The Chosen (The Compendium of Raath, Book 1) (18 page)

The arrow shot almost silently into the side
of the animal, driving in and sticking there deep. Right on target;
right near the heart. Probably in it. The buck sprang forward with
a kick.

Otom was still fairly sore
from his fight against Ris at the tournament, but he tore off after
the buck, nocking another arrow as he ran. The animal was huge with
a massive rack on top.
Da will be so
proud!
This animal would last Otom's
family a long time. He had to take it down. He lost sight of the
buck itself, but the trail of red on the snow was easy to follow.
The animal didn't get far. It lay dead on its side when Otom
finally caught up with it, blood leaking from its mouth.

He bent down to inspect the beautiful animal
when his ears – one of which was still battered from Ris's assault
- barely caught the sound of something crunching in the snow to his
left.

Crrrrunch.

Whump.

“Hello?” Otom called.

He stood up cautiously and squinted towards
where he had heard the sound. It probably wasn't another deer; that
wouldn't make any sense. He was doubtful it was a wolf, and people
were a rarity around these parts. Perhaps a bird had knocked snow
from a branch as it took flight.

Otom stalked closer to the source of the
strange noise, scanning, all senses on full alert.

It was his sense of smell that informed him
first, as was usually the case. A gust of wind pushed the
fragrances at him in a flurry. His mind flashed back to the Fool's
Heart Tavern and what he had smelled there. Her scent brought her
rushing back to him, but it was mixed with sweat and blood.

Otom took a few more quick steps and found
Allura Finny face-down in the snow in front of him.

“What the hell?” he said to himself. He
slung his bow on his back and gathered her up. Her head flopped
backwards as he cradled her. She was like a rag doll. He had to put
his face by her mouth to make sure she was breathing at all. Her
blond hair was falling out of her hood and had blood in it; not a
lot, but enough to concern Otom. “Allura?” he asked.

No response.

He began to stumble back through the snow,
carrying her dead weight in his already tired arms. She wasn't
dressed well enough to be out doing whatever it was she was doing.
She was wearing a warm coat, but no boots, only thick socks. Her
pants weren't thick enough for this kind of cold, either. Her face
looked very pale.

Even had he been able to
ask questions of her he wouldn't have.
No
time to waste. Have to get her to safety.
The buck would have to wait. Otom briefly memorized the trees
so he could find his way back later.

Allura began to mutter about five minutes
into Otom's half-walk half-run back to his house.

“My savior,” she said. “My fire.” She kept
saying it over and over.

“Allura?” he tried again.

“My savior. My fire.”

Her eyes were still closed and she began to
writhe in his grip.

“You have to hold still,” he said. His arms
felt like they were going to fall off and he almost dropped to his
knees right where he was, but he could almost see his house. The
small cabin slowly became visible over the hill and Otom used the
sight of it to fuel his body.

Just a little farther.
Just a little farther.

Allura's eyes fluttered open. “Otom,” she
said.

“Yes. Yes. It's me,” he grunted, panting
mist into the world.

“I made it to you. I made it.” One of her
eyes was bloodshot.

“Yeah, you did. I'm taking you to my house
so my ma and da can take care of you.”

“Oh, no,” Allura moaned. “I don't want
anyone to see me like this.”

“Look,” Otom puffed, “I don't have much of a
choice here. Not to be insulting, but you're getting very
heavy.”

“I might be able to walk,” she suggested.
“But please don't take me to your house. I promise-” She coughed
for a few breaths; deep hacking coughs. “I promise I'll explain
what's going on, but don't take me to see anyone else. I don't want
anyone to see me like this.”

Otom closed his eyes and
took a massive breath. A weight dragged his foot to the ground with
each step.
What the hell was I thinking
going hunting in my current state?
He
hadn't realized how drained he still was from his tournament
beating. He might not have even been able to drag the buck back on
the sled that he'd-

He hadn't even thought. “Ohhhh,” Otom
moaned.

“Wha?” asked Allura.

“Better if I don't tell you,” he said. Had
he carried her without thinking simply because he had wanted to
gather her into his arms? He knew the answer was yes. He'd left a
perfectly good sled out in the woods somewhere. He would have to go
back for it later, but for now . . . He abruptly changed course
then, turning sharply to his left and away from his house. If
Allura didn't want to go there that was fine with him. He would
take his beauty somewhere else.

“Where we goin'?” she slurred, becoming
incoherent again.

“A place I built a long time ago. You think
you can climb a little way?”

“I prolly can,” Allura said. She balled
herself up a little tighter and shivered. “I like to rest in your
arms.”

Otom didn't have a reply to that.

He trudged up to the base of a large fir
tree and knelt down, setting Allura gently onto the ground. She
struggled to get up and ultimately, with Otom's help, was able to
stand with some wobbling.

“I'll go behind you,” Otom said. “The
handholds aren't what they used to be, but it looks like everything
else is sturdy enough.”

Hand over hand Allura went up the trunk of
the tall tree. Otom carefully followed behind feeling only slightly
embarrassed when he to put his hand on her backside to push her the
rest of the way.

They both tumbled out into a plain, square
room. It had two tiny windows that faced opposite directions and
branches had grown in and through it, cutting at odd angles through
the place. It blocked the wind, though, and that was what was
important right now.

Otom's treehouse had been heavily used when
he was younger, but now not as much. It had begun to seem a boyish
thing to him. Now it was anything but. Now it seemed a very serious
refuge indeed.

Allura lay panting on her back a few feet
from where Otom now sat. He slung off his bow and quiver and then
began to take off a few of his tertiary layers of clothing and
laying them on Allura's feet and legs. Frostbite was uncommon among
northerners, but Allura had never claimed to be from around
here.

“You can still feel everything, right?” he
asked.

“I can,” said the girl. “Hurts like hell,
but I can.”

“Fine,” Otom said, laying his cloak on her
legs. He started to push her hood back to try and determine where
she was bleeding from when she grabbed his face in her icy hands.
She pulled his face down and pressed her lips against his. They
were ice, too, but it didn't really matter to Otom.

She pulled away. “My savior,” she said, and
resumed the kiss.

“W
hat exactly did I save you from?” Otom asked, his voice
cracking. He had stopped the kiss despite how it had made him burn.
His need for information was stronger right now and the girl was
making his head reel.
Something doesn't
sit right about any of this.

Allura looked up at him from the floor of
the treehouse. “So very many things, Otom. Well, to start . . . I
think God led me to you.”

“He did, did he?” Otom asked. He was
skeptical, hadn't thought much about God.

“Yes.” Allura nodded, then winced.

“Let me look at your head while you talk, at
least,” Otom said, making a second attempt at pulling back her
hood. This time he succeeded. “Looks like you took a blow here,” he
said. There was a large lump under her hair. Otom didn't think it
was life threatening.

“Yeah,” Allura said. “Ris did that to
me.”

Otom stood up quickly and smashed his head
into the ceiling of the treehouse. “Damn,” he said, rubbing it.
“Ris is involved in this? I thought that idiot would be.”

“You were right, Otom. In the brief moments
I knew you, you were always right. You're everything that Ris is
not and that's why you can save me.”

“Me specifically,” Otom said flatly.

“Yes.”

“Because God led you to me.”

“Yes.”

Otom wasn't sure what he believed, but what
Allura seemed to be saying was that Ris had hurt her and then she
had come to Pakken – where she very vaguely knew only one person –
instead of to wherever she lived.

“Well,” Allura said timidly, “If you want to
be technical, Ris led me here.”

“Ris was coming to Pakken? Why?”

“I don't know,” Allura said. She was on the
verge of tears. “But I begged him to stop. Pleaded with him. He got
this wild look in his eyes and just said we were coming here. When
we got close I tried to slow him. We fought and I tripped him into
some sort of ditch in the snow.”

“A drift?”

“A drift,” Allura agreed. “I got as far as I
could and I heard some sounds and then I saw you and then I passed
out.”

“Was Ris . . . coming here to see me?” Otom
asked, squinting and rubbing his forehead.

“Something snapped in him,” Allura said. “He
really wanted to win that tournament. I think he blames his loss on
you. I don't know.”

“Blames his loss on me? He pummeled me
within an inch of my life, Allura!”

“I think you put up more a fight than he
expected. He was too weak to win afterward. I don't know. He raves,
Otom!”

“We need to get out of here,” Otom said. He
sidled over to a small window and looked out. He didn't hear
anything, but that didn't mean much. The wind might cover their
tracks in a few days, but right now there was a trail that Ris
could easily follow. “We gotta get someplace safe and we have to
get your head looked at.”

Allura tried to sit up, made it halfway, and
then fell backwards with a heavy thud. Some snow and pine needles
flitted down from the ceiling.

“Don't do that,” Otom hissed.

“Dizzy,” Allura said. “I'm so dizzy.
Something in my head. Making me dizzy now.” She was out of it
again, her eyes fluttering open and closed, ice still frozen on her
long lashes.

“It's your wound,” Otom
said.
I've underestimated the
damage.
“Let me go get a few things from
my house. No one has to know you're here if that's what you
want.”

“No one,” she echoed.

“You stay here,” he said, tucking her
in.

No answer from Allura.

Otom needed to hurry, and he knew he
probably couldn't get Allura down from the treehouse in this
condition without injuring one or both of them, so he struck out
again on his own. He careened down the gentle slope to his house,
using a good deal of energy in the process.

Allura probably needed food
and water and maybe some kind of poultice. Otom knew a few things
for bruises and infection that he could probably whip up from
supplies at home. Being a hunter and a fighter had taught him how
to deal with injury.
I just hope my
knowledge is enough.
The hard part was
going to be lying to his parents. There might be enough food and
supplies in the shed, except for the water, which would be on melt
near the fireplace inside. That was the least suspicious of the
items, however. Otom could claim a lack of luck with his hunting,
grab a new skin of water and be on his way. It was still early
enough that it wouldn't seem suspicious. He would 'take one last
try before dark.'

The door to the shed creaked open and Otom
eyed the windows of his house for any movement. The shed held
plenty of dried meat so he picked a few tasty items and began to
pile them up, taking a bite of jerky for himself.

He rummaged through the herbs and had to
settle for a few he knew would work, even if they weren't ideal. He
carried his spoils behind the shed and stacked them there for the
moment.

Then he braced himself to go into his house,
hoping he didn't look like the nervous, disheveled mess he felt
like.

He clicked the latch and stepped inside. He
was greeted by a blast of warmth.

“Hail, Otom,” his da said. The older man was
sitting by the fire with his leg propped up. He'd twisted his knee
while hunting. He hadn't wanted to talk about it when he'd come
limping home; Otom's da had always been a proud man.

“I'm goin' back out there, da,” Otom said.
“Just stopped in for some more water. Need more than I can melt and
it's not getting any lighter out there.”

“You look beat,” his da said.

“Yea,” agreed his ma. “I know you're trying
to fill your father's shoes for now, but don't get yourself killed
in the process.”

“I won't, ma,” Otom said. His teeth wanted
to chatter as he walked over to fill his skin with water. It really
was empty. He'd drank it all, so at least that part of the story
wasn't a lie.

“Where's your bow?” his da asked.

“Left it outside,” said Otom. It wasn't
entirely a lie. It was in the treehouse. Short answers were better
right now.

“Bah. In the snow?”

“Only for a second.”

His da grimaced.

“I don't see what difference it makes,” said
Otom. “It's out there all the time anyway, da.” He'd almost
finished funneling the skin full of water.

“There's blood on your sleeve,” his da
said.

“It's not mine, da. Little bit on a trap,
but nothing in the trap.”

“Bah.”

“Don't waste his time, Pa,” Otom's ma said
sternly. “Otom, supper will be on the table when the sun just sets.
Don't ruin it with that mouthful of jerky.”