The Caste Marked

by Mariah Esterly

  “Welcome to Sidonia Wood.” Sylvan said. There was no mistaking the joy she felt at returning home. Serra saw it shining out of her as she led the way through the trees.

  They paused for lunch in the shade of a tree that took Serra a full minute just to walk around. She marveled at the width of the trunk, the height of the tree, which seemed to reach a mile in the sky.

  Sylvan smiled, watching Serra as she placed her hands on the trunk. “The trees in Sidondale are twice as big.” She commented. Serra spun around her eyes wide.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Sylvan shook her head. “No, I’m absolutely serious.” Sylvan paused tilted her head slightly, then set her food aside and stood up. “I’m sorry about this.” she said, just as a circle of dryads surrounded them, arrows drawn taut against their bows.

  None of the companions had time to even reach for their weapons.

  A man with skin the color of tree bark and dark green hair that resembled pine needles spoke to them in a language that Serra didn’t understand. It was obvious what they wanted, though. She held up her hands slowly and saw out of the corner of her eye that Reks, Rian and Vaughn did the same. Thistle, standing on Serra’s shoulder, slid her arms up until her hands were above her head.

  Sylvan, however, stepped forward, her very presence commanding attention. The leader of the dryads, faltered upon seeing her. They spoke in urgent voices, too low for Serra to make out, and eventually at a word from the male the weapons held against them were lowered.

  Sylvan came back to her companions and spoke quietly. “Nalren has agreed to allow us passage to Sidondale, though he does require that he and half of his group accompany us. The rest will remain here to patrol the borders.” Her dark brown eyes flickered to Rian. “I do not know all of the particulars but it appears as though your father has officially declared war on the Dryadian people until you are returned. They do not know who you are, or they would have taken you prisoner.”

  Rian closed his eyes in disbelief.

  The man, Nalren, came up to them, his light green eyes shrewd. “Come, we must go.” His was accent much thicker than Sylvan’s.

  They hurriedly packed up what little belongings they had unpacked for lunch and mounted their horses. The dryads fanned out around them, traveling just out of Serra’s sight, though she knew they were there. Only Nalren stayed visible, leading the way through the trees on foot. He seemed to never tire even though he kept a brisk pace.

  Serra had never seen Sylvan more alert than she was in the presence of this dryad and she wondered what their relationship had been like before the Natesa had left the Wood for the human world. There was no mistaking the heated glances that Nalren kept sending in Sylvan’s directions, but the princess remained only watchful.

  Vaughn rode up next to Serra and she turned to look at him. She had never seen Vaughn ride as though he were a soldier. He had always remained loose in the saddle as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Now he rode with a straight back, his shoulders tense as if waiting for an attack.

  Serra reached out and touched his arm. He started and glanced down at her. Her questioning look was answered by a slight shake of his head. It was clear that he did not like being in the company of so many Dryads that obviously distrusted them.

  Serra glanced over her shoulder and saw Reks riding with the same wary look as Vaughn though when Serra caught his eye he smiled reassuringly and winked.

  When they stopped for the night, with much opposition from Nalren who wanted to continue without pause, the companions dared to do little more than eat and bed down for the night. Serra was aware of the way that Vaughn, Rian and Reks seemed to flank her through the night, each of them laying their bed roll down on one side of her. She was at once flattered that they cared enough to try to protect her should a conflict arise, and a bit angry that they felt she was unable to protect herself.

  It was true that she had been injured by a death muxin, but she had been unprepared for the number of opponents in that fight. The others had told her there was only one death muxin, not four. She had been doing well enough defending herself, even with what little training she had.

  But here they had Nalren’s word of safe passage and the protection of the Dryadian Princess. Shouldn’t that have been enough for them?

  When Sylvan went to talk to Nalren before turning in, Reks said under his breath, “you shift while you’re asleep.”

  “What?” Serra said, dropping her saddlebag with a loud thump. Nalren’s watchful eyes flew to her. Serra smiled and gathered up her things, bending down so Reks could hear her and Nalren would be unable to see her face. “What?” she said again.

  “You shift while you sleep. Damn disconcerting to wake up and find myself sleeping next to me.” His tone was light, but Serra could tell he was worried. “You’ve been doing it since Sylvan healed your shoulder. You have to control it, Serra. I don’t understand how you can shift. As far as I know there hasn’t been a shifter since long before you or I were born. But if Nalren catches wind of it, I doubt that they’ll be willing to just let you waltz into Sidondale. They can’t be sure of what you’d do with your power once you were there.”

  Serra glanced over her shoulder to where Vaughn and Rian were watching them. “That’s why you all have been standing guard over me, isn’t it? They know?”

  Reks nodded.

  Serra slept very poorly that night. She didn’t move once during the night, instead she laid on her back, staring up at the canopy of tree branches. She drifted in and out of sleep, jerking awake at the slightest sound worried that she had made noise while shifting. Every time she woke she felt two pairs of eyes on her, Nalren’s and one of her companions.

  In the morning, they were all grumpy from lack of sleep, but at least Serra hadn’t shifted, revealing to Nalren her bizarre power.

  They ate a hurried breakfast and rode silent through the forest.

  The next two days were very similar to the first with Nalren. There was little talking for fear of giving something away and each night Serra and her companions slept poorly. Even Sylvan, who had become rejuvenated after returning to the Wood, seemed to be exhausted by the constant scrutiny.

  They were all short of temper, even with each other.

  As they rode, Serra closed her eyes, her chin dropping to her chest. She jerked her head up, her eyes wide open. Then a few minutes later, her chin dropped again. She felt a hand reach out to steady her and she jerked away. “Don’t!” she hissed. “I’m fine!”

  Vaughn drew his hand back as if she had bit him. His jaw hardened. Immediately, remorse overwhelmed her. “Vaughn. I’m sorry. I’m just tired from traveling. I’m not used to it.”

  He nodded, though his expression remained stony. Serra looked over at Rian for help, though he only shrugged. Fretful and now fully awake, Serra looked around. They were now traveling through trees that were the width of the Great House in Malvern’s Ward. Up ahead she saw a distortion of the trees, like the one that appeared after Sylvan had placed her protection spells. With the greeting they’d had, she wouldn’t be surprised if all of them were knocked flat off their horses.

  Serra braced herself for impact, but they rode through the magic barrier without so much as a breeze on their skin. Almost as soon as they were on the other side of the barrier, sights and sounds that had been hidden from them before were revealed.

  The sounds came from high up in the trees, where Serra could make out bridges crisscrossing from one tree to the next. The tree nearest to them had stairs cut into its bark, climbing the tree in a spiral. Next to the tree was a building, small in comparison to the tree itself, with stalls for their horses.

  The companions dismounted and led their horses to their shelter, where they handed them into the care of a dryad woman with green skin and pink hair. She reminded Serra of a rose.

  With saddle bags slung over their shoulders, they followed Nalren up the long winding staircase. Thistle rode in her spot on Serra’s should
er, nestled under the collar of Serra’s jacket.

  After a time, Serra paused and glanced over the edge of the stairs. The ground below was too far away, the building where they had housed their horses was a mere speck that Serra had to strain her eyes to make out. “Oh, sweet gods,” she murmured, scrambling back from the edge and fighting dizziness. She had never thought of herself as afraid of heights, but then she had never been up higher than the fourth story of the Great House.

  Reks, who was the last in line stopped next to her, gripped her shoulder. “Are you alright?” Serra nodded once. “The best advice I can give you is to keep moving and not to look down.” She nodded again. “I’m here if you need me.”

  Thistle patted her cheek in support.

  Without another word, Reks took Serra’s saddle bag and slung it over his free shoulder. Then he gently turned Serra in the direction the others had gone in and gave her a small push to get her feet moving. She did move, methodically, keeping her eyes away from the edge and the drop that would insure a quick death.

  With Reks’ gentle prodding they reached the top of the stairs only a little after everyone else. They stepped into a large open space. The wood of the tree had been cleared out all the way through, leaving thin columns of wood to support the weight of the tree. What looked like a merchant market had been set up amid the columns. Stalls with bright cloth, signs and all sorts of goods that Serra had never seen before lined the outer ring of the space, facing inwards. In the center a smaller circle of stalls faced outwards, creating concentric circles of shops. Dryads moved from stall to stall unconcerned with the pressure from the weight of the tree that made the wood groan.

  Sylvan turned to her friends. “This is one of our smaller markets. We have a much larger one in the center of Sidondale.”

  Their small group was gaining the attention of the nearest dryads, or rather, Sylvan’s presence was. They bowed their heads solemnly in her direction and she returned their greetings in kind.

  “Come. Let us go to your mother.” Nalren said, the impatience in his voice clear. Two bridges stretched away from the market. Nalren chose one and started across it with sure quick strides the others followed, but Serra paused with Reks behind her. “I’m here,” he said. Taking a deep breath Serra reached behind her and clasped his hand. His gloved fingers were warm around hers.

  He squeezed gently and Serra immediately felt better. They made it across the first bridge with very little upset from Serra. She just kept telling herself that when they reached the other side they would be done. The bridge itself was solid. No gaps shown between the wood planks and even though it was suspended by ropes, the bridge did not move in the breeze that ruffled her hair.

  Still, she told herself it would all be over once they crossed the bridge.

  Serra nearly started to cry when they reached the other side. This tree was a crossroads of sorts. Seven bridges stretched from it in different directions.

  “You know,” said Reks, still holding her hand. “I bet these have all been magicked to stay up.”

  “Oh, and I suppose you think that magic never falters, hmm?”

  “Of course not, but it doesn’t seem likely that anyone who is related to Sylvan would allow for magic as important as this to break down. I would bet they have someone out here every other day checking the magic on these.”

  Serra couldn’t help but feel that he had a point. Sylvan obsessed over their protections. Surely she had inherited some of that obsessive behavior from her mother.

  Serra crossed the next bridge with less trepidation and the one after that was almost easy. Soon she was striding along like the rest of them, though she still refused to look down, and she still clung to Reks’ hand.

  After a time, she grew more interested in the houses and buildings around them. If indeed they could be called buildings. Each of the trees that they passed had a portion of their wood carved out, creating rooms with wide openings for windows, with delicate columns to support the weight of the tree.

  The attention that had been paid to each nuance of the design was astounding to Serra. They passed walls that had smiling dancing girls carved into them reaching out their hands, as if inviting the passersby to join them. Others were of dryads dressed for battle. And still more carvings of animals and trees. The carvings were so lifelike that it took Serra a moment to realize that the reason they were not moving was because they were not real.

  The group passed house after house with curious dryads peeking out tall windows to watch their progress.

  As they started across the largest bridge by far, Serra caught a glimpse of silver wood and towering columns ahead of them. They rounded a bend and Serra’s breath caught in her throat.

  Before them stood the most beautiful building Serra had ever seen. Arched windows covered nearly every inch of space, leaving only a thin spider web network of wood. The dwelling itself must have had six floors and Serra wondered if it stretched all the way around the huge silver tree. If so the palace at Sidondale could easily house every living soul in Malvern’s Ward and all the animals too.

  The double doors that were the entrance to the palace were well over twenty feet tall and were thrown open wide, inviting all guests to enter. On either side of the doors there stood twenty Dryads, with arrows drawn and trained on Serra and her companions.

  They entered what appeared to be the Great Hall and were greeted by more of the same.

  Serra hardly paid the soldiers any mind; instead she was overwhelmed by the sheer size of the room. The ceiling echoed two stories above her supported by evenly spaced columns the size of normal trees. The columns themselves were each ornately decorated with differing patterns that resembled the Marks that covered the left hand of the humans.

  Nalren made them pause just inside the door. “Please remove any weapons you have on your person.” Two guards stepped forward to collect them. At a nod from Sylvan, Rian and Vaughn removed the swords from their hips and handed them over. Vaughn added to them several knives. Serra, who had lost her only weapon in the skirmish with the death muxins, had nothing.

  They all looked expectantly at Reks. For a moment, Serra thought he was going to refuse and she braced herself for the argument that would no doubt arise from such a thing. Then he reached inside his coat and undid his belt that held sixteen throwing knives. To this he added the two large daggers that he kept in scabbards at his waist, the two tied to his outer thighs, three knives from inside his boots, his two wrist knives and a long blade that he pulled from a scabbard that hung down his back under his jacket.

  Serra caught his eye and raised an eyebrow at him. He shrugged.

  Serra kept her eyes focused on the area around them in awe as they moved through the cavernous room and through a door to the side of the Great Hall. Here there were no windows and so no natural light. But a silver fire burned in sconces on the walls that lit the long corridor.

  They went up two flights of stairs and down another hall before Nalren showed them into a large room with floor to ceiling windows. He stood by the door as the companions filed past him. “I will inform your mother of your presence, Natesa.”

  “Don’t be silly, Nalren, my mother already knows that we are here.”

  A tight smile crossed Nalren’s lips and he bowed out of the room.

  As soon as he was gone Sylvan visibly relaxed. “We can talk freely here. My mother’s solarium has so many protection spells on it; you’d think she did more than sew here.”

  Rian threw himself into one of the wooden chairs, leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Vaughn leaned against the wall nearest the prince, crossed his arms and waited. Thistle, who did not have the pressure of being watched all the time, zoomed around the room, flying around furniture and tinkling merrily.

  “I’m sorry about Nalren. He can be a bit overwhelming. Ever since my father passed, he has been key in the protecting our people, though at times he can be a little over cautious.”

  “Over cautious isn’t quite
the word I would use for it,” said Reks from his place by the window. “He didn’t seem particularly welcoming to you. If I didn’t know better, I would say that you were no longer their princess.”

  Serra watched as Sylvan’s whole body tensed, though her face remained unchanged. “I am still Natesa of the Dryadian people.”

  Reks walked leisurely toward Sylvan, his hands loose at his sides. “But there are rules, aren’t there? Rules that you broke when you chose to leave Sidonia Wood and search for your sister?”

  “Yes.” Sylvan sat in one of the chairs next to Rian. “We are connected to the wood in ways that even we cannot fully comprehend. The longer we are away from it the weaker the connection. A Dryad can only be away from the wood for so long, before the connection breaks entirely and we are no longer accepted among the trees. “

  “How long before that happens to you?” Serra asked, hardly believing what she was hearing.

  Sylvan didn’t answer, but a look of utter despair crossed her face before she arranged her features to be impassive.

  “It’s already started, hasn’t it?” Reks asked. “The trees don’t talk to you as they once did.”

  Sylvan nodded once, staring straight ahead.

  Serra looked on, her heartbreaking for her new friend. Sylvan had been willing to give up her home and the life that she knew and loved to see to the welfare of her sister, not just for the time that it took to find Mhairie, but for the rest of her life.

  She glared at Reks for bringing up such a painful subject, but he seemed unconcerned. He had focused his sights on Sylvan and now he pursued the subject with single minded intent.

  “What about your sister? Will she be able to come back?”

  “The trees are more forgiving when the Dryad is taken from them, rather than when one leaves willingly. With luck Mhairie will be able to return when she is found.”