Ostracized (The Ostracized Saga Book 1)

by Olivia Majors

  “Those are the nut trees. Fill the basket and then come find me. It’ll be time to eat by then.” She walks off towards the other side of the trees.

  A steep embankment, six feet high, dips down into a clearing the trees circle around, their branches hanging low like canopies. I shift my legs sideways to parallel the slope, and my ankle twists. Wincing and cursing myself for such stupidity, I jump. I land easily on my feet, heart pumping from the excursion, and smile to myself. It felt good.

  I set the basket in the middle of the clearing, and proceed to pull nuts from the trees. It is harder work than it sounded. Some stick stubbornly in their places. Others scratch me. Some pop out of my hands. This will definitely not be done within an hour, and River knew it.

  Chuckling at her trickery, I toss one of the nuts at the basket, barely missing it. I try again, pretending I hold a dagger in my hands. The last time I practiced had been that horrible day I’d learned of my bonding. I had felt so constricted, so immobile – a prisoner – that I hadn’t had the heart to continue training. Now – as my wrist warms at the familiar memory, as my muscles remember their former positions, as my body twists and turns to rediscover its rhythm – a part of me that I thought was gone returns. I feel happy. I feel whole.

  I feel.

  I imagine the basket is Celectate Wood. A shadow. A demon.

  I flip one of the nuts at the wicker encasing. It lands neatly in the middle, cracking against the hard encasing of several others.

  Smiling triumphantly, I turn to grasp another nut and come face-to-face with a little girl. She regards me with wide eyes and a thumb in her mouth. She can’t be older than three. Her legs are still pudgy and her cheeks still round like a toddler’s.

  “Hello there,” I greet. Her eyes widen. I soften my voice and step towards her. “Do you want to help me? It’s fun.”

  The girl whimpers and steps back. I remember where I am. Who I am. What the little girl must think I am.

  Crouching low so that I look her straight in the eyes, I hold out my hand. She backs away. “I won’t hurt you.” I reach out to touch her arm.

  She shakes her head madly and turns to run. In her haste, she trips over her own feet. I gently grip her elbow to assist. Her pudgy hand pushes me away, and, with a frightened shriek, she disappears into the woods. Watching her run from me, like I’m a wild animal, or worse, makes some part of my chest hurt.

  I return to the nuts. That elation inside of me has disappeared. Back in Kirath, I was despised. Loathed. Feared. Hated. But I had people who enjoyed my company. People who loved and knew me. Here, in their eyes, I have become a thorn. Something that can make them bleed.

  Over the noise of birds and chattering wildlife, I hear voices. One is sarcastic and cheery, despite the early hours of the morning. The other speaks only in muffled growls and grunts. I grab the basket and duck into the foliage.

  Axle is the first to leap down the ledge with swift, smooth strides. Curse his long legs! He readjusts the moon blade on his back and straightens his vest. He has left it open, revealing scars and all.

  Shade descends the hill with less swiftness, but with such intent, such slow expertise, my stomach tightens just watching him. He’s fast. He’s adept. He knows what the hell he’s doing. At least, in that aspect, he hasn’t changed since three years ago.

  His vest is closed.

  “What are we doing today?” Axle asks.

  Shade shrugs.

  “I read eyes, not shoulders, asshole,” Axle reminds him.

  “Read my eyes then.” Shade turns around. He widens his pupils, but they remain masked and empty.

  “Avraga!” Axle snarls and steps past him.

  “Flagrana vori,” Shade throws back.

  “Call me a ‘useless poet’ one more time and I’ll write a beautiful eulogy for you,” Axle threatens.

  “What you even hope to do with such nonsense is beyond me,” Shade mutters. He leans casually against one of the nut trees and picks at one of his fingernails. The trait is so human, so relaxed, my heartbeat slows just a little bit.

  “Well, at the very least, I’d like to ensnare a female one of these days,” Axle answers. “But you interfere with any plans like that, thank you very much, you ill-bred devil.”

  Shade’s mouth tightens. “If you speak of the other day, then I’ve nothing to apologize for. What did you hope to gain by sidling up to her anyway?”

  Axle rolls his eyes. “Oh, what do you think, you blind fool! A kiss. Maybe a little bit more. Do you realize how many girls don’t find me attractive now that I’ve thrown in my tether with you?”

  Shade says nothing, so Axle continues. “Honestly, must you be so frighteningly intense all the time? Lighten up a little. Relax. Enjoy yourself. You’re young. You’ve got vigor, strength, and – I mean this in the most comfortable way possible without sounding awkward – very attractive. So what if you’ve gone through hell and back? So what if you’ve been pissed on a couple of times. I have to. You don’t see me whining and complaining and feeling sorry for myself. I . . .”

  “Sav gar!” Shade snaps, and Axle’s mouth snaps closed immediately. “If I frighten the sniveling cowards, that’s their fault, not mine! And I have never begged for sympathy about what happened to us? Have I? Look at me, Axle! Have I?”

  Axle looks sullen and lowers his head. “I didn’t mean it like that, Shade. You know that’s not what I meant.”

  Shade’s chest heaves with sudden anger. “No! You’ve been wanting to say that for a long time. I’ve noticed it. I’ve felt it. After all we went through together, you still can’t understand. Any of it! You just can’t. Don’t look so apologetic. I understand. You have River. You have a beautiful piece of life left.”

  “So do you,” Axle says softly.

  Shade laughs but it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. “Don’t lie. I hate that more than anything. If you consider yourself my friend, don’t lie. I have these . . .” he gestures to the swords crossed on his back, “. . . and that’s it.”

  “I’ve never lied to you!” Axle snaps, eyes blazing furiously. “Ever! There are people who care about you . . .”

  “There are people who pity me!” Shade pushes himself away from the tree and stomps across the clearing in my direction. I pull my knees up under my chin and hope the foliage hides me from view. This is a conversation I am not meant to hear. If he finds me eavesdropping, even on accident, I don’t think he’ll be as lenient as he has been. “There are people who fear me. There is no one who understands me.”

  “Because you won’t let them,” Axle argues. Shade glares at him so violently I expect the conversation to end. But Axle looks right back at him. Like he can see through the rough exterior. The mask.

  Shade turns his back on his friend and stares at the tree. If he glances downward – even for a moment – he will see me. No foliage could hide the midnight black hair I possess. But he doesn’t. Instead he looks up and sighs. Long and slow. He turns back around. His voice is not as rough – not as violent – as before, but traces of his anger still remain. “There’s a great difference between you and I, Axle. You know it’s true. You’ve known it since we first met. Since the first time we fought, bled, and made our pact of brotherhood. I don’t need anyone. Write a poem about that.”

  Axle shakes his head sadly. “You’re wrong. It will tear you apart. Kill you eventually. Can’t you feel it, Shade. You’re dying on the inside. You may not die until you’re a man with gray hairs on his head, but you’ll be dead inside long before then.”

  Shade’s tone changes to mockery. “Seems you’re already well on your way with my eulogy.”

  Axle growls in frustration and reaches for the sword on his back. Shade doesn’t blink and rests a hand at his vest – no – on a dagger’s hilt! Axle lets go of the sword and exhales a blast of steam into the air.

  “Bastard,” he mutters.

  “Vori,” Shade retorts and walks into the trees.

  Axle waits until the leaves
stop crunching before grabbing a nut from the ground and throwing it at the nearest tree. It’s rock-hard shell shatters and bark pieces scatter onto the ground. He swipes his hands through his hair, grasping at the strands, and breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth. His cheeks are very red.

  Quietly, I back up into the trees, inch by inch, until I can’t see the top of his head. I press the basket against my side, stand up, and start walking into the clearing again.

  Axle looks up at my approach and immediately straightens, eyes blinking rapidly to clear away the emotions swirling inside them. “Kyla . . . what are you . . . where were you . . .?” He cuts himself off and stares at me. The muscles near his eyes twitch, like he sees something he doesn’t like.

  He suspects.

  I clear my throat awkwardly and fumble with my tunic. With the belt. My hair. “I . . .uh . . . had to . . . um . . . well, it was more private up there and I . . .”

  Axle flushes and looks away too. “Oh. I see.”

  The silence between us becomes nearly unbearable. I turn away and begin plucking nuts again. My wrist aches. I want to throw them. Practice. Let the steam inside of me escape before I burst.

  “I didn’t ‘thank you.’” Axle’s feet stir the leaves on the forest floor as he steps closer to me. “For saving River, I mean.”

  “There’s no need,” I say. My body tenses as he stops right behind me. “Anyone would have done such a thing.”

  His hands rest on my shoulders. “No. They wouldn’t have.” He turns me around. One of his arms circles my waist and pulls my closer. His hips press against mine and my stomach drops.

  He laughs. “Why so pale?”

  I look away, but he grips my chin and makes me meet his eyes. They are full of amusement. “Perhaps . . . are you . . .?” He leans closer and our noses brush. I jerk back at the contact. He smiles. “How did you and your husband fare?”

  My neck tightens. “He . . . we . . . convenient,” I manage to say.

  His hand traces my face from chin to ear in such a soft, lazy stroke the blood in my neck burns hot. He plays with a curl of hair near my earlobe. “There’s this observation I’ve noticed about you, darling. It’s quite intriguing.” His finger feathers my ear. The liberties he’s taking remind me of the day I met Aspen in the library.

  “You’re so innocent,” Axle continues. He grips the back of my head, fingers sliding through my hair. He leans close. His breath brushes against my cheek and the heat escaping his mouth warms my lips. “Is it possible you’re still a virgin?”

  Shit!

  He grins like a looting bastard who’s just found a piece of treasure. I shove him backwards. There is no wall to stop him like there had been with Aspen. No couch to stop me. We both fall flat on our asses.

  I push myself into a sitting position with my arms, biting my lip against the pain in my rear.

  Axle laughs. And continues laughing. He barely manages to rise with shaking arms and walk over to me. He offers me a hand, which I take, and pulls me in one swift jerk to my feet. I sway slightly and he grips me around the waist again.

  “You sure you aren’t lying to me again, Kelban?” he asks.

  This time I don’t look away like some innocent virgin. I weld our gazes together by sheer will and ball my fists up so tightly that the muscles on my arms tighten too. “If we shared saliva would that dispel your doubts?”

  He screws up his face in a pinched expression. “When you say it like that it sounds extremely distasteful.”

  I pick up the nut-basket and insert it between us. “I’ve got chores to finish. Unless you want River to tan your hide when I tell her that you hindered my duties?”

  Axle smirks. “Using the ‘sister’ play to get rid of a dashing rogue. So clever, darling. So clever.” He readjusts his vest, which has been slightly ruffled by his unexpected fall, and pats my shoulder.

  “Get,” I warn and shrug away from his touch. “Or I’ll knock you on your ass again.”

  He grins slyly. “I really, really like brash young women.” He swats me on the rear and struts off casually.

  I grab one of the nuts from the basket and throw it. It strikes the back of his head with a sharp crack. He yelps and turns around, eyes aflame.

  “Such a bad joke is hardly worthy of an intelligent wit like you,” I reprimand with a click of my teeth. “Next time come up with a better one or I’ll throw it harder!”

  He rubs the back of his head and contemplates my words. “You’re right. Once my head adjusts to the goose egg blooming on its rear I’ll come up with a better joke.” He hisses between his teeth when his fingers press the wound a little too hard. “Damn! Nice shot!” He walks off, a little less cocky than before.

  I start picking nuts again and ponder their conversation. Shade had mentioned something about what they’d gone through. That everyone pitied him. Feared him. Didn’t understand him. What had happened to him and Axle? Did it have something to do with the anger that never left him? The pain and fear he tries to hard to mask?

  He doesn’t think I see it, but I do. His scars – my scars – they still hurt. They still torment and torture and burn.

  He’d been ready to fight Axle. Pull a dagger on him for . . .

  Dagger!

  The emblem had been partially covered by his hand, but it was red and black. The Celectate’s colors.

  My dagger. He hadn’t given it back.

  But he is going to.

  River misunderstands my silence for anger about her trickery when I join her for our meal (it took three hours to fill the basket). I assure her it has nothing to do with her at all, but she doesn’t believe me.

  As we eat in silence I observe the herbs in River’s basket. She has neatly piled four different varieties in corners of the basket. One is long and has thin, blade-like leaves similar to grass on its skeleton. Another looks like a weed, if not for the tiny yellow dot right in the center of its spreading arms. The last herb is white and red in color, delicate as a child. A strong breeze could blow it apart.

  River places a rag over the top of the basket and calls attention to the sun above us. It’s past midday. I follow River back to the gate where we each grab one more basket.

  I return to my nuts; River to herb hunting.

  I fill the basket quicker this time, tossing nuts here and there. Some miss. Some don’t. By the time I’m finished, I’m so exhausted I have to lie down on the ground. In my imagination Shade has a lot of bumps and bruises on him.

  Now, finally at rest, I let my thoughts wander. Past these woods. Past the Wilds. It must be near dinnertime. Mother would be ordering the servants about, telling me to stay out of the way. Father would be coming home from his daily bout with the Community leaders, exhausted, but greeting me with a smile. Landor might surprise us with a visit from the barracks, bringing with him a tale that mother would find most “improper”, but one that I would question him on later for further details.

  My head starts to hurt again. Hidden claws punch the sides of my skull. Rip at the base of my throat. Rotate my stomach. All is white. All is black. All is gray. And then all is nothing. A black dot blasts from that nothing and grows and grows into an endless darkness. It strikes me in the face, snapping my head back. I scream as the deep black shatters into tiny pieces, like shards of a mirror. In each of the fragments, I see movement. Color. Life.

  Memories. They are memories. My memories. But not all of them. Others. Not mine. I see blood. I see death. I see a battle in the streets of Kirath. More blood. More death. Screams. Rage. Death again. An endless cycle.

  The fragments circle one another but never touch. One of the fragmented memories draws closer to me than all the rest. I feel its tug on my mind. The empty spot it means to fill. As it draws closer I hear sounds. Laughter. Strong wind. A soft melody in the air.

  Father, I remember. Father laughed like that.

  The shard blasts towards me.

  And disappears in a flash of white that blinds me.


  I fall backwards.

  I open my eyes.

  I am in the clearing.

  “Kyla. Kyla? You okay?” It’s River. She quickly scales the slope with ease and sets her basket aside. She kneels down beside me. “Kyla?” She waves a hand in front of my eyes. It’s a blur!

  “I’m . . . fine.” I force myself to stand, knees wobbling beneath me. My neck is so stiff.

  “Kyla, you . . .”

  “I said ‘I’m fine’.” The finality in my voice convinces her – I think – because she doesn’t say anything as we walk back to the village together.

  Inside, I try to find that darkness again. Locate its presence. Its form. But there is nothing.

  I push down the wave of nausea that rises in my chest.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  I get more attention walking back into the village, then I did leaving it. Everyone coming back from the fields, the woods, the hunting, is staring at me – or trying to get a good look. Even groups of children cluster together, hoping to catch the eye of the “cursed girl.” A great burden slides off my shoulders when Mama Opal’s door slams shut behind me.

  “Gossiping fiends!” the elderly woman hisses and returns to the fireplace.

  Axle looks up from a strange metal object clutched in his hands. He grins wolfishly and produces a mug of strong-smelling brew in fine flourish. “You’re the talk of the town. I’m hearing all about how your tongue slithered ten feet out of your mouth. Or how your eyes glow like black coals in a fire. Or how you speak sorcery.” He returns his attention to the device in his hands, which I recognize as a protractor. How on earth did he get one of those here? I decide not to ask.

  Shade gives me the cold shoulder and continues cleaning his sword, swiping a damp rag up and down the slim blade. I wish he’d cut his finger or something. My dagger is still tucked at his waist, its Kelban hilt looking foreign at his side.

  Mama Opal sets a roasted bird on the table. It looks similar to the colorful bird that Celectate Wood liked to present to his guests on special occasions. He had said it was a rare species. I guess in this wild place they aren’t so rare.