Pausing for a minute, Uncle Jo searches my face. Finally, he continues. "The part of the story about you being with us that night is true. Your mother called around 9:00 to check on you. Isabella didn't sound like herself though. She wouldn't say what was wrong, but asked if you could spend the night with us. That was no problem. We loved having you here. At around 11:30 that night I woke up from the worst dream of my life, drenched in sweat. I watched as your parents were being tortured by that evil Bitch while all her supporters were in the background cheering." My uncle gets up from the table and begins pacing back and forth beside the table.
I don't want to ask him this next question, but I have to know. "Uncle Jo, how did they die?"
He shivers but doesn't hesitate in his reply.“There’s no easy way to say this so I’m just going to come out with it. Mayra put a paralytic-causing herb in their food. She tortured them by waterboarding and because they still refused to join the cause, she sliced their throats.”
What a horrible way to die. I cover my ears, and try to scream, but can't make a sound. My parents were drugged, tortured, then executed by a madwoman who escaped prison, and my uncle had to watch it all, I can’t breathe with the thought, for our dreams are far too often true.
The next thing I know, my aunt and uncle are at my side. My aunt is holding me, and my uncle is rubbing my back. I'm sobbing so hard the collar of my shirt is already wet. "I'm so sorry you had to see that."
"It's the way of our people, and our dreams are from above. They show us many things. Had I not dreamed of her treachery we would never have been able to arrest Mayra. The herb she used is untraceable. It would have never shown up in the autopsies, but because of my vision, we found that not only was it growing on the premises, but there were also traces in her jumpsuit pocket." Uncle Jo leans down to kiss my cheek.
I wipe my eyes with a napkin. "I'm okay," I whisper, but I'm not.Their expressions are full of worry. "I'll be fine, there's more to discuss tonight." I reassure them, with more bravado than I actually feel. "Were my parents the only ones to die that night?"
"Twenty others lost their lives. Ethan's father, and the King's wife were amongst them." My aunt replies.
My sadness turns to anger. What a raving bitch. "I know Mayra got life in prison but what happened to her supporters that cheered while she was killing my parents."
Uncle Jo's face turns dark with anger. "They got what was coming to them. Arabella, the districts are more advanced in every way you can imagine. We have technology that can wipe your brain clean of everything you know, and we can give you new memories to replace the ones you had. They were cast out of our society and given new identities."
I’m somewhat comforted by this, but I still think they should have served jail time. I will never feel sorry for them. They made their choices, and with certain choices comes consequences.
Chapter 6
A History Lesson
It’s weird seeing yourself in a history book, I’m not sure I’ll ever get over it.
-Arabella
"Why does everyone keep calling me The Chosen?" I ask.My aunt sighs in relief, clearly happy about the change of subject. She hands me a book and tells me to turn to page 431.The thick leather-bound book is titled "Guardians: A History of the Most Famous." Intrigued, I quickly turn to page 431. Pictures of me align the top and bottom of the page. In the middle is a picture of an old scroll.?
January 28, 1779
On the twenty-eighth day, in my fifty-eighth year, I, Reverend John William Lightfoot, The Great Leader of the Lux, dreamed a dream. This dream is a sign of things that will come to pass after a time. Dreams are a gift. May we always have strength to pick up our weapons and fight, "For The Chosen".
The Prophecy of The Chosen?
A baby girl will be born of both fire and light. The sun will kiss her left wrist and will be with her always. Through the years, she will grow strong in both wisdom and combat. Before the Great War a tournament will be held in all three sectors. Two by two they will be chosen, and she will be their fearless leader. The Guardians of War will defeat an evil darkness, which will settle upon the world. The mighty enemy will unleash an army so lethal it will be unlike anything we have ever witnessed, but in the end, she will lead the societies to victory. They along with all nations, people, and tongues will win the Third Great War; therefore, restoring the peace and unity that once ruled this Earth."
The prophecy I had been taught as a child had been revised significantly. My mood is somber as I quickly read all five pages dedicated to me. They know everything—friends, training, favorite movies, extracurricular activities, etc. Paparazzi have been following me for years, and if they'd been snakes, they would have bitten me. My family is patiently waiting for a response. What am I supposed to say? I don’t know what to think or feel. Shocked maybe, unworthy, but also, can I just tag someone and say, “not it?”
Holding up my left wrist I ask the question that's been burning a hole in the back of my mind. "I have no sun. Is magic covering the mark?" That's the only logical explanation.
"Smart girl." Aunt Georgia smiles.?
Since the beginning of time elemental magic has existed. The very core of our bodies are made up of water and dirt. We are a part of nature, as it is a part of each of us. As generations passed most of mankind abandoned the old ways, and allocated all magic as evil, but that's not the case.
My family, and all the societies practice magic in some form or fashion. That is, except for me, I was born without a gift. Most of our kind has the ability to manipulate light. My uncle can form lightning bolts and shoot them from the sky, and my aunt can produce massive amounts of electricity out of her hands. They're quite deadly separate but put them together in a fight and they are damn near unstoppable.
Uncle Jo takes a drawstring pouch out of his pocket. He takes my wrist and places it palms side up. Opening the pouch, he takes out a muddy red substance and warms it up in between his hands. Then he lays it on my exposed skin. He leans down, whispering, "Revelare," three times before sitting back up.I don't know what ingredients make up the stinky red mud, and that's probably a good thing. A tingling sensation begins on the edges and slowly sweeps through the entire circle. Sparks fizzle as the substance begins to dissolve, reminding me of fireworks on the Fourth of July.
The red mud leaves behind my perfectSunmark, though it appears more hand painted than a birthmark. My heart squeezes inside my chest. Meticulous detail is in every curve and every line. A secret treasure that I never knew existed, it's the only thing about me that isn't plain or ordinary. Everything about my birthmark is perfect, and for once in my life I feel beautiful.
I still can’t wrap my mind around the fact that I’m the Chosen. Me! "Obviously, there is no mistaking this sun, but everything about this is insane. Have you never witnessed the awkwardness that is me? Especially when it's my turn to talk in front of a room full of people."
My aunt Georgia rolls her eyes at me. "Just because you were born The Chosen doesn't mean you're perfect. Ella, we don't choose our destiny, fate has a way of doing it for us."
My eyebrows rise to almost my hairline. Yeah, that really doesn't answer my question, but I let it go. My frazzled brain is starting to hurt again. "Is Luxington Valley really in the Alaskan wilderness like you told me? There’s no snow on those mountain tops.”
