Forsaken: The Chosen Trilogy - Book One

Chapter Thirteen

Cattakasha - an addictive drug that dulls the senses and numbs the mind

BRANNYN

13 Llares 577A.F.

I cursed the rain as I trudged through it, wet and miserable and half-blind as icy droplets dripped from my hair into my eyes. Kryssa was still as death, and my arms trembled and burned from her weight, my hands warm with her blood. I focused on putting one foot in front of the other as I stumbled along the muddy road, my face and feet growing cold and numb, the night black and unfriendly around us.

I could not forget that awful moment when Reyce had shoved me from his path, unnaturally strong, his face emotionless as he had walked into the great room and plunged the dagger into our father's back. Father had screamed and fallen to the floor, trying to crawl away, though Lanya said that the blade had pierced his lung. Reyce had watched, apathetic, until our father had at last collapsed, and then turned his gaze on me.

His eyes had been completely black.

There was nothing human in them. All the color had been drained from them, consumed by that terrible darkness. The smell of charred earth had surrounded me, and I had recoiled, my stark terror bursting through my hands in blue flames and setting the house to blazing around us.

Bright white light touched my mind, the pain of it piercing through my thoughts and bringing me back to the moment. I glanced at Reyce, nearly shuddering with relief to find his eyes normal once more.

Our father is dead, Brannyn. Our concern now must remain only for the living.

I shook my head, pushing him out of it, and kept walking.

The Crone's house loomed before us at last, the windows lit from within like malevolent eyes. Lanya hurried ahead of us to knock, so that the rest of us arrived as the door opened.

I had always hated the Crone. She frightened me when I was small, her skin sallow and sunken so that her face resembled a death's-head, except for the gleaming black of her eyes, which reminded me of shiny black beetles.

But the nightmares she had given me as a child were nothing compared to the one she had forced us to live with for the last eight years. I glared as she gazed at us, her face expressionless.

"Do you have payment?" she asked at last.

"Kryssa's hurt," Lanya pleaded. "You have to help her."

The Crone's lips thinned. "I help no one without payment."

I stepped forward, fury bubbling dangerously through my veins. "How about your life?" I asked, in what I thought to be a reasonable tone. Malice scraped at my bones. "You save our sister, and maybe I won't kill you for all the damage you've caused."

The Crone blanched, her calm shattered by my rage, and I shouldered past her into her house, the others crowding in behind me. She stared after us, remaining in the doorway, hesitant and muttering to herself.

The table in the great room was completely covered in the detritus of the woman's trade: bottles of all sizes, jars of powders and ointments, scraps of parchment, dried herbs and insects and things I didn't even want to begin to guess the nature of. Alyxen, sensing my intention, cleared the surface of it with a sweep of his arm, sending the objects flying, many of them shattering as they hit the floor.

The Crone jerked, wanting to protest but clearly afraid.

I laid Kryssa on her stomach upon the questionably clean surface, grimacing as I peeled my hand from her wounds. Her back looked even worse in the lurid light of the Crone's fireplace, blood caked to her shirt, which hung from her in ragged strips. Even in sleep, which normally severed our connection, I could still feel her pain, beating against me like a fist.

"Where- where is Malachi?" the Crone managed finally.

I glanced at her. "He's dead."

"Dead?" Her voice dropped to a whisper, as if she didn't understand. "He's dead?"

"Yes."

"H- how?"

"We killed him." My voice was flat.

She stared at me blankly. "Why?"

"Why? Why?" I took two strides and grabbed the old woman by the neck, forcing her to look at my sister. "Why the hell do you think? You've fed him those damn potions for years until there was nothing left! He nearly killed Kryssa tonight, and for what?" I shook her, then shoved her toward the table, disgusted. "If you still want your damn payment, you're welcome to try to get it from him, but we've already paid enough for what you've done."

She stood still for a moment, staring down at Kryssa's injuries, and then her head bowed in defeat. "You'll have to cut the shirt from her."

Lanya knelt, and picked up a long, slim knife from the debris littering the floor, using her skirts to clean it before beginning the task.

The Crone's expression grew pained as she saw the extent of the damage. "Did Malachi truly do this?"

"Of course he did," Kylee snapped, speaking for the first time since we had left the farm. She still held Reyce's kitten, Bandit, in her hands. "Who else but a monster would have done something like this?"

"He's your father," she protested weakly. "You shouldn't speak of him that way."

"I'll speak of him however I wish." Her chin jerked up, defiant. "And he wasn't our father. He hasn't been since our mother died."

"You needed him. You were just children."

"We haven't been children since Janis died," Alyxen corrected her.

Her shoulders slumped, as if weighed down by the hard stares aimed at her. "I was trying to help you. I thought he would at least be able to keep you all fed."

"You should have just let him die," Reyce said quietly. "It would have been better."

I sat in a chair beside the table, listening to the others and trying to bottle my own hatred, watching as Lanya gently cut the shirt from Kryssa's back. Whatever the Crone had done, I promised myself I would forgive her if she only saved my sister.

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[Author's Note: "Brannyn Carrying Kryssa" by Alon J. Rand of Dragonwing Graphics]