Chosen (36 page)

The Chosen filed out of the scroll room and back up to the kitchens. The bright light from the glow rods was almost blinding. They blinked and tried to focus, bumping into one another in their effort to exit. The cooks did not pay them any mind. They were used to dodging the sightless Gentrans emerging from the dark depths.

Their eyes adjusted as they made their way back through the library. There were still a few acolytes and deacons about their duties, looking up scrolls for their studies, dragging arm loads of them to tables.

The Chosen swam back to their domicile in silence, each lost in his or her own thoughts, contemplating the future. Most were afraid, and a few just simply saw this as another duty to perform, another chance to fight. All planned on seeing the task through to whatever end, even if they did so reluctantly. The Chosen asked the various servants assigned to them to make sure to wake them at the very start of the new day before making their way to their rooms, yawning and mumbling good nights.

* * *

“You have
got
to come see this!” Jon Stone poked his head into the rooms along the hallway, shouting in excitement, trying to rouse his sleepy companions. “Hurry!”

The Chosen stretched and grumbled, grumpy at being awoken so early. They took their time in leaving their rooms and following Jon outside.

“What are they doing?” Martha asked. Her eyes widened, taking in the sight before her.

The five large Volgon Chosen were arranged in a line. They had broken off stalks of seaweed twice as thick as their arms and were slashing at the air, all five of them moving and flowing together as one.

Gerok swam up and joined the group of Chosen surrounding the Volgons. “It is called working the forms. Fighters need to keep their
skills sharp and their muscles toned and strong. They have not been able to perform their exercises since coming here and were agitated and restless.”

“It is like a dance. A complicated, beautiful dance,” Martha said.

Gerok nodded. He found himself wanting to join the Volgons, to feel the weight of the weapon in his hands, to feel his muscles bunch and protest the movements he forced upon them. He swam over to the largest stalk of seaweed and broke off the fronds until he had a length about two meters long. He swam out and joined the Volgons, taking up position at the end of the line. The others gave him a salute, welcoming their Premier. He blended in effortlessly, swinging his stalk, causing the water to ripple away from the intense movement.

Forka joined the group next, bringing a stalk of his own. He watched the others closely, trying to mirror their movements. One by one, the other Earth Chosen joined, feeling the pull of the warrior. It did not take long for them to mimic the forms.

Saemus and Jon joined next, feeling a little silly and foolish, and yet wanting to participate and perhaps learn skills that might come in handy in the upcoming battle. Kaelin, Keera, and Gwen glanced at one another, shrugged, and joined the others, feeling even more awkward than the boys did at handling the stalks.

The telepaths merely observed. They were not compelled to swing sticks about. They wished to make their way to the Library of the prophets to continue work on the scrolls and yet found themselves fascinated by the odd behavior of the other Chosen. The forms were mesmerizing, hypnotic.

A large crowd had begun to gather around the group. The Chosen from Earth and Volgon were teaching the Chosen from Astra how to block a strike and how to fight back. The movements were somewhat slow and exaggerated compared to how quickly they could move on land, but the Chosen from Astra were learning there was more to fighting than simply hacking away with a sharp sword.

“What is the meaning of this?” Master Ferrok shot toward the group. His face was red, and his normally bright green body was slashed through with an even deeper red.

Gerok spoke. “We were practicing fighting forms and stances—”

“I can see that! I want to know
why,
” Ferrok snapped.

Gerok's faced turned pink but he met Master Ferrok's violet eyes with his own. “My Chosen are from a world very different from this one. Circumstances on their world dictate the way they are. They are warriors, Master, fighters. It is for this reason fate chose them. They
must
hone their skills, else they will be useless to the fight against the Mekans. I too felt the need to take up the sword, or stalk, as it were.” He waved the stick he had been wielding.

“We do not allow this! You know our history. How am I to explain to our younglings the reasons for you and the others beating each other with stalks of seaweed?”

Gerok nodded. “I should have moved everyone inside.”

“I understand why you were practicing. However, it cannot continue out where any others can see you. If you all wish to practice fighting, you must do so inside.”

Gerok nodded. “Of course, Master. I apologize for my oversight.”
Have I been away so long? Am I more Volgon than Gentran?
Those thoughts troubled him as he made his way back to the group.

“We are sorry we got you in trouble,” Gwen said as Gerok swam up.

Gerok smiled at the tiny girl.
I wonder if she will be this small on all worlds?
“Pay no attention to me, little one. My thoughts took a sad turn for a bit. And no one is in ‘trouble’. Master Ferrok thinks it might be best to practice our more violent training inside.”

Gwen smiled up at Gerok. “I understand. It is probably very confusing and disturbing to see us all thrashing at each other with big sticks. We must look a sight!” She burst into laughter as she imagined what their antics must have looked like to an outsider.

Master Ferrok followed the Chosen as they made their way to their domicile. He was rehearsing what he was going to say to them with regards to the next steps in their training. He had spoken at length with the other Masters and the Guardians while the Chosen had been in the hidden scroll room. They had come to the reluctant conclusion to hasten the planned training. The Chosen would begin the excursions to each other's worlds, there to learn more about each other and begin to learn to trust one another and be willing to lay their lives on the line.

The sojourn to the domicile the Chosen were residing in was over all too quickly. The group filed into the large room and the Volgons began moving tables up against the walls, opening a large area, more than enough room for the swinging of stalk-swords. The work stopped when the Chosen noticed Master Ferrok in their midst.

“I will only take a moment of your time. I must tell you of the next phase of your training. The death of the Earth Chosen is forcing us to move quickly.” Ferrok glanced at the Earth Chosen called Sloan and saw him visibly wince before adopting his usual blank countenance.

Ferrok was not sure how he felt about Sloan. When he thought about the death of Tess Golden, he felt as if some great weight was smothering the life out of him. And this young Gentran floating before him was responsible for her death. His hand did not actually do the foul deed, but his need for revenge on Forka had set in motion the events bringing about Tess' death. And yet, it was hard to hate the young man. Witnessing the brutal murder of one's family would surely be enough to set anyone on the path of revenge. If Forka had not killed them….
Oh bother!
If
this and
if
that! If Forka hadn't killed them, if the family had only chosen somewhere else to set up camp….there is nothing to be done about it. What's done is done.

“The time has come for you to visit each other's home worlds. It is of the utmost importance to begin the process of bringing you closer, of forging the bonds of friendship and trust that can withstand the coming fight with the Mekans. Your fortitude, your strength, your beliefs, they will all be tested. The Chosen must stand together, fight together, and defend together. You will never be able to trust one another until you can fully understand one another. And for this, you must spend time on each other's worlds.”

There was a murmur of excitement from the Chosen as the full impact of the Master's words sunk in. They would be going home, at least eventually. They wondered aloud about the prospect of seeing parents, friends, comrades, and loved ones. Many were also eager to share their world with the strangers, to show them the wonder and beauty of their home land.

“Do we all go together?” Gwen asked. She was worried about the possible catastrophes that could befall such a large group who quite obviously did not belong. None would have clothing, and it would take time to acclimate. Not to mention the difficult in coming up with a suitable story about the presence of the strangers.

Master Ferrok smiled. “No, child. We will send the Volgons first to Astra and the Earthmen will go to Kromin. We will have to send one or two of the telepaths to Astra to help with communication. These excursions are not meant to be of any great length and there will not be much time to devote to learning the native language.

“What seems to be the trouble?” Ferrok frowned at an interruption occurring between the Astran known as Jon and his Guardian.

“Master Ferrok, I believe I can implant the ability to speak and understand all of our languages into all of us.” Jon swept his arm in a gesture encompassing the whole group.

“What you suggest is
madness
boy!” Brok growled. “You cannot possibly hold onto the dark power for that long and not experience its ill effects. I absolutely forbid it!”

Jon turned to his Guardian, face red, eyes tight in anger. “
You
forbid it? I do not believe you have the authority to forbid
me
to do anything! Because of me, we can now all speak Gentran. You precious
twins
would never have been able to accomplish the task in an acceptable amount of time.

“You keep speaking of our destiny, our
fate.
Did you never think that maybe my kidnapping and exposure to the dark magic was also fate? Perhaps I was meant to learn this forbidden magic, so I could use it! We must use all resources at our disposal if we are to win.” Jon's breath came fast as his anger threatened to overwhelm him. A small voice in his mind chided him for losing his temper but a louder voice kept saying he had every right to be angry at his Guardian for trying to rein in his immense strength.
I can accomplish what no one else in this room can. Why will he not allow me to use my gift for the good of the group?

Brok stared hard at his student.
Blast it! The boy is right.
Brok searched his thoughts and feelings, trying to make sense of the seeming contradiction. Brok shook his head.
Nothing I do can save him from his fate.
Brok sighed. “Very well. Do what you must. But Jon,”
Brok met his Chosen's eyes, pouring his feelings into the look. “Please come back to us. Do not lose yourself to the power.”

Jon nodded. “I will do my best.” He knew the reason for Master Brok's hesitation. Jon shuddered. His skin prickled in goose flesh at the anticipation of touching the dark magic again.
Perhaps Master Brok is right to be worried.

Jon gestured to the telepaths. “I need you to connect to the Chosen and access their language centers. The ability to speak and understand our native languages is still in our minds; we just have to find a way to access it and transfer that knowledge to all of the others. I remember when we were doing the Gentran transfer I sensed the Astran language center in my fellow Chosen. I think I may be able to locate the native language memories in the other races with your help.”

The telepaths agreed, intrigued by the prospect. They had never done anything like this before and were interested in finding out if what the young one proposed was possible.

Silence enveloped the room as Jon reached for the dark magic. He made sure to take mostly from the life forms outside. It felt
wrong
somehow to take from those in the room.
You have done so before. They were not even aware you took something from them.
Jon squashed the voice. He was determined to limit the damage of his use of the dark power as much as he was able.
I will not become a monster!

Jon felt the magic flood his being. The power was so sweet, so tempting. Holding the power felt amazing; using it was indescribable. He nodded to Kromin number 1. The telepath linked to all of the Chosen of Astra, Jon included. Jon smiled as he found what he was looking for. He nodded to number 1 again, signaling the telepath to now link to all of the Chosen from Earth. Jon sent his essence down one of the threads into one of the Earthmen and felt a rush of excitement.

He used his power to increase the number of threads connecting the Astrans and Earthmen. He began to sweat as he readied himself. He was fairly certain that he could transfer the knowledge of the languages between the two groups that were linked but he was not
completely
certain. There was a chance this area of the brain could be wiped clean.
I must not falter.

Jon took a deep breath, used his magic to copy the knowledge of the native language of Earth, and sent it across the threads into the brains of his fellow Chosen, then copied the Astran language and sent it across to the Earthmen.

None of them blinked or gave any indication anything had even been done.
How do I know if it worked?

Suddenly, Jon remembered the scrolls. “Master Ferrok, I have need of the scrolls that are written in our different languages.”

Master Ferrok sent one of the other Masters to retrieve the scrolls. The Chosen floated in silence until Druska's return.

He placed the first of the scrolls on a table and the Chosen gathered around.

“I can't read it.” Gwen shrugged.

“Neither can I,” Robert said.

“Try another one,” Jon said sharply. He was worried he had failed. His fists were clenched at his sides as he waited impatiently for Druska to roll the first scroll and get the second laid out across the table.

The Chosen from Astra and Earth began to read the scroll before Druska had finished placing the stones around to hold it down. Jon grinned as the others laughed and whooped and slapped him on the back.