Shattered Destiny

by West, Shay

  --As you wish. Again the clone simply stood in place, hands hanging limply at its sides.

  --Master Ferrok wishes you all to return immediately.

  “I'm not leaving until I talk to my parents,” Jon said.

  --Perhaps we could contact them and speak to them for you?

  “They will think they have gone mad! They don't know the truth about you, remember? Besides, this is not something I want to do through someone else. I have to speak to them in person.” For a split second, Jon had been tempted to have the clones contact his parents. The clones might have the ability to pick out the truth from all of the other thoughts. While he sounded adamant about confronting his folks in person, the idea terrified him. He was not certain he wanted to hear what they would say. What if I am adopted?

  “If Master Ferrok wishes us to return, we must do so, and quickly. There may be other news.” Forka shuddered at the thought of what the prophets might have discovered in their absence.

  “I am tired of arguing. Any who wish to accompany me best get saddled up.” Jon didn't care that he sounded like a petulant child. The need to find out the truth far outweighed any feelings of obligation he might harbor about his destiny. With shaking hands, he saddled the horse, tense and waiting for someone to try to stop him.

  “We need to stick together. I guess that means we all go to the mountains,” Brok said reluctantly.

  “Let's get going. The sooner we finish this, the sooner we can return to Gentra.” Gerok sighed resignedly. He did not want to spend any more time here. If Fa’ Vel managed to ambush them while they were on the road, it could mean the death of even more of the Chosen. Don't know why that would matter. We have lost five. Surely we have failed.

  The Chosen saddled their horses, moving quickly and efficiently, though quietly. There were many mixed feelings about the decision to travel back to the Stone Mountains. Some thought the idea was a good one, though for more than just allowing Jon to speak to his family. They wanted to let the villagers know that it was safe to return home. Others did not want to make the long trip back. They were ready to make for the portal and perhaps return to their own worlds. And others did not care if they stayed or left.

  Jon rode apart from the group, cloaking himself in a shroud of silence. He glanced up at the sound of hoof beats. Sloan rode alongside Jon for a time, not speaking, just watching the young man out of the corner of his eye. It was obvious that Jon wanted to be left alone, but Sloan knew some of what the boy was going through, and he wanted to offer some advice, before the doubt and the anger destroyed the good memories of his family.

  “Being adopted isn't the end of the world you know. If it does turn out that Fa’ Vel is your real father, at least you had a loving adoptive family.” Bitterness crept into his voice.

  “You were adopted?”

  Sloan barked a laugh. “In a manner of speaking.” He sighed. “I am supposed to be trying to make you feel better.”

  “I am not sure anyone is up to that task.” Jon grumped.

  “I was lucky enough to be adopted twice.” He smiled when he saw Jon's eyes widen. “The first time was horrible. My family was killed, and I was taken by the Horde, the sworn enemy of the Jhinn. I was raised to hate the Jhinn, which suited my burning need for revenge on the man responsible for the deaths of my family.

  “Soon, the raping and torture and killing that took place in the Horde camps was normal to me. It wasn't until I infiltrated the Jhinn that I began to realize what life could really be like. I had never had friends, not real friends anyway. Some of my favorite memories are of Robert preaching to the people of God's love and how He wants everyone to live a good life, believing in Him and trusting in Him,” Sloan said. He could hear Robert's powerful voice in his head. The message he spoke, and the truth of the words still moved him.

  “I began to question my belief in the need for revenge. Among the Jhinn, my mind was at peace for the first time since I saw my family murdered.”

  Jon did not speak for a time, absorbing all that the man had told him. He knew Forka had killed Sloan's family because they had seen him emerge from the portal. Forka had not seen any other alternative. The family could not be allowed to tell anyone what they had witnessed.

  “I let the words of Valery and Amber cloud my judgment. And a good friend died as a result.” He would never forgive himself for Tess Golden's death. He smiled a little, remembering how her face would light up when he showed her what he'd found while digging around the ruins of the old cities. Her eyes would get this far-away, misty look. Of all of the Protectors, she was the most curious about how humans had lived many hundreds of years ago. Tess would sit for hours with the Sawbones, trying to figure out what the strange treasures could have possibly been used for.

  “If Fa’ Vel is telling the truth, and there is no guarantee he is, then what does it matter? Do not let your feelings about the man cloud how you feel about your parents and sisters waiting back in the mountains. Hold on to the good memories and let them surround you. Throw off the cloak of doubt and anger.” Sloan finished in a whisper.

  Jon did not answer. He knew the man was right, but he could not help being angry and unsure. If there was any chance that Fa’ Vel had spoken the truth, then his parents had lied to him all these years. And Holly, Fara, and Niki were not really his sisters. That thought hurt the most. He brushed at the tears that fell, not wanting Sloan to see him cry. That man is not my father!

  Kaelin rode toward the front of the group, wanting to put as much distance between herself and Jon Stone as possible. He was driving her mad with his pouting, temper tantrums, and selfishness. She thoroughly ignored the little voice in her head that reminded her about her own not-so-mature behavior lately.

  “You really should give the poor kid a break. He has a lot on his mind.” Brad Phillips chewed lazily on a stalk of wheat grass. He missed smoking. There was just something so soothing about a smoldering cigarette between ones lips.

  Kaelin raised her eyebrow. “We are all dealing with stuff.” She waved her hand vaguely.

  Brad chuckled. “Not like he is. Imagine how you would feel if you were told that some evil man was your father and those you had grown up with and grown to love weren't your real family. It's a lot to swallow.” He glanced at her, suppressing a grin at her predictable behavior.

  Kaelin snorted. “What the man said is preposterous! If Jon was adopted, everyone in the village would know. I mean, it's not as though something like that could be kept secret.”

  Brad merely nodded. Being in the presence of Kaelin was intoxicating. He had never known anyone like her. She was feisty and more than a little spoiled. Brad admired a woman who had everything all figured out, a woman who knew exactly what she wanted. Guess we don't always get what we want though. Brad sighed, feeling sad at the thought of having to leave her someday. He could not imagine living apart from the Jhinn and wanted to return home badly. He worried that the Horde or the Cowboys could be attacking at that very moment, burning and pillaging and hurting the good people of the encampment.

  Perhaps when this is all over, she could return with me. He shook his head ruefully. Brad knew that if she came with him to Earth, he would have to give up his place in the bunkhouse. He would no longer be a Protector. When he looked into Kaelin's onyx eyes, though, he thought the idea of having a home and a family of his own sounded rather nice.

  But nice enough to give up being a Protector?

  Brad sighed. He had been a Protector of the Jhinn since he was eighteen. The life had been difficult but not without its rewards. Part of him wanted to remain a Protector until the day he died, and yet another part wanted to build a life with this beautiful girl from Astra. The group camped well off the road in a stand of pines and aspens. The Volgons gathered the wood for the fire, and the Astrans used their power to light it. Gerok wanted to take the Volgons hunting for game. Brok agreed but told the Kromin to keep in contact so that those staying behind could be alerted to danger.


  The Volgons rubbed their hands together in excitement. They longed to taste the flesh of the beasts of this world. Even the melgor back home did not satisfy their deep hunger the way the meat on this planet did. None of them were eager to return to eating the tasteless gruel that was generated in the depths of the colony.

  “What is that you have there?” Brad's eyes widened.

  “This? Just my pipe and pipeweed.” Brok was a bit scared of the intense look of naked longing on the man's face.

  “Do you have an extra pipe by any chance?” Brad moved toward the old man as if in a dream. He closed his eyes and inhaled the sweet aroma of the smoke.

  “Yes,” Brok drew out the word as he exhaled. He handed the man the pipe and the tied bag of pipeweed grown in the village of Heart Stone.

  Brad loaded some of the leaf into the pipe and went to grab a stick to place in the fire.

  “Allow me.” Brok grinned and used the power to light the pipe.

  Brad took a few puffs and melted back against the trunk of the large pine tree, a look of utter and complete bliss on his face.

  Master Brok grinned at the man's obvious enjoyment. “Do you smoke a similar weed on your planet?”

  Brad grinned. “I do. Only I roll it in paper to make a cigarette. When you come to Earth, I will show you.” The man blew a large smoke ring.

  Brok frowned; he blew one of his own and was disappointed that it was not nearly as large as Brad's. He had always taken pride in the size of his smoke rings. Brok took an even larger puff and grinned when his ring came out larger than Brad's.

  Brad gave Brok a sidelong glance, and thus began an epic battle of smoke rings. A small audience had gathered, and soon there were bets being wagered as to who would win the smoke ring war.

  “Hey! That's not fair.” Brad objected when Brok turned his smoke rings purple using his magic.

  The battle was interrupted by the return of the Volgon warriors carrying two small antlered horses. The animals were field dressed and skinned. Feeror dropped the animal he carried near the fire.

  “You carried this whole thing yourself?” Gwen asked incredulously.

  “They are heavy, but it was not so bad.” Feeror puffed up at the look on the girl's face. He turned from Gwen when Kyron gave him a scathing look. Feeror knelt next to the animal and began furiously cutting the meat. He did not understand these feelings. A warrior should not be filled with such nonsense. Someone came to take the meat, but he did not look up from his work, losing himself in the blood and the blade.

  “Pay Kyron no mind. He is too stubborn.” Moylir knelt next to Feeror. She began cutting the meat.

  “He is following our ways.”

  “We have to learn a new way. The little one might be imperfect in her physical form, but she is strong, stronger than we are when she uses her power. And she tries hard to understand our ways. Gwen is brave and fearless. In her heart and soul, she is Volgon.”

  “Do not let Kyron hear you,” Feeror said, though he was glad of Moylir's words. The tiny girl was brave, and she had shown no fear during the battle.

  ASTRA

  JON FOUND HIMSELF GROWING more and more anxious the closer they got to the makeshift village in the mountains. He was beginning to question the wisdom of his insistence on confronting his parents. Maybe I'm better off not knowing.

  “You've returned,” Rome said, not looking very excited to see them.

  “We have. We freed Patriarch Mordaen and drove Fa’ Vel from the city,” Brok said.

  Rome pursed his lips and nodded slowly. “That is good news. Were there many casualties?”

  “We lost five of our group. I'm not certain how many of the townsfolk from Faerow were injured in the fighting.” Brok could not hide the tremor in his voice. Mirka's loss still hurt, an open wound that he feared would never heal. He wished he could conjure the same emotion for the loss of the Chosen. I did not know them.

  “I am sorry,” Rome said, looking uncomfortable.

  “We have come to tell you that it's safe to return home. The sooner things can get back to normal, the better.”

  “The people will be glad to hear that. Will you stay and have supper with us?”

  “We will gladly stay for the night. The young ones will want to see their families,” Brok said.

  “As you wish.”

  Jon thought his heart would burst from his chest. He tried to rehearse what he would say, but everything sounded inadequate or accusatory. His family's large tent stood just under a small stand of aspens. Holly spotted him first. Her squeal of delight brought tears to his eyes. When he picked her up and she threw her skinny arms around his neck in a death grip, Jon decided to forget the questions. Soon, loving arms and tears of joy surrounded him. No matter what Fa’ Vel said, this is my family.

  Jon put on a happy face during dinner, forcing laughter when necessary, acting cheerful and upbeat. But despite his best efforts, the question of his parentage gnawed at him. He stared at his parents and three sisters, trying to convince himself that he could see the family resemblance. In another moment, he convinced himself that he didn't look anything like them.

  ‘Why don't you tell us a story, Jon?”

  He looked at Holly, and his throat clenched tight at the sight of her eager face. All he could manage was a quick shake of his head. Jon turned so that he wouldn't have to look at her.

  “It's been so long since we've heard one of your stories. We'd enjoy one very much.”

  Jon tensed as his mother reached out to touch his back. He moved away from his family, nausea filling his throat with the taste of copper and bile.

  “Jon, what is it? You've never turned down an opportunity to tell the girls a story,” Willam said, puffing on a pipe.

  The moment had arrived. His throat clenched tight, and his body trembled with fear and apprehension. He had insisted on traveling back to the mountains to confront his parents, and now that they were right in front of him, he was no longer certain that he wanted the answer to his question. Jon turned to face his mother and father.

  “Whatever it is, son, you can tell us.” Willam's brow furrowed.

  “Are you my real parents?” Jon blurted out the question, chest heaving, heart racing.

  Willam's mouth hung open. “Jon, I…”

  His father's hesitation was all the answer Jon needed. He stumbled to his feet, tears of rage and betrayal coursing down his cheeks, and pushed past his sisters, who stood in a huddle nearby. His father called to Jon to stop, but he only ran faster.

  Jon did not know where he was when he finally stopped. He hit his knees in the crunchy pine needles, chest heaving, tears flowing. It was silent, save for a few birdcalls in the distance. He clenched his fists. The call of the dark power was strong, as it always was when he was angry or scared. The whispering voices were loud and growing louder. Jon longed to give into the faceless voices surrounding him, to draw on the power and unleash it on someone or something. The hurt and betrayal at finding out about his adoption filled him. I am his son! The thought made Jon wince and cringe, and he curled into a ball, trying to hide from the shameful truth.

  But how could he deny who he really was?

  This question burned into Jon's mind and soul. He wanted to believe that he was a good person and that the murmuring voices encouraging him to take the magic were only a product of what he had been forced to do while in the Queen's clutches. But the maniacal hiss in his brain telling him that it was his ability to touch the dark magic that had made Fa’ Vel take him in the first place silenced the buzz of logic.

  Willam and Beth came across their son lying in the fetal position on the hard ground. When Beth reached out to touch her son, he flinched and moved away.

  “Jon, I'm not sure how you found out. We should have told you ourselves, but we honestly don't think of you as our ‘adopted’ son. To us, you are as much a part of us as if we had been your real parents.”

  “Except I'm not your real son. I'm the son of a murdering monster.”<
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  “What do you mean?” Willam asked.

  “Fa’ Vel claims I'm his son!”

  Beth pulled back her hand. Jon's voice sounded so stony, so hard. “Jon…” Her breath hitched with the tumultuous emotions flowing through her. There was so much she needed to tell him and she was not sure where to start. “When I was unable to conceive, we were both devastated. I felt a failure, as a wife.” She looked to Willam briefly. “When we saw you in the orphanage in Faerow, it was as if the light of the good Spirits was shining in you. You were so tiny and perfect. You wailed and screeched so loudly that your poor little face was beet red. As soon as I held you in my arms, you stopped crying.” Beth rocked back and forth, her hands cradled to her chest, completely lost in the memory. “You looked up at me and smiled and my heart was yours. I knew at that moment that I would do anything for you. Anything at all.”

  Beth looked up and was surprised to find Jon staring at her. She took his attention as a good sign and continued. “When I gave you to Willam to hold, you reached up to grab his nose and laughed. The sound was the best thing I had ever heard in my life.”

  Jon held his breath. He could remember reaching up to pinch his father's generous nose when he was a child and giggling like a fool. Willam would then gently pinch Jon's nose and envelop the boy in a bear hug. It was a powerful memory, one of good times and loving feelings.

  “Jon, what I felt that day holding you in my arms, everything about it was so right. As if it were the plan of the good Spirits that we come to you.” Beth smiled wistfully. “I would often watch you while you slept, and I would be instantly taken back to the day we brought you home. From the moment we saw you, you were ours, our child, our son.”

  “You must have changed your mind about me when the girls were born.” Jon was unwilling to let his parents into the fortress he had built around his heart. It would be so much easier to simply hate them and erase them from his mind forever. But he wanted so badly to throw himself at his mother, to feel her arms surround him. He wanted to tell them how thoughts of them had been the only thing that had gotten him through the kidnapping, but he clenched his teeth to keep the words from pouring out.