Deathmarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 4)

by David Estes

  Annise grinned at him as her brother clung to the wet rocks. He looked much like a drowned rat, his hair askew, water dripping from his chin. “Stop that,” he said.

  She continued grinning, offering him her hand. He took it and they fought along the rocks until they were out of range of the pounding waves. Archer doubled over, breathing heavily, watching longingly as the skiffs moved back toward the ship. “Madness,” he said.

  “The good kind!” Zelda said enthusiastically, bending over and scooping up a loose stone before one-handing it into the frothing sea.

  Sir Christoff Metz was in the process of organizing his soldiers into ranks, but Annise said, “None of that, Captain. We just walk until we find a way through the cliffs. Then you can resume your orders.”

  Though he looked uncomfortable with the prospects of such an ill-conceived plan, he nodded, moving forward at a stiff jaunt. Behind him, Private Sheary smiled in appreciation.

  The next few hours were cold and wet. In some places, the area between the cliff face and the sea became so narrow that they were forced to endure the constant crash of waves, clinging to the rocks like crabs.

  Zelda was the only one who seemed to be enjoying any of it.

  “Perhaps this was a bad idea,” Annise finally admitted.

  Archer scowled at her, but said nothing.

  Tarin said, “You defeated an ice bear, remember?”

  The moment of levity raised her spirits long enough for her to continue for another hour, but still, she breathed a sigh of relief when Sir Metz called back, “Here!”

  The captain hadn’t been lying. It was as if a giant pair of hands had descended from the sky, prying the cliffs apart, creating a narrow crack that rose upward on a sharp angle. Where the land had been broken, huge boulders blocked the way forward.

  And yet it was better than the “beach.”

  Annise took the first step up.

  The sun was peeking over the horizon when they finally reached the top of the cliffs. Twice they’d had to backtrack to take the opposite path around a particularly large boulder that dead-ended at a sheer rock face. Twice they’d had to pound masonry nails into the rocks and string ropes in order to scale to greater heights.

  They were exhausted, all of them.

  The view from the top seemed a small reward for their triumph, the gray, rocky landscape stretching out as far as the eye could see in every direction. There were numerous boulder fields separated by long stretches of flatlands. Ashy mountains rose far to the west, the distance feeling like an unfathomable space.

  Annise searched along the cliffs to the north for any sign of the promised harbor city, but her view was obstructed by even more towering cliffs. “Sleep first,” she said, practically falling as she sat. No one disagreed, and no one bothered to construct tents, barely having the energy to unfurl bedrolls on the rocky ground. Anyway, the night was clear, the stars bright.

  With Tarin’s form warm by her side, she watched as, finally, the moons kissed in a brilliant flash of light before pulling away, fated to miss each other night after night for almost half a year before their next meeting.

  She drifted away, tired but happy.

  The rain didn’t so much fall as dump, startling Annise awake. She made a sound of surprise that was echoed by the others around her, who she could hardly see through the sheet of water that assaulted them. She fought to her feet and Tarin attempted to hold his bedroll over their heads, but it only served to divert the downpour into waterfalls that soaked their sides. A gust of wind hit, sending the streams sideways, nearly blasting Annise from her feet.

  “What do we do?” Archer yelled through the gale.

  “We cannot travel in the storm,” Sir Jonius said, water dripping from his brow and chin. “Too dangerous.”

  The knight was right. There was nothing to do. Any chance for more rest was lost. And travel was out of the question. “We wait,” Annise hollered back.

  Waiting involved hunkering beneath flaps of tents they were unable to raise due to the strength of the wind. Lightning seared the gray sky around them, coming so close at one point that Annise was certain she would be struck. Thunder crashed with deafening roars.

  And then it was over, the abruptness of the storm’s conclusion as sudden as its arrival.

  The rains stopped. The winds ceased. The lightning continued, but the flashes were distant, somewhere over the sea. The thunder sounded more like a bit of indigestion than the roaring lion it had been a moment earlier.

  One by one, they dragged themselves out from under their soaked tents. Though none of them looked it—even Zelda’s maniacal grin had been washed away by the storm, her cloth sling saturated and hanging like loose excess skin—Annise said, “Ready? We march as soon as we can pack up our things.” The only answer was a chorus of groans, except for from Tarin—who mouthed ice bear to her—and Sir Metz—who was already stowing his gear in his pack and searching for a dry scrap of cloth to wipe the rain from his armor.

  The clouds parted and several rays of warm sunlight peeked through. See? Annise thought. Things are looking better already.

  The gap closed and the sunlight vanished. It was the last they would see of it for three days.

  Traversing the Crimean rocklands was akin to seeking a way through a hedge maze. As soon as they would round one large boulder they would realize the way was blocked by another, or perhaps a wide rent in the ground that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

  A land of earthquakes, Annise thought bitterly as they were forced to backtrack once more. “The captain said two days,” she said, “but I fear his experience traveling through these lands was limited to what he could see from the sea.”

  Archer said, “Marietta.”

  “What?”

  “The name of the western girl who I left back on the ship.”

  Oh. Annise felt somewhat bad for not even bothering to learn the latest girl’s name, even though Archer had already told her once. But not that bad. “What about her? Are you in love?”

  Archer scoffed, as if the very idea was out of the question. “No, but I was happy.”

  She felt bad. Sometimes she forgot that her brother was as much a victim of circumstance as she was. Plus, he had the added weight of having his crown stripped from his head while he lay unconscious. Annise sighed. “Once I persuade King Streit to resume trade with the north, things will get better. I promise.”

  Archer said, “Persuade how?”

  Annise raised a fist in the air and clenched her teeth.

  Archer laughed. “I wouldn’t bet against you.”

  “And if I need someone to joust them into submission, you’ll be the first man I call upon.”

  Archer stuck his tongue out.

  Sir Jonius had overheard the exchange and just shook his head, muttering something about politics as he turned away.

  Sir Metz shouted something from up ahead. He and Private Sheary had volunteered for the role of scouts, and had apparently found the next path between the boulder fields.

  The day passed, and by nightfall their clothes and other belongings were finally dry. This time they didn’t make the mistake of sleeping under the stars. They sheltered under a long overhang from one of the massive boulders. Inside their large tent, Annise said to Tarin, “Kiss me, you big lug.” He did, and then they slept.

  Forty

  Crimea, south of Moray

  Tarin Sheary

  Tarin didn’t sleep much that night. In fact, he hadn’t slept much since his conversation with Annise about the monster inside him.

  If the pain was intense enough, and lasted long enough…

  You don’t want to drive me away, the monster purred. Not really.

  Tarin clamped his teeth down, nearly biting his tongue. Annise stirred beside him but didn’t wake.

  Go away.

  No. I think I deserve to be a part of this conversation. I saved your life more times than you can count. I won’t go quietly.

  Tarin already k
new that. He knew he could handle the amount of pain that would be necessary if Annise’s theory was correct. But was it really what he wanted? Yes, he hated the monster at times, what it did to him, what it made him do. But it was also a part of him, and the only reason he was still drawing breath through his lungs, his heart beating in his chest.

  See? the monster said.

  I see nothing.

  Then you are more like me than you think.

  That was a truth he couldn’t deny, for somewhere along the way the line between them had blurred. And yet it was still his life. His body. You come when I tell you to come. You will obey me. Understood?

  Like a pet dog?

  Exactly.

  The monster laughed. And though Tarin tried to get an answer, the monster was already gone.

  When Annise coaxed Tarin awake he felt like he’d only just fallen asleep.

  “You sleep like the dead,” she said, tracing the edge of his lips with her finger.

  He grabbed her finger, kissing it. “That’s what happens when you almost die.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Truly?”

  “No.”

  “Fool. Honestly, I don’t know how you sleep so soundly. I awoke hours ago with a rock stabbing into my back.” I know. I watched as you squirmed and rolled around, trying to get comfortable.

  “I’m sorry. Try sleeping in your armor next time. It might help.”

  “At least it didn’t rain,” she said.

  “True.”

  When they escaped the bounds of their tent, Sir Metz already had the makeshift camp organized. A fire was burning and most of the other tents had been taken down and stowed. He gave an order and two of his soldiers started on Annise’s tent. “You don’t have to do that, Sir,” Annise said.

  “It is our duty,” he replied. Grudgingly, Tarin had to admit he liked the odd knight, liked his sense of duty and honor, and had even grown to appreciate some of his eccentricities. If only he and my cousin weren’t…

  He found his fists clenching and his teeth grounding together. Still here, the voice in his head reminded him. He took a deep breath and unclenched his teeth, untightened his fists. Took a long swill of water and scarfed down some salt beef.

  The monster laughed.

  Maybe a little pain isn’t the worst idea after all, Tarin thought.

  The monster stopped laughing, retreating into the darkness.

  Tarin grinned.

  “What are you smiling about?” Annise asked.

  “No rain again,” Tarin lied. “That’s the best we can hope for.” He gazed up at the impenetrable layer of clouds, before setting his sights forward.

  Around midday—although the passing of time was hard to judge without the ability to see the sun—they stopped for lunch. Afterwards, Annise ordered Tarin and Sir Metz to climb a small boulder to get a better lay of the land before they continued their march.

  They climbed in silence, easily finding hand- and footholds on the chiseled surface of the stone. Tarin, with his longer arms and legs, reached the top first, glancing back to find Sir Metz not far behind. Somewhat grudgingly, he reached down and offered a hand, which the knight accepted.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Awkward silence, something Sir Metz always seemed all-too-comfortable with. Fine, Tarin thought. It’s probably better this way. He scanned past the field of boulders to where the land jutted out sharply into the sea. There, poking up from the ground were stone behemoths. Not cliffs or mountains or more boulders, Tarin thought, in awe. Buildings. Even from this distance, they looked large, which meant that up close they must be…

  “Taller than the tallest towers in Castle Hill,” Sir Metz said, his eyes narrowing. His lips continued to move soundlessly, as if doing calculations in his head. “Twice, maybe thrice, as tall.”

  I was thinking four times, Tarin thought. “Moray,” Tarin said instead. “The largest Crimean harbor.”

  Sir Metz nodded, starting to turn. Tarin stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I know I only just met her, but Mona is still my cousin. Don’t hurt her.”

  Sir Metz frowned quizzically. “Hurt her? Why would I do that?”

  “I don’t mean physically, Sir. Mentally. Emotionally. She cares deeply for you.”

  “I know. She loves me. She told me.”

  Tarin’s heart beat just a little faster. Frozen hell. It was worse than he thought. “You only just met her.”

  Metz nodded seriously, as if he’d been thinking the same thing. “It isn’t logical, I know. She…understands me. No one has before. I can’t explain it. And I think I’m beginning to understand her, too.”

  Tarin had to admit—he wasn’t exactly the shining example of a long courtship; his and Annise’s romance had been a whirlwind from the start. Then again, they’d known each other before, when they were children. “Just be kind to her, that’s all I’m asking.”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Tarin restrained the urge to throw the literal man from the boulder. “Do you love her?”

  If Sir Metz was surprised by the directness of the question, he didn’t show it. “I used to hate that word. Everyone said it. My mother. My father. They expected me to say it back. When I didn’t, they were…bothered by it. My father got angry. My mother…got sad.”

  Tarin searched the knight’s face for some shred of emotion, inner turmoil at the memories, but there was nothing. Then, slowly, something changed. “Then I met Mona.”

  The other times Tarin had heard Sir Metz refer to his cousin by her familiar name had made him angry. Not this time. This time he heard the richness in the man’s tone, in the way just speaking her name aloud lit up his eyes, his face.

  It reminded him of how he felt when he spoke Annise’s name.

  “You love her,” Tarin said. Not a question.

  “Yes. I always will. She’s important to me.”

  That didn’t surprise Tarin in the least. “I—I wish you well. Both of you. Together.” He suspected there was a little too much growl in the final word, but at least he’d gotten it out without choking.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  They climbed down as the shadows grew longer and the day bullied its way toward dusk.

  They were forced to camp once more within the boulder field, but by midday the following day they escaped back onto the stony plains. Moray rose before them, even larger now, a collection of towering gray structures that tapered off as they approached the sea.

  A single ship was at anchor, looking lonely and forlorn as it rocked on the waves. What the—

  “Frozen hell,” Annise said, finishing Tarin’s thought. Her eyes met his, and he felt his own frown reflected on her face. “Where are all the ships?”

  Archer said, “Trading with our enemies? Or sailing to other lands perhaps.”

  “That is very unlikely,” Sir Metz said. “Moray is known to have the largest merchant fleet in the world, with more than two thousand ships using the port on an annual basis. The statistical probability of it being empty at any given time is approaching zero.”

  Archer said, “Guess it’s our lucky day.”

  “There’s no such thing as luck,” Sir Metz said, frowning.

  Sir Jonius waved their argument away, stepping forward, glaring at the harbor like it was a bad piece of fruit. “No,” he said. “Something is wrong. We would be best served by a wary approach.”

  Annise’s hand gripped Tarin’s arm and he looked at her. Their eyes met again. He knew she was remembering the same thing he was: the parchment, with its bloodstains and incomplete message. The half-dead bird that delivered it. The implied threat of violence that seemed to waft from the page like a putrid steam.

  “What say you?” he asked her, lending her strength via the steel in his tone.

  “You’re not going to like what I have to say,” she said. Then she outlined her plan.

  She was right. Tarin didn’t
like it.

  At least I have my Morningstar, Tarin thought as another wave pummeled him in the face. He came up spluttering, spitting salty water. Then again, the weight of the weapon wasn’t helping.

  “You all right?” Annise asked, bobbing up beside him. Unlike him, she seemed perfectly at home in the water. Compared to their experiences on the deck of the ship, it seemed the roles had been reversed.

  “I’d be happier in my armor,” he said, waving his arms and kicking his legs wildly to stay afloat.

  “So you could become a human anchor and sink to the bottom?” The queen’s arms and legs seemed to barely move at all, and yet she floated. How does she do that?

  “I meant in my armor and on dry land.”

  Archer had been even less happy with the plan. “I finally dried off after the storm,” he’d complained before they’d left. Metz and his soldiers, of course, were too honor-bound and loyal to the queen to utter a word of complaint. Sir Jonius too. Zelda had merely said, “Watch out for the sea monsters.” They’d trooped back to the cliff’s edge, searching for another break in the barrier until they’d found one. A hard few hours of climbing and scraping against rocks and they’d reached the water’s edge, stowing their rations and armor above the tide line behind a jumble of medium-sized stones.

  Now, Annise said, “Duck,” and Tarin was a hair too slow as another wave bashed into his face.

  After much floundering and his version of “swimming,” Tarin was past the breakers and into open waters where who knew what was lurking beneath the dark surface. Monsters, his own monster said.

  “Hilarious,” Tarin said aloud.

  “What?” Annise asked, coming up for a breath.

  “Nothing. C’mon, we’re falling behind.” Sir Metz and his soldiers had already closed the distance to the ship by half, as had Jonius, and Zelda wasn’t far behind them, barely affected by her injured arm. Even Archer, despite all his grumbling, was making good progress. Annise, Tarin knew, was holding back to wait for him.