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

by Cat Bruno

Knowing that he was being scrutinized, Aldric took his time answering the master, finally replying, “It seems that my nephew was blessed with a mage-touched vision earlier this evening. The same woman that floats here on your wall also appeared to Kennet. I will leave it to Bronwen to explain the rest to you. If she so wishes.”

  Willem nearly knocked the mage over then, his hands clenched into tight fists as he moved closer. Before he could strike, Bronwen’s voice called out to him.

  “Willem, tell me again how you came to know this girl?”

  Her question was simple enough, and even though he had explained it to her before, it was the night they drank the drugged wine, and her memory from that night would be hazy. So he told her again how while he was lonely and distraught over being sent from Rexterra, the image appeared, offering him hope and solace in his banishment. She had promised that he had much still to accomplish and that his path lay away from the King’s City. To comfort himself when he had arrived at the Academy, Willem had immediately set out to capture the image of the woman and to remind himself of her promises.

  All this he said aloud, despite the presence of the men, who knew not of his full past. Willem looked toward the men when he finished, knowing that both could earn a lifetime of coin for disclosing his whereabouts.

  His secrets half-exposed, he demanded, “Now, Bronwen, tell me what you know of the girl!”

  And she did, wistfully, “Kennet believes that the girl is my daughter.”

  Willem’s face twisted in shock, his handsome royal features contorted as he roared, “How is that so? That can not be true and it makes little sense. Let me guess? He told you all of this after his uncle’s arrival.” As he raged, Willem walked toward her until he lifted her from the bed, looking into her eyes and said, “I do not trust either of these men, Bronwen, and neither should you.”

  Behind them, Kennet stammered, “The girl herself told me as much.”

  Aldric remained where he had been, standing slightly apart from the others, his intense eyes consuming the interactions around him, unsurprised, and watching Bronwen keenly.

  When he looked to his nephew, he heard the boy stutter, “Bee, you know that I would never do such a thing to you. And I was the one begging you to forget about Conri and to send my uncle away. What I saw was truth, and what I heard her say, although the words sounded strange to my ears, convinced me of her identity. For what reason would I lie?”

  Before Aldric could move, Willem had crossed the room, dropping Bronwen onto the bed, and had Kennet pinned to the wall. Kennet’s feet dangled above the marble floors as Willem grasped him about the shoulders. Aldric waited to see if Bronwen would interfere, as it was clear that the master, who had been long trained in combat and warfare, had a strength as well a size advantage over his nephew. When she did not, he himself called out to Willem to release his nephew, and stepped toward Willem.

  Bronwen stood and yelled, “Stop! All of you! Willem, put him down!”

  And when he hadn’t, she yelled, “Now!”

  Willem dropped Kennet so abruptly that he landed with a loud thud on the tiled floor. Leaning back against a low-hanging tapestry edged with crimson thread, Kennet rubbed at his reddened neck, while Willem spun around and faced Bronwen, anger and impatience blazing across his face. The intensity of his gaze drained Bronwen of her self-assurance, and she nearly backed away from him.

  Instead, she struck him hard across his face, the back of her hand hitting him with some force as it made contact.

  Then, holding her eyes upon his, she screamed, “Who are you to accuse anyone of lying? You have done nothing but keep the truth from me for moon years! Is it jealousy that moves you, sir, now that I have found others to find what you could not? Or are you not yet ready to give up your prize to the one you serve?”

  She would have hit him again had he not grabbed her hands before she could strike. With little effort, he held them until the anger in her eyes cooled.

  Dropping her hands, he answered in a controlled and steady voice, “Bronwen, I do not blame you for directing your anger at me, as I have done much to deserve it. Recently and in the past. But that does not make my warnings any less dire, nor does it prove that your friend’s vision was true. There are other ways to find Conri, safer ways. If only you would be patient, my dear. Give me some time.”

  “I have given you half-moon and more, Willem, and can wait no longer.”

  “What will you have him do once you find him? Have you even thought this through? Would you have him glide into the clinic and murder the man for you while all of us stand back and watch? Or would you have us killed as well?”

  Willem’s voice was deep, he words scraping at his throat as he spoke, and Bronwen wanted to run far from his accusations.

  She dropped her head, no longer able to face him, and answered, “I want only one death, Willem. I wanted only one, and now, after what Kennet has learned, I no longer know what I want. Only that I need to see him, Willem.”

  Bronwen’s pleading came to a sudden halt, and she turned to look at Kennet, who still sat with his back to the wall.

  She rushed over to him and asked, “Kennet, can you try to show Willem what you saw? I have heard of others with the gift of mage-sight being able to share it with those who have the gift as well. Do you think it possible to find her again? Maybe then he will believe you.”

  “Impossible,” he croaked, “I do not know how it happened, Bronwen, nor why, but there is no way that I would be able to summon a vision with no training at all, or have you forgotten my time wasted as a failed mage?”

  “You can create orb-light, and now you are vision-blessed, I do not label that failed, Kenny, nor do I believe that you would be unable to summon it again. Have you ever before tried to draw forth a vision?”

  Aldric interrupted, “Bronwen, while I understand your intentions, I must agree with Kennet. He has no training. To attempt to do as you ask, one must have spent many moon years with the Mage-Guild.”

  Unbothered, she said, “Then tell him what he must do, Aldric, and let us continue.”

  All three men were looking at her with concern, uncertain if she was as serious as her words sounded.

  After several moments, it was clear to all in the room that Bronwen was neither joking nor backing down from her request, so Aldric called out, “Lord Willem, I do believe what she asks is possible, however both the mage and his conduit must have some mage-skill. What do you think?”

  “I think that we all have lost our minds to even attempt such a thing. I think that Bronwen should go back to her room and forget about this folly. I think that Kennet should return to his books. And I think that you, sir, should leave here and forget us all.”

  Sensing that Willem was convincing the others, she hastily teased, “What are you afraid of, my lord? Have you forgotten your mage-skill?”

  “Bronwen, this is absolute madness!” he huffed in reply, yet, within moments, added, “However, I will try what you ask for no other reason than to please you. Kennet, come here, and, you, Aldric, tell me what I must do.”

  Kennet rose from where he had been hunched on the floor and walked unsteadily across the room as Aldric followed him. Willem and Kennet both sat down upon a large, squat sofa on the opposite side of the huge room, and, when everyone was situated, Willem nodded toward Aldric.

  “Let us begin this madness. Be warned, Aldric, that I will not let you trample through my mind.”

  Bronwen thought of interfering as the men continued to bicker, but chose not to, instead letting the two men circle each other with accusing stares. She thought that they resembled two dogs ready to fight, but unwilling to attack first. Suddenly, an image struck her down, until she had to close her eyes. When she realized it was more than just a flash of light, she focused her thoughts, forgetting for the moment where she was. An image of two massive, wiry-haired dogs lunging at the heels of a white-faced doe appeared as if memory. The dogs were nearly as tall as the deer, and, with their long strid
es, it appeared that there would be no escape for the fleeing animal. Bronwen heard a loud piercing whistle, and the two dogs abruptly stopped, then retreated.

  Home, she realized, in the North, with towering trees all around her, rolling hills, and open fields, grass and heather, green and blooming. In the crowded room with mage-skill touching everyone but her, Bronwen had regained a memory of her childhood, she knew with certainty. The dogs, her own.

  She shook herself free from the hold that the sudden recollection and heard Aldric as he vowed, “I give you my word that I will do nothing more than link your minds. We are not enemies here, and, more, we serve the same.”

  Willem’s only response was a curt nod, and before Bronwen could speak any further, Aldric placed his hands across Kennet’s forehead and hummed, a low, deep moan that caused Bronwen to tire, her mind softening, even though she stood untouched. Sitting down on the bed behind her, she glanced toward her friend and watched in a daze as he swayed back and forth, his eyes closed and his head tilted slightly back, like he was dozing, his mouth slightly open and his long face relaxed, soft, murmuring air escaping through his lips.

  Bronwen forced herself to keep her eyes on Kennet, while avoiding any contact with Aldric, to which end she had wrapped a thick blanket around her face, pressing her hands against her face and covering her ears to quiet his rhythmic voice. As she watched, Aldric moved from Kennet to Willem, who had not yet fallen under the dark mage’s spell. Willem wore a heavy scowl across his face and a cloak of cynicism, but he did not stop Aldric nor push him away as the mage placed his thin, worn hands onto his forehead. With one long, deep inhale, Willem surrendered himself to Aldric’s hands, surprising Bronwen, who believed that he would pull back and resist.

  Perhaps he wants to see her too, she thought, softening again toward the man who had hidden so much from her.

  While Aldric hummed and gently tapped his fingers over Willem’s face, Bronwen watched with awe, transfixed by the power that seemed to flow from his hands. The mage, despite his history, throbbed with power, and, suddenly, she feared him. And feared what he could do to the two men nearly asleep at his hands. When she made to stand, Willem staggered, only to be steadied by Aldric. All the while the thrumming had not ceased.

  Bronwen noticed that the two men were breathing as one, inhaling softly, their chests rising with the intake before collapsing as the air was smoothly exhaled. Both men’s hands were folded in their seated laps, and Bronwen thought that they looked like statues, so still and fragile, yet living. Again, she tried to rise, uncertain and afraid. Yet, when she tried to move from the bed, her body became heavy with fatigue and her limbs would not respond to her commands. As she looked around the room, a strange dizziness overcame her. The room spun then stopped. All movement and motion stilled, even Aldric’s humming had ceased. His gaunt fingers, stained and yellowed, no longer worked over Willem’s forehead. Instead, they hung at his sides, lifeless, his eyes vacant and lost, as if too had been caught in the spell.

  As she drew her attention away from the dark mage, Bronwen glimpsed toward the wall. The painted mural glimmered blue, brighter than she had remembered, and shining in such a way that Bronwen’s eyes watered. When she looked again, the girl glowed white, edged in dusky blues. The moon at midnight, sparkling and silver against a blue-black sky, she thought.

  Bronwen sensed that she was no longer alone and smiled.

  “After all the work that they have done to find you, why choose me?” she asked.

  The girl’s image twinkled, at times translucent, then as solid as Bronwen herself. When she spoke, her words echoed, as if from a distance, yet still they rang clear.

  “The one I have seen before. One only recently. The last, he, I shall know forever and forget again. But, you, mother, I see always.”

  The girl’s riddles were not what Bronwen had expected to hear, and her smile dipped at the edges as her confusion grew. She worried that, without Aldric’s guidance, she would not know what to do with the vision.

  Gently, she answered, “How are you here? For what reason have you come?”

  The image shook, dazzling and spark-filled, as the girl said, “I heard his call. And even though I have been warned against such travels, when I felt your presence, I knew I must come, regardless of the risk. I do not have much time, though, for there is much to do.”

  “What must be done? I do not understand any of this! Has he sent you to me?” Bronwen cried, still seated on the bed.

  And when the girl laughed, the sound was so sweet that Bronwen nearly wept at its beauty, the joyful song so innocent and lovely. Hurriedly, she looked around the room to see if the others had heard.

  The girl noticed, and, with laughter still edging her words, answered, “They can neither hear nor see, nor will they remember any of this.”

  “They will think me mad!” she called.

  Smiling, her teeth white and perfect against the shimmering shadow that covered her, the girl neared her, and said, “They will believe you when you show them this.”

  In her hand lay an object as dark and opaque as the girl was light. As she shifted it, raising it higher, Bronwen gasped, knowing at once what it was that her she held. Although how it came to be that this flickering image, no more real than the air, held such an object, only added to Bronwen’s confusion and heightened her fear.

  But before she could comment, the girl spoke again, “You ask if he has sent me, and I know not how to answer that. I suppose he has, in a way. He has awakened me and freed my power, yet with no leash to bind me to him, although he would not want me here, not like this and not now. But, he loves me, mother, and would not see me harmed.”

  It was clear whom they both spoke of, yet neither would name him. Bronwen understood little of what was happening and could not take her eyes from the object that her daughter held. “What have you there?” Bronwen asked, even though she needed no answer.

  The girl grabbed the slender item by its hilt, letting the blade catch a bit of mage-light that still burned in the corner of the room. The hilt was plain with no adornment, etching, or jewels to mark its origin or maker. However, it was the blade itself that spoke the truth.

  “A gift from my father. And my gift to you. With the promise that as much dark as there is in me, there is light too, and I shall always seek to shine with it. Remember this, the dagger must always be with me. Trust few with knowledge of its existence.”

  Bronwen watched as the girl lowered the blade, stepping forward, trails of sparkling dust following her as she made her way across the room to the bed upon which Bronwen still sat, motionless. The girl turned the blade until she held it by its fine edge, the handle facing Bronwen.

  Suddenly, Bronwen had control of her hand once more, and she reached toward the dagger, grabbing the handle and dropping it into her lap, afraid to touch it any longer, and afraid to touch the girl, as if her hands might burn or bleed.

  “What if I choose to walk a different path? What then?” Bronwen called out, surprised that she had done so.

  The girl began fading the moment the small sword left her hand, and she no longer seemed real.

  Her voice was hollow as she answered, “Then perhaps I will never be.”

  Bronwen’s face paled and her eyes grew hot with tears.

  As she stepped back toward the wall where she had entered from, she said, “Your light guides me, mother, even through my own darkness. Without you, I am naught more than a shadow. I will not tell you what choice to make, and perhaps that is why I was warned not to come at all. Now, I must go, before it is too late.”

  Fading into the mural, the girl whispered, “I am healer as I am wolf. But, more than all, I am of the North, and I am told that I have the look of your father.”

  Before Bronwen could call after her, the girl cried, “Roim a faidh, an taoh se eirgh!”

  And then she vanished, fading until nothing of her remained. To Bronwen, it seemed as if she had melted back into the wall, and the mural was
lifeless once again. Bronwen wondered what had occurred and quickly looked about the room. Her head twisted from left to right as she stretched the neck that she now had control over, and then she rubbed her hands together to ensure the paralysis had left them as well. As she moved, the dagger slipped from her lap and onto the floor with a loud clank, rousing not only Bronwen, but the three men who had been transfixed as well. She jumped from the bed when she heard the loud noise and grabbed the dagger, placing it among the blankets on the bed, not knowing what else to do.

  Then she waited for the men to awaken from their stupor, the girl’s last words echoing in her head.

  Roim a faidh, an taoh se eirgh.

  Willem’s condition improved the fastest, and before Bronwen could speak, he gruffly called to her, “Bronwen, what has happened? The last thing I remember was Aldric’s voice calling on me to relax, but I cannot recall anything else. I do not believe it worked, as I know nothing more now than I did before the spell.”

  Aldric, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts, said, “Willem, I do not believe that I ever finished casting the mage-spell. When I was nearly complete, a sudden fright came upon me and I could not move nor speak.”

  Turning to Bronwen, he said, “I have failed you.”

  Ignoring Aldric, and to give herself more time to compose a reply, she looked toward Kennet who was rubbing at his eyes, as if trying to wash away something. His skin was pale, and Bronwen thought then that maybe he had seen the girl too.

  “Kennet, what do you know of Eirrannian? Can you speak it much?” Bronwen asked, unsure why she had not thought to ask him so before now.

  “I know a bit, enough to be able to converse and translate without much assistance. It is very similar to some of the old languages, many of which I see each quarter-moon.”

  Without explanation, she asked, “What of the words roim a faidh, an taoh se eirgh? Do you know what that means?”

  Kennet, his eyes trimmed in red and his face splotchy and marked, shook his head, as if he did not understand. Bronwen nearly cried out, until he began speaking.