The Caste Marked

by Mariah Esterly

  Up ahead Rian and Sylvan’s argument had reached a higher pitch, making Serra wince at the shrill note in Sylvan’s voice.

  “Will you two be quiet for once?” she hissed. Almost immediately they both fell silent. “We have visitors in case you failed to notice. And I am not certain that hearing you two argue will improve their moods any.”

  Serra watched as realization dawned on both their faces and, inexplicably, Rian urged his mount closer to Sylvan’s.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it too much, Serra.” Reks said. “They will keep to themselves.”

  Serra watched as one arvel darted its thick pink tongue out of its mouth to taste the air. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “You seem to know a lot about arvels.” Vaughn commented from behind them.

  Reks shrugged. “The arvels and I long ago came to an understanding. I was not always the Thief Lord, nor did I always live on the streets of Nemia. I have done a fair amount of traveling in my day.”

  “In your day?” Vaughn sounded as though he was trying not to laugh. “What are you twenty?”

  “Twenty-one, but the worlds that we grew up are very different. I left home when I was twelve and traveled until I was fifteen and reached Nemia.”

  Serra kept an eye on the large cats who tracked them on the ledge above them. “So, you spent a lot of time with the arvels?”

  “Yes. I’ve spent a lot of time with them.”

  No one said more on the subject, though they all kept their gaze on the large cats that stalked them with the easy grace of a predator. No matter what Reks said Serra still feared for their safety. Reks' pilgrimage had taken place long ago. Who was to say that things had not changed on the arvels side of the understanding, especially now that winter had hit the mountains full force?

  When they paused to make camp for the night, Reks assured them that they would be safe, but Sylvan did not waste any time in putting up their protective barrier. The dryad made it wide enough to take in part of the river, so the companions would be able to fetch water without exposing themselves to the possible danger.

  All night Serra was jumpy. She woke at every little sound and her still broken arm ached in the cold, making it difficult for her to go back to sleep.

  Once she woke when the fire had died down to mere coals, everyone was asleep, except Reks who had left his bedroll laid out next to hers and sat near the edge of the barrier talking to a large cat. Serra almost did not see the arvel, as it was white and blended into the snowy background. She couldn’t hear what the two were talking about but she could tell it was a very heated conversation.

  The distress on Reks' face was plain and she considered going to his side. The ferocious looking cat was enough to keep her in her bedroll. She watched them, her lids growing heavy with each passing moment, wondering what they could possibly be talking about.

  Suddenly, Reks turned his head his gaze caught and held hers. Serra’s heart stopped, then restarted and she quickly closed her eyes yawned widely and rolled over covering her head with her blanket.

  In the dark her face flamed with embarrassment for having been caught spying on Reks. She listened as he finished his conversation and threw more wood on the fire. As strange whooshing sound had her poking her head out of her blankets to see what he was doing. She shut them again quickly when she saw that he was moving his bedroll closer to hers.

  Serra heard Reks climb into his bedroll and settle. She could feel him through two layers of blankets. Praying that he would not say anything to her, she stayed huddled in her blanket.

  Just as she started to relax he whispered, “Serra?”

  She considered remaining quiet, pretending like she was asleep, but she was certain that he knew she was not. “Yes?” she whispered back.

  “You don’t have to worry. You can go to sleep. You’re safe.”

  The unexpectedness of the comment made tears pricked her eyes and it took a moment for her to respond. “Thank you, Reks.”

  He said no more and neither did Serra. But she felt a heavy weight as he wrapped an arm around her protectively. She snuggled deeper into her blankets and after a few moments was asleep.

  When they woke the next morning, there was no sign of the huge cats who had followed them the previous day, but there were countless paw prints around the barrier of their camp, almost as if they had paced around the border to keep watch.

  Thistle shivered with the cold, and wanted to do very little beyond snuggle in to Serra’s hood and sleep. Serra began to worry about the small pixie. The cold of the mountains was too much for her tiny body.

  After discussing it with the other companions they agreed that it would be better for Thistle to return to the foothills of the mountains and wait for their return. The pixie would do much better in the warmer weather and she would be able to keep an eye on the death muxins for them.

  At first Thistle refused to go, but after much coaxing from each of the companions, she reluctantly agreed and left them with a small pop and burst of white light.

  The next two days saw them climbing higher and higher into the mountains. The snow blew directly into their faces and no part of their bodies was safe from the cold. Their poor mounts could only struggle through the deep snow that, had Serra been walking, would have reached to well above her knees.

  At times the riders did dismount and pull or push the horses through a particularly deep drift of snow, or up a very steep incline.

  Serra felt the cold had permeated her very bones and that she would never be warm again. She huddled in the thick coat, the collar pulled up to cover the lower half of her face, the hood pulled low over her forehead. Her companions were in much that same state. They grew tired and stopped interacting with each other.

  At night, Reks continued to lay his bedroll next to Serra’s. If the companions noticed that they were laying a bit closer to each other, they didn’t comment on it. Though Rian couldn’t help but give Serra disappointed looks each morning. She did her best to ignore them.

  Finally, in mid-morning of their seventh day in the mountains, the group rounded a bend and saw Hawksong Peak. It towered high above all the other craggy mountains, pointing with smooth curved sides to the sky. Reks informed them that the citadel of the mage in Hawksong Peak was in the city of Brencis, about halfway up the mountain and it would take them at least another day to reach the base of it.

  They rode with renewed vigor, anxious to reach their destination, certain that the greeting that they received would be comparable to the ones previously laid before them. After they had entered the city and explained what they were doing there, surely the Sylphs would offer them food, drink and a warm place to lay their heads.

  As they moved ever closer to the high peak, she noticed a change in Reks. Although he still looked the same as ever, same dark hair, the same scar bisecting his eyebrow, he rode a little straighter in his saddle. He surveyed their surrounding area more frequently, not looking to the immediate area, but the skies and cliffs above them, almost as if he expected an attack, though they hadn’t seen an arvel since that first day.

  That night he sat up, keeping constant vigil and watching the shadows outside the circle of light the fire provided. Serra knew this because her arm ached with the cold and kept her tossing and turning all night, trying to find a comfortable position.

  Each time she opened her eyes she saw him and he saw her. He would smile reassuringly until she closed her eyes once again, somehow not really feeling reassured.

  The next day they reached the base of the peak.

  The Lynse River poured from it in a waterfall, sending a white spray into the air that immediately soaked the companions. Reks pointed up to where the waterfall started about halfway up the mountain.

  “Inside the mountain is a large glacier lake. Most mountains hold lava, this one holds frozen water. When the Sylphs decided to make their home here, they carved into the mountain to make their homes, much in the same way that the Dryads use
d the trees, they made a whole city of stone, but they dug too much.”

  Rian nodded. “They wanted to keep cutting into the rock, but when they did they released the water from inside the mountain, creating the Lynse River.”

  “The entire Sylph city was lost, but they rebuilt on a ledge that juts out from the mountain a bit, so as not to make the same mistake again.”

  They rode along the base of the mountain climbing steadily, until Reks pointed up again.

  There, high above them, carved into the face of the mountain, was one of the most beautiful cities Serra had ever seen. Covered in snow and ice it looked like a Winter Solstice cake. Firelight flickered from the windows, sending out a welcome glow.

  They rode straight toward the base of the city and found a small stable that had long been left to disrepair. Apparently, the sylphs did not have as many visitors as the dryads did.

  The interior of the building, even in its poor state was a welcome relief from the weather outside. They dismounted, put the horses in stalls and at Reks' urging for there was no telling when they would be able to return to the stable, gave them enough fodder to last for a few days.

  That done, Sylvan went to each of her companions and dried their clothes, setting each of them to steaming. Within moments the building was filled with warmth. Vaughn lit the braziers that stood in well-spaced increments around the room and the moisture was lifted from the room.

  After having assured themselves of their horses’ comfort, they shouldered their bags and left the stables for the outdoors once again. Dry clothes were nice while they lasted, Serra thought wryly as the snow and wind once again buffeted her.

  They had not made it more than a few steps toward the long stone staircase that would lead them to Brencis when a loud cry from above them had them all reaching for their weapons. Serra felt sure that the arvels had come to renege on whatever agreement they had come to with Reks.

  She had never seen anything so frighteningly beautiful as what happened next. Twenty Sylphs wearing what appeared to be full body armor swept from the sky above them and landed in a wide circle around the companions. The delicate way they landed, spreading their wings wide before folding them seamlessly behind their backs, was so striking, that Serra found herself wishing she would be able to witness it again. The greeting, however, was not a pleasant one. Each of the Sylphs held a long deadly sword in their hands with the tips pointed in the companion’s direction.

  Serra froze in the pursuit of her bow and waited, holding her breath.

  One of the soldiers, a male with long blond hair tied back in a long braid, stepped forward, pulling his feathered helmet from his head. His tawny wings were so large that the tips of them touched the ground when he walked. He paused inches from Reks, his gold eyes boring into Reks' silver ones.

  Reks did not back down. He stayed firm his back straight, hands clenched into fists at his side, as though he would like nothing more than to hit the man who was trying to stare him down.

  Reks' head snapped back, but he did not fall or even stumble. Instead, he rolled his neck making it pop several times and regarded the leader of the guard again. The blond turned angrily to the nearest guard.

  “Place him in shackles. I do not want him trying to escape.” And he took off, sending a whoosh of air to buffet the group on the ground.

  The soldier that the leader had addressed stepped forward pulling a chain with four circular bands of metal attached to it. He looked almost apologetic as he bent to attach two of the bands to Reks' ankles.

  Serra stepped forward to stop them. Reks was no criminal… well actually he was, but he did not deserve this kind of treatment. But upon catching her movement Reks shook his head slightly, warning her away.

  Rian however was not to be stopped from demanding what to know what was going on. “I am a Prince of Iperia, and it is my right to know what you think you are doing. We are not criminals, we are merely traveling through and wished to stop for shelter, food and drink.”

  Two guards gripped him by his shoulders, one of them muttering, “If Reks Kiritan is traveling with a Prince of Iperia then I am the Princess of the Dryads.” And after securing their grips on Rian’s arms they took off, soaring toward the keep above them, with Rian shouting in fear the whole way.

  The others had enough sense to keep quiet.

  Two guards approached Serra. A female with long silver white hair braided into a single plait that hung between her black wings, and a giant of a man with tawny wings that matched his brown skin. Serra allowed the two guards to grip her arms, and braced herself for the pain that she knew was certain to come when they lifted her into the air.

  Despite the splint that she still wore on her arm, she was sure that being carried as Rian had been would no doubt fracture her bone again.

  “Wait!” Reks called. “Her arm’s broken. You’ll injure her if you carry her that way.”

  The guards paused seeming to consider. The female finally said in a harsh voice. “Oh, just carry her, Sakeri. I will meet you up there.”

  Without a moment’s pause Serra was swept up into the arms of the large sylph and they were flying up, up, up. If she hadn’t been about to be imprisoned, Serra might have almost enjoyed the feeling of weightlessness, though she squeezed her eyes shut and tried hard not to think about how high they really were.

  Almost as suddenly as their flight had started it ended. The landing was as smooth as Serra had imagined it would be, with only a slight bump. Then she was placed back on her feet. Snow crunched under her boots and she cracked open her eyes and looked around.

  They had landed on a wide half-circle of a ledge that overlooked a good portion of the city. From this vantage point Serra could see that most of the buildings had something similar to what she was standing on, no doubt to offer a place for the winged Sylphs to take-off and land.

  The guard Sakeri urged her forward. His lady guard companion took up residence on her other side and they led her through the open door to the interior of the city.

  Serra had thought that the air would be warmer within the buildings, but instead it seemed to almost grow chillier. The cold from the snow and ice had permeated the rock, allowing no warmth to escape them. The sound of the hammering waterfall grew more intense as they ventured further into the structure. The constant noise made Serra’s head pound.

  They traveled down several staircases before finally reaching a long corridor that held six cells carved from stone. Bars of rock went from the ceiling to about waist high with a wall of solid rock underneath.

  Sylvan, Rian and Vaughn had already been placed in one of the cells together. And four of the other cells held Sylph criminals, their wings closed tight in the cramped space.

  The guard, Sakeri opened the door of the last empty cell and his partner thrust Serra into it. Unprepared to be shoved, Serra stumbled into the cell and against the back wall, jarring her arm in the impact. She felt one of the sturdy sticks on her splint break, sending tiny shards of wood into her skin. Tears of pain filled her eyes and she sank to the ground cradling her throbbing limb. Moments later, the door was opened again and Reks joined her.

  Before the cell door was slammed shut, he was at her side. His hands wandering over her body, checking for further damage. “Are you alright? I warned them that you had a broken arm. Why didn’t they listen? Sakeri has never been one to inflict pain for no reason.” He carefully unwrapped the splint to assess the damage.

  “He didn’t,” Serra gasped as he gently probed her arm. He discarded the broken stick and used the remaining one to give her mending bone some support. “His partner did.”

  “That explains it.”

  “No,” came Sylvan’s voice from the next cell over. “It doesn’t really explain it. Reks, why are we being held prisoner?”

  “We had expected to be urged to stay away. Not thrown into a cell.” Vaughn added.

  Reks ran a hand through his hair, looking uncertain of what to say.

  Serra reached
out with her uninjured hand and squeezed his arm gently. “Reks, if there’s something you haven’t told us, I think it’s only fair for you to do so now.”

  He looked down and nodded.

  “Remember how I told you I left home at the age of twelve?” He spoke loud enough that his voice carried to the cell next to theirs.

  Serra nodded. “That was how you knew so much about the arvels.”

  “No.” As if unable to sit still he stood and moved to the cell door. “I knew so much about the arvels because I was raised in these mountains… in this city. My father was a general in the army; one of the four who ruled Hawksong Peak to keep it safe and running smoothly. I was raised with the belief that might was right, that to be safe we had to train to fight. The arvels and the sylphs have been at odds for longer than anyone can remember. There have been battles waged in these mountains between our two species that you would have needed to witness to believe.” He glanced over his shoulder at Serra.

  “When I was twelve. One of the generals died due to wounds sustained from a battle with an arvel. Almost immediately a coup took place. General Latimer seized control of the entire city. He imprisoned my sister to gain my father’s cooperation, but the plan backfired. Instead my father became enraged and tried to rally a rebellion. He was,” here Reks paused, his fingers gripping the stone bars until his knuckles turned white. Serra struggled to her feet. She gently pulled one of his hands from the bar and slipped her own hand into his palm. He gripped her fingers as though she were the only way he could possibly survive the telling of this story. After a time, he continued.

  “He was executed. I was imprisoned as well. After weeks in which they tried to decide what to do with me, I was pulled before General Latimer and given my punishment. I was to have my wings clipped and to be banished forever from Brencis and Hawksong Peak.”

  “Having your wings clipped, what does that mean?” asked Vaughn.

  “Do you see any wings on my back?” His voice held a bitterness that Serra had never heard in anyone before.