Page 4 of Their Chosen

“Twenty-four years ago, we came to live in Dallas, you and me. It was the first time I had ever laid eyes on anything like the human city. The technology was overwhelming and scary, the buildings so close together and towering so high in the sky, and people swarming everywhere. All of it was daunting and as a new mom, I had to figure out how to function in such an overwhelming place. I was completely alone with no family or friends to ask for help. It took me a couple of days to realize that the bartering system here was so different from anything I had ever known. We were both starving by this point, and I knew we needed food. It was only ever supposed to be temporary, our stay in the city, but I knew that I needed to feed us now. I didn’t have any form of ID or Social Security Number and was unable to find work, of earning money to support us until he came back for us. I must have tried fifty different places, and all of them turned me away. As I was leaving one of my last job interviews, they took pity on me and sent us to a local shelter, thinking we had fled an abusive home. How wrong and right they were.” She laughed bitterly at that, but before I could say anything further, she continued her story. I had no idea why this was being brought up, or what this had to do with her visit tonight.

“We survived for a while, bouncing around from shelter to shelter with nothing to our names, but what we could get from charity. At one of these shelters, I met a woman, and we bonded to some degree. She offered me a pain pill, telling me it would make me feel better. I took it not knowing it was a highly addictive medication. I just knew that for once, things didn't seem so hard. They didn't seem like they would overwhelm me, and I felt a kernel of hope. She eventually moved on, going back to her abusive husband, who kept her stocked on those pills, but my habit didn't go away with her. I started searching for those pills and then other hard drugs when I couldn’t get what I wanted. Anything to get that feeling back, to the point that it was the only thing I thought about.

“It wasn't long before an employee of the shelter noticed that I was leaving you alone for longer and longer periods, and I was reported to CPS. You were taken from me, and then I chased the drugs to erase the shame of my own failings. I just couldn't take knowing that if your father ever came for us, he wouldn't recognize the woman I had become. I felt like you were better off with someone else who could give you more. I felt that both of you were better off without me. I didn't know then about depression or drug addiction, and when I learned about them, I felt I was already too far gone to be fixed. But I never could go through with ending it all. Even then, I wasn't strong enough.

“This was never what I had planned for your life or for tonight. I had hoped that, for once, something would go my way, but the fates apparently had other ideas.” I sat silently through her monologue, not knowing the beginning or the specifics but having already guessed the journey. So many of the other kids in the foster care system had the same general story, the drugs more important to their parents than they were.

The only thing I could fully process now that she’d started opening up, was that I wanted to know it all. Like the flood gates being thrown wide, my questions all bubbled up, but one stood out, puzzling me, “If you weren't planning on telling me all of this tonight, then why did you?”

She glanced up at me, holding my gaze for a long moment before she finally started speaking again. “Can you turn around for me?” When my eyebrows rose in question, she answered with a waving gesture, telling me to spin. “I just need to confirm something before I get started.”

“Okay?” I did as she asked, turning my back to her, still unsure of what was going on. I felt her hands grab the tops of my shoulders to halt and steady me. Then her left hand dropped to my shoulder blade before a single finger traced a pattern. A sharp pain raced across my back and drew a hiss from me. The pain radiated from the same spot, an echo of the agony I’d experienced earlier tonight. How had she known about that spot?

In answer to my silent question, she asked, “When did you get this mark?” Her fingers still traced against my skin, her attention wholly on my answer.

“What mark?!” I asked her frantically. “Show me,” I demanded as I shoved my phone at her, my mind racing. While I waited, I craned my neck in an effort to see, but it was too far down. Did someone mark my body without my knowledge? The wait felt like hours as I heard tapping on my phone screen as she opened the camera. Finally, I heard the click and I willed myself to sit still for the requisite retake that people always did with camera phones.

As soon as the second click sounded, barely heard over the thumping of my heart in time with the throbbing in my shoulder, I turned and snatched the phone from my mother. There on the screen was a picture of my shoulder, with what appeared to be a tattoo of a Celtic knot, four loops tied together intricately with no visual ending. It was familiar, and yet, not like anything I had ever seen before. A tree was intertwined with the knot that looped and swirled together, almost like a brand. Black lines that stood apart from my olive skin tone, bold and hard to miss.

My mind raced, trying to figure out how this had happened. No one else had been in the apartment since I had gotten home and when my mom arrived. The only possible way it could have happened was when I had been crippled temporarily on the bathroom rug. I didn't think I had lost consciousness, but I could have. Because if I hadn't been unconscious, at which point someone had marked me, then that meant that the mark had appeared magically out of thin air. And we all knew magic didn't exist. Didn't we?

I looked up from the image in my hand, my eyes landing on my mother's which were filled with pity, and I knew then with an unexplainable certainty that logic was no longer on the table tonight. I now had a new reason to be afraid. I might not have known the specifics, but that thought settled in my gut. “How?”

My mother placed a hand over mine again. “This won't be easy for you to hear, but I swear, I'm telling you the truth. You and I are not human. We both come from Avalon, a land that resides in a dimension that runs parallel to Earth. Your father and I, and subsequently you, belong to a race called the Fae. In order for you to understand, I need to explain in detail, so bear with me as I try to cover everything in a way that makes sense.” At my bewildered scoff, she frowned.

Instead of giving me a chance to recover, she continued, “In Avalon, the fae are ruled by queens, and their sole task is to harness the magic of Avalonia and provide balance to the kingdoms. Each queen rules for varying amounts of time, dependent on their magical strengths. Some rule for a short time, while others have ruled far longer. No one really knows why this is, but when that magic starts to wane, the land selects several new options. Before those Chosen can be crowned, they must first undergo the trials to determine who the best fitting option is.

“The mark on your shoulder means you have been Chosen to partake in these trials. That you must return to the fae lands despite the risk. I never thought that it would be possible for a Chosen to be selected outside of the realm. You should have been safe from their reach. We never wanted you to be found. It's too dangerous. I'm so sorry!” My mother finally allowed herself to take a breath, the growing panic already evident. I laughed, unable to believe what I was hearing. What she was talking about was absolutely crazy and sounded like a fairy tale. I was by no means a pampered Disney princess, much less a queen. My life had been way too rough, and I was far too damaged to ever be considered regal.

My mother's face still held concern and panic as I tried to wrap my mind around what she was saying. She fully believed every word she had just spoken. Which made me concerned that she was undergoing some kind of mental break as a result of the alcohol and drug use over the years. Unsure how to broach the subject, I figured logic would make the most sense. If I asked her questions to find out how far her delusions went, at least then I would know what I was dealing with.

“So, I have a few questions.” I moved my head from side to side as I wavered on the best way to proceed without upsetting her further. “It's just that a couple of things don't add up. I want to believe you, but you have to also understand that this sounds so far-fetched.”

“I understand.” She faced me, wringing her hands as she held my gaze, eager for me to believe her. “I will try to answer your questions as best as I can.”

“Okay, to start, if I'm Fae, as you called them, then how did we get here?” I asked, starting with the most obvious.

“Ah, well, that's a long story,” she explained matter-of-factly. “Fae have known about humans for a long time, though we prefer to keep ourselves hidden. We used to travel freely back and forth, but in the last several hundred years, we began to limit such trips. Usually, we use portals that are pure magic, like gateways that are always in set locations. Or, if you’re blessed with the magic, you can create portals wherever and whenever you want.”

“Wait.” I held up a hand to pause her. “Magic? Are you saying I have magic? Because I have never seen or felt anything that could even be considered close to magic,” I asked her, dumbfounded by this concept. I was trying my best to be understanding, but the more she spoke, the more concerned I grew.

She smiled gently at me. “We fae derive our magic from the land, and those closest to it have the strongest forms and manifestations of that magic. The Queen and her consorts are chosen to be the connection between the land and the people of Avalon. Therefore, they have the strongest magic out of necessity, at least until their connections begin to wane. At which point, a new queen must be Chosen.”

“I still don't understand. I don't have any magic.” I pleaded with her to be reasonable.

“Part of that is because you have never been close enough to Avalon to have your magic replenished. The human world, with its technology and iron buildings, drains our magic until we become basically human.”

“Then how did I get marked? Isn’t that a form of magic?” I asked her, trying my hardest to understand. Her delusion seemed to be extremely detailed, providing answers to every one of my questions so far. If this was some delusion of hers, would it be this detailed? Wouldn’t I have found a fault or inconsistency by now?

“It is, and to be honest, I’m shocked that it found you. We never planned on telling you, although we also had counted on being back in Avalon before it could ever matter. Your father was so convinced that we’d only need to stay here for a little while, but I guess the fates had other plans.”

“My father? Why isn't he here then? Why did he abandon us on Earth as you claim?” I asked her, holding my breath. I've asked her about him throughout the years, and she's always refused to speak of him, her eyes haunted by the mention of him.

This time was no different, her eyes turned misty, but this time, she continued to explain. “He sent me through first, saying he would follow as soon as it was safe and could ensure that we weren't followed. The current queen, Titania, is a ruthless tyrant, and we incurred her wrath. We fled before she could banish us or worse, but your father still had some things he needed to take care of. I wish I knew where he was. Not knowing and fearing the absolute worst has torn me up inside completely. My fears are that your father no longer lives and has returned to the land as we fae do when we die. Worst of all, I fear the Queen still rules. That her reign of terror has continued and that all my friends and family are gone forever.

“I've grieved these outcomes for years because I was too afraid to hope for anything else. After those first couple of years alone, I gave up hope completely of his return. The loss of hope and the sheer amount of loneliness I felt was inescapable. Knowing we could never return and yet never fully fit in here on Earth.” Her voice cracked on the sadness and despair she was feeling as she finally explained my history.

“Why haven't you ever told me any of this before?” I asked her, confused because it all made sense in an unbelievable way. The delusion was too specific, too relatable. I’d always felt I was different, something I could never explain in words, except that it was the truth. But my logic asserted itself and tried to convince me that there was no way she was living in reality right now.

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