A/N: I’m sorry. I know I said the sequel to TTC would be the next non-oneshot I put up. But I finally managed to actually start this story yesterday in school, and I couldn’t just leave the idea alone. I had to write it out.

As of right now, the title’s just a working one. This story is the prequel to TTC, and I hope you enjoy it. I try to develop Shadow, Torin and Zion in this book, although I’m not sure how well they’ll turn out. I’m trying not to make all my characters the same, but it’s hard sometimes. Ah well. Struggles of a writer. I’ll get over it.

So enjoy Before the Chosen.

Note: this probably wouldn’t do well as a stand-alone novel. I suggest reading The Timekeeper’s Chosen before you read this, because things will make a lot more sense. Thanks!

Prologue:

In the year of 3008…

“My mother was an elf.” A four-year-old girl, short blond hair gleaming, smiles up at a taller, older youth. The look of disgust on his face is completely lost on the small girl.

The boy turns away. “Get away from me, you freak!” He walks quickly away from the girl, leaving her looking confusedly after him. Why does he scorn her so, she wonders. It’s a fact that she is half-Elven, so what’s so terrible about it that when it is mentioned, people walk away from her? Her sharp mind cannot come up with an answer to this question. She bows her head a little, turns, and walks in the other direction, still mulling over this question.

………

“Torin!”

“I’m coming! Wait!” A dark-haired boy dashes into a large, spacious room. He looks about four, and he is smiling at the black-haired woman seated at the other end of the room. He stands in front of her, balancing a glass of water on top of a plate of food. “Here,” he says, handing her the food and the cup. He steps backward and gets ready to run from the room, looking like he is about to join his friends at play. The woman stops him, snatching him by the shoulder and holding him still.

“Move faster next time,” she says, voice demanding. “You were slow this time. Too slow.” The boy, Torin, turns around to look at her, twisting his head because his shoulder is still in her grasp.

“Sorry,” He says, voice barely brushing a whine. “I didn’t wan’a drop that stuff.” He motions at the food and water that the woman holds in her other hand.

She pushes him away. He loses his balance and falls. He scrapes his elbows on the hard stone floor, and tears squeeze themselves out of the corners of his eyes. He looks up at the woman. Casually, she tosses the full glass at him. “Try it again,” she says. “And be quicker this time!”

“But—“ Torin begins. She hands him the plate as well, but she nearly hits his face with it as she shoves it at him.

“Go!”

“But Colyr—“ He begins again. She shoves his back and he stumbles from the room.

………

Notes of a lively tune ring through the busy square of the Main City, but nobody seems to notice them. The notes often falter and stumble, and the musician is far from an expert with the wooden flute he uses. The notes are breathy and sometimes unclear as the musician stumbles over them. The musician himself doesn’t seem to notice. He moves a little in time to the music. He sits on a bench at the edge of the square, tapping his foot in time with the music. People pass him by, one by one or in groups, and he watches them with eager grey eyes as he plays, hoping they’ll give him some coin. He hasn’t gotten much lately, and he needs some if he is to buy himself food and warm clothes. He is a native-born Yudari, and he knows how cold Yudari winters can get. He needs warm clothing, and he needs to get it soon.

But many of the people passing by turn their heads away. The Yudari love good music, and the dirty, ragged boy with his unruly black curls and his simple wooden flute cannot make the notes sound right. His cold fingers stumble over yet another note in his song and the melody falters before he can regain it and continue on. A rich girl is passing by, and she turns at the sound of the faltering melody. She sneers at the poor boy in tattered clothing, sitting on a bench and playing his music. He can clearly hear her say to her mother, “I shouldn’t care. The zion can never play a good song, anyway” before continuing on.

The boy is hurt by the jibe. Zion means something along the lines of “low trash” or “street filth” and the name tears at him. He doesn’t let it get to him for long, though. He ignores it and continues on, forcing himself to forget the small ache in his heart the rich girl’s dismissal of him has caused. He knows that perfecting this skill will be very useful to him, because even though he is only three, he knows that people are mean and that learning to ignore their taunts and jibes will keep him feeling good enough to play his music and get money to survive on.

----------

In the year of 3012…

“I’m half-Elven, I think.” The blond girl, now eight years of age, bounces excitedly around a woman in her thirties.

“I, uh, I have to go…” The woman turns and hurries off, casting quick, furtive glances over her shoulder. The girl is left behind, confused. Every time she has told people that she is half-Elven, they call her names and throw things at her and run from her. She still has trouble understanding this. Slowly, though, she is learning that perhaps she should not speak of her Elven side. She might try changing her words. Maybe that will help.

………

“Colyr, Zektres wanted me to tell you that he…Uh, he dropped the speaking globe.” Torin, older now, looking about eight, stumbles over the words: They confuse him. Colyr looks at him and growls.

“Colyr is not my name,” She says.

“But—“ Torin knows that Colyr is, indeed, her name, but he doesn’t get a chance to continue. Colyr calls on her magic and sends a wave of fear out towards Torin. He goes silent and stiffens, freezing in place.

“It’s Zhaa Colyr.” She uses the Yudari word for female master. Torin is still too young to comprehend this, and he is confused.

“But why?” He asks. He is quickly silenced by another burst of fear from Colyr.

“Tell Zektres that if he doesn’t repair the speaking globe before this time tomorrow, I will have his blood for my spells.” She pushes him from the room and he stumbles out. He has learned, though, how to keep his balance when she does this. He no longer falls when she shoves him. He is learning to read her signals.

………

Black curls bob as the street musician nods his head in time with the song playing inside it. He begins to hum as he enters the warmth of a clothing shop. He knows that the Yudari think him much too young to be out on his own. At seven years of age, the boy is indeed too young; But his parents are old and crippled, and he is the only one who can do the shopping anymore. His parents play their instruments together, one playing the drums, one playing the flute, both more expertly than the boy can manage yet. They bring in most of the money, and their son does their shopping for them. They work together as a team, because otherwise they will not survive.

The boy buys some warm winter blankets, and all the clothes he can manage. He guesses at his parents’ sizes and tries on clothes for himself. Even if they do not fit properly, they will keep his family warm, and that’s what he wants. He leaves the shop and heads back to his family. It is nearing winter yet again, and he knows that winters are harsh. They must find an inside shelter soon or they will freeze.

Not watching where he is going, the boy trips and falls into an older youth, who staggers and nearly falls as well. The older youth wears good clothes and has an heir of money about him. He looks down on the little, ragged boy and spits contemptuously. “Zion,” He says. The young boy continues on, trying to ignore the little pain that the taunt causes. He has been called street filth many times, and each time it hurts, but he has nearly perfected the art of ignoring those who would wish to humiliate him. Clothes and blankets wrapped in his arms, he continues on to his family letting the older boy’s taunt fade behind him, as he has done so many times before.

Tomorrow he will return to the Main City’s square to play his flute again, and after that he will come back to his family’s temporary shelter. His mother will teach him to play the drums, and his father will teach him the flute. It is good, they tell him, to know more than one instrument. It is good to be flexible, to be able to flow with change. It has never sounded too hard to the boy. His parents have done it. His parents can do anything, and he will be able to do everything they can do when he is older.

----------

In the year of 3014… “I lived with Elves for a while, a long time ago.” Now the blond-haired girl is taller, filling out, older. She looks about ten years old. She stands facing a youth about her age, another girl. Her expression is tentative, because she is not sure how her companion will react. She hopes the response will be positive. She has been getting little but bad responses lately, even though she has never said that she is an elf, only that she’s lived with them. But she’s heard talk around Xani, the human village she lives in. She’s heard stories about what Elves have done to humans, and how cruel they are. But can that be true? She doesn’t know, because she can barely remember her mother at all. Her mother who was an elf, who was killed in battle defending her home from the humans. The girl holds the humans responsible for her mother’s death, but she never says so.

Now, her companion stares at her. “Are you proud of that?” She asks, her voice derisive. “elves are evil creatures. You shouldn’t be proud of living with them.” The other girl turns and walks away, casting disgusted glances over her shoulder. “Don’t come over again,” she tosses back over her shoulder. “my mom doesn’t like Elves. Sorry, Veylan.” She doesn’t sound sorry at all. Veylan is left alone again, and she lets out a disappointed sigh. She feels like crying, but she doesn’t. She simply turns and walks away. Are Elves really so evil as they are said to be? She wonders this as she heads for the shelter she’s made herself at the edge of town. Maybe they are. Maybe they’re not.

………

“Zhaa Colyr, Zektres says that someone wants to talk to you.” Torin, to, has aged. He is ten now, too, and he has learned most of Colyr’s unspoken signals. Right now, he can tell she’s angry. He knows that he must tread carefully around her when she’s angry. He wishes Zektres, her other top servant, hadn’t told him to give Colyr the message. But Colyr acts as if she is in a good mood today, even though Torin knows differently.

“Tell Zektres I’ll be there,” She says. As usual, she pushes him out of the room, but she’s smiling at him. That smile scares him. He doesn’t realize Colyr’s sending out a slight burst of fear after him. He scurries from the room, but he trips and falls in his haste to escape. Colyr is on him in a heartbeat. She sends out her power to burn him like fire, and he jumps to his feet. He doesn’t need fake fear from Colyr now; He’s got plenty of his own.

“Sorry,” He says quickly, backing away as fast as he can. Colyr snarls at him, but says nothing. Another burst of her power sends him nearly toppling again, and he runs before she can do any more. This burst of rage terrifies his young mind and he can’t quite figure out why she is so angry at him for falling. She hates it when he falls, or trips, but he doesn’t quite know why. He runs to find Zektres, and then he’s dismissed by the other head servant. He heads for his quarters where he sits on his bed and dabs with a cloth at the knee that was scraped by his fall, cleaning it and then going to sleep. He must remember next time to never stumble while he’s going to run an errand for her. She doesn’t like it at all, and he wants to prevent her wrath as much as possible.

………

The boy with his flute sits again in the Main City square. His skill with the instrument has grown considerably, and now people stop and look at him briefly before continuing on. He knows he’s still not as good as his parents are, but he’s doing well. He’s nine now, and he’s quite proud of his progress. So are his parents. They tell him he’s doing very well, and that with practice he will be as good as they soon. He’s proud of that.

A passerby drops a coin on the bench next to him. He smiles his thanks before returning to his flute. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the woman who gave him the coin snatch it back again with a snort. He knows this game. The rich folk often play it with him. They give him money, then take it back again. He hates them for it, but he works hard to let the insulting joke slide off his skin like water. There will be others who will give him money and let him keep it.

As the rich woman walks away, she tosses back over her shoulder the jibe that the street musician has come to hate so. “Stupid zion. I’ve got better uses for my coin.”

Again, he lets the taunt slide away from him. But he has heard this particular insult thrown so much at him that it has become something like his name. Internally, he sniffs. How stupid. It’s just him getting distracted. With a sigh, he returns to his music, taking as much care as he can not to stumble over his music. Yudari like it when music is played well. The less mistakes he makes, the more money he will get.

----------

In the year of 3017…

Veylan stands in the doorway of a little house on the edge of a large town. She faces the head of this household, a man in his forties. Her clothes are tattered and look very worn, and her face is dirty, but even so, she tries to look as mature as a ragged girl of thirteen can look. She looks up at the man, who has just asked her who she is and from what city she comes. “I…I’m from Xani,” She says, her voice betraying the sadness that her face does not give away, sadness at the lie she is telling. “I’ve lived here all my life.”

“Well, you look cold. Come in, I have extra food if you’d like some.”

Over the years, Veylan has learned to adapt. Even though her mother is an elf, even though she is half-Elven herself, she has learned to say she is wholly human. She knows she is not, and she wishes people would accept her for who she is—Veylan, half-elf who’s mother was killed in a battle and who’s father died of old age, and who now lives with a human family in Xani, the village that is all human. She doesn’t belong, she thinks time after time. It doesn’t matter, though. She’s got a roof over her head and she has food, and she has her lie to keep her safe. What more does she need to have? She almost likes it here. The people are nice, and they feed her, and if she gets hurt they comfort her, and if she is bullied they protect her. They love her, so what more does she need? Nothing else. She’s fine here.

………

“Torin, I want you to retrieve this boy for me. Bring him back here; I want to speak with him.”

“Yes, Zhaa Colyr.” Torin takes the portrait of the boy. He’s got black hair and grey eyes, and Colyr says he lives in the Main City. Torin wants to ask why, but he knows better by now. He’s thirteen by this time, and Colyr’s trained him well. He’s not as fleet-footed as some of Colyr’s servants, but he can wield a dagger and a sword with skill and he doesn’t generally question orders. Colyr says it’s taken many long years to train him this way. He knows it has, although he can’t really remember being trained. But it doesn’t matter. Torin takes off for the Main City, which is about a day’s journey from Colyr’s stronghold. Colyr wants the grey-eyed boy, so Torin will get him for her.

The other boy looks about twelve, a year younger than Torin. But he's smaller, and he doesn’t look like he’s got the training Torin has. It should be easy to capture him. Besides, he looks like one of the zion. Nobody will care if he disappears. People will probably be glad. He heads off for the Main City, heads off for the grey-eyed boy. He doesn’t know that he’s wrong about the reaction he’ll get.

………

The street musician is heading home after a day of playing music in the Main City square. He wants to get home to his parents, because today has been a long day and he wants to show his family the earnings he’s gained. He's gotten more than he has in days, and he’s proud of his earnings today. He can’t wait to show them to his family.

But as he passes through an alley that’s a shortcut home, strong hands encircle him and hold him still. The street musician starts to cry out, but a hand covers his mouth.

“Don’t start, zion,” Says a voice. It sounds about his own age, twelve years old. The grey-eyed boy can’t understand it. He goes silent. He can feel the other boy behind him nod. “Come on,” he says quietly, dragging the musician behind him. It is now that he begins to struggle, but by then it’s too late.

The other boy wouldn’t have had difficulty stealing him away if they’d not been spotted. But some of the Yudari passing did see them. They recognized the young musician that played in the square. He played well, so why was this other boy dragging him away? The Yudari love good music, and they don’t like it when a player of music is being hurt by any hands other than their own. The musician has trouble understanding them sometimes. They make no sense. But right now, the Yudari are trying to save him and that’s all he cares about.

He knows the other boy is having trouble fending them off. They come at him with any weapons they can get their hands on. But his captor keeps a firm grip on him anyway. He fights and struggles, but to no avail. He’s borne away to the cries of the other Yudari as they give chase, but the other boy pays them no heed. He runs into the forest, bearing the musician away from his home, his family, everything.

“Stop it, zion,” His captor says as he struggles. The grey-eyed boy hates the taunt. But it has been given so much that it is something like a name. That's so stupid, he thinks, even as he fights to be free. Zion is not a name. It’s an insult.

But the boy calls him that again, and then again a little later, and the word is beginning to fit the musician so well. ‘That’s stupid,’ he thinks again. Oh, yes, it’s stupid.

But he’s more worried about where his captor is taking him. He’s said something about “Colyr” and everyone knows her name. The musician doesn’t want to meet her in person. He’s afraid, but there’s no way he can escape, held by the other boy in a firm grip that doesn’t yield no matter what he does. He curses in his mind, but to no avail. He’s borne away to Colyr anyway.

………

Ninth Timekeeper looks down on New Earth from the hall of the Timekeepers. She notices three timelines that, for no reason, she takes an interest in. There’s a blond-haired, blue-eyed girl named Veylan. She’s living in Tradarre, in Xani, with a human family who’s not her own. She’s half-elf, and immediately she interests Ninth. Checking the timeline over, Ninth takes it for her own Chosen after she finds it’s not protected by anyone else. Next, there’s a mousy-haired boy named Torin, working for a witch named Colyr. The witch is another Timekeeper’s Chosen—she belongs to Eleventh Timekeeper—but the little servant boy is noone’s. Ninth takes him as well. Lastly, there’s a grey-eyed boy who plays music on the streets of the Main City. He’s beginning to call himself Zion, since that’s what many other people have called him on numerous occasions before. He’s being taken to Colyr by Torin, and he, too, interests Ninth. She claims him as one of her chosen as well, placing him under her protection as he’s carried inside the doors of Colyr’s stronghold. She needs to bring them together so it’s not so hard to watch them. She needs to get Torin and the musician Zion out from Colyr’s stronghold because Eleventh, who claimed Colyr as one of his Chosen, dislikes Ninth and would do anything to kill her Chosen just to spite her. She twists a strand of hair around one finger, thinking. She can make it work, but it’ll take a while. She doesn’t want Zion near Colyr any longer than necessary, because Zion’s not used to the treatment Colyr gives her servants. He won’t last long there. She needs to act soon, or she might lose him. So Ninth timekeeper goes to work.