A Chosen Life (4 page)

“It
is
the Ninth’s shard. It drew the Shadows’ attention and led the Raksasha to us. They were drawn by the power it exerted to find me.”

“But . . . ” Angry moisture burned the back of her eyes. She clenched her jaw and spoke through her teeth. “Watchers only protect those that hold the other half of their Radia shard. I have your other half—it found
me
. That shard is not part of yours.” She pointed a trembling finger at the glowing crystal Bastian tucked back beneath his shirt. “It belongs to another Watcher. Why didn’t the shard return to him?”

“At this point I do not understand any better than you do,” he whispered gently. The frustration in his voice seemed directed internally, no longer at Macy. “There is more.”

“What?”

“The Ninth is not human, he is Hidden kind.”

The feeling of betrayal deepened and her eyes narrowed. First Bastian turned all young and freakishly huge, now the Ninth wasn’t even human like the legends said—what else was the Light going to spring on them? She shredded the sucker stick between her fingers, taking slow deep breaths to keep from losing her temper. “But what does it mean? Why . . . what is it the Light wants from you? From us?”

“We must find the Ninth, before the Dark discovers he has been Chosen.”

He? Great, the Ninth’s a boy.
She rolled her eyes.
Figures. I get to babysit some bratty little boy.
“What about the group of Kreydawn we’re supposed to be watching? Who’s going to figure out what they’re up to while we’re off searching for the Ninth?”

Bastian continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “I am getting glimpses of the boy, but they are indistinct.” He frowned and shook his head. “He seems to be a good child, humble and kind-hearted. My life force is pulling me towards him nearly as strongly as it did when the Light sent me for you.” His eyes narrowed and his voice softened until it sounded almost paternal. “What course has changed to make it my destiny to
watch
for two?”

Bastian’s tone brought the heat back to her palms. She bit her lip and willed her Kuna to stay inside her body.

The Ninth Chosen . . . ?

This is bad.
She shoved her hands back under her legs.
This is really, really bad.

Chapter Four

The
Ninth

Macy generally hated cheap motels, but for once, she’d actually been glad to curl up on a lumpy, smelly mattress. She yawned as she peered between the dingy curtains into the faint morning light. Sleeping in the backseat of the Scout for the last two days as they zigzagged through three states to avoid Dark spies had not been comfortable—the ancient truck turned minor bumps in the asphalt into road hazards. When they’d pulled into the neglected motel in the middle of Nowhere-ville, Utah, she’d collapsed as soon as her head hit the yellowed pillow. She stifled another yawn as she spied Bastian entering the office, where he’d gone to check them out. The neon
No Vacancy
sign cast a sickly orange glow across the side of the building.

Macy had declined Bastian’s invitation to accompany him to the motel office to check out and grab a free muffin. She’d wanted the time alone to think. Now she wasn’t so sure that’d been a good idea. She stared through the grimy window, watching the sun slowly light the shabby parking lot without really seeing anything. Her thoughts and emotions tossed around in her head until they were nothing but a jumbled mess. Bastian was aware of it—of course he was—but he’d yet to offer advice. He was likely just as upset about their situation and too preoccupied with trying to figure out what to do about it to focus on how much it was affecting her.

She absently twisted a lock of hair around her pinky finger. She usually did a pretty good job of blocking the memories of the night she’d been Chosen. But ever since the moment Bastian had said they were going after the Ninth, the horrible details of that night, coupled with the last image she had of her parents had been creeping into her thoughts like a poisonous weed. She swallowed and closed her eyes as she felt them curl and twist through her mind, strangling her heart with painful memories.

The distant voice of Bastian explaining the legend seemed to echo through the years and fill the room.
The Ninth will be the last hope for the survival of the races . . . If the Ninth should fail, the Balance between good and evil will collapse, and evil will roam free . . .

Her heart stuttered in her throat. Ten years ago she held her shard for the first time and from that moment she was able to actually see the horrifying hand of the Dark. It was then that she’d witnessed firsthand the cruelty of the demon Raksasha and felt the staggering power of the Shadow Wraiths. The idea of that kind of evil roaming free with no one to stop it . . .

She pushed her fists into her eyes.
Don’t think about it!
But the darkness behind her eyelids only created the perfect backdrop. Black memories rushed in—the sounds and images as fresh as if she stood once again in their tiny kitchen.

The Raksasha jumped through the window, shrouded by the swirling mists of the Shadows . . . her mother screamed and her father pleaded uselessly for their lives . . .

Sick waves of fear crashed over her, her chest heated up and the Kuna tingled in her palms.
Breathe, just breathe . . . stay calm!

But once the memories were free, they couldn’t be stopped, and her fear had her cold. Horrible pictures of every monster she’d ever fought against for the ignorant human race filled her mind’s eye. Crawling over the planet, unstoppable, killing ruthlessly, and not caring if the victims were innocent children or the elderly—until nothing remained but the Dark.

She forced her eyes open and focused on the hideous flowered bedspread, trying to stop the flood of terror. But the flowers turned into the weeping faces of the defenseless, curled into the disgusting, twisted features of Raksasha, and the writhing mists of the Shadows. The moldy, rotting smell of the stained carpet filled her lungs and became the smell of death and decay.

She folded her arms tightly over her stomach and rocked back and forth. Intense pain, worse than any physical injury, clouded her mind and crushed her heart. The Kuna burned in her palms and she knew she couldn’t hold it back much longer.

Mom, Dad, I need you!
She gasped for air; broken, tearless sobs forced their way free.
No, don’t think about them!
She couldn’t breathe . . .
Bastian!

The door flew open. Bastian met her gaze for an agonizing second before he gathered her into his arms, and pulled her next to him.

She gagged.
The
images . . . Bastian, please make them stop
. . .
the Kuna . . . I can’t hold it back . . .

Bastian wrapped her hands in his huge ones tenderly and she felt the heat lessen, but her mind was held fast. “Macy,
LaUnahi
, you are safe! I promise you are safe. All is well my little bird.” He rubbed her back and began to sing, in a voice as soft as a whisper, the Soothing Song in the language of the Hidden. She didn’t understand all the words, but slowly the peaceful calm only Bastian could bring, started at her toes and pushed the pain from her heart and the pictures from her mind, like sunlight piercing fog.

Bastian pushed a strand of hair off her sweaty forehead. “I am so sorry,
LaUnahi
. I have been far too preoccupied.” He cradled her against his massive chest and wrapped his arms tightly around her shaking body. “Forgive me, my little bird. I promise I will no longer be distracted from your needs. You are, and always will be, my first priority.”

Macy sat up, took a deep breath and leaned out of his arms, feeling embarrassment creep up her face. . She appreciated the soothing presence, but she hadn’t needed coddling for years. Not since she was a small child trying to adjust to the loss of her parents and the grueling life of a Chosen.

She stood up and kept her eyes averted. “I just had a bad moment was all. The Ninth stuff caught me off guard.” She rolled her shoulders, shoved her shaking hands into her pockets—silently cursing the tremble in her voice that would give her away—and focused on allowing the Soothing Song to finish its job clearing her thoughts. As the last dark memory faded back to where it could be locked away, she took another deep breath and met her Watcher’s eyes. “I’m fine. It won’t happen again.”

Bastian sighed. “You are not fine,
LaUnahi
,” He gave a sad smile and his eyes filled with something she couldn’t quite pinpoint, it looked like regret. “But you will be.”

She turned away and picked up her pack. “So are we going to adopt the Ninth today? I’m assuming the stop wasn’t just so we could actually sleep in a bed. We’re close, aren’t we?” She cast him half a glance then wished she hadn’t. Guilt washed over her at the disappointment on Bastian’s face. She knew he missed the days when she told him everything she thought and felt, even though he already knew it. But she’d been a child then.

Bastian pulled a sucker from his pack and handed it to her, the disappointment on his face slowly fading into calculation. He wanted to keep her talking about her feelings, work through her fears, she could see it in his eyes, but he knew she wouldn’t be a willing subject, and whether he wanted to admit it aloud or not, right now there were more important things to worry about. She unwrapped it and popped it in her mouth as he slung his bag over his shoulder, opened the door, and motioned her ahead.

“Yes, we are close.” His tone implied the complexity of this truth. “I have discovered the exact location of the Ninth. He is about sixty miles southeast of us in an out-of-the-way town called Green River.”

Macy tightened the belt of her jacket, making sure her weapons were completely covered. Her knees shook slightly as she stepped over a couple of crumbling muffins Bastian must have dropped in his rush to get back to the room. “What about spies? Is it safe to just show up at his house?”

“No. Things are very complicated with the Ninth. I am unsure of exactly how to approach him. The images
of him come and go like bad reception. Sometimes he is so clear I can see his every move, feel his thoughts as I do with you . . . ” he ran a hand over his face, “other times he very nearly disappears. I can still sense him, but my sight is blocked as if he is shrouded in a mist I cannot penetrate.”

Macy glanced at him, surprised. Worry lines creased Bastian’s forehead adding familiar wrinkles. “What does that mean?” she asked.

“I do not know.” He frowned. “All I do know is that the time has come for extreme caution. We have evaded the Shadows for now, but we must be very careful. We do not want to alert the Dark to the boy’s importance. If he already has spies watching him and they recognize us, it will not take them long to discover what we are after and why.”

They reached the Scout and Bastian held open the passenger door.

Macy paused before getting in. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive?”

He looked at her with concern and warmth crept up her face. “I’m fine Bastian. Really. I can drive.”

“Actually, I have found driving again quite enjoyable.” He winked, and a slow grin spread across his face. “I have not put the metal to the pedal since you became tall enough to see over the dash.”

“That’s pedal to the metal, bud.” She laughed as she buckled her seatbelt.

Bastian shrugged.

“You’d think after more than a thousand years you’d have the slang down a little better.”

“Some things are completely unnecessary.” He settled himself in the driver’s seat and twisted the wires together with a tiny smile dancing on his face. “Well, since I dropped our muffins, shall we go somewhere decent for breakfast?”

“Sure.” She couldn’t help but smile in return. Underneath all the strange new muscle and hair, he was exactly the same Bastian. His simple kindness and poor attempts at humor were familiar and safe. As worrisome as the whole Ninth business was, she couldn’t help but feel gratitude toward the Light for restoring her Watcher.

Several minutes later, they pulled into a run-down truck stop with a small restaurant. They walked past several men slouching wearily at the counter, their hands wrapped around steaming mugs.

Macy led the way to a corner booth and picked at a spot of dried food on the table while they waited for a waiter. Bastian stared out the window, his eyes dilating,
watching
again
.
She wondered whose future he was searching, hers, or the
Ninth’s.
Macy turned her attention to the quiet conversation between two of the tired-looking men sitting at the counter.

“Sixty-miles-an-hour, that’s what the news-anchor said. But I guarantee you Frank, it was more’n that.” The older of the two, his thick scraggly gray hair stuffed under a grease covered blue ball-cap, whispered. “Nothing else could’ve relocated my old shed. That darn thing’s solid wood, and been standin’ there for more than a hundred years.” He shook his hairy head. “And the cold . . . I ain’t never felt cold like that out here before. ‘Specially not this time o’ year. Never been a day in June under seventy since I was in grade school.”

“I believe ya, Jed,” Frank whispered back, absently stroking his wiry black beard. “I lost six cows last week. Vet keeps tryin’ to tell me it’s some sickness or other, but I know it was that cold storm. They done froze to death. It ain’t natural.”

Macy shivered and looked away. If those guys knew the truth, that the storms—the craziness—was only going to get worse, they’d run away screaming. Too bad there wouldn’t be anywhere for them to go.

“Eh’hm.”

Macy opened her eyes to see a slightly overweight waitress with thick blonde curls.

“What can I get ya?” She smiled a little too widely for this early in the morning.

“Uh,” Macy glanced at the menu. “We’ll both have the Special and orange juice.”

Bastian continued to stare out the window, the pupils in his sapphire eyes still dilating and contracting. The waitress watched him with a bemused look, whether because she’d noticed his odd eyes or because the teenager had ordered and not the adult, Macy was unsure, so she coughed to get the woman’s attention.

The waitress jumped and Macy tried to offer a reassuring smile.

“Oh, um. I’ll be right back with your juice.” She cast one more furtive look at Bastian before hurrying off toward the kitchen.

“You know,” Macy twisted the napkin around her fingers, “you could always say ‘thank you’, or even order and not look at them—it might make people less nervous.”

“You are used to my voice and accent, humans are not. Besides it is impolite to not look someone in the eye when you are speaking to them.”

So is ignoring them.
She didn’t say it aloud, but Bastian’s eyebrow rose anyway.

“Your negative attitude concerns me.”

“Huh?”

“There is hope for those men.” He lifted his chin toward the men at the counter. “We
will
find the Ninth. The humans will be safe.”

She chose not to answer and he resumed his stare out the window.

Fifteen minutes later the waitress returned with their food. After two bites of slightly crunchy pancake, Macy figured it was safe to start asking questions.

“So you never told me, how are we going to show ourselves to the Ninth?” She gave up on the pancakes and switched to the bacon. She lifted a piece to her mouth but stopped half way—bacon wasn’t supposed to be stretchy. So much for a decent breakfast. Still, it beat trail food and Bastian’s version of a home-cooked meal, which usually consisted of slightly stale bread and whatever animal he’d managed to kill that day. She was about to take a bite when Bastian’s response made her forget all about breakfast.

“I am not sure yet. We will observe him at the high school first. That is where I seem to be able to
see
the clearest. Because this is the case, I am leery of approaching him elsewhere until I get a feel for the area.”

Macy’s head spun and her palms tingled. The bacon fell back to her plate in a puddle of syrup. “What? Wait. Did you just say high school? Why will the Ninth be at the high school?”

Bastian sighed and laid down his fork. “Because he is seventeen.”

Not quite an hour later, they passed a sign declaring they were ten miles from Green River, and Macy finally felt calm enough to speak.