THE
DREG
TRILOGY
THE COMPLETE COLLECTION
BETHANY HOEFLICH
Copyright @ 2019 Bethany Hoeflich
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DREG
THE DREG TRILOGY BOOK ONE
BETHANY HOEFLICH
This book is dedicated to all the
aspiring writers out there.
Keep following your dream.
Prologue
18 Years ago
The Magi shuffled down the dirt path, worn smooth from hundreds of tired feet before him. His knees ached in protest, but the Magi’s spirits were high despite the constant pain. This would mark his one thousand, two hundred and eighty-third Gifting. Of all his duties, this was by far his favorite. With each generation came the promise of a better future. He paused, breathing labored, to lean against a towering oak tree that was older than himself, if that were believable. He smiled, running a wrinkled hand over the rough bark where hundreds of initials were carved; a legacy of young lovers full of hope. A cool breeze tickled his splotchy skin, bringing with it the sweet smell of grass and farmland. The Magi clenched his white robes around him to fend off the early morning chill. He frowned. It was unseasonably cold for harvest time, and he hoped that the frost blanketing the leaves and grass wouldn’t harm the crops. Another harsh winter would be unbearable.
Around him, the town came alive. Stonehollow was a quaint, secluded village surrounded by thick woods and sprawling farmland. People picked their way through the clustered shops and dilapidated houses, greeting each other with a wave and a cheerful hello. He smiled. It had been his home for the past sixty years, and he loved the place dearly. Its people. The woods. The soft, musical trickle of the brook. Perhaps the Order would permit him to live out his final years here in peace as a reward for a lifetime of faithful service.
He drew a thin, rasping breath before continuing on to the small cabin at the edge of town. Like most houses in Stonehollow, it appeared as though it would collapse in the next storm. The door squeaked in the wind, and several windows were cracked. The floorboards bowed beneath his weight with each creaking step. The tantalizing smell of roast duck and wild cherry tart made his stomach rumble. Most families went all-out on Naming days, and it would appear that Eli and Sarai were no exception. It would be the height of poor manners to invite himself, but he privately hoped they would insist on feeding him after the ceremony.
As the door opened, its rust-caked hinges crying in protest, the Magi leaned forward into the radiating warmth. He got the sense that it wasn’t just physical heat, but also that of love and family. Though their marriage had been arranged by the elders, time had proven it to be a perfect match. He swelled with pride, remembering the hand he had played in their betrothal.
A woman stepped into the doorway, brushing her long, flaxen hair away from her flushed face. The dark circles under her eyes spoke of a sleepless night, working hard to ensure preparations were made in time.
Sarai tilted her head, speaking the expected greeting, “Magi, we welcome you to our home and hearth. What is ours is yours.” She stepped aside, granting him entrance.
The Magi bent his waist, enough to show respect for her hospitality, but not enough to mistake for subservience. “To serve is a joy, Sarai, I thank you. Many blessings on your house and family on this auspicious day. Where is your young one?”
She led him through the cozy house, stopping by a basket where the infant slept, swaddled in soft green blankets. He beamed at the mop of unruly, blonde hair peeking out of the top. So much potential. His gaze lifted, taking in the tall, muscular figure poised stiffly by the cradle.
“You must be so proud, Eli,” the Magi said, setting his bag on the hand-crafted table. As he arranged the candles and incense, he sneaked covert glances at the parents. Rather than the usual joy he expected, these two seemed on edge. A few tendrils of doubt threaded their way inside, causing his skin to prickle. What were they hiding?
Eli coughed, “Of course. A Naming Day is the most important day in her life.” He shifted from foot to foot, forcing a thin smile that didn’t reach his brown eyes.
Sarai placed a gentle hand on her husband’s arm and gave it a quick squeeze. “Yes, we are most proud. She is a strong, healthy daughter and we cannot wait to discover her Gift.”
The Magi smiled, pulling two vials from his bag and set them on the table. The one would awaken the babe’s Gift. The other, well, he hoped he wouldn’t have to use it.
As he lit the candles, he said, “Before we begin the ceremony, it is custom to ask of any . . . unusual circumstances during the birth. Anything from a comet passing overhead, or the cord being wrapped around her neck. No detail is too small.”
He didn’t miss the fleeting look of panic that crossed their faces, before it smoothed away, as though it had never been there. “No, nothing of the sort, Magi,” Sarai said too quickly. “Hers was a normal, ordinary birth.”
The Magi bristled. How dare they lie to him? No matter what they were hiding, it would all come out in the Reading. Then, nothing would be secret. He lit the incense, fanning it gently so the delicate tufts of smoke curled throughout the room.
Drawing himself up to his full height, he said, “If all is well, then let us proceed. Who presents this child for her Gifting?”
Heads bowed, hands clasped, they replied, “We do, Magi.”
He shook his arms out of his sleeves and placed a bony hand on the infant’s forehead, slowing his breathing. He chanted the words and opened his mind for the Reading. In most children, the future appeared as wisps of smoke, or flickers of light. Nothing could have prepared him for this.
The visions slammed into him with the force of a raging storm. He tried to sever the connection, struggling frantically to escape. Horror swelled at the realization that he was trapped in the vision. Wave after wave buffeted his mental shields, refusing to release him from their grasp. After what seemed like hours, they stopped as suddenly as they came.
The Magi jerked back, stumbling against the table, knocking the candles and vials to the floor with a shatter. Tremors wracked his frail body. It couldn’t be! This was the child they were searching for? His mouth gaped like a suffocating fish.
Sarai rushed to his side. “Magi, is everything alright? Magi?”
The Magi steadied himself and glanced down at the sleeping girl. Eli set his jaw and moved into his line of vision, blocking the cradle with his large frame. The movement was not lost on the Magi, and his eyes narrowed to slits. He knew.
“I will not Gift this child.”
Sarai gasped, covering her mouth in alarm. “What do you mean? She must have a Gift!”
Eli took a more diplomatic approach, spreading his hands out in a nonthreatening manner. “Please, Magi. If she is strong, surely, she can be taught to control her abilities. Please reconsider.”
“No, I will not! I cannot.” His voice trailed off with each word. “It would be better to end her now. A mercy.” He stepped towards the still sleeping infant, reaching for the silver blade he always carried beneath his robes. As a rule, he did not kill
children, but he was willing to make an exception in this circumstance. He needed to stop this threat before it started. It was his duty.
Eli’s face hardened, and his large hands curled into fists. “You will not touch her, Magi. Leave our home, now.”
“You would rather her end up like Tobias? You know what happens to dregs. That life is a curse,” the Magi said, backing away.
“Life, any life, is better than death,” Eli said. He motioned to Sarai, who darted forward and picked the baby up. Her beautiful face had contorted into a mask of anger, and she ran to the back room without a backward glance.
“You don’t understand. The visions I saw…”
“Which you are preventing by leaving her a dreg,” Eli said, taking a menacing step towards the Magi. “I will not ask again. You are no longer welcome in our home. Leave, before I make you.”
“As you wish,” the Magi said. He sighed, looking at the girl one last time. “Mara, I name you!” He threw his things into the bag and hurried to the door.
Only when he stepped outside did he take a deep breath. He had to inform the Order at once.
But as he walked down the path towards his home, he paused. Doubt infected his former certainty. That tiny, insignificant girl was the one they were looking for? It seemed impossible. No, it was better to watch and wait before wasting the Head Magi’s time. He had to be sure.
1
Mara crouched in the cool shade of the forest, biting into the ripe peach she had pilfered from Mr. Baker’s orchard. It was the end of summer, and soon she would be expected to help with harvesting and preserving. But not today. Today, everyone in Stonehollow had the day off in honor of a funeral that she conveniently planned on missing. Mara chucked the pit over her shoulder and bent to wash her hands in the cool stream.
“Ouch!” A voice cried out behind her.
Mara whipped around, eyes scanning the dense foliage for danger. Her hands twitched for her bow, heart thumping. A dreg could never be too careful. She instinctively rubbed the scars on her shoulder; the price of failing to stay in line.
“Watch where you’re throwing that!” said a familiar figure, rubbing the spot of sticky juice on his broad forehead as he came into view. Shaggy brown hair fell in a curtain around his boyish face, skirting green eyes that glimmered with amusement.
She let out a breath and relaxed against a moss-covered boulder. “Losing your edge, I see, Ansel.”
“Naturally. ‘Beware of attacking fruit’ is the first thing I think when I wake up each morning.” Ansel shook his head and threw his hands up in exasperation.
She threw a peach at him, wincing as it flew over his head and landed in the shrubs.
“Who’s losing their edge now?” Ansel smirked. “Seriously, I’ve never seen you miss that badly before.”
“Yeah, I know. I’ve been a bit on edge.” Mara handed him a peach to avoid another embarrassing throw. “I could still beat you in a shooting match any day of the week.” An exaggeration, but she knew he wouldn’t call her out for it.
“I don’t doubt it. Archery was never my strong point.” Ansel took a bite and leaned against the trunk of a birch tree, one arm tucked behind his head as though he hadn’t a care in the world. “Mara…”
She folded her arms over her chest, fixing him with a hard stare. “If you’re here to talk me into going to the funeral, save your breath.” The old Magi had died, finally, and she would rather take a hammer to the face than pay her respects.
“I know better than that. Besides, spitting on graves is frowned upon, even by dirty, barbaric dregs like you,” Ansel said, reaching out to tousle her hair. She stuck her tongue out and gave him a playful smack on the arm.
“So, have the elders set your betrothal yet?”
Ansel let out a strangled sound and coughed. Flecks of peach sprayed over his blue leather tunic. “The betrothal?”
“What? You’ve been expecting the news any day now. Who did they match you with? Was it Anna? She’s a really powerful Irrigo, so her Gift won’t interfere with yours. Or wait, maybe Cat? No, she’s just a Cultor. Oh, I know—”
“Mara, look, I don’t want to talk about it. Please, just drop the subject.”
Easy for him to say, considering he was allowed to marry and have a family. As a dreg, even that would be denied her. No one wanted the shame of bonding their family with a dreg. Not that they had a choice.
“Did you hear? My father is taking me to Merrowhaven next month,” Ansel said.
“That’s fantastic! Do you think you’ll find a sponsor? Wait…” She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. “Are you just trying to change the subject? Because if you are, it’s working.”
Ansel laughed. “Yes, and I don’t know. So far, all the apprenticeships are full. Maybe if I get lucky, I’ll find a master Armis to take me on.” He walked over to the stream and washed his hands. “So, what irresponsible adventure are you dragging me on today?”
Mara clutched her chest in mock hurt. “Dragging you? I’m wounded! As I recall, you were happy to tag along yesterday.”
“Yeah yeah,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Anything is better than being stuck in that stuffy hut all day, surrounded by wailing women. Besides, I can’t let you wander around unprotected.”
She rolled her eyes, huffing. “I don’t suppose we could disappear for a week or two, hunting sea monsters along the coast?”
“You know we can’t. The first apple harvest is tomorrow, and Mr. Baker will need our help.”
That wouldn’t be awkward at all. Mara scratched the back of her neck and looked down at her bag, filled to the brim with the stolen peaches. Sweat trickled down her back, causing her tunic to cling to her skin. The heat was unbearable, but it gave her an idea. “How about a swim? Our lake is only a short run south.”
Ansel jumped to his feet, brushing the dirt from his trousers. “You sure you want to go there? The path is on the other side of the town square. If anyone spots us, we’ll have to stay for the ceremony…”
Mara snorted, tossing her pack and bow over her shoulder. “So much for Ansel the brave. You fought off six bandits, single-handed, but sneaking through town scares you?”
“Lead the way then, oh fearless one!”
Mara bounded through the woods like a deer, dodging trees and brush with ease. Most of her childhood was spent in this forest, learning all its secrets. It had become a second home of sorts. When people were harsh and unforgiving, the trees provided a blissful refuge. She ground her teeth. This was the Magi’s fault. If she was Gifted, she wouldn’t have been forced into the woods like a pariah. Worse, she didn’t know why he left her a dreg. Her parents refused to speak of her Naming day, avoiding her questions with practiced skill. One day, they told her. Just be patient. Appreciate the life she had. She snorted. Not much of a life in her opinion.
She slowed as familiar wooden buildings came into view through the tree line. Stonehollow was set in a dubious circle. At its center stood a massive stone platform used only for holding ceremonies and trials. Shops, set at equal distances apart, were located in the inner ring while homes for the elders and their families sat in the next layer out. After that, derelict homes popped up like molehills, scattered around wherever there was room. Apparently, the builders stopped caring once the important buildings were completed.
Her senses sharpened as they approached the town. Considering the bustle of activity, it shouldn’t be that hard to slip away unnoticed, or so she hoped. She and Ansel ducked through the alley beside the tannery, alert for signs of detection. The sweet smell of leather and oil tickled her nose.
Mara peeked around the building, pulling back at the sight of long skirts swishing past their hiding spot. The villagers were busy hanging decorations in the square, working together to make everything perfect for their beloved Magi. Anna and two other Irrigos were washing the platform, manipulating the water with a flick of their hands until the stone sparkled. Mr. Baker, a Cultor, delivered a bushel of peaches
from his farm to Mr. Fitz, the town’s Pistor, so he could bake them into delicious treats for the ceremony.
Most of the people who lived here were either Farbers or Cultors, craftsmen and farmers, sending regular shipments of goods and produce to Merrowhaven, the capital of Esterwyn. So long as their shipments arrived on time, the emperor left them alone. As a result, everyone pitched in, helping wherever they were needed for the betterment of their community.
As soon as the villagers passed, she nodded to Ansel and shifted her weight over the balls of her feet. One quick sprint, then she would be free of this wretched place.
“And where do you think you’re going?”
Mara froze, heart sinking as she turned around, coming face to face with her mother. “Umm, nowhere? We were just . . . um . . . getting ready for the funeral.” She stood, trying and failing, to not look guilty. Ansel leaned against the building, arms crossed, the picture of innocence.
“You’re such a terrible liar, Mara.” Sarai chuckled and leaned forward to tuck an untamable strand of blonde hair behind Mara’s ear before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Don’t be out too late.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll run home right now and get . . . wait, what?” It took her a second to catch up with what her mother had said. “You’re not going to make us stay?”
“Of course not. I’m planning to fake illness myself. The Magi was no friend of ours,” Sarai said, spitting on the ground. Mara’s hazel eyes rounded. In her almost nineteen years of life, she had never seen her mother act with anything less than perfect dignity and respectability.
Mara threw her arms around Sarai’s waist. “Thank you!”
“Now, hurry before someone else sees you.”
With that, she ran across the square, past the shops and into the tree line beyond. Ansel followed close on her heels until the thick underbrush hindered his pace and he fell behind. Slowpoke. She wiped the sweat from her brow, cursing the infernal heat. Just a few miles to go, then she would jump in that cool, refreshing water.
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