The Chosen (The Compendium of Raath, Book 1) (21 page)

“Get up,” Ti'Shed said. The sword master's
eyes were bloodshot, but still intense. He wore many wounds
himself, and Krothair knew that somehow the Duller was keeping
Ti'Shed from feeling as much of his pain as he probably should.

“I thought we were done for the day,”
Krothair said, his heart sinking.

Ti'Shed's face was frighteningly passive.
“We were going to be. But that last combination you attempted would
have let any Foglin cut both inches of your cock off with a single
slice. If we don't drill it, you will die on your first day at the
Vapor.”

“And when will that be?” Krothair asked. He
put his hands on his bruised knees and pushed himself to standing.
“I certainly hope it's soon.”

“Not the best idea. If you
find
me
too
harsh, the men down there will eat you alive.”

“I can't do anymore,” the boy said. “I can't
even hold onto my weapon right now.” He heard Ti'Shed's grip creak
on the two mallets he was holding, fists tightening on leather
grips. “If you're going to kill me, just kill me now.”

Silence and then a bird tweeting.

The sun was blazing in the sky and Krothair
could feel the heat of it through his clothing. It made his already
warm wounds even hotter. “I'm going to go into the city,” he said,
not knowing what else to do.

“Last time you did that, it didn't end
well,” Ti'Shed reminded him. “We're going to drill that last
combination, Wind in the Stones.”

Krothair tucked his shirt
in as best we could and slowly ambled away from the old man.
Turning his back on him was a lot more difficult than he would have
thought.
And not just because he can kill
me. I feel as bad for him as I do for myself.
Krothair had never given up on anything easily, but right now
he felt the gentle equilibrium inside of himself slip and knew he
needed to get away.

And so, filthy and beaten, Krothair left
Ti'Shed standing in the training yard, openly disobeying him for
the first time since he had arrived.

“I don't want to push you this hard!” the
old man yelled after him. “But I have no other choice!” His last
words echoed down the street.

T
he avenues of Haroma were as busy as they always were, and
Krothair felt ill at ease among the throngs. It was for the first
time in these crowds that he realized the extent of his injuries.
He had taken some his wounds with a grain of salt until people
started brushing against him. But now, even the slightest of
contact sent his skin to howling.
Had the
excitement of training really been able to mask this much
pain?

“This is hopeless,” he said to himself. He
wouldn't have even minded running into Katya or Zin or any other
thief, vagabond, or idiot at this point. He had a strange, violent
energy building inside of him; all the frustrations of the past
weeks coming to the surface and bristling to be released on
someone. Anyone.

Something was wrong with
Ti'Shed. The old man had warned Krothair himself, but the boy had
been too enthralled to listen and now it was too late. Emotions
churned within Krothair: respect, fear, worry, loneliness . . . the
love of a son. “Maybe I'm the crazy one,” he said again to no one.
He was scared to be right about that, but he was also scared to be
wrong. If he was insane, then at least he had identified the
problem, but if he wasn't insane then, well, that would mean that
this was what normal people dealt with all the time. And maybe
he
was
just weak
after all.

“Get the hell away from my cart, ya grungy
fuck,” said an especially surly merchant.

Krothair realized he had been staring
blankly at the stack of fruit the cart contained, and he didn't
want any trouble so he slowly shambled on. He didn't blame the
merchant. Krothair's clothes were a mess with dirt and blood
because he hadn't been paying any attention to his appearance. His
mind wandered as he wandered, letting his training slip to the back
of his mind as his old senses tried to take over.

I've been wandering my his
entire life. Why do I suddenly feel so lost?

He walked with his head down.

“Sir,” said a timid female voice. “Sir?”

Krothair looked up and into the pleasant
face of a girl who might have been somewhere around his age. “Hm?”
he said.

She was wearing a blue robe that seemed too
clean to be on the dusty streets of the city and her hair was
pulled back into a tight bun, giving her skin – which was flawless
and already smooth – an even tighter look. Her eyes were small, but
contained a depth that surprised Krothair.

“Sir,” she said. “You look lost.”

Krothair nodded slowly. “I suppose I am,” he
said.

The girl reached into the front of her robe
and drew out a pendant. It was in the shape of a shield and
Krothair knew at once he had run into someone belonging to some
religious order. The idea didn't terrify him, but he wasn't
thrilled either.

One of the orphanages he had been in had
been run by a religious order, and their teachings, while nice and
non-threatening, had never captivated Krothair. Something felt
different about this girl, though. She was a compelling sight, all
ordered, together, and prim.

“These look like cuts from a sword,” she
said, running her hand gently along Krothair's forearm.

A shotella,
Krothair thought, correcting her silently.
A hooked sword fantastic for stabbing around
shields and not at all relevant to fighting Foglins, thank you very
much.

“Swords and shields are symbols for us,” the
girl continued, “but sometimes I forget what they're really capable
of. If you need someone to talk to, well, that is what I am doing
at the market today.” She nodded her head, indicating a small tent
that had a sunburst design on the side.

Krothair followed her as she turned her back
on him. Her steps were small, but he found that in his condition he
really couldn't have walked much faster. She drew back the flap of
the tent and held it open for him as he shambled inside.

The tent was somehow a pleasant temperature
despite the heat outside. The smell of dirt and sweat had become so
all-encompassing to him that the herbs burning in the tiny brazier
inside the tent seemed to waft the fragrance of heaven directly
into his nose. He sank down onto a small stool that creaked under
his weight.

“It's not the finest accommodations,” the
girl said apologetically, “but we of the Sunburst make do with what
God grants us.”

“It's a nice tent,” Krothair said. He meant
it.

The girl sat opposite him, and looked up at
him with concerned eyes. There was no falsehood in her gaze, but
genuine empathy. “Where should we start?” she said.

“Isn't that a question I'm supposed to ask
you?”

“It's mostly a question we both ask to
God.”

“Look,” Krothair said, holding up his hands
and wincing at the pain, “I'm not exactly looking for God right
now. I'm just looking for someone to talk to.”

“There are many people in
the world who don't
think
they're looking for God. But they are. You're
looking for someone to talk to, but God could be that someone all
the time. I'm just a port in a storm to you. God is the whole
shore. My name is Forstina, Cleric of the Third Grace, emissary of
the Sunburst Temple.”

“I'm . . . Krothair.”

Forstina gave him a look that seemed to mean
that she expected him to go on with his description.

So he poured his story forth to her. “I'm an
orphan,” he said. “But it's kind of pathetic to think of myself
that way since most people would view me as an adult now. Over the
years I've done everything from petty thieving to protecting the
western border of this kingdom, but I've never found my place. Then
I thought I found my place. I am training with a sword master right
now for a spot on the Vaporgaard, an elite group of soldiers that
patrol and protect the Vapor. Do you know of such a thing?”

“I don't know much about fighting,” Forstina
said, blushing a bit. “You certainly have the muscles to be a
fighter, but you don't look so much like you're in training as you
are . . . being abused.”

Krothair fell silent. “My master would say
you have an uncanny intuition.”

“Do you believe in the magics of this
world?” she asked.

“I'm not sure,” said Krothair. “There's
stories, rumors. Maybe the Kingsguardians can use magic. Servitor
magic. I don't know. I'm only vaguely sure what to believe between
all the myths and legends.”

“Most people are confused," Forstina assured
him. "The magic of this world is real, and growing stronger by the
day. For example, I am a Devotee. My intuition is a part of my
power, but there is more to our art if you would let me work it.”
She held her hands out to him, palms up.

Krothair placed his hands gently on top of
Forstina's, not really knowing what else to do. He was entirely
caught up in this. Forstina wasn't beautiful, but she was
intriguing.

“I will heal your mind as best I can,” the
girl said as she closed her eyes. “It helps if I say a prayer while
I am working. Will you be offended?”

“No,” Krothair said, “but please be careful
of the pinky on my right hand.”

Forstina adjusted her hands slightly. “Is
that better?”

Krothair nodded and then, realizing
Forstina's eyes were closed, said, “Yeah.”

Something began to happen to Krothair as he
sat in that isolated tent. Forstina began to speak, but he wasn't
really listening to the words so much as the rhythm of them, and he
began to feel things release inside of him that he couldn't quite
put his finger on. The burning herbs soaked his senses and suddenly
he had an intensely powerful urge to lean forward and kiss the
girl. He probably would have done it, too, but something stopped
him.

He felt watched by a presence greater than
himself for the first time in his life. His brain surged between
belief and disbelief. He'd heard of revelations like this happening
to others.

Krothair's faith in everything wavered.
Suddenly stories he had heard – things he had initially dismissed
as wishful thinking and faulty faith – became more than stories.
They became possible realities he had never fully considered.

He wanted to know so much more about the
world he had shut out. If he went back to Ti'Shed maybe he could
learn how to become a Servitor. He couldn't give up and dismiss it
as fantasy just because he couldn't do it.

“Til'men,” Forstina said. That seemed to end
her deluge of words.

Krothair stood up in the tent and Forstina
followed his lead. “I don't have any money,” he said.

“Few we help do.”

“I wish I had something to give you for what
you have done for me.”

“It wasn't so hard saying a simple prayer
like that,” the girl said, a hint of innocent mischief in her
voice.

“You have restored something to me. A drive
I had lost.”

“Remember the magic of the world, Krothair,”
she said. “And remember that no matter how dark it gets, the sun
will always rise again.” Forstina dusted off her robe despite the
fact that it was still spotless.

“Yeah,” Krothair said. “Yeah. Thank you.”
Forstina exited the tent Krothair followed her into the brightness
of the afternoon. His eyes took a while to adjust, and just as they
did, he saw Forstina resuming her emissary duties on the street.
She approached a man who was covered in sores from head to toe.

Oh good. She's finding
other poor wretches like me,
Krothair
thought.

T
he sun was setting. Krothair had stayed all day in the city,
simply walking around taking in the sights, sounds, and
experiences. He had misjudged his experiences in the past.
Thought I knew the world. Bah. Germon must've
thought I was an idiot to talk like I did.
Krothair began to think about himself as a very small fish in
a very large pond.

Forstina was also fresh in
his mind. She had possessed a confidence that had made her seem
much older than her years and much bigger than her frame. Krothair
wondered how he could have that sort of power for himself.
I was probably closer to getting it weeks
ago.

He was reluctant to reenter TiShed's house,
but he girded himself and pushed through the front door, dying to
know the answers to his questions about magic.

The sword master sat at the table with his
head down on his powerful forearms. The tin of Duller sat before
him, the top askew and some of the powder smeared on the grainy
wood. Krothair breathed in and told himself that it was none of his
business. He knew that whatever emotions Ti'Shed was covering with
the Duller were frightening indeed.

Krothair sat in the chair across from
Ti'Shed and the second he did the sword master whipped the cover
onto the Duller tin and made it disappear. Krothair was amazed at
the old man's reaction time even through the haze of drugs and
exhaustion.

“We need to talk,” Krothair said.

“'Bout what?”

“About something you told me last week.
About that woman Servitor. Are all the Kingsguardians Servitors
too?”

Ti'Shed looked up at him, face rather dull.
“You wanna know about magic, then? I suppose our training can
continue in that way, although I believe that may be a distracting
waste of time for you.”

“Why is it a waste of time?”

Ti'Shed sighed and rubbed his hand over his
face. “Magic is a rare and unpredictable thing. If you don't have
it by now, I would be very surprised if you developed it at all.
The secrets of how to use Servitor magic are heavily guarded as you
might suspect. Even if someone with the spark is found, they aren't
necessarily trained immediately, or ever.”