Chosen (The Warrior Chronicles, 1)
Read Chosen (The Warrior Chronicles, 1) Online
Authors: K.F. Breene
CHOSEN
By K.F. Breene
Website:
http://kfbreene.com/
Blog: www.kfbreene.org
Facebook:
www.facebook.com/authorKF
Twitter: @KFBreene
Copyright © 2014 by K.F. Breene
Other Titles by K.F. Breene
Skyline Series (Contemporary Romance)
Building Trouble, Book 1
Uneven Foundation, Book 2
Solid Ground, Book 3
Jessica Brodie Diaries (Contemporary Romance)
Back in the Saddle, Book 1 – FREE
Hanging On, Book 2
A Wild Ride, Book 3
Growing Pains (Contemporary Romance)
Lost and Found, Book 1 - FREE
Overcoming Fear, Book 2
Butterflies in Honey, Book 3
Love and Chaos, Cassie’s Story
Dar
kness Series (Paranormal Romance)
Into the Darkness, Novella 1 - FREE
Braving the Elements, Novella 2
On a Razor’s Edge, Novella 3
Demons, Novella 4
Chosen, Book 1
Table of Contents
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 dispa
tched 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.
S
hanti 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.
F
urther inside the room, two strangers filled the space with their dirty lust. One was trying to lift the limp form of Chase’s mother from the ground. Another man waited, undoing his pants. His gaze swung Shanti’s way.
“Look, Rune, another one. She’s young, but I’ll take her.” The man started toward Shanti, exposing Chase’s mom’s face, slackened. Dying.
A white hot light started in Shanti’s gut and grew, rising, filling her with heat. It rose through her body, lighting her blood on fire. It grew within her skull, latched on to the agony, and turned it into rage so hot, so primal, it could only be called the budding of
Wrath
.
Power ripped from her body, blinding her momentarily. She clutched the two disgusting minds as her teachers had taught her, holding them within her new
ly awakened grip. With a shot of power beyond anything the town had seen so far, she stabbed into their minds. The men screamed. Fingers white as they clutched their heads, they sank to the ground in agony.
Panting, half-delirious, the girl turned. Headed out into the night. This had to be stopped. These men had to be dealt with. Her town must be protected.
Everywhere her gaze touched was ruin. Blazing houses, bloodied people—her friends, her neighbors. Keshla lay across the lane, face in the dirt, blood matting her hair. Someone else lay in a boneless heap beyond that.
Pain such that Shanti had never experienced brewed, pumping out more power, unlocking hidden depths, power bubbling up, replacing the horror, giving purpose to
her tears. She walked along the lane and threw her mind wide, touching everything in range. She clutched foreign minds in a death grip before blasting them with a shot of power. New screams wrenched the night. All male. Beastly, horrific, terrible screams that were filled with pain so acute that death was welcomed.
She kept walking, killing some quickly, slowly killing others. She reached the square, death in her wake. A man sat atop a horse,
a smug grin plastered to his disgusting face. He watched the destruction around him with confident pride; carrying out his job with pleasure. He was the leader, and therefore, deserved a special death.
She killed everyone
else off quickly, then, every mind Shanti could identify receiving a killing blast. Except for this man. She looked straight at this man, ignoring the screaming, ignoring the cries and the raging fires destroying homes. She cradled his mind like a baby dove. Then she thought of fire. A blue flame, tickling his skin with the kiss of heat. Increasing the pressure, the soft caress became a bite of razor blades. In her mind’s eye it licked between his toes before climbing up his legs and wrapping around his shins. It scraped against the back of his knees before reaching higher, brushing his fingers in a searing embrace.
His cruel smile winked out as confusion stole his countenance. He patted at his body, trying to smother the invisible flame. Not understanding the pain he couldn’t see.
She pumped more power into it.
Pain bit into him, a thousand points of contact. His patting became more pronounced. Harder. Hands slapping at his legs and chest, rubbing at his face. Terrified screams erupted from his throat before he flung himself off his frightened horse. He hit the dirt with a thud and began to roll, feeling the fire though still not able to see it.
Shanti hit him with more flame. Hotter. Licking his face. Burning his eyes. Closing his throat. Excruciating pain so intense he screamed himself hoarse. Writhing now, and free to do so. Feeling death eat away at his consciousness one pain-filled moment after the next. Dying slowly, like Chase’s mother.
Pain stabbing her heart, sorrow eating away at her heart, Shanti lost consciousness and fell.
***
Shanti
awoke, letting the familiar nightmare evaporate like mist. She sat on the hard, brittle ground, sweeping the area with a tired gaze. As before, all she saw was dead, decaying trees dotting the landscape.
She
dug in her bag one last time, looking for nourishment—a scrap, a morsel,
anything
. But she’d finished her water a day ago. Her food the day before that. Her empty stomach sucked the ribs into the middle of her body, trying to fill that void. Her brain thumped against the inside of her skull with dehydration.
She didn’t have long. She had to find something to eat and drink or her journe
y would end right here, in this crypt that used to hold a forest.
Heaving herself to her feet, she squinted into the bright sunshine.
What frustrated her—when she had the ability to feel anything besides defeat—was that she had planned this route
specifically
for the forest that should’ve been here. For a forest that should’ve resembled the one in which she’d grown up. There should have been animals and water and
life,
blast it! She should have been resting and rejuvenating, using the life force of untouched lands to renew her
Gift
.
She was in the last leg of her journey, nearing the Great Sea, and instead of fulfilling her supposed destiny, she was knocking at death’s door.
Fat lot of good it did sending the
Chosen.
Chosen to waste away then fail. Chosen to carefully select a route based on outdated information and have no alternative. Chosen to let her people die slowly from starvation or quickly from defiance. Actually, either of those would have been better than the alternative.