Ostracized (The Ostracized Saga Book 1)

by Olivia Majors

  My eyelids flutter gently at the annoying crunch of leaves nearby. I peer through the murky blurs of sleep, and watch Axle draw his glowing sword as a shadowy figure steps into the clearing.

  “You scared the hell out of me!” he growls.

  Shade practically falls beside the fire and red streaks are painted across the lower part of his chest. The stench in the air turns coppery. Blood. He’s wounded.

  Axle swears foully under his breath and searches through his knapsack wildly. He tosses a slab of thin stone at his comrade. Shade sets it on the heated embers of the fire. When the corners glow red, he lifts it out. I watch in horror as he presses the slab against the wound and it hisses. He snarls in pain but doesn’t remove the stone until Axle’s counted to fifteen. When he slams it to the earth, the wound is blackened and blood-less.

  “You did it again, didn’t you?” Axle asks. He shoves his wounded companion in the shoulder. “Damn it, Shade!”

  “It had to be done,” Shade says. His voice is soft, and aside from the guttural accent in his words, he sounds as human as any Kelban. “You know it had to be done, Axle, so don’t give me that look.”

  Axle curses at him before flicking the wound. Shade sets a hand on the knife at his waist.

  “I know how much it hurts. Hell, no one knows more than I. But these impulses . . . this addiction . . . you must learn to control it better. It will destroy you. Eventually, it will kill you. I speak as a friend . . . if you want to live . . . please control it.” Axle blinks rapidly and runs a hand through his hair.

  Shade pops the cap off a flask he’s retrieved from his knapsack and takes one long gulp. The hunter’s brew runs down the sides of his mouth and the shimmering darkness in his eyes disappears. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Axle,” he whispers, “I was destroyed a long time ago. Torn to pieces. Ripped to shreds.” He drinks again, deep and long.

  “In other words,” he rasps, “I’m a walking dead man.”

  Axle stares at him before rising and turning his back. “Fine. Piss off for all I care, you slovenly bastard.” He stomps into the woods.

  Shade stares into the fire, the flask balanced gracefully on one of his knees. “Flagrana vori,” he grumbles and clumsily falls onto his back.

  I close my eyes and try to wipe the image of his bloody wound from my mind. I’d seen the scar on his chest again. It stuck out in a ridge of torn flesh that hadn’t healed properly. I knew from experience that old wounds could still burn painful reminders. Did his wounds burn too?

  Tentatively, I brush the scars beneath my hairline. Neither of them has noticed them – or they pretend they haven’t. I cling to the belief that they have not.

  Axle returns, kicking leaves and sticks and whatever nature he can find, before settling onto his blanket. He glares daggers in Shade’s direction. “Flagrana vori? Flagrana vori?” he asks angrily.

  If Shade is awake he doesn’t show it.

  Axle crosses his arms and lies back, eyes fixed on the sky above him. “Useless poet, my ass. If my brain were a sword, you drunken sop, I’d have your bloody guts on the ground. Flagrana vori, mi vai.”

  Choking on my laughter, I concentrate on counting again. I don’t even make it to one hundred.

  Neither of the boys are in camp when I wake up, but their knapsacks and blankets are. Presuming they’ve gone to check the traps I heard them speaking about or to hunt for breakfast I fold my simple blanket and linger patiently in the clearing. But as the morning drags on, and throwing stones at tree branches gets boring, I become impatient.

  And thirsty.

  The woods are alive with noise. Birds. Squirrels. Bees.

  I even see a brightly colored lizard that camouflages in the blink of an eye. It is a strange little reptile, with rows of tiny needles around its throat and ears. I long for my sketchbook. Now, when I finally have a chance to do something useful with it, I am separated from it. There are so many notes I should be taking. So many things to draw.

  I find a creek. It is small and very shallow, barely reaching to my knees. But it is cold, clear, and fresh. The surface reflects my face back at me, and I gape at how bony my face has become. The cheeks I used to flaunt are sunken and my eyes are too large in my face. The only feature I recognize is my hair, still black as midnight and unruly as scattered hay.

  True to Shade’s words, the lashes on my back are scabbed over and healing fast. The reflection in the water reveals that one of the shallower gaps is already a faint scar on my skin. I marvel at the healing production my body possesses and tremble a little. It’s not natural.

  Nor are the dreams that torture me. I cannot possibly be seeing my brother or the memories of my past so vividly. But they are so alive. So colorful. So real.

  I look up from my reflection. The birds have stopped chirping.

  An arrow sweeps past my ear, lodging into a tree directly to my back. Leaves crunch in front of me. I have the dagger’s hilt in my hand but something strikes me hard across the face and it’s too late. I’m flat on my back and above me an arrow is poised, its tip directed at my throat.

  The Wild youth is no older than I am with short blonde hair pulled back in a knot behind his head. His eyes are a piercing light green and sharp as a knife. He blinks when our gazes meet. A voice from across the creek calls to him in ancient Kelban.

  “Vi’s na Kelban!” He hollers back before returning his attention to me. The arrow moves closer, and I press back against the ground as hard as I dare.

  “Good morning, lovely,” the boy says. His voice is smooth. “What brings you into uncharted territory? A little far from the meadows of Kelba, aren’t we?”

  That arrow catches the glint of the sun. I don’t break my stare but inside me is a war of turmoil. Where is Shade? Axle? Do they know I’m gone? Are they looking for me?

  The boy lifts my chin with his arrow. “I asked you a question, lovely.”

  My jaw stings with the force of his strike, no doubt from the butt of his bow. I grind my teeth against the pain and he mistakes it for refusal.

  “Vugra,” he mutters, and I tremble at the insult. “Where were you going, lovely, on your merry little stroll? East? West? North? Perhaps I can offer you a destination.”

  I know very well, from the look in his eye, which destination he means. That arrow makes it very clear.

  “Are you going to kill me?” I ask.

  He chuckles and those eyes glitter. “You get right to the point, lovely. I like that. What do you think I should do?”

  He doesn’t really want my opinion.

  “I know what I should do,” he says. Behind him, leaves rustle again. He steps closer, the arrow claiming most of my attention so I don’t see his foot until it’s too late. He presses it between my legs.

  In the corner of my vision, another Wild boy appears. “What the hell . . .?”

  “I know,” my captor says delightedly. “A lovely little outsider.” He adds pressure, and I twist uselessly in an attempt to free myself. “Quite a rare piece of beautiful filth.” He gouges me in just the right place with the heel of his boot. I bite back a scream.

  “She couldn’t have come this far without being spotted.”

  “Which makes her all the more interesting.” He luridly rakes me from head to foot. “The little fox.”

  “She has to be with someone,” the boy insists. He comes closer and peers at me beneath thick eyebrows. “She is . . .”

  “Ours,” a voice growls.

  The one boy jumps back at the guttural interruption but my captor merely chuckles with amusement and faces the newcomer. “Shade,” he says in a voice that reeks of false friendliness. “Do you usually allow your captives to wander at will?”

  Axle steps towards me but Shade grabs his elbow before he gets very far and pulls him back. His face is stone.

  My captor frowns but lets the line of his bow go slack. The arrow sags. “I thought you were warned already, Shade, that this behavior would not be tolerated.”

  �
�You’ll really get your ass kicked for this little stunt,” Axle had told Shade that first night.

  “Let her up, Keegan!” Shade snaps.

  Keegan presses the tip of his bow against the side of my cheek and slowly sweeps it downwards, across the curve of my neck, the ridge of my collarbone. “Not that I’m questioning your sudden change of character, mind you. I can see where she would be . . .” the bow’s end circles lazily around my breast, “. . . tempting.”

  Axle’s eyes flash, but Shade’s face remains blank.

  “You were warned,” Keegan continues without raising an octave. “I’ll put an arrow through her lovelies unless you stop me. And if you stop me, Shade . . .” His voice turns feral. “Then it’s your throat at risk. Are you willing to take that chance?”

  “Let her up, you ball-less bast . . .” Axle storms past his friend like a battering ram.

  Keegan pulls the bow-line taut and lets the arrow’s tip tease the base of my throat. Axle stops.

  Shade remains still, eyes lazily shifting from Keegan to me. They are empty, but I am not blind to the turmoil inside his head. He doesn’t trust me. I have not proved myself. I have not passed his tests. I have not earned his trust. And that is my doom.

  I will not die here. I survived the Burnt Forest. I survived the siratha. I survived the Poison River. I can survive this. I will not die like this.

  A single spark glitters in Shade’s eye and is quickly gone. But I saw it.

  “Let her up,” he says quietly.

  Keegan stares at him and frowns. “You did hear me, didn’t you, Shade? I’m warning you if you try to turn this back on me and drag me under I’ll . . .”

  Shade raises his head and that animal anger is clearly painted on his face. “I said ‘let her up,’ damn it!”

  Keegan shrugs and draws back, foot and all. He positions the bow across his shoulder. “Your throat, not mine,” he says smoothly.

  Axle moves forward and offers me a hand, which I take. My lower region stings painfully, and I think of a hundred different ways to cut Keegan into pieces.

  “Gav’s mov!” Keegan says and strolls upstream.

  I rub the sore spot on my throat and look at Shade. He returns the stare.

  He still doesn’t trust me.

  And now there’s more than my neck at stake.

  The other boy’s name is Hayden and, by appearances, he and Keegan are bosom companions. Both possess moon swords slung across their backs in similar fashion to Shade’s . . . but neither of them carries a second one. I stare at the two hilts protruding above Shade’s shoulders, wondering at their significance.

  Hayden is shorter than any of the boys – close to my height – with auburn hair that glints every so often like fire beneath the sun’s rays. His hair is tied tightly behind his neck with a string and forms a clump of frayed edges. Unlike Keegan, he seems on edge around Axle and Shade.

  “Mave, fi le savranas, le nac frin mi dei,” Keegan laughs luridly.

  Hayden chuckles nervously but glances cautiously at the warriors behind him. Shade remains silent. Axle’s eyes flash, but he looks at me. I flinch beneath his gaze, feigning innocence to the words, but behind my mask I imagine a dozen ways to make sure Keegan stays silent forever. Or screams in pain. He’ll be in hell before I’d ever warm his bed for him.

  Axle winks at me. “Sograna nels mi le covra pavran ot gat ivran.”

  “Hor sav le gad ot eb?”

  “Something tells me she isn’t partial to that idea.”

  “Who said she had to be?”

  I want to shout for his vulgar ears to hear that I am no downtrodden slut for him to insult. I am a lord’s – High Lord’s – daughter. I am from the finest lineage in Kelba. I am Kyla Bone. But to do so would betray my deceit. Shade and Axle might protect me now, but if they knew how well I could lie beneath their prying eyes they’d consider themselves lucky to be rid of me.

  Everything between my legs is sore. I struggle not to stumble or show my weakness – to ignore the smug crease in the corner of Keegan’s mouth when he turns to look at me. Every so slightly, he wiggles his middle finger at me beside his leg as he walks and winks predatorily. A threat. A promise.

  Go ahead, you bastard. Lay a hand . . . or a foot on me again . . . and I’ll cut your balls off.

  The dagger shifts beneath my torn (no, shredded) skirt, and I pause to cinch it tighter.

  Axle slows beside me. “You alright?” I know he isn’t talking about the loose halter.

  I nod. “I dealt with bastards like him all the time back in Kirath.” Only they’d had the good sense to piss off.

  Shade stops abruptly, leaves crunching violently beneath his feet. “Talk like that, Kelban, and you might end up regretting that Keegan didn’t do you a kindness and put an arrow through that useless brain of yours.”

  “Shade,” Axle warns, voice low.

  Keegan and Hayden haven’t noticed our halt and continue walking and whispering.

  Shade’s eyes flit in the direction of my leg and notice the tip of the sheath. I let my skirt hide it from view and glare at him. He ascends a hand. “Give it here, Kelban.”

  “Like hell I will,” I snap.

  His eyes glitter and he balls the accentuated hand into a fist, so tightly that his knuckles turn white. His voice remains calm. And it scares me more than anything. “I can take it from you, girl. You don’t want me to have to do that, do you?”

  “I won’t let you do that,” I whisper, my voice as dangerous as his. Axle turns white and glances shiftily between the two of us. “My brother risked his life to give me this weapon. He threw away his honor, his title, and his vows. If I give it to you – if I allow myself to throw away his sacrifice – I might as well spit in his face!”

  Shade’s resolve cracks – I see it on his face.

  “Do you intend to hide such a weapon when we set you before the council?” Axle’s voice is amused. “Oh, the elders would laugh at that. An armed outsider – a treasonous Kelban – right beneath their noses. Are you mad, girl? Do you know Shade and I can be whipped raw for such an atrocity?”

  “Ah . . . so you’d spare your back a lashing rather than save a human life. Selfish bastard,” I quip.

  “We only ask for your weapon . . . not your life,” Axle reasons.

  “You put me before that council of drooling hounds that no doubt shares that one’s sentiments,” I point ahead at Keegan, “without proper means of defense and you’ll be sending me to my death. You said as much that first night, Axle. That Shade would suffer such a decision. Do you remember? I’m no fool.”

  “You are. A great fool if you think they’ll allow you to abide within the village after pulling a weapon – even in defense,” Axle argues, his eyes flashing violently. Gone is the devil-may-care attitude he possesses. He’s pure Wilds savagery now, lips curling over his teeth. “Those stories you’ve heard about us . . . exaggerated they may be . . . but there is some truth to our barbarity. We are guardians of the village. We observe. We protect. We defend. That is our vow. Much as I’ve come to acknowledge your existence as a positive interest of mine, that vow comes first, above all.”

  “I have taken no such vow,” Shade says, voice so low it could be a whisper if not for the deadly calm in his words.

  Axle turns on him and gapes at his friend. “Shade!”

  “I have sworn no vows as guardian. I have sworn no blood to be lost on those villagers. There is one vow I hold and it shall be the only one,” Shade says. “Let the little girl keep her weapon.”

  “Dirk shall have you flogged for it,” Axle says, earnestly.

  “I’ve never let any man flog me.”

  “They will have you banished for this.”

  “I like being on my own.”

  “Dirk will take your swords.”

  Shade sneers. “Let him try.”

  Axle looks helplessly from me to him before raising his arms in an angry gesture and stalking in Keegan and Hayden’s direction.


  “Well,” Shade sighs. “He’s pissed.”

  “About time,” I mutter. “His charm was beginning to annoy me.”

  He grabs my elbow before I can step past him and holds tight. “Talk like that, Kelban . . . open your mouth for something other than ‘yes’ or ‘no’ before the council . . . and that dagger will not save you.”

  “Are you helping me?” I add poison to the words and jerk my elbow free. “So you’ll act like a complete ass in front of everyone and try to suckle up to me in private? Do you want to put your foot on my ‘lovelies’ too?”

  He flinches at the words, but his eyes are a mask. “If I’d had the slightest interest in you, little girl, you’d have known that first night. I promise you.” I can’t tell if his words are meant to insult or appease.

  “I am merely pointing out that unless you want that tongue ripped out from its roots you think before you speak,” he whispers. “If my back were not at stake I’d let you dig your own damned grave.”

  I lift a brow at him. “I thought you don’t let anyone flog you?”

  The corner of his mouth jerks up – then back down as quickly as it arose. My heart does a little twist. He almost smiled. I almost made him smile!

  He notices my interest and steps back, gaze darkening once more into the familiar, predatory leer. “Fine. Let them have your tongue! A flogging would be worth the peace and quiet.”

  He turns on his heel and continues walking.

  I follow, smiling softly. He’s not completely made of stone.

  Or I cracked it.

  The forest begins to clear up before me. Gone are brambles. Ivy. Bushes. Clear, man-made pathways jostle against one another beneath thick trees. I see nut trees to my left. Berry bushes peeking between trees on my right. Compressed earth beneath my feet; the signs of heavy traffic. Of people.

  The forest vanishes and the breath leaves my lungs. They had spoken of a village. Of their people. I had imagined huts fit for animals and people dressed in rags, eating raw plants and nuts like savages. I was wrong.