Chosen of the One: Chapter 3, Part 3

26 December 2025

Today’s installment of our epic, Chosen of the One, concludes Chapter 3, recounting the meeting, in the realm of dreams, of Sir Blakstar and his future mate, Kovaine, a meeting that doesn’t go as well as our kortexi might have thought. . . . (11 November 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 3

“Do not be afraid, Sir Blakstar,” a kindly voice, filled with concern, spoke beside him, “you are not losing your mind.”

Blakstar jerked his head around and saw a figure, cloaked in white, standing beside him, the only thing visible in the darkness, and the only sound audible in the silence; the figure’s head was covered with a hood of the same light, brilliantly-white material that overshadowed his face, so all that the kortexi could discern of the figure was that he was of a lighter build than Blakstar and as tall.

“Who . . . what . . . how?” Blakstar stammered, his lips not capable of asking all the questions in his mind.

“This is the world of dreams, Sir Blakstar,” the figure answered, “and your mind has fled here to escape the horror your body is about to suffer.”

“But . . . I don’t understand.”

“If you knew what happens to you,” the figure went on, his voice more kindly than before, “what my rebellious brother has perpetrated upon you, you would be incapable of acting at all, let alone fulfilling the mission our Father has reserved for you, and my brother would win by default; for this reason, I have brought you here, to protect you and protect the future.”

“I still do not understand,” Blakstar said, “who are you?”

“I am . . . ,” the figure began, then hesitated before continuing, “a friend, someone who has your best interests at heart, and there is a place I must show you, and someone you must meet–a young wetha, about your age, who will one day become your mate.” The figure pointed, and a column of light illuminated a second, smaller figure, huddled on the ground; all Blakstar could see of this second figure was her golden hair and the shiny black silk of her robe. Blakstar suddenly realized what his ‘friend’ had said about this new figure; he turned to look at the figure in white, and felt his own chin drop, then he rushed forward and knelt beside the fallen wetha, carefully taking one of her small hands, surprised to feel rough calluses on the palm and fingers of the hand that looked too pretty to have ever done any work.

“My lady,” he spoke in a soft voice, “are you injured?”

She pulled her hand from his, the hand going to her temple. “I . . . ,” she tried to speak, then pushed herself into a sitting position, “. . . someone hit me,” she continued, looking around blearily.

Blakstar stared at her elfin face, her blue eyes, noticing that her mouth and lips seemed slightly too wide and large for her small face, but her eyes held him, seeming to him to be two blue sapphires; he took her hand and held it gently, smiling down at her.

Her eyes continued to look around, finally focusing on him and his dark eyes staring at her; she gasped and crawled backward away from him. “You!” she hissed, looking at him in fear and anger. “Where am I? What have you done to me?” She scrambled to her feet, continuing to back away and crouching with her hands out in front.

“Do not be afraid,” the figure in white spoke in the same, calming voice. “You have joined us in the world of dreams.”

“This is a dream?” she asked, relaxing only slightly.

Blakstar stood and started toward her.

“Stay where you are!” she snapped, seeing him move toward her.

“Please,” Blakstar implored, “I mean you no harm, you of all wetham.”

“I don’t believe you, kortexi!” she exclaimed. “I know you’re trying to trick me into lowering my guard: you kortexem kill all my kind on sight for what we are!”

Blakstar shook his head and held out his hand to her, inviting her to take it. “All I know of you, my lady,” he said, “is that you are my destined mate.”

She snorted. “You’ll change your mind about that,” she scoffed, “as soon as you find out what I really am.”

A musical sound interrupted them, and both Blakstar and the wetha turned to the source of the sound and saw that the figure in white was laughing, a happy and infectious sound that seemed out of place in this shadowy realm.

“You are very amusing,” the figure laughed, “considering that before you joined us, you attacked two ponkolam to assert your exclusive right to possess Sir Blakstar for yourself, and you were so insistent in asserting your right to him that you attacked them without a weapon,” he added, still chuckling to himself.

The wetha blushed furiously. “How do you . . . how could you . . . that doesn’t matter!” she stammered and finally exclaimed heatedly.

“A blush from you, my dear girl?” the figure asked, amused. “Why, I don’t think you have blushed since you were a small child!”

The wetha tried to respond, but the figure’s words had flustered her; Blakstar took a hesitant step toward her, his hand still held out.

“Please, my lady, I assure you that I mean you no harm,” he said, “that I would . . . ,” he started to go on, but gasped suddenly and clutched at his chest. He felt a burning, searing pain there, as if someone were drawing lines on his chest with fire. He tore open his white robe and saw red lines burning brightly across his chest; he heard the girl gasp and looked up to see her pointing at him with one hand and covering her mouth with the other, but before he could ask her what was wrong, he saw both her hands fly to her own chest, and she cried out in similar pain. She tore open her own robe, and Blakstar caught a glimpse of red light before he averted his eyes as it was improper for him to look at her bare chest before they were married. He heard her gasp again.

“What is happening to me?” she cried. “Why is the sign of Gar burned with fire onto my chest? Has he sold himself to the Great Lord, and dragged me with him? I want nothing to do with Gar or anyone who associates with him!”

A feeling of dread filled Blakstar, and he looked again at the symbol on his own chest and realized that she was right: it was Gar’s sign burned into his chest. He opened his mouth to deny that he was Gar’s servant, when he felt the area at the bottom of his belly and the top of his loins burn with similar lines of fire. He opened his robe further to see new lines, but he could tell at once this was a different sign, and he heard the wetha stifle another scream of pain. He looked up and, chancing a glance, saw her hunched over, her hands in the same place on her own body as the new sign on his own, then she suddenly straightened, her hands going to her lower back; Blakstar hastily turned his eyes back to himself, realizing that it was a ‘b’ rune written in fire on the lowest part of his belly. Curiosity drew his eyes to the girl once more, and he saw that she had pulled her short robe up and off her bottom, which made him cringe, but there was the same rune written in fire at the base of her spine. She was glaring at him over her shoulder, having noticed the rune inscribed on the lowest part of his belly; he hastily closed his robe, which caused her to grin mischievously.

“This is your fault!” she exclaimed, the grin sliding off her face as she stabbed a finger at him, causing him to jump. He tried to look away, since she did not bother to close her robe. “You have the same marks on you!”

“It is not his fault any more than it is yours,” the figure said, still speaking in the same calm voice. “It is the fault of my rebellious brother, Gar, who seeks to thwart the plan by marking you both in this way.”

“I don’t believe you!” she denied. “I don’t even know who you are, so why should I accept anything you say, since this is only a dream?”

“Ah, but this is a special dream–a special place,” the figure replied, and they could just see his smile. “I understand how you feel,” he went on calmly, “but you must trust me, else Gar has already won.”

She started to protest, but the figure raised his hand and stopped her; Blakstar was surprised that she obeyed him.

“There is little time left,” the figure went on, waving his arm. The darkness around them shimmered and became a clearing in the forest with the kortexem’s mountain towering nearby. This clearing was blackened and burned; twisted trees surrounded it. Near the center and turned toward the mountain, a blackened tree, more twisted than the others, grew at an odd angle to the ground; it curved away from the mountain, staying close to the ground, as if some giant foot had crushed it when a sapling. The branches on the trunk had been broken off, leaving foot long stubs seared clean by whatever fire had blackened both the tree and the surrounding glade.

“I show you this place so that the two of you will know where you can meet when you dream,” the figure went on. “Here you will come in your dreams; here you will be able to get to know one another, and I exhort you to look past your differences, for you will find that you are more alike than you are different.”

The wetha opened her mouth to retort, but her form suddenly flattened and began to shrink; Blakstar ran toward her.

“I will find you and rescue you!” he shouted to her. He could see that she heard him, but she looked troubled, less sure of herself as she faded from view. Blakstar turned to face the figure in white. “I never got her name,” he said, and felt himself flattening and being pulled out of the world of dreams. As his mind went blank, he heard a voice speak, as soft as an echo, the voice of the figure whispering to him.

“But you already know it. . . .”

Come back tomorrow when we will meet the third of the principle chosen, Klaybear, an apprentice kailu of Shigmar as he goes to his order’s sacred grove to receive a vision from the One of his life’s mission, although he finds someone he did not expect, waiting for him. If you do not want to wait another week, download the entire book from Smashwords for free!