Ostracized (The Ostracized Saga Book 1)

by Olivia Majors

He raises that hand to strike at me. I don’t flinch. Don’t move.

  “Keegan!” Axle steps between us and thrusts his upraised hand away. I hadn’t even noticed his arrival.

  “Nice to see you again so soon, poet,” Keegan growls. He dips his head to the silent presence behind me. “Shade.”

  “Shouldn’t you be with your father, Keegan, filling your guts with brew?” Axle asks. He sticks his hands in his pockets. “I think you’d find that far more entertaining than being trashed by some shit-talking Kelban.”

  “One would think so,” Keegan smiles. He glares at me over Axle’s shoulder.

  “Why don’t you head in that direction then?” Axle tilts his neck down the street.

  Hayden guides Keegan forward, cautiously eying the sword strapped to Axle’s back. He fails to mask the fear in his eyes.

  Shade steps out of their way.

  Keegan turns at the corner of the street, flips a finger at me, and winks.

  I flip a finger back at him.

  He sneers and disappears around the corner.

  “You coming, Kelban?” Shade asks irritably.

  When I turn around, they’ve already entered the house and he’s waiting with the door open. Tripping over my own feet, I step inside and it slams shut behind me. Shade takes a seat at one of the stools situated around the table, without so much as a look in my direction.

  “I’m not ‘Kelban’,” I remind him.

  He grunts.

  Mama Opal looks up. “What is your name, honey? I forgot to ask.”

  “No need to give her the entire thing,” Axle adds.

  “Kyla Kelonia Bone,” I say, ignoring him.

  She lets the name roll over her tongue a few times before smiling at me. “It’s a beautiful name, dear. It suits you.”

  “It sure does. She almost was a bone when we found her.” Axle laughs at his jest.

  The door flies open, banging against the wall so hard, that I leap backwards.

  “Axle!” a girl rushes into the room and tosses a wicker basket far into a corner. “Axle, you’re back.” She launches into his arms and grabs him around the neck with such momentum he spins in a half-circle and has to grab the table to prevent himself from falling. He gags and his face turns purple.

  “River, you’re choking your brother,” Mama Opal reprimands.

  The girl lets go of Axle and wraps her arms around Shade’s shoulders. “I’m not choking you, am I, Shade?”

  He growls.

  She laughs and kisses his cheek. He shrugs her off and reaches for the flagon Mama Opal placed in the center of the table.

  River turns around and looks at me. Her eyebrows rise and her forehead creases. “You . . .” She looks towards my shoulder and then nods to herself. “This explains all the commotion in the village. I wondered why everyone was whispering so much. And Dirk . . .” She chuckles. “I haven’t seen him that mad since Axle pissed on his favorite sword.”

  “A minor miscalculation,” Axle argues. “I thought it was Keegan’s.”

  She waves him off and stares intently at me. “What’s your name?”

  Shade turns around, mouth half-open.

  “Before he tells you I’m ‘Kelban’ or ‘little girl’ let me introduce myself.” I curtsy. “Lady Kyla Kelonia Bone. Nice to meet you, River.”

  She stares at me in awe, eyes sparkling delightedly. “Oh, you’re so graceful. Could you show me how to do that? I’ve never seen anything like it. None of the women in the village know anything about such etiquette. Only court ladies in the king’s house know how to behave so. Please, show me? You must. You simply have to. It’s so beautiful.” She attempts to curtsy, and her knees buckle awkwardly.

  “She’s a high-class Kelban,” Shade mutters and pours a mug of strong-smelling brew. “Every single one of them knows how to make a decent curtsy. It’s nothing special.”

  I cross my arms and glare at him. “I’d like to see you try it, Shade.”

  Mama Opal coughs ceremoniously and turns her back to grab a boiling kettle of broth from the fire. Axle’s lips turn up at the corners, and he struggles not to smile.

  River laughs.

  “River, really,” Axle reprimands and sits down beside Shade.

  She ignores him and leans close. “I like you,” she whispers. “We’re going to get along splendidly.” She pulls me around the table and sits down next to me.

  I stare across the table at Shade. He ignores me and drains his mug in one drought. By the gleam in his eyes I know it is not the “hunter’s brew” from the forest.

  Mama Opal sets the broth on the table along with the simmering mound of crusty blugartha. River heaps my plate with boiled veggies and sets a decent portion of meat on top. She sprinkles a green herb over the meat and fills my mug with the a sweet-smelling liquid.

  “Kelonia,” she whispers several times. She looks perplexed. “What does that name mean? I’ve never heard of it.”

  I shrug, mouth full of blugartha. It melts on my tongue. I swallow before replying. “My mother gave it to me. She told me the first half stood for Kelba. K-E-L.”

  “And the last part?” River asks.

  I shrug again. “Don’t know. Perhaps half of an ancient family name. Who knows?”

  “Odd,” she remarks.

  The sweet-smelling liquid tastes like a mixture of apple and spice. I like it.

  River tries to pay attention to her food, but curiosity radiates from her body. She reminds me of the innocent little pigeons that would sit on my window-sill in the morning and peck at the glass between them and me like they couldn’t understand what it was. Perhaps its the innocence that envelopes her – the happiness – that makes me feel so small. So different. Whenever she looks at me I want to curl into a ball and hide the deformity . . . the ugliness . . . that pervades me.

  “Do you have any sisters or brothers, Kyla?” she asks. She gazes fondly across the table at Axle.

  “I have a brother.”

  “No sisters?” she asks. I shake my head. “A pity. I always wanted a sister. Brothers are nice but they can be annoying.” She glares across the table at Axle, but not in a mean way. He sticks out his tongue. “See?”

  I chuckle. In truth, I’d never noticed the lack of female companionship. Landor had been good enough company.

  “And you’re married, too,” she says looking at my wrist. “How wonderful. I always wanted to be married at a young age. Axle says there’s no hope for me. What’s your husband like? Was it love at first sight? Do you have any children?”

  “River, your food’s getting cold,” Mama Opal interrupts.

  River rolls her eyes and returns attention to her plate. I pass a quiet “thank you” with my eyes to Mama Opal. She nods and pops a carrot in her mouth.

  Shade stares at me across the table. When I turn to question his sudden interest, he looks away quickly and drains another mug of brew.

  “Easy,” Axle whispers to him.

  Shade ignores him and pours a third cup.

  I pick at my food, appetite suddenly lost. To distract from Shade’s loud guzzling, I turn my attention to River.

  Her hair hangs nearly to her waist in one long, dark brown braid. She has chocolate brown eyes and they are so large that I hardly notice the black rim around her eyes. It’s beginning to become such a common sight to me that I don’t even see the difference between a Wild person’s eyes and mine. Except for Shade’s. How someone can mask so much anger behind cool indifference amazes me. River is almost as thin and bony as her brother, with cheekbones that could cut glass, and fingers that could stab someone. Her jaw seems too delicate for someone who lives in the Wilds and freckles dot her nose and bare arms. Her tunic is blue and reaches her ankles. However, despite the abundance of scars I have seen on her brother, the only blemish on her skin is a dark splotch of brown on the tissue of her forearm – a birthmark. She is not a warrior.

  Mama Opal stands, ending the supper. The inside of the room has grown darker than before
, and Mama Opal lights two more lanterns that hang from the stone ceiling. The fire crackles.

  “Anything I can do, Mama Opal?” Axle asks, rising.

  “There is something I’d like to discuss with you, Axle.” She turns to look at me and River, where the girl has been whispering in my ear about her brother’s intelligence. “River, you . . .”

  She jumps up. “I know. Water from the well to wash the dishes. Water from the well to wash the dishes, water from the well . . .” She collects a bucket sitting by the side of the door, and skips outside, singing her foolish phrase.

  “That girl . . .” Mama Opal doesn’t finish and laughs instead. She pulls Axle to a side of the room and begins to make all sorts of motions against the wall with her hands. I hear the words “foundation” and “mortar” a couple of times. The wall must be needing repair.

  Axle nods as if he understands, and I feel alone in the room again, finding myself wishing I knew anything that would matter to these people. I can throw a dagger. I can read. I can write. I can speak moderately proficient Kelban. I can curtsy. I can dance. But these things would either outcast me farther or get me killed.

  Constantly wearing a mask is getting rather tiring. My nerves ache. My head aches. Two hours at a party, surrounded by Kelban nobility, was a walk in the woods compared to this endless disguise.

  Maybe that’s why Shade’s so taciturn?

  When I turn to locate him, he’s not there. The empty room glares back at me. I stare at the door. Did he already walk out?

  “Mama Opal, where did Shade go?”

  Axle shakes his head warningly. “You leave him be.”

  “Outside by himself,” Mama Opal says.

  “Thanks.” I stand and start for the door.

  “Kyla . . .”

  “Let the girl be. Now, Axle, the mortar . . .”

  I shut the door behind me.

  Stars are twinkling above my head. I pause a moment to stare at their twinkling forms. So many of them. I never got a chance to see so many when I lived in Kirath. The street lamps always masked the miniscule light of the weaker stars. Landor had woken me at midnight once, when I was about fifteen years old, and taken me up on the rooftops to see the “diamonds in the sky.” Asher and Craig had been with us. We’d been so happy. So content. So innocent. I look away from sky, no longer able to see its beauty.

  A long sigh draws my attention to the middle of the street. Shade is standing there, staring up at the sky too. The stars reflect in his eyes perfectly, and he looks calm. Relaxed. A completely different person. I shouldn’t disturb him.

  But there is something I have to ask him. I walk up behind him, being careful not to make any noise, lest I “irk” him.

  I wait, but he doesn’t turn around.

  “What happened to the last Kelban?”

  His body jerks and he grunts deeply in his throat, spinning around, a hand already going for the sword atop his back. He stops himself just in time. So much for not “irking” him.

  “You know you have the ability to sneak up on a person so lightly, Kel – Kyla. Don’t do that to me again!” He takes a deep breath.

  Did I really startle him so badly?

  He starts towards the door. No, you can’t leave yet, I want to shout. But that would just fuel his intention to do so.

  “You didn’t answer me. What happened to the last Kelban?”

  Silence thickens in the air. I don’t dare breathe. It has grown so dark that all I can see is his silhouette against the stone wall. Slowly, my eyes adjust.

  “Are you really certain you want to know?” he finally says, his voice a husky whisper.

  “I walked into a hornet’s nest because you didn’t believe I needed to know,” I say, struggling to keep the rage out of my voice.

  “I told you everything you need to know.”

  “Now tell me everything I don’t.”

  “You have no right to make demands of me. I . . .” The vague, white light glowing from his sword reflects over his face for a brief moment. I blink in shock. The mask isn’t there. In the darkness, he’s forgotten to leash his emotions, thinking no one can see them. But I can see them. I can see the pain. The hurt. The bitter ache. I recognize that look all too well.

  Landor. Landor looked like that when he spoke of me in my visions.

  Lost.

  This Wild boy lost something – or someone. Perhaps more. So much more.

  It is only a moment. The mask is back. I struggle to keep mine intact too. He cannot know that I know his pain. That, to a certain extent, I understand it, even if I don’t understand what fuels that pain.

  His gaze softens when I fiddle with the hem of my gown. “She gave you those clothes?” he asks.

  I nod. “Are they River’s?” But I know they cannot be. River is too skinny.

  The corners of his mouth crinkle slightly – twenty percent of a smile. A very sad, twenty percent smile. “I haven’t seen those for two years.”

  “Two years!” I gasp. “But they’re in fine condition. There’s no tears. No worn edges. How . . .?”

  “She likes you,” Shade interrupts softly. “She likes you a lot, Kelban. Don’t disappoint her. People like her – they’re too good to be disappointed.”

  “And what about you?” I ask.

  He blinks. Startled. “What?”

  I step closer. Let the faded light from his sword illuminate my face so he can see the honesty – the sincerity – shining there. “What if I disappoint you?”

  That flash crosses his eyes again that I cannot understand. He chuckles softly, but it is not an amused noise.

  “I am a monster. What do you think?” He turns his back on me and grips the door handle.

  “Wait . . .”

  My ears explode when the noise of a clanging bell and a horn loud enough to wake the gods shatters the stillness of the night. I cover my ears. Shouts along the wall raise the hairs on my neck.

  The door flies open.

  “Shit!” Axle snaps. “Shade . . .”

  But Shade’s already drawn his swords. Mama Opal rushes out of the house carrying an unlit lamp. Her face is white, and her eyes bulge from their sockets as she looks around frantically. She grabs my hand, and I wince. Her hand is cold as ice.

  Axle draws his own sword and pulls the ties of his vest, cinching the open ends together.

  “Stay quiet. Don’t come up until you hear someone knock three times. You hear?” Shade shakes Mama Opal’s thick shoulder. “Hear me?!”

  She nods and tugs me towards the corner of the house. I struggle to pull loose, but she won’t let me.

  “Shade . . .” I plead.

  “Stay and keep quiet!” he snaps.

  He and Axle race down the street.

  Mama Opal pulls on a mound of grass near the wall of her home and a hidden door flies open. A wooden staircase stares up at me, and she gently shoves me downwards.

  I descend into the earth. Dampness clings to my neck. The strong smell of dirt wrinkles my nose. Mama Opal shuts the trapdoor above our heads, plunging us into total darkness. My feet touch solid ground.

  Mama Opal lights the lamp.

  Shivers cascade up my back. The lamp glows a silver-white light into every corner of the room, dousing my skin in radiant rays. It shines and shimmers innocently, but it rears deadly memories from deep within the catacombs of my past. I have seen that light once before.

  Shit.

  The shadows are here. The shadows have come.

  The scars beat against my neck, recognizing their origins. I place a hand over them, lest Mama Opal see. A thousand lies will be unraveled if my deception is discovered.

  “River?” Mama Opal looks around.

  My stomach drops. Gods, please no.

  “River?” Her voice trembles.

  I grip the staircase for support.

  “River!” Mama Opal screams desperately. She falls on the ground, fingers clawing at the dirt. Tears run down her face. “River!” But she makes no mo
ve towards the stairs.

  Sweet, innocent River.

  “It’s my fault. It’s my fault.” Mama Opal rocks back and forth, hands clutching her chest like she’s dying. “River!”

  I look up the dark stairs. Imagine snaky black vines wrapping around River’s fragile wrists. Imagine venomous fangs sinking into her delicate skin. Imagine her screaming, alone and terrified, with no one to save her. Innocent. Too afraid to move. Like me all those years ago.

  “River!” Mama Opal wails. She gropes at her chest, smearing red dirt over her tunic. “Gods, please! Gods, please! Not again.”

  The steps feel like clouds beneath my feet as I hurry upwards and slam palms to the trapdoor. It doesn’t budge.

  I push again. My hands tremble, but the door cracks open and the night air rushes through to cool my burning face. Behind me, Mama Opal calls out, asking me what I’m doing, ordering me to come back. With all my strength I push, grinding my branded shoulder into the wood. It flies open.

  It’s dark. The air is cold. The bell no longer rings. The moon is hidden behind clouds of deep black – darkness that seems unending. The moon will not shine until it has passed. The creatures will continue to attack whilst it remains veiled.

  Up ahead the sound of battle breaks the silence: swords, war cries, pain. They come from the square before the gates. There was a well in the center of that square. River will be there.

  My feet throb as I run.

  To my right, a man falls to the ground, the rip of a blade slicing his body. I look into the darkness, but I see nothing.

  Something shrieks from the dark beside the man’s suddenly still form, sending the hairs on the back of my neck straight. I would recognize that ear-piercing cry if it had been a hundred years since that living nightmare.

  The sounds of hell mingle with those of battle: screeches, wind, violence.

  The square is full of men. All of them possess moon swords. All of them battle with the darkness swirling before them in clouds of black and gray. Only the light from their swords reveals the true form of what they fight.

  Dark capes skate between the swords – between the light – and whoosh through the empty air. Shrieks of beings not belonging to the human race fill the emptiness hovering over the square. To my left, a man screams and a blur of something dark and unearthly flutters away with the speed of lightning.