The chosen, p.1
The Chosen, page 1
part #1 of Children of the Prime Series Series
The Chosen
Children of the Prime, Book 1
T. C. Edge
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Afterword
Also by T. C. Edge
This book is a work of fiction. Any names, places, events, and incidents that occur are entirely a result of the author's imagination and any resemblance to real people, events, and places is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2018 T. C. Edge
All right reserved.
First edition: July 2018
Cover Design by Laercio Messias
No part of this book may be scanned, reproduced, or distributed in any printed or electronic form.
BY THE AUTHOR:
THE ENHANCED SERIES (MAIN SERIES):
The Enhanced (Book One)
Hybrid (Book Two)
Nameless (Book Three)
Assassin (Book Four)
Captive (Book Five)
Renegade (Book Six)
Invader (Book Seven)
Avenger (Book Eight)
Defender (Book Nine)
Nemesis (Book Ten)
Sequel (to main Enhanced series, and Warrior Race series):
The Enhanced: Awakening
THE WARRIOR RACE SERIES (ENHANCED UNIVERSE):
The Warrior Race (Book One)
The Red Warrior (Book Two)
Angel of War (Book Three)
OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR:
THE WATCHERS SERIES:
The Watchers Trilogy:
The Watchers of Eden (Book One)
City of Stone (Book Two)
War at the Wall (Book Three)
The Watchers Trilogy Box Set
The Seekers Trilogy
The Watcher Wars (Book One)
The Seekers of Knight (Book Two)
The Endless Knight
The Seekers Trilogy Box Set
THE PHANTOM CHRONICLES:
The Last Phantom (Book 1)
Phantom Hunter (Book 2)
Phantom Legacy (Book 3)
Phantom Unleashed (Book 4)
1
I've always hated collection day.
The pomp and ceremony. The bowing and fawning. The subservience shown by the townsfolk in our little community at the edge of the Fringe.
It's like this across the entire region, I guess, and few share the same opinion as me. Perhaps that's why I hate it all so much - to be left out, to think so differently from my friends and neighbours. There's something lonely about that. At times I wish I could just give in and accept that this is how life is meant to be.
Right now, the people are gathering in our town of Pine Lake, one of the largest across this western edge of the Fringe, and so named because of the beautiful pinewood forests and turquoise lakes that sprinkle the area. With midday swiftly approaching, the place is bustling with an excitement that accompanies this day each month, the people assembling from their homes and outlying hamlets with tributes and offerings in tow.
Annoyingly, it's always been down to me to bring along the offerings from our household. It's as if my parents think that forcing me to endure this monthly spectacle will make me change my mind, even though they rarely attend themselves these days.
At my side stands a girl three years my junior, her eager eyes staring up towards the sloping plains to the north of town, the sun-bleached grasses shimmering with a warm yellow radiance. She's about half a foot shorter than me, and her eyes aren't quite so golden, but beyond that - and the age gap - we could quite easily be mistaken for twins. I suspect that once she catches me up in height, people will find it hard telling us apart.
Well, at least in visual terms, that is.
Lilly may look just like me, all golden hair and eyes, tanned skin and slender build, but that's about where the similarities end. Unlike me, she fits in like a glove around here, and you'd be hard-pressed to find anyone of her age more devout and devoted to our self-proclaimed rulers in the north.
I love her to bits, of course, but I do wish I had a little sister who wasn't quite so brainwashed. Then again, I could say the same about mother and father, as well as just about everyone else I know. Those who go against the grain of common thought are few and far between, and tend to do little more than grumble privately about their lot in life; one of servitude and devotion to a people who - as I see it - give us little in return.
A smile begins to simmer on my face as I see one such grumbler now, coming our way from the pinewood forest to the west of town. He is the archetype of tall, dark, and handsome, a combination that has brought with it a roguish charm and easy smile that tends to draw a range of expressions as he passes through the gathering throng.
Some of the more colourfully dressed grin girlishly at him, blushing as he glances their way. Others merely shake their heads and mutter something rather less polite.
Jude has the impact of splitting his audience. Young people - girls in particular - tend to like him. Adults feel quite the opposite. Although, it has to be said, he's clearly managed to win over a few of the more seasoned ladies by the looks of those secret smiles...
The sight of him has Lilly spinning on her heels, her keen eyesight turning from the northern, sun-drenched plains and taking in the tousled brown locks and deep chestnut eyes of my closest friend and confidant. At nineteen, Jude's a couple of years older than I am, though that age gap is probably reversed in terms of maturity.
He carries an almost perpetual, lopsided grin to his tanned face, his chin and cheeks ever dusted with a coating of dark, albeit patchy, stubble. He's kept the look ever since he began growing facial hair, proudly displaying his masculinity despite the fact that, around here, being clean-shaven is considered a mark of respect to the Prime and his children.
Clearly, he believes leaving the stubble fits with his image as the local rogue. He's not entirely wrong. It does suit him, I have to admit, and I do enjoy the subtle - or perhaps not-so-subtle - display of insubordination.
"Hey, Jude," Lilly exclaims in a rare bout of enthusiasm at anything other than being a good Devotee. She clearly falls into the first category of Jude's admirers, despite her best intentions.
"Hey, Goldilocks," he replies, one side of his mouth curling into its customary grin and chestnut eyes slanting mischievously. He hurries up towards Lilly first - really, he uses the nickname on both of us - stepping skilfully through the crowd, and draws her into a hug, picking her up and spinning her around. Then he looks over to me with a raised brow, grin morphing into a smirk as he drops my sister back down to the ground. "You look well, Amber," he says, attempting formality, stiffening his posture and standing up straight.
I roll my eyes. Jude knows full well my feelings on this particular day of the month, when my aggravation levels tend to peak. I'm not sure whether he just enjoys torturing me, or if this is all just some cute way of helping me loosen up.
Probably a bit of both.
Dressed in his common hunter's attire of rugged pants and tan shirt, he steps in and casually lays a strongly muscled arm over my shoulder, turning my attention out towards the crowd, now gathering excitedly around the specially designed ceremonial courtyard at the northern edge of town. The community here isn't exactly huge, but has a decent sized population of about a thousand, a number doubled when adding in the local hamlets and other smaller settlements nearby.
Lilly and I live in one of those, sharing a fairly simple one-storey cabin with our parents near to the region's largest lake. We're part of a small fishing community several miles from here through the pinewoods; a quiet place at the base of the mountains off to the west.
According to our grandmother, they were once called the Rockies, though given her reputation as the local crackpot, not many people tend to listen to her. Perhaps it's a curse that I do. She's a large part of the reason why I'm about the worst Devotee across this part of the Fringe.
"Looks like a good haul this month," Jude says, gesturing at the offerings being gathered within the courtyard and loaded onto ornately carved, ceremonial tables. His own back is laden with a heavy sack, though the weight doesn't seem to have any bearing on his strong, six feet two inch frame. "You meet your quota?"
"Of course we did," comes Lilly's voice from the side, tinged with a note of indignation. "We always bring more than enough, Jude," she stresses, looking up at the young man with a crinkling brow.
Jude drops a smile that eases her frown. "Of course you do, Goldie," he says warmly, prodding her shoulder playfully. "I just have to make sure. I wouldn't want my two favourite girls getting in trouble."
Lilly's face softens into a grin, a common result of Jude's natural charm. She nods hurriedly and then looks to the bag on Jude's back.
"What about you?" she asks, gesturing to the sack. "You going to add your tributes to the collection area? Or, you know, wait for them to arrive." She raises her eyes and shakes her head. "They won't like that, Jude. You're cutting it fine as it is."
There it is, preachy little Lilly. Such a stickler for the rules.
"He always likes to be last," I say to my sister, shaking my head and watching him begin to unpack and arrange his tributes in his assigned area. It looks like a generous haul of meats, mostly venison, rabbit, boar, and other common game. He also appears to have brought along some metal trinkets too - simple jewelry by the looks of it - clearly fashioned by his auntie, who he's lived with since the death of his parents years ago.
Here in Pine Lake, our primary purpose is to provide tributes of food. A settlement like mine near the lake will bring mostly fresh fish. Someone like Jude, who lives in the pinewoods a little to the northwest, will bring game meats, with others focusing specifically on fruits and vegetables and certain types of crop, breads, other baked goods, and so on. However, other offerings can be given in order to gain favour if one is so inclined, or simply as a display of respect and fealty.
Lilly, for example, likes to go out of her way to stand out where she can. Lately, she's taken to carving wooden figurines of the local Collector for this part of the Fringe, and positioning them around our tribute of food, hoping he'll notice them.
He hasn't as yet.
But you never know, today might be the day, I think sarcastically, rolling my eyes at the thought.
Lilly sniffs disapprovingly as she looks on through the humming crowd, watching Jude arrange his offerings in what she clearly considers a too-haphazard manner.
"Why does he take such pleasure in being contrary?" she says, tutting. "He'll get caught one day, Amber. Is that what you want?"
"Of course not," I say.
"Because you don't want to displease them, you know. They have a right to be highly offended by acts of disrespect."
"Disrespect?" My brows pinch into a well-worn frown, an expression that mother tells me will age me prematurely. As if I care. "You think it's disrespectful to be a little late in setting out the offerings? What about gathering them in the first place, Lil. Isn't that enough?"
"Not this again, Amber," says Lilly, chin tilted upwards, just like our mother. If my little sister looks just like me, then she acts just like mother. "We all know what to expect, and we know our duty as good Devotees. If Jude's late then he's doing it on purpose. That's disrespectful. He knows the time and date and schedule of everything. There's no excuse for it."
I sigh and look back at Jude as my sister drones on, watching him laughing with a few stragglers as they put the finishing touches to their displays. The sight brings a smile to my face, easing away some of the tension building inside me. What would I do without him around here? One day soon we'll strike out together and journey south. Leave this place behind.
Or...not. I've thought that for years, but never taken the leap. I guess that has something to do with adoring my pious little sister, much as she aggravates me, and being unable to leave the preachy little so-and-so behind.
"Anyway, I just don't want anyone getting punished," she goes on, demanding my attention once more. "I don't see the need to rock the boat. It's so unnecessary. You should talk to him. He only listens to you."
I draw a breath and begin to nod, thinking it better to just agree with her than continue this overdone debate. Frankly, my stress levels could do without the extra hassle right now.
"You're probably right, Lillypad," I say, "but you know Jude well enough by now. He's...incorrigible. Yes, he pushes the boundaries, but he never crosses the line. He just likes winding people up. I bet he's getting a kick out of seeing you react like this."
We both look up at that moment to find him grinning at us from the collection area. Lilly huffs, rolls her eyes, and then smiles. It seems she's unable to fight off the expression when met by Jude's gaze. He's one of the few who can thaw her out and reveal the girl of just fourteen behind the strict facade. I forget sometimes how young she actually is.
"It's no wonder mother and father don't like him," Lilly mutters, attempting to dismiss the smile but finding it rather too difficult. "He's leading you astray, Amber."
"He is not," I counter firmly. "I assure you, I can lead myself astray quite easily on my own, thank you very much. And anyway, what mother and father think of Jude is quite irrelevant to me. I'll be friends with whoever I want."
Lilly opens her mouth, ready to rebuke me for such a disrespectful comment, but words fail to fall. Instead, she's interrupted as a sudden hush begins to filter through the crowd, neatly gathered now along the edges of the courtyard. The few stragglers still arranging their tributes at the centre scamper off to the sides, merging into the throng like drops of water into a bucket.
I notice Jude calmly lifting his eyes to the north, where a convoy of carriages are beginning to appear upon the sloping plains. He merely wanders casually back towards where Lilly and I stand, pushing his way through the thickening soup of bodies that surround us.
He reaches my side, the light murmuring fading off into silence as the beautiful carriages approach, their polished silver facades sparkling under the midday sun. We're several layers back from the front edge of the crowd, which is perfectly fine by me. Evidently not so for Lilly, who uses her slight frame to quickly slip forward to the front where she'll get a better look. I try to grab her and hold her back but she's slippery as a damn eel.
The murmuring takes no time to be swallowed by a suffocating, reverential quiet. Some people are already beginning to bow, arching their backs and lowering their heads as all good Devotees should. Most others wait a little longer, eager to get a look at the Collector - a man named Ceres - and his cohort as they approach.
They're not quite visible yet, hidden away in their grand transports that roll along the open plains on silver-plated wheels. It's a sight that always fascinates me, the carriages moving as if by magic. No horses pull them, no engines drive them. They move, the people say, only by the divine power of those who ride within them.
I huff at the thought, imagining what my grandmother would say to that...
Soon, the convoy is growing nearer, the one in its centre more ornately designed and embellished than the rest. It rolls silently along the shimmering grass, approaching the edge of the ceremonial courtyard, moving between the series of banners and flags that fashion a path inside.
It comes to a slow stop as the others do the same behind. A sense of anticipation permeates the gathering as soldiers dressed in dark green uniforms slip from their berths, two dozen of them appearing from within the slightly more militaristic transports that flank the convoy. They march in tidy formation, eyeing the crowd with their keen, watchful gazes as they take protective position around the front carriage.
Only now does the central figure in this little charade appear, the entire performance a carbon copy of the one the month before, and the month before that, stretching all the way back to my first sight of this spectacle many years ago.
How the people continue to grow excited by it is beyond me.
Perhaps it's the tantalising prospect of, perhaps, one day joining the Worthy themselves. A rare honour, yes, but one that so many Devotees spend their lives attempting to achieve.
