The Girl from the North (Pathway of the Chosen Book 1)

by Cat Bruno

  Bronwen closed her eyes and tried to focus on her memories, breathing slowly as she tried to remember how Kennet had moved his hands.

  “Okay,” she whispered, “let me try this again. Left corner, right corner, middle, left, left, middle. Two more. I think he ended on the bottom.”

  Bronwen banged the side of her fist on the bottom two stones, first the reddish one, then the tan one. She stood up and pushed the wooden door with the full force of her body. It wouldn’t open. She pushed again, this time shoving it even harder. Nothing happened.

  “Damn!”

  Bronwen backed up and concentrated on the stones positioned near the bottom of the door. Perhaps tan is before the red, she thought. Once again, she started pounding the door. Left, right, middle, left, left middle, tan, red. And then she pushed, angling her body to the side and thrusting her shoulder into the heart of the door. Again, she failed.

  Over and over she tried, until her hand was red and raw from the pounding. Yet, she would not quit.

  When the wall finally shifted and the creaking door swung slowly open, Bronwen fell to the floor, scattering a cloud of dust and dirt, darkness all around her.

  The room looked different without the glowing mage-light that Kennet had provided, and she squinted in the absence of light. For a moment, Bronwen regretted coming back here without Kenny. Then she noticed, faintly, what seemed to be the large desk, and she crawled over to the edge of it, pulling herself up until she was standing. Searching half-blind through the clutter, Bronwen’s hands picked up and discarded several items until she found a candle, guessing some would be there. Grasping onto a narrow box, she nearly cried out, recognizing the candle kit when her fingers felt the smooth, hardened wax covering the side of the box.

  She quickly cracked it apart and withdrew a long, thin candle. Next, Bronwen found several tinder sticks and began striking one against the side of the kindle box. After a few strikes, the stick caught fire, and Bronwen immediately lit the candle, sending a soft glimmer across the dusty room. She searched the desk for other candles, then lit three more, placing them in holders and setting them throughout the room. Then, Bronwen walked over to the wall that was lined with books.

  Several of the books had titles so faded that she could not read them, and some seemed to be written in languages she had never seen. A few were written in the Common language, so Bronwen started with those, skimming through one after another, uncertain as to what she hoped to find.

  When those offered little new information, Bronwen continued her search. The next book she chose was also the largest, deep green with gold lettering on the cover. The title, A History of the Early World, was written in a language that Bronwen didn’t recognize, yet, oddly, could read. She began to sift through the wrinkled pages and marveled at the delicate scroll and well-drawn images, wondering at the hand who had created such beautiful images.

  There was Luna, shining, nearly transparent. Silver hair that glittered from root to tip, skin a pearlescent white. A smile on her face that was hopeful yet somehow distant. Luna, the mysterious one, the mother who would visit her children and sprinkle her magic upon them as they slept. Her kin were more blessed than most, gifted with the magical arts of healing and magery. If legend was to be believed, Luna also birthed a human race, the Northerners.

  With a slight smile, Bronwen remembered a tale that Sheva had often told her before bed. A tale that had her memories of early childhood returned, she would have no doubt heard many times, but from others’ lips, true Northern words replacing Sheva’s accented ones.

  Luna, lonely and isolated in her blackened world, with only the silent stars as friends, often traveled the world while her brother reigned. One stormy night, as the rain angled down and dark clouds covered her face, Luna disappeared, her exit unnoticed by any.

  She roamed the beaches, her light hidden and veiled with fog, sat on the cliffs, and looked out at the world. Next, she moved north, climbing the mountains that decorated Eirrannia, and waded in the shimmering rivers that curved through the valleys. Soon, though, Luna grew weary and desired rest.

  As she dozed, she dreamed of a man with snow-colored hair, sky-colored eyes, and a mischievous grin. He was dashing and blissful, and her pale skin blushed under his widening smile. He gazed at her, saw her cheeks aglow, and laughed a hearty, deep-bodied sound that echoed through the valleys, twinkling and rustling the leaves of the towering Northern trees, pines, oaks, and willows. Luna, intrigued by the young man with the white hair, enchanting smile, and fair skin, smiled back, inviting him to lie down next to her.

  In the morning, the mysterious man was gone, and where he had lain, there was now a shining, golden crown, weaved and laced with gems that rivaled Luna herself. Luna placed the sun-streaked crown on her tousled hair before returning to the skies.

  Her brother’s reign had ended, yet a dark shadow covered her place in the sky. Luna hurried home, surprised when the dark shadow remained. For one whole night, the shadow accompanied Luna wherever she moved across the sky, never leaving her side as he hid her from the rest of the world. When she realized that the shadow’s face was that of a purple-eyed man with an intense gaze and a distant smile, she lay with him as well, although his eyes never looked into her own, and about him was a cool mist.

  By the following night, the shadow had disappeared, and the sky cleared once again, bright and speckled with light. Next to her lay a sword, black-bladed and gleaming, as if made of the very night itself. The hilt was as smooth as ice, nearly melting into her hand as she tied it at her waist.

  Soon, Luna knew with certainty that she was with child. But whose child did she carry, the fair-haired or the shadowed? Many moons later, on a cool, quiet night, Luna delivered two male infants, one fair and calm, one dark and troubled.

  The white-haired infant was given to his father’s people to raise and became King of the North, a peaceful and gentle king, long loved by his people.

  The dark-haired infant was also given to his father, although the man was much harder to find, and he disappeared into the shadows as if he had never come.

  The brothers, even as different as they were, never quarreled, and the dark son was always welcome in the North, a decree respected by all Northerners.

  Luna returned to her skies, visiting her children when she could, even though they saw little of one another.

  Bronwen understood the story in a different way now. Understood how Luna could love both the light and the shadow. Bronwen understood in a way that, a few moons ago, she would have never thought possible.

  *****

  Bronwen continued to look through the book, turning the pages slowly and examining all of the intricate images of the gods. She stopped when she saw an image of Nox staring back at her, an image she had never seen before, yet knew instantly, almost intimately.

  His hair was blacker than night, and his eyes were such a deep shade of purple that they appeared to have been cut from an exotic gem. His skin was pale, but it glistened where light touched it, reflecting it off his body. The expression on his face was almost beyond Bronwen’s comprehension, and she thought that he seemed angry. Yet, as she stared at the well-drawn picture, her opinion changed. The anger remained, yet he seemed to be hiding something behind his etched eyes, as if he knew something that no one else knew. It was as if he knew her, she thought, gasping, causing the nearest candles to flicker.

  She slammed the book shut to escape the penetrating gaze, still feeling as if he watched her. Bronwen half-expected the Dark God to emerge from the closed book and appear in front of her, as Conri often did, and her breath came fast and hot, her life pulse speeding under her clothing.

  Stepping away from the book, Bronwen looked around the room and noticed how low the candles had burned. Suddenly, she remembered that she had promised to stop at Sheva’s after the evening meal, which would be ending soon she figured.

  As quickly as she could, Bronwen extinguished the candles, shaking and uneasy, and placed the book b
ack on the shelf. Reluctantly, she prepared to leave, disappointed that she had not found the answer to the question that had brought her here, yet unable to continue.

  Bronwen climbed the dim stairs, retracing the many steps that had brought her to the hidden room. When she arrived back at the main floor of the library, she disappeared out the side door, her thoughts hurried and clouded.

  She made her way to Sheva’s small cottage that was located outside the Academy’s gates, on the outskirts of town. Sheva wouldn’t be home yet, but Bronwen entered the unlocked door anyway. She lay down on the couch, as she had done so many times before, yet struggled to sleep, haunted by a gaze that she could neither forget nor escape.

  9

  Sheva arrived home as the sun was setting, reddening the pale walls of her cottage. She was surprised to find Bronwen sleeping on the couch, but smiled upon seeing her tall daughter curled onto her side. Bronwen devoted most of her time to healing, either in class or in the local clinic, and Sheva saw little of her.

  Reluctant to disturb her, Sheva quietly moved about the home, eventually entering her own small bedroom. After she changed out of her dirty clothes and washed a day’s work from her tired body, Sheva softly walked to the kitchen, figuring Bronwen would be hungry when she woke, just as she often had been as a child.

  While slicing some bread and cheese, she heard Bronwen moving about in the other room and called out, “Bronwen, dear, I thought you might be hungry since I didn’t see you at the evening meal.”

  Bronwen entered the kitchen and sat down at the small table she had used for moon years, for study, for meals with Sheva, for mixing up ointments. She sighed, remembering those innocent days, those days when she had no memory of Conri and his mind-lock had still been in place.

  “Are you hungry? And don’t think that I have forgotten what you mentioned earlier today, about you and Kennet.”

  Bronwen dropped her head, not wanting to look at Sheva.

  “Do we have to talk about that? I am embarrassed enough already that Master Rova thinks that there is something more between us. We celebrated my apprenticeship together, and I had too many ales. Kennet might have believed it to be more than it was, but I have since talked with him, and he understands now. We are friends. No more than that.”

  Handing Bronwen a large plate, Sheva answered, “Well, even a Master Apprentice is allowed to find love, Bronwen. Do not feel that you must devote all of your time to the Academy,” Sheva replied, before turning back to a smoking pan. “So, I have just cooked for the new Master Apprentice! And, more, the Master Apprentice was asleep on my couch! My, Bronwen, how happy it makes me to know that no matter how high you climb at the Academy, you will always be that same little girl I love so dearly! Now come here and let me hug you as I wanted to do in the dining hall.”

  Bronwen stood up and walked over to where Sheva waited, letting her foster mother embrace her. Again, Bronwen felt too ashamed to meet Sheva’s gaze. I have done nothing wrong, she told herself, hoping it would lessen her guilt.

  Sheva sensed the unrest in Bronwen, and stiffened a bit beneath the embrace. Yet, she held back any questions and only hugged Bronwen harder. After a few moments, she released her.

  “You know, sometimes after you achieve something that you have worked so hard for, a troubled heart is natural,” the woman gently suggested as Bronwen set back down to her meal.

  “Maybe you are right. I was thrilled when Master Rova appointed me as his apprentice, knowing that he finally recognized my work and commitment. Yet, as happy as I was, as happy as I am, there is something missing. Now that I have accomplished what I have wanted since beginning the Academy, I don’t know what to do or where to go next. And I still have to complete my Healer Journey. Once I become Master, what then? What if I tire of healing? What if I am not as talented and dedicated as he thinks? There are others who could have been so named.”

  Sheva smiled before replying, “It is natural to be concerned, Bronwen, but, truly, you will be a fine healer and a wonderful apprentice, as you already are. Your arrival in Tretoria was a blessing not just for me, but for so many others as well.”

  Bronwen wanted to confess at that moment, to confide in Sheva about Conri. To explain everything, her past, what she remembered about her time before being found, her relationship with Conri. But the words hung in her throat, and her lips were suddenly dry, as if cracked and bleeding. She looked at Sheva for the first time all evening and saw the pride and love in her eyes, and knew she would say nothing this evening.

  After thanking Sheva, Bronwen departed, walking alone in the darkness back to the Academy. When she was through the main gates, she turned to the left and walked down the path that led to the place where she hoped to find some answers. To find why Conri was in her life. And to figure out the new path that was opening before her. For the second time that day, Bronwen entered the library and did not seek out Kennet, awash with so much guilt that she could hardly breathe.

  10

  Bronwen stumbled across campus when she heard the bells ringing. Eight times the bells clanged, meaning that Bronwen was going to be late for her first class. Despite her increase in rank, Bronwen was still required to finish her schooling, which meant that she had to complete this session of classes. Which meant that she had to hurry.

  When she arrived, class had already started, so she quietly sat down in the back row, brushing her fingers through her hair and tying it into a knot on the back of her neck. Her mouth was dry and her head ached from the lack of sleep, her thoughts drifting back to the catacombs.

  Finding information on the Tribe was proving to be more difficult than Bronwen had thought. She had spent much of the night reading, yet she feared that there was only one way to find the answers that she was seeking, and those answers would not be found in any book.

  Distracted, she hadn’t realized that class was over until she noticed the other healers packing up their belongings. With another glance around the room, she saw Master Torino staring at her, his eyes wrinkled and soft.

  She shyly smiled at him before apologizing, “Good Morning, sir. I am sorry for my late arrival.”

  Master Torino was old, older than all the healers at the Academy, and he very rarely practiced anymore; instead, he devoted his time to teaching and advising. His voice was deep, which matched his stocky physique and scruffy white beard. Although his looks suggested dishevelment and brusqueness, Master Torino was a gentle, knowledgeable soul, and Bronwen had always been fond of him.

  Hurriedly rising, she paused as he addressed her.

  “Bronwen, I wanted to offer my congratulations on your recent achievement. Master Rova is a wise man to have chosen such an assistant. You will be a fine addition to our Academy. Though, I must say, you seemed a bit preoccupied during class. Do not forget that you must finish your current session before your apprenticeship begins. There is still much to learn before your Healer Journey.”

  Embarrassed by his remarks, and unused to being chastised, Bronwen stuttered, “Of course, sir. I am so very sorry. I had been working on a project all night and didn’t get much sleep. If you will excuse me, I have another class to get to.”

  Bronwen put her head down, gathered her papers, stuffed them into her large satchel, and hurried off to the cafeteria.

  *****

  A loud knock on the door startled Bronwen just as she was about to fall asleep.

  “What now?” she yelled, before clumsily stumbling to the door.

  When she opened it, Kennet was staring at her with a strange look on his face. A look that Bronwen had never seen.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, unable to feign politeness.

  Kennet pushed passed her, carelessly throwing a mage-light in the air that was so bright it forced Bronwen to shield her eyes.

  “What in the hells is this about? Are you trying to blind me? Control the orb!” she yelled at him.

  “Maybe it is me that should be the one asking the questions, Bronwen!” Ke
nnet angrily retorted before dimming the mage-light with a flick of his hand.

  “Would you care to explain to me what is going on here?” she answered, her words filled with fatigue.

  Kennet paced around the room, then settled himself in one of the well-worn chairs. He rolled his head from side to side, then looked across the room at Bronwen. “How can you look at me like that? After all that I have done for you? Tell me the truth, Bronwen. Have you been back to the catacombs?”

  “Have you been following me?”

  “Is that an admission?”

  Bronwen nearly laughed. She and Kennet had often bickered, as siblings do, but this was different, as usually she was the only one with a raised voice and angry words.

  “What do you want me to say? Yes, I have been back. The first time you were still sleeping, and I didn’t want to bother you. Then, yes, I went back again. I didn’t take anything, just looked through some of the old books.”

  Sighing, as if his anger had drained, he told her, “Oh, Bronwen, I wish you would just leave all of this alone. No good can come from the questions you ask. You need to forget about that man.”

  Bronwen opened her mouth to reply, but closed it again. She looked at Kennet and noticed how serious he seemed, perhaps even scared. And now she was worried too, for he had never before counseled her against anything, even where Pietro was concerned.

  No longer angry, she cried, “Did someone see me? Did I get you in some sort of trouble? I swear I meant you no harm, Kenny. And even if that is the case, I shall say I found the rooms on my own.”

  Wiping at his face, he answered, “No one else knows you were there. Very few people even know about the room. I stopped by there today after breakfast, and I noticed the candles, and, well, there is only one person that I know of who would actually need those candles. Just tell me what you were doing there.”

  He knew what she would say. Still, she replied, “I was trying to find out more about the Tribe. I want to find Conri. And I don’t know how to.”