Nineveh Everell is the outcast of her village. Though she was Chosen by the Gods to become a guardian, her blessing was never granted, and she is still unable to shift her shape and protect her village.

With more and more threats arriving on the villages doorstep, Nineveh needs a miracle. When she meets Kiotoa, a Chosen stuck in his beast form, her world begins to change. Together, the two of them set out to achieve what they need most- a chance to fulfill their destinies.

            Of the seven horses in Othbane, only three had been fit for the six-day journey. The last of the village’s grain had been spared as feed for both travelers and their transportation, knowing full well that upon the party’s return, food would no longer be a hassle.

            One horse had died just before sunset the day before, but that was okay. Like the grain, the horse could now be replaced. In just a few more hours, the grim lives of all that lived in the small village of Othbane would glow bright again.

            It was all thanks to little Nineveh Everell, the small, uncertain girl perched upon one of the two barely-standing horses. Without her, the hopes of all that lived in her village would have dwindled to nothing. Even now, with their redemption still several hours out of grasp, those accompanying the young girl’s procession walked with lighter steps and clearer eyes.

            “Are you frightened?” Elesben asked quietly as she came alongside her daughter. Nineveh glanced down, her frightened gray gaze reflected in her mother’s green orbs.

            “Yes,” she said in a small voice, sounding much younger than the seven-year-old she was. Elesben reached up and took her daughter’s trembling hand, giving it a squeeze.

            “You have no reason to be. After the Gathering, you will be a hero. You will be our savior, my little blessing.”

            “I don’t know how to be an animal,” Nineveh fretted; of the many worries at the front of her mind, this was the most pressing to her. Whatever animal she was given made no difference to her; how could a little girl be a tiger? Or an eagle? Or –The Gods forbid- a snake?

            “Juthernei has told you many times how simple it is,” her mother assured for the second time that morning; at the mention of the ancient name, Nineveh glanced over her shoulder. The other horse held the man of her village’s legends. Juthernei Galross, the only Chosen in Othbane for eighty-four years.

            He was an old, weathered man with sightless brown eyes and tattered brown skin. His arms, once a symbol of his strength, now hung weak at his sides, the wrinkles deep and patterned like the bark of an oak tree. His long, raven hair was pulled back and tied at the nape of his neck, and the streak of pure white ran along the side of his scalp; the mark of the Chosen.

            Nineveh had spent many years beside the man, listening to his ancient voice whisper the secrets of the Chosen. Blind though he may be, he saw everything. Instinctively, Juthernei’s clouded eyes lifted to stare directly at her, and he gave the young girl a warm, barely-toothed smile.

            “Almost time, young Nineveh. Feel the change of the skies; listen to the song of your destiny calling your name. Very close now, child. Very close. Smile for the Gods, let them see your joy.”

            It was another couple of hours before Nineveh listened to what Juthernei told her. It wasn’t until she saw the break between the mountains that she began to let her spark of excitement ignite. She fiddled restlessly in the saddle, craning her small neck to try and glimpse the Gathering.

            “Settle down, Nineveh,” her mother scolded, and the young girl let out a sigh, slumping down on the horse. “Your childish days are behind you. You must act mature, worthy of your new title.”

            “Yes Mati,” Nineveh murmured, biting her lip to keep the scowl off her face. The last stretch of the trip took longer than the whole journey itself. Once past the mountains, the full view of the gathering came into sight.

            The field at the base of the mountains was packed, filled with more people than Nineveh had seen in her entire life.  The trees, glowing in their summer prime, ringed the back of the field. The mountains stood over the group, their gray masses alight from the bright midday sun.

            The small procession from Othbane came to a halt, and immediately Nineveh made to leap off the horse. Elesben’s hand flashed up and caught her daughter mid-leap, giving a stern look.

            “Ladylike, Nineveh.”

            Another frustrated huff fluttered Nineveh’s hair, and she reluctantly paused long enough for one of the men to reach up and lift her down. She smoothed out her dress – an actual dress, not her work pants cut up and haphazardly sewn together – and then followed her village towards the Gathering.

            The first group to see them stared at the small, tattered procession with humored glances and hushed snickers. One of the men –a tall, brawny fellow with straw-red hair and beady eyes – came forward and opened his arms.

            “Our brothers from Othbane! It’s been too long!” he exclaimed, and the small group exchanged wary glances. The man who had lifted Nineveh from the horse, Yothro, took a step forward and nodded graciously at the straw-haired man.

            “We’re honored to be apart of the Gathering again.”

            “Come now, more enthusiasm should be shared on this day!” the man pulled Yothro into a tight hug, clapping him heartily on the back while grinning over his shoulder at the others. Nineveh stared up at him, her eyes narrowed just slightly. “My name is Keal. We reign from Elianth. It’s an honor to meet our family from the south.”

            Yothro managed to pull back enough to break free of Keal’s hold; he stepped back towards his family, shielding Nineveh from his view. Keal didn’t seem put off by the uncertainty of the Othbane group. He waved his hand back towards his own people, and three Children came forward. Curiosity got the best of Nineveh, as it always seemed to do, and she maneuvered herself to peek between Yothro’s arm and waist.  

            “These are my boys,” Keal said, his large hands motioning to the children. Nineveh’s eyes widened; three chosen in one family? She was the first her village had seen in eighty-four years. The suffering of her village was painfully clear. It was no secret that Othbane was the poorest of the seven Villages; just one look at Yothro and Keal side-by-side confirmed that. Yothro was Othbane’s strongest warrior, and he looked frail and sickly beside the robust, brawny man.

To make matters worse, all three of Keal’s sons looked thick and sturdy, as if they could break Nineveh in half with one well-aimed sneeze. One boy was nearly full grown, his own straw-red hair sporting one white streak from the top of his forehead to the nape of his neck. The next two, both closer to Nineveh’s age, had nearly white-blonde hair and mirrored one another exactly. Even with their lighter hair, it was impossible to miss their own white streaks, which mirrored the position of their older brothers. 

As Nineveh studied the boys in front of them, Keal’s sharp eyes scanned the Othbane group. At first he caught sight of Juthernei, but his eyes kept searching.

            “You have a Chosen ready for their Blessing?” he asked, almost skeptically. Yothro hesitated in revealing their youngest, but Elesben did not. She reached to her side and pulled Nineveh forward. Keal’s face lit up with amusement. Nineveh didn’t care for him, not at all. The smile was bright, but his eyes only held mockery. He took the ratty group of southern travelers as a joke.

            “Ah, a young Chosen,” he cooed, and Nineveh frowned. Keal laughed and stepped back towards his group. She saw why Yothro had hidden her; she looked miniscule beside her companions. In as little as a years time, she would be fighting the other Chosen. Competing to get her village food, and protect them from others doing the same. And now there was no mistaking that Nineveh was the smallest of all the other children present.

            “Not long until the Blessing now, little Othbane girl. Best to save your energy,” Keal reminded, smirking as he turned from the Othbane group. The straw-haired children sneered at Nineveh as they followed their father. “Luck of the Gods to you,” Keal said with a dismissive wave of his hand as the Elianth tribe strode off deeper into the gathering.

            “The Elianth have always viewed themselves as superiors,” Juthernei told the young girl, his aged hands resting on her shoulders and soothing her agitation. “They’re rich in material, but have become poor in their hospitality.”

 As the others in the group dispersed to mingle with the fellow tribes, Juthernei settled on the grass at the edge of the clearing, patting the spot beside him. Nineveh obliged immediately, pressing her small arm to his as they leaned back against a large tree. Though it was expected for the Chosen to take this time to meet their future enemies, Nineveh wasn’t feeling very confrontational at the moment. Besides, she had learned long ago that Juthernei’s company was more worthwhile than that of anyone else.

            Juthernei lifted a crooked finger and jabbed it toward another group lingering beneath the trees on the far side of the clearing. How the blind, elderly man managed to locate his surroundings, Nineveh would never understand.

            “The Beremare village,” he explained. “They live just on the other side of the Sevei Mountains. They’re tough, and not one to be meddled with. Along with Elianth, they have the most Chosen among them. Both villages have so many residence, it’s no wonder they’ve had at least two Chosen at every Gathering.”

            “They look savage,” Nineveh whispered; the wild mountain folk probably had a hawks hearing, for all she knew.

            “They are. Not even Elianth dare attack them. They retreat to the mountains, a terrain you should never find yourself in. Harsh and unrelenting surroundings, and the weather is a force in its own. It’s the only reason they’re as wealthy as they are. Not one dare attack the mountain crawlers.”

            “What about them?” Nineveh pressed, taking Juthernei’s hand and shifting it towards the other side of the clearing. The old man drew back and made a face.

            “Galtravone,” he muttered. “Water-dwelling, no-good folk if you ask me. They spend their lives doing the bidding of Elianth, only to stay on their good side. They control the North Lake, and they trade its use for Elianth’s protection. Elianth gets water, they get safety.”

            “There’s only one more group beside them,” Nineveh noticed, sounding put-off. This didn’t surprise Juthernei. He let Nineveh guide his hand, and he gave a shrug.

            “Not all have Chosen that are of age, young Nineveh. Just like you, they must wait until they’ve reached seven years. You missed the last gathering, being only a few months. Many children of the missing villages must not have reached their age.”

            “Who’re they?”

            “Esverote, our northern neighbors on the south side of the Evell Mountains. The farmers, the ones we get our grains from.”

            “We trade our meat with them too, don’t we?” she asked, and Juthernei nodded.

            “They’re kinder, but don’t think they haven’t attacked us in the past. I’ve fought their Chosen many times.” Juthernei patted his left arm, where several jagged scars shone under the sun. “They left their marks, and I left mine.”

            “They don’t look mean,” she mused, and Juthernei sighed.

            “They never do. Your enemies seldom appear as such. The worst enemy, the deadliest enemy, is the one you let into your heart. The one you call your friend, that you let nearest to your secrets. That is the enemy you must fear, little Nineveh. Not the monster, but the friend.”

            “Are a lot of enemies your old friends?” Nineveh asked softly. Juthernei’s brown eyes darkened just a hint as he stared towards the Esverote.

            “No. You only ever make that mistake once. Once a friend turns their back on you, once they betray you, your heart does not allow it to happen again. The pain is great enough to remind you never to trust them again.”

            Nineveh said nothing as she let his words sink in. Everything Juthernei told her held value, whether it applied just yet or not. And the things he said with passion in his voice meant twice as much. As they sat in companionable silence, Nineveh’s eyes focused not on the other villages, but on the small, beige tent sitting back and center against the mountainside. The Blesser, the man who held the power to change her life forever, sat on the other side of the flaps. In mere moments, she would be before him.

            Juthernei’s hand reached up and brushed Nineveh’s hair back. As if his sightless eyes still worked, he easily plucked out the white streak and ran it through his fingers. It was impressive considered Nineveh herself had trouble finding it some days; her streak began at her left temple, just above her ear; most days it blended with the rest of her chestnut locks.

            “Let your gift show, young Nineveh.”

            With his other withered hand, he pushed the rest of Nineveh’s hair back behind her ear, and let the white strand hang down on its own. He gave her a tired smile and patted her arm.    

            “Come now, it’s time to meet him.”

            Just as Nineveh stood, a horn bellowed out through the Gathering. All talking silenced immediately, and everyone in the clearing rushed to gather in the center. The villages lined themselves up, with Othbane on one end and Elianth on the other.

            Nineveh and Juthernei slid in with the rest of their group; Elesben pulled her daughter to her front, holding her shoulders as they stared at the tent. Nineveh sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm the anxiety welling in her heart. What would it be like, to finally meet the man that spoke for the Gods?

            Silence stood in the clearing, thick as the tension surrounding the villages. It was ages before the tent flaps were pushed aside, and even longer until a very unlikely man stepped from the inside.

            He was fashioned much like Juthernei, with wrinkled brown skin and crooked joints. He stood hunched, as if his age was pressing him down. He had bright white hair, cleaner than new snow, and a single streak of black raced from his right temple all the way to his waist.

            His small, almost-black eyes scanned the crowd, and slowly his unstable arm lifted from his side. A gnarled pointer finger sought out the eldest boy from Elianth, beckoning him with one sharp gesture before the old man disappeared back inside.

            “What’s he-“ Nineveh began; Elesben quickly pressed her hand over her daughters mouth. Nineveh’s bright grey eyes lifted to stare up at her mother.

            Elesben gave a sharp shake of her head and then turned her attention back to the tent, motioning for Nineveh to do the same. Patiently, Nineveh waited. She waited longer than she ever thought she could, standing so still her body ached from lack of movement. When finally the tent flaps moved again, the whole Gathering shifted with excitement.

            From the tent came not a straw-haired boy, but a straw-colored mountain lion. He stood taller than Nineveh had ever seen, his massive paws striking the ground and stirring up grass and dust as he proudly strode towards his village. Like all Chosen animals, he bore his white mark in a unique way; one white streak ran the length of his back, stopping at the base of the tail.

            He was welcomed to his village with cries of excitement, pulled into hugs and even a kiss on his cheek from who Nineveh suspected to be his mother. As beckoned, the other two Elianth boys went to the tent in unison, and both emerged as smaller, lighter-colored versions of the first mountain lion. They both sported their white streak in the same fashion. Sitting with the first Chosen, the three already appeared dangerous. It wasn’t hard to see why Elianth was dominant, once Nineveh factored in the dozens of other Chosen that had stayed back in their village.

            Two children from Galtravone were next, a boy and a girl; the boy emerged as a light brown grizzly, and the girl flew out as what Nineveh guessed to be a falcon. She was a skilled hunter, and had been studying the different animals in Neuramae since she was a toddler. It wasn’t hard to decipher what animals came out, but it was growing increasingly harder to wait her turn.

            Only the boy from Esverote was next, and then it would be her turn. The wait took ages, longer than the other Chosen put together had taken. She began to fidget, unable to hold back her excitement. She shifted from foot to foot, reaching up to play with her white strand only to have her hand swatted back down. By the time the Esverote boy emerged –now a medium-sized red and white fox – Nineveh was ready to burst from excitement.

            Elesben barely managed to hold onto her daughter long enough to wait for the Blesser to reach from the tent and beckon her. She forced her steps to be graceful and flowing, pushing away the urge to let out a yelp of excitement and sprint for the tent.

            She reached the base of the mountain with her poise in tact, and strolled calmly into the tent. The flaps fell shut on their own, making Nineveh’s eyes widen with excitement. The Blesser gave her a warm smile; he nodded towards the woven blanket in front of him, and Nineveh sunk down onto her knees.

            “I have been waiting for your Choosing, young Nineveh Everell,” he said softly, his voice rough like a flowing stream. “Yes, the Gods have planned your coming for quite a while. Tell me, young Nineveh, do you know what purpose Fate has given you?”

            Nineveh tilted her head to the side, staring at the elderly man. Purpose? She cleared her throat, folding her quivering hands on her lap.

            “I’m a Chosen. I am a protector of my people. I am an earth-bound Gods-sent guardian. It is my purpose to guide my peers and protect our way of life for those that cause us harm.”

            The Blesser smiled, his eyes shining with more secrets than Nineveh could ever dream of. He reached out a hand; his touch felt much like Juthernei’s- withered and comforting as he brushed her stripe back from her face. He gave a small shake of his head and pulled back.

            “No, young Nineveh. Your purpose is so much greater than you have ever imagined.” Nineveh’s eyes widened. “You have been Chosen for much more than village duties, much more than your life has seen yet. What you will do with the Fate you’ve been given is a service more honorable than those surrounding you, and the person you will become as you live this life will be enviable, even to the Gods. You will change the world, young Nineveh, but only once you realize your purpose.”

            Nineveh’s whole face lit up; how proud would her mother be to learn that she was envied by Gods? What would the other Chosen that came to attack her think when she stood above them? She sat up just a little straighter, pushing her shoulders back. They had weight now; warm, ever-present weight. The weight that humbled the Chosen and accompanied the Gods. The weight of destiny had been rested on her, and she accepted it fully.

            “Who will I become?”

            “Who you have been Chosen to be is not mine for the giving,” the Blesser said, and Nineveh tilted her head, confused. “Your destiny is great, young Nineveh, and it can only be given by the owner of the gift. Once you are ready to embrace your calling, you will be ready to receive it.”

            “But I am ready,” she promised. “I’m responsible. I’m smart, and I’m a very good hunter. I’m almost eight-“

            “No, dear child, not ready in your physical sense. To be who you are destined for, you cannot be changed until you are ready to receive your gift.”

            “I don’t understand,” she said in a voice that mirrored that of the small, uncertain child she was trying to break free from.

            “As I said, you are enviable by gods, dear child. There will come a time when your Fate comes to find you. You cannot rush it, and I cannot reveal it. But I promise you, young Nineveh, once you understand what is needed of you, the rest of your life will fall into place.”

            “How will I know when I’m ready?” she murmured, anxiety gripping her heart. She had a very sinking feeling that her mother would not be as excited by her news as she originally thought.

            “The soul that has lived a thousand lives will show you your true potential, and when he does, you will become who you are destined to be.”

            At this the Blesser stood. Nineveh sat in stunned silence for a moment as she began to realize what this meant. She didn’t move until the Blesser’s hand rested on her small shoulder. She rose, more of his will than her own. He took her arms gently, staring into her upset gaze.

            “I don’t get my form?” she asked in her smallest voice, doing her best not to sound as upset as she was. The Blesser shook his head, and Nineveh’s stomach dropped. After all her years of waiting, after seeing all the others emerge as their blessed forms, she would emerge that of a child on the verge of tears.

            “One day you will be Blessed, my young Nineveh, but today you must begin your journey towards your true potential.”           

            “Why me? Why am I the only Chosen who isn’t ready?”

            “Because, young one, you’re the only one, the only Chosen of all the others, that has been gifted with the most incredible of Fates. You have talents and skills that no one possesses, a personality that is so rare it’s been mistaken for legend. You are our future, Nineveh, and soon the world will see who you were born to become.”

            “Can’t I… maybe borrow a form?” she tried, swallowing the rapidly-growing lump in her throat. “Just until I earn my real Blessing?”

            At this, the Blesser gave a throaty chuckle as he stepped back from her.

            “I’m afraid not, dear child.” Nineveh’s heart sunk from her throat to the pit of her stomach.

The magic of the tent flaps was not impressive this time. Her vision was beginning to swim; her bottom lip quivered as her breathing shuddered. She lowered her head, her gaze locked on the ripe grass. The Blesser’s hand reached out and lifted her chin up.

            “There is no shame today,” he told her. “Do not hide who you are. Do not hesitate to become who you are destined to be. Those that mock you will see their errors one day. You will be the most magnificent of them all, child. Do not allow yourself to drown in their ignorance.”

            He gave Nineveh one last smile before nudging her from the tent. The sunlight seemed brighter than before; she barely forced her eyes open, and then hardly managed to keep her gaze fixed on her village. Their faces alone were enough to challenge the small words of encouragement she’d been given.

            Purposely she ignored the stares of the other villages, of the other Chosen that watched in shock and amusement as she walked back to her family, as human as she’d left. The mix of disbelief and shame on her mother’s face was enough to force Nineveh’s head down. The moment she reached the small, shocked group of Othbane residents, the Gathering dispersed.

            No one spoke to the Othbane group, and furthermore, no one spoke to Nineveh. Juthernei offered a hand on her shoulder, but he was already being ushered away towards his horse. This time, unlike the trip there, she did not get to ride a horse. The horses were reserved for the Chosen, and she was not worthy anymore. 

            Nineveh stood in the back of the group, waiting for the others to gather round so they could leave. The other horse was burdened with the traveling packs, more worthy of special treatment than the miserable young girl. More than anything, she wanted desperately to explain herself to her village, but she knew right now they wanted nothing to come from her mouth.

For a brief moment, she lifted her eyes to look around her, and immediately lowered them again. Most stares were filled with cruel amusement, the majority from Elianth. They smirked triumphantly towards Othbane; their first Gathering in 84 years had been a joke.

            It was the saddened, confused stares that also came towards her that made the tears press harder to free themselves. The looks from the other Chosen especially, wondering what was different about this Chosen that kept her human. Nineveh did not lift her eyes again, not even when the horses started moving.

Othbane was the first to leave; as they passed Elianth, Nineveh caught the quiet mutter of, “for all we know, they’ve just painted that white stripe on. What a joke, trying to fool the Blesser.”

            Nineveh’s heart sunk; it wasn’t true. She was blessed. More blessed than any other Chosen. But now the Blesser’s words didn’t hold the same power they had earlier. She wasn’t as confident as she had been. Enviable of the Gods? Had she believed that?

            Not a word was spoken for several days. Nineveh walked obediently behind the others, head lowered and tears racing down her cheeks. She didn’t complain of her aching feet of her growling stomach. She ate her much smaller portion of food, even skipping a meal because now the grain with them was all they had.

            Nineveh had been meant to not only defend their village, but to attack others and take what they needed. Now, the food they had left would be stolen by other village raiders, and Othbane couldn’t risk leading a raid with no Chosen to guide them.

            The dead horse was much more significant, and Nineveh was burdened with her worldly mess-up instead of her heavenly blessing. She had caused irreparable damage, and she very well could end up becoming the reason Othbane was wiped out.

            No one spoke to Nineveh until they were in sight of the camp. As the others headed across the planes towards their small village, Elesben pulled her daughter back from the crowd. Once they were out of earshot, Elesben looked down at the miserable young girl. There was no pity in Elesben’s gaze, only anger and disappointment.

            “Explain yourself to me before you face the others,” she ordered. Nineveh eagerly cleared her dry and unused throat. She’d been rehearsing her explanation in her head since they left the Gathering.

            “The Blesser told me I’m going to be something amazing,” she said, quietly but with strength in her voice. “Something enviable by the Gods. He said I can’t be Blessed yet because I’m going to be so important I’ve got to wait until I’m ready to handle my responsibilities.”

            Nineveh stared up at her mother, her heart pounding its way up into her throat. Her mother’s face went from expectant to disappointed in a second. Her pale green eyes flickered, and Nineveh couldn’t tell whether her mother truly believed her or not. Elesben turned away from her daughter and shook her head.

            “For now, you are not envied by the Gods,” her voice sharp with anger. Nineveh’s stomach dropped as the confidence slid right out of her. “You are a disgrace to Othbane. You have let us down. We have no food, and now no protection. You will do what you can to make up for this mistake, and until you become ‘enviable to the Gods’, you will not speak of this again. Do you understand me Nineveh?”

            The young, miserable girl dropped her head, nodding into her chest, hiding the tears that unexpectedly fell. Her mother left for the village, leaving her standing by herself. It was several moments before Nineveh moved, lifting her head to stare up at the clouding skies.

            What am I destined for? she asked the Gods, wiping the tears from her small cheeks. What is my purpose? Why am I the only Chosen not to be blessed? Why must I be different?

            Nineveh received no answer. Only the low rumble of thunder from the mountains came to her, and it was as unsettling as the silent heavens. Eventually, she turned back to Othbane. She had to go home sooner or later.

            I know who I am, she thought miserably to herself, heavy drops slapping her burdened shoulders as she shuffled for home. I am mistake of my village. I am the one no one wants to be. Is that really all I am destined for?