Ostracized (The Ostracized Saga Book 1)

by Olivia Majors

  My body feels as light as my head, and Shade grips me harder as I level myself atop the water.

  “Very good. Now we’re going to employ the second half. I’m going to let go of you. Don’t worry. There you go. I’ve got your waist. Now make sweeping motions with your arms. Fight the water. Pretend you’re fighting me. There you go.” In slow motion my arms and legs take their toll against the water, propelling the rest of my body through the cool element.

  “Now I’m going to let go of you. Fight the panic and do as I told you.” His hands pull away.

  I grab at them in vain and go under, water enveloping my head in its cold pressuring claws. I kick upwards with my feet. Pump my arms. Nothing happens. I am sinking. The panic rises.

  Slowly, Kyla. Slowly. Gently.

  I try to put some effective timing into when I kick and where I place my arms. Slowly, the water around me gives way as I push it aside. My head breaks the surface again, and I gasp for air.

  “You did it!” Shade says. “Now try swimming towards me.”

  Propelling myself on top of the water is easier than I thought. I keep my eyes on Shade’s silhouette in the water. The moon casts beams of light on the rippling surface, giving his face a soft, silver glow. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and pull myself that much closer to him, until our sides weld together.

  He forces me to try three, four times more. I go under every time, but manage to bring myself back to the surface. My limbs burn with exhaustion. But no water finds its way into my lungs, even when I panic. I conquer the twisting pains in my belly and break the chains of my watery prison.

  “Tired already?” Shade asks when I lean heavily against him. He edges towards the rocks beneath the falls and grabs one, pulling himself onto it with a flex of rippling, shiny muscles. He grips me beneath the arms and pulls me on too.

  Together we scale the many rock formations lodged between the cascades of water until we finally find a flat stone only a few feet from the falls. The gentle roar is not overpowering. I can still hear the crickets on the bank. Shade lies flat on his back across the smooth surface, so I join him, staring up at the millions of stars that wink at us from the night sky. Droplets of water rain gently down onto our faces from the nearby fall of water.

  Exhaustion, pure and painful, offers a dull ache in my legs. I can barely move my arms.

  “You did well,” Shade says from beside me.

  I open my mouth to reply and water from my wet hair glides down my throat. I cough violently.

  Shade sits up on his elbows. “You okay?” He leans close.

  I turn to assure him I’m alright and our noses brush. He sucks in a sharp breath, his jaw going taut. Our breath hangs in the air between us, warm and heavy. Shade reaches over and brushes wet tendrils of curling hair away from my face.

  As if drawn by some magnetic, unearthly pull I lift myself up on my elbows, my lips hovering over his. I make sure to look in his eyes. He has to want this as much as I do. Has to feel the same way as I do. If he doesn’t, it is all for naught. I will not – can not – waste my feelings on another person unless he cares about me. I don’t want to end up like Aspen, alone and hurt after false hope. Aspen may have been an asshole, but I’m sure he really, truly felt something for me. I understand how he must have felt – how angry and hurt – when I brought all his dreams crashing down around him.

  Shade stares back at me, his gaze hungry and wanting, just as much as I.

  I press my lips against his, unsure about what I should do. I have no experience being the initiator of a kiss. I flush, afraid I’m doing it wrong. That the first real, honest kiss I’ve ever given anybody will be awkward, clumsy, and foolish. I start to draw away.

  I know I’m doing it wrong.

  Shade palms my face and pulls me back, taking charge where I would not. He deepens the kiss and slowly tilts me back. My body is so alive with heat that the stone against my back doesn’t hurt at all. Taut muscle presses against my chest as he stretches on top of me, leaning his elbows carefully beside my head to keep his full weight off of my fragile form. I chuckle at his careful approach, remembering very well that I’ve felt his full weight before in many of our training exercises. His sudden gentleness – his attempt to treat me with soft dignity and care – throws any cautions I may have had to the wind. I grip his face in my hands and kiss him back, wrapping my legs around his waist. Beneath my hands, he trembles.

  He pushes himself up on his elbows and stares down at me. He opens his mouth – I wait for him to say something – and he changes his mind. He lowers himself again and continues our kiss, turning it from slow and sweet, to hot and hungry in a matter of seconds.

  I shift my hands down his shoulders and across his chest, finding the scar viciously carved into his abdomen. I brush a finger over it. He arches his back against my touch and a low growl vibrates over my lips. Thrilled at the sensation, I do it again. Twice. Until he reaches between us and grips my hand.

  “That’s not nice,” he says against my lips.

  “You’re the one who told me to never play nice,” I retort and shift my hips against his.

  A low, steamy chuckle curls over my mouth. “Two can play this game, Kyla,” he whispers and shifts his mouth down the side of my face towards my ear, pressing his lips against the two, tiny indents. My body burns beneath him, and my senses hone onto that one spot where his mouth roams my skin in slow, lazy circles. Now it is my turn to arch against him as ripples of ticklish vibrations drift down my spine and gather in a bundle of warmth within my core.

  “D-don’t,” I whisper, but I don’t mean it, and he knows it.

  He allows his full weight to crash down on top of me, pressing hard into the center of my core and eliciting a shocked cry from my lips. He releases my hand between us and grips my hip, singing through the wet layers of my tunic. His skin is hot beneath my touch as I wrap my arms around his back to stroke the scars there and he trembles against me as I stroke them softly. Gently. Teasingly.

  “Kyla . . .” but he growls before he can finish the sentence and takes my mouth again, filling me with the taste of him.

  His hand moves down my leg towards my knee and slips beneath my tunic, inching upwards at a snail’s pace. His scent – his taste – drives me crazy. His hand is almost there, halfway up my thigh and approaching the burning, pulsing ache between my legs when . . .

  A raspy chuckle from the shore-line slices into my gut like a dagger.

  I grip Shade around the shoulders and roll him sideways off the edge of the flat rock. We fall into the water, me on top of him. We both come up sputtering, the cascading falls crashing down on our heads.

  “What the hell . . .” he grunts and tries to swim while wiping water from his eyes.

  I put a hand over his mouth and shake my head, casting earnest eyes towards the bank. He stops moving. Even his breath stills. Slowly, I pull him back with me against the rock, out of sight from the bank.

  Hopefully, the noise of the waterfall has allowed our presence to go unnoticed.

  Four shadows are on the bank, their capes fluttering around them. Two of them lean down by the water and dip their ebony black hands into it. I blink. So the bastards do have hands!

  “Grag’s pissed,” says one of the shadows who stands nearest to the tree-line. “He had hoped to finish this ordeal in one, fluid motion, but now we have to come back again.”

  “Why can’t we just leave things as they are?” asks another shadow who is brushing a hand through the water.

  “Because,” the one snaps, “he didn’t get what he came for. And he won’t stop until he does.”

  “I say we cut our losses,” remarks another. “After all, this could be another wild goose chase and . . .”

  “And Grag seems to think it isn’t. Imagine what would happen if he’s right and we don’t do it now. We could be facing the end of our way of life. Do you want to be the cause of that, Igor?”

  “I don’t want to be the cause of Trithar’s
anger!” snaps the petulant one. “He can be much more brutal than ten Grag’s combined if he knew what we were doing – what we are going to do.”

  “Grag will make him see reason. And Trithar doesn’t have to know. He’s already given up anyway.” The leader-like one looks at the moon, which is hidden behind dark clouds. “We had better return to Grag. He’ll be wanting to know what we learned.”

  “And what are we going to tell him, revrant?”

  “That she’s returned . . . and Agron will be his,” the one snaps.

  The four shadows converge together and disappear into the trees.

  I count to sixty before releasing the breath I’ve been holding.

  Who the hell is Trithar? Another of their leaders?

  I discover Shade watching me intently, his eyes narrowing with a sudden realization. “What did they say?”

  Now he remembers the other half of why I was so strange.

  I grab his arm earnestly. “They’re coming back. I don’t know when. Tomorrow. Perhaps tonight. But they’re going to come back.”

  “Why?”

  I tell him half the truth. “They want Agron.”

  Shade nods and motions for the bank. We swim for shore, arms sweeping wildly in the water. I drag myself onto the pebbled ground.

  He stares at me intently, blinking water out of his eyes.

  “I’m not a witch,” I say.

  He smirks and my worries disappear. “Whoever said that?”

  As we head back towards the village, all thoughts of running away disappear from my mind.

  Everything that happened is because of me.

  And, damn it, I’m going to make it right.

  Chapter XXXV

  The bell that Shade rang gathers everyone who isn’t wounded into the middle of the square. The closely packed bodies add a warmth in the chill air.

  A storm is approaching. Thunder claps in the sky and lightning flashes ominously as Shade details what we saw and heard. Almost as if spurred by the storm itself, Dirk turns white in the face and steps forward, hands clenched and ready for a fight. I knew this would not be easy but I’d hoped for once that Dirk could be wise enough to think first and ask questions later. Foolish me.

  “She’s a witch!” he roars, pointing a shaky finger at me. People draw back in fear, staring at my eyes, my arms, my lips. Do they expect me to call the demons from beneath their feet to speed them to hell?

  “A witch who saved Mama Opal’s life and could save us all if you’d shut the hell up and listen!” Shade snaps.

  The square goes deathly quiet as the crowd shifts attention from Dirk to Otis, who’s just stepped out of the sick house. He’s covered in blood from helping the wounded. His eyes are bloodshot, and he hangs his head as he walks straight towards me. The mob shivers in anticipation. They expect him to pronounce my sentence. Instead, he places a hand on my shoulder and pulls me against him into a tight embrace. My shocked gasp mingles with the crowd.

  “Thank you,” he whispers. Then louder, so the people can hear, “T-thank you!” His voice shatters, and when he pulls back there are tears in his eyes.

  “Otis, let go of her!” Dirk warns. “She’ll damn your soul, she will . . .”

  Otis spins on him, drawing his Illathonian blade. It flashes silver in the darkening square. “One more word, Dirk, and I’ll make sure you never speak again!” Thunder claps above him.

  Dirk gapes at him, tongue wagging in his open mouth.

  “Do you know what a miracle has happened tonight?” Otis asks. He doesn’t wait for an answer. “In there,” he points at the sick house, “six wounded souls were facing a horrifying, hell-cursed death. They were being eaten from the inside out by those soulless bastards. And we could do nothing! Witch? By gods, she’s no witch! Do you know all six of them are alive, lying in there and breathing. They will walk. They will rise. They will live! And you want to kill her? By gods, just you try it. Take one step in her direction, even look at her wrong, Dirk, and your attempt at attacking her will end the way it should. One more accusation, one more curse, and your blood, not hers, will stain the ground!”

  “You dare . . .?” Dirk shivers with rage. The crowd is just as stunned. “You speak that way to me? Me? I am only looking out for the safety of every man, woman, and child in Agron. She’ll be the destruction of us all! There’s something wrong about her. She’s not human! There’s evil inside of her. You must get rid of her . . .”

  Shade steps up alongside me, static vibrating off of him. He draws his Illathonian blades and shields me with them. “One more word, Dirk, and . . .”

  “And you!” Dirk turns on him. “You . . . You’re so centered on what’s between your legs that you can’t even see it. She’s blinded you, boy.”

  “Everything she has done is to save your worthless hides!” Shade snaps, to Dirk and to the crowd. “For gods sakes, Dirk, she saved that thing you call a ‘son.’ Shouldn’t you, of all people, be indebted to her?”

  “I owe no debts to demons!” he snaps and spits at my feet.

  Shade surges forward, but I grab his arm. “Stop it! Stop it all of you! Do you not hear what I’m saying? They’re coming back!”

  The crowd stops murmuring. Lightning flashes across the sky and they all quake at his brilliant light. A clap of thunder follows the illumination. They look at me, as if I might be the one commanding its ferocity.

  It fills me with anger. “You hate my kind – the Kelbans. Why? Because they locked you out. They built a Wall. They lie about you and you can do nothing. The Kelbans – they are cowards!”

  The mob ripples with shock as I condemn my heritage. But I’m not done.

  “You hate and fear the Kelbans. In the same way we hate and fear you. How are you any different from my kind? I know you are brave. I know you can fight. I know you live and die and battle with the horrible elements you have been left to face. You are the strongest people I have ever seen. I have lived among cowards my entire life. I have played politics with sleeping lions. I have defied the monster that rules my people. I have been thrown away like a toy that lost its use.

  “I am like you. I am locked out. I am frightened. I hate. I fight. I struggle to live. To be strong. To conquer and remain victorious.” I point a finger at Dirk. My skin vibrates with tension. “I am no witch. No ‘demon prophet.’ I am merely a lost soul struggling in this empty, power-play of life to find where I belong. I don’t want to be a coward. I’m sure you don’t either.”

  Dirk glares at me.

  “The shadows . . . they want to conquer you. They want you to be afraid. They are taking your lives and your land, piece by piece. Is that what you want?”

  “We can’t defeat them. They always keep coming,” says a man from the crowd.

  “That may be true,” I agree, “but I know something that none of you have ever known before. Their leader is coming.”

  Shade stiffens. I had declined to share that information with him.

  “Their what?” Otis asks.

  “They have a leader. He is personally coming to destroy Agron. If we can kill him, they will be weakened. We will show them that Agron can fight. That Agron is still strong. Like you’ve always wanted. And, then, they might change their minds altogether.” I highly doubt my last argument, but I won’t kill the enigma I’ve placed over the crowd.

  They are pondering my words.

  “You are the evil that draws them here – like that boy in Gavrone!” snaps Dirk. “We should kill you!”

  I raise a finger. “But there’s the tricky part. I draw them here. You can use that to your advantage.”

  Axle appears out of the fray, his hands red twins to Otis’s. “I like what the Kelban has in mind. The element of surprise. Any warrior, guard, or soldier would tell you that’s half the battle right there at our fingertips. Will you throw it away?”

  “We can rid ourselves of this pestilence, once and for all. We can be free of attack. We can send the rest of those hell-cursed demons the message th
at you will fight, and you are not simmering cowards hiding behind your Illathonian blades,” I add.

  Keegan appears behind his father. “Do you have a plan?”

  Dirk turns on his son. “What are you doing, you fool?” he asks. “We should do away with her.”

  “On the contrary, she has a point. Witch or not, I don’t want my carcass lying white and bloodless in six feet of dirt.” He draws his own blade and steps towards me. Shade bars his way, eyes flashing with warning. Keegan shrugs and stands beside Axle instead. “Who else wants to live?”

  People, warriors and common folk, make their way through the debating mob. One by one they stand in a straight line before Otis, drawing their blades, knives, or literally anything that resembles a weapon. I spot several boys younger than I, and a few women and girls baring Illathonian blades. Fresh tears stain their eyes. The blades must have belong to deceased family members.

  Dirk searches for his own army. None join him. Glaring hatefully at me, he joins the line, drawing his sword. At least he’ll fight.

  “What’s the plan, Kyla?” Otis asks. He hands me complete leadership in that brief moment.

  I am in charge.

  A smile splits my face. “Let’s reflect on that for a moment, shall we?”

  It storms all night.

  The next day is foggy and wet with mist. The thickening air offers a cover of white clouds over the earth. It is in this natural covering that we lay the groundwork of my plan. My head spins as I give directions, mustering all the managing skills Mother taught for running my own household. I don’t suspect she knew I’d be using them to provide framework for a battle one day.

  My cloak sticks to my face in moist folds. It is going to be a long day. The shadows could come tonight. Or tomorrow. None of us must sleep. The plan will not work unless everyone is where they’re supposed to be. There can be no warning bell. No sign of alarm. The trap must be foolproof.

  Otis appears out of the fog. He presses a tin cup of something warm into my hand. I taste it and find it to be tea. It is Mama Opal’s favorite. “Is she back in her house?”