Chosen (33 page)

Number 2 said:

--I can communicate with the others if you wish it.

--I'm not even sure I can explain what I'm feeling. It's so strong and overwhelming. It's like I need some time to process it all.

--I can convey the complexity.

Gwen waited impatiently while the telepath did its silent communication. The others met Gwen's eyes and nodded, their faces breaking into smiles. Her heart soared.
They feel the same thing I
do.

--If there is nothing else, we will continue with our practice.

The telepaths practiced their communication technique for what seemed an eternity. The session was painful at times as they delved too deeply or pushed too hard. Sheer exhaustion overwhelmed the Chosen, and they slept where they floated and did not awake until most of the Masters arrived a few short hours later.

The Chosen from Astra awoke disoriented. The others helped them to calm down, reminding them of where they were. Soon, they were breathing normally and not thrashing about in fear.

Kaelin sighed deeply. She had been dreaming of Moira. She missed the little urgit terribly.

A thought from her brother came to her.

--Thinking of home?

She noticed one of the Kromin Chosen floating nearby and assumed the communication aid was coming from it.

--Yes. I dreamed of Moira.

Kaelin sighed.

--What must Ma and Pa think? They probably imagine us dead.

--Don't say that….

--Why not? We have been gone so long. And the Spirits only know if we will ever return.

Saemus did not know what to say. He knew she was right. The thought of his parents up nights worrying and perhaps crying in despair broke his heart.

--Gather around, please.

Master Druska was motioning everyone near.

--We will spend the day in study of the Gentran language. The Kromins will assist in the assimilation of the meaning of the words.

The morning passed as the Chosen learned some basic words and pronunciation. The telepaths helped the process along by putting the meaning of the words directly into the minds of the Chosen using their native language and thought patterns. They were all delighted at how quickly they were picking up the language, with the unique talents of the Kromins.

Keera motioned one of the telepaths to her. She spoke to one of the Volgon Chosen floating nearby. They were taking a break from study and were waiting for a servant to bring them lunch.

--Who is that?

Moylir answered:

--He is called Sloan and is one of the Chosen from planet Earth.

--Why does he always stay away from the group? I have not seen him interact with anyone.

Moylir shrugged.

--I had not noticed. Perhaps it is a strange Earthman trait.

Keera reached for a fiery red curl before stopping herself short. She missed her long, red locks to nibble on when pondering a problem. She could not focus without her hair between her teeth.

Keera was prevented asking any more questions as the telepath floating nearby swam away.
This is maddening! We have got to be able to communicate without the telepaths.
She glanced at Moylir and laughed as she saw the same look of frustration on the Volgon's face.

We are not so different.
The thought made her feel better. She waved to Moylir and told her good-bye in Gentran before gliding off to her friends who were huddled near one of the telepaths. Kaelin was gesturing excitedly and the others were clapping their hands, causing quite the commotion.

--Oh, Keera! It's fantastic!

Gwen grabbed her friend in a hug.

--Kaelin and Saemus think they can use their power to help the telepaths implant the knowledge of the Gentran language in our minds.

--Really? How?

--I think we can speed up the process and have the learning take less time.

Saemus paused.

--At least, I hope so.

--I don't understand.

Keera paused and glanced around. The other Chosen were curious about what was going on and were swimming toward the group. The Guardians and Masters present also swam over. Keera watched Master Brok swim through the water. She could see the familiar features of her teacher in this new face.
Give him some white hair and he would be the Master Brok I know.
So much had happened since the group had set out in search of Jon Stone and so many things had changed. She took comfort in those that stayed the same.

--I will try to explain.

Kaelin clasped one set of hands behind her back and used the others to gesture with.

--Saemus had the idea to link and see if we could figure out more about how the telepaths implant thoughts. We could see fine threads connecting the mind of the telepath to the one it was communicating with.

Jon responded:

--I don't see any of these threads.

--Saemus and I can only see them when we are linked.

--I might be able to if I could…

Master Brok cut in, his squeaks and clicks indicating his disproval.

--NO! It is forbidden, even here.

Jon clenched his jaw and his fists. He looked like he was going to object, but nodded sullenly instead. Gwen could see the anger in his eyes. His beautiful violet eyes. She shook her head ruefully.
Even here
he is everything I want.

Her thoughts were cut short by Master Brok. He asked the twins:

--How can you help with the process?

--Well, I think we can create more of the threads.

--And how will this help?

--Imagine you have a sealed container of water and you need to remove the water. If you make a couple of holes, the water will indeed flow out. But if you can create many holes…

Brok nodded, a smile growing on his face.

–The liquid will flow out more quickly. Marvelous!

--We haven't actually tried to make more of the threads yet. It might not work at all.

--The only way to know is to try.

The twins nodded and turned to the telepaths.

--Do you agree to this? We cannot guarantee this won't have some long-lasting effects.

--We agree.

--We will attempt this on ourselves first.

The twins clasped hands. A slight glow surrounded the two as they combined their power. They faced telepath Number 1, the little hairs on their bodies beating rapidly, holding their places in the water. No one dared breathe. After what seemed an eternity, the glow winked out and the two put their hands to their faces.

“Well, were you successful?” Brok asked aloud.

Saemus and Kaelin grinned and said in unison, “You tell us!”

“Dear Spirits, it worked!” Brok was so excited he reverted to the commonly used Astran exclamation. “Can you do this to everyone?”

“Not all in one day. It takes a lot of power to create the threads and to keep them in place while the telepath sends the information across.”

“Do as many as you can today. The sooner we can all directly communicate with one another, the better,” Master Brok ordered.

“Do you know what this means? These two can help implant the knowledge of all the languages of the Chosen.” Mirka's eyes shone with excitement. “I think we are seeing exactly why fate has chosen these young people. I wonder what other extraordinary powers or talents will manifest themselves in the days to come.”

A servant of the head Master swam to the four Guardians. He stopped and glanced about, making sure none of the Chosen were within earshot.

“Master Ferrok needs to see all of you at the home of the prophets immediately.”

Gerok spoke. “If he is at the prophets' home, perhaps one of them has written something concerning the battle.”

“Something that does not bode well,” Brok said.

Brok and the three others swam past the Chosen. They arrived at the home of the prophets, darting through the doorway and into a large foyer that had three exits, two leading to living quarters and the other leading to the library. The library was in the center of the building with the living quarters wrapping around it. The largest of the rooms were located on the outermost edge of the building and were reserved for the cardinals and bishops. Servants shared their master's quarters. These rooms also had large windows that offered a spectacular view of the Gentran landscape.

The smallest housed novices, deacons and acolytes. They bordered the large vent and had no windows. The young ones were here to learn and to absorb knowledge and they were kept away from as many distractions as possible, which included large windows perfect for gazing out of while lost in a daydream.

The library was a wonder. The room was large and well lit with glow rods. There were rows upon rows of tables and rolls of parchment covering every inch of the tables. Novices could be found studying or gliding silently past the mammoth shelves that held a multitude of scrolls.

Not so today. The library was silent and empty, save for Master Ferrok, who hovered near a table. His hand came down and gently touched the latest scroll the prophets had written. His hand trembled slightly.
I mustn't let them see me unnerved.

The Guardians arrived moments before the other Masters. They made their way to Ferrok, who moved aside and silently pointed at the scroll on the table. It was held down by rocks at the very edges of the corners so as not to obscure the writing scrawled on every inch of the pale yellow parchment. The yellow and green of Ferrok's body had faded, a sign of his distress.

“This cannot be!” Forka's voice shook as he read the words on the scroll.
It is all my fault!
He moved away from the table. The others did not speak, just stared at the jumble of words jutting in all different directions, some words written one on top of another, many things written which could not be deciphered. The prophet who wrote this had pushed so hard in some areas the pen had actually punched through the parchment.

The circle is broken; failure; death; doom is upon us; the fight is lost; despair; death is coming.

“One of the prophets wrote this?” Brok's voice broke the silence.

Ferrok nodded. “One of the deacons actually. He woke from the trance blind and deaf. He drifts now, gibbering in a senseless tongue. He no longer responds to anyone or anything. He is kept under close watch in case he writes something else.”

Ferrok barked a sharp laugh, devoid of humor.
Is this what we have become? That we will keep a crippled Gentran alive, for the faint hope he may write some bit of cryptic prophecy?

“Are the Chosen to be told of this?” Druska asked.

“Of course not! If they saw this, they would lose hope,” Ferrok snapped.

“They must be told of this scroll and the others as well,” Hok said. He knew the Guardians had not been told of the other scrolls, the ones that no Gentran could read.

“Others? You mean there are other scrolls like this one?” Brok asked, his temper rising.

“We don't know. They are not written in Gentran so we have no way of knowing what they say,” Ferrok answered.

Forka hovered away from the others. He was only distantly aware of the argument occurring.
I have failed them all.
He could not face them. It had been his duty to protect the Chosen of Earth and he had let Tess Golden die. He could see her face, dirty blonde hair in its accustomed disheveled braid, serious hazel eyes in her plain face.

He blinked and her face changed. Her eyes were glazed in death, face pasty and cold, the raw, red wound opening her throat from ear to ear.

“Forka, what say you?” Brok asked.

Forka turned to face his friend. There was no blame or anger in those calm, violet eyes, only compassion. And underneath that, a steely strength saying he would continue to fight, though things seemed doomed to fail.

I can do no less. We may yet prevail.
“I think the Chosen should be told. We cannot ask them to fight to protect all life and yet keep this knowledge from them. They may find a way to end the threat despite Tess' death.”

“Bah! We have interfered enough! What good can come of this?” Ferrok waved his arms disgustedly. “We should never have gotten involved.”

“It's a little late for regrets.” Druska's eyes tightened in anger.”
You
were the one who insisted on training the Guardians,
you
insisted on sending them early,
you
thought it best to have them in contact with the Chosen, to watch over them until they could be taken to the portals. We said back then this decision might be the wrong one. If Forka had not gone to Earth, he wouldn't have been forced to kill the family of the one who ultimately took his revenge….”

“It is possible Tess would have died whether Forka went to the planet or not. We cannot change the past so we need to focus on the future.” Briska came to Ferrok's defense. She had been his biggest supporter and firmly believed they had done the right thing.

“Guardians, go and retrieve your Chosen and bring them here. Masters, bring the other scrolls,” Ferrok said woodenly. Every fiber of his being screamed out that this was wrong, that they shouldn't tell the Chosen, that they should be kept in ignorant bliss.
They will know my failure. Perhaps Druska is right; we should never have tried to interfere.

G
ENTRA