I keep my venomous pets in a shed specially built to house them. There are shelves for all the cages, and an open space between the walls and the roof to let the light in. The snakes need to be milked once a day, as do the scorpions. For the spiders, I place mock insects into their webs to attract bites. Those, I collect every two days.
My purple-crowned serpent is bobbing and weaving in her cage when I open the door. I whistle a soothing tone as I approach.
“You love Gil, then?” I ask Leora, who watches from the doorway. “He’s the one you want to live out your life with?”
There is joy in her eyes as she replies. “He is very good to me. And he will be a good father to our children.”
I feel a twinge that I tell myself isn’t envy. I love Leora dearly, and she deserves all the happiness that’s coming to her. I say it silently to myself, and then I repeat it again.
Diadem flicks her tongue at me when I open her cage. She’s usually a peaceful creature, and I’m not sure what’s bothering her. I reach for her slowly, ready to pull back if she strikes, but she simply slithers up my hand and anchors her tail around my wrist. I wince at the strength of her grip. With my other hand I pick up a jar covered with deer gut, and Diadem rears her head high. When I change the tone of my whistle, the snake strikes, embedding her fangs in the lid. The move calms her somewhat, but she’s still not herself. I decide to keep her on me as I move to the next cage. I wouldn’t have spent so much effort on the creatures before I fell ill, but these days they’re my most consistent companions, and I do my best to keep them
content.
With Diadem firmly anchored on my upper arm, I move on to the blackarmor scorpion. “Send my well-wishes to Gil,” I say. “I’d like to have him visit sometime, if he is willing.”
It’s not the first time I’ve extended the invitation, but somehow I know that Leora will continue to come alone. Leora doesn’t respond right away, and I feel guilty for putting her in a position where she must make excuses for her betrothed.
She looks toward the clearing. “Someone’s coming.”
I place the scorpion back in its cage and step outside. A man I don’t recognize is coming down the trail from the village. His shin-length tunic is trimmed in imperial purple and he is escorted by two soldiers—a messenger from the central empire. The man stops short at the sight of me, and a flash of distaste crosses his face. I can’t tell what bothers him more: my rosemarks or the snake on my arm.
“I seek Zivah, the rosemarked healer of Dara,” he says.
That title vexes me. I see Leora pull her shoulders back.
“I am she,” I say.
The messenger pulls out a clay tablet the size of his hand. “I bear a message from Commander Arxa.”
The commander again? “I sent my regrets with the previous messenger. I cannot go to the Imperial Academy because of my illness.”
The man gives me a patronizing look over the bridge of his nose. “He has received your message and is saddened to learn of your illness. Commander Arxa has recently given a large portion of his personal wealth to expand the rosemarked colony in Sehmar City. He now extends an invitation for you to serve as a healer there, if it is of interest to you.”
I’d never heard of the rosemarked colony in Sehmar, though I’d assumed there must have been something like it. “He would like me to travel there?”
“More healers are needed at the colony, as many of the untouched healers are unwilling to go. The commander adds that as a healer in the capital, you will have an opportunity to work with other physicians within the compound, as well as access to scrolls from the Imperial Academy.”
I can sense Leora’s eyes on me. The Academy still holds its allure, but it’s such a long journey away. To travel so far from my family when I don’t know how many years I have left…
As if sensing my ambivalence, the messenger speaks again. “The commander doesn’t require a response right away. I am only to deliver the message, and you may send word to him when you’re ready. This invitation will serve as a travel document, should you choose to make the journey.” He places the tablet on the ground in front of him, and his bow this time is clearly an invitation for dismissal.
“Thank you for your message. Consider it delivered,” I say.
With another bow, the messenger and his escorts disappear into the bamboo.
Leora speaks as soon as they’re gone. “Will you go?”
I pick up Arxa’s invitation by the edges, as if it were harboring disease instead of me. There is a note authorizing my travel as a rosemarked person, along with the commander’s seal. “No,” I say, though my answer is a heartbeat slow. “It wouldn’t make sense.” Still, I wonder what it would be like to live and work alongside other rosemarked.
“Zivah,” Leora says gently. “You don’t have to stay here just for us.”
“I’m not.” I spin back toward the shed, throwing the door open with a bit more force than necessary. “I want to stay.”
Leora doesn’t reply, and we speak again of her wedding as I finish up my chores. She takes her leave after I finish, and I return to my cottage. In the corner nearest the door is a basket I keep for clay shards. I take out the commander’s invitation and prepare to dash it against the others. There’s no way I can make the journey, and no reason to let good clay go to waste. Still, my hand doesn’t move.
After a long moment, I step back. I have a pile of scrolls on shelves near my bed, and I tuck the tablet underneath. I step back for a while, staring at the scrolls, before finally continuing with my tasks for the day.
This place is too neat. Even with a wide-brimmed hat tilted low over my face, I can see the carefully cleared dirt paths, the delicate bamboo cottages. Everything is in its place. Nothing shows arrow dents or char marks. The people, too, are well fed and unmarked. I don’t look at them directly, but I glimpse how smooth their skin is, how whole they are. After months back among my people, where you can’t walk into a crowd without seeing scars, bandages, and missing limbs, the difference is striking. If Gatha hadn’t ordered me here, I’d walk right back out to the mountains.
Unusual times call for unusual allies, Gatha had said. Over the past months, she’s been meeting secretly with Tal, the leader of the Dara villagers. Now there’s enough trust to set up a better way of communicating. That’s where my crows and I come in.
I can see the sense in this new alliance, and I’ll follow Gatha’s orders to my death if need be. Gods know, if she asks me to ally myself with a nanny goat, I’d braid the creature’s beard myself. If my warlord’s decided to work with these villagers, I’ll do my best to help her.
But that doesn’t mean I have to respect them.
It’s a humid summer afternoon, nearing evening. I’m dressed like a Dara man in a coarse tunic and trousers, and the moisture from the air coats my skin. My hat hides my darker complexion and lighter hair from casual observers, but anyone who comes close would know I’m not from here. It can’t be helped though. The crows must be trained in daylight, so the best I can do is pick a time when Amparan soldiers are unlikely to show, and hope for the best. And if any of the villagers see me…well, Dara’s leader assures Gatha that his people have little reason to turn me in. I hope he’s right.
A shadow flits over me—probably Slicewing, who likes to fly low. I repeat Gatha’s directions to myself as I walk. Second path from the south, then down a side trail to a well surrounded by three cottages. According to Gatha, the village leader lives in the biggest of these three. I could knock on the door, but there’s a cluster of women standing by the well. Instead, I circle to the back of the cottage and knock on the window shutters.
After a few moments, a man peers out. He’s a little older than Gatha, with some white in his short black hair. Like the others, he’s soft and well fed. But I suppose he looks as much like a leader as any of them.
“Village leader Tal?” Since I don’t speak the Dara language, I address him in Amparan.
When
he nods, I tilt my hat back. “Gatha sent me.”
His eyes flicker over my face. “Wait there,” he says, and ducks out of view. A few moments later, he comes around the corner. “Did anybody take notice of you?”
At least he feels no need for pointless talk. I shake my head.
“Good.” Tal looks around nervously. “An imperial messenger came to the village this morning with an escort of three soldiers. If the Goddess smiles on us, you won’t cross paths with them, but it’s best to be on your guard.”
If the Dara Goddess is anything like our gods, I’d best keep my own lookout. “And if they see me with you?”
Tal smiles grimly. “I’d rather not find out.”
All the more reason to get this done fast.
I look to the sky and whistle sharply. A few moments later, Slicewing spirals down and lands on my shoulder. Scrawny alights on a nearby rock, and I hold out my hand for Preener to land. The birds cock their heads to look at me.
“Tal,” I say to them. “Learn Tal.” The three crows launch again in a flutter of wings. Tal cranes his head and watches them circle overhead.
“Hold out your hand,” I tell him.
After a few moments, Scrawny glides down to land on his arm. The crow must have dug in his claws, because Tal winces. Preener and Slicewing settle nearby.
I hand him a tattered blue handkerchief. “I’ll send a bird to fly over your house every day at dawn. If you have a message for Gatha, hang this outside and the bird will land. Least suspicious place would be to hang it out with your wash.” I take out a thin piece of leather, roll it up, and tie it to the skinny part of Scrawny’s leg, barking at the bird to hold still when he fidgets. “Roll up your message and tie it like so. They get surly sometimes, but you just have to show them you’re in command.”
Tal doesn’t look like he completely believes me, but he gives a deliberate nod. “Thank you.”
I shrug off his thanks and whistle for the birds to follow me out of the village. Slicewing launches into the air, and the other two take wing moments after. The sun’s getting close to setting now, and I pass more villagers on the paths, mostly coming from the direction of the crop terraces. No one stops me, though I get a few curious looks. I’m almost back into the forest when I hear someone speaking in Amparan.
“Be ready to leave at dawn tomorrow for Sehmar City.”
A shiver goes up my spine, and I stop in my tracks. That must be the messenger that Tal mentioned.
Their voices get louder. Up ahead of me, my path meets another trail. It sounds like they’re coming from that direction, though a cottage blocks my view. I cast around for somewhere to hide.
“The village leader looks less happy to see you every time you come.”
“He’s lucky the village didn’t get razed with what happened to Arxa’s troops. He’ll behave himself. If not, well, that’s why you have your swords, right?”
Laughter follows. Bastards.
The path is frustratingly free of vegetation or cover. There’s a goat pen, but the fence is too low to hide anything. I edge toward the cottage, thinking that I can try to keep it between me and the speakers.
A memory forces itself before my eyes.
I’m chained to the wall of the dungeon. The interrogator stands in front of me, whip in hand. I prepare myself for another lash, but he stops and looks to the door.
“Commander Arxa, what an honor for you to visit.”
A shadow looks in from the doorway. I can hardly see him through the swollen slits of my eyes, but I can feel the force of his gaze.
“Make sure you get what you need out of him.” The commander’s voice rumbles like a cavalry stampede.
“You, over there. What are you doing?”
Three soldiers and an Amparan messenger stand where the paths meet. All four of them are staring at me. Cursed gods, of all the times to get thrown into the past…
I keep my head down and do my best to imitate Tal’s accent. “My goat got loose…sir…and I chased him here.” My palms begin to sweat. I clench my fists for lack of anything better to do with them. Do the villagers keep their goats penned up? I’m not even sure the bleating I heard on my way over really was a goat.
The soldier squints at me, and suspicion enters his voice. “It’s almost dark. Why are you still wearing a hat?”
“Easier than carrying it, sir.” I look at him from under the brim as he comes closer. He’s bigger than I am. Right-handed, judging from the relative size of his arms. My pulse quickens and heat pumps through my veins. My fingers itch for the daggers strapped under my tunic. I’ll die before I let them capture me again.
“Take it off,” he says. “I want to see your face.” He’s five paces away now.
I bite back a curse.
“Yes, sir,” I say as the Amparan dog stops in front of me. I lift my left hand to the brim of my hat.
Then I drive my other fist into the soldier’s face.
The man reels from my blow. I’d hoped to knock him out, but he’s still very much awake. He cups his hand over his broken nose, and his creative use of Amparan swear words raises my opinion of him considerably. As his comrades shout in confusion, I turn tail and run. Dara men and women jump out of my way as I sprint to the border of the village and finally to the cover of the bamboo groves. I hear the soldiers behind me, their boots grinding the dirt as they call to each other about where I am.
It’s getting darker by the moment, and I can barely see the bamboo stalks blocking my path. I’ve hardly breathed a prayer against stepping into a fox burrow when my foot lands sideways on a stone and twists. Pain shoots up my leg. For a moment I stand there, doubled over, sucking in air through my teeth. Then I hear more shouts. I clench my jaw and take another step. More pain, and I borrow a few phrases I’d just learned from that soldier. I grit my teeth and limp on, but it feels as if I’m dragging a wild dog by the fangs.
Suddenly, the forest falls away, and I break through into another clearing. I stumble to a halt. I’d thought I was heading away from the village, but ahead of me is another cottage. Did I get turned around?
I limp along the edge of the clearing, trying to get my bearings. A faint light leaks through the shutters of the cottage—there’s someone in there. There’s also a small shed, which looks to be dark. I drag myself over, and the door swings open easily. As the shouts behind me get louder, I step inside and pull the door closed.
Not much light makes it through the opening between the walls and the roof, so I feel my way forward gingerly. My hands slide over bamboo crates, and I take care not to knock anything over. This shed is still too exposed for comfort, but I’m hoping there’s some place in back where I can hide, or if need be, put up a good last stand.
I’m halfway to the back wall when a hiss sounds in my ear. Did I imagine that?
The hiss sounds again.
My eyes are beginning to adjust to the darkness. I can see my hands when I raise them to guard my face. As I stand there trying to make sense of what I hear, the shadowy shape of a giant scorpion materializes right in front of my eyes.
Neju’s sword. I stumble back and collide with the shelf behind me. Crates crash down, a few cracking ominously as they hit the ground. As hisses fill the air, I realize that these aren’t supply crates I’ve knocked over. They’re cages, and I’m pretty sure the creatures they hold aren’t the type I want roaming free.
They call Monyar “Death’s Antechamber,” and for good reason. This land is packed with snakes, scorpions, and spiders. Lethal bites are so common that the local healers raise the creatures and milk them for antivenom.
Looks like I’ve stumbled upon someone’s private collection.
As the racket dies down, the sound of footsteps drifts in from outside. I swallow another curse.
“Hello?” It’s a woman—probably the healer. At least it’s not the soldiers. Still, I reach for my dagger and step carefully toward the door.
“Is anyone here?” The footsteps stop outsid
e. I raise my knife.
The door opens to reveal a woman holding a candle. As her eyes lock on me, I grab her by the collar and pull her in. The door shuts behind us, and I push her against the wall.
“One scream from you and I cut your throat.”
Miraculously, she keeps her grip on the candle. Though the flame sputters, its light reflects off my blade.
She’s scared. I can tell by the rapid rise and fall of her chest. But when she replies, she speaks with a low, steady whisper. “I’m rosemarked, stranger. Spill my blood, and you’ll follow me into death.”
Rosemarked? Why is a patient wandering outside at night? If she’s bluffing, she chose the wrong lie. “I’m umbertouched,” I say.
I feel her muscles tense as she weighs my words. Slowly, she lifts her candle until it illuminates both our faces. She’s younger than I expected, and I see the telltale rosemarks on her skin. Her gaze sweeps across my face and hands as well. The surprise in her expression likely mirrors my own.
“You’re a Shidadi tribesman,” she says.
I don’t reply. Shouts echo in from outside. The words are muffled, but it’s clear enough there’s a search going on. A shrewd look crosses the woman’s face, and it makes me uneasy. If she decides to call for help, I don’t think I could actually cut her throat. I despise this healer as much as any of her fellow villagers, but I’m not a murderer.
“You’re immune to rose plague,” she says.
Why is she repeating the obvious? I may not kill her, but I decide I have no problem with giving her a solid knock on the head. I shift my knife to expose the hilt.
Her eyes flicker to my hand. “Are you immune to snakes?”
By the time I make sense of her words, something long and muscular is already wrapping itself around my arm. I look down to see a reptilian head topped with a triangle pattern my people have long since learned to fear. A layer of cold sweat erupts over my skin.
“Drop your knife,” the healer says.
The snake winds its way up my arm, then anchors its tail on my bicep. It flicks its tongue in the direction of my face and I turn away. They say that the bite of a purple-crowned serpent feels like being burned alive.
Rosemarked Page 5