206 A.B.

(3 years before the Runner's Rebellion)

My trusty feathered staff is solid in my hands, the worn wooden grip smooth and familiar. I swing the heavy weapon out at my opponent, gritting my teeth at the almighty sound of his staff colliding with mine.

He pushes me back and I counter immediately, jabbing the butt of my weapon into his gut. He utters a surprised oof and ducks, narrowly avoiding my next blow.

I have the upper hand, now. Deftly, I knock his weapon free of his hands, rapping his knuckles so that his weighted staff clatters to the ground and sends a spray of sand into the air.

I offer my adversary a smug grin as I twirl my staff above my head. He glares back at me, positively seething before he drops abruptly onto all fours and kicks his feet out at my legs. I bite back a shriek of surprise as I fall, landing heavily and choking on the dust flying up around me. Instinctively, I bring my weapon back around and only barely manage to block his next attack, knocking his arm away and connecting solidly with his shoulder.

It is over. He raises his hands in surrender, grimacing. I remain seated, placing my staff gently on the ground next to me and leaning forward over my knees as I study my scowling young protégé.

Luca's dark, wavy hair is mussed and coated with sand. Large blue and yellow bruises are already beginning to form on his ribs and shoulders, but I know that his only real hurt is his damaged pride.

"Well matched, Luca." I tell him, not bothering to keep the hint of amusement from my voice. "Though, you are certainly more skilled with a bow than a staff."

He makes some guttural reply and I grin, gently prodding him with the toe of my boot. "No hard feelings. You are improving."

"You took it easy on me." He says, rightly. "Next time, I want a fair fight."

I raise an eyebrow at him, amused. "You have only just passed your sixteenth year, do you already think you are fit to face me?"

"You were only sixteen when you were made Choice warrior."

"Fifteen." I correct him.

The Choice warrior is one of our tribe's most honoured roles. Every Waster is raised in the art of combat, but only the person who displays the right combination of ferocity and discipline becomes Chosen.

I took on the responsibilities of Choice five years ago. From the very beginning, I have dedicated myself to serving Chief Jaron, fulfilling my duties with a ruthless efficiency. Everything I know I learned from training with the former Choice and now, it is my turn to apprentice the next Chosen.

Luca is the Chief's youngest brother but possesses none of Jaron's trademark patience. To many of our old warriors, Luca would seem too unpredictable for such a sacred position, though even the most skeptical cannot deny the total fearlessness Luca displays in battle. When I proposed Luca as the next Choice my decision was met with doubt, with some people warning me that the notoriously rebellious boy would be resistant to training.

While that may cause some other instructor to worry, I never had any doubt about my wayward apprentice. Having grown up alongside Luca, Jaron and Noah, I am blessed with the knowledge that each of the brothers possess the same trigger; challenge them and they will come back at you with everything they have.

Staunch refusal to back down from a fight is the single most important trait that Luca can benefit from as he begins his journey. The Choice has to become more than just a skilled fighter; they also need to be someone who can voluntarily commit the most unforgivable act.

At the heart of everything, the Choice must be a cold-blooded killer.

Luca impatiently shoves his messy hair back from his face. "You were younger than me when you began. Even more reason why I should not be coddled."

"What do you hope to accomplish?" I ask. "I defeated you when I held back, how do you expect to fare when I am coming at you with full strength?"

"I will learn faster." He answers, simply.

"You will bleed more."

"The more a Choice bleeds, the more he has sacrificed for his tribe." Luca recites.

I grin, straightening and offering a hand to help him to his feet. "You pay closer attention than you let on."

"I am always listening." Luca retrieves his staff and twirls it experimentally in his hands, trying to mimic my signature move. "I want to know everything you know."

The things I know from my years serving as Choice would shatter this innocent's heart. I shake my head, pushing the thought away. There will be time enough for Luca to develop a true understanding of our burden, for now he simply has to learn how to properly wield a staff.

"All right, there will be no holding back this time." I take up a defensive stance, waiting for Luca to do the same. "But you will be the one who explains your spilled blood to your brother."

"Jaron won't mind." He smirks, bringing his weapon around without warning.

I block it easily, delighting in the energetic tingle ricocheting down my arms. This is what I have honed myself for; the glory of combat. Poor Luca has no idea what he is in for.

"I wasn't talking about Jaron." I shove him away.

Luca regains his footing and we circle one another like hawks, each of us eyeing the other wearily.

"You never are." My impertinent charge has the gall to throw me a wink.

How fortunate for Luca that now, I get an opportunity to teach him a lesson in respecting the Choice warrior.

* * * * *

I meet Noah late that night.

The moon is barely a sliver in the sky, but the starlight and my own, keen instincts are all I need to make my way to the spot we have deemed 'ours'. I leave the tube station behind and set out across the desert, my footsteps virtually soundless on the soft sand.

He is leaning up against a palm tree when I find him, arms crossed in front of his chest and a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. I can't help the smile creeping up my own face as I walk closer, deliberately keeping my steps small and measured.

"You are late." He accuses.

I shrug. "Were you readying yourself to leave?"

"Not a chance." Noah reaches out, gripping me about the waist and pulling me to him.

I melt against his chest, tilting my chin up and wrapping my arms around him. We kiss deeply and I feel my heart give that familiar lurch, hammering fiercely against my ribcage.

At once, all of my burdens melt away. My worries, frustrations and the constant, nagging feeling of guilt that comes along with being the Choice are forgotten. Here, in Noah's arms, I have found true acceptance. With him, I am home.

"You are tired." Noah murmurs against my lips.

I release a small groan. "Is it so obvious?"

"Only because I know you."

He lets me sag against him, resting his head on top of mine. We remain that way for several moments, holding one another in our own private oasis.

"I saw Luca today." Noah finally breaks the silence. "At least, I think it was him. It was difficult to see beneath all the scrapes and bruises. I barely had any poultices left by the time I was through treating him."

"He told me to come at him with everything I have." I explain, straightening and looking up at him. "He wanted to know the full might of the Choice warrior."

"I would say that you effectively showed him." Noah shakes his head but I don't miss the trace of amusement crossing his features. "And perhaps a little extra, besides."

I shrug unapologetically. "I nursed just as many cuts and bruises when I was training."

"You were a spitfire, then." He pushes the strands of hair back from my face. "The fiercest Chosen our tribe has ever known. Will you miss it?"

"No." I say, wearily. "Five years of being Jaron's hired assassin was more than enough for me."

"As soon as Luca's training is complete, you will be free. We can travel, discover more of the desert. Just you and I." His green eyes sparkle. "Think of it, Rowan."

"I do." I run my hand over his jaw fondly. "Every day, I think of it." The idea is my lifeline, my spot of light in an otherwise dark world.

"Jaron is concerned that Luca will not be able to live up to your legacy."

"Perhaps not at first, but Luca thrives on trying to prove himself." I snake my arms around Noah's back and run my hands over his tight, ropy muscles. "I have every confidence in him."

"You are a good teacher."

"I know." I lean into him, delighting in the goosebumps rising on my skin as he strokes my exposed flesh. "I have taught you a thing or two."

He chuckles low in his throat and nips my ear with his sharp teeth. "Indeed, you did. I am your most attentive student."

I feel my knees go weak as his arms tighten around me. Normally I pride myself on my strength and discipline, but when it comes to my Noah, all of my self-control is forgotten.

He is my Chosen, and I am his.

* * * * *

"Do you know why we do this?" I ask conversationally, carefully selecting an arrow from my quiver and handing it to my apprentice.

Luca accepts the arrow, notching it expertly and sighting along its length. "Do what?"

I know that he has understood my meaning, but reply anyway. 'Why we kill."

He doesn't flinch, keeping his eyes trained on the target. "Because they are the enemy. The Miners take our people, our food and our water. They are not fit to live."

It was me who instructed him to harden his heart, but hearing Luca speak so coldly still causes my stomach to churn uncomfortably.

We are crouched on a dune high above the desert, watching the fleet of Miners milling about their docked air machine. The inevitability of combat pricks at my senses, but I know that I must hold myself back. This day is Luca's.

These past months he has blossomed under my tutelage, mastering our generations-old techniques in stealth and battle. I knew him as a boy but now, I look at the person crouching next to me and I see a warrior. If Luca can successfully complete this test, then he will surpass me as the tribe's Chosen.

And I will be free.

And with that realization comes another painful stab of guilt. It is true that I will no longer have to shoulder this burden, but by giving it up, I pass the weight to Luca. I watch him, studying the way he tenses his shoulders and arranges his features into an expression of stoic detachment. His demeanor tells me that he does not yet fully realize the implications of our role. Eventually, the truth of it all will threaten to break him and when that happens, he will need to be ready.

I will do what I can, but I know that coping is the one thing I cannot teach. Luca will have to learn the final lesson on his own.

"You misunderstand me, Luca." I keep my voice smooth and even, not wanting to disrupt his concentration. "Why must we kill. Why does the Choice work alone?"

He pauses before replying, thinking over his answer as he adjusts his aim. "So that the shadow falls only on us."

"That is right." I say, approvingly. "To kill is no small thing. When we take a life, we must respect the loss and the repercussions of that loss. Wasters are warriors, but part of what makes our people strong is knowing that our collective guilt is carried by only one person."

The point of Luca's arrow wavers slightly but I pretend not to notice. We wait in tense silence for several moments, both of us watching the distant target as the man wanders away from his troop's sky machine.

After a time, Luca speaks again. "You want me to feel remorse?"

"If you do not feel remorse, then you are no better than the Miners." I reply. "When you release that arrow, you must keep hold of your humanity."

His jaw clenches and at once, Luca becomes perfectly still. I slow my own breathing and we exhale in the same moment.

The arrow streaks through the air and the distant Miner falls. He crumples to the ground like a sack and lies there still, a crimson pool blooming in the sand beneath him. It is a clean kill; the Miner did not utter a sound and died seemingly without pain.

"Well shot." I murmur. Then, turning to face my protégé, "How do you feel?"

He lowers the bow slowly. "The same."

"It will get a little worse every time. You will see."

There are shouts from below as someone takes notice of their fallen comrade. Miners pour out of the grounded sky machine, sprinting in the direction of the dead man. Soon, they will all be gathered together in an open space, the poor souls.

"This is it." I pick up my own bow from where it lies half-buried in the sand. "Time to carry out our duty. Are you certain that you are ready for this?"

"I am ready."

"Good." Notching an arrow. "Because there will be no coming back."

We fire in quick succession, smoothly picking off nearly a dozen Miners before they manage to pinpoint our direction. As soon as we are spotted we shoulder our bows and slide down the back of the dune, moving quickly and in perfect synch.

I do not yet know if the Miners will retreat to their machine or if they will try and seek us out, but experience tells me that we can expect some company amongst the dunes.

Compassion is the Miners' greatest weakness; their sense of vengeance for a single friend causes them to react predictably. Their hearts will be their undoing. This is why I keep my own heart locked up tight, leaving a wall between the world and myself until I can escape into my oasis.

Our feet hit the hard-packed ground between the dunes and we take off at a sprint, weaving a path that takes us deeper into the maze, losing ourselves in the familiar landscape. I let Luca lead the way, following him as he gradually loops us back towards the machine and circles in behind our pursuers.

These Miners are more organized than most. They have broken up into smaller groups and dispersed in different directions. We come upon three men just as they are making their way around the bend. At first they seem surprised to see us, barely recovering their wits in time to bring their weapons up.

That is as far as they get. An instant later, each Miner is sporting an arrow in the centre of their chest. We don't pause to watch their expressions turn from shock to horror as they keel forward, instead stepping around their falling bodies and disappearing behind the next dune.

Luca is precise, completely honed in to the locations of the surrounding enemies. He traces a seemingly random path, time and time again cutting off a search party and dispatching them handily. Out here, amongst the dunes and the blood, Luca is in his element.

So long as he can learn to handle what comes after, Noah's youngest brother will make an excellent Choice warrior.

We clamber up a ridge, thrusting the tips of our weapons into the soft sand and pulling ourselves bodily up. My muscles scream from the exertion but I revel in the painful sensation. In the heat of war, my body sings to life. With limbs buzzing and heart pumping, I push myself harder and further, clambering for both the top of the dune and the edge of my abilities. I do not know my limits, for I have yet to reach them.

We crest the edge of the mountain and sink down low, gathering our breath while we peer around the side, ears perked to the sounds of any remaining parties. I wipe my sweat-soaked palms on my thighs and look to Luca, awaiting his decision.

"There are only five remaining." He says, sinking down onto the sand next to me and withdrawing his dagger. He tests the sharpened blade with his thumb before tucking the weapon into the strip of leather strapped across his chest.

"You are certain?"

"Yes." Looking up at me. "I counted twenty-four when we arrived. We have killed nineteen, already."

"Good." I nod my approval. "What next?"

"They are headed this way." He peers around the edge of the dune, again. "We will wait for them to pass, then strike."

"If they have found any of their fallen friends, then they will be angry." I remind him. "Their actions will be unpredictable."

"Then so shall mine."

We wait, listening for the tread of heavy boots against hard-packed sand. Miners are unsuited for the Wastelands. Out here, away from their precious sky machines and far beyond their wall, they are awkward and clumsy. The desert is our domain; its secrets are known only to the Wasters. In times of war, our environment is our greatest asset and our most deadly weapon. We treat this scorched earth with reverence, knowing what kind of devastation it is capable of if mistreated. In return, the desert has hidden and protected us, concealed our activities and our homes from the prying eyes of those who wish us harm.

Our patience is rewarded and finally, I hear the telltale sound of shuffling footsteps. Luca stiffens and together we remain stock-still, barely breathing while the Miners move around the edge of the dune below. I can hear them speaking in hushed tones and recognize a distinct note of fear.

There is no denying that after all these years, I still enjoy the rush of power I feel at inspiring this kind of dread.

Their steps are slow and careful. I incline my head to look over my shoulder, catching a glimpse of the first Miner making his way along the twisting path. His head swivels back and forth, his sword held in a trembling fist. If any of these soldiers think to look up, then they would be treated to a full view of a Choice warrior and her apprentice.

Of course, no one ever looks up.

The five men have emerged, creeping their way through the narrow pass. We are so close that I can recognize the tight set of their shoulders and their eyes stretched wide enough to see the whites.

He appears relaxed, but Luca is a coiled spring, poised and ready for the exact moment to strike. I hold the hilt of my staff securely, feeling the wood warm from my familiar grip. This is it.

When we leap, it isn't so much that we are jumping, as flying.

Landing halfway down the dune, we remain crouched low as we slide along the soft sand, trails of golden dust arcing in our wake. I keep my staff held aloft, feeling a wicked grin pull at my mouth as I focus on our targets. The Miners finally look up, their mouths dropping open as they whirl to face us. Too late. Always, too late.

Luca leaps again but I stay glued to the wall of the dune, bringing my staff down and swooping it in front of me, connecting solidly with the head of the nearest man. He releases a startled cry and a crimson spray of blood spurts from his broken mouth. I duck low, dodging someone's outstretched sword just as Luca attacks from behind.

He has jumped clear over the Miners' heads, landing on the dune opposite. The men don't have a hope of turning in time, the first falling as the point of Luca's dagger rakes across his throat.

Only three remaining.

I spring upright, using my staff as leverage while I kick out at the chest of the man next to me. I hear the breath expunge from his collapsed lungs and he falls to his knees, his sword clattering harmlessly to the ground while he clutches at his heart. With one more blow I finish him off, raising my staff and twirling it above my head as I unleash my fiercest war cry. The two remaining Miners jump back, their weapons shaking violently in their hands.

One of the men makes a valiant effort, fear or blind desperation spurring him into running headlong towards me. I stay rooted in place, making no move to lower my weapon while I stare the man directly in the eyes. Implicitly, I know that I am in no danger. Luca has long-since proven his worth as a Choice, now I must simply wait for him to pass this final test so that I may indebt my life to him, forever.

The Miner comes within an arm's-length of me before he stumbles, an expression of surprise, then confusion crossing his face. I feel the moment drawing out. With death as a certainty, there is no need to rush.

The last look the Miner and I exchange is one of great peace and understanding. He is released, and finally collapses into the sand, revealing the hilt of Luca's dagger buried between his shoulders.

I cease twirling my staff, straightening as I register Luca dispatching the final enemy. The unfortunate man's fear is ended as he takes an arrow to the heart.

The world at once becomes silent. We remain perfectly still, feeling ourselves propped upright against the heaviness that follows battle. The air surrounding us is home, now to the souls of the slain. I shut my eyes tight, inwardly paying my respects to the fight and commending the lost spirits back to the earth.

It is only when the weight becomes bearable that I open my eyes. Looking across the blood-stained sand I lock my gaze with Luca's. His normally bright green eyes have darkened and his clear brow has furrowed.

There has been more than twenty-four deaths, today. The boy, Luca, is also gone. The man standing across from me has committed the ultimate, most unforgivable sin.

I recognize the expression on his face, it is one I wore five years ago when I finally understood the path I had set myself on. At fifteen years old I had trained for months, excelling in my lessons much the way Luca had. With the feeling of invincibility that comes with youth, I thought I had understood what being Choice meant. I was proud to be chosen, eager to prove myself to my Chief and my tribe.

But when the dust of my first slaughter settled, there was no victor. There was no glory, no pride or honour. There was only myself. There was only Rowan and the blood that would never wipe clean of her hands.

"What you are feeling right now, that is the reason we do this." I tell him, my voice sounding hollow in the dead air. "We take this pain so that our people do not have to."

A muscle twitching near Luca's jaw is the only indication that he is listening.

"War will not always be fought in this way." I roll my shoulders back, loosening the tight muscles. "We are developing machines. Soon, we will be strong enough to tear through the Miners' wall and when that day comes, I don't think there will be any more need for a Choice warrior. This war will become a different type of fight."

Luca's fingers furl unconsciously around his bow as his eyes dart once more over the slain bodies.

I press on. "It is good that you feel remorse, Luca. This should never be simple."

"Does..." He licks his lips, swallowing once. "Does it become easier?"

I look him straight in the eye, waiting until I have his full attention. "No."

He nods, resignation crossing his dark features.

"You can make it bearable, though." I incline my head, setting off back towards the gnarled path carved by the dunes. A moment later, I hear Luca's soft footsteps at my back.

"How?"

"That, I'm afraid, is the one thing that I cannot teach you." I slow my pace enough for him to catch up to me. "You must find your own spot of light in this world. Our path is a lonely one, but even amongst the desert, we can seek an oasis."

He is silent for a long moment. Together, we tread our way back towards the camp, each adrift in our own thoughts.

"What will you do, now?" He asks, eventually.

I suppress a smile. "Whatever I please."

My work is done. I have proven my worth to Jaron and my tribe, upheld my post honourably and ensured that the next Choice will serve equally well. I have earned total freedom and a lifetime of respect, and all it cost was five years of murder and carnage.

The acts I have committed in the name of my people will always remain with me, but still I consider myself lucky. I found my spot of light long ago. Whatever I have done, whatever burdens I carry, I know that there is always one place I can go. A sacred place where I am accepted wholly and wholeheartedly.

My own personal oasis.

* * * * *

Noah is waiting for me beneath the palm tree, shaded from the moonlight. He smiles as I approach, tilting his head while his eyes rake my figure approvingly. He wags his eyebrows playfully and I laugh, shaking my head and quickening my pace.

We don't speak, choosing instead to simply wrap our arms around one another. I curl up against him, breathing in his familiar scent and allowing the day's troubles to finally lift from my shoulders. His breath tickles my cheek and I nuzzle closer, sighing.

"It is over." He murmurs. "You have made it through."

"It is only over for me." I look up at him. "For Luca, it is just beginning."

His expression is grim. Despite his bluster, I know that Noah cares a great deal about his brothers, especially his youngest.

"It is out of our hands, now." He says, sounding older than his years. "Luca has chosen this path. It is his decision, and his alone."

"He did well, today." I tell him. "I believe that his restlessness just needed to be channeled into a purpose."

"Sounds familiar." His arms tighten around me and I grin.

"I suppose that now we can do all those things we talked about." I look up at him thoughtfully. "We can cross the salt flats, head East and begin a new adventure."

"Yes, we could..." He trails off and I recognize the pinched, worried line marring his brow.

We won't leave. At least, not yet. Not until Luca has served his time as Choice. Noah couldn't go unless he knew that his brother was safe, and I couldn't go unless I was certain that I did everything I could to protect my beloved's family.

Both Noah and I always knew this, but sometimes it is easier to follow the mirage.

"We should stay." I say, with finality. "At least, for a little while."

The corner of Noah's mouth lifts and the line between his eyes disappears. "You are certain? Don't you wish for some distance? Some peace?"

"I have my peace." I cup his jaw and bring his mouth to mine.

And so we remain, entangled together in this one place we can always return to. Whatever regrets I have, whatever sins I have committed, here, I am forgiven. I can shoulder any burden, weather any storm, so long as I have Noah waiting for me on the other side.

He is my oasis.