Chosen: Dystopian Fantasy (Absence of Song Book 3) Read online

  “And what were your people going to do with those two people who challenged the Ministry?” I ask, raising my own eyebrow.

  I was of the opinion they mean us no harm, not after what the kids told us, but I can’t be certain and I need to know what I and Noah are dealing with. I want to know what the intentions of these people are, before I reveal any more about our identities or our gifts.

  “No, I gave you a piece. Now, it’s your turn to provide some information,” Abe answers, taking another long drink of brown poison followed by a loud belch. I do my best not to wrinkle my nose.

  “I merely want to determine our safety, Abe. You can’t blame us for that, now can you?” I smile.

  I do my best to appear innocent and nonthreatening in that moment. Sometimes playing up my feminine wiles gets me further than behaving tough, especially if I give just the right look that sends the message, I’m an innocent, please don’t hurt me. I notice Noah is leaning back and seems content to let me take the lead. He just sits in silence, watching the exchange between us.

  “We’re not going to hurt them, if that’s what you’re asking,” Abe scowls. “Are you with the Ministry?”

  “No, we most definitely are not,” I assure him with a laugh. “Do we look like Ministry officials?”

  Abe looks us over for a few minutes, before shaking his head. “So. About these gifts,” he says again.

  “Nope,” I respond. “I answered one question for you, about not being part of the Ministry. Your turn again.” I try very hard to keep a smug tone from my voice, but it’s not easy. This is almost kind of fun, this back and forth parrying we’re doing.

  Abe’s eyes are glazing over, and it finally hits me that he’s drinking alcohol of some sort. Alcohol has long since been banned where I come from, yet some of the farmers still made their own with some corn mash and other byproducts, as it tends to help with the aches and pains that come with hard labor.

  Never though have I witness someone drinking alcohol for anything other than medicinal purposes. The old man is crafty, and I have to be judicious with my questions until I get the answers I’m seeking. I can’t afford to waste a question by asking the man if he’s hurt, so I let it be.

  “What are your people going to do when they find these saviors?” I ask again. “What do they want with them?”

  “That’s two questions,” old Abe says, “but I’ll give ya one answer. They want to help them.”

  “Why do they want to help us?” Noah asks, finally interjecting himself into the conversation.

  Abe looks over at him as if he’d forgotten Noah was even here. “Us, huh? So you two really believe you’re the saviors they’re looking for?”

  I hadn’t really wanted to jump there just yet, but now is just as good a time as any I suppose. “Yes, we do.”

  “And what makes you think that?” Abe asks. “Because to me, you look like two lost kids running around with a crackpot story about being saviors, nothing more.”

  Noah’s brows collide. “Well, what do you expect these saviors to look like, exactly?”

  I let out a breath. I have more interesting things to ask on my mind, so I shoot him a look, telling him to be quiet. Thanks for wasting a question.

  “I dunno, savior-like?” Abe laughs, gulping another drink and slamming his cup down on the table haphazardly. “Strong, worthy fighters.”

  I feel mildly offended, and from the look on Noah’s face, I can tell his manhood has been tweaked too.

  “While we may not look like it, we’re actually very strong. I mean, we survived the journey this far, have we not?”

  “You have,” old Abe replies, scratching his chin and staring me down. “And I still wonder how you managed to do that?”

  I look over at Noah, who shrugs. “Can we show him?”

  “I don’t see why not,” he sighs, before standing up. I follow suit.

  “Wait, where are you going?” Abe asks.

  “To show you our gifts- which are what has kept us alive these last few weeks,” Noah snaps, clearly still miffed at being labeled just a kid. I follow him outside, with Abe stumbling along behind us.

  In the center of the square, there is a tiny patch of dirt. Dry, barren soil that hasn’t seen anything growing from it in who knows how long. I know that will be good enough. I give Noah a look and a small smile, before taking his hand. The electrical spark slides through my body almost instantly, a feeling I’ve quickly become accustomed to. Closing my eyes, I begin to sing. Noah joins in, singing along with me.

  Our words fill the silence around us, and before long, I hear other voices joining in. They might not know the words, but they follow the melody to the best of their ability. I open my eyes, startled by how many voices blend with ours. Staggered in a circle around us, I smile when I see all the children giggling up at me as others begin to sing or hum along. My eyes go to where the patch of dirt was, and it’s gone. It has been replaced by lush green grass. Some of the children dart over to the sudden growth, laughing and squealing as they roll around in it.

  Another child runs to a tree that has suddenly sprouted from the dirt and is growing upward. It isn’t long before the child climbs the tree and plucks a lush, ripe apple hanging from a top branch. When he bites into it, the juices slide down his chin, bringing a smile to not only his lips, but to his eyes as well. Others rush forward to pick their own fruit as more trees sprout around the area.

  Droplets of water fall upon us in a light shower, forming shallow pools on the ground. The kids continue to sing out, lifting their faces to the sky, drinking in the water that falls in their mouths as if they have been dying of thirst. Perhaps they have been.

  One lone kid stands to the side, coughing and hacking his poor lungs out. It is the sick child we heard earlier, and for the first time, I can see his face. His eyes are sunken into his face and his ribs are showing through his torn shirt. Snot drips from his nose incessantly, which he desperately tries to wipe away. No one is paying any attention to him. No one, except me that is.

  I stop singing, but no one notices, they keep singing the song themselves, taking over the words. I squeezed Noah’s hand and he lets me go, watching me as I walk over to the little boy who can’t be older than eight.

  Kneeling down to his level, I smile kindly. “Hey there. What’s your name?”

  He smiles back shyly. “Sean,” he replies meekly.

  “Where are your parents, Sean?”

  “They’re gone,” he answers. At first I assume he means they are part of the search, but the little boy continues, eliminating that notion at once.

  “They’re dead.”

  His little voice is so cold and his words have so much finality to them that it breaks my heart. He might just be a child, but it’s evident he’s seen far too much in his short lifetime. And very little of it likely any good. As I kneel in front of him, searching for the right words to offer, the little boy’s brother comes up next to him. He is older, more like 12 or 13, one of the oldest kids in the group as far as I can tell.

  He lays a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder. “Come on, Sean. Let’s get you something to eat.”

  I look at the older boy with sadness, realizing that though he too is young, he’s been forced to shoulder massive responsibility, stepping into the role of parent.

  “What happened to your mom and dad?” I ask.

  “They got sick,” the older boy says, his bony shoulders shrugging ever so slightly. “They were coughing, just like Sean. And they died. Our mother went first, then father. Others in town got sick too.”

  Just then the older boy coughs too.

  “And what’s your name?” I asked him, giving him a warm smile.

  “Sammy,” he answers, cautiously smiling back.

  Sammy and Sean. Two brothers who have lost their parents. My heart feels like it’s crushing beneath the weight of their sadness. And my own. I know I have to do something to help these two. I won’t be able to focus on anything else until I do.


  Reaching out, I stroke the youngest boy’s cheek, and sing softly as I do so. Closing my eyes as I sing I pray to the real Savior, the one who has been watching over us, and ask Him to please help these boys get well. They’ve already lost their parents, and they are too young to die. Such sadness and loss in their young lives already, it makes my heart ache. It isn’t fair that they should die without experiencing any joy or happy times.

  Tears flow down my cheeks, but nothing else matters in that moment. When I open my eyes, I see sunlight shining down upon the two of them, and warmth comes from that light. The two boys look up into the sky and smile. Sean’s face suddenly looks less sallow, and for the first time since I’ve seen him, he’s not sniffing and wiping his nose. “I feel better,” he quips.

  “What’s happening?” someone asks, coming up behind me.

  Until that moment, I’d been oblivious to the silence that was growing, oblivious to the fact that the singing had stopped. And so had the coughing. It wasn’t only Sean who’d been coughing, he’d just been the one I’d zeroed in on and heard. But now that everyone has stopped, the world feels so quiet, and so peaceful.

  “I feel better too,” another voice offers.

  Noah walks over to me, and when I look up at him, I expect to see joy, but instead see worry painted on his features.

  “What is it?” I ask him.

  “This. This is huge, Jaelynn,” he says, looking around at the people, but whispering so only I can hear him. “It’s wonderful, but also dangerous.” His brow furrows, eyes clouding over.

  “Dangerous? How do you mean?” I ask, still not fully understanding what just happened and what he’s getting out.

  “Dangerous because now they will know exactly where we are at,” he says grimly. “Now they will know where to find us. That kind of power surge, how can they not?”

  Comprehension dawns and I stand up, letting the still rain pounding down on the ground around us splash against my face as I tilt my chin skyward. My tears are washed away as I see the two boys running, playing, and laughing with the other kids, like they’d never been touched by illness. They are healed. No matter what comes of it, no matter what happens to me because I chose to help them, it’s worth the price.

  My lips tighten and my draw hardens as I look to Noah. “Then let them come.”

  IV

  MARCUS

  “We’ve got something, Ms. Blackwood,” Officer Grayburn speaks up. “A signal. A strong one this time.”

  I look up from my computer and over at the officer. My heart thumps loudly in my chest, making me wonder if it’s audible to anyone else. Leora Blackwood walks over to the computer, a slow and predatory smile curving her lips.

  “Excellent,” she says, satisfaction ringing in her voice.

  “Is it them?” I ask, my voice almost catching in my throat.

  “I’d bet my life on it,” Grayburn responds, flashing me a look. “We haven’t seen a signal this strong in a long while. It likely means they’ve gained in strength.”

  That news was of some relief to me, but I can’t help but wonder what could cause Jaelynn to be so careless? She must know that exerting so much of her power at once will get her caught. I force myself to remain calm.

  “What are the coordinates?”

  Grayburn rattles them off to me, and I frown.

  “They made it all the way to Bethel? How in the –,” I start to speak.

  “Send troops in immediately,” Leora interrupts.

  “But Ms. Blackwood, it’s Bethel, aren’t you afraid –,” Grayburn speaks the words echoing through my own mind, but Leora cuts him off too.

  “Nonsense. The Ministry isn’t afraid of anything. Send in the troops before they get away once again.”

  It has been years since Bethel broke off from the rest of the colonies, long before Jaelynn was born. As far as most of the colonies’ population knows, Bethel no longer exists. It isn’t on any maps, and hasn’t been spoken of since the separation. It became as though Bethel just no longer existed. I had been a senior officer at that point, so I never knew the full details of what happened when the Ministry fought Bethel before, but it had obviously worked out in Bethel’s favor, or else the colonies wouldn’t have let them go their own way.

  “I sent the coordinates to the troops now, and they are on their way,” Grayburn says, smirking at me. I ignore him. “Targets will be found and in custody before the end of the day.”

  “Good. Thank the darkness for stupid kids,” Leora laughs, sitting down and crossing her legs.

  She looks over at me and watches me carefully, which means I have to be cautious about my own expressions and body language. Thankfully I’ve had a lot of practice, but this is really testing my resolve. After all, one of those ‘targets’ is my very own daughter.

  Even after working at her command for as long as I have, I’ve never understood exactly why she rules the way she does, why she imposes the laws she imposes. Why she is so cruel. I’ve always assumed she just likes the power that comes from being such an authoritarian ruler. But maybe there is more to it than that, I don’t know. Whatever the reasons though, I can see nothing but cold hatred in her eyes. Sure, I know she likes me. But it’s not true affection, it’s the same sort of way she likes anybody who does what she tells them to do. Similar to the way one might like a trained dog. Deep down, I’m fully aware there is no one Leora likes more than herself. How such a person ever came to be a government ruler, I’ll never fathom. Then again, Leora Blackwood has been in power for as far back as I can remember. Seemingly as far back as anyone can remember, if I’m being honest.

  Her jet black hair and pale smooth face are a mystery to me, to many I know, but it’s a mystery no one speaks of out loud. Not if they like their head attached to their body, at any rate. Her eyes resemble deep pools of black ink – deep and dark enough to swallow you whole if you displease her. Jaelynn always called them ‘creepy’, ever since she was a little girl and saw Leora for the first time. She does have a point. Leora’s eyes are creepy, and cold as winter when they aren’t fired up with hatred.

  I have seen what happens to those who run afoul of Leora Blackwood. It is something I’ve always done my very best to avoid, in preparation for this very day, this point in time. It takes me a moment to realize we are staring at each other. I clear my throat and turned back toward my computer as that slow, feline smile crosses her face once again.

  “Admiring my beauty, Marcus?” Leora purrs.

  “Always,” I say with a blank face. “It’s hard not to admire someone as beautiful as you.” It’s a struggle to keep my lips from curling in disgust.

  Honestly, Leora isn’t beautiful at all. Nothing about her is beautiful. Sure if you look at her from a certain angle, and don’t get the full force of her gaze upon you, she might fool you into thinking she possesses some beauty. But her nose is long and narrow, her cheekbones high and defined, neither of which is complimentary. Plus, her eyes are beady and black as death. They always appear to be watching you even when she isn’t directly looking at you.

  “My, you do have a way with the ladies, my dear Marcus,” she says in a singsong voice. “Sure is a shame about your wife.”

  I stiffen, swallowing the words I want to say, and replacing them with ones that won’t get me removed from my position. Or worse.

  “If she works for the other side, she’s no wife of mine.”

  “Indeed,” Leora quips with a cackle that shakes me to the core. I cringe inside, ruthlessly shoving thoughts of my wife out of my mind.

  I can’t think about Sierra, not in a time like this. But still, it’s hard not to.

  ******

  Noah

  I know they are on their way. I don’t have to have any special powers to be certain of it, right down to my bones. Everything we do shows up on their systems as some weird power surge. I know this because at one time, I worked for Leora Blackwood myself. I was once one of her loyal guards, until I realized exactly wha
t she is. And when the voices came to me, I knew I had to break free.

  Having such insider knowledge only goes so far, however. I know what they are capable of, but not how to fight back. We have nothing to fight back with. Which renders us virtually helpless.

  “What’s going on here?” A voice that comes from behind startles me, causing me to jump.

  Jaelynn and I begin to turn around, and even though I know it will take hours before the Ministry troops arrive in the area, I can’t help but fear the worst. When I face the direction of the voice, it’s like the worst has manifested. I stiffen, a bolt of pure terror causing me to break out in a cold sweat. Before us stands an army, stretching out as far as my eyes can see. They aren’t in Ministry colors or uniform, but it doesn’t mean they aren’t Ministry troops. Maybe the Ministry had already been on our trail and had been much closer than either of us realized.

  Jess, the little girl from earlier, jumps down from the tree she’d been hanging out in and darts toward the man standing in the front of the group.

  “Daddy!” she shouts, rushing toward him.

  The man bends down and picks the little girl up with a hard hug and a smile, before turning a questioning gaze back to me. That’s when it hits me and everything falls into place. This isn’t the Ministry, these are the people sent to search for us. These are the ones sent to look for the ‘saviors’, as they like to call us. I can feel myself staring agape, and quickly close my mouth.

  Several of the people standing at the front of the group are holding weapons of various sorts. They look at me and Jaelynn, but they don’t appear to be aggressive or inclined to use any of them. Their eyes go back to the scenery behind us, and they drop to their knees.

  “The people of Bethel are pleased to make your acquaintance,” a woman steps forward, speaking from the front of the line. “And we thank you for your blessing upon our town.” She bows her head in our direction.

  “What’s going on?” Jaelynn mutters to me, stepping closer, close enough that I can feel her almost brushing against me. I feel a tingle in my fingertips, and give my hand a shake, putting a tiny bit of space between us, lest we start making things grow again.