Ostracized (The Ostracized Saga Book 1)

by Olivia Majors

  He tears away and stalks towards his room, faster. Trying to get away. Trying to hide like he always does.

  It shatters the barriers of my restraint. “You think you are some damned warrior, Shade of Smoke,” I call after him, “but you know what? You’re just a frightened little boy who’s too afraid of admitting that he’s scared shit-less. All that bravado. All that recklessness. It masks a liar. A coward. A little boy still pissing his pants because he’ll never let that fear go.”

  When he turns around I know I’ve struck the mark because his face is alight with a fury that matches mine. “And you know what, Kyla Kelonia Bone? You’re family didn’t even fight to protect you. They let a single man tear you away from them. They let a single man condemn you and did nothing to stop it because, deep down, they didn’t care. You are unwanted. Unloved. You don’t and have never belonged – and you never will. You are cursed. Cursed to remain alone and forgotten.” He says it in ancient Kelban.

  My eyes burn, and I blink against the tears filling them, but they slip down my cheeks. I wipe at them. They don’t stop coming.

  The fury disappears from Shade’s face with a single blink. I see the shock etched into his mouth. He didn’t know I could understand.

  I see red again, but its of a different nature. A crueler color. “Those nightmares did turn you into a monster,” I acquiesce. “You let them make you. Shape you. You were clay in their hands. A perfect creation of their darkness and evil. I don’t know why I ever thought of you as a hero. As someone worthy of love. Of care. Obviously, my feelings were wasted on a primitive animal like you. Humanity is wasted on things like you.”

  I shove past him, but he grabs my arm and forces me up against the wall. His lips crash against mine. For a moment I am too frozen with shock to react as the pressure of his lips burn my mouth. But when his tongue runs over the curved space of my mouth, I shove my hands against his chest and manage to push him far enough away to break the connection between our faces.

  “What are you doing?”

  He molds my body between the stone and him, pinning my wrists against the mountain. His gaze flutters over my face. “This is what you’re frightened of,” he growls. His breath warms my cheeks. Sweeps my face. Narrows on my lips. And then his lips are on mine. Hard. Insistent. Coaxing.

  A deep black opens in my mind. A memory surfaces. Alive. Burning. Painful. Aspen holding me. Aspen kissing me. Aspen forcing me to a wall. His lips burning mine with heat and passion that none would deny him – except me. His smell – fire and cologne and nobility. Everything that smells wrong. Fire pulses on the sides of my vision. I smell burnt flesh – my flesh. A branding iron burns into my skin. Celectate Wood smiles down at me. Laughing. Laughing at my fear. At the memories I cannot let go. The memories that keep me from living the life I tell myself I cannot partake of. The life I want.

  The smell of burnt flesh and fire and Aspen threatens to overpower me. To dull my senses. To drown me in fear. But, through it all, the faint scent of something different – something familiar – softly encompasses my lungs.

  Smoke. Metal. Harsh soap.

  I latch onto the distinct scent. I push the unwelcoming stench to the far sides of my mind. I push Aspen from my mind. His voice. His taste. His touch.

  “This is what you’re frightened of.”

  No. I shove every last feeling of that dungeon memory from my mind and replace it with the here. The now. This moment. I am not frightened anymore.

  I pull my wrists free from Shade’s hold and grab him around the shoulders. I move my lips against his. Run my fingers along the back of his neck. His skin shivers beneath my hand, and I feel his body stiffen at my response. I tighten my hold. Deepen my kiss. Grab at the fine, short strands of his hair. It is coarse and wet in my hands. He remains stiff. I press myself up against him and run my tongue over his bottom lip.

  He growls, and I am against the wall again, his arms around me, and our tongues welding together. My senses fill with that scent. Smoke. Metal. Hunter’s brew. I am drowning in it.

  His skin is hot beneath my touch. The cold inside my body responds to the heat. Craves it. Grabs at it. Our bodies fuse together. Chest-to-chest. Hips-to-hips. Core-to-core. Against every aching, wanting part. His hands move to my hair and my back. Searching. Grabbing. Caressing. I respond in kind, running my fingers down his backside. My fingers roll over the ridges – the scars – that mar his back. His own runs across my scars, and I arch against the ticklish, unnerving feeling in my spine. His hand slows on top of them. His fingers trace the scars. I do the same to him, feeling each deep, zigzagging welt.

  His lips slow atop mine until our mouths no longer move. He pulls away, and the moist pressure leaves my lips. I almost follow it out of a needing, craving sense of want and desire, but hesitate when I see his face. He’s pale in places where I have surely become red.

  “You . . .” he whispers in a choked voice.

  He pulls away entirely, releasing me. I sag against the mountain, suddenly weak, now that he no longer holds me in his arms. My body notices his retreat, and instantly grows cold.

  Shade leans against the railing. He grabs at it with white-knuckled hands. His chest rises and falls in spastic waves.

  I dig my fingers into the cold mountainside behind me.

  “Shade, ole boy, where the hell are you?” a voice calls from behind the sheer curtain, and, seconds later, Axle steps through it. “Oh, there you are. Told you the view would be spectacular, didn’t I? I . . .” He sees me.

  A darkness that I’ve never seen falls like a curtain over his ecstatic features. He looks at his friend’s pale, trembling face. “What the hell did you do?”

  Shade remains silent. He clutches at his hair. Hair that I held in my hands a few moments earlier.

  Axle looks at me.

  I ignore him and stare pointedly at Shade. Struggling to keep calm, to conceal the tremors rocking my body, I stroll towards my room. My legs are stiff and I wonder how I maintain the power to stand. The moment I enter my room and draw the first curtain, I fall on my knees.

  The cold feeling that rushes over me chills the last lie I’ve been telling myself into thick ice and freezes my lungs. I choke on the dawning truth.

  I like Shade.

  The curtains flutter wildly at Axle’s violent entrance an hour later. “We need to talk,” he growls.

  I remain curled into a ball on my bed, my back to him. I don’t want to talk about anything. I want to be left alone. I still taste Shade on my lips.

  He grabs my the shoulder and flips me over. “You’re not doing that, Kyla!” he snaps. “Did you enjoy playing me for a fool? Why didn’t you tell me you knew about our captivity? Huh? Why? When did you . . .” He doesn’t finish and runs a hand down his face with a groan. “You and your damn eavesdropping!”

  “Maybe you should learn to whisper,” I retort and slip off the bed. I walk to the fireplace and kick at one of the logs. Sparks flutter into the air.

  The mattress quakes as Axle sits down. “What the hell happened?” he asks.

  I keep my back to him and watch the fire. The flames eat at the wood, turning it a rich, black color.

  Axle sighs. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, and slow. He’s tired. “It took me half an hour to get him calmed down. It never takes that long. I thought I would have to wrestle him to the floor. He went crazy. Started talking about how you questioned him. Reminded him of it. Made him go back to those moments – those memories – he uses to fuel his rage. And then he said . . .” Axle pauses. He sighs again. “He said he might have hurt you.”

  A pang hits me in the chest.

  “Kyla . . .” Axle’s voice is softer. “Did he hurt you?”

  He was worried he’d hurt me? After all I said – all I’d done to hurt him, to make him bleed – he was worried he’d hurt me? And he called himself a monster?

  “No,” I answer and turn around.

  Axle’s eyes narrow.

  “No,” I snap
with finality. “He didn’t hurt me. We . . .” I pause delicately, searching for the right words. “We discussed our differences.”

  He leans back against one of the thick bed-posts. “I was sure you’d already discussed your differences. You’re nobility. He’s a vagabond. You’re a Kelban. He’s a cannibal. I’m pretty sure those are the only differences you two have from one another.” A smile plays at the corner of his lips.

  “Is this a time to be joking right now, Axle?” I ask.

  His face falls. “No. No, it isn’t.” He sits up straight again. “It is a time to be honest with one another. Just once. For five minutes. No lies. No deceit. Just plain, honest truth. Three questions each. Alright?”

  I nod.

  “Did Shade hit you?”

  “No!”

  “Was he rough with you?”

  “A little,” I admit. “But it’s nothing I am not used to.”

  Axle frowns, but continues. “Did you really speak our tongue to him?”

  I lower my head and nod. I wait for him to yell at me. To angrily accuse me of lying. Of being a deceptive, sly Kelban.

  Instead, he blows out a breath and says, “Damn, I was right.”

  I look up.

  He shakes his head, face stiff with awe. “I knew it . . . there was no way you could look so intent whenever we spoke around you. But . . . damn . . . you played that game well, Kyla. I’m impressed.”

  I give a mock bow.

  “Your turn,” he says. “Ask your questions.”

  I have prepared them for a long time.

  “What happened the night Brunt was attacked? I want everything.”

  Axle stiffens, but slowly, he allows his shoulders to relax. “You want detail or just a brief description?”

  “If it isn’t painful, detail would be most helpful.” I need to picture it. Feel it. See it.

  Axle crosses his legs and inhales slowly, watching me. The fire. The curtain fluttering in the breeze. I don’t rush him. Don’t coax him. If what he’s about to tell me is even half of what I’ve pictured, he’ll need all the gathered courage he can muster. He releases the breath and begins like the poet Shade’s always referenced him as.

  “It was a night like every other one. We ate dinner. The sun went down. The guards lit the lamps along the wall. They called the times. Mother wanted us – River and I – to go to bed early but I didn’t want to. So I begged my father to let me stay up. I promised to do a month’s worth of chores. I promised to help him make a batch of his favorite tea – which I hated more than anything – if he’d let me stay up and keep watch with him outside the door. You see, on nights when the moon was covered by clouds, Father would sit outside and watch to make sure no animals tried to snatch the chickens we raised.” He smiles at the memory. “River pleaded and cried. Her tears won Father over. A half hour past ten o’clock we were sitting on the bench outside our house on either side of Father, listening to his stories from his youth.

  “The air was the first thing that alerted me. It didn’t feel right. My lungs were constricted for no apparent reason. Like my senses knew that something was coming, but I hadn’t picked up on it yet. We heard the first scream. Heard the gates being opened. The guards yelling. We waited for the bell. The bell that would order us – I mean, Father – to pick up arms and prepare to fight. We never heard it. And then they were there. All around us. Dark. Screeching. Angry. Mother came out of the house and threw my father his sword – an Illathonian blade he’d made himself over a period of ten years. He’d never used it until that night. He didn’t know how to wield it properly. I didn’t tell him that I knew how. I knew he wouldn’t let me fight. I remember debating whether I should ask him. I waited too long.

  “I heard my mother scream. When I turned to look at her by the house, a shadow was cutting her open from neck to waist. You’ve never seen violence until you watch your own mother’s insides flop onto the ground. Hear your father scream as he watches her die. Hear your little sister gasp in horror. I remember being stunned. I didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. I just stared. Like I was in a dream and hadn’t woken up. And then they came for us.”

  Tears stream down his face. He tries to wipe them away with his arm, but it doesn’t work. The firelight glistens on the droplets beneath his eyes. He looks at me.

  “Father killed the first one with a savage lunge that blew it into a dark cloud,” he continues. “I stood there, watching him, while River grabbed me around the waist, and hid her face in my tunic. Father dispatched four shadows before turning around. He saw me. ‘What are you doing?’ he’d asked me. He looked at River. Looked at me. ‘Run. Protect your sister. Run, boy.’ A shadow stabbed him from behind. I remember the shadow blade. I can never forget what the object looked like. Father hit the ground. He didn’t die immediately. I didn’t watch him die, either. I grabbed River, and I ran.

  “I ran uphill towards the mountains. I thought we might be able to hide ourselves in one of the caves. Or a tree. But I heard the shadows following us. Fast. River was clinging to my neck, terrified. I remember feeling her shiver. I remember the whimper that escaped her. And I had a brief image of her lying on the ground, insides protruding from her stomach, and blank eyes staring at me and asking me why I didn’t protect her.

  “I found a small crevice between the trees and a rock where the roots had grown out of the ground. It created a little nook beneath the roots of the tree large enough for River to fit in and hide herself. I piled branches and rocks in front of it as quickly as I could and told her to be quiet. To cry when she didn’t hear anything anymore. To count to a million. Anything. So long as she remained silent. I kissed her head. Patted her cheek. And I turned around and waited. The shadows came. Five of them. They surrounded me on all sides. I waited for them to kill me. And, then, they started talking to one another. I couldn’t understand their language. It was raspy. Short. Harsh. A completely inhuman tongue. They swept towards me. I grabbed a stick and hacked at the first one. I expected my make-shift weapon to go straight through it like a ghost, but it connected where there should have been a shoulder. It screeched, and I was flung back into the trees. I got back up. I fought. They overpowered me. They tied me up. Flung a bag over my head. I don’t know if they carried me or flew me. I’ll never know. When the bag was taken from my head I was in a cave. I never saw the sun again for three long years.”

  He wipes at his eyes again. “And you know what?” A low chuckle vibrates from his throat. “I love the smell of that tea now.”

  I wrap my arms around his neck, knocking him backwards onto the bed. His arm circles my waist. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Axle.”

  We sit like that for a few moments until he shifts beneath me. I pull away and sit down on the opposite side of the bed to face him. His shaggy hair hides his eyes now, but his cheeks are still wet.

  “It’s been more than five minutes,” I say.

  “But I still owe you two questions,” he admits with a sigh. “Ask. It’s only fair.”

  I breathe slowly. I don’t want to hurt him anymore.

  He breathes softly. “It’s alright, Kyla. I’ve been alright for years now. Go ahead. Ask.”

  “What was captivity like?”

  He shakes his head. “It would take me hours to describe everything about it. I’ll shorten it for you. It was like living in hell, but never dying. Like drowning in water, but never actually drowning. Like falling from a tall building and never hitting the bottom. It was eternity.

  “When they took the bag off my head I was in a cell. A ten by ten foot square of dank muck and stone walls. It smelled awful. I gagged on the smell for days until my nostrils got used to the filth. The shadows came and put shackles on my wrists. They weren’t like the shackles we use here, though. They were simple iron bands around my hands that were heavy and stuck to my skin like leeches. There were no chains. They forced me to follow them. I didn’t fight them. I was smart enough to know it wouldn’t do any good. I found myself in thousands of tunn
els. So many I couldn’t keep track of all of them. I passed dark figures. My eyes weren’t used to the light, but when they did adapt, I saw others like me. Children. Teens. A few adults. They were shackled like me. They were covered in dirt and filth. They were bloody. They were crying. Screaming. But most were silent. The shadow holding my shoulder rammed a pick into my hand. If I had had any hope left in me I would have killed it. I think that is the moment that it dawned on me. I was a slave. And I started digging.

  “It took me months in the caves to learn what we were actually digging. A form of obsidian ore that wasn’t really obsidian but something more precious to the monsters who called themselves our masters. Over time I learned to understand what they wanted me to do without really learning their language. They never spoke around us. They made noises in their throats. I think they knew I was trying to decipher their words.

  “Things continued like that for almost a year. I remained passive. I never complained. I never showed any fight. I pretended to be the perfect little puppy and I lived because of it. I watched others die. I watched others beaten to death. I watched others thrown into the deep pits we dug for the enjoyment of our captors, but I was never one of them. Instead, I listened. I studied. I watched their behavior. Their mannerisms. Their habits. And then . . . one day . . . I made a mistake. I broke a piece of obsidian ore.”

  He shivers. “I learned then how precious the ore really was to them. They went into screeching convulsions all around me. One grabbed a knife, lifted my head by my hair, and pressed the knife to my shoulder. I was terrified. For the first time in a year, I screamed. I showed resistance. I kicked at it. It got up and came at me. And . . . suddenly . . . like an illusion, he was there.

  “Shade let the shadow wrap its wisps around him and then he kicked it too. It flew back. He grabbed a piece of their ore and threw it. Three times he did it. The shadows forgot about me. They went after him. They beat him into the ground. He covered his head. When they were tired of that, they looked at me. Pointed at my pick. I started digging. But when they left, I knelt down by Shade and helped him up. I took him to my cell and cleaned him up with the water I’d saved. For some reason, saving someone’s life can make bosom companions out of the strangest, most different people in the world. I wasn’t a fighter. He was. He never stopped fighting them. He broke their ore when they weren’t looking. He stole extra supplies. The children in the caves loved him.