Gifted

By H. S. Stone

In a kingdom where the Gifteds are captured and thrown into fights to the death, Voima is fortunate that she is just a Regular. However, her brother, Vendd, isn't so lucky. Since his Power started manifesting itself, the siblings have lived a life on the run, barely escaping the king's soldiers.

Just as Voima and Vendd have settled into a new home, a fleeing Gifted enters their lives, begging for help but bringing soldiers after him. Despite the siblings' efforts, the soldiers discover Vendd's Power. Now Voima, an outmatched Regular girl, must find a way to defeat the kingdom's most dangerous Gifteds in order to save her brother from certain death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: H. S. Stone
• Release date: Sep 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310706691

H. S. Stone

Even before he could read, H.S. Stone wanted to write a book. Fascinated by the stories that seemed to leap from his kindergarten teacher's books, he went home and wrote his own book, with illustrations and bound by staples. Of course, since he didn't know how to read or write yet, the book was full of gibberish. Undaunted, H.S. eventually mastered the ABC's and continued to write throughout his grade school years, adolescence, and into adulthood. His publications include novels aimed at Young Adult and Middle Grade readers as well as several short stories. He currently lives with his family in the San Francisco Bay Area.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The sun shone through a thin layer of clouds, bathing the arena with its warmth and brilliance. The temperature was warm but not too hot, and a gentle breeze kept the excited spectators cool.

It was a perfect day for a fight to the death.

Trumpets blared across the stadium. Below the audience, two gates opened on opposite ends of the circular arena. Thousands of heads craned forward to catch a glimpse of the entering combatants. The crowd held its collective breath as an overwhelming, anticipatory hush weighed over the stadium.

A man emerged from under one of the gates, and a cacophony of cheers shattered the silence. He took a few steps into the arena and stopped to watch the shouting spectators above him on every side. He'd never been in a remotely similar situation before. This was his first occasion inside the stadium, either as a spectator or as a participant. It was also the first time he’d seen so many people gathered in the same place. The number of filled seats astounded him. The entire population of his town wouldn't take up half of the stadium.

The man's eyes traveled up the forty feet of stone that walled him inside the arena. Spikes lined the top three feet of the wall, preventing him from escaping or anyone in the stadium from entering the combat grounds. He wondered if he could navigate between the spikes, assuming he made it up the wall. The soldiers guarding the perimeter erased those thoughts. Attempting to flee by scaling the walls was futile.

Before he had a chance to dwell further on escape scenarios, the cheering turned into a deafening roar. The man switched his attention to the other gate. Across the arena, a woman strode out of the tunnel's darkness. Like him, she was dressed in a simple outfit consisting of a sleeveless shirt, loose-fitting pants, and boots that rode halfway up her calves. Unlike him, however, the woman didn't gaze at the spectators in wonder. The situation didn’t awe her like it did her foe. She merely raised an arm in acknowledgment of the crowd’s adoration but kept her eyes on the man, drilling him with the same stare she wore since she stepped into the arena.

Between them, a cluster of spikes, longer than the ones lining the wall, rose from the ground. They were taller than an average man’s height, ending in deadly sharpened points, and the man vowed to avoid them if he could. His gaze veered several feet to the left of the spikes, where an oversized chain lay in the dirt. Each link was the size of his head. The man couldn't decide how he would use such a chain. It looked too heavy for him to lift. He completed the sweep of the arena. The last object between him and his opponent was a stone pedestal that was as high as his chest, but he didn't see how it helped under the circumstances.

The man hesitated, debating whether to stand where he was or to meet the woman in the middle of the arena. He didn't know the protocol, or even if there was a protocol for this fight. His only instructions stated that he was to fight another Gifted, and only one of them would leave the arena alive.

Ultimately, he decided that it was best to start walking, if only to show her that he wasn't afraid. She had certainly given no indication of fear so far. On the contrary, she was the picture of confidence.

The man suddenly wondered if this wasn't her first fight. He had assumed that, as a first time combatant, he would be matched against another new fighter. However, it dawned on him that the survivor of a Gifted Duel had to fight someone else the next time. Was she the winner of the last fight? If so, how many Gifted Duels had she won already? One? Ten? A hundred?

Her purposeful stride and familiarity with the surroundings made sense to him now, and it scared him.

The man called out the first words that came to mind. What's your Power?

The woman continued her approach, answering without changing her pace, You'll find out soon enough.

The crowd cheered once again at her retort. The man paled. He felt his legs weaken, but he willed himself to stand upright. If she had won numerous Duels, her Power must be well suited for combat. Unlike his.

The man didn't know why he was in the arena. He wasn't a fighter. He was just a farmer with an unusual ability. He had never hurt anyone with it. He had only used it to entertain the children who lived in his small town, but that was his fatal mistake.

Once word reached the king's ears that he existed, the man's fate was sealed. Within a day, armed soldiers descended upon his quiet town, shackled him like a dangerous criminal, and brought him to the king. There was no hearing, no trial. The fact that he was a Gifted doomed him.

Gifted. As if the name meant that his Power was a blessing and not a curse.

With the woman less than twenty feet away, he told her, I don't want to fight you.

She laughed. Too bad. You shouldn't have entered the arena then.

It wasn't my choice!

It's not mine either. Her expression softened momentarily, betraying a hint of sympathy before she restored her fighter's mask. Unfortunately, only one of us will leave this arena alive. I intend for that to be me.

The man backed away from his opponent. He considered going on the offensive, perhaps trying to take her by surprise, but he doubted that he would survive her Power once she displayed it. Were her reflexes lightning quick? Was her skin impenetrable? So far, he had no clue.

Choosing to play to his strength, the man retreated to the nearest wall. The woman continued advancing. She flexed her arms, and the muscles rippled under her skin. Super strength? The man warned himself to stay away from her reach.

With his back against the wall, he pushed one boot off his foot. This caused the woman to stop. She evaluated his unexpected action, unsure what it meant but certain that it had to do with his Power. The man tried to kick the other boot off, but it was fastened too tightly. He bent down to loosen the laces, twisting the boot off as he worked.

The woman picked that moment to attack. She pulled her right arm back and closed the last few feet separating them. The boot flew off his foot just in time for him to roll to the side. The woman's fist struck the wall next to where the man had crouched a second earlier, spraying pebbles into the air. He didn't look back at the indentation her blow left in the stone wall.

Instead, he ran away as fast as he could. The man kept close to the wall, alternating between running and hopping as he tugged the socks off his feet.

Behind him, the woman snorted. What's your Power? Smelly feet? Her comment drew laughter from the crowd. She stomped toward him, not bothering to quicken her pace to match his. You can't run forever, you know. Eventually, you'll get tired or you'll slip up, and then I'll catch you.

The man had his socks off. He stopped running and faced the wall. He placed one palm against it, turned his hand as if testing the point of contact, then placed the other palm on the rough surface. He slowly brought his left foot up so that it touched the wall. Then he lifted his right foot.

With his hands and feet on the wall, he began to climb. He pretended that he was ascending a ladder, except that there was no ladder, only the wall's vertical face. When he was twenty-five feet above the ground, the man looked downward.

That's your Power? The woman chuckled. You think that you can beat me by climbing on walls?

No, he answered, but as long as you can't reach me with your fists, that's all I'm worried about right now.

The woman jumped into the air, but her fingertips came nowhere near him. She tried slamming her fists into the wall, but as strong as she was, the stone was designed to withstand her assault. Chips of rock flew harmlessly away from the point of impact with no effect on the man above.

As the minutes passed, the man remained content to stay on the wall while the woman tried in vain to reach her opponent. The spectators protested. They were unhappy with the course of events. They had come to witness a fight, not two Gifteds unable or unwilling to battle against each other.

The man heard a commotion above him. Through the spikes, he saw two soldiers with long spears leaning over the top edge of the wall. They thrust their weapons down at him, aiming between the sharp metal spikes. The man scrambled horizontally away from the soldiers. They withdrew their spears and ran after him.

When he stopped to rest, the soldiers again attempted to stab at him. Another pair of soldiers joined the first, boxing him between their sets of spears.

The man looked for the woman and saw that she hadn't pursued him, instead viewing his interaction with the soldiers from a distance with the same bemused fascination that captivated the rest of the crowd. He quickly descended the wall and ran as far away from her as he could.

She gave chase, but it was too late. He reached the wall at the far end of the arena and climbed up. The four soldiers circled along the top of the wall to reach his location, but before they could reach him, the man hastened away.

The spectators began to laugh at the farce unfolding before them. The soldiers and the woman with the deadly fists followed the man along the wall, but he managed to keep a step ahead of them.

The man began to hold out hope that they would end this travesty of a fight before he bored the audience to tears.

Then he heard a voice. You don't want to run anymore.

The voice didn't originate from any particular direction. It sounded like it was in his head. You want to come down off the wall and fight your opponent, the voice continued.

The man turned to the opposite end of the arena. Sitting in the royal box, the king, the princess, and their guests watched the Gifted Duel. The king's lips didn't move, but his grin told the man that he was the source of the voice.

You don't want to disappoint me. You want to give all of us a good show.

Suddenly, the man felt ashamed of his cowardice. He was wrong to try to evade his opponent. He was here to fight, and that's what he ought to do.

Slowly, he descended from the wall. He stood on his feet, waiting for the woman to arrive.

So you're finally ready to fight? This time, the voice belonged to his foe.

The man nodded. Yes, I'm ready.

To make it a little fairer, I'll let you take the first swing.

That sounded more than fair to the man. He stepped forward until he was facing the woman, her body less than two feet away from him. He wound his arm and aimed for her face.

The woman easily dodged out of the way. She followed his attack with her own punch. Her fist landed against the side of his chest, and the man was surprised at the sensation of his ribcage collapsing. He found that he had trouble breathing, but he couldn't figure out why.

The man fell heavily onto his back. The pain at his side flared across his chest, but he took comfort in not disappointing the voice in his head. He hadn’t avoided a fight. He’d done what he was supposed to do.

With increasingly labored breaths, a heaviness settled over him, dulling the pain as well as his other senses. The life faded from his eyes. He tried to keep his eyelids from closing for the last time, centering his vision on his foe. He saw sadness upon the woman's face, the same flash of sympathy that he had seen earlier.

Unable to keep his eyes open anymore, the man looked beyond her face, to a spot many feet behind where she stood, where the king’s grin was the last sight he took in before he succumbed to darkness.

Chapter 2

There was nothing Voima hated more than cleaning latrines. Naturally, the innkeeper assigned the job to her while Vendd got to stay inside the tavern. She didn’t blame Vendd, but her brother’s smirk as she departed added to her hatred of the task even more.

With a strip of cloth tied around her head to cover her nose from the stench, Voima dragged the bucket of cleaning supplies to the filthy outhouse attached to the rear of the inn. Fortunately, the roof over the foul-smelling room consisted of planks with wide gaps between them, allowing some of the odor to escape with the wind. However, Voima still held her breath as she entered. She was grateful that she hadn’t yet eaten breakfast.

Wishing that she had the Power to control smells or to clean latrines in the blink of an eye, Voima set about on her unpleasant duties.

Whenever she laid eyes on the latrines, it amazed her how much of a mess the men – and it was solely men who used the room – made. She couldn’t imagine creating such filth if she wanted to. Adding to the unpleasantness, the previous night’s set of customers was the largest of the week. Many had stopped at the tavern after attending the Gifted Duel. Some celebrated winning a bet on the Duel’s victor while others commiserated their losses with drinks and food and more drinks. All of them ate too much, drank too much, and, to her dismay, left too many reminders of their debauchery in the outhouse.

Her first task was to use the hose to wash down the truly filthy parts of the room. Voima unrolled the hose, attached one end to the water pump, and carried the other end to the middle of the floor. She returned to the pump and gave the lever a few tugs until she heard water splashing out of the far end. Voima picked up the hose and sprayed the latrines. Rivers of human waste ran across the floor and out of a hole in the corner of the outhouse. She held the cloth more tightly over her nose and mouth with one hand and directed the spray of water with the other.

After the initial rinse, Voima removed a long-handled brush from the bucket to begin the unwelcome job of giving the room a more thorough cleaning. She didn’t understand why it mattered how well she cleaned the latrines when they were destined to return to their fetid state by the end of the evening, but the innkeeper had told her more than once that customers judged the level of a tavern by its outhouse. Voima doubted that the drunken patrons even noticed. Their awareness certainly didn’t extend to aiming in the right direction when they relieved themselves.

Half an hour after she began, Voima judged the facilities adequately scrubbed. She picked up her bucket and brush and, after rinsing them clean, put them away for the day. Then she returned the hose to its original position and secured the water pump’s lever in place.

Ripping the cloth off her face, she hurried back inside the inn. A few breaths of fresh air restored her appetite, so she headed to the tavern to eat while breakfast was still available. As she sat down at a table with a roll and a spoonful of preserves, Vendd finished his meal.

What’s that I smell on you? he asked.

Voima sniffed her clothes, afraid that she had inadvertently carried something unpleasant from the outhouse with her.

Whatever it is, you smell better than you usually do. The sly grin on her twin brother’s face told Voima that he was only teasing her.

She picked up a knife and held it up to his nose. How about if I fix your sense of smell, or make your face more handsome than it already is? She playfully traced an exaggerated smile across his lips.

Her laughter died upon seeing the frown that replaced his grin. Vendd wasn’t worried that Voima would cut him. They both feared his reaction after such a cut. Especially in public.

She dropped the knife. I'm sorry, Vendd. I wasn’t thinking.

No, it's my fault for teasing you. He looked around the tavern to see if anyone witnessed their exchange. Detecting no onlookers, Vendd's smile settled back onto his face. When you're done eating, let's go to the market. We get paid this morning.

That sounds great! Voima forgot about the knife and bit into her roll.

Footsteps entered the dining area. Two men, guests at the inn, shuffled to the table next to the siblings. Voima remembered them from the night before. One was particularly loud, bragging about winning a hefty bet from his friend. They were at the stadium to watch the Gifted Duel the previous day and stayed overnight at the inn on their way home. Both men were still dressed in the same clothes that they wore when they first arrived at the inn.

One of the men, the loud one, who was burly and wore a full beard of graying hair, eyed Voima. He bellowed, My, aren't you a lovely sight for tired eyes.

Voima kept her head down, ignoring the remark. She learned that, with the patrons who passed through the inn, not acknowledging them was oftentimes enough to make them go away.

Girl, I'm talking to you!

Voima heard the man's chair scrape against the floor, but she refused to make eye contact. However, her instincts told her that ignoring the man wasn't going to be enough this time. Before she could act, Vendd stood up.

The man with the beard