Apostate: Forbidden Things

by Nikki Mccormack

  Suac Chozai was silent, but his rage magnified, blasting against her extended ability with enough force that she stepped back into her horse. The tired animal shifted the foot he was resting on and she placed a hand on his shoulder, more to calm herself than to soothe him. The Murak suac turned slightly away from her, his sharp movements further attesting to his anger, but his silence suggested uncertainty. After a long pause, his glowing eyes bored into her again.

  “Do not,” he growled, his gaze jumping to the skin for a second. “The gods will demand payment for the gifts they give you. The more you accept, the greater that price will be.”

  For a few seconds she considered arguing that she didn’t believe in his gods. She held the sucar tight to her chest, longing to drink from it in spite of his warning. To defy him now would be to throw all of his trust back in his face. It would destroy the relationship they had developed.

  Still, she hesitated.

  He breathed deep, the intensity of his rage fading as he exhaled. “You are wrong. Sucar destroys the connection to ascard. It always has.”

  She stared at him, trying to absorb what he was saying in context with her own experience. She reached out to all the Suac’s in the army. In them, she found only the faintest trace of an ascard connection. Extending further, she found the lesser priests and discovered something different. The all had varying degrees of ascard connection, most strong enough to be pressed into training as a healer in Caithin, but it was changing, becoming something different with a different feel to it. Startled, she reached back into Suac Chozai and found that altered connection there. It was incredibly strong in him, that changed ascard connection. It wasn’t gone at all, only altered so that the individual was no longer aware of it and could no longer consciously control it. That must be how they managed the prophecies, though she still didn’t understand how one could see future possibilities, with or without a conscious ascard connection.

  Why wasn’t her connection changing in the same way? Could it be the healing she did after every session to minimize the damage from the poison?

  Something else occurred to her then and she lifted her lip in a silent snarl, fury burning through her as though her blood had turned to acid. “You tried to take my power from me.”

  He lifted his head, defiant of her anger. “The sacrifice of that power is a part of becoming un Ani.”

  “When were you going to tell me that? Were you going to give me a choice or wait until it was already gone?”

  He met her eyes, his jaw set with the righteousness of his conviction. It was so tempting to tell him the truth right then, to tell him that his connection wasn’t gone, only altered. How would he accept that? How would it sit with him to know his belief that he had eradicated that power in devotion to his gods was false? How did she feel knowing his acceptance of her was only a trick to gain her trust and eradicate her sinful power?

  The fury burned out, sinking in her chest like a stone in water. He was a product of his culture. It didn’t make the things he’d done right, but the fact that he hadn’t killed her outright for the mere offense of being a Caithin adept was a profound defiance of his beliefs. He was trying to fix her. To give her a chance to become something better, in his estimation, than she was when she came to him.

  She placed the stopper back in the water skin and handed it to him. He yanked it from her grasp and she watched him stride away, a shadow storming through the sleeping warriors. Restless and miserable, she wrapped herself in a blanket of warmth drawn from ascard in the ground and lay down. Sleep was slow to come.

  •

  The insipid light of predawn found her back in the saddle with dark circles under her eyes. Sleep had come in brief fitful spells. She moved along amidst a vast sea of dark-skinned warriors. They ate as they walked, breaking their fast on the move. When they finished eating, the pace would increase to an easy lope that the gelding could match with his reasonably comfortable trot.

  She chewed listlessly at some dried meat. It was bland, reminiscent of that Yiloch had offered her in his father’s prison. Two people brought together in the strangest of places by the strangest of circumstances. His recent rejection of her stripped the memory of its odd sweetness. She had to force herself to continue chewing.

  How could she have sunk so low as to try stealing some of the sucar? It wasn’t like her to be so deceitful. Then again, what right did Chozai have to try taking her powers away without telling her? She was a grown woman. She had the right to decide for herself who and what she wanted to be. He should have explained the risks and let her make her own choices.

  She sat straighter in her saddle, proud of all she had accomplished of her own volition. Seconds later, her shoulders sank and she hung her head again.

  No matter how much she had to be proud of, no matter what he kept from her, in this she was wrong. She should have at least asked to use the sucar rather than sneaking it away in the night like a petty thief. Then, at least, they could have had a calm discussion about her reasons for wanting to use it. That she had felt it necessary to steal the sucar suggested that her need wasn’t so justified. It wasn’t love that drove her to take it. It was hunger. It was greed. It was the promise of more power. It didn’t matter how she meant to use that power.

  The realization made her body ache with weariness. Such things had never driven her before. The thirst for knowledge and the desire to escape a dreadful life with an abusive husband had driven her. What had changed?

  A dark hand reached into her line of sight, patting her horse’s shoulder. She looked at the black tattoos wrapping the wrist, reaching with tapering tendrils over the hand and up the fingers and blew out a weary exhale.

  “Suac Chozai,” she acknowledged in a small voice.

  “Indigo un Ani un Yiloch,” he greeted in return.

  There was a painful twisting in her chest and she wondered whether the title binding her to their priesthood or that binding her to Yiloch caused it. Probably both and she suspected the inclusion of un Yiloch had been an intentional torment meant as punishment for her actions. As much as she wanted to snap at him for it, she couldn’t muster the energy to do so.

  “I told you, Emperor Yiloch turned me away,” she reminded him, resigned enough that there was little emotion in the statement. The words floated up from the hollow in her chest and dropped from her lips.

  Chozai made a soft noise in his throat that managed to communicate both disagreement and disinterest somehow. “Your eyes already show the mark of the sucar. If the gods want you to have a stronger ability to manipulate ascard, perhaps that is good for the trial ahead. Do not expect it to come without a high price.”

  Her hand went to her face as if she might feel the change in her eyes. She forced the hand back to her reins, a shudder rushing through her as she recalled the images from the mirrors in her last walk with the gods.

  “What kind of price?”

  “You know sucar is a poison. It will change you and it may kill you if you take too much.” His impatient tone suggested that she already knew this and shouldn’t have to be told again. “The gods may be helping you or they may be tempting you with this power, testing your integrity.”

  “Why would the gods lure me to my death now? You said they had accepted me.” I thought you had accepted me, she added silently, the ache of his deception twisting like a dagger in her chest. Was this how Yiloch felt when she betrayed him? Given the comparative depths of the relationships, her betrayal had probably been much harder to take.

  She hung her head, hoping he wouldn’t notice the shine of unshed tears.

  “Perhaps you have served your purpose,” Chozai snapped.

  Another shudder moved though her. The suggestion of such fickleness in their gods horrified her, as did his easy acceptance of it. She reached out to him with ascard, inspecting the confusing array of emotions that came from him. Disappointment and affection were strong among them.

  Guilt flushed her cheeks again and she drew her powe
r back into herself.

  “I know what is in your heart. You tell yourself you want to be stronger so you can protect those you love. Power is addictive and it will kill you at least as quickly as the sucar will if you allow it to control you.”

  She swallowed and nodded. “I understand.”

  They continued in silence until most of the warriors had finished their scant meals. The pace would be increasing soon. If she wanted to say more, this was the time.

  “I’m sorry, Suac Chozai Galal un Murak un Ani. I was not myself last night and—”

  He made a sharp gesture with his hand, cutting her off. Then he took hold of the horse’s reins and stopped them. The rest of the Kudaness continued to pass around them like a river parting around a rock. His copper eyes burned with anger.

  “I cannot forgive you if you were not yourself. Perhaps you will explain to me who you were?”

  There was a hard edge to his tone, a coldness that chilled her far more than his anger the night before, but she understood his point and inclined her head in a small bow of deference.

  “I was wrong, Suac Chozai Galal un Murak un Ani. I ask your forgiveness for my actions.”

  He gave a quick nod. “You are young and the responsibility you take upon your shoulders is great. This has not been the first time nor will it be the last time you stumble upon this road. I forgive you, Indigo Milan un Ani un Yiloch.”

  She bit her tongue, fighting the urge to yell at him for his insistence that she was Yiloch’s somehow. She had his forgiveness, but his manner remained distant. It would gain her no ground to argue with him over that now. She had to pick her battles.

  “You earned that tattoo just as any Kudaness man would have. Do not shame it.”

  “Did I earn it?”

  He gave her a hard look. “You would not wear it otherwise.” Turning, he started to walk again, tugging the horse along with him. “Sometimes our circumstances drive us to do things we might not have considered otherwise. Even things we will regret. We must accept those actions that shame us just as we would those that bring us pride. You know this. As does Emperor Yiloch.”

  Not giving her time to question the last comment, Chozai jogged away and the army increased their speed. She urged the gelding up to a trot to keep pace with them. How she wished what he intimated with his words was true. Would Yiloch welcome her back now that he had time to consider what had passed between them? Would she let him do so after their last encounter? The man might as well have cut her heart out and carried it away with him.

  Her hand went to her chest where her old ring now hung on the chain Yiloch had worn for so long, the band cold and hard against her skin.

  •

  It was coming on evening when the army halted again without warning, coming to a surprisingly smooth stop considering their numbers. She moved her horse out and around, trotting to the front to see what had stalled them.

  A group of seven warriors and five of the suacs had gathered in a precise circle at the far side of the rough track. She directed her mount over to them. One warrior stepped into the middle of the group and raised his spear. Between two of the men, she could see a figure lying prone on the ground. The warrior started to bring the spear down fast toward the fallen figure. Lashing out with power, she knocked the spear from the warrior’s hands and pulled the horse to a hard stop at the perimeter. She jumped from the saddle and strode into the circle. An uproar arose among those close enough to see what had happened. The disarmed warrior scowled at her, hate in his eyes.

  Ignoring them all, she knelt beside the prone figure. He was Lyran, his light blond hair worn long and his skin pale as snow, though his facial structure was a touch too rounded and rugged for someone of pure blood. At first, she thought he was dead. His chest didn’t appear to move and she didn’t feel a pulse when she pressed her fingers to his throat. Using ascard, she delved in deeper, finding a very faint pulse and the shallowest breathing.

  “What were you thinking?” She glared up at the men around her. “This man is alive.”

  The warriors all scowled at her and looked away, as if she were unworthy of their acknowledgement. She started to repeat the demand in Kudaness, but stopped when Suac Chozai stepped forward. There was a look of warning and disapproval on his face.

  “The man is nearly dead. It is a mercy to end his suffering,” he explained.

  “There are better ways,” she hissed and turned back to the man.

  The injuries were several days old. A deep gash laid open his left thigh, the proud flesh hot and reeking with infection. A broad puncture in his chest also stank of infection. She could see the swept bladed spears of the Grey Army in her mind as she examined the wounds. She laid a hand on his chest to feel the heat there and started when his hazel eyes fluttered open.

  How are you still alive?

  She set a gentle hand against his cheek, hoping to comfort him. His face was blazing hot, his pupils large and unfocused. She doubted he even knew they were there.

  Closing her eyes, she focused ascard into him. The infections were severe, his fever high enough to injure his brain. His heart strained, near to failing. There was a chance she could save him, but it would take everything she had, and even if it worked, he would require continuing care for some time.

  What was one life worth?

  Tears streamed down her cheeks when she opened her eyes and glanced up at Chozai. His expression was unyielding. He gestured to the warrior who had retrieved his spear.

  “He will end this man’s pain.”

  “I will do it,” she countered, speaking in Kudaness so the warrior would also understand her.

  The warrior, Farid tribe from his tattoo, stepped back and bowed his head, respecting her choice now that she agreed with their decision. Chozai looked displeased, but he also stepped back, giving a sharp nod.

  She took a deep, shuddering breath and closed her eyes again. The man’s heartbeat was so weak. A little longer, an hour or two, maybe half a day, and it might give up on its own. Then again, it might not. He might continue to suffer for a long time before his body gave up or, worse yet, predators found him, predators that would feast on him alive or dead. How had he ended up here, several miles from the nearest village? Was this where the army had cut him down? Had he drug himself from the village south of them perhaps? What need kept him alive that she was now going to override? What right did she have to force him to give up?

  She fought back a sob, her throat tightening with the effort. Focusing her power, she wrapped it around his heart and, with a firm squeeze, stopped it beating. There was no resistance. A final breath gasped between his lips. Then his body stiffened and relaxed. He was gone. Death was too easy to give.

  She rose and walked out of the circle, looking at none of them. Whatever they thought of her powers and how she used them, she didn’t care to see the judgment in their eyes right then. Stepping up to her horse, she mounted and continued down the rough track that would take them to Yiroth. Tears ran down her cheeks unchecked and she didn’t look back to see what the army was doing. With surprisingly little sound, the Kudaness followed after her.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “What are they stopping for?” Lady Auryl’s voiced trembled when she spoke.

  Yiloch glanced over his shoulder to see Terral resting a comforting hand on her arm. He jerked it back to his side when he noticed Yiloch looking and stepped away from her. Perhaps he feared igniting his jealousy.

  If only I felt something more than pity when I look at her.

  Still, Terral’s discomfort brought him a small satisfaction. By going along with Myac’s plans, he’d helped bring much misery upon them. His cousin knew well enough that the ties of blood were no deterrent. Yiloch had killed his father, he would kill Myac, and he would even kill Terral if he decided it was necessary. He did feel guilt over the death of Myac’s mother, but he’d felt that long before knowing who she was and guilt had no place in the running of an empire. The night he killed his fath
er and took the throne, Myac hadn’t only tried to kill Indigo when he escaped her power, but he had taken time to make her suffer first. The man would never settle for some compromise that let Yiloch go unpunished. Leryc had told him horrifying tales of how Myac dispatched those who displeased Emperor Rylan. Hatred and thirst for vengeance had given him a penchant for cruelty.

  From this vantage, in the highest room in the southeast palace tower, they could see a portion of the Tygis River. They couldn’t see all the way to the crossing where reports said the Grey Army was setting up camp. He had come up here with Adran a few hours ago to consider their options before meeting with Lord Theron again. Terral he dragged along because he felt a need to keep a close eye on the man, especially with the Caithin emissary in the palace. Ian arrived a few moments ago with the news of the Grey Army, having tracked Yiloch there with ascard, and Auryl had followed him up. The room, a small observation chamber that boasted a couple of chairs and a small table, was getting rather crowded.

  “He may be giving his army time to rest before attacking. Or perhaps he hopes to lure us out,” Yiloch said.

  He grimaced as he stared out toward the crossing. Perhaps he should have led his forces against them earlier to try to save the river towns instead of simply sending riders out to encourage evacuation. By now, given the Grey Army’s efficiency, anyone who had stayed in those towns was long dead. Within the city walls, they should be able to hold out until Cadmar and the other riders Hax had sent out returned with reinforcements, though it was questionable what help those reinforcements would be against this particular foe. He itched to do something though. Sitting back to wait while the army slaughtered his people was enough to drive him mad.