Chosen (The Last Guardians Book 1)

by C. V. Gregorchuk

  In a voice like a breath of wind across the ocean, Ithrielle addressed the woman. “Who have you brought before me today, Maeto?”

  The dark skinned woman got to her feet, keeping her shining head bowed reverently before the Oluanvi. A touch on the shoulder had Orden rushing to his feet. Unlike his companion he stared right at Ithrielle, his little chin lifted, grey eyes unflinching. Mia was shocked to find she’d moved, whatever body she possessed within this memory, shifting automatically to offer her a better view. Before she could start to wonder how it worked, the little boy took two steps forward and spoke.

  “Pure One,” His voice was clear and sharp, no hint of a tremor. “I am Orden, son of Yarida and I have come to pledge myself to you. To serve and honor Eldhor in your temple.”

  Thin lips curled in a feline smile.

  Ithrielle’s movements were slow, almost lazy as she got up from her throne. As if she had all the time in the world. Her unbound hair flowed back from her face in waves of brass and gold, exposing the delicate silver ring around her neck that anchored the dress she wore. If it could be called that. The white, nearly translucent fabric flowed in a single swatch from the silver collar, spilling down her torso where another band of the same material bisected across her breasts and continued to the floor. A belt of silver loops circled her hips. Mia couldn’t look away as the Oluanvi padded toward Orden, the bangles on her arms and around her ankles clinking merrily with each step.

  The leopard circled her prey, golden eyes glowing and Mia got an eyeful of smooth olive skin. Pure my ass. Mia had bathing suits that covered more skin than the scrap of fabric the Oluanvi wore. The back matched the front, every bit as minimal. Orden remained straight as a rod, his gaze fixed ahead while the Pure One made one last pass. Ithrielle stopped in front of him. Orden lifted his little chin. He did not shy away when Ithrielle extended heavily ringed hands toward him. There wasn’t so much as a hitch in his breath as she placed those hands on either side of his face.

  Their eyes closed. Ithrielle’s face remained a mask of serenity while Orden’s brows drew together and his eyes flickered behind his eyelids. A long, tense moment passed. Nothing moved, no one seemed to be breathing. Orden’s fists squeezed tighter at his sides, the only indication that he was not frozen in place. “Mmmm,” Ithrielle hummed, her lips tilting to form a satisfied smile. She opened her eyes, like molten gold, and addressed the dark-skinned woman standing behind Orden, “You have done well, Maeto. This one will make an excellent addition to the Pure.” Ithrielle did not see the other woman’s grateful nod as she looked down into Orden’s face still held between her hands. “You have Power, little one,” her voice was a purr, “how would you like to learn to wield it?”

  A flicker of surprise in those striking pale eyes of his, replaced by doubt a second later. He must not have known then. “I uh-” Orden straightened, pushing back his thin, already broadening shoulders. “If it will please you and Eldhor, Pure One, then I will learn.”

  Another cat-like smile, this one more disturbing somehow.

  “Good.”

  Ithrielle met Maeto’s dark eyes, a clear instruction passing between them, and then she released the boy. Maeto stepped forward as Ithrielle returned to her marble throne and placed hands the color of damp soil upon his shoulders. Orden let himself be turned away from the throne and the Oluanvi sitting in it. When he looked up into Maeto’s blank face, Mia saw him for the little boy he was. A child of six or seven, looking for approval from a guardian, eyes big and fearful in a pale face. Mia watched the two begin the long walk between the pillars and then her ears filled with rushing.

  The roaring of the wind grew faint but remained with her as scenes from Orden’s life flitted past with dizzying speed.

  The same red-haired boy from the temple standing in a sunlit courtyard now holding a broom in his hand. A blink and there he was again- Orden sitting at a table, thin frame bent as he ran a finger down the pages of a giant book- Bright beating sunlight, a vast green field and hundreds of kids spread out across it, some wrestling, others with weapons in their hands, training. They all wore variations of the same outfit, a simple white tunic cinched at the waist with a belt and sturdy leather sandals- Orden, older now but with the same shock of red hair, his nose dripping blood down his face onto the white robes he wore. The same as the five or so boys who circled him and a dark-haired kid with a mean look on his bruised face.

  A slightly taller Orden stuffed into a cramped alcove with a blank scroll in front of him, a pen in hand- Orden training with a short wooden sword- Orden and Maeto in a sterile looking place, the latter binding his arm while Orden bared his teeth in pain- Orden as a teenager, gangling limbs and awkward angles sprawled in tall grass the color of wheat swaying in a salty breeze- Orden staring down a target at the end of a long run, bow string pulled taught- Glimpses of a sprawling city, wide roads and massive buildings of white stone capped with domes of every color imaginable, perched upon sandstone cliffs overlooking a turquoise sea- Orden as a young man jumping from those very cliffs with other young Oluan and disappearing beneath the waves far below.

  Orden stood before Ithrielle’s throne in the white temple of the Pure, silent and alert, his head bowed in reverence to the woman seated before him. The din of rushing wind that had accompanied every flash of memory had faded. Only the echoing quiet of the temple was left in its place.

  Ithrielle spoke. “Do you know why I have summoned you, Orden Yaridasson?” She looked exactly as Mia had seen her in the first memory Orden had shown her. Copious amounts of perfect olive skin was on display in a revealing white dress, arms bedecked with silver jewelry and her golden hair pulled back from her face in an elegant braid. She hadn’t aged a day while Orden had grown into a man.

  Orden’s broad shoulders tensed but he kept his head down. “No, Pure One, I do not.” He said in a low voice.

  “Not even a guess?” Ithrielle pursed her pale lips when Orden did not answer, “Pity. And they tell me you are a clever one.” She flicked her eyes over him, taking in the width of his shoulders, the muscular shape of his legs beneath the hem of his tunic, “They tell me you are a strong warrior and gifted with Power. Are they wrong to tell me these things, Orden Yaridasson?”

  Mia saw a muscle jump in Orden’s clean-shaven cheek. He lifted his head, the red of his hair had darkened to russet, it gleamed in the light as he met Ithrielle’s gaze. “No, Pure One, they are not.” Mia didn’t miss the way Ithrielle’s golden eyes took another leisurely pass over Orden’s frame.

  The smile she gave him was both smug and feral, the grin of a jungle cat. “I am pleased to hear it.” Mia wanted so badly to roll her eyes as the Oluanvi took yet another gander, “Twenty-four years you have served Eldhor in my temple and in that time you have proven yourself,” Long nails clicked against marble, “useful. Despite your lineage, you have risen among my acolytes, and they do not fault you for it. That is why, Orden Yaridasson, I have chosen you for a task of great importance to Eldhor and to me. If,” she raised impeccable brows, “you are willing?”

  Orden, to his credit, didn’t even blink. Something in his bearing changed though, he seemed to stand a little straighter, a little taller. “I am your tool, Pure One, use me as you see fit and I will honor you and Eldhor in my work.” Ithrielle enjoyed that far too much. Her answering smile was enough to make Mia’s skin crawl. No, she didn’t like this woman at all.

  “Excellent.” Ringed fingers gripped marble as Ithrielle rose silkily to her feet. Each step she took toward Orden issued a cascade of tinkling metal. When she stopped in front of him, she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. Her expression sobered, “The world beyond this city is a cruel and dangerous place, Orden Yaridasson. I would use you as a weapon against such cruelty.” Ithrielle’s eyes were like yellow diamonds, hard and cold as she stepped around him and began to pace in a wide circle with Orden at its center. He followed her with his eyes. “Humans,” she said with such obvious loathing that Mia flinched, “a
re terrified of what they do not understand.

  In the past, they have slaughtered without mercy, those whose blood runs with Power, regardless of gender. Regardless of age.”

  “You speak of those who were hunted,” Orden’s voice was quiet, “the pelt-shifters and the gifted.” His russet brows drew together, “The Oluan put a stop to those killings.”

  “We did.” Ithrielle stopped her pacing. “And we have, again and again.” Her gaze slid toward Orden, “And now the time has come for us to intervene once more.”

  “Where will you send me?”

  Ithrielle laughed, the sound echoing off the marble, warping it into something strange. She began circling again. “Your enthusiasm is appreciated, Orden Yaridasson, but you will not be leaving Perilea just yet.” Orden waited. Ithrielle padded toward her throne, the hem of her backless dress whispering over the stone. Only when she was seated, legs crossed, arms draped over cold marble did she deign to explain. “You will remain here a while longer. This work will take a certain degree of diplomacy. An area you have not yet been schooled in.”

  Footsteps. Mia followed the soft slap of leather on stone, curiosity like an ache as she watched the unhurried approach of a male figure between the pillars. She could not see his face. The sun pouring in through the giant doors open to the city beyond cast his features in shadow. It caught in his hair, playing with the shoulder length tresses so that his head was shrouded in a deep red halo.

  “Kairos has served Eldhor in my temple for nigh on three centuries. He is well versed-” Ithrielle’s voice faded, her words swallowed by the sound of Mia’s own rapid heartbeat. Kairos. The name bounced around in her head as the man who was responsible for so much- killed so many- walked past Orden, giving him a wide berth and positioned himself on Ithrielle’s left. He didn’t look evil. Ya well, neither did Hitler and look what he did, Mia reminded herself. Kairos looked nothing like Hitler though. For one, he was taller and definitely in better physical shape.

  Muscles rippled and bulged in the deeply tanned arms he crossed over his chest. His calves were impressive beneath the knee length hem of his regulation white tunic. Mia might have considered him handsome had it not been for the stony expression he wore. He had a long refined nose, defined cheekbones, and a strong jaw; a pity his full, curving lips were pressed into such a hard and unforgiving line. Electric blue eyes stared out from beneath dark brows. Not at Orden, Mia noticed but rather somewhere above his head.

  Mia’s eyes fixed on the younger version of the man she knew. Younger but there was some familiarity in that face, in the shape of his eyes, the way he held his head. His nose hadn’t been broken yet. When had that happened? How? To think Orden actually trained with Kairos- worked with him- Mia didn’t know if it was altogether possible or not but she swore she could feel her stomach turning in queasy somersaults. How long from this moment until Kairos would show his true colors? How long before he began the slaughtering that would end in the extinction of an entire race? Mia couldn’t breathe. All the oxygen was sucked out of the temple, and Mia was left gasping and choking for air in a vacuum. Panic overloaded her senses; she thrashed and bucked, doing her damnedest to get out of that place, the memory.

  With a vicious gasp, Mia was slammed back into her body.

  Chapter 42

  Her hand shot out and grabbed onto the first thing it came into contact with; Orden’s knee. Breath after gasping breath Mia swallowed down air into her aching lungs, her body trying to expel the memory of that terrible suffocating feeling. “Wha-? How-?”

  Orden moved with dizzying speed. One moment he was sitting on the trunk beside her, the next he was crouching on the ground in front of her, greyish blue eyes wide with concern. “Breathe Mia.” He said, covering her knees with big warm hands. “Save your questions for when you have the breath to ask them.”

  Mia could do nothing but nod and try to do as he told her. Orden stayed where he was, searching her face as she focused on controlling her breathing, willing the frantic pace of her heart to slow. When it seemed she wasn’t about to keel over- or run- he removed his hands from her knees and got stiffly to his feet. Mia followed him with her eyes. Orden stopped by the window and rested an arm against the glass.

  The light had changed. The sun hung low in the hazy blue sky, its bottom edge brushing the tops of the trees. Hours. What had seemed like only seconds in the depths of Orden’s memories had eaten up hours. As if on cue, her stomach chose that moment to remind her of its presence. Mia coughed to hide the rumble and squelch that issued from her belly. Food could wait. At least a little while longer.

  “Did you know?”

  Orden’s shoulders stiffened, his eyes snapped to her, wary, “No.” He said in a quiet but firm voice, “Not in the beginning. His arm dropped to his side, and he turned his body to face her. “He hid it well for many years.”

  “How long?” Mia asked as gently as she could, given the demands of her curiosity. “How long after that-”

  “Twenty years.”

  Mia’s brows rose. Twenty years. That was a long time to spend in the company of someone who obviously had issues and not notice something was off. “And you never suspected?” The look Orden gave her was full of anger and disgust. Not at her, Mia was slow to realize, but at himself. He ducked his head, eyes fixated on the gnarled fingers of his right hand as he opened and closed his fist. A muscle jumped in his cheek.

  “Kairos and I-” He trailed off, searching, “we never- we were never- friendly.” Orden winced and lifted his eyes to Mia’s, “He hated me. On account of my breeding, you understand. My mother was Oluan, and my father was human- He took it as an affront, the Pure One placing a bastard born Olu in his charge.”

  Mia thought she might know the feeling. “But he taught you anyway.” Of course, he had, like Orden was training her despite all her shortcomings.

  Orden nodded, his face grave. “He could not refuse her. Neither of us could, no matter how badly we might have wanted to.” What would the Oluanvi have done had either Orden or Kairos refused? Mia didn’t want to know. “Kairos was- is, highly skilled in the arts of negotiation and manipulation. I learned everything I could from him.” An edge of bitterness found its way into his voice, “I was eager to prove myself, to him, and others like him that I was more than a half-breed bastard.” And eventually Kairos could no longer deny that Orden was ready, “or at the very least that I wouldn’t do any irreparable damage should I open my mouth. Five years passed between the memory I showed you and the day we set out from Perilea. We traveled to the Northern Reaches first. Where the hunting and killing of Pelt-shifters was at its worst.”

  Mia was starting to feel quite overwhelmed. Pelt-shifters, Northern Reaches... These were things she was hearing about for the first time, and Orden was listing them off with a casualness that made Mia think that he expected her to know what they meant. Did she dare ask? Yes. Mia decided she could handle whatever reaction he gave in payment for the information- “What are Pelt-shifters again? I mean, I think I know, but I just want to clarify-” she added as a lame attempt to save face.

  Orden looked down at the books on the floor between them and then back at her. “If ye took the time to read the books I provided you with, ye would know.”

  She’d explained this to Breahn once already today; she wasn’t about to defend herself again. Mia refused to drop her gaze. Orden sighed. “Pelt-shifters, or shifters as they’re more commonly known, are exactly what you would think.” Mia schooled her features into an expression of cool interest while she cringed on the inside. Please don’t be what I think it is. Because she had an idea and if she was right- “Some humans maintain a strong link to their Oluan heritage, and through that lineage, they gained the ability to shed their human skin and take on the form of animals.” Crap. “Other humans fear them. Believe them to be wild and dangerous. Over the centuries there have been numerous attempts to exterminate the shifters and anyone who possessed some element of Power.”

  Mi
a wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take. This day had started out so simple and familiar with the promise of chores and training. How had it veered so far from that? Mia couldn’t decide what she wanted to do more just then; curl up under the covers of her bed and pretend this world didn’t exist, that it was all an elaborate dream, or run screaming out of the house and keep running. She didn’t do either of those things. No matter how hard it was for Mia to sit there and listen to everything he was telling her- to accept it as the truth when the logical part of her was screaming bullshit!- Mia folded her feet under her on the trunk and settled in to listen. She could decide later how much of it she was willing to believe.

  “So humans were killing these people, and Ithrielle wanted to stop them.” Mia summarized, “This is going to sound bad but why did she care?” From what she’d seen of Ithrielle, that cold, dangerous woman, Mia wasn’t convinced her motives were entirely selfless.

  “Why did she care?” Orden echoed and somehow managed to stand even taller. “I am beginning to think there is much you have failed to grasp from yer reading.” Mia rolled her eyes at him, but her cheeks heated all the same. Orden looked to the right, out the window, assessing the position of the sun, which had dropped lower in the time they’d been talking. His chest expanded as he filled it with one deep breath and let it out in a slow, steady stream of air. He looked at her. “This is not a conversation I want interrupted with the starved protests of your belly,” Mia was quick to cross her arms over said belly. She thought she’d been doing an excellent job of hiding it.