Mark if Destiny

by KT Webb

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  A Note from the Author

  About the Author

  A Note from the Author

  Other Titles by KT Webb

  Cover Design and interior formatting by: Dark Unicorn Designs, Bridgette O'Hare

  Copyright – 2019 by Kathleen Webb

  Story Editor: Debbie Richardson

  Copy Editor: Plot2Published Editing, Bridgette O'Hare

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, folklore, mythology, people, or places are used fictitiously. All other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any similarities to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental. All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any way without the express written consent of the author.

  Dedicated to Karen

  You’re really brave.

  In a land ruled by a corrupt monarchy and corralled by a ruthless militia, few things were certain for the inhabitants of Alderwood, and no one was ever guaranteed freedom. Despite their constant vulnerability, a constant whisper permeated the darkest places of Ternion Forest like a mantra—the King must die.

  Chapter 1

  Honor stared at the shadows pooled at the base of oversized birch trees along the edge of Ternion Forest. Ever since she was old enough to hunt on her own, she had been intrigued by the strange emptiness of the forest.

  She wove through the trunks, making her way between sparse clearings as she searched for her prey. In the woods, she could be more than a huntress. In the woods, she could be free.

  For longer than she had been alive, Alderwood had been a dangerous place for people like her. Anyone who lived in the outlying villages were outcasts. The further out from Pallisaide, the capitol of Alderwood, the less the people mattered to the king; the less you mattered to the king, the more expendable you became.

  Picking her way across the soggy forest floor, Honor wondered how much farther she would track the doe before giving up and moving on to something else. With a sigh, she stopped and reminded herself that giving up on her target went against everything she had been taught about hunting.

  Honor stood perfectly still. With her eyes closed, she could almost hear the forest breathing around her. Everything in it, from the moss beneath her feet to the birds flitting between the branches above her, was a living thing. If she could focus on the sound she was searching for, she may be able to pick out the one creature she sought.

  A twig broke in the distance. Her eyes snapped open.

  The sound was foreign to the forest she had grown to know. It was the sound of men. Refusing to take any chances, Honor dashed to the nearest sturdy tree. The leather strap she wore across her chest like a sash was strong enough to help her climb. She had done it dozens of times when encountering unwanted visitors in the forest. Her expert survival skills had been useful to her countless times. This time, she was thankful for long legs and strong arms. There were still enough leaves in the higher branches to provide coverage to hide her from whoever was coming.

  Once Honor had secured herself on a solid branch, she focused on her breathing and muscle control. One wrong movement could spell disaster if the interlopers were servants of the king.

  Two men bumbled into the clearing that was just visible from her perch.

  “Oy! How far are we from Milltown? I am starving.” The man did not look like he had gone hungry a day in his life. The black jacket signifying him as a Makt soldier strained to keep his girth from bursting out.

  “Calm yerself, Ulrich. We’ll be there in no time,” his much taller partner replied. He was taller and considerably thinner. His lanky limbs seemed to swing of their own accord; he reminded Honor of an ape.

  “That’s what you said this morning. I still do not see why we could not bring the horses.”

  It was a good thing Honor had hidden herself when she had. The green uniforms, black boots, and silver cording that decorated their shoulders told her exactly who they were. While they were clearly not high-ranking officials, the men were soldiers. Two of the countless members of the Makt, the ruthless militia that maimed and killed in the name of their king. To be honest, they never really needed a reason to perform the horrific deeds they were famous for, but it gave them an excuse just the same.

  King Junius was a terrible man. Honor had never met a single person in Alderwood who liked their monarch, let alone anyone who could ever find it in themselves to love him. He never married, he never produced an heir, and he never left the castle.

  “I told ya, Stavig. There’s no use in drawin’ attention to ourselves in Milltown. People do not see much of us out this far from Pallisaide. If we come ridin’ in, they are gonna think the worst and clam up. We need ‘em to tell us what they know,” the heavier Makt huffed as he struggled to keep up with his counterpart.

  “Good point. Hope that practitioner is not as difficult as the last one was. Hate havin’ to rough them up.” The taller Makt’s tone directly contradicted his words.

  “Heh. Well, we was told to keep lookin’ til we find somethin’. Guess the seer told the King things were changin’, stuff was happenin’ soon.” His tone dropped as if he was trying to make himself sound mysterious.

  “I will say things are changin’. Did you hear the rumors before we left?” The tall Makt glanced at his counterpart as though secretly hoping he had not heard the rumors so he could be the first with the information.

  “Cannot say I did, what’d ya hear?”

  He gestured for the portly Makt to stop, then turned to face away. He moved in such a manner that told Honor he was about relieve himself. As the stream hit the base of a tree, the man continued to speak.

  “They say the King is changin’. They say he has been gettin’ old. Hundreds of years old, and he did not look a day over twenty four years; now he is sproutin’ gray hair and gettin’ wrinkles. What do ya think would do that?”

  The soldier finished urinating while his overweight companion contemplated his words. “Never heard of that happenin’, no wonder he has us out lookin’ for answers.”

  They continued on their way, their voices fading as they went. Honor could not help but wonder what they were talking about. It surprised her the King had employed the services of a seer, considering a seer was supposed to have been the reason he became such a terrible ruler. Apparently, his paranoia set in when the Kilgore Oracle invited herself to his coronation and delivered the message of his imminent death sentence. It was more than a proclamation of doom; it was a prophecy. It was something the people of Alderwood believed in more than anything, because that belief gave them hope for the future of their land. Honor grew up hearing the prophecy, she knew it by heart:

  Truth will be exposed, an unrighteous King will meet his end, the crown will fall upon the head chosen by fate.

  She had heard it so many times she had begun to question its validity. Until that day, the old crone known as the Kilgore Oracle had liv
ed for centuries in her hidden cavern behind a waterfall said to flow with the purest of the wild magic that once created Alderwood. Upon uttering those words at the coronation, legend has it her body seized, and she fell to the ground. All that was left was a mound of ashes as though she had died long ago.

  Some said it was because she had left the magical place that had kept her from dying, others said she could not die until her prophecy was delivered, still others held out hope that somehow the Oracle would reappear. The only thing everyone could agree upon in more than a hundred years since the coronation was that the timing and location of her utterance could not have been a coincidence. The one time the Kilgore Oracle left her cavern in all her years was to attend the coronation of King Junius. Her prophecy was witnessed by all in attendance just before her unpleasant demise.

  The new King had been young, arrogant, and absolutely terrified by the disruption at his coronation. Even though he had tried to squash all the rumors related to the incident, it had been impossible to stop the whispers that rippled through the kingdom. Those who were already unhappy with their lot in life latched on to the opportunity to set the wheels of change in motion before the first dawn of his rule began. There had been murmurs of a growing force preparing for the day when the prophecy would come to pass. Though Honor had never seen a shred of evidence to support the existence of the aptly named Resistance, part of her wanted to believe the rumors were true.

  If the Resistance truly existed, it would mean there was hope for Alderwood. Over the course of King Junius’ rule, the world had become a sad and desperate place. Since fate itself had not come into play, bringing the prophecy to life and ending the reign of ruthlessness, it would be fitting for the citizens of Alderwood to take matters into their own hands. If there was a Resistance, Honor would be ready to join, she had nothing to lose and everything to gain from a world without the Makt.

  It was because of the state the kingdom was in that Honor had been raised in Ternion Forest. Her parents were long gone, and she had been on her own from the time she was five, struggling to keep a roof over her head for more than one night. Times were hard, and no one could afford to feed and clothe any extras. After years of trying to find a permanent solution, Honor struck out on her own. A band of outlaws took her in after she was found wandering the woods starving and alone. They were not exactly parental material, but she had learned more from them than she would have if left to her own devices. It was what led her to Maris and Gray.

  Autumn wind rustled through the towering forest. She inhaled deeply as the scent of snow tickled her nostrils with a hint of things to come. With her bow and arrow slung over her shoulder, Honor slowly descended from her spot in the tree. She had wasted too much time, there was no way she would pick up the doe’s trail again. Cursing under her breath, she wondered if she even had enough time to gather what she needed for the dinner she had planned. They were celebrating. It was the eve of her sixteenth year, the year in which she would officially join adulthood.

  The woods were a dangerous place for most, but Honor was not afraid of the place that had been her playground for most of her life. Creatures roamed the fog-ridden forest searching for their next meal. If you knew how to avoid them, you could observe their behaviors and learn what they wanted.

  Honor had become an expert hunter under the tutelage of Gray, the huntsman who joined their patchwork family in the winter of her eighth year. Gray and his wife, Maris, took her in and raised her alongside their son, Rowan. Even though no one officially referred to them as her parents, Gray was the closest thing to a father Honor had ever known, and Maris had filled the role of a mother with ease. Gray took her with him every time he hunted and taught her to wait and watch the movements of her prey. Now, the patterned fall of leaves from above alerted Honor to the presence of a nasty predator.

  In one swift move, she swung the handcrafted bow into her hand, nocking back an arrow. She was poised and ready. Honor slowly followed the creature as it leaped from tree to tree. The mottled fur changed color with the seasons to allow for better coverage as it hunted, so it was essential for Honor to keep a keen eye on the swift canthion. Movement would only draw attention and keep her from getting a good shot.

  The cat-like animal gave her the perfect opportunity to strike as it leaped between the trees on either side of Honor. She let loose her arrow just before the canthion found a foothold in the safety of the treetops. The twang and subsequent thunk was followed by the crashing descent of the wounded animal. Honor knew she would have to work quickly to dispatch the canthion before it could react to being wounded by its prey. She approached with caution, knife drawn and ready for the kill. In one well-trained motion, she slit the throat from behind and waited for the death throes to cease. Her family would be pleased to feast on more than her famous mushroom stew.

  As she fastened the animal to her back and stood on sturdy legs, another sound caught her attention and sent dread coursing through her veins. The sound of another, smaller canthion was approaching at a slower rate. Honor crouched behind the tree nearest her, waiting for the creature to show itself.

  To her surprise, the canthion that landed on the ground could not have been more than a few years old. The baby sniffed the air searching for its mother, catching her scent but not seeing her anywhere. Against her better judgement, Honor stepped out from her hiding spot with the carcass of the baby’s mother strapped to her back. The heartbreaking mewls coming from the baby pulled at her heartstrings as she recalled the countless nights she had cried herself to sleep for a mother she barely remembered and a father she never knew. Honor stepped forward with her hand outstretched. The baby cowered and emitted a growl that was meant to be intimidating but, instead, reminded Honor of the purrs she had often heard from the kittens in the village nearby.

  “It is okay little one. I will not hurt you.” Honor knew if the animal had been bigger, that statement would have been completely false, but it was not only cruel but pointless to kill the baby.

  It approached her with caution, sniffing the air for the location of its mother. When it caught sight of the lifeless corpse strapped to Honor’s back it released an even more heartbreaking yowl.

  “I know little guy. I am sorry, but it was eat or be eaten. Come here, bud.”

  The small canthion slinked closer. It stared deeply into her eyes. Honor shivered as an unexpected chill roamed her body. It was not fear that gripped her, but the uncanny look of knowing reflected in the eyes of an unintelligent creature. In the blink of an eye, the moment passed. The canthion tilted its head, regarding her curiously then skittered away when Honor offered her hand again. It climbed the tree and disappeared from sight. Honor sighed deeply, wondering how long the baby would last on its own. It was not her problem. She turned on her heel and continued picking her way through the forest, gathering mushrooms along the way. When she arrived back at the camp that served as her home, she was welcomed with appreciative grunts at the sight of the trophy strapped to her back.

  “Looks like we’ll be eating like kings tonight. Here, let me help you with that.” Rowan hoisted the carcass from her back.

  At eighteen, Rowan was the best friend Honor had. From the time his parents had taken her in, he had been kind and attentive to Honor. As children, they played together by the creek that wrapped itself around three fourths of their encampment. They got into trouble when they made a mess of the things one of the women, Saige, kept to make herself “pretty.” They played pranks on the oldest man in their group and spent hours pretending to hunt like his father. When the time came for them to learn a trade, their roles strayed from tradition. While Gray was teaching Honor to hunt, Rowan was learning the art of keeping their family fed as an apprentice to their resident chef, his mother, Maris.

  “Thank you, Rowan. This was not exactly what I’d had in mind when I went out this morning.”

  “Or what? You would have brought a big strapping man with you to carry your spoils?” Rowan chuckled at his
own joke.

  He stood nearly a foot taller than Honor. His dark hair the color of freshly tilled dirt framing his face in a haphazard mess. Deep brown eyes sat on either side of a long, narrow nose. Honor laughed with him as he deposited the canthion carcass on the butcher table outside Maris’ tent, then she set the bag filled with mushrooms next to the animal.

  Honor took a moment to examine the canthion. The fur appeared slick, but she knew it was coarse to the touch. At first glance, one would almost think it was an oversized house cat. But Honor knew the truth behind the disguise. Its padded paws hid retractable claws for climbing and slicing flesh to ribbons. Countless unsuspecting travelers had lost their lives to canthion attacks. Most hunters steered clear of canthion hunting grounds, but Gray had taught Honor to watch, listen, and act—not to be afraid.

  “Are you ready for tonight?” Rowan touched her shoulder, gently turning her to face him.

  Honor had been preparing for her official initiation into adulthood for years. But the idea of the mark that would be permanently engraved on the skin covering her ribs still sent shivers down her spine.

  At their coming of age ceremony, every citizen of Alderwood was left in the care of a practitioner to receive a mark on their side. The practitioner was guided by the wild magic of Alderwood while under the influence of an herbal tea. Honor knew the celebration with her family would be cut short as she had to journey to the nearest village to be given the mark that would predict her destiny.

  Everything about it was shrouded in mystery; Honor had only seen the marks of two other people in her life, and both were dead. Everyone who took their destiny seriously kept their mark hidden until they achieved their purpose. Once a destiny was fulfilled, the black outlined ink would fill in with color. There had never been any proof that showing your mark altered your destiny, but no one wanted to take the chance that their future would change.

  Honor considered her answer carefully. Of course she was nervous, but she was also excited to finally learn what her destiny would be. “I am ready. But tell me the truth, does it hurt?”