The Chosen

Silver Winner for Wildflower Whispers

The sky glimmers with stars, bright sparks against the midnight air. I linger at the edge of the camp. A cool breeze feathers against my cheeks. As the night air slides through the braided ropes on my scalp, I close my eyes. Listening to the drums thrumming through the air, to the crackling bonfires, to the soft hoots of an owl in the night and the scattering chatter between our two tribes.

Tonight would be a night to remember. A night for the histories, for the tales around the fires, for our enemies to speak of in hushed whispers. After generations of feuds and battles, the La Teka and the Lucango tribes would finally unite, through one sacred night. A night of peace, unity, and love.

“Jama’al!”

I open my eyes, to find Nasryn running towards me, a bright smile on her face. Her dress flutters behind her like the shining trail of a shooting star, and her locks twist up into a ornate crown. Dozens of roses, seashells, and threads of gold shimmer around her thick brown locks; symbols of beauty, connections, and prosperity for our future. She skids to a stop in front of me, a rosy flush coating her rich brown skin. “The elders are asking for you, we’re about to start the dance!” She says, skipping back as she gestures towards the midst of the camp.

“The dance?” I follow her, tilting my head. She grins, nodding as she leads me deeper into the camp. The air is rich with the smell of roasting meat, and shimmers with hundreds of lanterns, keeping the world bright against harmful spirits. Or so said the Lucango wisewoman.

“Yes! To show unity. It’s a Lucango custom, it’s so fun, I promise. Just follow the music!” She grabs onto my arm. I blink, my heart skipping a beat as we weave through the crowd. The drums thrum louder and louder, until we reach the middle of the camp. A circle of people dance in rings around a roaring bonfire, arms linked, chanting in time with the drums. Overwhelmingly Lucango, obvious from the flowing green and white robes. I had to admit, their regalia was elegant. Not so good for battle, though. It was no small wonder the Lucango was such a small tribe. Herbs and poisons could only do so much.

I pull back as Nasryn drags me close. “Whoa, I can’t--La Teka don’t dance, Nasryn. We fight.”

“It’s nearly the same thing.” She says, whirling towards me and clinging to my arm. She’s still smiling, as bright as the moon overhead, bouncing on her heels. My heart skips another beat. “Just follow in time—feel the music. Follow your instincts.”

“It’s not the same thing--”

“Please, Jama’al?” she whispers, stepping closer, her amber eyes glittering with excitement.

I stop, my breath catching in my throat.

“Dance with me. Please. At least once, before the ceremony.”

“I--okay.” I say softly. “Teach me how.”

She grins. “Ma be adida! Wonderful! It’s easy, just breathe and feel your way through it.” She pulls me close to the edge of the circle, shifting to move in time with the music. A couple of the nearby Lucango shoot me wary glances. I ignore them, watching Nasryn. Stepping to the side as she does. Then forward, closer and closer to the circle. In constant motion, to the side, and around and around in circles, weaving forward and back like the tides. The steps begin to flow, as the drums grow faster, deeper, louder, reverberating through my bones. She was right. The beat of the drums and the touch of her hand, in mine, as we move in time with the tribes, fill me with the same fierce thrill as battle. The movement, the unity, the cries of joy as we draw closer to the fire, faces bright with sweat and happiness--

A scream echoes through the air. “Jiko! Stop. Help!”

I tense, whirling around. The drums stop, a confused hush sweeping through the crowd as we turn towards the voice, still vibrating with the thrill of the dance. One of my tribewomen, from the La Teka, rushes towards the fire, eyes wide, face uncharacteristically pale. “Our chief has been poisoned. He’s dead!”

I stiffen, my heart dropping,

Our chief. The rock of the La Teka--

Dead?

A soft hush rushes through the La Teka intermingled in the crowd. I stumble back a step, my hand curling in a tight fist. Focusing on keeping that fist, rather than the stinging at the back of my eyes.

We don’t cry out—the La Teka never cry out. But our chief...

Dead. On the night of unity.

Another scream rings through the air, from the opposite side of the camp. Nasryn whirls this time, her grip tightening on my arm. A Lucango woman burst through the crowd, hands clenched around a black rose, and a knife, with an etched black knife. A La Teka knife. Dripping with blood. “Lacan wa! Our wise woman--” She stops, choking on a sob. “She’s been killed!”

“No!” Nasryn gasps, her hands flying to her mouth. A loud cry tears through the Lucango. I blink, head spinning. Both leaders—dead?

“You La Teka! You traitors!” A woman wails. A cry of agreement rises from the Lucango, angry eyes turning towards the warriors in the crowd.

“Our chief is dead too.” A La Teka brother hisses. Marak, the chief’s son. He narrows his eyes at the woman. “From Lucango poison!”

“What a relief!”

“How dare you!”

The crowd flies into an uproar, the La Teka standing tall, shouting in their black uniforms, at the Lucango, in their white and green, glaring back at them, shouting even through the tears running down their faces.

Nasryn turns to me, eyes wide, hands clasped around a pendant at her neck. I catch her gaze flickering down my black clothes, flashes of grief—and fear—sparking in her eyes. “Jama’al--”

“We wouldn’t do this.” I murmur, my gaze dropping to the ground. Our chief would never stoop so low. “We La Teka fight with honor. Never... like this.”

“Who...else, though?” She whispers, her gaze flicking up to mine. I catch her gaze, and she waves a hand. “Not that I’m blaming you, but that was a La Teka knife...”

I shake my head, turning towards the cool of the forest as I exhale. “I know.” A La Teka knife, through and through. Everyone knew it. And the Lucango were the best at poisons, and could’ve easily killed our chief.

But they didn’t seem to be like that either. They honored family. Nasryn had told me, if they had disputes, instead of fighting it out like we La Teka did, they sat and spoke about it with their council, until an agreement was reached. They didn’t reach for death.

And even though we La Teka fought, we would never kill a wise woman on a sacred night. To do so was to enrage the spirits, whose wrath could be worse than a thousand-year war. I grit my teeth, swallowing back the lump in my throat as I scan the forest around us.

“What’s wrong?” Nasryn whispers.

“Something... feels off.” The air felt too still. Like right before an ambush. My gaze searches the shadows, for--

There.

A flash of movement. Of red.

“Cilo.” I hiss, grasping the hilt of the knife at my belt and taking off towards the forest. The shadows swallow me up into the dark of the night, branches and bushes pressing in on my form. I slow, footsteps silent over the brush, as I hold my breath. Listening.

Crickets, chirping around me. Owls, fluttering overhead. A breath of air, behind me--

I whirl around, knife raised, to find Nasryn behind me, eyes wide. I exhale, nearly dropping my knife. “Nas--”

She shakes her head, tapping her finger to her lips, then pointing into the shadows. I follow her gaze.

A scrap of red cloth, hooked on a branch deeper in the trees, fluttering in the wind.

Nasryn latches onto my hand, jogging forward, soft as the wind. I follow, keeping my knife clenched tight in my fist. We slow near the scrap. Nasryn scans the trees. I watch the shadows, the moonlight dissolving the trees into wisps of a enemy. Hints of a threat.

She steps closer to me, pushing up onto her tiptoes, her breath light as a butterfly’s wings against my ear. “I’ll go back to camp and tell them we spotted a Cilo member. You try to catch him for me, okay?”

A smile tugs at my lips as I meet her gaze and nod. She nods, waving at me, then disappears back into the shadows. I hold my breath as I listen to her leave. Still scanning the shadows. The Cilo clan was to the west, closer to the sea where they did their trades. More than likely, the spy would need to head there eventually, but if he was smart—and if he knew a La Teka was hunting him—he'd double back towards the east. Unless he was really smart and trying to throw me off, and heading to the east despite the smarter move of going to the west--

A scream echoes through the forest, then abruptly cuts off. I freeze, the hairs rising at the back of my neck.

Nasryn.

I turn on my heel, flying through the forest, branches and vines whipping into my face, footsteps instinctively finding the fastest, softest place to land, hands pulling out two knives in preparation--

I burst into a clearing, the moon shining down on the dewy grass. Nasryn lies bound in ropes on the ground, a filthy red rag stuffed into her mouth, eyes bright and angry. Four Cilo men stand around her. La Teka knives in hand.

I don’t give them time to react. I don’t even have to think.

I twist my knife in my hand, flinging it forward as I race towards them. The knife slides deep into the man’s chest, and he lets out a choked gasp, stumbling back.

One of the others lets out a loud battle cry, racing forward, knife raised high overhead. I whirl towards him. He swings his knife, aiming a kick at my side in the same smooth motion. I jerk away from the knife swipe. Slashing my knife at his leg. Ducking down. Swinging back up, drawing back half a step, kicking forward. Hard.

My foot crashes against his jaw. His eyes go wide as a sharp crack echoes through the air, before his eyes roll back and he slumps to the ground.

Breath, behind me. I whirl around, just managing to block a knife swipe from a man behind me.

He comes around with his other hand, a spiked club rushing towards my stomach. I jerk back, hissing as the tip of the club claws into my skin, ripping past my clothes, searing pain against my waist. I press a hand around the wound, blood already hot and slipping against my fingers. Breath coming a little quicker.

Gotta make this quick.

I watch him carefully, circling. My gaze flicks around the clearing. One man in front of me, a leer on his face, club with my blood in his hand. Nasryn, still on the ground. The other man—his gaze landing on Nasryn as well.

He barks out an order in a sharp, strange tongue, moving towards Nasryn. The man with the club roars, lunging towards me. I twist my knife, sending it soaring towards the club man’s chest. He twists to the side—too slow.

The knife goes flying past, through his chest, and into the tree trunk behind him with a solid clunk. As his body falls, I whirl towards the last man.

I would not let my chief’s killer slay my betrothed.

I reach for another knife.

My hand grasps at nothing but air.

The last man yanks Nasryn to her feet, shoving his knife against her throat with a sneer. “On your knees, hands in the air, or she dies!”

I skid to a stop with a growl, gaze darting to Nasryn. Her eyes stay locked on mine as she sucks in a deep breath.

The man smirks, dragging her backwards towards the forest. “Good. I’m sure my king will enjoy hearing her screams at the alter.” He sneers, pushing his knife harder against her throat.

“Don’t you dare.” I snap.

Nasryn closes her eyes, her brows furrowing as she exhales, whispering something underneath her breath.

The wind rustles as the forest quiets.

“Meanwhile, you go back to your clan like a good La Teka. Tell them all how pitiful your fight with the Cilo went. Just like your weakling chief who--” He stops, as the world before us shimmers, and the air goes dark.

A low rumble thrums from behind us. Growing in power. Like thunder, but—more fluid. I stiffen, shifting forward and glancing around. An army? Or... something more?

And all of a sudden, they burst from the trees. Heading straight towards the man. Not an army of men, but an army of owls.

I duck, scrambling back. The man screams as the dark cloud descends upon him in a horde of razor sharp claws, piercing beaks, and throaty hoots. I roll over to one of the body’s, yanking a knife out and wiping it on the grass, then crawling towards the flock. The man’s still screaming, the noise shuddering with panic as the flock pulls them back, farther into the trees. I tense, searching the cloud for any instance of Nasryn.

I can’t hear her—there's only fluttering black feathers, scraps of red fabric, and glistening golden claws. No hint of the white of her dress or the gold in her hair.

Had the man killed her before the flock even attacked?

Had the owls killed her?

I lunge to my feet. The flock separates instantly, rushing into the trees and disappearing into the shadows.

The man’s body lays on the ground. Nearly unrecognizable under the mass of feathers and bloody claw marks.

Nasryn stands behind him, panting. Her dress is spotless, shining, as moonlight drifts through the air again. A single owl feather is perched at the top of the crown of her hair. Like a chieftain’s headdress. Her gaze flicks to mine as she stumbles forward, a glistening line of blood at her neck. “Jama’al--”

“Are you okay?” I whisper, hurrying forward and pulling her into my arms. She nods, her head against my chest, arms tight around my back.

“I’m okay. I’m okay.” She whispers, shaking.

“What was that?”

“I don’t--I don’t know. It just—they must’ve known.”

“They--known what?”

“The owls—I’ve always taken care of them, the Lucango always do. They must’ve heard me...heard us... and wanted to help.” She whispers, her breath calming again.

“Our chief would’ve considered that a sign.” I murmur, glancing down at her.

She blinks, her gaze meeting mine. “A... sign?”

“The forest always chooses its leader somehow. It’s not just up to the people. A tiger came up to our chief before his ceremony and led him to the village where he found his wife. Things like that.”

She lets out a startled laugh, shaking her head and gazing around. “Maybe...”

“Either way. I’m glad you’re alright.” I whisper.

She looks up at me, her eyes glistening. “Me too.”

I smile, my gaze flickering to the forest again. “We should... head back to camp. It’s obvious the Cilo were behind this, which means we’re not only without our leaders, but we have a war on our hands.”

“Perhaps this is even more of a unity than the clans originally intended.” Nasryn pulls away from me, the feather in her hair quivering as her gaze drops to the dead around us. “I mean... if this is a sign—if we’re at war with the Cilo—if I were to become the wisewoman of my clan.” A smile tugs at her lips as she glances at me again. “You’re already my betrothed.”

I smile, stepping towards her. “A Lucango wisewoman and a La Teka warrior. Turned into--”

“Something new. Something the people as a whole could agree to.”

“If they haven’t killed each other from grief after all the time we’ve been away.”

She blinks, whirling towards the trees and racing back in the direction of the camp. “Right!”

I grin, stepping over to one of the dead Cilo and hoisting him onto my shoulders. The strap of his belt thuds against my back as I run after Nasryn. The hilt of the La Teka knife lodged into his sheath thrumming out a tune of proof. Proof we La Teka were honorable. Proof the Lucango really just wanted peace. Proof the unity of clans could end in love, and not just war and grief.

Most importantly, proof the Cilo would be brought to their knees.

Nasryn falls back in step with me, and after a few moments, we arrive back at camp.

Smoke from the smoldering bonfires lies heavy in the air, along with cries and sobs from the Lucango. But the camp is still. The tents empty, the lanterns dim and glistening with burnt oil and ash. Nasryn slows, clinging to my arm as we walk deeper into camp, towards the cries. Scanning... listening... watching.

And there. In the middle of the camp. All of the Lucango, huddled together around the bonfire. The La Teka surround them, a couple dozen guarding, with the majority a few yards away, arguing over something. One of the guards glances my way, his eyes widening. “Omera?”

I raise a hand in greeting as the others turn towards me, their gaze immediately snapping from me, to the body around my shoulders, to Nasryn, stepping forward at my side.

“You went hunting with a Lucango after the death of our chief?” The chief’s son, Marak, scoffs, his eyes narrowing.

“What have you done to my people?” Nasryn snaps, stepping forward. Marak’s gaze darkens as he steps towards her, the tattoos covering his chest glistening in the firelight.

I tense, pulling her back and turning my attention to the crowd. “Everyone, listen! Calm down. We have news—this is not a fight of Lucango versus La Teka.”

Marak scoffs. “How can you say that, brother? They poisoned my father!”

I nod, forcing back the emotion threatening to roil up from my stomach. “I know. I have reason to believe this was a staged attack. From the Cilo.”

The crowd falls silent. Even the arguing group quiets, turning their attention to me. I hoist the body from my shoulders, letting it thud to the ground.

“We found a spy in the forest and followed him. Four ambushed us—nearly killing Nasryn. Thankfully the forest decided to save our lives. You know the Cilo camp is far from here. They have no other reason to travel here.” I crouch down, snatching the knife from his belt and holding it high. Watching as the light of the dying fire glimmers against the blade. “They had several La Teka knives, that matched the one from... from the Lucango wisewoman.”

A soft cry rises from the Lucango still huddled on the ground.

“May her spirit rest in the stars.” I say softly. “She didn’t deserve this. But we La Teka would never steal her before her time. We may be fighters, but we would never disrupt a night of honor, such as tonight.”

“How do we know you’re not just saying that!” A Lucango woman cries. “You could’ve planted that knife yourself.”

“What about my father?” Marak says, frowning. “He was poisoned, and we all know only the Lucango deal with such things.”

I shake my head, opening my mouth to speak, but Nasryn squeezes my arm, stepping forward and raising her head high. “He didn’t plant the knife. I was with him the whole time. The Cilo had multiple La Teka knives already. And yes, we Lucango know poisons. But we also honor the peace of unity, and the connection of the forest. Tonight was not a night to be interrupted. The Cilo decided to intrude... and the forest fought back, with a flock of owls.”

A soft gasp rises from the Lucango again, and a few of the La Teka exchange curious glances. Nasryn nods, stepping closer to the crowd and spreading her arms. “The flock killed the man attacking me. For those who don’t know—owls don’t flock together, and never hunt together, unless--”

“They mean to reveal a sign.” Someone whispers.

“Or a leader.”

“She has the feather in her hair, still!”

Nsaryn pauses, reaching up to touch the feather pricked into her locks. “Ah--yes. That’s what it means.”

Marak’s gaze flickers to me. “You mean to tell us, the Cilo slew both leaders, to start a war. And the forest just up and decided you two==from different tribes—were meant to step forward and lead us?”

“I don’t see why not.” I say, holding his gaze. “Feel free to go check the clearing if you like. Eight hundred paces east. You’ll know you found the place when you see a Cilo body covered in blood and owl feathers.”

He shoots me a glare, waving a hand at one of the scouts. The boy nods, darting towards the woods, then lets out a gasp. I whirl around. Expecting the Cilo, already, or maybe something worse--

A flock of owls cover the branches of the trees, like fresh snow. As far as the eye can see. Silent, with golden eyes shining like burning embers.

The boy stumbles back, letting out a soft cry.

One of the owls fly forward towards the crowd. A scrap of red fabric clutched in its beak. It soars around the camp, circling the Lucango, swooping past La Teka, brushing right over Marak’s head. Then straight towards me.

I bristle. Nasryn squeezes my arm, stroking her thumb over the inking on my skin. “Yuweyo. It’s okay.” She whispers, as the owl swoops up. Before perching atop my head, its claws brushing against my scalp.

I freeze, breath catching in my throat.

“It is a sign.” A woman from the Lucango rises to her feet, a smile sparkling through the wrinkles coating her skin. No one stops her. Their gazes are locked to me. “The forest has chosen.”

“It’s just an owl!” Marak scoffs. “It’s a bird. How can a bird choose a suitable--”

The owl atop my head lets out a sharp screech. Marak stops short, stepping back and holding out a hand. “Okay, okay—the forest has chosen.”

The woman laughs, raising her hands to the sky. “It’s folly not to see this is truth. The forest has given us everything—our home. Our food. The La Teka’s weapons and stealth and the Lucango’s livelihood and remedies. And now they have given us our leaders. If anyone objects to this truth, step forward or forever hold your peace.”

I glance around, my breath still in my chest. The crowd stays silent, gazes from the La Teka and Lucango alike, latched upon me and Nasryn.

“Let these two—Jama'al of La Teka, and Nasryn of Lucango, lead us well. And let the stars be their guide.” The woman says, her voice carrying high over the crowd as she holds out her hand towards us, palm up. One by one, each of the Lucango does the same.

Nasryn presses a hand to her heart, shifting towards them and holding her hand out as well. “Thank you.” she whispers.

And then—one of the La Teka warriors step forward. He falls to one knee, thumping his fist to his chest and bowing his head. “May your steps be sure.” He says.

The vow of a warrior to their chief.

One by one. The others follow suit. Dropping to one knee, fist strong over their heart. Saying these—these words that speak their trust, their loyalty, that they will stand at our side as I lead them. To victory. “May your steps be sure!”

I glance at Nasryn, sucking in a deep breath. She smiles at me, her eyes sparkling. The feather in her hair fluttering as the owl’s claws dig into my scalp.

I step forward, crossing my fist over my shoulder. “May our swords swing true.”