The Choosing (3 page)

“What are you waiting for?” he whispers into the silence, knowing they can hear him well enough. “I have chores to do too. Can’t wait around here all day for you two laz—” A huge black blurring shape flies out between the trees and knocks him flat on his back, winding him.

“Ugh! Stop that!” Jerath tries to push the black panther away as she purrs and licks his face with her huge, rough tongue. “Serim!”

Mahli’s lynx is right behind, and she comes up to snuffle at his ear. He’s laughing now, batting at them with his hands, but they’re far too strong to be moved if they don’t want to be.

“Enough! Enough!” Jerath splutters, and both cats finally back away and let him sit up.

He wipes at his face with his sleeve and glares at them. “You two are the worst friends ever,” he grumbles, but there’s no anger behind it. He loves it when they do this, and they all know it. “Now shift back and get dressed. We’re late enough as it is.”

Jerath rubs at his face some more, making sure to get all the cat drool off his skin as the girls hurry to get back into their clothes behind him.

T
HE
village of Eladir is nestled at the foot of the Arachia Mountains. The four peaks tower over the village and protect it from being attacked from behind. It’s a beautiful sight; the tops are covered in snow for most of the year, only thawing briefly during the summer months.

Jerath’s village is the largest in the surrounding area, with over three hundred people. The houses spread far out from the center, and each year they have to chop down a bit more forest to accommodate new families or new arrivals. The neighboring villages of Westril and Lakesh only number four hundred between them, so the Choosing ritual and many of the other rituals involve all three villages.

The girls, fully dressed and more or less respectable now, walk alongside Jerath as they enter the village. Jerath spots Ghaneth and some of the others chopping wood outside one of the smaller barns, and he pokes Serim in the ribs and points over at them. “Look.”

Ghaneth has his shirt off again, and Jerath has to admit he’s a good-looking boy. He can definitely see why Serim likes him so much. Serim, Mahli, and Jerath all stop to watch as Ghaneth hauls the axe high and swings it down in one easy movement, splitting the piece of wood cleanly in two. He piles the pieces next to him and then starts all over again.

“Wow,” Mahli whispers in awe. “He’s very strong.”

They all stare at the play of muscle across Ghaneth’s back, at the way he pauses and wipes the sweat from his forehead. Jerath grins widely when Serim’s breath catches and she licks her lips.

Ghaneth must feel them looking and turns his head in their direction, his eyes fixed solely on Serim. His gaze trails lazily over her from head to toe, and Jerath sees her blush when Ghaneth’s gaze settles on the tail edges of her tattoo. For a moment he just stares at it. A look of longing crosses his features before he snaps out of it and smiles softly, hefting his axe again and returning to his task.

“Serim.” Jerath tugs on her sleeve when he realizes she’s still staring. “Come on.”

Serim shakes her head and starts to walk. “Sorry,” she whispers, and Jerath reaches out to squeeze her hand.

“For what it’s worth”—Mahli nudges Serim with her shoulder—“Ghaneth will definitely be choosing you when it’s his time.”

“Yeah,” Jerath agrees. “Did you see the way he looked at you?”

Serim grins, casts one more glance in Ghaneth’s direction, and then hurries along with her friends.

T
HEY
reach Mahli’s house first and she waves good-bye before disappearing inside. Jerath and Serim walk in silence until they arrive at Serim’s door. Her home is bigger than it looks from the front. The back extends farther out than some of the surrounding homes, and Serim’s mother is very proud of the extra space it gives them. The low roof is packed tight with rushes, and the slightly curved walls are smooth and well maintained. Jerath has spent many hours helping to keep it that way since Serim’s father died. They all have.

Serim reaches for the door and pauses as she turns to Jerath. “Are you coming in for a bit?”

He looks up at the sky. The sun is still bright, and he knows there’s a good few hours of daylight left—plenty of time to get his chores done. Besides, Kinis might have been baking, and she makes the tastiest bread in the village.

“Yeah, okay.” He reaches to open the door for Serim and steps aside to let her past. She snorts at his obvious display of chivalry as though it’s totally wasted on her, and enters the house. Jerath follows, smiling fondly.

They find Serim’s mother wrestling with a huge bunch of wildflowers and trying to find something to put them in. “Secret admirer?” Serim asks, smirking. Jerath hurries to take them from Kinis so she can search with both hands.

Kinis smiles her thanks at Jerath and then eyes her daughter before replying, a sly smile on her lips. “Definitely an admirer… only not so secret… and not for me.”

Serim groans loudly and Jerath instantly knows who the flowers are from. It’s Kinis’s turn to smirk.

“You know,” she begins as she wipes her hands on her skirt, “you could do a lot worse than accepting Kyr’s offer.” Serim tries to interrupt but Kinis holds up her hand. “His father is well respected in the village and it’s not a promise, Serim. You don’t have to marry the boy. Just accept the honor of helping him through this to find his animal form.”

Serim huffs but stays quiet. She glances at Jerath with pleading eyes and he shuffles uncomfortably. Both their fathers were killed in the raids over five years ago. Their families are very close as a result, and Kinis is like a second mother to him. Jerath knows her well enough to realize this is one argument he shouldn’t get in the middle of. He shakes his head a little, indicating that Serim is on her own with this one, and she shoots him her best death glare.

“You’re aware that every girl is expected to go through at least one Choosing,” Serim’s mother says softly, and Serim nods. Jerath can see the restraint on Serim’s face as she struggles not to scoff. According to Serim and Mahli, every girl from the age of
ten
knows this. The boys tend to find out a little later, but Jerath’s known how the ritual works since he turned fourteen. “He’s a good-looking boy, Serim. They might not all be as easy on the eye as Kyr.”

Kinis turns to fix her knowing eyes on Jerath. He fidgets and shoves his hands in his pockets, suddenly finding the floor very interesting. “Don’t you agree, Jerath?” she asks, and her tone forces him to look up and meet her gaze. His own mother knows of his preferences, but as far as he’s aware she hasn’t told anyone else. But Kinis is very perceptive, and it wouldn’t surprise Jerath in the least if she suspected he liked boys.

“I guess he’s okay,” Jerath mutters, and Serim elbows him sharply in the ribs. “If you like that sort of thing, that is.”

“What? Arrogant, mean, and full of sh—”

“That’s enough, Serim!” Kinis snaps. She appears less than impressed with the pair of them. Serim looks suitably ashamed, mumbles, “Sorry, Mother,” and Jerath decides this is the perfect time to leave.

“I think I’d better be getting back home.” He smiles apologetically at Serim. She shakes her head, but smiles too so he knows she’s not too mad at him for running off and leaving her.

“Yes, Jerath.” Kinis takes the flowers from him and places them on the table. “I’m sure Helan is wondering where you are.”

Jerath says his good-byes, arranges to meet up with Serim later—as long as they’ve both finished their chores—and slinks out of the house.

J
ERATH
’
S
mother is outside hanging up washing when he gets home. They have a piece of thin rope tied between the side of their house and the large sturdy tree next to it, and Helan is busy laying the wet clothes over the line to dry. The afternoon sun is still warm and Helan wipes her forehead when she’s finished, a light sheen of sweat clinging to her brow.

“Jerath!” She smiles, walks over, and hugs her son. “How are the girls? Did you have fun down by the lake?”

He relaxes into her embrace and breathes in the comforting scent of orange and ginger. For just a second he can forget about everything else, and he holds on for as long as he can get away with.

“The girls are fine,” Jerath eventually answers. He steps back and follows his mother into their house. It’s not as large as Serim’s, but it’s just as well kept and Jerath loves it. “And yeah, the lake was good.” He sighs, remembering how Serim and Mahli looked in their shifted forms.

“Are you sure?” Helan stops and turns to look intently at Jerath’s face. “You don’t sound very happy.”

Jerath smiles at her. He doesn’t want her to worry, and even though he’s envious of them sometimes, he really did have a good time with Serim and Mahli. “No, really. It was fine.”

Helan raises her eyebrow, clearly indicating she doesn’t believe a word he’s saying. Jerath sighs again, pulls out a chair, and slumps down into it. “They shifted on the way back to the village, that’s all.” He looks up at his mother and she smiles at him, but it’s tinged with sadness this time. “You know how I get sometimes.”

Helan comes up behind him and wraps her arms around his shoulders. “Your time will come, Jerath. Have faith.”

“I know it will. It’s just, with me liking…
you know
… and the ritual….” He knows his mother will understand what he means without him having to spell it out.

Helan gives Jerath’s shoulders a squeeze and then moves around the table to sit opposite him. “Jerath….” She reaches out and takes his hands in hers. “I know it’s hard, and every day I wish your father was here because he would have been so much better at this than I am, but you have to trust that everything will be okay.”

Jerath’s heart aches at the mention of his father, especially when he sees the matching expression on his mother’s face.

“You’re not the first boy to have been in this situation and I’m sure you won’t be the last. But there hasn’t been anyone in the villages’ history who has failed to complete the ritual.”

Jerath squirms in his chair. How can he explain to his own mother that his biggest concern is getting hard enough to actually attempt the ritual? None of the girls in their village, or girls in general, do anything for him, and the prospect of embarrassing himself like that is something he tries very hard not to think about.

“But what if….” He feels his cheeks heat up, but swallows his pride and carries on. “What if I
can’t
?”

Realization dawns on Helan’s face, and Jerath wishes he could disappear under the table. “Oh, Jerath.” She squeezes his hands and smiles at him. “There are berries and potions that can help you with that.”

Jerath must still look skeptical because Helan shakes her head and sighs. “Do you remember Dalen’s coming of age?” she asks, and Jerath nods. Dalen was from Westril, just to the east of Eladir. “Well, I’m sure you know that he was about as interested in girls as you are?” She waits for Jerath to nod again. “And he completed the ritual just fine.” She grins then and winks at Jerath. “With the aid of a particularly potent lava berry potion, that is.”

Jerath’s cheeks are on fire now; discussing sex rituals and potions with his mother is one of those things that should be avoided at all costs. But at least he now knows he should be able to participate in his Choosing when the time comes, even if it does mean he has to use sex berries to do it.

“So I don’t want you to worry anymore, okay?”

Jerath promises to try and when Helan suggests he go and finish his chores over at the barn, he can’t leave fast enough.

“H
EY
, Jerath.” A couple of the older boys greet him as he approaches the largest barn. It’s where they keep the animals and the village’s supply of firewood. One of Jerath’s weekly chores is to help chop the huge pile of wood collected earlier in the month. It’s late summer now, so they need to stockpile enough to get them through the coming winter.

“Hey.” Jerath smiles at them and goes to grab an axe from the tool store. He needs to spend at least an hour here if he wants to do his fair share, so he gets going straightaway. He hefts his axe high and swings it down, cutting cleanly through the wood, before grabbing another piece and doing the same thing again.

After about half an hour, Jerath starts to sweat and his shirt sticks to him all along his back. He stops, rests his axe against the chopping block, and peels off his shirt.

“Still no fangs, Jerath?” Kyr’s voice just behind him makes Jerath startle, and there’s a ripple of laughter. He turns around slowly, not surprised to see Kyr and two of his friends standing there. “And therefore no tattoo either.”

Jerath rolls his eyes. “You know very well I don’t have them yet.” The two boys with Kyr are Jakob and Darek, neither of whom has come of age yet either. Jerath tries hard to keep his voice calm. He doesn’t want to give them the satisfaction of reacting. “And I’m pretty sure that none of you three have tattoos either.”