The Chosen (The Compendium of Raath, Book 1) (17 page)

“You are the first human I have met that I
can communicate with,” Tessa said. “It is refreshing. I suppose all
animals know it's possible to communicate. Deep down in their being
they know, mistress.”

“My name is Wren, Tessa. You needn't call me
mistress.”

“Likely I will never use your name,” Tessa
said. “It is not in my nature. Mistress.”

“Alright,” Wren said. She sat up further,
feeling returning to her body. Tessa scrambled up to her
shoulder.

“I would assume that you would want to get
out of here,” the mouse said.

“Yes,” Wren said.

“You cannot squeeze through the cracks as I
do. We will have to find another way.”

“That trapdoor is the only way out for me, I
think,” Wren said. She picked Tessa up and set her gently on the
ground, then stood up on weak legs.

“Seems like odd human behavior,” Tessa said,
peering at the trap door. “To lock things, I mean.”

Wren only shook her head, unable to voice
anything more on the subject. She felt insane, but knew that what
was happening was real. This was no dream she would wake from.

“We will likely need more help,” Tessa said.
“Can you bear to be alone again for a while longer, mistress?”

Wren eyed the tiny mouse. “Please don't
leave me,” she said.

“I must, mistress. You Called to me, but I
was close. You seem new to your powers so I doubt you could Call
much farther. I will return to you.” And with that, Tessa scooted
up to the trapdoor and squeezed through the tiniest of cracks in
the wood.

Wren was alone again. To stop her mind from
worrying she glanced down at her forearm.

The symbol was of glowing red vines with
beautiful golden leaves. The lights were just under her skin. She
rubbed her other hand on the design. It felt only slightly warmer
than the rest of her skin.

“Red and gold,” Wren said.

She had no idea what magic
was at play here or what this marking meant.
Perhaps I'll be able to find out. Maybe my father would know
. . . With any luck I'll never see him again.

Wren began to feel a bit
claustrophobic waiting for Tessa to return. The walls closed in on
her again and her stomach churned from hunger. She took a hand at
cleaning herself off, but it didn't do much good. She was filthy.
What had the mouse said? That Wren had tried pulling Tessa apart
five days ago? It had been two days before the carnival when she'd
tried that. The carnival took a day, two, three to get back . .
.
I've been down here for three
days.

She began to pound her fists lightly on the
floor to release some of her anger. They made a dull thud, but then
they began to make huge pounding sounds that shook the room. She
stopped, but the loud thuds continued. It hadn't been her, it was
coming from the trapdoor above her.

Thaboom.

Thaboom.

The whole door shuddered and bits of dust
shook off of it every time a thud fell. Something massive was
breaking through. Wren scuttled away from the door and waited,
heart beating fast in her chest. What had Tessa brought back with
her?

Wood began to splinter off the trapdoor now,
falling down to rattle on the floor. The thuds fell faster and
harder, gaining intensity and becoming incredibly loud. The metal
hinges of the door twisted and creaked and finally the door fell
inward with a crash.

Tess jumped into the cellar and skittered
over to her.

“Come, mistress,” the mouse said. "Up
through the large hole."

Just then a large muzzle poked through the
hole followed by a huge, round fluffy head. Two beady eyes stared
quizzically down into the root cellar. A halo of daylight
surrounded the thing's head.

“Tessa, you brought a bear,” Wren said
weakly.

“And didn't he do a fine job?” the mouse
said proudly. “Pick me up. The bear will escort us to the Dryad
Tree. Is that alright, mistress?”

“Anywhere but here,” Wren said. “Absolutely
anywhere.”

The bear withdrew its head and Wren carried
Tessa up and out of the cellar on shaky legs.

The cellar had been - to Wren's surprise -
in her own house.

Her father's heavy dresser
was tipped over.
Maybe the trapdoor wasn't
locked, maybe the dresser was covering it up. Was I . . .
hidden?
She had never looked under that
dresser, and so had never been aware of this trapdoor.
Or did he put me down there to die so no one
would know I'm a freak? A witch.

The bear had crashed through the window to
get into the house and shards of glass were strewn about the floor.
Wren had to step carefully. There was no sign of her father. It was
daytime so he should have been around. Even if he was sleeping he
couldn't have slept through what had just happened. And, sadly, she
didn't see his corpse anywhere.

Wren opened the door and stepped outside
with the bear right behind her. It had a hulking presence that
terrified her, but she had no choice but to trust it.

“Why won't he talk to me the way you do?”
Wren asked Tessa.

The mouse shook her tiny head. “That is not
something I know. Perhaps your Calling is not great enough to
pierce his mind. Or – and don't tell him I said this – perhaps he
is too stupid. I am but a mouse. My life is grain and bugs. We will
try to find answers to your questions when we reach the Dryad Tree,
mistress.”

The bear laid down on the ground in front of
her and looked up at her expectantly.

“Am I . . . am I supposed to ride him?”

“He seems to think so,” Tessa said.
“Although I myself am not too keen on the idea.”

Wren picked Tessa up and carefully put the
mouse in her shirt pocket. “It'll be faster,” Wren said. She
climbed onto the bear's back and grabbed two handfuls of his shaggy
brown fur. “Giddyup?” she said.

The bear made a sound almost like a laugh
and then took off at a fast pace, Wren bobbing up and down on his
back.

T
he water in the forest stream was freezing, but Wren didn't
care. She guzzled it until she felt sick and then splashed it all
over her body, rubbing vigorously at her skin. She dunked her head
under and came up gasping. The moonlight shone down and bathed
everything in a silvery light which was only interrupted by Wren's
glowing red and gold mark. She scrubbed at that hardest of all, but
it wouldn't come off no matter what she did.

“Mistress, are you almost done?” Tessa
asked. She was sitting on a small rock on the river bank, cleaning
herself with neat, efficient little motions. “We really should keep
riding the bear if you can.”

Wren sighed.
What have I gotten myself into?
Every part of her body ached from riding on the
bear and she was already so weak. “I need to walk, Tessa,” she
replied, ducking behind a tree to retrieve her clothes from the
branch she had hung them on. She was frantically pulling her shirt
over her head when Tessa spoke again.

“You cannot wear those filthy things,
mistress.”

“Well I don't have any other clothes,
Tessa.”

“I took care of that when I found the bear.
You need an outfit befitting a queen!”

“What do you know of queens?”

“Termites have them,” the mouse replied.
“Bees have them. Humans have them. Please just follow me.” The
mouse nodded her tiny head towards the trees.

Wren followed, stepping carefully on the wet
stones of the stream bed. She pulled her pants on as she walked,
the cold fabric sticking to her legs. She pushed her brown hair
back from her face and it cascaded down her back, sticking there as
well. She blew some water from her lips and stepped onto the
dirt.

She probably should have
been terrified to be alone. Or felt helpless or weak. Or been
ashamed. But she didn't feel anything of those things. At least,
not strongly enough to bother her.
I
escaped death. Now where did my little savior get to?

It was difficult to see
Tessa in the darkness, but Wren swore she could almost feel her
presence if she concentrated.
Probably has
something to do with this 'Calling' that Tessa keeps referring
to.

Wren followed Tessa until she came upon a
strange sight. Six raccoons sat in a semi-circle all staring up at
her. In front of them, folded very neatly, was a pile of clothing
she recognized all too well: the shirt, pants, and boots she had
killed the fox in. And there, with them, was the red and gold horse
blanket that had been her armor on that dreadful night.

Her stomach dropped.

“These clothes have power on them,” Tessa
said proudly.

“I won't wear them,” Wren said, backing
away. “I'd rather be naked.”

Two of the raccoons looked at each
other.

Tessa's ears dropped and her whiskers
twitched. “We thought . . . we thought you would like them. The
raccoons cleaned them in the stream and I . . . Well, I picked them
out. They called to me.” The mouse looked so sad that Wren felt
simply awful.

Wren looked down at herself. She had tried
to scrub her clothes clean, but they still looked rancid, full of
her vomit and other things. The clothing the raccoons had brought
shone in the moonlight, seeming to radiate their own light, cleaned
by experts.

"Could you turn around?" she asked the
animals.

Tessa and the raccoons did as they were
asked.

Wren pulled her clothes off and put them on
the ground. She tenderly picked up the new pants and pulled them on
over her wet legs, cinching the rope belt around her waist. She
grabbed the shirt and donned it, pulling it down over her lean
torso. Then she stepped cautiously into the boots. They were soft
on her feet and felt amazing.

Lastly, she picked up the horse blanket. Its
colors matched her glowing vine marking almost perfectly. She
stared at it, trying to quell the nerves in her stomach. She looked
down at Tessa and the raccoons and slung the blanket over her
shoulders like a cloak. It hung nearly to the ground, just brushing
the leaves that adorned the forest floor.

Suddenly she was warm when
she had been cold.
Cold for so long. Now
warm.

"Alright," she said. "I'm ready for you to
see me."

The animals turned back around.

Tessa nodded her tiny head. “Mistress, it
looks very fine. They will be impressed when we reach the Dryad
Tree.”

“Who will?” Wren asked.

“The people who have answers for you, I
would assume” the mouse said.

The bear lumbered out of the forest with a
fish in his mouth. He came up to Wren and laid it at her feet.

“Probably need to cook it for me,” she told
the bear.

“That is a task for you,” Tessa said.
“Animals don't know fire, mistress.”

“You eat it, then,” she told the bear. “I
don't know how to make fire right now.” Her flint and tinder were
back at her farm. There was some method where you rubbed sticks
together, but that took forever and she wasn't sure she had the
strength. “I'll have to eat berries.”

The bear looked at her and then laid down in
front of her, prompting a ride.

“Mistress wants to walk,” Tessa explained.
“Lead the way, bear.”

And they were off, Wren both comfortable and
uncomfortable in her new clothing.

Their party had grown. All six raccoons were
scampering after them.

O
tom had traveled far in the past week. He could have made the
journey much faster in his youth, but he was finding that his
survival skills were rusty. He had to take it slow. No need to push
himself.
My glowing symbol isn't going
anywhere.

It should have been getting slightly warmer
as he worked his way southeast, but it was not. The wind howled as
furiously as it had on the shores of Kilgaan and Otom was beginning
to wonder if winter would ever fully give way to spring.

It was the middle of the night but there was
a bright moon; the kind that wolves called to and thieves cursed.
Otom sat silently rubbing his hands near the Fire he had made. He'd
dug himself a little place to sleep in a snow bank and was bundled
in all the clothing he had brought, but for now he didn't feel like
sleeping. He was too close to Pakken to sleep.

The town he grew up in couldn't have more
than two bands to the southwest. He almost felt as if he recognized
some of the trees in this area, but he couldn't be quite sure. He
had also seen signs of the war that had shaken Hardeen and
Shailand, and had apparently touched even this far north. A few
days ago he had unearthed a corpse while digging a place for
himself to sleep. The dead man had been wearing full armor with
Hardenic markings on it. The symbols had made Otom shudder. During
his nightly flagellation he added an extra stroke. After that he'd
salvaged a few well-preserved things from the dead soldier and then
been on his way after a quick prayer.

He was a man of God, after all.

Pakken pulled on him and Otom resisted. If
he went back there now what would it prove? Nothing would be
solved. Nothing would change.

He heard a wolf howl. The hunter he had once
been stirred within him.

He drew from his power and Calmed himself
while adding a bit more Fire to the blaze in front of him.

Then he let his mind drift back.

O
tom lined up the shot carefully, holding his breath to steady
himself. The arrow's long feathers tickled his ear as the wooden
shaft waited to be released. Just before the buck bolted, Otom let
his fingers slip off the string.