, eyes still closed. “Marc, you are a tattletale.”

“See, that’s weird,” Leilius mumbled, scooting around the tree.

“It’s not weird. Marc’s brain is all soft and squishy and caring. The other one’s brain looks like the ugly rugs he is so fond of. I am not reading his thoughts, just that he is unhappy about something. As usual.”

“You two boys can leave n
ow,” the Captain said, his gaze trained on Shanti.

Neither Marc or Leilius wasted any time.

Shanti waited for the probing mental contact she knew would come. When it did, she gave it a
tug
, then gave him the mental equivalent of a kick. “You need to ask before you try to look in on someone’s thoughts.”

“You seem to have
no qualms about it,” Cayan replied, sitting down beside her.

She still hadn’t opened her eyes, but he smelled dirty.
And sweaty. “I don’t look. I maintain a connection with my head like people do with their eyes. I monitor to make sure everyone is alive, is okay, and is not in need of help. I cannot help, and really do not appreciate, that your people seem to constantly advertise their every damn emotional feeling.”

“Do you even know what
damn
means?”

“No, but I know how it is used, and how people respond to its use, which is really all slang is anyway.”

“I see.”

“I’m glad.”

“You need to eat.”

“You need to butt-out. And no, besides its use, I don’t understand that one, either. I know what a butt is, of course, and what ‘out’ is, but I don’t see how a naked butt, or a protruding butt, or a butt hanging out of something, makes sense in language. But yet, it makes the boys close their mouths or go away. Often times both.”