The Chosen (The Compendium of Raath, Book 1) (19 page)

“I won't,” Otom promised.

And just like that he was back out the
door.

His legs quaked as he picked up his pile of
rations from behind the shed. He had to piss with a vengeance, but
didn't feel he could afford the time.

He trudged back up the gentle slope to the
treehouse, forcing his legs to work. All in all he had probably
been gone no longer than ten minutes, but when he got back he felt
something was wrong. Then he heard a shout that confirmed his
feelings.

“I know you're up there, you bitch!” Ris
shouted. “Come down or I'm comin' up!”

T
he tall man stood at the base of the large tree, craning his
neck up and panting. He looked even worse for wear than Allura had,
except that he, unlike her, seemed to be able to stay on his feet
despite it. His hands were definitely in the early stages of
frostbite and he flexed them and winced as he stood
there.

Ris sniffed and paced a bit more. Otom
hadn't been noticed yet, and that was probably a good thing, but he
knew he had to do something.

“I can't believe this,” Ris shouted up at
the treehouse. “You slut!”

While Otom was debating
whether or not to sneak away and get help – from
whom
he wasn't exactly
sure - Ris turned and saw him. The man's eyes had a deranged look
to them. They were both bloodshot and they seemed to point off in
slightly odd directions.

Otom held up his hands. “I don't want
trouble,” he said. “Just leave this place and no one will get
hurt.”

Ris said nothing, but flew at Otom, snow
spraying up in his wake. His hand grappled Otom's wrist with a
surprisingly strong grip, but the rest of his attack wasn't
particularly impressive. He fought less like a man and more like a
raving animal. Otom's clothes were too bulky to offer him much room
to move and so Ris had a vast mobility advantage despite his
debilitated condition.

Otom crouched low, the squalling Ris on top
of him. Otom tried to hurl his attacker off of him but it was no
use. As he pushed with all his might he felt his leg muscles give
way and suddenly he was face first in the snow, struggling for
breath.

Something hard and painful – possibly an
elbow or maybe even Ris's skull – slammed into his back repeatedly.
Otom tried to shout, but his voice was muffled by the snow. The
blows continued to fall on top of him, sending his back into a
spasm of pain. His vision crawled with black specks and he could no
longer draw breath.

And suddenly everything was quiet.

Otom shrugged Ris off his back and stood up
in disbelief. Ris tumbled onto his side, an arrow protruding from
his back, his blood running into the snow.

Otom looked up at the treehouse just in time
to see Allura slump back from the window. He stumbled over and
began to climb.

“Fuck,” he said to himself. “Fuck. Fuck.
Fuck.”

Hand over hand he went up, forcing the rest
of his strength into the task.

As he crested the floor he saw Allura passed
out by the window, bow in hand. She had crawled out of her warm
little nest, the elements now able to ravage her again. It was
possible that she had cracked her head as she fell back from the
window, or maybe she had just passed out again. Otom scrambled over
to her and pushed her hair back from her face. No new injuries, at
least for now. It took him a few moments to get her comfortable and
covered up again.

Her skin was very blue.

Otom sat panting heavily in the treehouse,
trying to think straight.

Bury the body. No one has
to know.

He was dizzy and weak. He guzzled some of
his water and then he tried pouring some down Allura's throat. She
choked a little, but he thought enough went down.

Otom put his hand on the floor and pushed
himself up only to stumble and have to try a second time. As he
wearily trudged down the handholds on the trunk he still only had
the vaguest of ideas of what to do. He supposed it was the fault of
his weary mind.

Simply go to his house, grab a shovel, and
then bury the . . .

Ris was gone.

Otom followed the trail of blood that Ris
had left all the way to his parents' house.

He opened the door in an exhausted rush and
fell to the floor when he saw what was inside.

T
he knife Otom had gotten from the soldier's corpse was
reasonably well-preserved. Not much rust on it. The blade flashed
silver as Otom cut lightly across his fingertip. He squeezed three
times and three drops of blood hissed into the Fire in front of
him.

One for his ma.

One for his da.

One, even, for Ris.

Ris had pulled the arrow from himself and
driven it through Otom's ma's eye. He had simply strangled Otom's
da, wounded as the old man had been. Then Ris had bled to death on
the floor. Otom squeezed his fingertip once more.

A drop of blood fell into the Fire for
Allura Finny.

D
omma went to call on Metta in the dead of night. There were
no eyes at this late hour. The Sunburst Clerics had been done with
their day for a long time now. Domma knocked on Metta's door and
the blond girl answered.
Too quickly for
her to have been sleeping.

“Domma, it's late,” Metta said. The girl's
hair was unbound, long and flowing, gorgeous in the
candlelight.

“I know it's late,” Domma said. The candle
she held made just enough light to see by, illuminating Metta's
face in an eerie glow. “I need advice.”

Metta raised her eyebrows. “From me?”

“Yes. Can I come in?”

“Of course, Cleric.”

Domma entered Metta's small room and pulled
the door shut behind her.

“I was just up reading The Book anyway,”
Metta said. “It's supposed to relax me but sometimes it doesn't. Do
you know what I mean?”

“I do.”

“Haunting images. The Coraline Beast
descending from the sky during the apocalypse. Men with the bodies
of animals, slavering and gnashing their teeth and eating their
young.”

“I find it best to stay away from the
Carnage parables at night,” Domma said, setting her candle on the
nightstand. The flame wavered. “Those passages don't tend to be
jovial.”

“You're probably right. But I'm drawn to
them.”

“You're young yet, and relatively new to the
order,” Domma said. “I remember the thrill of such things.” She
did, almost. “The reason I'm here, well . . . the reason the Warden
came to ask after me was . . . there was a murder at his
hospital.”

“How awful,” Metta said.

“And . . . I think the work was done by a
Foglin.”

Metta paled, tears coming to her eyes. Domma
was taken aback by Metta's reaction. The news was disturbing, yes,
but it certainly shouldn't have had such a strong effect. She
feared what she had stumbled into.

“A Foglin this far north?” Metta asked, her
voice strained.

“Yes,” Domma said carefully. “I know you
were researching them when you first came here. That's the reason I
came to you. I wanted some insight if possible.”

Metta shook her head. “My advice is very
simple,” she said. “Run from this situation as if your life
depended on it. I . . . lost my father and brother to the Foglins,
Domma.”

“Oh, Metta, I'm so sorry,”
Domma said.
I should have Delved her
first!
“I didn't know. I-”

“It's alright,” the girl
said, wiping at her tears. “I didn't tell anyone
why
I wanted to know
about the creatures. My father and brother were two of the
strongest fighters I have ever known. Might have made the
Kingsguard someday. The Foglins tore through them like they were
made of paper.” Her eyes looked haunted in the dark
room.

“I really don't want to ask you any more
questions about this,” Domma said. “I don't want you to relive it.
I had no idea, and I'm sorry. But . . . if something serious is
happening – if the Foglins have somehow made it to the north, even
one – then I need resources.”

“You should inform King Maxton,” Metta
suggested. “Petitions are easy enough to get. I could go with you.
Anything.”

“I don't know. I don't really have any solid
information to go on. I can't prove anything. My suspicions are
based solely on my Delving of Ormon's corpse.”

“You Delved a
corpse
?” Metta had
probably never thought of doing such a thing.

“Yes,” Domma replied. “His brain wasn't
quite dead yet. Very close to dead, yes, but I could still get into
it and search. Death makes a mind go stagnant.”

Metta made a disgusted face. “That's
gross.”

“It was unpleasant.”

Metta pushed a lock of her hair back over
her ear. “Listen, Domma. I gave up my search for answers when I
couldn't handle how it haunted me. There are only two places I can
think of that might have the answers you seek. You could go talk to
the Vaporgaardians themselves. I don't think that's probably good
idea as you'd have a long journey to the south. The other place is
the Bibliofero. I wasn't able to tease much from it, but I can
write down some titles to look for if I remember rightly. They are
obscure and probably will have been reshelved in the Depths.” Metta
opened the drawer of her nightstand, took out a small piece of
paper, and began scribbling on it with charcoal.

While Metta wrote Domma thought.

Bringing up the other topic that was on her
mind was getting harder by the second. If she didn't breech it
quickly she would lose her nerve and end up back in her bed lying
awake. “I am also having trouble with a man,” Domma said through
gritted teeth.

Metta stopped scribbling and looked up at
Domma. “Someone is harassing you, sister?”

“No,” Domma said, trying to give Metta a
look so that she wouldn't have to explain further.

“Love,” Metta said, nodding.

“Urges at least. There is a man who I can't
trust myself near, that is for certain.”

Metta was silent for a long time. She stood
and paced back and forth, fidgeting with a corner of her nightgown.
“I know what you are doing,” she said.

Domma squinted in the light. The girl's eyes
were watering again. “What am I doing?” Domma asked.

“You're testing me. They sent you to test
me.”

“No, Metta, honestly I-”

“Well it's all true,” the girl wailed
quietly.

“What's true?”

“I have a lover.”

Domma's eyes opened wide. “Metta!”

“I know by telling you, you could expel me,”
she cried. “I know by not telling you I am a liar like Gustus. I'm
no better than him.” Still she paced. “I am young. I am so young. I
don't belong here except for the fact that I'm a Devotee. Will I
lose my magic over this?” She was weeping again.

“You and I both know that's impossible. Or,
at least, unheard of. God granted you your powers and he won't take
them away just because of some dalliance. And this wasn't a test,
anyway!”

Metta looked at Domma, her eyes changing
from miserable to hopeful. “You're serious about this yourself,
aren't you?”

“I am,” Domma replied.

“Oh, God, but yours isn't full blown like
mine is,” Metta moaned, throwing herself flat on the bed.

“Who is it, Metta?”

Metta moved closer to Domma until they both
sat in the tiny warmth of the candle flame. “His name is Tristo. He
works in a district hospital.”

Domma's heart jumped. “Are you Delving me?”
she asked, pulling back slightly.

“No!” Metta said. “Honest! Why?”

“The man I love-” Domma shook her head. “The
man I am having trouble with works in a district hospital,
too.”

“There's something about them isn't there?”
Metta asked.

“It would seem so. Metta, you know what I am
going to tell you about your affair.”

“And you know what I am going to tell you
about your feelings. You weren't looking for disapproval. You were
looking for approval from someone young and not as ingrained. Well
. . . I think you've found it.”

She's wise beyond her
years.

“Metta, I . . . I don't know why I am the
way I am. But I promise I will keep your secret if you keep mine.
Even so, I think we both need to pray on this. And you know what
you are supposed to do, deep down, as do I. You should end your
affair or relinquish your robe and all that you stand for as a
Sunburst.”

The girl sighed. “We almost
always know what we
should
do.”

Domma smiled and kissed Metta's forehead.
“You know where I am if you need to talk further.” She took the
candle and stood up, heading towards the door.

“I wish I could have Delved them,” Metta
said.

“Hm?” Domma asked, turning around.

“My father and brother. After they died.
From where I was hiding. I wish I could have Delved them to find
out . . . to find out if they blamed me for their deaths because I
hid.”

“I am sure they did not blame you.”

Metta sighed.

“You must try to sleep, Metta. I am sorry to
have put you through this. I honestly didn't intend for this to be
so . . . traumatic. But I think this has worked out for the best
for both of us.”

“Maybe,” the girl said. “My answers may be
somewhere in The Book. Perhaps I am drawn to the stories in Carnage
because they have something to tell me.”

“Yes,” Domma said. “It may be so. If you'd
like, you can help me write this week's Sermon. We could do one on
Carnage. Not often brought up, but perhaps the time is right.”