He’d obviously struck a nerve. The creature’s eyes narrowed. “I just don’t bother with tainted meat,” it seethed, snarling at Chosen.
“Ah, so that’s why you waited until the boy had fallen back and was alone. I figured it was just that you were a coward,” Chosen responded, removing the dark root from his tunic and biting off a piece.
The creature let out a deafening roar, its muscles flexing as it raised its massive arms to the sky. “Others might tremble at the sight of you, dark one, but not me,” it raged.
“You’re probably right, although you sound like you’re trying to convince yourself, not me. Besides, it’s not me you should concern yourself with.”
The tension in the creature’s muscles eased as it looked at Brennan and laughed. “Is there a third with you? A scentless figure.” The creature made a dramatic pantomime of sniffing the air. “No, I don’t think so. Just a dark twisted soul and a sizable fresh boy. Fresh . . . meat.”
Without any further warning, the creature pounced, landing on top of Brennan with a crushing force. Brennan just had time to seize the creature’s wrists, its claws inches from his face. It bared its snarling teeth as it bore down with its full weight and strength. The force was tremendous, and Brennan could already feel his own strength failing him. The claws edged closer to Brennan with every second.
Then Brennan felt it, that warm tingling sensation all over his body, from his core to the tips of his fingers. It was the same feeling he had felt when he’d found his mother murdered. Brennan knew what it was, and it gave him little comfort. The Tempest was buried too deep to actually help him, and this hint of its presence was more torment than grace, taunting him with the knowledge that had he only known how to harness what was inside, he could save himself . . . could have saved his mother.
Visions of his mother filled his mind, and the creature faded away. Now she was all he could see. She was smiling at him, trying to act happy and brave, but he knew better. She was lonely. It was her people’s way to accept fate and make peace with it, but she couldn’t accept such a life for her son. She had taken him and run, and in rebelling against her people’s beliefs, she’d lost the man she loved. Risked everything—and for what? So he could die, eaten by some horrible creature in the middle of the Southern Wildlands?
No. Brennan wouldn’t allow it. That was not how her sacrifice—her love and devotion—would be repaid. If he was to die, so be it, but it would be for something. For someone. His mother’s face faded from his mind’s eye, replaced by the snarling creature, smiling like the Cheshire Cat down on what he thought was his next meal.
What had only been a warm tingling sensation now burned through Brennan’s body like wildfire. He felt a deep and primal stirring from within, and then slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the claws were receding. Unbelievably, he was pushing the creature back. He lifted his chest off the ground, then got his legs underneath him.
Straining under the weight of the creature, Brennan began to rise to his feet, still pushing the creature back. His legs wobbled beneath him, but they did not fail. For a long moment they faced each other, neither giving any ground, but the vicious sneer on the creature’s face was now a grimace of shock and fear. With a second surge the Tempest raged through Brennan, and with a swift, effortless movement, he released the massive beast’s wrists, seized it by its shoulders, and flung it into the trunk of a tree, where it fell motionless at Chosen’s feet.
For a moment Brennan couldn’t comprehend what he had just done. He couldn’t take his eyes off the crumpled figure lying motionless on the ground. Then the Tempest began to fade, and he felt his weakness and exhaustion flooding back in. The trees and shadows began to shift again.
“Take deep breaths,” Brennan heard Chosen say. He looked up from the dead creature and locked eyes with the man, who was smiling broadly.
Brennan sank to his knees, unable to hold himself up any longer. He was filled with rage and confusion. Chosen had just stood there, not raising one finger to help. Not that Brennan was under any illusion that they were friends, but he couldn’t have just watched while another person was killed and eaten right in front of him. Suddenly he wanted to walk over to Chosen and knock him out, hit the man so hard that he would feel as weak and frail as Brennan did now. But it was no use. All he could do was lie down on the earth, his consciousness fading.
Chosen walked slowly to Brennan and crouched beside him. “We’ll camp here,” he said mockingly, as Brennan’s world went dark.
***
When Brennan woke, the sun was filtering through the trees, warming his skin. He could smell a fire burning and the savory aroma of food. He rose onto an elbow and looked around the clearing. Chosen sat by a small campfire, dropping vegetables into a pot suspended over the flames.
“Good afternoon,” Chosen said, his voice welcoming and cheerful. He leaned over the pot and inhaled deeply, clearly pleased with his cooking. “Not much to work with, but I think I’ve managed to make something of it.”
Slowly Brennan rose to his feet, walked over to the fire, and sat down across from Chosen. He wasn’t sure what to say to the man; he still felt confused, and more than a little betrayed. The rage that had consumed him before he passed out had abated somewhat, but an undercurrent of anger remained.
Chosen ladled the soup into two bowls and passed one to Brennan, who took it and immediately began to drink the broth. The taste was earthy but good, and Brennan realized that he was starving.
“I’ve added something to help with your fatigue and put a little weight back on you. I underestimated how much your time under the jailers’ care had taken out of you.” Chosen paused to drink some of the broth. “I should have been making this all along, but I wanted to put as much distance between us and the jail as possible.”
Brennan concentrated on the soup. He could feel his weariness fading with each sip. Only after he’d drained the entire contents of the bowl did he finally speak to Chosen.
“I could have died,” Brennan said, as levelly as he could.
“But you didn’t,” Chosen said casually.
“You just stood there,” Brennan objected, trying not to sound as betrayed as he felt.
Chosen ladled more soup into Brennan’s bowl. “And what would you have had me do?”
“Help me!” Brennan cried in exasperation.
“You are obviously very naive when it comes to the world around you. This was no doubt your first encounter with a tiranthrope. They are one of the few creatures that are quite immune to any gift I possess, and you can attest firsthand to how vicious they are. I would have only been a hindrance to what, I have to say, was an amazing display of strength and perseverance.” Chosen motioned for Brennan to drink more of the broth. “You should be thanking me.”
“Thanking you? For watching me nearly get eaten alive?”
“For helping you find it.” Chosen smiled knowingly.
Brennan decided to ignore the comment and the smirk. “What are we doing here?” Frustration and a multitude of other emotions still grated in his voice, sharp as broken glass.
“I told you, it is the shortest route through—”
“I don’t mean in the forest,” Brennan snapped. “I mean what are we doing? Who are you looking for? Why do you need to find that person? Why do you need my help? Why me?”
“I should think that the ‘why you’ would be obvious after your little display,” Chosen teased.
“Stop playing games. I have a right to know.”
Chosen stood, his handsome features turning suddenly cold and expressionless, though his gray eyes flashed with anger. “You insolent, ungrateful boy. How dare you question me?”
Brennan rose to his feet as well and faced Chosen, his face stony. The broth had done wonders; he now felt a great deal like his normal healthy self. He didn’t want to hurt Chosen—after all, he’d rescued Brennan f
rom a life of slavery—but when he saw the man standing passively by, watching as he was attacked, he’d felt a great deal of the debt he owed the man slipping away. He needed answers, and if he didn’t get them now, he didn’t think he ever would.
The stalemate lasted for several minutes, neither Chosen nor Brennan moving or speaking. Finally Chosen laughed and sat back down, and Brennan reluctantly followed suit.
“There is a very special girl that I need to find,” Chosen said, “and when I do, I have something I’ll need you to do.”
The look Brennan gave him told Chosen that such a meager explanation would not nearly be enough.
“We all have a destiny, Brennan. Mine lies with this girl. I have to find her.”
“I don’t believe in destiny.”
“That’s because you’re a fool, and you think yours was to be a slave.”
“No, it’s because I think I have a choice,” Brennan snapped back.
“That’s fine, believe what you will.” Chosen looked intently into Brennan’s eyes. “I have a destiny, and in this I have no choice.”
“Fine, so you have to find this girl. What do you need me for?”
Chosen didn’t answer at once; he seemed to be struggling with his pride. “I need you to protect her until I can finish what needs to be done.”
Brennan shook his head. Even when Chosen did give information, it was still vague and shifty. “I’m just a sixteen-year-old Conquered. How am I supposed to protect anyone?”
“No, Brennan. You’re a sixteen-year-old Satorian who is the first person in recent history to survive a battle with a tiranthrope.”
Could that possibly be true? There was no way for Brennan to know, and he had little faith in anything Chosen might say. The man obviously had an agenda, and he struck Brennan as someone who would say or do anything to get what he wanted. What sense did it make to choose a sheltered sixteen-year-old Conquered as a protector? Brennan had no idea how to protect anyone. He wasn’t even sure he could look after himself. All he knew of the outside world that came from stories told to him by his mother. Until this encounter, he had never even known tiranthropes existed.
Brennan looked over at the motionless beast. The Tempest. He had actually tapped into it, used it. Fought with its power raging through him. Why now, though? Why couldn’t he have harnessed it when his mother needed him? Was he really so self-absorbed that only a threat on his own life had allowed him to channel it? What kind of bodyguard was that? Not a very good one, Brennan supposed. Yet Chosen seemed to act as if what had happened with the tiranthrope was a positive sign. He certainly seemed impressed by it.
But he’d get no answers just now—that was clear enough. He’d table the subject for the time being, but he wasn’t going to let it go. If Chosen wanted Brennan to stay with him, he’d have to come up with some decent answers soon.
9
The Feast
The dining hall ran the entire length of the castle, and from what Scarlet could tell, it was spacious enough to fit all of the inhabitants of Illuminora. Scarlet and her family were seated at the head of the longest table, with Xavier and a group of Tounder he called his council. The remaining tables, all long and elegantly carved, were arranged parallel to this central table on either side, forming a stair-stepped diamond pattern. The walls and ceiling of the dining hall glowed with a pleasant radiance, neither too bright nor too dim. Even though they lit the whole room uniformly, Scarlet found that she could look directly at them without hurting her eyes.
Before the food was brought in, it was customary for Xavier to speak to the crowd, offering a prayer of sorts to bless the meal and those about to eat it. The little man looked smaller than ever standing at the center of the dining hall, but his voice had no trouble filling the space.
“My friends,” he began. “What a glorious day!”
A loud and hearty cheer erupted from the Tounder, and Xavier waited for it to subside before continuing.
“As you know, we have very special guests with us in our humble home. Though many of you may have already met them, it is my pleasure to formally introduce all of you to Miss Scarlet Hopewell and her family, Charles, Allie, and Melody.” Xavier motioned for them to stand, which they did to another rising cheer from the Tounder. “They have traveled far to be with us today and have already had their fair share of toils, so I will ask you to extend to them your warmest welcome and to help to make them feel that this is as much their home as it is ours.”
Xavier paused for a moment, allowing the warmth of the introductions to pass before continuing.
“The path ahead lies dark and treacherous. And while we will all do our part, it is for those select few that destiny calls upon to carry the light into the darkness. We, the Keepers of Light, shall give them the means to face what is to come. Together we will light the way.”
Xavier lowered his head, and the Tounder followed suit. As one chorus they began to sing, their voices more beautiful than any choir Scarlet had ever heard. The sound filled the hall, washing over Scarlet and her family. To Scarlet’s astonishment, every scrape or scratch on her body began to heal, right before her eyes. All negative feelings, no matter how buried in the recesses of her brain, faded away, leaving only a joyous sensation of hope and enlightenment. At that moment, among the soft lilting voices of the Tounder, she felt that there was nothing she could not accomplish, no dream she couldn’t make come true.
The chorus faded, and Xavier raised his head, his benevolent smile full again on his aged face, and clapped his hands.
“Let the feast begin!”
A large crew of Tounder flew in at once from the kitchen, carrying tray upon tray of food, setting before Scarlet and her family an assortment of exotic fruits and vegetables, magnificent pastries and breads, and soups and stews. Then they filled crystal goblets to the brim with a sweet milk, made from the acorns of the great oak that hid the entrance to Illuminora.
The food was not only strange but wonderful, and Scarlet found her appetite stronger even than her curiosity over Xavier’s mysterious speech. Some things tasted as familiar as her mother’s cooking, while others were tastes she had never experienced before. The biggest surprise was the acorn milk. When she was younger, Scarlet had tasted an acorn after watching a Disney Chip and Dale cartoon. She remembered it being extremely bitter and giving her a stomachache. Either being shrunken changed her taste buds, or this was from a very different sort of acorn. The milk was sweet, refreshing and made her stomach feel pleasant and warm.
The feast turned out to be the grandest of celebrations. The Tounder ate and laughed with such abandon that any ominous or foreboding thoughts seemed impossibly distant. Once Scarlet had taken the edge off her hunger, she couldn’t help but share in the Tounder’s merriment. But occasionally she would steal a glance at her dad, and then she felt a shadow pass over the room. Despite the music and revelry, he looked preoccupied; he didn’t seem to be enjoying the feast. Plenty of time to worry about that after the feast, she told herself, shaking the feeling off; for the moment, she would just enjoy the magic and spectacle of this wondrous celebration.
Her father, however, wasn’t the only thing that threatened to dampen Scarlet’s mood. Near the end of the feast Lindi appeared—for the first time during the celebration, or at least Scarlet hadn’t noticed her before—behind her with a pitcher of acorn milk. This time the young Tounder was making no effort to hide her contempt. Her face was set in a look of disdain as she refilled Scarlet’s goblet, sloshing the milk onto the table and muttering “Oops” in a snide, overly bright tone.
For a moment, Scarlet thought about coming right out and asking Lindi what her problem was, but then she decided that this wasn’t the best time to risk causing a scene. The girl’s attitude rankled, though. The next time she was alone with Lindi, she would find out what was going on. It just didn’t make any sense.
For now,
she made a point of thanking Lindi in the sweetest voice she could muster.
***
After a long, mostly glorious evening, the feast began to break up, and slowly the dining hall emptied. Xavier asked Scarlet and her dad to stay, along with the Tounder council. Her mom agreed to take Melody up to bed, but said she would be back down to talk to Scarlet and tuck her in as well.
With the hall now empty of everyone except those Xavier had asked to stay, the mood shifted. It was as if the darkness hinted at in Xavier’s speech, held off by the merriment of all the revelers, had at last descended on them like a cloud. Xavier turned to Scarlet’s dad, his face still calm and cheerful; behind the clear amber of his eyes, however, she could see a degree of anxiety.
“Would you like me to explain things, Mr. Hopewell, or would you rather give it a try?” he asked, his voice full of genuine concern.
Her dad placed his hand over Scarlet’s and gave her a worried look. “I’m still trying to figure it out, myself. It might be better if you . . .”
“I understand completely,” said Xavier. “Miss Scarlet, my dear, as you’ve probably already realized, you are a very special person to us. Not just the Tounder, but all of us. I’ve known about you since before you were even born.”
“How can that be?” Scarlet asked.
“Try not to interrupt, darling,” her dad said, squeezing her hand. “Let him finish, and hopefully it’ll be clearer.”
Xavier smiled warmly, giving Scarlet and her dad a moment before continuing. “The Dorans are a race of men and women who live in our land, Satorium. They are much like you and your family and all the other men and woman you know, with one important exception. Much as we are keepers and users of light, they too have the ability to perform what to you might seem like extraordinary things.” Xavier paused, lost in thought for a moment. “They are magical. They can use magic.” He paused again, longer this time. “We have a prophecy. Do you know what that is, dear?”
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