Ostracized (The Ostracized Saga Book 1)

by Olivia Majors

  However, being wed into Celectate Wood’s family is a curse in itself.

  Behind my Mother walks Father, dressed in his finest. Though we had every right to take a carriage, being part of the high-class, very few girls ever get such royal treatment when they go to their bonding days. I decided I wanted no royal treatment, considering I’d be receiving it tomorrow and every day after that.

  The cobblestones rattle beneath my feet as we walk, shaking the teeth in my head. It helps to calm the nerves inside of me.

  Ahead of me, two other girls are walking up the temple steps. Behind them, I observe their parents, siblings, and other relatives who have come to see them enter the temple to be cleansed. The thought of having company in the solar quells some of the shaking in my bones. I immediately notice that neither of the girls is high-class. They are smiling and look eager to enter the temple. They want their bonding day.

  I envy them.

  Standing at the bottom of the temple steps, I look up at the huge pillars that support the main ceiling of the building. The sky above the temple is turning a soft pink, giving the entire image a blissful appeal. I wish I felt as free as it did.

  I prepare to bid farewell to my family. They will not see me in the morning. I will be prepared by the priestesses, and the Celectate’s carriage will come to get me for the ceremony. When I do see them again, it will be in the crowd of those who gather to watch my bonding. Today is my last day with them. It is fading fast.

  Landor’s face remains blank as a sheet of paper when I hug him. But his arms squeeze me so tight and hold onto me so long that I know what he’s really feeling and what he’s trying so hard to hide. He won’t cry. He won’t say any nonsense. But he’s falling apart.

  “Good luck, Ky,” he whispers in my ear. “Next time you get drunk don’t tell anyone your most embarrassing memories.”

  It is only with the utmost control that I don’t start crying.

  Father isn’t as strong as Landor. The moment I wrap my arms around his shoulders and hold him close to me, his comforting warmth calming my nerves, he breaks down into silent sobs that barely reach my ears. His hand pats anxiously at my hair, smoothing it, rumpling it, tangling it. I don’t stop him and hold him closer.

  “I almost lost you that night,” he whispers brokenly. “And now I’m losing you again . . . for real.”

  Don’t cry. Don’t cry, Kyla.

  I shake my head. “Never. You’ll never lose me, Papa.”

  At last, we part. And it feels like my soul has left when we do so.

  Turning away from him so I won’t break down completely, I place my arms around Mother’s waist. She clutches me close. I rest my head on her shoulder. It’s the last time I’ll be able to do so and it feels so comforting. She rubs my back calmly.

  “Last quarter! Last quarter!” one of the creepy, tattooed priests says in a gravelly, high-pitched voice that grates like sand across my spine.

  Fifteen minutes.

  The two other girls quickly pull away from their families with happy smiles. I watch over Mother’s shoulder as they ascend the steps of the temple, chattering like gossiping geese. One of them looks at me. Curiosity flashes across her face. She rejoins her friends.

  Time flies fast.

  Mother slowly peels my arms away from her waist and presses them to my sides. She leans down in front of me, eye-to-eye, and in a low voice, she whispers, “It’s not wrong to make your own choices. No one can tell you different.”

  Her hands clutch my wrists tightly. Earnestly. She wants – needs – me to understand. I nod slowly, not sure, if I should take them to heart or not. “Not even a priest,” she adds, flicking her eyes in the direction of the creepy temple guardians.

  A twinkle glints in her eye, quickly disappearing. But it was there, just the same.

  I pull away, glancing at Landor, at Father, and finally at Mother. They all smile distantly. They’re not ready.

  I’m not either.

  A priest grunts impatiently. I turn my back and dart up the steps before real fear will force me to run away. I dash past the priests at the temple entrance and straight towards the solar. It’s not hard to find. Above the solar is a carving of the fire symbol. The symbol for Calaisar, the High God. The doors are still open. Forcing myself to walk slowly is one of the hardest feats of my life. But I do it.

  Finally, I pass the oak doorway and step inside the solar. It’s a simple circular room with an alter placed against the curve of the wall in front of the door. Above it, Calaisar’s symbol is carved in the roof, letting in moonlight that makes the silver altar gleam in gray magnificence. The floor is nothing but stone tiles, and they are cold beneath my bare feet. The entire room is chilly, and I rub hands over the goose bumps rising on my arms.

  Behind me, the priests mumble something and then the heavy doors close behind me with a clang. The bar slams into place. I’m locked in.

  “Who are you?”

  Having gotten used to the silence, the chirpy voice makes me jump. When I glance in the proper direction, I finally see the two girls huddled together.

  Only one of them is looking at me. The one who glanced my way outside the temple. Freckles dot her nose and cheeks in a peppery spray. In the cold room, they stand out like pimples on her pale white face, framed by scraggly brown hair. A modest brown gown adorns her slim body, out of which pierce long, bony arms. She regards me with curiosity.

  Another girl in the circle, wearing a simple gray tunic that barely reaches her knees, snorts. She doesn’t look up and she certainly doesn’t glance in my direction. “Isn’t it obvious, Helena? She’s one of them. A high-class Kelban.” There’s ferocity in her tone. It paints me as something less than garbage.

  “Are you frightened?” Helena asks innocently. Her voice is small as a child’s. I inwardly question if she’s being bonded.

  “Don’t talk to her!” snaps the fierce girl, raising a threatening hand.

  Helena goes silent, but looks at me. She mouths “sorry” and shrugs. I shrug back, offering a small smile of my own. I walk to the alter and kneel down before it. The silver light floats over my fingertips and it reminds me of the light that gleamed all those long years ago from the Wild boy’s sword.

  Bending low to the ground, until my forehead touches the cold stone floor, I breathe in. Then out. I repeat the process slowly, sharpening my nerves, calming my tremulous thoughts. I need to pray. I need to pray that by morning I have accepted my fate.

  Father will be safe.

  Somehow, in the silent, dark room, my senses seem so much sharper. My head feels so much more relaxed in the dark. It’s as if darkness gives a comforting hug to me. I finally have the quiet I need to really think about Aspen, my bonding day, and Father.

  “Father’s hidden it for years. He’s shown no definite proof. The Celectate still needs him.” Landor’s words float back into my memory. “Father possesses a fortune in white diamonds, the rarest gems in Kelba.”

  Celectate Wood needs my father’s support in order to keep his tight hold on the Community. Father owns most of the investments. He owns the largest amount of white diamond mines in Kelba. With such a large quantity of wealth, Celectate Wood has two options: be pleased with the thirty percent profit he already has – or accumulate forty percent more by bonding his son with one of High Lord Gavin Bone’s offspring. I am his stepping-stone to more power! I am a pawn! Which means . . .

  “The Celectate stills needs Father.” It’s only when I hear a sudden halt in the prayers behind me that I realize I spoke aloud.

  “What was that?” asked the fierce girl, irritated that I just interrupted her prayers to the gods.

  “I heard her say ‘Celectate’,” Helena informs her companion. I hold my breath. “She must be praying to the gods for blessings on the Celectate’s reign. Oh, we should too. We shouldn’t leave him out.”

  “High-class witch can pray to that spineless bastard all she wants. I won’t waste my words on him,” the irritable girl
retorts. When I look at her over my shoulder in surprise, her eyes glare back at me with loathing. “And if someone finds out what I just said and the officials come for me . . .” A finger across her throat is all the indication I need of what revenge she’ll have upon me.

  I turn my back to her.

  “High-class bitch!” she snaps.

  The silent prayers behind me continue.

  “It’s not wrong to make your own choices. No one can tell you different.”

  Whether I marry Aspen is entirely my decision and mine alone. No one else’s.

  Why does that scare me more?

  Chapter VIII

  When I awake, I’m prostrate on the damp floor of the temple, staring at a pair of brown, untidy feet. There’s a stench in my nostrils so bad that it widens it my eyes. A stench of blood, urine, and dirt that ignites previous memories to mind. I jump up in fright, and two bony hands grasp my shoulders.

  “Falling asleep on your holy night – very rude to the gods, my lady,” one of the brown-skinned priestesses mutters. She presses a tattooed finger to her lips. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell.” Her teeth are black.

  Across the circular room, Helena and her companion have already risen, no sleep evident in their faces. If they did happen to drift off in the night, they were awake before the priestesses came in. The fact that they didn’t bother to wake me when they certainly had enough time to do so, reimburses the idea that they despise me. Helena gives me a sympathetic smile.

  The priestesses have already dragged three warm tubs of water into the room and order us into them, clothes and all. They practically rip the dress over my head and their fingers claw at my scalp as they attempt to style my hair in the ancient art of “Freya,” the goddess of purity.” It is nothing more than a pile of curls pulled to the top of my head and leaving the rest to glide down my back, but priestesses do not adorn themselves in frivolous fashions. Their hair – if they have any – is pulled into a tight bun on top of their heads.

  At last, the torture is over and my dress is brought to me. But we will not put them on yet. Instead, they lie in front of us as we kneel on the ground. Naked knees on the cold floor. Naked body to the cold air. We are not afforded the luxury of a towel. Naked we came into this world – naked we would be blessed – naked we would leave. Oh, and according to Master Rolfe – naked would I become a woman.

  The dress is a beautiful red, shimmering with dark and light. My left shoulder will have a single strap for a sleeve. My right will have no sleeve at all. Instead, a shimmering robe will clip onto the bodice of my gown and fall behind my back in a graceful train. It is a masterpiece – and Mother made it herself. I remember the blood-shot eyes, the angry barks at any servants who dared offer their help, and the most unladylike curses that fell from her mouth when the Celectate sent his best tailors. She refused to let anyone make the bonding dress for her daughter.

  The priestesses leave, slamming the heavy doors behind them. I am left alone with my nightly companions, each as equally bare as I.

  I struggle to keep my eyes on Helena’s face but it’s hard not to look at the fragile body she possesses. She hardly looks able to stand a strong breeze, much less a pregnancy.

  The firebrand has no trouble staring at me eye-to-eye – or elsewhere. “Will your daddy’s carriage come to pick you up?” she asks, her nose twitching. Her hand curls at her side.

  “Daria!” Helena gasps and grabs her friend’s arm earnestly. “You shouldn’t . . .”

  “What . . . offend a noble? Or I’ll get lashed?” Daria stands up, her long, bare legs gleaming with muscle I hadn’t noticed until now. She fixes me with a cold stare. “Did I hurt your feelings, noble? Are you gonna tell?” Both her fists ball at her sides. She slams them together, cracking knuckles. I flinch at the sound and she takes a threatening step forward, observing my reaction and mistaking it for fear. She throws Helena’s restraining grip from her elbow.

  I stand too. Not because I want to. But because she’s come so close, I can’t look her in the eye anymore. And if you don’t look an opponent in the eye, you are dirt.

  Daria stops just a foot in front of me, staring at me relentlessly. “Your daddy’s best friends with the Celectate, isn’t he? I bet he’s a High Lord. One of the Celectate’s little lap dogs who likes to run circles and bark on command. A prick who bows to everything that high-and-mighty bastard says. That’s your daddy?”

  My fist flies.

  Daria falls flat on the ground and cries out when her ass connects with the stone.

  Helena and the other girl move to offer their assistance, but Daria shoves them away and jumps to he feet, rage in her eyes. Her hands, however, are no longer in fists and she makes no move to strike me back. The red blotch on her cheek shines.

  “Insult me all you want!” I snap, my voice low and horribly inhuman. “But if you ever say anything against my father again I will, I swear, ride you of that gorgeous nose that you possess!” I hold up a fist for definition.

  The lock snaps on the doors behind us and we shuffle to our appropriate places, kneeling upon the ground once more. It is forbidden to stand until the priest has entered the solar and given the blessing – but I doubt we are the first to break such a rule.

  The High Priest shuffles between Helena and I, his ivory robes chaffing against the flesh of my shoulder before he stops before Calaisar’s altar. The sun is shining through the hole in radiant streaks upon the golden decorum. His bottomless eyes shift from Daria to me and I wonder if he senses the rage radiating in the room as much as I do.

  The High Priest clears his throat and begins his declaration. “You go to a new pathway of your lives, my young doves. You are innocent, pure, holy virgins who will discover your womanhood and purpose in this blessing that has been bestowed upon you. The gods have filled you. Now I will beg them to overwhelm you, body and soul, and make you a spirit of their excellence.”

  Sounds like a curse to me.

  “Tonight, each of you will experience a new turn on your life’s path. You will shine Calaisar’s light by being a beaming example of his holiness, his virtue, his justice, his wisdom, and his honor.”

  Calaisar’s honor went so far it slaughtered half the gods. I wish I had that honor.

  The High Priest doesn’t notice his mistake – or chooses to ignore it. “Receive this blessing.”

  I lower my head, prepared to listen to the endless dialect of the ancient Kelban rites – rites that only Calaisar’s temple servants had the right to learn or understand. I have been told the rites bless me – but the weight on my shoulders feels so much heavier as the words are spoken. They jumble inside my head, and I try to make sense of them from my endless education in the language. I want to know what is being said over me.

  “Di nai nalus vare ti sevre yan tivrana. Di nai nalus vare ti mara yan izranis.”

  My head snaps up. I know that phrase. Out of all the never-ending pages and pages of ancient Kelban my tutor dumped upon my poor brain, those words remained forever etched. They were pure poetry, but so much more.

  “Do not allow fear to cloud your judgment. Do not allow fear to make your choices.”

  Those words had meant the world to me when I’d gone through darkness and hell. And they mean the world to me now.

  “It’s not wrong to make your own choices.”

  No. It isn’t.

  When we exit the temple, priestesses and priests returning to their daily temple chores, a crowd of people waits at the foot of the angled steps. A crowd waiting for my companions – I do not spot one familiar face among them. The crowd awaiting me will be at the palace.

  “Are you walking to your ceremony?” Helena asks from behind. Her voice is fragile and timid. I sense the pity within the shallow facade she uses to hide it.

  “Of course she’s not walking. Her papa will probably send his carriage to the bitch!” she snaps. “She’s not low enough to walk to her own ceremony like us.”

  Some part of me whispers I sh
ould bare it. Another part of me wants to slap her again. Still another part of me can’t find a reason why I should.

  Screams assault the air – and not from the crowd. I watch the Celectate’s carriage come barreling around the street corner, its colors flashing boldly. Soldiers surround it on fine stallions and their armor is gleaming brightly with polish. Their spears stick violently in the air ready for any interference. There will be none. People leap out of the way, as the conveyance relentlessly plods forward.

  “What the hell . . .?” Daria mutters.

  Helena blanches white. “Why’s it coming this way?”

  Their fear increases, radiating over my skin, as the carriage comes to a halt before the temple. They take trembling steps backward and the crowd gasps in horror. They think the Celectate has come for their daughters.

  A soldier dismounts and starts up the steps. The girls tremble and edge away, back towards the temple doors. As if those blessed men of the gods will actually let them back in.

  I am forced to stay where I am. The dress will not allow me an easy escape if I tried and I will not be dragged, kicking and screaming, to my bonding. I will be dignity, pride, honor, and civility like the High Priest cautioned. The soldier stops before me.

  “The Celectate sent us to escort you, Lady Kyla.” He gestures at the carriage. “Please enter.”

  Daria and Helena gasp behind me. Now they know who I am. Who my bond is.

  “Was it necessary to send so many guards to collect me? Or is the Celectate trying so desperately to safe-guard my value that he needs to send half a squadron?”

  The soldier, a captain by the colors on his shoulder, flushes to the roots of his hair. His lips curl up in a hard line.

  A tingling warms my fingers and glides up my arms into my neck, pulsing against my ears. My scars. However, it does not make me sick. I feel alive. Like I just drank a dozen mugs of ale.