Ostracized (The Ostracized Saga Book 1)

by Olivia Majors

  I am drenched in sweat.

  “Nightmare?” asks Axle.

  Sure, we’ll go with that. I nod.

  He sits with me until my breathing returns to normal. When he leaves, I feel the icy kiss of the cold.

  What the hell did I just witness?

  Chapter XXVI

  I stare into the valley below me where the vast city of Smoke, the capitol of the Wilds, resides among the base of the mountains and the edge of the vast forest. I had pictured a civilization very similar to Agron’s culture. Modest homes. Muddy roads. A stone palace of some sort. Smoke is nothing like that.

  A dense cloud of smoke resides over the city, pumped through holes in the sides of the mountain. Forges. It blankets the capitol in a cold, protective hug. I can see cobblestone streets. Brick and stone homes (most of them several stories tall), and a wall around the city four times as high as Agron’s thirty-foot imitation.

  “Enjoy the view,” Axle says from beside me. “This is the only spot which gives you a full peek at Smoke.”

  I search the city. “Where’s the palace?”

  Axle chuckles. “You’re staring right at it.”

  Confused, I look again. I don’t see anything but the mountain.

  “Look closer. See that river running along the side of the mountain . . .” He leans over my shoulder and guides my hand along it. “There!” He stops my finger over a certain spot.

  “I don’t . . .” Wait! No way in hell!

  It’s a drawbridge. An iron drawbridge. I can barely make out its form from this distance but my eyes locate openings in the mountain that resemble windows, doors, and, occasionally porches. Damn! The mountain is the palace.

  “You look stunned, Kyla. Don’t be. For modest cannibals like us, that palace is only a taste of what we can accomplish.” He winks at me.

  I ignore him and turn to Shade, who has kept a wide berth from us since dawn. “This is your home.”

  “It’s where I was born,” he says casually.

  But he doesn’t call it “home.”

  The guards along Smoke’s wall quickly inspect our group and Gregor’s edict from the King Arkran. Their eyes rest longer than necessary over me and several of the wounded men.

  “Have we anything to fear?” he asks and scans the edge of the woods.

  “Boredom, perhaps,” Shade mutters.

  The guard looks at him and a sneer crosses his lips. “Haven’t seen you in a while, shadow-killer. The tales about you are ripe, though. Tell me . . . did you really slaughter an army of razors on the banks of hell?”

  Shade’s reply is a glare.

  “I hear you brought this bitch to our borders, too.” Malice drips off his words. “Noble of you, I must say. Did you do it out of the kindness of your heart or did the bitch relieve the searing pain between your legs?” He slaps a hand to his knee, laughing hysterically.

  Shade wants to hurt him. I see the rage turning his neck a bleeding red. But he won’t. Not here. Not for comments he’s been enduring his entire life.

  I hate this guard. I hate the things he says. I hate him so much that . . .

  His knee is near the edge of the wall. I locate the connection between the pulse in my hand and his flesh. He screams as his leg crashes into the wall. The guards behind him laugh, and several of our company add their own amusement to the fray. Blood leaks through the guard’s woolen pants.

  Another guard waves us through.

  “Well, Shade, isn’t that strange. I was hoping that would happen,” Axle remarks.

  Shade doesn’t answer him. He’s too busy watching me.

  The iron gate lowers over the moat in front of the palace on strong chains that gleam like silver. The guards inside the small room beyond the moat reassess the king’s edict and affirm our identities. They open two double doors on our right and wish us luck.

  I expect the inside of the palace to be dark and drab, but it shines inside like day. The walls are not dull, gray stone. They are covered in bright colors of paint, glass, or shiny obsidian that reflect my appearance back at me. It’s been so long since I’ve seen a mirror, since I’ve had the luxury to see all angles of my face in perfect harmony with each other, that I flinch. I am thinner. My cheeks, cheeks that I had called “unceremoniously plump,” stretch over the bones of my face like a piece of hide being cured.

  There is no ceiling. At least, none that I can see. The atrium we have entered stretches up as far as the eye can see, revealing hundreds of floors, railings, and stairs climbing into the air. This mountain must be a hundred stories high! There are people everywhere inside: maids, guards, servants, noblemen who walk past with flitting robes and self-righteous, uplifted chins, and ladies with pert noses in the air and dresses that gleam with beauty. It’s like I’m back in Kirath. Though I never relished the chaos of noble life, the setting is familiar. It feels like home. I half expect my family to walk around the corner, bustling for attention. But, of course, they don’t.

  A noblewoman walks past in a flowing dress lined with fur and sharp, tinkling objects. As she passes, I see the objects are razor teeth. Axle did say they were sold as charms in the market. I don’t think anyone told the woman that they make her charm fairly lessened by their presence.

  A white-haired man approaches us. His hair is not naturally colored. I smell the acidic tang of dye. His bony fingers fiddle with the razor teeth sewn along the lapels of his tunic, which is dyed an outrageous blue. Even worse, his hair is pulled up around his head in a Mohawk style while half of it is grown long behind him in a tail that he has braided. Disgust rolls inside of me. He’s trying too hard to be noticeable.

  Gregor bows respectfully.

  The man looks down his thin, crow nose and purrs in a voice that sickens me, “You’re late. The King expected you yesterday and you disappointed him.”

  “Apologies, Lord Lucius. We were detained by unforeseen circumstances. I beg the King’s apology and yours for the inconvenience.” Gregor gestures for Shade to bring the King’s edict forward and Lord Lucius’s mouth widens with amusement.

  “My second-in-command, Shade of Smoke,” Gregor introduces.

  “No need for that. Who doesn’t know about the famed hunter of nightmares. The legend of Smoke. The tales about you, boy, are extraordinary. If I do say so myself I’ve spent many a night thinking about you, facing darkness, with those majestic swords crossed along your back. You’ve made something of yourself. The tales of your rage and your savagery are almost as famous as those of your exploits. Tell me . . . do you really bathe in the blood of the shadows?” His eyes narrow. “You weren’t such a famous pisser six years ago, though. You’ve changed.”

  “And you haven’t changed a bit, Lucius. You’re still the same perverted son of a bitch you were back then. Although, back then, wasn’t your hair brown from all the shit you love to swim in?” Shade’s tone stays formal, but the corner of his mouth twitches.

  Lucius sniffs and pulls the king’s edict from Shade’s hand. “Still the little rat, I see. Six years has done nothing to change your manners.” He taps a delicate finger on Shade’s shoulder. Everyone flinches. Everyone knows Shade doesn’t like to be touched. “If you wish to remain in his majesty’s service and good graces to gain future employment, do not try my patience, boy.”

  “You can shove your patience up your ass,” Shade snaps. He throws Lucius’s hand from his shoulder.

  Lucius smiles. “I will have you shown to your rooms.” He snaps his fingers and a hoard of guards and tiny maidservants appear, their heads bowed low. Lucius points at all of us. “I charge you with showing them their proper quarters. Make sure that everything has been prepared and that they have no need of you before returning to me.” His voice is harsh despite the soft purr. His servants bow in response.

  “The king shall send for you,” he turns to me for the first time, giving me a single once-over, “so make sure you are ready when the request arrives.” He wrinkles his nose in imitation of smelling something foul, a
nd walks off, the heels on his boots making a clacking noise against the tiled floor.

  Shade, Axle, and I eventually follow two of the maids and a single guard up the many stairs and walkways, until I can’t even keep track of how many turns and floors we’ve ascended. The walls don’t look like they’re carved into a mountain. They are as smooth and polished as the tiles on the floor.

  I fall into step beside Axle as Shade converses with the guard in front of us. “What did Lucius mean when he said ‘future employment’?”

  Axle snorts. “There’s been talk going around that King Arkran is interested in the rumors about Shade’s unique ability with an Illathonian blade. There are few who can wield a weapon with such a talent at so young an age. At least, that’s what everyone says. Any of the tales that folks spread about Shade’s daring exploits in the Wilds, or his questionable extended hunts into Kelba, have been magnified to almost laughable extents. They make Shade seem like some hero. Some invincible warrior when I am clearly the best of the lot.” He puffs his bony arms out at his sides, grinning like a court jester. I elbow him in the side and he rubs the spot, his lips puckering up like a wounded puppy. “What? You don’t think so?”

  I ignore him. “Why would King Arkran be interested?”

  “The king likes talent when he sees it. He likes power when he sees it. He admires abilities that he doesn’t possess. Shade would be a powerful pawn for him.” Axle shrugs. “Damn politics.”

  “To hell,” I finish for him.

  The room I am shown nearly takes my breath away. Compared to sleeping in a room, on a thin, bendable cot, with a bony companion my quarters is a palace. The bed that situates itself in the middle of the room is already made, complete with a coverlet, an actual under-sheet, and several pillows. The floor is white, polished tiles. A large fireplace fills the middle of the wall directly across from my bed.

  There is no fourth wall. Instead, there are pillars and a long, almost transparent curtain, with an adjoining thicker curtain. When the maid swings them open by their golden ties, it reveals a porch with a stone railing. She says I can look out over the city. The opening allows the cool air to float into the room.

  She draws the curtains again and says my bath is ready. Opening a door just to the right of the bed, reveals another large room carved completely out of stone. A large tub is designed into the wall and its full of hot, steaming water. The maid takes my tunic delicately between her fingers, wrinkling her nose with disgust. I can’t blame her. It does smell foul. Days of sleeping in the woods next to equally foul-smelling human beings will do that to a person.

  The maid drops the soap on the floor when I turn to step into the water. I don’t have to ask what has frightened her. Her pupils are large in her delicate face as they roll over the base of my neck, all the way to the tip of my spine.

  “Awful, isn’t it?” I ask, trying to make my laugh sound care-free. “Hurt like hell when it happened, I have to admit.” I sit down in the water, hiding the scars against the stone slab. Only my shoulders are visible over the steaming luxury.

  She says nothing, merely coming to sit on the edge of the slab.

  “I can bathe myself. Don’t worry.” I try to wave her off. She doesn’t move.

  When I turn to assure her I’m capable, she is staring at me, her own garment untied at the sleeves and drooping around the belt at her waist. She removes her chest covering and my stomach twists. Small holes mottle her bared breasts. They have healed over, but their dark surfaces make her look like a pock-marked victim of the plague. She turns and the same lash marks that adorn my back cross over her own spine. Only she has more of them. Hundreds, applied over a series of several years.

  “Who?” I ask, lightly running my fingers over the raised grooves. “Who did this to you?”

  She doesn’t answer. Her back tightens beneath my touch like a frightened animal.

  My thoughts instantly go to her master.

  “It was Lucius, wasn’t it?”

  She nods, then pulls her clothing back on. She turns to face me.

  “Why did you show me?”

  “Because you’re just like me. You don’t belong anywhere. You’re a prisoner of your fate. Your fate depends on the king. Mine depends on whether Lucius still finds me attractive.” She crosses her arms across her chest and I’ve a sickening understanding about what those punctured holes were. “But we both hope for a time when we can make our own decisions. Our own choices. Fates change all the time – or so I’m told.” She begins to lather my back. “I know how to wash these without making them hurt. I’ll show you.” And she does with the utmost care.

  When she leaves me alone to return to her master, I ponder her words. Otis had said I belong. Shade had told me I’d never belong. Axle had accepted me. And now the strange maid has told me I’m still a prisoner and I don’t belong. Would I ever truly be free?

  Or will I forever be a prisoner, bound by a fate I haven’t chosen?

  I spend hours staring at the tapestries around my room, trying to keep my cool. To remain focused on the task at hand. To impress the King and remain alive. But now I question why I am forcing myself to do it. Celectate Wood’s smiling face as he branded me dances in front of my mind. He’d known what he was sending me to. What hell he’d condemned upon me. He’d cursed me to forever remain alone, on the outskirts of life, but unable to participate in it. To have no place – no one – in which to seek solace. Every time I imagine those dark, gleaming eyes, I imagine what it might be like to rip them out. To hold them in my hands. To brand his flesh as he branded mine. To rip him apart piece by piece. And as my anger grows stronger and the things I want to do increase in savagery, cold claws settle in my throat, and I want to scream. Because, deep down, I know I can’t.

  I throw aside the curtains of my room and step onto the porch. A breeze washes over me. I see the city stretched out below me beyond the railing. The porch is quite large. Twenty feet long. Fifteen feet wide.

  I startle when a shape shifts near the corner of the railing. Shade is propped up against the mountainside, dangling a leg over the side of the railing over the city. His hair is damp, like mine. He’s also not wearing a shirt and among the muscles of his abdomen that white, zigzagging scar glares at me, reminding me that I’m not the only one who’s got nowhere to go.

  I approach him.

  He doesn’t look up but keeps his gaze fixed on the gray haze enveloping the capitol. “There will be no training today.”

  “I didn’t come to train,” I say and lean against the railing, purposefully putting myself in his line of sight. “I came to listen. To you.”

  That makes him look at me. The line of his jaw tightens, and he slips off of the railing with a graceful shift of his powerful legs. “I’ve got nothing to say.” He stomps towards another open, pillared room adjacent to mine. His scarred back glares at me and forces courage into my throat.

  “Your captivity . . .” I don’t finish the sentence, but it was enough.

  Shade stops. His shoulders tighten and a vein throbs at his neck. He’s exerting every bit of control he possesses to lock down his emotions. I’ve done the same thing a million times against my nightmares. My powers. My memories.

  He doesn’t ask me how I know. He doesn’t ask me when I found out. He doesn’t even fly into a hot rage like I expected him to do. “There are things you will never learn,” he says, his voice tight. “Never understand.”

  “Then help me understand.”

  “Go!” he snaps.

  Anger heats my skin. I stamp my foot. “Stop hiding it!”

  I move forward and grip his arm. He finches beneath my touch. “Stop masking it.”

  I force him to turn around. To look at me. His mask is cracking. “It is only hurting you. Making you suffer.” His eyes try to shift away from me, but I jerk his arm and he looks at me again. “It is tearing you apart, Shade. You have to let it out. Unleash it. All of it. The hate. The rage. The pain. Tell me what it was like. Everythin
g. Every horrible, vulgar, vile thing they did to you. Tell me. Let me know what it was like.”

  One moment we’re standing close together, my hand on his arm, and his eyes trying to keep the wall upraised between us and the next, my back is against the stone mountain and he’s pinned me against it, his face inches from mine.

  “You want to know what it was like?” he screams. His eyes are wide open, swirling with memories I can’t gauge. “It was hell! It was pure, fire-breathing, damnable hell!” His hands bite into my shoulders. My bones ache beneath the grip.

  “Shade,” I press my hands to his shoulders, “Shade, calm down.”

  “None of you understand,” he continues. “None of you understand what it was like . . . to have knives in your back and darkness at your front. To be torn apart and forced to look at the pieces. To watch your entire family butchered like pigs in a slaughterhouse. To watch your captors laugh at your pain. Want it. Enjoy it.”

  His skin is fire beneath my touch, burning my hands. I don’t like his grip on my arms. It feels dangerous. Like a viper’s hiss before the bite.

  “They are monsters – all of them! They destroy whatever they touch. Whatever they find. I became a monster to rid this damned world of them. I am a monster,” he sneers. “You’d do well to remember it!” He thrusts me away from him.

  I stumble across the porch in the direction of my quarters and manage to regain balance before I would have fallen to the stones.

  I am a monster.

  Suddenly, I’m enraged. There are spots of light in my vision, and I see red that curves into lightning and splinters through my body in waves of pure, unchecked anger. I’m tired of his pathetic, self-inflicted pain. Tired of his emotionally withdrawn pretenses.

  I grab his arm. “You’re not a monster!” I can’t tether the fury cascading through me. I slam a hand to his chest. To the scar that mars his abdomen. He moans in pain.

  “You . . . are . . . not . . .” I look him straight in the eye. Past the flames. Past the anger. Past the mask. To the boy beneath. “A monster.” I grab both his arms.