Scarlet and the Keepers of Light by Brandon Charles West

swift, effortless movement, he released the massive beast’s wrists, seized it by its shoulders, and flung it into the trunk of a tree, where it fell motionless at Chosen’s feet.
    For a moment Brennan couldn’t comprehend what he had just done. He couldn’t take his eyes off the crumpled figure lying motionless on the ground. Then the Tempest began to fade, and he felt his weakness and exhaustion flooding back in. The trees and shadows began to shift again.
    “Take deep breaths,” Brennan heard Chosen say. He looked up from the dead creature and locked eyes with the man, who was smiling broadly.
    Brennan sank to his knees, unable to hold himself up any longer. He was filled with rage and confusion. Chosen had just stood there, not raising one finger to help. Not that Brennan was under any illusion that they were friends, but he couldn’t have just watched while another person was killed and eaten right in front of him. Suddenly he wanted to walk over to Chosen and knock him out, hit the man so hard that he would feel as weak and frail as Brennan did now. But it was no use. All he could do was lie down on the earth, his consciousness fading.
    Chosen walked slowly to Brennan and crouched beside him. “We’ll camp here,” he said mockingly, as Brennan’s world went dark.
    ***
    When Brennan woke, the sun was filtering through the trees, warming his skin. He could smell a fire burning and the savory aroma of food. He rose onto an elbow and looked around the clearing. Chosen sat by a small campfire, dropping vegetables into a pot suspended over the flames.
    “Good afternoon,” Chosen said, his voice welcoming and cheerful. He leaned over the pot and inhaled deeply, clearly pleased with his cooking. “Not much to work with, but I think I’ve managed to make something of it.”
    Slowly Brennan rose to his feet, walked over to the fire, and sat down across from Chosen. He wasn’t sure what to say to the man; he still felt confused, and more than a little betrayed. The rage that had consumed him before he passed out had abated somewhat, but an undercurrent of anger remained.
    Chosen ladled the soup into two bowls and passed one to Brennan, who took it and immediately began to drink the broth. The taste was earthy but good, and Brennan realized that he was starving.
    “I’ve added something to help with your fatigue and put a little weight back on you. I underestimated how much your time under the jailers’ care had taken out of you.” Chosen paused to drink some of the broth. “I should have been making this all along, but I wanted to put as much distance between us and the jail as possible.”
    Brennan concentrated on the soup. He could feel his weariness fading with each sip. Only after he’d drained the entire contents of the bowl did he finally speak to Chosen.
    “I could have died,” Brennan said, as levelly as he could.
    “But you didn’t,” Chosen said casually.
    “You just stood there,” Brennan objected, trying not to sound as betrayed as he felt.
    Chosen ladled more soup into Brennan’s bowl. “And what would you have had me do?”
    “Help me!” Brennan cried in exasperation.
    “You are obviously very naive when it comes to the world around you. This was no doubt your first encounter with a tiranthrope. They are one of the few creatures that are quite immune to any gift I possess, and you can attest firsthand to how vicious they are. I would have only been a hindrance to what, I have to say, was an amazing display of strength and perseverance.” Chosen motioned for Brennan to drink more of the broth. “You should be thanking me.”
    “ Thanking you? For watching me nearly get eaten alive?”
    “For helping you find it.” Chosen smiled knowingly.
    Brennan decided to ignore the comment and the smirk. “What are we doing here?” Frustration and a multitude of other emotions still grated in his voice, sharp as broken glass.
    “I told you, it is the shortest route through—”
    “I