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

by Cat Bruno

  “Her name is Chien, and I found her years ago at the port. She spoke very little Tretorian, and only a few words in the Common tongue. From what I had gathered, she had fallen in love with a Cordisian sailor who had gone east with his merchant ship, taking her along with the silks and spices. Not long after, he succumbed to a sickness, and the captain of the ship, fearing that she had made the man fall ill, demanded that Chien be barred from the ship. I happened to be in the port the evening they arrived, and, with my limited knowledge of the Eastern languages, I realized that Chien was as desperate to be off the ship as the captain seemed to be rid of her. Chien had been deathly ill the whole voyage, but not with sickness. She was with child, you see, and so I offered to pay her way back home, but she refused to return. I brought her home with me then and there, and she has been with me for nearly ten moon years now. If you stay long enough, you might see her daughter running about,” he finished, smiling.

  As if she had heard him, Chien once again entered the room, carrying another bottle of wine, this one lighter in color than the first. Bronwen felt like her head was already spinning, and wine was the last thing that she wanted, yet she also felt that it would be discourteous to decline his offer. Chien filled their glasses and silently departed.

  After sipping the wine, Bronwen asked, “Master Ammon, does anyone else know who you really are?”

  “Bronwen, does anyone else know who you really are?”

  Her heart fluttered beneath the satiny fabric of her robe, and Bronwen was certain that Ammon could see the movement of her chest as it rose and fell, pulsing hard.

  “What do you mean, sir?”

  He smiled, a rueful, sad look that brought unexpected tears to his eyes, softening his hard, battle-scarred body.

  “I fear I have wronged you, Bronwen, and for that I am sorry. With time, you will understand. Or so I must hope. Now, why don’t you tell me how you really got that gash on your cheek? But, before you do, come here, and let me see your neck.”

  She wanted to argue, but her wineglass was empty and her head felt heavy and clouded, so she clumsily rose and walked a few steps before collapsing onto Lord Willem’s lap.

  “Did you put something in that wine, sir?” she stuttered, her words thick and languid.

  “Of course I did. But you are not drinking alone, have you noticed? Just something to relax us, as we have a great deal to discuss.”

  Bronwen mumbled, “I don’t understand. Why would you do such a thing?”

  Willem placed his hand on Bronwen’s chest, holding it over where her pulsing heart was pounding away, caressing her skin with his long, square fingers, painting circles onto her body. She gasped, only partly in fear.

  His voice low and grave, he said, “Bronwen, we should leave here. I will take you anywhere that you wish. I’ll show you the King’s City, then we can head North, and you can be at home once again. I would make you my wife, give you a home that would make this villa seem small and build you a clinic to care for all of Eirrannia’s woes. You do not belong here. This is not your home, just as much as it is not mine.”

  Then he added, softly, “Yet, neither of us has much choice in the matter, do we?”

  Unsure if it was the herbs or the wine making her head spin, Bronwen struggled to try to understand what he was saying. Was he proposing that they both leave Litusia, leave the Academy, and give up their positions? He spoke as if they had long been lovers, yet she only just learned his true identity.

  Confused, she asked, “Does the palace really have thousands of rooms all covered in gold leaf wallpaper? What did your room look like, sir?”

  She sounded so childlike, despite the womanly body that sat in his lap, that Willem frowned for a moment, surprised at the sudden shift in her. But the elixir that he had added to their wine was now taking its effect on him also, and he replied in a stream of silky words.

  “I forget the exact number of rooms Bronwen, but the palace is more than you could ever imagine, even more glorious and more substantial than the stories you have heard. My room as a child, after I outgrew the palace nursery, was next to the rooms of my parents and my sisters. I stayed in that room until I came here. Even after traveling the world, I would always return to the room I slept in as a young boy. The walls were silver, and I had a giant glass mirror surrounded by the largest gems you could imagine. It had been a gift from my father’s family upon my birth. I would have brought it with me here if my mother would have allowed it, but she couldn’t part with it and her only son both.”

  “Why did you leave Rexterra?” Bronwen gasped.

  With no hesitation, a gift of the wine, he replied, “Exile. Are you asking me why I was exiled, Bronwen? Is that what you want to know?”

  “Yes,” she breathed, looking at him, fearlessly.

  With lightning-edged eyes, Willem looked at her, longingly. His fingers ached to touch her fine, pale skin. His hands were nearly trembling in anticipation, and his life pulse flickered strong and fierce beneath his tunic.

  Yet, he had long before learned to control the fire that burned inside of him, legacy of his mother’s people. And, much to his own regret, he closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and extinguished the burning beneath his skin. When his eyes cooled and his hands stilled, regret filled him. Yet, he could sense the embers still smoldering. As they always would for the unusual Northern girl.

  18

  Kennet spent very little time at the inns and pubs of Litusia, and was surprised at how many there were as he and Pietro made their way to The Gull House. Litusia was more than just the home to the Healer’s Academy; it housed a large port that brought in merchant ships from all over, many from the Southern Cove Islands and other points to the southwest of Cordisia. The King’s City had a much larger port, especially as it sat at the base of the rivers Lisania and Vollaxo, and one could often find merchants and exotic goods from all ends of the world there. Kennet had been to the King’s City once before he had come to Litusia and hadn’t liked the busy streets and the constant noise, much preferring the farm where he had spent most of his childhood. Litusia, however, suited him well, even though he spent most of his time in his small office, unlike Pietro who seemed to know Litusia intimately.

  So he followed him, and, just as the sun was setting, he saw a grayish, wooden sign shaped as a seabird hanging from a pair of rusty chains. “The Gull House” was written in a swirling, black paint on the bird’s midsection.

  Pietro turned to him and said, “I forgot to ask you what kind of woman you like.”

  When he noticed Kennet’s reddened cheeks, he explained, “Kenny, there might be quite a few women in there. It’s a popular spot for the townsfolk, especially the unmarried ones. Do you like light-haired, blue-eyed girls, which are a bit of a rarity around these parts, or do you like the dark-haired girls? Well-fed ones or ones as thin as yourself? You know, that kind of stuff. If we are to be friends, then I need to know all about your tastes, so to speak. Just remember, Talia is mine.”

  Before Kennet could reply, Pietro pulled open the heavy oak doors, music and laughter greeting them warmly. With a shake of his head, Kennet followed Pietro into the tavern.

  *****

  With her hands submerged in hot, soapy water, Sheva didn’t hear the man approach, until he was nearly beside her. Despite his age and size, Master Rova was still quite capable of a silent entrance and had overheard many conversations not meant for his ears over the moon years.

  After a hasty apology for startling her, he asked, “Are you nearly finished? I had hoped that maybe we could walk.”

  “I suppose this work can be finished in the morning,” she answered, wiping her hands on her apron, adding, “Will you give me a moment to change out of this work shift?”

  “Of course. I will be waiting for you outside,” he gently said.

  It was not unusual for Master Rova to seek out Sheva, as the two were old friends, yet still she worried. Of late, her thoughts had been on Bronwen, and she wondered if his visit
was about her foster daughter. She quickly stripped off her wet gown, trading it for a clean dress that she kept at the dining hall, a light-blue cotton one with yellow flowers stitched above the bottom hem and down the bodice. She slipped her sandals back onto her feet before joining Master Rova.

  As she approached him, he turned and smiled at her, a reassuring gesture, for he knew her for nearly thirty moon years, since his early days at the Academy and must have sensed her concern.

  He beckoned her toward him, and, when she got close enough, he opened up the palm of his hand.

  In it lay a strange rock, shining brightly, almost too brightly, and Sheva had to glance away when her eyes started burning.

  “What do you have there? I could barely look at the rock, and my eyes were tearing up. Are you trying to impress me with a bit of magic, sir?” she laughed.

  Rova laughed too, but Sheva could tell there was no humor in it. He took a small, black bag out of a pocket that had been sewn into his long robe and loosened the drawstring that kept it closed. Before Sheva realized what he was doing, he had placed the glowing rock into the bag, pulled the strings tightly, and tucked it back underneath his robe.

  “Here, let me have a look at your hand,” Sheva commented, even though she knew it to be foolish to ask a healer if he needed help.

  Rova showed her his hand, and she was surprised to find it unscathed, only a little dirty from where he had held the rock.

  Wiping his hands on his loose-fitting pants, he started walking down a sandy path that led from the dining hall, across campus, and ended around the city limits. His pace was slow, hesitant even, and Sheva caught up with him easily. As the two walked down the soft path together, Rova unexpectedly reached over and grabbed Sheva’s hand, holding it gently.

  Sheva started to speak but was interrupted by Rova, “Do you know what it was that I showed you?”

  “No, but from what I could see, it appeared to be some sort of rock. Granite or lava rock. It seemed to have an odd air about it. Mage-touched, perhaps.”

  Rova replied, “Yes, it is mage-touched, in a way. But it is older than both of us, Sheva. Older than the Academy even. It is black-ice, or so that is what we have named it. Others call it by its ancient name, atraglacia. Have you heard tales of it?”

  Surprised at his words, Sheva missed a step and stumbled, regaining her balance with the help of Rova, who still held her hand. As a child, she had heard many stories about atraglacia, dark tales meant to frighten her into obedience, but stories only, she had long thought. Misbehaving children were a favorite snack among the Tribe, she remembered her mother telling her. And without any black-ice to protect them, they were at the mercy of the Tribe, so one must always behave, her mother had concluded.

  She quickly retold him all that she knew.

  Then, Sheva asked, “Why do you need such a weapon?”

  “I hope that I will not have need of it, you may be certain of that, Sheva. In its present form, the rock I showed you is less a weapon and more a warning, of sorts.”

  “A warning? That sounds troublesome. And I doubt you came all this way to talk to me about black-ice, as what I know about it as much as any child could tell you.”

  “Sheva, so you are sure that this is the only time that you have seen the atraglacia, and never before? What about Bronwen, has she any experience with it? Do you know if she has regained any knowledge or memory of her time before coming to Tretoria?”

  Suddenly, Sheva stopped walking and dropped Rova’s hand.

  “You are beginning to worry me. What does Bronwen have to do with any of this? She has just as much knowledge about this rock as I do, I would dare say. You know as well as I that she spends all of her time devoted to the healing arts.”

  Her words were high and harsh, and Master Rova had ceased walking when Sheva had and now he looked at her, uncertainty in his dark eyes.

  “I do not believe Bronwen to know much more than I do about the rock. But she is from the North, and they fear little. When I found the atraglacia, it was aglow.”

  She watched him as he rubbed at his forehead, and asked, “And what does that mean?”

  “Sheva, it means that the Tribe has been here. I don’t know where exactly, or even whom, but this piece of atraglacia has been housed at the Academy since the first building was constructed. And this is the first time I have seen it shining so. I believe that the Mage-Guild has used the black-ice as traps or as warnings.”

  “But I fear the answers that I must seek, as to why it was glowing,” Rova quietly added.

  “And you think Bronwen knows something about all of this? Is that it?” Sheva asked, impatiently, fearing why he would have mentioned the girl.

  Rova sighed, “My dear, I sometimes think that Bronwen knows more than any of us. She is one of us, yet there is more to her as well. The girl she was once, before coming here, still lives.”

  “There are others at the Academy who come from the North. What of them?” she countered.

  Sheva stared into the darkening sky, waiting for his reply.

  When it came, she wished she had not stayed to hear it.

  “None is who she is. They all still remember.”

  *****

  Distracted and concerned, Sheva was upon Bronwen’s doorstep much sooner than she thought she would be. The front room appeared to be dark, and Sheva knocked on the door and stepped back, waiting for Bronwen to answer. After a few moments, Sheva decided that the girl must not be home and wondered where she could be at this hour. Sheva knew that her door contained a mage-lock, but recalled Bronwen mentioning that it would also open to her if she had ever had need to enter when Bronwen was not home.

  Sheva gently placed her nut-hued hand on the center of the door as she had seen Bronwen do many times and gave the door a gentle push. She was more than surprised when the door creaked open, exposing a floor littered with clothing and paper. There was barely room to walk without stepping on something, and, glancing around, Sheva realized that Bronwen was not there.

  Before she could leave, though, she turned and looked across the room, searching. On the knotty, battered desk, Sheva noticed a large book, bigger than any she had seen before. It lay open, untouched. Quickly crossing the room to where the desk was, Sheva stood behind the chair, and with the setting sun offering an orange-hued light, she could see an elaborate drawing staring back at her. And although the words were in Erudition, the language of the ancients, the image needed no translation.

  Sheva’s almond eyes were fixed, unmoving, on the face of the God of Darkness, Nox, the father of the Tribe.

  19

  “Get my friend another ale, Talia!” Pietro shouted out across the crowded tavern to the innkeeper’s daughter, a girl of around seventeen.

  Tall and busty, the girl had long, dark hair that was tumbling out of the braid that hung down her back. She wore a deep-purple gown that laced up the bodice, pushing the tops of her breasts up and nearly out of the dress. As she rushed about the bottom floor of the inn serving drinks to the rowdy group, her body swayed, and Pietro watched it all, devouring her with his eyes as he swilled his dark ale.

  Kennet sat beside him on a high stool around a barrel-bottomed table. Kennet had lost count of how many glasses of ale he had already consumed, but by the way his vision was blurring in the dimly lit room, he assumed it had been too many. In addition to his swirling vision, his head was already beginning to ache, and the last thing he wanted was another drink.

  With thick words, he said, “I think I should head home.”

  Pietro put his arm around the shoulder of Kennet, squeezing him tightly, and loudly said, “Kenny, my boy, you can’t leave yet, the night has just begun! And I think that flaxen-haired beauty over there has been waiting all evening for you to talk with her. Let’s bring her some wine.”

  Kennet looked over to where a small, round girl stood with her back against the uneven wall, talking to Talia. The girl was certainly pretty, although she seemed plain next to the stunn
ing serving girl, but Kennet’s head was spinning too considerably to notice much else. Pietro saw him looking at the girl and hopped off his stool, grabbing Kennet’s arm and dragging him across the room. Before he could further object, they were standing beside the two women.

  In a voice as pretty as a song, Pietro hummed, “Good evening, ladies. Talia, you are breathtaking, as usual. I don’t think that I have had the good fortune of meeting your friend. Milady, I am Pietro Navarro, and this gentleman next to me happens to be Kennet Dannovska. And your name?”

  Kennet could feel his face turning red and hoped that the darkness of the inn would disguise it. He turned to leave, but then he heard the woman with the straw-colored hair and deep-brown eyes, her words like a soft, slow breeze.

  “My name is Louissia, and I have just recently come to Litusia from Springville, a small coastal town in Northern Tretoria. Kennet, are you a student at the Academy also?”

  Sputtering and pushing back his glasses, Kennet stuttered, “Yes, well, I was a student, and now I work in the library. I, well, am more inclined to books than to people, and to blood, I’m afraid.”

  Before he could embarrass himself any further, Pietro interrupted, slapping him on the back, “Don’t be modest, Kenny! Ladies, this man here is perhaps the most knowledgeable man one shall find in all of Tretoria. I would dare say he has read every book and manuscript that the great library houses. Ask him anything and he will know the answer.”

  Talia spoke before Kennet could as she giggled, “Kennet, is it true that if you stare at a mage-light for too long you will go blind?”

  Kennet wanted to laugh, grateful to Talia for lightening the mood, but when he looked at her, he realized that her words were no jest.

  Before he could reply, Louissia said, “Oh, Talia, you are lucky that you were born beautiful. Of course one cannot go blind from staring at a mage-light. Where do you hear such things?”