Chosen (9781742844657)

The Elm Stone Saga: Chosen

Copyright © 2014 Shayla Morgansen

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

The information, views, opinions and visuals expressed in this publication are solely those of the author(s) and do not reflect those of the publisher. The publisher disclaims any liabilities or responsibilities whatsoever for any damages, libel or liabilities arising directly or indirectly from the contents of this publication.

A copy of this publication can be found in the National Library of Australia.

ISBN: 978-1-742844-65-7 (pbk.)

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Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Acknowledgements

The late autumn night was crisp and cool. A brisk wind sliced through the dying trees in the garden, relieving them of their burden of dead brown leaves. The darkness in the marbled courtyard was broken only by the soft, haunting candlelight glowing in the large ring of lanterns. Thirteen white-robed adult figures stood in a circle within this enchanted ring.

Tonight, in this Connecticut home's courtyard, the government of the magical world, the White Elm council, had been called to an emergency meeting by their leader, an old, white-haired man whom they, along with the rest of their world, called Lord Gawain. He stood as part of the circle, and wore a royal purple sash over his white robes, as did the middle-aged black woman to his right, and beyond her was a tall, attractive man wearing an emerald green sash.

‘Blessed be,' Lord Gawain began in his commanding voice. The twelve sorcerers responded, and a murmur of
Blessed be
resonated around the courtyard and into the surrounding gardens. ‘Firstly, our thanks to Susannah, who has provided us tonight with her beautiful yard as a venue for this last-minute conference.'

‘Never a problem, Lord Gawain,' a 40-something American sorceress replied with a smile. Her wavy brown hair was clipped back from her fresh, pleasant face and her manicured hands, although obviously freezing, were ungloved and open, relaxed at her sides.

‘As a sign of honesty and purity, all members of White Elm traditionally keep their faces and hands uncovered,' Lord Gawain said, beginning the meeting. Two of the twelve pairs of candle-bright eyes dropped from Lord Gawain's face and two pairs of hands quickly appeared from underneath robes, and he knew, but he continued as if he hadn't noticed. ‘This is one of many traditions we as a government have upheld for hundreds of years to ensure peace within the White Elm body.'

The council was silent. Lord Gawain continued.

‘I apologise for the surprise meeting, but, as always in history, the White Elm has dutifully responded to their leader's call, knowing that I would only break the cycle for a great emergency. I am grateful for your faith. Your loyalty to your leaders, your adherence to the council's ancient code and your purity of spirit prove to the world your worthiness of ruling the magical people. Few other councils would gather so quickly at their leader's bidding.'

A couple of sorcerers smiled at their leader's sentiment.

‘So, when you felt my call, where were you, Lady Miranda?' Lord Gawain asked his co-leader, the 55-year-old black sorceress to his right.

‘Finishing my shift at the hospital,' she answered smoothly, her British accent sharp.

‘Lisandro?'

The attractive man on Lady Miranda's right blinked through his long, loose black hair at his Lord's word.

‘With a woman,' he answered simply, in his New York accent. No one asked for details. 

‘Qasim?' Lord Gawain asked of the next man in the circle, the imposing Saudi.

‘Reading to my children,' Qasim answered.

The White Elm immediately continued answering in the order Lord Gawain had been questioning – highest ranked to lowest – and most answered with honesty. However, the massive African American Jackson cast his vision down for a tiny instant and blinked a few times too many.

‘Asleep,' he said. Lord Gawain felt the flicker of nervousness in the air, which accompanies a lie, and knew otherwise, but kept quiet. He needed to be sure of the others.

The stick-thin Russian woman next in the circle glanced oddly at Jackson, having felt the same flicker, before speaking.

‘Meditating,' she murmured honestly.

‘Asleep.' Tian still looked tired.

‘Reading the paper,' Peter said, too quickly.

He is the second puppet
, Lord Gawain thought.
Who is their master
?

Emmanuelle, a beautiful French sorceress, admitted to being on a date. She blushed a little, but she wasn't lying. The youngest, the handsome and mysterious Renatus, spoke last. 

‘I was scrying,' he said. His violet eyes flickered to Lord Gawain.

A few other members of White Elm shared subtle ominous looks. They didn't trust Renatus. But Lord Gawain understood the very young man's meaning. After all, it was on Renatus's advice that he had called this council.

Peter and Jackson are traitors, Master
, Renatus had said hours earlier, confirming Lord Gawain's already strong suspicions. Lady Miranda agreed. Now they only had to find the third traitor, the leader. But whoever it was had covered his or her lies so well that even Lord Gawain, Lady Miranda and Renatus couldn't work out who it was.

Lord Gawain had known for some time that a rival force was forming elsewhere. Rumours of black magic beyond that which the White Elm could imagine; whispers of a powerful leader no one could actually name. Similar little tales popped up every now and then, and usually died down, but these murmurings were persistent and becoming louder. Most disturbing was the realisation that this apparent rival group (if it existed) was said to be led by a member of White Elm.

‘Three of you are lying,' Lord Gawain said after a minute of absolute silence. Two sparks of nervousness flickered briefly in the circle.
Who is the third
? ‘There can be no lies in this council. Peter, Jackson, why are you lying?'

‘I'm not,' they both lied at once.

‘Where were you both before this council was called?' Lady Miranda barked, startling them both.

‘Sleeping,' Jackson answered, keeping his eyes firmly focussed on Lady Miranda's face.
Clever
. He didn't want to give in to instinct and glance at his leader.

‘Sleeping,' Peter agreed. The circle was silent.

‘You said before you were reading a newspaper,' Emmanuelle said softly, staring at Peter. The young Scotsman met her eyes fearfully. They were friends – they had bonded when they had been admitted into the council at the same time. Now it seemed that bond – and Emmanuelle's trust – was crumbling.

‘I'm sorry, Em,' Peter whispered.

‘Why would you lie?' she asked. The others watched. ‘You know our oaths – we may never lie here. You wouldn't break those oaths, Peter. You wouldn't.'

‘But he has,' Lord Gawain reminded Emmanuelle. He turned back to Peter. ‘That's not the only oath he's broken, either, is it?'

Peter stared back at him for a long moment, like a deer caught in headlights.

‘Peter?' Emmanuelle prompted. Her voice broke his frightened paralysis.

‘No,' he said shakily.

‘What have you done?'

‘I-'

‘Peter.' Jackson's warning tone had more than a hint of menace, and even though Lord Gawain was quite sure that Jackson wasn't capable of instigating this situation, it was clear to him how the hierarchy worked. Peter was at the bottom, just along for the ride – and he knew why.

‘Peter, you know I have to ask for it back,' Lord Gawain said to the youngest traitor. Peter's mouth tightened and his hand clenched. ‘It needs to change hands.'

‘Peter, don't be weak,' Jackson spoke up. ‘You knew this day was coming. You told us so.'

Us.
Proof that there
was
at least one more, although Lord Gawain had been near-certain already.

‘Seeing a future event and living it are quite different,' Peter threw back. He chanced a look sideways at Emmanuelle. ‘Living it, it doesn't feel like I thought it would.'

‘You mean getting us both caught out isn't the thrill you thought it would be?' Jackson asked snidely. ‘Maybe if you weren't such a crappy liar. There are no points for honesty now, matey. Ship's sailed.'

‘Jackson, I think it's time you stopped talking,' Susannah snapped. ‘What have you both done?'

‘They have broken sacred oaths to this council by lying, and further by devoting themselves to a second power – a rival,' Lord Gawain said, not allowing his sadness into his voice. ‘Is this true?'

‘I…It's…' Peter stammered, looking desperately to Jackson, but the older American didn't seem to care.

‘Yeah, alright, it's true,' he said, laughing suddenly as though surprising himself. He'd always been odd, the sort of character who laughs at all the wrong moments, and some kind of head injury seven or eight years ago had exacerbated his unbecoming traits. Luckily for him, this had roughly coincided with the council's discovery of Renatus, and in their collective efforts to dislike him even more, the councillors had seemed to readily accept the damaged Jackson. Their narrow-sighted mistake, obviously. Now they shook their heads and stared in disbelief, disgust and shock as Jackson laughed again, louder, and continued.

‘It's true! We've lied, cheated, sold secrets, all the things we promised not to do. And? So what? We're finished with you. We're leaving this sorry council. We've found a higher calling; our values and ideals just don't fit in here. The White Elm is outdated and ridiculous. Your time is up.'

Jackson, still laughing, pulled his wand from his robes. Immediately, eleven wands were pointed at him.

‘Drop it,' Anouk warned as she backed away from him.

‘Drop it,' Jackson mocked. He took a step towards her, in the process of casting a strong stunning spell at the Russian, but Fate intervened: his toe caught on an uneven tile in Susannah's paved courtyard and he stumbled, looking down for just an instant. Anouk took that instant to deflect his spell straight back at him, knocking him to the ground without a fight.