But Tellen has already dropped to his haunches and snatched up a loaf of bread. Before either Katrina or I can act, Tellen takes a huge bite from the bread. The next instant he cries out in agony, drops the bread, clutches his stomach, and collapses.
A scream escapes me. My feet feel like they’ve turned to stone. I want to go to Tellen but I can’t move. Horror and dread have rendered me useless. My heart slams into my throat, choking me with thick sobs that scrape my throat raw. A ringing buzzes in my ears and I think I might faint.
Katrina’s eyes widen with shock then narrow with anger.
“Get up, you idiot.” She kicks Tellen none too gently in the legs. “That’s a terrible thing to do. Vic’s about to have an emotional meltdown over there.”
Only then do I realize that Tellen’s moans have turned into deep, rumbling laughter intermingled with hacking coughs.
Struggling to his feet, Tellen wipes tears from his eyes.
“You should have seen your face, Vic!” He laughs some more, clutching his sides. His breaths come in gasps.
Torn between laughter and the need to punch Tellen, I stare at my friend and try to control my emotions. A small part of me agrees that Tellen played the victim brilliantly, but I still wish Katrina had kicked him harder.
Still chuckling, Tellen picks up one of the two untouched loaves of bread from the leather cloth they lay on and brings it to me.
“Peace offering?” His face twitches as he struggles against more laughter.
“Deal,” I reply, closing my eyes and drawing a deep breath as I accept the bread. “But you have to fill the waterbags as penance.”
A smile lights up Tellen’s face, for he knows he has won a victory.
Katrina turns into a snake long enough to hiss at him then bends down to pick up the last loaf of bread.
“And you get the bread you dropped on the ground.”
“It was worth it,” Tellen says.
In response, Katrina picks up the three waterbags and tosses them at Tellen. Her expression is unreadable until she turns to tie the rest of the bundle together. Then, I see her faint smile.
“And no fruit,” Katrina calls to Tellen as he retreats to carry out his extra chore.
Chapter 9:
Reluctant Redeemer
Victoria Saveron
Path to Coldhaven
When Tellen returns from filling the waterbags, we each heft a pack Katrina has prepared for us and start down the trail leading to Coldhaven, Bright Hope, Coolwater Creek, and eventually the city of Bastion. Though we have not traveled together long, the roles we settle into seem natural. Katrina takes the lead, remaining in her human form to better facilitate carrying her share of the supplies. I stay in the middle, undoubtedly the safest spot for me, and Tellen follows a few steps behind, his hands never more than inches from his daggers.
Dangerous though traveling while distracted can be, I can’t shake the dream or Tellen’s story. Of course, I had heard the Legend of the Silver Bracers before, though not the version with a prophecy about destroying evil. My father used to tell me the story before tucking me into bed.
Father and I might be reclusive people, but that doesn’t mean we’re ignorant of the culture around us. I wonder why my father saw fit to omit the prophecy. More than anything, the omission lends credence to the idea of it being true. Father used to tell me that I would, “know what I need to know when I need the knowledge and not a moment before,” whenever he didn’t feel like explaining something.
Chosen Redeemer.
As the title spins in my mind, I expect a sense of excitement, pride, joy, or eagerness to discover what my future holds. Instead, I feel uncertainty, confusion, and even a slight sense of outrage.
This is a bad idea for many reasons.
Reason one: I’m the last to know anything. This journey of self-discovery may only be days old, but it’s slapped me with the realization that my father may not have been as open with me as I previously thought. Father’s insistence that I never let anybody know where we live now makes sense. He’s always been mysterious.
I used to think our isolation was due to my father’s general aversion to people, but his paranoia may have had stronger foundations. Things out to get me because I might become the Chosen Redeemer would explain Father’s obsession with weapons readiness and training. There’s much about my father that I simply do not know. How can one spend so much time around another person and still feel like a stranger? Does everybody have this problem?
The Redeemers in the legends are always knowledgeable thanks to their close connection with the Lady of Light. Scholars debate whether The Lady is a goddess or merely a servant of Kailon, which means Eternal King. Like the Judges in service to Kailon, the Redeemers were an organization devoted to serving The Lady, but they ceased to exist a few hundred years back. I didn’t make the connection before because previously it didn’t matter.
Reason two: I’m not a people person. Despite this journey to I-know-not-where with Katrina and Tellen, I have spent much of my life in the cabin either alone or with Father. The rare visits from Shadow were always amusing, but how close can one get to a boy who always wears a black mask and won’t even tell you his real name?
The few trips I accompanied Father to Coldhaven or Bright Hope I heeded the orders to keep quiet. A woman from Coolwater Creek used to travel up every fall and winter to teach me how to read, write, and do simple sums, but once I mastered those, Father simply stocked up on books for my continued education.
Reason three: I can’t speak very well. As a child, I used to have long conversations with myself or imaginary audiences, but the thought of crowds terrifies me.
When I complained about not having someone to talk to, Katrina appeared more regularly, and when I complained about having only Katrina, Tellen appeared. I’m not complaining about the lack of people, merely stating reasons I’m not comfortable around crowds.
It’s not like there’s a manual explaining what makes a good Redeemer, but according to Tellen, the Chosen Redeemer will reshape the world. How can one expect to do any world shaping when they get queasy at the thought of public speaking?
Reason four: I am short and slight. Significant height may not be an official hero prerequisite, but it would help command attention. When one starts with as few hero attributes as I do, it’s depressing to fall short of the most basic ones.
Maybe I’m being unduly pessimistic, and if that’s the case, I may list it as reason four and a half. Redeemers were a cheerful lot if the legends speak truth.
Reason five: I am inexperienced in pretty much everything. Here I lay blame upon my sheltered childhood. Father did his best to raise me not to be a complete brat, but he was away a lot. He always made certain I had plenty of food and knew what to do in case of a zombie attack. We even did drills to that end. I do not view my childhood self as a prisoner. There were never any locks on the cabin door, but there was also nowhere to go and not much to do except play darts, read, cook, clean, or practice sword fighting with a stick from the woodpile.
Reason six: I am not very strong. I do have good stamina thanks to the necessity of walking to fetch drinkable water. I don’t even own any weapons, besides the bracers, and they’re more like armor than a weapon. I tried to pick up my grandfather’s greatsword once and nearly fell over. Like any respectable huntsman, Father taught me tracking, trapping, basic swordplay, and how to handle a bow, but I wouldn’t categorize my skills as expert in any of these areas.
Reason seven: My life goals are exceptionally moderate. I would like to move to a populated place, perhaps not so populated as Bastion but a place where I can find a decent magic tutor. Self-teaching is definitely not the way to go with magic. Shapeshifters develop different powers as they progress in their training. I’m hoping that means there’s a chance I have more useful latent magic abilities than glowing when dangerous things approach. I have a good imagination, but that’s not going to impress the undead.
Re
ason eight: I am not pretty. In every tale ever told, the heroine can at least rely on her looks. It’s like these things have a “gawky teenagers need not apply” vibe to them.
Reason nine: I blank out during battles. Tellen and Katrina assure me that whenever the fighting starts I do fine, but I’m pretty sure they’re just being kind. One could try to frame it as I am super focused during a battle, but it’s scary to think about entering conflict when I’ve no idea what will happen or how I’ll react.
Reason ten: I don’t want to save the world. Don’t get me wrong, I’d hate for the world to be destroyed. Still, I’ve no pressing desire to place myself in mortal danger to prevent such a catastrophe.
My father presented the Arkonai worldview of “serve and protect where possible,” yet he never demanded I accept the view. I’ve adopted a simpler “live and let live” philosophy. Katrina’s tried to convert me to the Saroth way of thinking, which can be defined as “order through control.” I’m not certain what Tellen believes, but the snippets I’ve gathered tell me he’s more in line with the extreme Arkonai view of “meddle in everything.”
Even as I finish composing my list of reasons why I would make a terrible Chosen Redeemer I get a faint amused sensation and hear silent words in my mind: That is why you were chosen.
“Is something wrong, Vic?” Tellen asks from behind me.
“What?”
In answer, he gently pushes me forward until I stumble along a few more steps.
“You stopped suddenly. Are you all right?”
“Fine,” I mumble. My mind fills with conflicting wishes for him to ask more questions and mind his own business. Unconsciously, I stop walking again.
Tellen delivers another nudge in the right direction.
“You’re a bad liar, but I’ll let it slide because we need to hurry or Katrina will hiss at both of us.”
He’s right, so I let Tellen herd me toward Coldhaven.
Chapter 10:
Coldhaven’s Bargain
The Lady
Gathering Hall, Coldhaven
The old floorboards creak in protest as angry villagers jostle each other for a better position. The Gathering Hall has never seen so many distraught people. The pleas and demands crash into each other, making it very difficult for the two men standing up front to distinguish individual speakers let alone respond.
“Give them what they want!” shouts a youth.
“Get my son back! They took my son!” cries a woman.
“Hold him hostage until we get the boy back!” orders a man.
“Why is this happening?” wails a girl.
Elder Willem Baxter holds up both arms in a gesture that begs for calm and, if things continue to deteriorate, could double for a feeble attempt to keep the others at bay.
“Please listen! We will figure out what to do, I promise!”
As it is not good to interfere in the affairs of mortals, I would normally let things proceed as they may, but I sense time passing quickly. I must know their plans if I am to protect my unsuspecting Chosen Redeemer. So, I flood the room with calming emotions until the shouts subside. The effort stretches my ability to interact with the physical world. I would like to know who the dangerous stranger is, but the effort to control the crowd occupies my attention. I don’t have the level of intimacy I can have within one mind, but their feelings are clear. People believe the misconception that immortal means all-powerful and all-knowing, but that is simply not true.
The stranger standing a step behind the elder uncrosses his arms and draws even with Coldhaven’s leader. A gleam in his eyes dares somebody to give him an excuse for violence.
“We’re here to strike a bargain.” His words come out slow and even.
“What bargain? What do you want?” demands a woman.
“Three young travelers will arrive soon,” says the stranger. “You will welcome them, feed them, and bring them to me at the ruins of Fort Amareth. There you will find the woman and child taken to ensure your cooperation.”
“Woman? What woman?” says an old man. “I thought the Chadwick boy was snatched.”
“The child will need care when he awakens,” the man points out with a cruel smile. “Do I have any volunteers?”
Stunned silence falls over the Gathering Hall.
“I will go,” offers the boy’s mother.
“No, you will not,” hisses her husband.
The stranger considers the woman’s statement and shakes his head.
“No, I need somebody … younger … and less wounded.”
Confusion crosses the woman’s face. In a flash, the man hurls a dagger at the woman. The blade lodges in the muscle just above her left knee. She screams as her stunned husband catches her around the waist and eases her to the ground.
Feeling the husband’s anger flare, I focus my calming efforts on keeping him from giving the man an excuse for murder. An outraged murmur ripples through the crowd as my efforts shift away from them, but I do not expect trouble from anybody else, save maybe the outspoken youth.
With a thought, the stranger recalls the dagger and wipes the blood on the stunned elder’s sleeve. A few deft flicks of the dagger remove the rest of the billowy, white sleeve. Calmly, the man bundles the sleeve into a ball and throws it at the woman’s husband before returning his dagger to the sheath.
“Bind that wound,” the stranger orders. To the woman, he adds, “It will heal in a few days, but I’m afraid the walk to Fort Amareth would be too strenuous for you.”
“If you want the travelers so badly, why don’t you capture them yourself?” asks the woman. Her voice is soft and strained with pain. She speaks simply so she won’t think about her leg. Relief and guilt flicker in her eyes as tears stream down her face.
“Yes, why involve others?” inquires Elder Baxter. He glances down at his bare arm, frowning at the ruins of his shirt. “We are no threat to you. Even if we wanted to interfere, we couldn’t.”
“They’re cowards,” mumbles the bitter young man. “The travelers are probably great warriors he’s afraid to fight.”
The stranger smiles languidly, blinks slowly, and then springs forward, seizes the challenger, throws him to the ground, and places a boot on his neck.
The crowd recoils as those in the front put their backs into gaining distance from the demonstration.
“Never start something you can’t finish, kid,” advises the man. He presses down on the boy’s throat hard enough to cut off the air supply. Then, he returns to Elder Baxter’s side as if nothing has happened.
The young man slowly sits up and rubs his throat.
“Who are they?” His question is curious but defiant.
“That is none of your concern,” replies the man. Raising his eyes to the crowd, the stranger adds, “Think about how you will obtain my prizes.”
“Why should we help you?” calls a man from the back.
Shouts of agreement and disapproval ring out. Regardless of opinion, people back away from the man as quickly as possible in case the stranger decides another object lesson is in order.
“What’s in it for us?” presses the new man. A shove sends him stumbling forward and another pocket forms around him.
“I’m glad you asked. If you hadn’t spoken, I might have forgotten to mention that one of my men wishes to open a Darkland portal here in Coldhaven.” The stranger raises his hands to quell the cries of dismay. “However, if you fulfill your side of this simple bargain, I will convince him to move on to another village.”
Shifting my focus to ascertain whether or not the man speaks truth, I sense only calm. The man might be lying, but if so, he believes the lie. He may yet be deceived, but I cannot dwell on alternate scenarios right now. I need to concentrate. My distraction allows the crowd to rumble with negative emotions.
“You’ll kill us!” wails a woman.
“We should kill you right now,” mutters the angry young man.
Thankfully, the violent stranger does not hear
him.
“We should do it,” says the man standing alone in the middle. His statement stuns the others into silence. “What’ve we got to lose? We capture the travelers, turn ’em over, perhaps even earn a fee, and go on about our business. The Chadwick lad gets returned and things end well. There are happy endings all around.” As he speaks, he turns in a slow circle, making eye contact with his neighbors.
“Things will not be well.” The speaker, a young woman I am familiar with, confronts the collaborator. “This is murder ye’d have us plotting, Ederon. Oy, think of The Lady, bless her name and gentle spirit. What would she say if she could see us?” She glares at those gathered around, shaming most into lowering their gazes.
Sara Andari might have felt my presence if emotions had not been running so high. I know her, for she seeks to know the One I serve. For a fraction of a second, I wish I could have kept her silent, for I know what is coming, but as usual, mortals make their own decisions and must stand by them. Instead of focusing on regret, I channel abiding peace and let her know I am proud she spoke up.
Catching the stranger’s gaze and responding to a silent order, Ederon places a firm hand on the girl’s left shoulder.
“You should have stayed out of it, Sara.” With that, he spins her around and wrenches her right arm up behind her back. Then, he marches her through the crowd and shoves her toward the stranger.
Easing Sara to a kneeling position, the stranger speaks with mock sincerity.
“Thank you for volunteering. You seem like a pillar of this community.” He draws his dagger and taps it on her shoulder as if he would knight her. “I think they’ll come through for you. What say you? Have we changed your mind about the travelers?”
“It’s still wrong,” Sara whispers.
“I’ll take that as a ‘not yet,’ but give the idea time, my dear. I’m sure you’ll come around.”
Nobody interferes with Ederon and the stranger as they guide Sara out of the Gathering Hall.
Chapter 11:
Awakening (Redeemer Chronicles Book 1) Page 5
