The Chosen (The Compendium of Raath, Book 1) (9 page)

“Sure he will,” Jon said. “I know your
father's hard on you Wren, but he loves you in his way. There's a
lot you don't know about him.” Jon started ladling soup into
individual wooden bowls and setting them on the table. “For
example,” he said, raising his eyebrows, “did you know that Cole
used to be a champion rider?”

Wren was shocked. “I
didn't.”
But it doesn't change how I feel
about him . . . does it?
“We only have
plow horses now . . . I've never seen him up on one.”

“It's true,” Jon said. “When your mother
died, he gave up so much of what he had been. I always tried to
cheer him through it, you know? But another thing about Cole was
that he was always so stubborn, ya know. And he always . . . liked
the drink.”

Wren hadn't known how
deeply Jon Hatfeld's relationship with her father had gone. Jon was
always around during harvest, but . . . they were
friends
.

The house smelled of soup and cornbread when
the other men came tromping in from the fields.

“Take your boots off before you come in
here,” Wren said, immediately falling into the appropriate role. It
was a fine thing to hide behind.

“Yes ma'am,” they each replied.

The respect felt good.

But her heart still ached because she hadn't
been able to kill that mouse.

T
hat night, as Jon had predicted, Wren found herself sitting
in a wagon drawn by two large brown horses. Her father drove the
horses with Jon next to him. Wren sat in the back. It was a rough
ride, but the wagon had served them faithfully for many years
despite the fact that its wood was marred and broken in places.
They had also had to replace the axle a few times.

Marshanti was at least a
good day and a half ride from their farm.
Plenty of time for something to go horribly wrong.
Wren had seen her father grab a jug of something
and stash it under a blanket up next to him. She couldn't be
completely sure it was booze, but she had learned to be realistic
the hard way. To not get her hopes up.

Wren was only along for two reasons. One was
because Jon Hatfeld was going. The nervousness she felt around her
father was balanced out by Jon's calming presence. Besides, she
doubted her father would try anything with Jon around. At least,
that was how it was supposed to work, wasn't it? All sorts of
disgusting images flashed through her head but she quickly banished
them. If she continued down that path her chest would tighten up
and panic would set in. She couldn’t afford that.

The other reason she had come along was to
see the animals at the carnival. She was interested from a more
innocent perspective, of course, but this could also lead her to
the release she would need: hurting a Graybeast. She smiled at the
grim prospect of her quest. This wasn't what heroes in stories did
– go on journeys to hurt animals – but that's what she felt like. A
hero, surviving against all odds to accomplish her goal.

The wagon wheels sloshed through puddles as
they rolled along on the vague road that would lead them to
Marshanti, and Wren's destiny.

S
leep was non-existent for Wren that night.

The trio had found a good spot and built a
fire. Jon and her father were sitting on blankets talking and
laughing while Wren pouted on the other side of the blaze in her
shoddy sleeping bag. Was her father really two different people?
Looking at him like this, under the stars beside a fire, joking
with Jon Hatfeld, he almost looked human. How could he have done
the things he had? Was it the same man? Had it been a dream?

No, it hadn't been a dream. She had ached
down below for three days afterward, and she had had to clean away
blood that morning. She began to tear up, praying that the orange
light of the fire and the black of the night would mask her
crying.

Maybe if I just jumped
into the fire right now . . .

No. No. Have to keep
going. Have to get to the carnival. I'll find a sword and jump up
and plunge it into the side of a Graybeast. Then I'll ride the
sword back down to the ground as it tears the beast open, warmth
spilling out.

It was really quite poetic,
actually.

But she couldn't sleep.

She was suspicious, and suspicion was not a
friend to sleep.

So she stayed up and was still up when the
sun rose.

T
hey would arrive by midday and Wren had already noticed an
increase in traffic. Jon and her father would nod at other farmers
as they passed and Wren wondered if they knew them or if they were
just being polite. She had heard somewhere that all farmers knew
each other.
Can't be true, can
it?

Wren was wearing a large sunhat, green
gingham shirt, and a pair of her heavier trousers. It was warm
dress for this day, but she had specifically worn these things
because they wouldn't reveal any part of her. Her long brown hair
was the only thing spilling out from under her hat. She had even
wrapped her chest with rags to keep it from spilling out as well.
The binding was slipping though and she found herself sweating with
nerves as she tried to casually adjust it. But that was just
drawing more attention to herself. So she took to biting her nails
instead.

There were a lot of people around now. More
people meant more safety, but in the back of her mind each person
she saw was leering at her. She tried to numb herself to it and was
almost successful.

She remembered the first time she had felt .
. . she guessed it might have been love, she wasn't sure. It was
during one of the harvests, five or more years ago now. There was a
boy whose name she couldn't recall now. He was traveling from farm
to farm helping out for food and shelter. He had been strong, but
she could tell that he was lost. Looking for something.

Maybe I was lost, too, and
looking for someone to reach out to.

Her stomach had sunk every time he had
looked at her and she'd had an intense urge to kiss him, but she
wasn't sure how to go about it. She remembered how embarrassing it
had been even though nobody knew about it. Her face was red all the
time and not from the usual sunburn she carried around during
spring. She felt engorged with blood in every part of herself. Full
of red life and aching.

The boy had left eventually, of course. He
had moved on. And he had never known.

That was the part of herself she was trying
to kill now. The part she had to deaden. Her passion. If she
thought of herself as a passionate being then everyone became a
predator. If she thought of herself as a sack of meat – a creature
– then it wasn't as bad.

“Look at that,” Jon said, incredulity in his
voice. He was pointing just ahead where a large red and white tent
poked up over the horizon.

“Mm” Wren's father grunted. “You were right,
Hat. I did-” his voice broke. “I did need this, I reckon.”

“It reminds me of our fifteenth summer,
Cole. You remember that?”

Her father's voice dropped to almost a
whisper, barely audible over the wind. “This's where I . . . where
I proposed to Lia.”

Jon only nodded, but Wren's jaw dropped. She
had only heard her father mention her mother's name three times
ever, and all three had been when he was drunk and touching her.
For it to come from his mouth so freely was shocking.

Wren was not a stupid girl, but it took her
a few moments to put into perspective what was happening. Her
Graybeast release – the one she was waiting for at the carnival –
was similar to what was happening to her father right now.
Everything about his life that had been pent up over the years –
things he had tried to release on Wren – was going to come flooding
out.

Wren wasn't sure she wanted to be around
when it did. She didn't want apologies, she didn't want her father
to hug her and smooth her hair and tell her everything was alright.
She would throw up all over him if he did that.

Fortunately nothing like that was happening,
at least for now.

The three sat saying nothing as the world
bustled around them.

I can't even enjoy the new
sights,
Wren thought.

Jon and her father were whispering to each
other, but she didn't care to hear what they said. The crowd
swelled around them now that they were very close to the tents.
Wren was unfamiliar with people, having been isolated most of her
life. She almost couldn’t believe how many there were. As she
looked around she realized that her own clothing was beyond shabby.
Fine smooth dresses of all types were on display here. There were
beautiful hats with ribbons, delightful jewelry, and shoes that
would have been terrible to wear out in the field. Some of the
women she saw had a good portion of their breasts showing,
unashamed and unafraid to be linking arms with a man.

I will be one of them
someday
, she promised herself
meekly.

The smells hit her next: the smell of hay
she knew well, the smell of people she didn't. The whole thing
started to overwhelm her.

“You doin' okay back there?” her father
asked.

Wren grunted her approval.

“It does take some getting used to,” he
answered. “But we . . . well, we shoulda done this years ago.” He
took a swig from the jug next to him.

They drove up a bit farther until they found
a place for hitching up their team.

“Gonna hafta leave the horses here,” Jon
said.

There were long horizontal fences set up for
this purpose. Horses and wagons lined them, their masters already
somewhere in the carnival. Wren's father dismounted from the wagon
and walked up to a man wearing a yellow vest. Wren noticed the red
falcon of Marshanti inked crudely on the fabric.

The man and her father exchanged words and
coins and then the yellow-vested man took the reins.

“Alright,” Jon said. “We walk from here.” He
got down and stretched his legs, then grabbed his pack from the
wagon. He picked a long piece of grass from the ground and stuck it
between his teeth. “Farmers in the big city,” he said, smiling, and
Wren couldn't help but smile too.

Wren's father came over, grabbed his things
(mercifully, he left the jug behind – but perhaps it was empty),
and led the way towards the carnival grounds.

If Wren had been any younger she would have
wanted to hold someone's hand. She could envision herself getting
swallowed by the crowd and for a panicky moment she imagined
everyone was looking at her, the clumsy farm girl in shabby, out of
place clothing. But when she forced herself to look around - really
look - she realized that no one was paying her any attention, they
were all pointing off somewhere or talking to one another or trying
to look after their own children.

She didn't stick out, she blended in.

“I didn't bring any trade, but I brought
coin,” her father told Jon.

“Good,” said Jon. “There's a few things for
sale here.”

That was an understatement. Over the next
few hours Wren walked from shop to shop drinking in everything that
was there. Jewelry: necklaces, bracelets, earrings, mostly rope and
bead, but a few metal. Clothes: fabrics she had never before, soft
to the touch and eye-poppingly colored. Weapons: big swords, small
swords, other things she didn't know. She was familiar a little bit
with weaponry, but not much. Mostly from stories. Food: pies,
candy, meat, even some kind of fruit called an orange. “Up from
near the Vapor,” said the man who was selling the orange fruit. “My
boys risk their necks bringin' 'em up. Won't grow up here. Only got
a few left.”

Her father turned the fruit around and
around in his hand and spent a silver oplate on it. He split the
thing open and gave some to Jon and Wren.

“I'll save it for later,” Wren said. To an
odd look from Jon she wrapped it in a kerchief and stuffed it in
one of her pockets. She wasn't going to eat it ever. She didn't
want it because her father had touched it. And, when he had handed
it to her, he had smiled.

After the shops Wren was always on the
lookout for where they kept the animals, but it was hard to see
anything with all these people around.

“When's the show with the animals?” she
asked Jon.

“Should be starting soon. Having fun so far,
Wren?”

Wren nodded.

“If we make our way to the big tent we might
be able to get good seats.”

“That would be good,” Wren said. “Good
seats.”

“You don't mind sittin' there for a bit do
ya, Cole?”

“Nosir,” her father said. “Gives me time to
eat all this candy.” He held up a heaping double handful.

He's drunk.

W
ren's heart beat quickly as the show unfolded in front of
her. Her stomach seemed to be flipping around and she was so
excited that her leg was constantly shaking. It was hot in the huge
tent but she didn't care. She was fixated on the creatures that
were being paraded in front of her. Huge cats called lions roared
and danced and someone rode something that looked like a horse, but
had large humps on its back. There were Marshanti falconers whose
birds dove through flaming rings and would even grab talons and
somersault with each other in the air. Some animal called an ape –
all the way from the lands near the Vapor – swung gracefully
through the air on netting.

There were tumblers, jugglers,
contortionists, and other sorts of entertainment Wren had never
dreamed was possible.