Chosen of the One: Chapter 3, Part 1

24 December 2025

In today’s installment of the first book of our epic fantasy, Chosen of the One, we meet the kortexi, Sir Blakstar, and follow him on his journey to the Mountain of Vision, the final test for the initiate to become a full member of the order. Enjoy! (28 October 2013) We again remind our readers to right-click on the Glossary link, open in a new tab or window, thus enabling the reader to learn what each of these new terms mean.

Chapter 3, Part 1

It is not the hidden trap–the one we do not see–that catches us, but the one hidden in plain sight.

Attributed to Fereghen Wulfrik, ruled 983-1027

As the sun cast its pink rays on the village of Artowgar, the young kortexi mounted his white and gray stallion, Wingfoot, and set off at a trot on the final leg of his journey to the Mountain of Vision. His thoughts were troubled, although he smiled and waved to the innkeeper, while he pondered the words of his master, the Wesento of Karble. On a similar bright morning, eight days before, the Wesento carefully uncovered his montista. The aged senior kortexi peered intently into the clear depths of the fist-sized stone, as was customary before sending the newly made kortexi to the Mountain for final testing. The Wesento turned pale.

“It cannot be!” He covered the stone with his hands, closed his eyes, bowed his head, and prayed silently. After a few moments passed in silence, the Wesento opened his eyes, removed his hands, and looked again into the depths of his montista. He drew breath sharply; tears wet his eyes and wrinkled cheeks. He raised his eyes slowly and with difficulty to the new kortexi; he pushed his long, white locks back from his face.

“Blakstar,” his voice cracked, heavy with age, “I cannot see the full measure of your greatness; you will accomplish things that kortexem since Sir Karble first established our order have dreamed of, but the path to that greatness leads through such misery and anguish that my heart nearly failed me to glimpse it. You are surrounded by an ocean of foes that howl for your ruin. They have become so powerful that even the One himself may not be able to protect you from them all. You walk barefoot upon the edge of a sword: to stray would lead to our utter ruin, to walk this path will be as painful to you as walking the blade’s edge.” The Wesento stopped and sobbed, covering his montista with its golden velvet cloth. “Remember, you are the lump of coal that yields a diamond following extreme pressures and heat, for a diamond you will be, though all the fires of Kolu come to torture and refine you, though your suffering pushes you to the threshold of death. Be bold but cautious: the happiness and lives of generations yet unborn depend upon your successful transformation from coal to diamond.”

He had been at first shaken by the Wesento’s words, starting at every shadow and sound of approaching travelers. Yet no sea of foes had attacked him: his journey thus far had been quiet and pleasant, belying the Wesento’s words. The road south from Karble to Dolvert, by ferry across Misty Lake to Outlag, and from Outlag to Artowgar were as peaceful and free from incident as any traveler could wish. The seklesem patrolling the way told tales of tranquil travelers, unmolested by rogue bands of ghelem or marauding purem, as if all forces of evil had been withdrawn. However, Blakstar knew that many creatures of evil walked unseen to normal eyes, creatures that, as his skills matured, he would be able to detect. Perhaps they were the sea of foes seen by the Wesento; then again, perhaps his foes merely waited somewhere ahead, when his path left the main road and the people traveling it for the way through the forested slopes of the coastal range of rolling hills bordering the Western Ocean. Seklesem patrolled this area heavily to protect the young kortexem as they journeyed to the mountain, but the seklesem, although the best soldiers, foresters, and trackers, could not be in all places at once. An ambush needed only seconds to occur, and the young kortexi would lay by the trail, dead from a quick knife thrust or silent arrow. Many tales of this kind were told in Karble, as also tales of kortexem rescued from ruin at the last moment by a company of seklesem tracking their assailants. Blakstar frowned; his eyes searched every shadow, caught every movement; his ears strained at the sounds following him, listening for any hint of hostile pursuit. He saw farmers and farm wives headed into their fields, shepherds leading their flocks into the hills, and heard the sounds of other travelers on their way south. A light breeze, from the west, stirred the grass and caressed his cheeks, bringing with it the scent of fir and cedar mixed with the salty tang of the sea. The day promised to be hot.

Shortly after midmorning, the road and river turned to the east, and the kortexi left the road and found the ford, crossing the Misty River and entering the narrow trail that led to the Mountain. The trail climbed into the coastal range next to one of the many streams that fed the Misty River. Blakstar stopped beside the stream to rest and water Wingfoot and drink the clear running water. His teeth ached as he drank the ice-cold water, thick with minerals, and a cone of cold formed below his heart, low and left in his chest. He splashed water on his face, head, and neck; he shivered as water droplets slid down his back beneath his tunic. Wingfoot stamped and blew before he joined his rider for another drink from the mountain stream. Blakstar felt an odd tingle between his shoulders, but it was not from the water; Wingfoot jerked his head up, ears rotating. The questing kortexi looked across the stream, leaping to his feet and drawing his sword. They stood this way for a time, straining to find the source of the sound that startled them both. The horse, chin still dripping, sniffed and blew, with his ears pointed across the stream. Momentarily satisfied, Wingfoot lowered his head again to the water to drink, ears still trained across the stream. Blakstar saw nothing, heard nothing more, yet he still felt the tingle, now in the center of his sternum, as if he had been touched lightly by an unseen hand. Wingfoot startled a second time, looking behind them; Blakstar now felt the tingle in his back and chest, no matter which way he turned. He grabbed the reins and mounted quickly, urging Wingfoot to a trot up the trail.

Noon came, and Blakstar’s sense of watchfulness increased. He felt, rather than saw, enemies before and behind him. He believed they increased in number as the tingling in his back and chest increased in strength, such that he felt those behind pushed him forward while those ahead resisted his progress. He stopped again to water and rest Wingfoot and allow the stallion to munch on some grain while the kortexi chewed dried meat and hard, wheat flour biscuits. Both, however, became restless after only a few minutes passed; Blakstar could not finish the strip of meat he held, and Wingfoot, blowing in his nosebag as his ears rotated one way then another, finally stamped impatiently and shook his head. The kortexi removed the nosebag and stowed it in his saddlebags with his lunch. As he tied closed the flap of his saddlebags, he felt an odd heat about his person, a heat he immediately recognized. He reacted according to the formula drilled into him by his kortexi masters: turn toward the feeling, duck, and roll in a direction perpendicular to the source of the feeling. But the maghi whose will guided the orthek anticipated such a move and merely directed the red shimmering net to fall on the kortexi as he rolled, entangling him in its glowing lines. When the texarti encircled Blakstar, his limbs stiffened suddenly, frozen in the act of drawing his sword, and, half-risen to his feet, he fell, a statue on its side.

“Well, well, well,” clanked a voice, laughing at Blakstar’s plight. Black shoes and robes came into Blakstar’s view, cheek pressed against the grass, eyes staring at the ground. “Another mighty kortexi,” the voice continued, mocking, “captured by one of the simplest, yet powerful, ortheks.” Blakstar felt the web alter as it conformed more closely to the shape of his body, wrapping tightly around his arms, legs, and head. Suddenly, Blakstar found that he was standing alone in darkness and silence, and he was gripped by an icy fear that he had not before known.

Come back next time for the second part of this third chapter in which we introduce a character who becomes vitally important for our kortexi, Sir Blakstar. And if one cannot wait for another week to read the continuing story, one can download the entire book for free from Smashwords!