The Complete Chosen Trilogy (The Chosen Book 0)

by N. M. Santoski

  Angus shifted on his feet. "Yes. He's... hard to read."

  "Does he have it?"

  "I have no idea. I haven't seen it."

  "How could you not have seen it? These rooms are ridiculously small!" Manas snapped.

  "Well, maybe he doesn't have it. Old Aeron may never have given it to him," one of the girls said.

  "Isabella, honestly. Do you really think that he would have taken that chance?"

  She shrugged. "I don't know! He left before most of us were born! How should I know what he would do?"

  "John Aeron murdered his own son for not meeting his expectations and stole his own grandson in the middle of the night! Who knows what the old man taught this kid? I think we all need to be very careful."

  A snort from the back of the room caught everyone's attention. "Careful? Nolan Aeron may be a little behind the times, but he's no cold-blooded killer," Pyrrhus said, pushing his way to the front of the room.

  "How could you know that?"

  "I talked to him, idiot. I looked him in the eye. I'm a good judge of character, I can tell a con artist from a hundred yards. Aeron is a good guy—he’s just not used to this place."

  "Isn't it weird that our potential Swordsmith knows nothing about Caer Anglia?" Isabella said, biting her lip. "He's supposed to protect us!"

  "What do we need him for?" Manas snapped. "We haven't had a Swordsmith for almost twenty years and we've been okay."

  "We've been okay because no one KNOWS, Manas!" Pyrrhus snapped back. "What do you think the Europeans would do if they knew we were here, unprotected? If they knew the Swordsmith was an untutored kid who doesn't know the first thing about protecting us?"

  "What are you talking about?"

  Pyrrhus sighed. "The Europeans were furious when the Council fled Europe in the late 17th century. In all the chaos of the Great Plague of London, the Council disappeared with their families and came here. By the time the dust settled, none of the numen left behind knew where they had gone. In fact, they didn't find us here until World War I. They would like nothing more than having the Sword returned to the Continent... although where, specifically, is another headache."

  He suddenly realized they were all staring at him. "What?" he snapped. "Don't you people read?"

  "Where did you read THAT?"

  "Not here, obviously," he said shortly.

  "We'll have to see him tomorrow during sparring class," Manas said. "Why isn't Leiani here?"

  "Leiani seems to have decided that Alan is the less interesting of the two Aeron brothers—grass is always greener, and all that," Pyrrhus said, back to his flippant self. He examined the side of his nail as if it was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen.

  "Pyrrhus, for the gods' sake, focus! She's broken her engagement to Alan?"

  "I sincerely doubt it's gone that far. She's... broadening her horizons, so to speak."

  "Keopelani will murder her—she chose Alan for Leiani practically from the womb," Isabella predicted cheerfully.

  "No one is murdering anyone-- and it seems like Gia will have something to say about that before long," Angus muttered.

  "Disanza is after him, too? What the hell is going on here?" Manas growled, throwing his hands up.

  Jonas Keller spoke for the first time from the corner where he had been repeatedly weaving webs of ivy and untangling them. "If Aeron is any sort of man, that won't be a choice at all. Leiani is gorgeous. Disanza is awfully girl-next-door."

  "As interesting as Aeron's prospective love life is, we need to make some decisions."

  "We can't make any decisions until we know whether or not the Sword is here," Angus said. "If we attack him and he's got it, we're guilty of attempting to assassinate the Swordsmith! We'll all be dead."

  "I agree. We have to see if the Sword is here first. There's no way he would let it very far out of his sight...Angus, your job is to wait for him to go out and to toss that room. Got it?"

  Angus nodded.

  "The rest of us will have to watch and wait."

  With that, the group dispersed, back to their rooms to discuss what had happened or to think about what Pyrrhus had said.

  As for the Lord Younger Ignis, he went to his habitual haunt in the basement to play out in his mind the advantages of each side. He controlled his numina with pinpoint accuracy and began to melt a perfect hole through the center of a thick steel beam. His mind was not yet made up, but he resolved to watch the Swordsmith Apparent very carefully in the coming months.

  Interlude 2: Michael

  He made his way down the quiet Welsh street, looking for one home in particular. The street was unfamiliar to him, but he could read numbers as well as the next man, thank you very much, and number 417 was his final destination—his last stop of the night.

  Home of the Argall family. The father was a fairly powerful Aqua numen. The mother was a Fulmen of some standing. Their four-year-old son was already developing a talent for Fulmen that was positively frightening in one so young. If things had followed their natural course, the boy would already be in the hands of Nerys Tew, or even possibly on his way to America to train with John Aeron, the most powerful Power user on the planet.

  The natural course, however, had given way—bent to HIS will. It was his will that this little family breathe their last on this gorgeous July evening. He finally located the house, a small, single level home hidden in a small cul-de-sac on the south side of the street.

  His entry was almost ridiculously easy. The house was both dark and silent, so he slipped up the porch stairs and into the kitchen, disturbing nothing. His first stop was the parents’ room. They slept in bed together, comfortably spooning under a light blanket. The father was snoring lightly, sprawled on his back with his wife pulled tight against his side.

  An easy mark.

  He concentrated on the door he left open to the yard, using his numina to coax the dirt to follow him into the house, slithering into the house with a faint rustle to pile at his feet. When he had a sizable amount, he set it loose with very specific instructions.

  By the time the couple awoke in a panic, realizing they couldn’t breathe, it was far too late. The dirt filled every cilium in their lungs, making breathing impossible. They were too busy trying to learn how to breathe through lungs full of soil to notice him standing in the corner, watching them die. He waited five minutes longer than he thought he needed to, until the twitching stopped completely, before recalling his murder weapon to his feet. He took his time, ensuring that not a particle remained to incriminate an Artifex user. Their faces were twisted into panicked grimaces—he could do nothing about that.

  He closed the door carefully behind him with hands encased in dark gloves, and located the young boy’s room.

  To his disappointment, the boy was already awake, his eyes wide and sitting up in bed.

  “Da?”

  The small forehead contracted in a frown when he realized the man in his room was not his father.

  “Who’re you?”

  The man didn’t answer.

  “Why’re you in my room?”

  No answer.

  “Can’t you talk?”

  The man smiled slowly. “Yes, I can talk,” he said, his voice immediately labeling him an American. The boy had never met an American, but he’d seen some on the telly.

  “Where’s Da?”

  “He’s in his room, of course. It is late, you know.”

  “Then why’re you here?”

  “I have a present for you.”

  “Really?” The boy’s excitement sent him right out of bed and into the man’s reach. “Is it a good one?”

  “Yes,” he said as he reached out and took the boy’s face in his hands. With a deft twist, he broke the child’s neck and shifted his hold, putting the boy’s body in a fireman’s carry. The dirt followed him outside.

  The dirt had done as commanded, not that he had expected anything less, removing itself from the ground in a hole two foot square and fifteen fee
t deep. He dropped the boy in head first, listening to hear the body hit the bottom of the deep well. A gesture with two fingers sealed the body in solid bedrock and sent the dirt slithering in after it. He took the extra time to direct it to knit perfectly with the dirt surrounding it for the first five feet, insuring that the ground looked completely undisturbed.

  His work complete, he shut the back door, leaving the house looking as it had when he entered that evening, and began to walk back down the street toward his hotel. The night’s work checked twenty Power users off of his list—it was a shame about the father, but he had learned early on in his quest that people got disproportionately angry over their families being killed. Something about honor and love.

  He’d lied to Alix—this wasn’t about love. It was about hate, and greed, and power. Things he thrived on.

  He shrugged to himself. Either way, it covered his tracks all the better to have more than just Fulmen dying. He hadn’t been caught thus far, but Wales was a dangerous proposition, a place where many of the people knew the numen walked among them. A police officer here would be much more likely to suspect numen involvement.

  He and Alix would be on their way to Italy tomorrow, however, and Rome had several Fulmen in residence—a flaw he would have to correct.

  Chapter Eleven

  The entire class gathered, Groups A and B alike, in the Atrium that Thursday morning for sparring. Nolan noticed a knot of people gathered around a teen he hadn't met, all glaring at him in one way or another. Seeing Gia enter the room alone, he waved and she quickly changed direction to join him. Angus, part of the other small group, looked sour.

  “Excited for sparring?” he asked, expecting a nod—the aura in the room was one of barely suppressed glee. The air was practically vibrating on a frequency all its own. To his surprise, she frowned and gave one sharp shake of her head.

  “Why do they teach us to kill each other?"

  “We have to learn how to discharge our numina safely, or it could kill us.”

  “But why on each other? Why not on dummies or piles of dirt?”

  Nolan hesitated for a moment, and then spoke. “It's a long standing tradition among us, dating back to the Romans, that we be able to settle our arguments with honor and in a way indisputable.”

  She stared. “Where did you learn that from?”

  It was his turn to frown. “From my grandfather when I asked him the same question.”

  Sensei and Proctor Jenkins entered the room at that point, and all discussions ceased.

  "Welcome to your first sparring class.”

  At Jenkins' words, the class broke out into spontaneous applause.

  “Yes, I know,” he shushed them, hands raised. “You probably haven't had much opportunity to spar at home–-this is always what students are most excited for.” He sighed as they quieted. “Although sparring is a time honored tradition among us, dating back to the very beginning, I must tell you that I have been advocating an end to it once and for all.”

  Angry murmurs and groans met this pronouncement and Jenkins had to continue just shy of a shout in order to be heard.

  “Unfortunately, the Council decreed that sparring was just too important, so here we are.”

  The boy Nolan noticed earlier looked particularly smug.

  Jenkins watched them all carefully. "I cannot stress upon enough the importance of the safety measures we impose to make sure everyone learns without having to fear for their lives."

  "What about the Rite of Passage?" the boy called out. "People die in those all the time."

  "Yes, Mr. Warrington, I know. The Rite of Passage is made up of literal battles... these are merely rehearsal. Let's try to keep our heads, yes?"

  Manas shrugged, but refused to comment further.

  "Our first order of business is division. I would like everyone to sort yourselves according to your numina, and then select one person to demonstrate to the rest of the class. You have... five minutes. Begin."

  The group buzzed for a moment before beginning to split off into separate groups. Nolan didn't even bother looking—he knew that if someone else was able to do what he did, he would have heard of him or her long before now. When the time was up, eight groups stood in front of Jenkins and Sensei, waiting for further instructions.

  "Very good."

  "Why are there only eight groups here?"

  "Tempus is never an option, Mr. Aeron. Lady Tempus has been the only person blessed by Juno since the beginning. Now, let us work in reverse. Terra, your representative, please."

  Jonas stepped forward and grinned. "What should I do?"

  "Give us a demonstration, if you please... And NOT on one of your classmates."

  Jonas flexed and began to roll his fingers in toward his wrists. As the class watched, the ivy growing along the bricks began to wave in time with his fingertips and inch its tendrils towards him. He paused in his movements and switched to a come-hither gesture with his finger. A lone vine twisted out from the others and used his pants leg as leverage to climb up into his hand. With a yank, he cracked the vine forward and snapped it inches from Nolan's face.

  "Thank you, Mr. Keller. Medica, you're next."

  A single Asian girl motioned for the class to gather around. "I need a volunteer."

  Gia pushed her way to the front and proffered her wrist. The Medica girl took a deep breath and drew her sharpened thumbnail along the side of Gia's arm. Gia hissed, but held still as bright red blood welled up along the deep cut. The girl took her index finger and ran it along the cut-- like a zipper, the skin fused together, leaving unblemished skin and a bit of drying blood.

  "Very nice, Kuriyami. Ignis, you're up next." When no one moved, he prompted, "Pyrrhus?"

  "Pass."

  Jenkins frowned and began to reprimand him when Noel stumbled forward. "I'll do it."

  "Very well."

  Noel pushed everyone back to the walls and grounded herself. She began to rub her hands together in a motion that Nolan found eerily reminiscent of the way he summoned his own numina. As the friction built, sparks began to fly. Suddenly, a fireball erupted between her hands and she held it there, her face lit by its hellish glow. After a few moments, she ground the fireball into the dirt and stomped it out with her foot.

  "Thank you, Noel. Aqua?"

  Everyone stepped back from Leiani, who tipped Nolan a wink as she moved to the front of the room. She tossed her hair back behind her shoulders and began undulating slowly, moving like a belly dancer. As everyone watched, droplets of water began to race up from her feet, against gravity, coating her body from toes to shoulders before she extended her arms and gathered all of it into her hands. She flung the handfuls of water into the air, letting the drop rain down on the class in a light mist. For the first time, applause rang out.

  "Yes, yes, very impressive, Leiani. Not a good indication of the average Water user, though. Back to your place, please."

  As soon as she turned back to face him, Jenkins had everyone's attention once again. "For your edification, here is the usual Water user's modus operandi." He held a palm flat, parallel to the floor, and pointed a single finger toward the center. As he began to make a clockwise motion, water began to follow in a small cyclone, spinning on the palm of his hand like a top. He allowed it to spin to a stop and splash down over the sides of his hand onto the floor.

  "Zephyrus, please."

  Gia stepped forward once again to offer her contribution.

  Instead of moving to summon Wind, however, she climbed the dais and turned her back to the class. As they watched, large knots of feathers began to work their way out of her shoulder blades. Nolan was in the middle of wondering how they went through her shirt so cleanly when they finally burst forth in a flurry of small pinfeathers. Her full wingspan was absolutely enormous—almost twelve feet from tip to tip. She held them fully extended for a few moments, then folded them in to rest along either side of her spine as she turned to face them. They applauded politely, and Jenkins gave
her permission to draw her wings back into her body.

  She climbed back down and took her place in front of Nolan. He peered at her back and saw very thin slits running almost the entire length of her shirt, which solved the puzzle.

  Jenkins had saved the most dramatic three for last, and summoned a tan, bulky boy up to the front to demonstrate for the Gravis. He scooped up two giggling girls and held them each on a shoulder, then did the same with two protesting boys.

  "And the other, Lucas?"

  Luc took two shuddering breaths and was suddenly swamped in golden fur. His form was vaguely lionish, but most definitely still a man. His long, dark hair now framed his face like a mane. The applause was littered with wary looks and, in at least one case, a snort of disgust. Luc let out a roar that shook the very stone and reverted back to his fully human body.

  “Shapeshifters change form based on their genetics. For Lucas, who is only one-fourth shifter, this means he cannot pass as a normal lion,” Jenkins lectured, before turning to face the Artifex group.

  Manas sauntered up to the front before Jenkins could even summon him. He pushed his long sleeves up and jabbed his fingers at the dirt, raising tiny pillars of dirt into the form of a chair and climbing on top. He continued the jabbing motion, creating steps until he had managed to climb almost twenty feet above them. Suddenly, the stairs collapsed into a shower of dirt. Some students screamed as Manas seemed to plummet toward certain death. He was calmly pulling particles of dirt from the air around him and moved them quickly enough to create a vortex, slowing his descent. He righted himself and landed on his feet, the dust coating everyone except for him. Everyone was so shaken that there was complete silence-- except for Nolan, who was clapping slowly in the eerie hush, showers of dirt puffing outward from his clothes with every clap.

  Manas gave him a nod that still seemed to have a sneer attached and retook his place.

  "Well, Nolan, you're last," Jenkins said, just as curious as the rest. John had been an incredibly powerful Swordsmith; Trevor, just a middling Power wielder. No one knew how this newest Aeron would fare.