The Chosen (The Compendium of Raath, Book 1)

by Michael Mood

  “Hail, Otom,” his da said. The older man was sitting by the fire with his leg propped up. He'd twisted his knee while hunting. He hadn't wanted to talk about it when he'd come limping home; Otom's da had always been a proud man.

  “I'm goin' back out there, da,” Otom said. “Just stopped in for some more water. Need more than I can melt and it's not getting any lighter out there.”

  “You look beat,” his da said.

  “Yea,” agreed his ma. “I know you're trying to fill your father's shoes for now, but don't get yourself killed in the process.”

  “I won't, ma,” Otom said. His teeth wanted to chatter as he walked over to fill his skin with water. It really was empty. He'd drank it all, so at least that part of the story wasn't a lie.

  “Where's your bow?” his da asked.

  “Left it outside,” said Otom. It wasn't entirely a lie. It was in the treehouse. Short answers were better right now.

  “Bah. In the snow?”

  “Only for a second.”

  His da grimaced.

  “I don't see what difference it makes,” said Otom. “It's out there all the time anyway, da.” He'd almost finished funneling the skin full of water.

  “There's blood on your sleeve,” his da said.

  “It's not mine, da. Little bit on a trap, but nothing in the trap.”

  “Bah.”

  “Don't waste his time, Pa,” Otom's ma said sternly. “Otom, supper will be on the table when the sun just sets. Don't ruin it with that mouthful of jerky.”

  “I won't,” Otom promised.

  And just like that he was back out the door.

  His legs quaked as he picked up his pile of rations from behind the shed. He had to piss with a vengeance, but didn't feel he could afford the time.

  He trudged back up the gentle slope to the treehouse, forcing his legs to work. All in all he had probably been gone no longer than ten minutes, but when he got back he felt something was wrong. Then he heard a shout that confirmed his feelings.

  “I know you're up there, you bitch!” Ris shouted. “Come down or I'm comin' up!”

  -4-

  The tall man stood at the base of the large tree, craning his neck up and panting. He looked even worse for wear than Allura had, except that he, unlike her, seemed to be able to stay on his feet despite it. His hands were definitely in the early stages of frostbite and he flexed them and winced as he stood there.

  Ris sniffed and paced a bit more. Otom hadn't been noticed yet, and that was probably a good thing, but he knew he had to do something.

  “I can't believe this,” Ris shouted up at the treehouse. “You slut!”

  While Otom was debating whether or not to sneak away and get help – from whom he wasn't exactly sure - Ris turned and saw him. The man's eyes had a deranged look to them. They were both bloodshot and they seemed to point off in slightly odd directions.

  Otom held up his hands. “I don't want trouble,” he said. “Just leave this place and no one will get hurt.”

  Ris said nothing, but flew at Otom, snow spraying up in his wake. His hand grappled Otom's wrist with a surprisingly strong grip, but the rest of his attack wasn't particularly impressive. He fought less like a man and more like a raving animal. Otom's clothes were too bulky to offer him much room to move and so Ris had a vast mobility advantage despite his debilitated condition.

  Otom crouched low, the squalling Ris on top of him. Otom tried to hurl his attacker off of him but it was no use. As he pushed with all his might he felt his leg muscles give way and suddenly he was face first in the snow, struggling for breath.

  Something hard and painful – possibly an elbow or maybe even Ris's skull – slammed into his back repeatedly. Otom tried to shout, but his voice was muffled by the snow. The blows continued to fall on top of him, sending his back into a spasm of pain. His vision crawled with black specks and he could no longer draw breath.

  And suddenly everything was quiet.

  Otom shrugged Ris off his back and stood up in disbelief. Ris tumbled onto his side, an arrow protruding from his back, his blood running into the snow.

  Otom looked up at the treehouse just in time to see Allura slump back from the window. He stumbled over and began to climb.

  “Fuck,” he said to himself. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

  Hand over hand he went up, forcing the rest of his strength into the task.

  As he crested the floor he saw Allura passed out by the window, bow in hand. She had crawled out of her warm little nest, the elements now able to ravage her again. It was possible that she had cracked her head as she fell back from the window, or maybe she had just passed out again. Otom scrambled over to her and pushed her hair back from her face. No new injuries, at least for now. It took him a few moments to get her comfortable and covered up again.

  Her skin was very blue.

  Otom sat panting heavily in the treehouse, trying to think straight.

  Bury the body. No one has to know.

  He was dizzy and weak. He guzzled some of his water and then he tried pouring some down Allura's throat. She choked a little, but he thought enough went down.

  Otom put his hand on the floor and pushed himself up only to stumble and have to try a second time. As he wearily trudged down the handholds on the trunk he still only had the vaguest of ideas of what to do. He supposed it was the fault of his weary mind.

  Simply go to his house, grab a shovel, and then bury the . . .

  Ris was gone.

  Otom followed the trail of blood that Ris had left all the way to his parents' house.

  He opened the door in an exhausted rush and fell to the floor when he saw what was inside.

  -5-

  Present Day

  The knife Otom had gotten from the soldier's corpse was reasonably well-preserved. Not much rust on it. The blade flashed silver as Otom cut lightly across his fingertip. He squeezed three times and three drops of blood hissed into the Fire in front of him.

  One for his ma.

  One for his da.

  One, even, for Ris.

  Ris had pulled the arrow from himself and driven it through Otom's ma's eye. He had simply strangled Otom's da, wounded as the old man had been. Then Ris had bled to death on the floor. Otom squeezed his fingertip once more.

  A drop of blood fell into the Fire for Allura Finny.

  Chapter 13 – By Candlelight

  -1-

  Domma went to call on Metta in the dead of night. There were no eyes at this late hour. The Sunburst Clerics had been done with their day for a long time now. Domma knocked on Metta's door and the blond girl answered. Too quickly for her to have been sleeping.

  “Domma, it's late,” Metta said. The girl's hair was unbound, long and flowing, gorgeous in the candlelight.

  “I know it's late,” Domma said. The candle she held made just enough light to see by, illuminating Metta's face in an eerie glow. “I need advice.”

  Metta raised her eyebrows. “From me?”

  “Yes. Can I come in?”

  “Of course, Cleric.”

  Domma entered Metta's small room and pulled the door shut behind her.

  “I was just up reading The Book anyway,” Metta said. “It's supposed to relax me but sometimes it doesn't. Do you know what I mean?”

  “I do.”

  “Haunting images. The Coraline Beast descending from the sky during the apocalypse. Men with the bodies of animals, slavering and gnashing their teeth and eating their young.”

  “I find it best to stay away from the Carnage parables at night,” Domma said, setting her candle on the nightstand. The flame wavered. “Those passages don't tend to be jovial.”

  “You're probably right. But I'm drawn to them.”

  “You're young yet, and relatively new to the order,” Domma said. “I remember the thrill of such things.” She did, almost. “The reason I'm here, well . . . the reason the Warden came to ask after me was . . . there was a murder at his hospital.”

  �
�How awful,” Metta said.

  “And . . . I think the work was done by a Foglin.”

  Metta paled, tears coming to her eyes. Domma was taken aback by Metta's reaction. The news was disturbing, yes, but it certainly shouldn't have had such a strong effect. She feared what she had stumbled into.

  “A Foglin this far north?” Metta asked, her voice strained.

  “Yes,” Domma said carefully. “I know you were researching them when you first came here. That's the reason I came to you. I wanted some insight if possible.”

  Metta shook her head. “My advice is very simple,” she said. “Run from this situation as if your life depended on it. I . . . lost my father and brother to the Foglins, Domma.”

  “Oh, Metta, I'm so sorry,” Domma said. I should have Delved her first! “I didn't know. I-”

  “It's alright,” the girl said, wiping at her tears. “I didn't tell anyone why I wanted to know about the creatures. My father and brother were two of the strongest fighters I have ever known. Might have made the Kingsguard someday. The Foglins tore through them like they were made of paper.” Her eyes looked haunted in the dark room.

  “I really don't want to ask you any more questions about this,” Domma said. “I don't want you to relive it. I had no idea, and I'm sorry. But . . . if something serious is happening – if the Foglins have somehow made it to the north, even one – then I need resources.”

  “You should inform King Maxton,” Metta suggested. “Petitions are easy enough to get. I could go with you. Anything.”

  “I don't know. I don't really have any solid information to go on. I can't prove anything. My suspicions are based solely on my Delving of Ormon's corpse.”

  “You Delved a corpse?” Metta had probably never thought of doing such a thing.

  “Yes,” Domma replied. “His brain wasn't quite dead yet. Very close to dead, yes, but I could still get into it and search. Death makes a mind go stagnant.”

  Metta made a disgusted face. “That's gross.”

  “It was unpleasant.”

  Metta pushed a lock of her hair back over her ear. “Listen, Domma. I gave up my search for answers when I couldn't handle how it haunted me. There are only two places I can think of that might have the answers you seek. You could go talk to the Vaporgaardians themselves. I don't think that's probably good idea as you'd have a long journey to the south. The other place is the Bibliofero. I wasn't able to tease much from it, but I can write down some titles to look for if I remember rightly. They are obscure and probably will have been reshelved in the Depths.” Metta opened the drawer of her nightstand, took out a small piece of paper, and began scribbling on it with charcoal.

  While Metta wrote Domma thought.

  Bringing up the other topic that was on her mind was getting harder by the second. If she didn't breech it quickly she would lose her nerve and end up back in her bed lying awake. “I am also having trouble with a man,” Domma said through gritted teeth.

  Metta stopped scribbling and looked up at Domma. “Someone is harassing you, sister?”

  “No,” Domma said, trying to give Metta a look so that she wouldn't have to explain further.

  “Love,” Metta said, nodding.

  “Urges at least. There is a man who I can't trust myself near, that is for certain.”

  Metta was silent for a long time. She stood and paced back and forth, fidgeting with a corner of her nightgown. “I know what you are doing,” she said.

  Domma squinted in the light. The girl's eyes were watering again. “What am I doing?” Domma asked.

  “You're testing me. They sent you to test me.”

  “No, Metta, honestly I-”

  “Well it's all true,” the girl wailed quietly.

  “What's true?”

  “I have a lover.”

  Domma's eyes opened wide. “Metta!”

  “I know by telling you, you could expel me,” she cried. “I know by not telling you I am a liar like Gustus. I'm no better than him.” Still she paced. “I am young. I am so young. I don't belong here except for the fact that I'm a Devotee. Will I lose my magic over this?” She was weeping again.

  “You and I both know that's impossible. Or, at least, unheard of. God granted you your powers and he won't take them away just because of some dalliance. And this wasn't a test, anyway!”

  Metta looked at Domma, her eyes changing from miserable to hopeful. “You're serious about this yourself, aren't you?”

  “I am,” Domma replied.

  “Oh, God, but yours isn't full blown like mine is,” Metta moaned, throwing herself flat on the bed.

  “Who is it, Metta?”

  Metta moved closer to Domma until they both sat in the tiny warmth of the candle flame. “His name is Tristo. He works in a district hospital.”

  Domma's heart jumped. “Are you Delving me?” she asked, pulling back slightly.

  “No!” Metta said. “Honest! Why?”

  “The man I love-” Domma shook her head. “The man I am having trouble with works in a district hospital, too.”

  “There's something about them isn't there?” Metta asked.

  “It would seem so. Metta, you know what I am going to tell you about your affair.”

  “And you know what I am going to tell you about your feelings. You weren't looking for disapproval. You were looking for approval from someone young and not as ingrained. Well . . . I think you've found it.”

  She's wise beyond her years.

  “Metta, I . . . I don't know why I am the way I am. But I promise I will keep your secret if you keep mine. Even so, I think we both need to pray on this. And you know what you are supposed to do, deep down, as do I. You should end your affair or relinquish your robe and all that you stand for as a Sunburst.”

  The girl sighed. “We almost always know what we should do.”

  Domma smiled and kissed Metta's forehead. “You know where I am if you need to talk further.” She took the candle and stood up, heading towards the door.

  “I wish I could have Delved them,” Metta said.

  “Hm?” Domma asked, turning around.

  “My father and brother. After they died. From where I was hiding. I wish I could have Delved them to find out . . . to find out if they blamed me for their deaths because I hid.”

  “I am sure they did not blame you.”

  Metta sighed.

  “You must try to sleep, Metta. I am sorry to have put you through this. I honestly didn't intend for this to be so . . . traumatic. But I think this has worked out for the best for both of us.”

  “Maybe,” the girl said. “My answers may be somewhere in The Book. Perhaps I am drawn to the stories in Carnage because they have something to tell me.”

  “Yes,” Domma said. “It may be so. If you'd like, you can help me write this week's Sermon. We could do one on Carnage. Not often brought up, but perhaps the time is right.”

  “Perhaps. Goodnight, Domma. My advice is to follow your heart.” Metta's eyes closed, but Domma doubted the girl would sleep much.

  Sometimes the curse of Devotion was empathizing with the struggles of everyone around you. I know the ins and outs of so many people's lives; their dark desires, their failings, their fears. But I barely know myself.

  Domma quietly closed Metta's door and made her way to the Bibliofero.

  -2-

  The Bibliofero was deep beneath the earth, down a set of large steps at the back of the Sunburst Temple. There was some speculation as to how it had ever been built at all. It was a commonly held belief that the Temple had been built over it the already existing magical underground library. Some, however – Domma included – believed that it was done during the religious wars that had happened five hundred years ago; perhaps as a hiding place, perhaps as a bastion of knowledge. According to the histories, magic had surged during those times, making the construction of such a place not out of the realm of possibility.

  But whatever the reason for its existence, the Bibliofero housed the
largest collection of knowledge currently available anywhere that Domma knew of.

  And only a Devotee could access it.

  The stone door that granted entry must have weighed a thousand stone at least, not to mention the endless columns that stood supporting the place. The architecture was brutally heavy, but there wasn't a crack in any of the stone, even after all these centuries.

  Domma stood in front of the stone door now with the same candle she had used in Metta's room. It was about halfway gone, the wax melting down the sides, but Domma was pressed forward by her thirst to solve the puzzle and hadn't bothered to pick up a new one. She held her hand to the door and began to Delve.

  The technique was fairly simple, but the door had always prompted a question in Domma's mind. Why could she Delve an inanimate object? What living, thinking thing could be housed inside of the door that was reacting to the magic?

  It had better not be filled with brains, she thought.

  It was true that many techniques had been lost over the years. Devotee magic and the other four types had waxed and waned, powers and techniques gained and lost. The past might have held millions of ways of using her power, but as of right now she had knowledge of three.

  Finally she found the door's mind and twisted until it gave way, sliding by unseen force. It made almost no sound as it traveled slowly inward, revealing a single room that was as big as the entire Sunburst Temple.

  Claustrophobia was rare in such a large place, but Domma felt it here in the vast silence.

  There was no light in the main room, and no sound either. No odor emanated. Domma and many of the Devotees had trouble breathing down here, making the time they could spend sometimes rather limited. Even the candle had trouble holding its flame.

  Domma looked at Metta's list. The girl had said the books were likely in the Depths, so Domma cupped her candle's flame and began moving towards the shadows at the far end of the Bibliofero.

  She passed shelf upon shelf that held books of all sizes, colors, and conditions. Some were, in fact, totally useless, the ink completely worn off or the pages fallen out, but still they were kept, because once a text went into the Bibliofero it didn't come back out. The magic made sure of that.