The Chosen (The Compendium of Raath, Book 1)

by Michael Mood

  He started to relax.

  -2-

  Otom reached his hand down and grabbed Raven's. His grip was powerful, but he was careful not to damage her beautiful fingers. She grunted as he pulled her up the face of the mountain.

  “Shit, Monk,” she said as she sat at the top panting. “Can't get a full breath up here, you know?” She slapped her thighs and stood up. “I am going to need to know your name, I've decided. Now, I know I said yesterday that I didn't need to know, but how am I to make apt rhymes if I can't even know who you are? Should I make up a name for you?”

  Otom knelt and traced his name in the snow: O T O M.

  “Otom?” Raven said, scrunching up her face. “That just couldn't be worse. Your name's going to have to fall at the beginning or middle of lines, I suppose, because that just doesn't rhyme well at all.”

  Otom shrugged. Sorry.

  “Every life has trials, Otom. I will simply have to make do.”

  Raven had proven a powerful distraction and an ample companion. Otom was starting to feel that the end of this quest was in sight. As the two helped each other along, he began to wonder what he was doing. Somewhere inside of himself he longed to simply abandon this madness and take Raven somewhere. But he knew that desires like that were best left in check.

  Like Raven had said, Otom had a quest. He would not come this far – especially after enduring the memories his travel had unearthed – and stop now.

  “You know, Otom,” Raven said, holding his arm for support, “sometimes the choices we make are rather odd. I could have had a husband, but I hated the idea. My family had one all picked out for me, but the man they chose was a stifling idiot. He was a blacksmith, you know. Strong arms and all that, but he was so insufferably boring! Even though you don't speak, you're a hundred-fold as interesting as he was. I think that says something about your character. There's a depth in your eyes that he lacked.”

  Otom smiled.

  “I mean it, Otom. There are volumes there. I know there are. You will tell them to me in your own way over time. You may think a man is an island. A closed book. But we are the sum of the scars that we carry, Otom. You have a few that I can see. Your build and wounds make me think you were a fighter at one point. Don't look so surprised. I knew an archer once who trained so much and so often with the bow that his spine was crooked from the weight of drawing the damn thing. One learns to recognize these signs if one looks for them long enough. My fingertips. My fingertips are calloused and you would recognize the pattern as that of a harpist, Otom, if it was your gift to do so. How does one hear a life if its owner cannot speak? It is simpler than you might think. We are the sum of our scars, Otom. Never forget that.”

  The wisdom in Raven's speech shook Otom. If he had had any notion that this quest could heal him it would be in vain.

  Scars aren't meant to be healed, he thought. Merely carried for all to see.

  -3-

  Otom was paging through The Book by firelight. Raven watched over his shoulder, her bright eyes intent.

  “The Monk reads his Book by his own Fire,” Raven said. “This magic is incredible, Otom.”

  Otom pointed up to the heavens.

  “From God? I don't know. I don't know how to break it to you, but I've never had much use for God.”

  Otom shrugged and continued reading.

  “I like to see people get more credit than that. If great things happen it's always God this, God that. When bad things happen it's the fault of man. Doesn't seem fair does it? I give credit on both ends, you know?”

  Otom closed The Book slowly and stowed it in his pack. He laid back and unexpectedly Raven's face was right near his. Her breath made fog in the cold air. Her bright eyes were open wide like they always were, staring directly at him. She panted lightly, and swallowed hard, coming closer.

  Otom shook his head, though he found that he did burn for her. He gripped her by the shoulders and gently rolled her back to where she belonged with a finality that he hoped she understood. He would never break his Vows for her. How could he tell her that there was only one woman he would ever break them for?

  “I'm not hurt,” she said in the night air. “I don't know what I was thinking. I am sorry, Otom. I could have written about the massiveness of your manhood though, you know. Oh, it was two feet long and it writhed like a snake,” she sang. “It was almost more than I could take, uh huh!”

  Otom smiled and rolled over, his back to Raven. She sang a few more bawdy versus, but he could tell she was starting to drift off. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.

  -4-

  They ate roasted rabbit for the next few days and just as Otom became weary of his journey the landscape changed. They were on a plateau and the sky was as radiant a blue as Otom had ever seen.

  He looked down at the glowing symbol on his forearm. The brown and orange salmon had gained a bit of brightness over the past few months.

  “Is that your compass?” Raven asked.

  Otom shrugged. Not sure.

  “If it is, tell it to point quickly and true. I'll stay with you to the end, Otom, you know that I've promised that, but even bardesses get bored.”

  There was a large cluster of trees in front of them, almost oddly out of place.

  “That seems like something!” Raven said. “I'd bet my stake on the Icehall land that you're going in there.”

  Otom nodded in agreement, and began walking again. He and Raven wandered through the trees. The branches held needles that were dusted with snow. There was a commotion to their side and Otom turned to look, pulsing his Detection. A tiny white foal ran swiftly through the trees and there, chasing it, was a brown-haired gril. Her arms were horribly bloody, her eyes full of exhilaration.

  “Finally! Something!” Raven said excitedly. The woman took off at a run after the brown-haired girl and her foal. Otom had no choice but to follow her. He ran through the woods, following Raven's shock of black hair in front of him.

  The air whooshed past him, cold over his shaven skull.

  A building loomed large in front of him. He recognized that the architecture was similar to that of his Monastery. He pulled up short. The brown-haired girl had finally caught up to the foal and had been joined by an old woman and a myriad of other animals.

  “Hi,” Raven was saying to them, addressing the strange group as a whole. “I'm Raven Icehall. Who are you? Have you met my friend Otom? He's a legend around these parts. Alright, I'll be fair. He's nearly the only one around these parts!”

  Otom Aldenburg stood and smiled at the scene. He knew his journey to Sin'ra was at a close.

  Chapter 29 – The Black and White Rescue

  -1-

  “Domma.”

  “Domma.”

  The voice persisted, fluttering against her mind like a moth. Domma opened her eyes, or at least she thought she did. Reality was becoming blurred down here. She was tied up on the floor now. Potter had at least done that much for her. She lay on her side, blood all around her, but none of it her own.

  “Domma.”

  She could hear the Foglins moving still within the skulls of her sisters, and she wanted to cover her ears, but couldn't. She could get one of them pressed to the ground, but the maddening sounds droned in the other.

  “Domma.”

  “Domma.”

  All the emotions had been wrung from her. Had she been lying here for days? For weeks? It had become very hard to tell. Sometimes Potter was here, and then he was gone. Sometimes Tristo was here. Sometimes he was gone.

  “Domma.”

  “Domma.”

  “Domma.”

  “What!” she finally screamed in reply. But suddenly she wasn't sure if she was awake or asleep; using her own voice or something else entirely.

  “Do not --- startled. We haven't much time. Domma the --- mark. The one that ---.”

  “Something's wrong,” said Domma. “I can't understand. I don't understand.” The voice was cutting in and out, her hearing fuzzing
over certain words.

  “LISTEN!” the voice commanded. “Temple of Sin'ra. You must ---. I have Chosen you, Domma. I know you have ---. You --- you have strayed. Come back to me. At the Temple of Sin'ra.”

  “You want me to go somewhere? God? Is it . . . is it you? That feels so stupid to say. I've gone insane haven't I?”

  The voice didn't respond.

  Domma woke up.

  Then she woke up again.

  She gasped. This was definitely reality now. Her body ached everywhere and it was beginning to itch as well. That was, surprisingly, the more horrible of the two sensations. Her mouth was so dry that her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. She tried to swallow, but found that task to be only mildly successful.

  “Sin'ra,” she said to herself. She winced and rolled onto her back to stare up at the ceiling. “Like in The Book. Is that where I'm to go, Lord?” She coughed weakly. “You're gonna have to send someone for me then. Cuz I'm not getting out of this one alone.”

  Domma heard a new sickening sound coming from within the skulls of her sisters. She looked up at Metta. The blood had long dried on her face, but now wriggling black legs were protruding from her empty eye socket.

  “No!” Domma screamed. “Potter!” She began to wriggle furiously, not wanting to be here when the thing emerged. “Potter!” she screamed, her throat ragged.

  The Foglin crawled down Metta and unfurled itself on the ground, slow and weak like a newborn.

  “Oh God and Gustus!” Domma shrieked, her emotions running away from her for the first time since she had been down here. Her shoulder cracked in a flash of pain as she pulled furiously at her restraints.

  She could hear the other three Foglins crawling out of their hosts as well.

  Domma began to inch across the floor, but it was incredibly difficult as her arms and legs were tied together in some kind of complicated knots. When she moved, a rope around her neck tightened and she began to strangle, putting a stop to her escape.

  The skittering of tiny legs came closer and closer.

  She felt a tug at her robe and shuddered, imagining the tiny, alien claws that had snagged it.

  Suddenly the room was filled with noise. Boots struck the ground near her, crunching a Foglin beneath them. A sword swished by her head and cleaved another one of the creatures neatly in half, its black blood oozing out. A dagger impaled another creature, driving through its chest. It screamed an all-too-human scream and died.

  The sword swung through her bonds, the heavy rope parting easily in its wake.

  Then she was being lifted.

  “Careful,” she managed to say. She was dizzy.

  “Nice kill, Hal,” said a man's voice.

  “Holy shit,” said the man who must have been Hal. “What the-” But he didn't finish and began retching.

  “You'll have time to tell us your story, Cleric,” said the first man. “Very probably you'll want to be leaving here quickly.”

  From her vantage point in the man's arms, Domma recognized the colors of the Kingsguard. That narrowed down this man's identity to one in twelve. The other man, Hal, was overweight and badly disheveled. He wore dirty, stained clothing and had a good ragged growth of beard going, his long brown hair hanging lank and wild.

  “There's something on her arm,” Hal said in between coughs.

  “Well I'll be,” said the Kingsguardian. “I've heard this sort of thing talked about . . .” He held Domma's arm in a powerful hand, inspecting. “Who are you?” he asked cautiously.

  “I'm a Sunburst Cleric,” she said weakly. “The symbol . . . I need to get to the Temple of Sin'ra.” She began shuddering then, feeling incredibly cold.

  Hal took off his cloak and laid it over her as she rested in the Kingsguardian's arms. “You can keep it,” he said, concern in his eyes.

  A new light entered the room and Domma's heart jumped. She feared it was Potter or one of the others bringing a torch down here. Maybe they were just late in responding to her cries.

  But the light was coming from Hal. The man's face contorted as he tried to back away from his own arm. He pulled his glove off and threw it to the ground. His hand was a mottled mess of disease, black patterns running up and down. The light started just above his wrist. A glowing black and white coin adorned his arm.

  “Trance!” he yelled.

  So that's who this Kingsguardian is: Trance Raynman.

  “Don't look at me!” Trance said, obviously surprised. “What am I supposed to do with you two glowing fools?”

  “You want to flee this place, too,” Domma said. “Take us both to the Temple. There is important work to be done there.”

  “My brother,” Hal said. “We have to find Tell! What the hell is wrong with my arm?!”

  “Listen,” said Trance. “Just because your brother wasn't where you left him doesn't mean he's down here. He could be off dealing with business elsewhere.”

  “But there's tunnels under this whole place! Connecting multiple hospitals! The whole thing is a sick scheme, Trance! I've seen things like this before. Okay, not exactly like this. But I mean interconnected plots and a greater plan to it all. I'm not making any sense.” Hal was waving his arm about a little frantically.

  Domma gasped. “It's that bad?” she asked. “Does the king know?”

  Trance nodded. “We just sent Kelin Lightbearer to tell him. Hal here was insistent that we try and find his brother down here, but as you can see we failed in that. We found you instead. Tell me, woman of God, should we truly do as you say?”

  “I don't know. I just had a vision. I think from God. I don't think that's ever happened to me before. He told me to go to the Temple of Sin'ra.”

  “Another journey?” Hal asked. “No. No. Get this thing off my arm, Trance. Just cut the whole damn limb off! I'm sick of all of this. Some of us have lives to live, lady!”

  “Hal!” Trance barked. “Don't yell at a woman of God.”

  “Shh,” Domma warned. “Let's get out of here.”

  Trance carried her off in strong arms, Hal huffing and puffing behind them.

  -2-

  “I'm trying to choose the right path here,” Trance said. “On the one hand I find it hard to give up Hal, here. His hand seems somehow connected with the Foglins. Could help us find them. But his symbol . . . one is most unwise to ignore magics this powerful.”

  Trance, Hal, and Domma huddled just north of the city. With a small surge of power from Trance it had been easy and quick to get there. Domma marveled at the strength of the Kingsguardian.

  “What am I?” Hal asked. “What are we?”

  “We are chosen of God, Hal,” said Domma. “This is a holy quest.”

  “Like in a damn child's tale,” Hal said.

  “Like in The Book,” she corrected him.

  “Trance,” Hal said, “it's been a hell of a ride, but I have things to see to. You know that.”

  “This is probably more important,” Trance said slowly. “That mark also means you're a Benefactor!” Trance clapped his hands together in glee. “Oh, those guys are going to owe me so much money! I bet them you would be! Didn't I say you would be, Hal?” Then he winced. “Well, Telin'll have to pay me later, I guess.”

  “If I go and do this I want you to promise to find my brother. His name's Tellurian D'Arvenant.”

  “I know,” Trance said. “You don't have to remind me again.”

  Domma's eyebrows shot up at the mention of that name. “Tellurian's your brother? His donations were paramount in founding the current hos-”

  “I know what he's done,” Hal said. “I'm Halimaldie D'Arvenant. You may have heard of me as well. I run a trading empire. Or, at least, I did. Now I'm a glowing wanderer.”

  “I'm sorry,” Trance said. “I don't know what else to tell you. I'm going to leave you two in each others' care now. I'll send one of the men north for you when I can Hal, but likely it won't be Kelin. They need him, with all he's seen. Haroma needs me. Maybe the world needs me. Ah.
Telin would say my head's gotten too big. He'd probably be right, that stodgy old fuck. Pardon my tongue, Cleric.”

  “It's alright,” Domma said. “Call it even for the rescue.”

  “Fair enough,” Trance said. He rode away without another word.

  “So,” Halimaldie said, slowly. “I don't believe I caught your name in any of this.”

  “Cleric Domma.”

  “Do all clerics shave their heads like that?”

  “No,” she said simply. “What's wrong with your hand?”

  Halimaldie drew it back. “It seems that we both have stories to tell,” he said. “Perhaps it would be best if you led on and we swapped who we are on the way. I'm a man who likes to have answers. My empire has survived worse than this, it can survive a bit longer without me.”

  “Just like that?” she asked.

  “Just like that,” Halimaldie replied. “Make a decision, then do it, Domma. That's how I usually operate. If I'm going to be chosen by God, someone who – and I'm sorry to say this – I rarely give a single thought to, then it seems best to accept my fate. I don't pretend to understand everything in the world, but I've always tried to take a rational approach to things. Someone's forearm doesn't glow for no reason, so . . . Tellurian can wait. Yarrow can wait. My life, as much as I hate to say it, can wait.”

  “Bold words, D'Arvenant.”

  “I'm a bold man. I'm sorry I panicked earlier down in the hospital. That's not much like me. I've found that things, when they do happen, happen very rapidly. This series of events . . . well, I wasn't ready for it.”

  “When it rains, it pours,” Domma said.

  “Yeah. I like that phrase. I'll have to use it sometime.”

  “Give me credit when you do.”