Shattered Destiny (9 page)

Brok felt a swelling of pride at Gwen's words. The girl spoke with wisdom far beyond her years.

The rest of the evening passed in awkward silence. Kyron refused to talk to anyone and sat alone, staring into the fire. Keera would not speak to any of the Volgons, and she too sat in sulky silence. Kaelin was re-braiding Seelyr and Moylir's long brown hair, but none of the women were in the mood for small talk. The incident at dinner had left them all with doubts and mixed feelings about each other.

Brok and Gerok sat outside, each smoking a pipe, gazing at the majestic twin moons hanging in the night sky. Glow bugs flitted here and there, tiny points of dancing light. Crickets filled the cool night with their song. Neither one wanted to be the first to break the silence that hung between them.

Gerok finally cleared his throat. “I apologize for the actions of
Kyron. I did not realize how deep-seated this loathing was.”

“There is no need to apologize, old friend. Our Chosen are very different, and they must accept their differences and find a way to work together,” Brok said as he blew a smoke ring.

“The actions of my Chosen cause little Gwen so much pain. It makes me feel guilty, as if I have somehow failed in training them properly.”

Brok snorted. “I do not think any extra training on your part could have prepared them for this. And how could you have known?”

Gerok chuckled. “That girl has amazing strength. And I don't just mean in this magic power your Chosen possess.”

“She does indeed. That is one of her gifts.”

Gerok sighed. “I only hope that Kyron will come to his senses and at least pretend that he doesn't mind her frail physical form. Otherwise, this is going to be a miserable journey.”

“I am sure things will work out. Fate has chosen her crew wisely. She does not make mistakes,” Brok said.

“Except in allowing one of the Chosen to be killed prematurely.” Gerok could not imagine the terrible loss that Forka must be feeling. And the guilt that must gnaw at him.

I'm glad all of my Chosen are still alive.

Brok frowned. “I have been thinking about that. Fate chose the players, but I'm not sure this meant they would be protected from all harm. The prophecies never alluded to the Chosen being invincible. Only that they were supposed to fight the Mekan threat. Or it is possible that the death of the Earth Chosen was supposed to happen? Bah!” Brok tapped out his pipe. “It is impossible to determine if her death was preordained or just a terrible accident. But either way, this changes nothing about what we must do.”

“Agreed.”

Both men stood and enjoyed a long stretch before heading back into the abandoned farm house. The Chosen had already situated themselves around the hearth and were settling down for bed.

“We leave at first light. We will reach Oak Brook tomorrow,” Brok said.

ASTRA

THE CHOSEN AND THEIR GUARDIANS
made their way to the village of Heart Stone. They had found Oak Brook abandoned, silent as a tomb. There was no sign of fighting and no sign of anyone dead. Farm animals wandered about the village green, munching contentedly on the now short-cropped grass.

Brok had been unable to stop Keera from rushing to her family's home, tears of worry and fear falling down her freckled cheeks. Gwen had followed as quickly as her stunted legs could carry her. She'd wanted to be there for her friend if Keera found something horrid waiting for her inside her home.

But there was nothing except a thick layer of dust.

The Volgons found more tracks that led in the direction of the Shadow Mountains. Against his better judgment, Brok agreed to travel to Heart Stone in the hopes that there would be more clues, or better yet, actual people to tell him what in the seven hells was going on.

The group spent a restless night in the abandoned village and set out early the next day for Heart Stone. When they drew near, Brok signaled for everyone to stop where they were. He moved ahead of the group and stood silent and still, senses reaching out for any signs
of life.

He found none.

He gestured to Gerok, who trotted silently to Brok's side. His eyes roamed the countryside, alert for movement or the slightest sound that would indicate that there was someone, or something, moving about.

“I wish to get a look at the village before allowing the Chosen to come further. I can't put my finger on it, but something is very wrong,” Brok said, bushy white brows furrowed in worry.

Gerok nodded. He had also been aware of a feeling, a sensation that tickled at the back of his neck, as if a voice were whispering just out of range of hearing.

The two men made their way through the tall grasses and stands of cottonwoods and aspens, stopping every few moments to gaze at their surroundings, alert to danger. The impending feeling of doom got stronger as the two men got closer to Heart Stone. Brok let his senses fan out and hissed in fear.

“What's out there?” Gerok tried to keep his voice steady. The golden sunlight dancing through the leaves of the trees hid terrible danger. Even though he could not see it, he knew it was there.
Brok senses something.

“Powerful magic. I almost overlooked it. It's subtle, woven through the fabric of the natural world around us.” Brok's instincts were telling him to run.

Suddenly, the forest came alive with the snarls and screams of men, rendered invisible by the powerful magic Brok had sensed. Without thinking, Brok erected a shield and grabbed Gerok's arm, dragging him back to where they had left the Chosen. A man with his cheeks tattooed with symbols of some sort jumped in front of them. Brok flung Gerok to the side and threw a fireball with his other hand. He ducked as he sensed, rather than saw, the foe swinging a sword at his head.

Brok spun and hurled a fist of air that took the second man in the gut. He quickly used his power to stop the man's heart in his chest. His gut twisted as he heard the shouts and bellows of the Chosen, who had come bursting into the fray.

Brok tried to keep an eye on his Chosen and the enemy at the
same time. Every time he spotted a man with tattooed cheeks, he blasted him with a fireball or sent him reeling with carefully manipulated waves of air.

Gerok dispatched men with several blades he had secreted in his clothing. His aim was deadly, and no man rose from where he fell.
Even dull blades can kill.
Gerok used hand signals to communicate with his Chosen, alerting them to seal up holes in the perimeter and to keep an eye on the Astran Chosen.

Keera's heart raced as she stood, circling helplessly and watching men falling to her right and left, blood gushing from their wounds as they groaned and screamed in pain.

“Remember what we taught you! Accept the fear!” Seelyr yelled as she ran at another man who was twice her size. The Volgon woman smiled wolfishly as she leaped over the stunned man, her knife driving down at the back of his neck as she flipped head over heels. She landed gracefully on her feet in a low crouch, her eyes alight with malicious glee. She reached out, yanked the knife from the man's ruined neck, and saluted Keera with the crimson-stained blade.

Keera turned quickly at the sound of a man's voice and found herself face-to-face with a man with black tattoos covering his face. Acting on instinct, she called upon the power, and a tree root encircled the man's feet. The man fell to the side.

Out of nowhere, Gwen came running up to the fallen man and jabbed him in the neck with a knife. The dwarf girl screamed incoherently as the man's warm blood flowed over her hand. Gwen looked to Keera.

Keera was frightened by what she saw in her friend's eyes.
She looks like Seelyr did when she killed that other man.
Keera gulped.

Gwen used her power and sent a fireball whizzing past Keera's head to take a large man in the center of the chest. The man let out a blood curdling scream as he flailed about, trying to run from the fire that engulfed him.

Keera had to fight a wave of nausea when she got a whiff of the burning man. She turned and ran away from the heat and the stench of cooking flesh.

Jon panted, his body weakening from his use of his own magic.
If I used the dark magic, I could keep fighting!
He looked around, and when he didn't see Master Brok close by, he took a deep breath and opened himself to the life force from the living things around him. Jon stood in the middle of the melee, his body quivering with the dark power he held.
Let's see them stop me now.
He used the magic to formulate a sword made out of air, yet as sharp as any made of steel. The men who stood against his invisible blade fell, unable to fight an unseen weapon.

Feeror and Voilor fought with their knives against men with swords. The two men did not have the reach of the enemy, and both were covered in many deep cuts. Feeror snarled and let an enemy combatant get close, close enough to smell the sweat drenching the other man. Feeror spun, sweeping his enemie's legs out from under him. In a heartbeat, the Volgon male was grappling with the man, each one screaming curses at the other, breath coming in gasps. Both were tiring quickly. Feeror got the man on his stomach and pulled his sword arm back and upward until he heard the shoulder separate. Once the man stopped fighting, Feeror wrapped his hands around the man's head and gave a sharp jerk, snapping his neck.

Saemus and Kaelin stood hand in hand, aiming fireballs at the enemy.
Who are these men? Where did they come from?
Questions filled Saemus’ head, but he had no time to consider them as more and more men came running from the direction of Heart Stone.

“I want the boy and the old man alive, you idiots! Kill the others, but leave those two unharmed!” Fa’ Vel's voice pierced the cacophony that filled the air.

Brok growled low in his throat as he made his way toward where the voice had come from.
Capture me? We'll see about that!
Brok dispatched another man who had come at him wielding a wicked-looking scimitar. The smoke from the various fires burned his eyes and made them water. The smoke was thick and heavy, swirling among the trees and obscuring his vision. He tried to hold the coughs inside, unwilling to give away his position.

Suddenly, Brok found himself alone. He heard a low laugh, and his skin crawled over his bones. He whirled, trying to pinpoint the source of the laugh, but all he could see was smoke.

He was hit from behind, and he went down hard, the breath
leaving his chest in a whoosh. His mouth was full of dirt and leaves. He struggled to push himself to his feet but was terrified to find that his body would not obey his commands. Rough hands grabbed his head and yanked back so hard that Brok feared his neck would snap. A gag was forced into his mouth, and a strip of cloth was tied roughly around his head. Several pairs of hands jerked him to his feet, and a burlap sack was thrust over his head.

“Now get the boy, and be quick about it! I will meet you in Faerow.” Fa’ Vel's voice said to Brok's right. Brok stood, shaking, trying to gather his thoughts.
He's after Jon!
Though Fa’ Vel had only said “the boy,” Brok had no doubts as to who he was after. He tried to access his power but couldn't. Soon his attempts became frantic as he realized that he had somehow been closed off from his power.

“You can't touch your magic. You may as well stop trying.”

Brok could hear the dark magician moving around him.

“Before you are burned at the stake, you will tell me who you are, where you come from, and what your plans are for this world,” Fa’ Vel purred.

Brok shook his head, but a sharp blow from Fa’ Vel sent him to the ground again.

“Do not presume to lie to me, old man. I
saw
you! I saw you and those others disappear into the rock. I know that you and those like you are responsible for the moon rings and the strange readings from the seers. I will know the why of it.” Fa’ Vel's hand grabbed Brok's hair and forced the Mystic's head back so that he could look down on Brok's terrified face. “Let's go,” the man ordered.

As Brok was dragged away, he sent up a prayer to the good spirits that Gerok would keep the Chosen safe.

*   *   *

Gwen used her power to hurl a man off Feeror, who turned and gave the dwarf girl a small salute before whirling to find another foe to fight.

“Jon!” Gwen ran for the boy she adored when she saw him
surrounded by a half-dozen armed men. She stopped when he smiled mockingly and raised his hand nonchalantly. The men's faces went white, and they clutched their chests, slowly sinking to the ground, twitching.

Gwen cried out and put her hands over her mouth, fighting the bile that burned her throat.
He killed six people with that evil magic.
She looked around at the dead and dying, wondering why what Jon had done bothered her more than Feeror or Voilor hacking at the enemy with knives.

She caught Jon's eyes and tried not to flinch at their inky blackness. His face was filled with ecstasy, his mouth parted, eyes half-closed. She forced herself to look at the boy…no the
man
…she thought she loved.
If I love him, I must love all of him.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him slump, the typical reaction of Jon letting go of the dark power. He raised his eyes, now blue, and saw Gwen. He smiled wanly and looked about.