Free Chaos Rises by Melinda Brasher

Chaos Rises
    A Far-Knowing tale
     
    By Melinda Brasher
     
     
     
    Smashwords Edition
    Copyright 2014 Melinda Brasher
     
     
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Table of Contents
    Chaos Rises
    About the Author
    Far-Knowing Sneak Peek
    Other Books by Melinda Brasher
     
     
     
Chaos Rises

    By Melinda Brasher
     
     
    Hala was picking rumpelberries the day she
accidentally summoned the hill tiger. Two buckets, almost full.
Hands slippery with juice. Stomach gurgling guiltily from the
sour-sweet feast. Nothing on her mind but the warmth of the sun and
her mother's rumpelberry tart. Rumpelberry soup with cream.
Rumpelberry sauce on venison.
    She'd just discovered another bush when the
guttural warning sounded behind her. She whirled, berries flying
from her hand, as a flash of dull orange blocked out the trees.
    Pain seared her arm, where she'd lifted it to
block her face. The beast's teeth dragged through her flesh until
they ripped themselves free. Only then did she realize what it was:
a real hill tiger. It glared at her through red slitted eyes, its
black gums pulled back from three-inch fangs.
    She swung the berry bucket at its head. It
hissed and she screamed, but she kept swinging. Berries pelted down
on them as the tiger's paws slashed through the sunlight and tore
at her skin. She lashed out with a foot, so hard the tiger jumped
away, arched its back, and hissed again. Then it was gone, running
off so fast she hardly even saw it bolt. She didn't let go of the
bucket's handle until the birds started singing again and the blood
from her arm had begun to mix with the ruined berries on the
ground.
    Hala retold the story at least a dozen times
that day, while the healer worked patiently on her wounds. Her
brother wanted to know how fast it could run, and how thick its
muscles were. Her mother demanded to know why she'd gone picking
berries alone in the first place, though Hala insisted that
thirteen years old was practically grown up. Her father grilled her
for details of its location so he could organize the other
villagers to keep watch with him through the nights to come. But
the healer kept asking pointed questions about the hour before the attack, and what she'd been doing and touching
and thinking about, and if she'd been particularly calm and
content.
    "You think she's got the gift?" the
blacksmith asked with a smirk. "Of summoning hill tigers? That's
useful."
    The healer ignored him, and focused on Hala.
"Do you often see animals when you're outside the village?"
    "Sometimes."
    "Do you have vermin problems at home?"
    "Are you insulting my housekeeping?" her
mother huffed. "Might I remind you that you haven't dusted those
books of your since before the mountains rose from the plains?"
    "Your housekeeping would have nothing to do
with it," the healer said, then stopped her questioning. But the
seed had been planted, and its roots were growing in Hala's head,
blotting out the pain in her arm.
    The village had nearly thirty families, if
you included the outlying farms, but only one trained mage: the
healer. She herself admitted she was better at herbology than
magecraft. The blacksmith's gift was probably greater. He certainly
acted like it, going around lighting fires with his glare and
casting embarrassing suggestion enchantments on anyone foolish
enough to submit.
    The handful of other villagers with the gift
couldn't do much more than enchant their bread to taste sweeter or
make themselves look younger on nights when the village held
dancing in the green. No one she knew had ever summoned
animals.
    All night, consciousness ebbing and flowing
with the pain, Hala hoped it was true. Being a