by Colt, K. J.
The children, oblivious, didn’t realize what was going on, nor did they heed their caregivers’ directions.
The Graygual picked up pace, running now, aiming for the girl. Someone screamed. One of the children stopped and pointed. Another’s mouth dropped open.
“Run!” Shanti yelled, sprinting out in front of them. Hand shaking, clutching the knife, heart clattering against her ribs, she tried to intercept.
One of the Graygual, a burly man with a thick beard, threw a tree-trunk arm around the girl and squeezed her to him. He turned to take her as the others advanced, the nearest with sword raised.
Dread blanked out Shanti’s thoughts. Terror and rage swirled into a hot mix, taking over. Freezing her. Immobile, memories striking her like burning needles, she thought of vengeance. Of defense. Of death.
Her Gift whipped out with a mind of its own, reacting. Unseen flies took bites out of one Graygual’s body as a slash of molten pain cut through the one holding the girl. An invisible spear poked the brain of the last Graygual, making him scream and drop his blade. The sword continued on its downward path, but with no force. The edge barely caught one of the children, drawing a red line down his arm.
“Run, blast you!” Shanti screamed with tears in her eyes.
Another intense blast of power ripped from her, making her wobble. Fire without flame engulfed the Graygual now, the pain spreading across their skin and eating them alive.
“Just kill them!” one of the Empaths yelled. “Stick a blade of power through their mind. You are powerful enough.”
“I don’t know how!” Shanti gritted her teeth as the burn of power scrubbed her bones raw. It raked across her ribs as it sent shots of pain into the Graygual. The force wasn’t enough, though. It wasn’t focused enough. He’d dropped the girl, but none of them were dying. They were fighting through the pain, now trying to get to her.
“Help me!” she said as tears dripped down her face, scared to move lest her fear get misdirected and her power flash the whole clearing. If that happened, she’d kill the more vulnerable children. She’d be worse than the Graygual.
The closest Graygual leaned toward her, resisting her Gift. Ten feet away.
“Someone help me! Please!”
A streak of silky blond hair crossed her vision.
Rohnan threw himself at the closest Graygual, tackling the unsteady man. They both fell toward the ground. Rohnan bounced off, slight as he was, but then climbed back on and slashed down with his knife. Shanti had no idea he’d even had one.
The Graygual grunted and shoved. Rohnan’s body flew off, but still he got up, dread coursing through him but not slowing him down.
The other Empaths started running then, spurred on by Rohnan’s drive, finally realizing that Shanti couldn’t bring these men down. She didn’t know how. She didn’t know how to control the Gift the Elders had given her.
More power boiled and then lashed out, rubbing Shanti raw with power and pain both. It blasted at the Graygual, making them pause and moan. Another wave hit them, boring into them like flesh-eating bugs.
The first Empath reached the Graygual, baring her teeth as she slashed. Then the next, thrusting his knife through a Graygual’s gut.
The third Graygual was reaching for Rohnan. She knew the hold he intended. He’d wrap those huge forearms around Rohnan’s head like a dearest friend, and then jerk, cracking Rohnan’s neck.
“No!” Power unlike she had ever experienced came out of somewhere deep inside her. It rose up like a serpent, engulfing her body in searing agony. In a long, thin spear, it shot out and pierced the Graygual’s head.
He didn’t even have time to scream. His body went limp and fell to the ground. His eyes glazed over, sightlessly staring up at the Elders.
Blackness encroached upon her vision. The last of her Gift tore from her, taking everything she had left. As she fell, hands wrapped around her and pulled her onto a thin lap with bony legs. She knew Rohnan would protect her while she slept. He’d stayed by her side and fought against his fear to help her. From this day on, he was her brother. Her family.
Her second chance in a battle gone wrong.
CHAPTER THREE
“BUT WHY DID IT HURT me too?” Shanti asked her grandfather a week later, when she’d recovered from power depletion. It still hurt to use her Gift—not that she had any more control now than she’d had before—so now she was learning theory on its use instead of practicing.
“As we grow, we develop the ability to use our power,” her grandfather explained. He sat opposite her at the wide table in the musty-smelling records room. “The older we get, the stronger we get—the more we can handle. We usually work with a small amount of power. We learn to control that, and then we are able to handle more and more. Usually, our ability is succinct with what we can handle. Occasionally, a situation will trigger more power released than we can easily handle. This happens more often with those that have larger doses of power. You, having both the situations to trigger the power and the largest amount of power, are using many times more than you can comfortably handle. The result is the power forcing itself through you, which is quite a painful experience. Most people black out long before power depletion.”
Was that pride in his voice?
She preened. His approval almost made the horrible agony worth it.
Almost.
“Will it hurt the next time?” she asked, trying for nonchalant. She hoped he didn’t notice the slight quiver in her voice.
“Usually, no. We will be in a very controlled setting, and use only a small portion.”
She didn’t miss the usually. She hated reading through the ancient texts, but just this once she wished her ancestors had thought to write down what it’s like to have a full dose of power. Someone must’ve experienced it through the years.
“Okay, Shanti, today we’ll start the Mountain Region dialect.” Her grandfather clasped his hands in front of him.
Shanti deflated. “That one is way north. There is no way I’m going to need it!”
“There are forests in that area. Should you need to rejuvenate your Gift within nature, that will be the best place. We must prepare you.”
Groaning, she leaned against the table and prepared to be yelled at. Her grandfather didn’t handle frustration well.
Two miserable hours later, she trudged out of the records room knowing one word. That was it. It happened to be the only swear word she’d heard. Angering her grandfather had its uses.
The day was turning cold as Shanti made her way back to her grandfather’s house. Halfway there, she caught sight of a boy with white-blond hair standing with his head bowed and his body curling inwards. His frail arms hugged his ribs.
A larger boy halfway to building his post-adolescent frame stood over him, reaching a hammy hand out and giving the smaller kid a shove. Next to them stood another boy of the same stature, snickering. The younger kid staggered back, collapsing further in on himself.
“Oh come on!” Shanti stopped where she was and looked at the sky. “He’ll take on a Graygual, but stupid Cahol pushes him and he gives up? Why did you stick me with someone like Rohnan? Is this a joke you are sharing with Fate or something?” She shook her head and looked back at the scene.
She took a deep breath, half expecting the ground to start shaking with the Elders’ anger at her accusation. “Well, there’s nothing for it. I’m just going to have to thump Cahol around the place.”
With a grin, she marched up to the bullies and inserted herself between them and her brother. She felt them battering her mind, two Warring Gifts of decent power. She tsked. “You shouldn’t be using your power, even just to intimidate. You know that.”
“What’s this got to do with you?” Cahol asked.
“He’s my brother. You’re messing with my family. I can’t let that go.”
Cahol snickered. “Your power doesn’t work right now and your arms are twigs. You really speaking to me right now?”
�
��Are you deaf as well as dumb?” She punched him in the stomach, bending him over. His mountainous friend stepped forward, his swing too slow. She ducked under it and punched upward, hitting him in the throat. His hands flew up as he bent down, backing away quickly. A fist hit the side of her head, making her stagger. She shook her head to clear it before quickly dodging another fist. She kicked Cahol in the thigh before stepping forward and punching him hard in the sternum. She blocked a punch and ducked under his next swing. Amazingly, she would’ve had him—she was faster and better. But then the other guy jumped back in.
Fists started connecting, first with her abdomen, then her face. Their Gifts were next, beating and battering at her, striking and pushing and moving and withdrawing, bombarding her with mind and body.
As before, Rohnan jumped into the fray. That was when an interesting thing started happening. When Cahol threw a punch, Rohnan would already be ducking. He’d return with a badly carried-through slap before moving. He barely dodged a kick, moving before his attacker had. He seemed to know what they would do before they did it.
Shanti stopped for one moment to marvel. That was when a hammy fist connected with her ear.
She went reeling before punching the ground with her face. She slid on her nose before stopping in a heap of aching limbs. A moment later, Rohnan landed on top of her. He rolled off and stayed in a heap right beside her.
“Figures you’d choose him for family,” Cahol said. “He’s the only one weirder and more useless than you are.”
Shanti heard Cahol spit before he and his dumb friend walked away.
“We sure showed them,” Shanti said. She groaned and sat up. Rohnan sat up beside her, his lip bloodied and his eye already turning purple.
She looked him over. He was smaller than her, but he was a boy and a couple years younger. He’d grow. His frame was skinny, all elbows and knees, but that should fill out. What she noticed was his sleekness. When he fought, there was a harmony of movement that usually denoted a budding fighter. He was athletic, and even at his age, he possessed a degree of self-awareness. He might have mostly Empath traits, but there was some fighter in there, as well.
That was good, because this couldn’t continue.
“I’m going to teach you to defend yourself. You can’t constantly get picked on. It’ll make me look bad.”
He bowed his head.
“No.” She nudged his chin upwards. “And none of this skulking around nonsense. You had a hard past. So what? So did I. But you got me, and I got you. As long as we have each other, we aren’t weird, we’re just different. Power in numbers.”
He nodded.
“And tonight, we’re going to get in trouble for fighting. That’s fine. I get in trouble all the time. Getting swatted with the paddle only hurts for a little while. What we learn is way more valuable. Trust me. Eventually we’ll stop getting caught.”
He nodded again as she painfully got to her feet. She grabbed her upper arm. “Ouch. Cahol has a mean right hook.” She stuck out a hand to help Rohnan up.
“And another thing, this silence stuff is aggravating. You need to start talking.”
He nodded again.
She sighed. “Let’s go fishing. As soon as Grandfather hears we’ve been fighting, he’ll probably restrict our fun time.”
That night, they all sat around the tiny table after finishing their meager meal. Shanti’s butt was on fire from the paddle. She suspected Rohnan’s was, too.
“There was another sighting of Graygual today,” her grandfather said in a serious tone. His eyes bored into Shanti. “They were near the children again.”
Shanti stiffened. “Were they caught?”
“And killed, yes.” Her grandfather took a sip of his homemade blueberry wine. “What the Empaths suspect rings true. They are targeting girls that fit your description, Shanti. They obviously do not know your age, but are trying to claim you all the same. Anyone like you, it seems. You have placed yourself directly in Xandre’s line of sight. He must know it was you who defeated him. Now it is you who he will most want to defeat.”
Shanti swallowed. She shrugged off Rohnan’s hand. “But you said he’s trying to capture me.”
“Yes.” Her grandfather rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But there are many forms of defeat. You must keep your wits about you, Shanti Cu Hoi. You must always be wary. Always. You are never safe. None of us are. Not anymore.”
“Yes, Grandfather.” She looked at her lap.
A grizzled old hand covered hers for a moment before he took it back. “You have an entire people to stand with you, Shanti,” her grandfather said softly. “We will stand with you or die for you. You are our only hope of salvation. Don’t forget that.”
It was as if a mountain had picked up its skirt, stepped over, and then settled on her shoulders. She was seven years old. She didn’t know how to control her power, she could barely fight, and she had no idea how to lead. The task was impossible. They had the wrong girl.
But her grandfather wouldn’t hear that. The prophecy was clear. When war threatened the world, one individual would be chosen to lead the Shadow Warriors out of the Land of Mist and reclaim the freedom which had been stolen.
After the Battle, that one individual had been named by her people, right or wrong.
Her chest filled with the fire of uncertainty. Struggling to breathe through the fear of expectation, she managed, “Yes, Grandfather.”
He nodded once and left the table. A moment later, he’d left the small dwelling. In the thick silence that followed, another hand settled over hers. Graceful and pale, the touch was warm and welcomed.
In a hoarse voice unused to speaking came, “I’ll watch your back.” A single tear rolled over Rohnan’s cheek.
She stared at him in shocked silence. Then turned her hand up so she could thread her fingers between his.
Shanti had been Chosen. Her mission would start when Xandre killed the majority of her people. Her future had been forged in blood. She was powerless to stop it. All she had was her family and her people.
The only response she could manage was, “Thank you.”
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THE NIGHT PRESSED AGAINST THE windows of the small house, so dense it felt solid. The five-year-old girl opened her eyes slowly, allowing sleep to recede. She registered a foreign push against her skull; an overwhelming tension battering at her mental shields. Confused, she opened herself up, trying to figure out what was happening. As if pushed out into a storm, her mind was flooded with emotions—determination, fatigue, sorrow, anxiety, rage—she was nearly dragged under with the explosion of turmoil around her. She stumbled out of bed, calling for her mother.
“Go back to bed, young Shanti. Your mother has gone to see about something.”
Putting her hand out, trying to physically block the mental bombardment, Shanti squinted into the darkness, making out her grandmother sitting by the window in the front room.
“What is going on, Gamma? Why are you afraid?”
Her grandmother waved her away urgently. “I just had a bad dream, darling. Go back to bed.”
“But—“
“GO! Shanti GO!” her grandmother screamed as she bolted upright, grabbing a throwing knife from her belt.
Startled, Shanti watched as the door burst open, hinges creaking like a ruler bent too far. A large man filled the room, looking around for an attack. Only seeing an aged woman and a little girl, his gaze scanned the room for a threat, stopping on the suit of arms above the fireplace. After a beat, his focus went straight to Shanti.
Her grandmother sprang to life. One knife was quickly dispatched to the middle of his neck. The man pawed at it feebly, his strength sapping with each spurt of blood. He tripped on nothing, his legs losing purchase. His weight crashed into the wall, falling a moment later as a wet gurgle bubbled out of his mouth.
; Another man pushed into the room behind the first. His gaze snagged on his fallen comrade, limp on the floor. Crouching, he readied for an attack. Seeing the grandmother, knife in hand, ready to throw, he lunged. A thick arm knocked her to the side as her knife found his belly. Her frail body hit the wall and tumbled to the ground.
Shanti watched as the man staggered, clutching at his stomach. Another knife blossomed in the back of his neck, as Shanti’s grandmother prepared to throw yet another from a crumpled heap on the floor beneath the mantle. The man turned and stabbed downward with his sword, ripping a scream from Shanti’s throat as she watched the blade pierce her grandmother’s chest. He staggered again, not knowing he was dead until he finally slumped against the table. Man and wood went crashing to the ground.
Blood oozed from her grandmother’s lifeless body, reaching across the ground as if pleading. Pain beat on Shanti’s chest. A whimper turned into a cry. Fear turned her numb. Screams tore at the night around her.
The overwhelming sensations continued to batter at Shanti’s mind, now mixing with her own tumult. Agony bubbled up, overriding thought. Bright flashes burst behind her eyes, stealing her breath. Then came the rage, tingling her muscles and squeezing out courage. With it came something else. Something harvested from pain, growing and building. A deep well of churning, tortured power.
Dazed, she walked out of the house brimming with something newly awakened. She sucked in every detail of her surroundings; the flames, the screaming.
Shanti walked next door on wooden legs to check on Chase and his mother. Chase was the same age, but without the budding gifts. He liked to work with his hands. A builder. His profession was already chosen by his parents. He would be great someday.
Chase’s door gaped; it had been kicked in. Horrible screaming scratched at Shanti’s ears. The never ending beat of emotions in a fever pitch pounded at her mind, making her stagger into the house clutching her head, calling for Chase. Then she saw him, lying on the ground in a puddle of blood, his sightless eyes staring up at her, accusing.
