Rosemarked

by Livia Blackburne

  She holds the bird up to show the dart buried in its side. “You can keep pestering me with questions, or you can share half of this bird for dinner.”

  Fair enough. I keep my mouth shut, and we cook up the meat over a fire. It’s delicious.

  Dineas has nightmares the first night. I hear him tossing and groaning on the other side of the dying campfire. At first, I try to sleep through it, but when he lets out a hoarse scream, I finally call his name.

  He startles awake. I hear the scrape of a blade being drawn, and I’m glad I didn’t go closer to wake him. In the dim glow of the embers I can make out his profile as he turns this way and that. Finally, his hoarse breathing slows.

  “Are you all right?” I ask.

  “I’m fine,” he says brusquely.

  His blankets fall to the ground as he stands, and he turns his face from me as he gathers his bedding and walks away from the campfire. He puts twenty paces between us before I hear him set up his blankets again and lie back down. I can tell from his breathing that he lies awake long afterward, but we both pretend to be asleep.

  A shadow hangs over Dineas the next morning. He knocks things about as he scatters the campfire, and he only acknowledges my presence once I’ve packed my bags and coaxed Diadem back onto my arm for the journey.

  I make my way cautiously toward him. “If your memories haunt you at night, you could decrease the amount of restorative potion you take every evening. Dull your memories when you sleep.”

  His jaw starts to clench even before I’ve finished speaking. “I’m fine.” He turns away.

  I’ll leave him to his nightmares, then.

  We march side by side without a word. He sets a grueling pace, and soon I’m too tired to speak even if I wanted to. From the way he eyes me as we walk and the challenge in the tilt of his chin, I know he expects me to ask him to slow. But Dineas thinks I’m weak enough as it is, and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of being right. So I grit my teeth and keep one foot stepping in front of the other. It’s strange though. Even if I’m tired every day from our travels, it’s the normal fatigue of excessive exertion, the kind I used to feel before I fell ill. The unnatural heaviness that’s weighed down my limbs since I became rosemarked is gone.

  Still, the next few weeks test my resolve. My sore muscles and throbbing feet are bad enough, but I hadn’t realized how unsettling the changing landscape would be. The air becomes dryer as we go inland, and the sun beats down hotter on my face and shoulders. I’d known the continent would be different, but to actually see the forest turn to grassland, then desert before my eyes…We start being more careful with our water and ration it between springs and wells. The shrubs and gnarled bushes we pass are alien to me, and it’s unsettling. What would I do if one of us suffered heatstroke or was wounded by a wild animal? In Dara, I would smooth sap of cloudweed over a bite, but any cloudweed would wither and die in this climate. All my favorite remedies are gone, except for what I’ve carried with me. A lifetime of study and practice rendered useless by just a bit of walking.

  As we travel, the marks of the empire become stronger. The villages and hamlets we pass gradually become bigger, and people speak Amparan instead of their native tongues. We pass temples with carved facades, large halls of cedar, and ornate tombs carved in limestone cliff faces. Several times, I’m awoken at dawn by distant chants sung by priests of Yaras, the Amparan god of the sky. I can’t help but compare this grandeur to the modest cottages of Dara and wonder just how we can resist an empire with such resources at its disposal.

  Then there are the ruins. We pass by two burned-out villages—half-collapsed houses, blackened thatching, no trace of those who lived there before except for somber signs written in stark Amparan, informing passersby of this village’s crimes and the swiftness of punishment. One village withheld a quarterly tithe. Another took an Amparan soldier into their prisons without consulting with the empire. If villages were destroyed for this, then what’s the punishment for infecting a battalion of soldiers? Of sending spies into the capital?

  One day, Dineas comes to a stop at the top of a ridge. “The emperor’s road,” he says. It runs straight south toward where the air wavers in the horizon, wide enough for several chariots to ride side by side. Though it’s early in the day, many people travel along it. In the distance, a watchtower stands sentinel.

  I shield my eyes against the sun. “This will take us to Sehmar City?”

  He nods. “It gets more crowded from here on out. We’ll likely attract less notice if we mix ourselves in with the other travelers, rather than sneaking along the side roads. And we should go separately. Far enough from each other so that people won’t think we’re traveling together.”

  What he says makes sense. I have good travel documents. They even allow me to take rations from imperial rest houses if I so wish. Dineas, however, only has an identification parchment with a badly forged seal. It might fool a careless inspector, but it would be much better for him to avoid attention completely.

  I rummage through my bags and pull out a large undyed cloth, woven loosely enough to see through—a plague veil. The empire requires their rosemarked to wear it whenever we might encounter the healthy. I run it between my fingers and then take off my hat and drape the cloth over it, securing it with ties I’d sewn on. I pause, fingering the rough fabric.

  “Is something wrong?” Dineas asks.

  “No. I’ve just…never worn one before.”

  I expect impatience or sarcasm, but Dineas stays silent. Finally, I take a breath and duck under the veil, taking care not to disturb Diadem on my arm. My hat feels heavier with the fabric draped over it. The cloth falls as low as my ankles and provides a cylinder of welcome shade. I can see through it well enough to make my way, but I think I’d trip if I had to run.

  I can sense Dineas watching me. “You go ahead first,” he says. “I’ll trail behind.”

  I open my mouth to reply, but it feels strange to talk through the veil, so instead I just start down the ridge.

  My progress is slow. Even though the veil doesn’t reach my feet, it encumbers my arms and legs when I walk. When I hold my arms out for balance going down a hill, the motion pulls at my hat. Every once in a while, I kick a rock I didn’t see or step into a divot and have to catch myself. Diadem bobs her head and looks around, more lively now in the newfound shade.

  The terrain levels out as I come closer to the road. An imperial messenger rides by toward the capital, kicking up a cloud of dust. Three women make their way more slowly in his wake. Their dark embroidered gowns give them the look of priestesses. One of the women looks in my direction, and then stops abruptly and puts a hand on her companion’s shoulder. The entire group stops to stare at me.

  Now I’m glad for the veil, so I do not have to face them. I step onto the road ahead of them and walk along the edge. A short while later, they hurry past, single file, clinging to the other side of the road.

  The other travelers I encounter behave the same way. Although my veil is meant to separate me from the world, the empty space around me is the real partition. After an hour of walking, I’ve encountered more fearful and suspicious glances than I’ve had in all the months I was rosemarked in my home village. In Dara, people knew me first as Zivah, and second as a diseased person. On this road though, I am nothing but a carrier of death.

  Ahead of me, the first watchtower rises up. I see the soldiers’ conical hats at the top of the tower. Two others guard the road below. As I approach, one soldier points his spear at me.

  “Rosemarked, who gives you right to walk this road?”

  I part my veil and hold out Arxa’s invitation, with his seal embedded in the clay. “Commander Arxa of Sehmar City.”

  The soldier squints suspiciously at my letter, but he makes no move to step closer. Then he shrugs and waves me on. “Keep your distance,” he says.

  A dozen steps later something hits my pack and knocks me forward. A rock rolls to rest at my feet as another
one flies past my head. I turn around. A group of young men stand clustered together, jeering at me.

  “This road’s not for plague carriers,” one says. “Get off.”

  Heat rushes through me as other travelers slow down to see the spectacle. I scan their faces through my veil and don’t see a shred of compassion. There’s no sign of Dineas, and I’m relieved he’s not here to witness this. Shaking, I step off the road and onto the uneven dirt on the side.

  A rock glances off my elbow. I stumble in surprise and cradle my throbbing arm. The young men are following me.

  “Not fast enough,” one says.

  I glance desperately up toward the watchtower, but the soldiers just look on.

  A man with dust on his face pitches another rock in my direction. It brushes my veil, pushing my hat crooked.

  “Spilling my blood only puts you in danger,” I shout.

  “Not if we keep our distance, corpse,” says a voice from the back. I bring my arms up over my face just in time for a stone to connect solidly with my forearm. I gasp at the pain and turn to run, but I only manage ten steps before my legs get tangled and I pitch forward. The ground comes up hard. A rock thuds to my left, sending a spray of pebbles toward me.

  Diadem hisses in my ear. Only by some miracle have I managed not to crush her.

  The men are still coming, though the nearest have stopped a safe distance away. The look in their eyes turns my stomach to ice—it’s a mob that’s tasted blood. I realize, as I desperately try to untangle the cloth around me, that they can easily kill me here. My skin flushes hot, as if my rosemarks were radiating heat. Once again, I look for Dineas, but he’s nowhere in sight. Even if he were around, for him to intervene in view of Amparan soldiers would be suicide.

  My snake is gripping me so hard now that she threatens to cut off my blood flow. I whistle under my breath and she relaxes her hold. I’m glad to have her with me, but Diadem can’t save me this time. I throw off my hat and veil, blinking in the sun. The men recoil at the sight of my skin as I fumble to untie the blowgun from my waist.

  A shriek splits the air and a shadow drops out of the sky. A man in front throws up his hands to avoid the crow’s talons. As the first bird pulls away, a second one dives, pecking at the man’s face.

  “What witchcraft—” The rest of the man’s sentence is cut off as a third crow swoops down. The man grabs at the bird—Scrawny?—as it dodges out of the way. The men scatter and run back toward the road with the birds in pursuit.

  I don’t waste my time looking after them. Instead, I grab my hat and walk away from the road as quickly as I can. Only when I’m far enough that I can’t hear the men’s shouts do I finally turn south again.

  A short while later, I again hear footsteps behind me. I take a nervous glance back and relax slightly when I see Dineas’s familiar form. I keep walking.

  His footsteps draw closer, but still I don’t look at him.

  “Are you hurt?” he asks.

  I glance toward the road. It’s getting darker now, but a sharp-eyed traveler could still see us. “You shouldn’t be here,” I say under my breath. “And it was foolish to send the crows. Your travel documents aren’t good enough to be attracting attention like this.”

  For a long moment, all I hear is the repeated crunch of his footsteps. “You’re welcome,” he finally says.

  I should thank him, but I can’t. The humiliation is still too fresh. A living corpse, the man had called me.

  “I could have handled it,” I say.

  He snorts. “With that blowgun? You would have gotten one, maybe two of them before they stoned you to death.”

  I tug at my plague veil. With the growing darkness, it’s becoming much harder to see, and I long to rip the cloth to shreds.

  “Please,” I say, “just go away. At least until it’s completely dark.”

  Again, I hear nothing but his footsteps. At first I think he’s decided to disregard me. But gradually, his steps fade farther and farther away.

  Three weeks after we left Dara, the sand-colored walls of Sehmar City appear on the horizon. The emperor’s road feeds directly into massive gates, where copper-plated soldiers stand guard. I’m a good distance from the road when I arrive. Though I use it to find my direction, I haven’t actually set foot on it since the day I was chased off.

  I take shelter beneath a rare gnarled tree and wait for Dineas to come over the sandy hill behind me. He slows as he catches sight of the city, and a spasm crosses his face.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” I say.

  “That’s Sehmar.” For a moment, neither of us says anything. Then Dineas shrugs his bag off his shoulder. “I’ll stay outside the walls while you get settled,” he says. “You can take two of the crows.”

  I look around at the barren terrain. “Will you be all right for supplies? It may take me days, if not weeks, to find a good opportunity to bring you in.” And that’s if Arxa doesn’t see through my deception straightaway.

  “I’ve been hungry before. I’ll survive.”

  “The Goddess keep you, then.”

  I turn to leave, but Dineas barks my name. I turn to see him staring at a cloud of dust up the road. “Best wait until they pass,” he says. I’ve never heard so much strain in his voice. His whole body is rigid and tense. He’s barely breathing.

  The hair on the back of my neck rises in response, and I wait. Soon a train of open wagons stacked with man-size cages comes into view. Though we’re far from the road, odors of blood, excrement, infection, and sweat drift toward us on the wind. I pull my collar over my nose and fight the urge to gag. It’s impossible to look away from the wretched people inside—men, women, and children. Their clothes are torn and dirty. Some sport partially bandaged wounds. Others lie curled on the cage floors, staring out through the bars with listless eyes. Occasionally one of the train’s armed escorts cracks a whip and shouts a command I can’t hear. Some of the prisoners shift in response, though others seem incapable of moving.

  It’s an imperial slave caravan.

  I can’t help but wonder…who are these people? What was their crime? Were they accused of harboring rebels? Did they greet an emissary of the empire without the proper amount of respect? I imagine Leora and Alia in those carts, my mother and father. It’s suddenly starkly clear to me what we face if we fail.

  “Last chance to turn around,” says Dineas. Though his voice has its usual edge, there’s a hint of compassion in his eyes.

  The slave train crawls into the city. I take a breath to collect myself.

  “I imagine my people in these cages too,” he says. “Every time.”

  I can feel Dineas’s eyes on me as I walk away. The soldiers at the gate nudge each other as I approach. More than one loosens his sword from its sheath. You have the right to travel these roads, Zivah. You’ve been given permission. Of course, that permission did me no good the last time.

  I take the final few steps. “I’m a rosemarked traveler claiming an audience with Commander Arxa in the city,” I say. Carefully, I part my veil and lay the invitation on the ground in front of me. Then I back away.

  The soldiers exchange glances. Finally, one jerks his head toward another who I’d guess is the lowest ranked. That man adjusts his armor and takes cautious steps toward the invitation. He looks it over from a distance of a few paces. I feel like an open wound, an unwanted scab.

  “I’ll inquire of Commander Arxa,” the soldier says.

  “Thank you, sirs.”

  The man is gone a long time, and gradually, the remaining soldiers forget about me and go about their duties. I find a large rock and sit down, grateful for the shade my veil offers and trying not to think about what would happen if the soldier cannot find Arxa. What if the commander has changed his mind or forgotten about me? I don’t know if Arxa is the kind of man to hold to his word.

  But finally the gate guard returns, accompanied by another soldier wearing a black-and-silver sash over his livery. The newcomer stands befo
re me and bows. He’s umbertouched, and I realize with a start that he was one of the soldiers I’d treated back at Dara.

  “Healer Zivah,” he says. “Commander Arxa welcomes you to Sehmar City. He is unable to see you at the moment, but you are to come with me to the rosemarked colony.”

  I search the man’s eyes for any recognition, any friendliness, but he is as stone-faced as any of the others. Does he realize that Dara healers saved his life? Does he know what we sacrificed for him? Or does he hate us for not doing enough?

  “Where is the compound?” I ask.

  “A half hour’s walk to the east. Can you travel?” At least he looks at me straight on when he speaks.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  I follow him around the city walls to a small trail leading to the east. You can hardly call it a trail actually, it’s so overgrown with weeds and grasses. My escort walks ahead of me without speaking, only occasionally looking back to check if I’m there. A few times, I see Preener or Scrawny flying behind me, and I waver between gladness at seeing them and worry that they’ll be noticed.

  Finally, we come upon a small settlement. It is nothing like Sehmar City. Instead of high stone fortifications, the perimeter here is marked by a worn earthen wall barely taller than I am. Haphazard rooftops jut out like crooked teeth on the other side. The four soldiers standing guard at the gate wave us in without a word. I get the impression that they’re here to keep people in, rather than out.

  I fight back a moment of panic when we step through the gates. Makeshift sheds line the roads, some made of proper bricks, some with walls of piled mud, and others that look to be a hodgepodge of straw, sticks, cloth, and whatever else was available at the time. The complete lack of uniformity is disorienting, and I wonder how often a house simply falls apart. The few people on the narrow dirt streets look with suspicion on me and my imperial escort. Some are dressed in fine linens, while others wear nothing more than rags. None of them wear veils over their rosemarked skin, and yet I feel vulnerable when I remove my own. These people look at me with every bit the amount of suspicion shown me by the healthy.