Forsaken: The Chosen Trilogy - Book One

Chapter One: Part Two

KRYSSA

463A.F.- 17 Capad 464A.F.

That was perhaps my earliest true memory, in the days when light and laughter still filled our lives. The days grew shorter and colder as our mother grew to term, and on the Longest Night of my fourth winter she at last gave birth: twins, just as the Crone had predicted. A boy and a girl, who my father introduced as Alyxen and Kylee as I peered into their baskets with fascinated curiosity.

But our father appeared distracted, even afraid, as he watched over us in the great room of our small house. He disappeared into his bedroom time and again, leaving me to watch my newborn siblings as he checked on our mother, still attended by the grim-faced village witch known as the Crone. I was too young then to understand words like "hemorrhage" or "seizure", but I watched my father's face grow more and more drawn as the long night dragged on, and I finally understood the meaning of fear.

My mother lived, though the Crone warned her there would not be a second miracle. I watched them argue from my hiding place behind the bedroom door, the shadows of the darkened room cloaking my presence.

"Your body cannot handle another birthing, Adelie," the Crone rasped, obviously frustrated. She pressed a copper medallion into my mother's hand. "Use the charm."

My mother gripped it the symbol of the Goddess Vanae so tightly that her knuckles turned white. "My Faith will protect me."

"Your Faith? You mean this vision of yours?" The Crone shook her head. "It's not like the Gods to be so obvious. And Their demands never come without cost."

She lifted her chin defiantly. "The Gods have commanded me to have six children. I will not deny Them."

"Be reasonable, Adelie! Another child will kill you. Whatever the Gods intend for your children, I doubt it is for them to be raised motherless."

Adelie shook her head, then flung the medallion across the room. It bounced off the wall and landed nearly at my feet in the shadow of the door.

The Crone threw her hands up in defeat. She crossed the room to retrieve the medallion, and her glittering black eyes found mine in the shadows.

I braced, thinking she was about to reveal me, knowing I would be punished for spying.

But her expression never changed, and the Crone left without a word.

564-565A.F.

It seemed my father at least heeded the Crone's warning. I forget now what was said, but I remember the tears and pleas, the heated arguments behind my parents' closed bedroom door. I remember my father swearing, the first time I had ever heard such words, and the scolding I received when I repeated them.

And I remember when my mother at last withdrew into herself, silent and sullen, pretending she no longer cared for him.

I realize now it was merely a tantrum and would have passed in time. Adelie Rose was used to getting what she wanted, and- for all that she was a mother of five- she was still very young. But her strategy drove my father to distraction, worrying him until he was almost mad with it, until he at last gave in. By the twins' first birthday her belly had begun to swell again, and laughter had returned to our home.

But my father still worried, fear for my mother's safety uppermost in his mind, and that is when Janis came to live with us.

She was a wide, tree trunk-shaped woman, and had been friends with my parents since before I was born. In fact, she informed me that I had been born in her home, since my parents had lived with her in the year before buying our farm. She had been recently widowed by an accident at the distant lumber yards, and so welcomed the distraction of caring for us as my mother spent the long months of her pregnancy confined to bed.

For our part, we children adored Janis, though it was clear she had no idea how to handle us. The twins were just learning how to walk, and I daresay she had her hands full chasing after the five of us. I learned more swear words in those months, though I remembered not to repeat them where my father could hear.

Summer drew closer, and with it my sixth birthday. I snuck into my mother's room nearly every day to press my ear to her swollen belly as she fitfully dozed, listening with delight to the movements of my unborn sibling. He or she would be the sixth, completing my mother's vision, and then at last she would wear the Crone's charm. She would be safe, and my father would cease to worry, and everything would be perfect.

I whispered these thoughts to the baby beneath her skin, telling him or her of the grand adventures we would have as the Gods' Chosen. At some point, Janis would at last catch me, scolding me for not letting my mother rest, and then would drag me from the room to attend to my chores.

It seemed then that the Crone's warning had been little more than irrational worry. My mother, though irritable from her confinement, all but glowed with health. She still spoke of the Gods and Destiny and the plans They had for us, all the wonders of her vision that were about to come true.

And I, but a child then, had believed her.