Apostate: Forbidden Things

by Nikki Mccormack

  She left her body behind, abandoning it to its suffering, and soared above the desert, the fear in her chest giving way to excitement as the landscape sped by beneath her. The northernmost Murak village vanished behind her and the first Lyran town appeared, the dead rotting in the silence the Grey Army left behind. She was high enough up that she could almost believe those myriad lumps on the ground were something other than bodies. As she moved swiftly north, the changing landscape blurred some below her. There was enough time to notice that every town along the main roadway was silent like the first, but not to absorb the grisly details of each massacre.

  The one passing beneath her now had burned and some buildings still smoldered. She knew the Grey Army had suffered their first losses here, though how she knew that, she wasn’t sure, given that the bodies all looked the same from her vantage.

  Still heading north, she caught up with the Grey Army. Thousands strong and all mounted on sturdy, compact horses. Every man carried a bladed spear and was protected by a barrier of ascard. She knew that only because she had encountered them before and had investigated the barrier then. She couldn’t sense the power now, perhaps because she wasn’t there in the flesh, but she didn’t doubt it was still there.

  The Grey Army was traveling slower now, creeping north toward the capital city of Lyra. Dropping in closer, she spotted the man that led them in the midst of his army. Stocky and thickly muscled with dark eyes and wild dark hair, he exuded the power and confidence of a great leader. A leader unfamiliar with defeat. His nose was wide and flat and his skin, like that of all his men, had a slight Greyish tone. He glanced up as he rode along, as if he somehow knew she was watching them and she backed away, rising up higher.

  Where were Yiloch, Ian and Cadmar? They should be on the trail of the Grey Army. Might she have missed them in the trees? The Grey Army was traveling at a deliberate pace now, conserving strength. It was possible that Yiloch and the others had overtaken them by now if they kept an aggressive pace, in which case they would be trying to make their way around the army without being seen. If not, they should be somewhere close behind.

  She turned and began to retrace her path, sinking down to scan along the roadway for them. Someone was calling to her now. She tried to ignore the summons—she hadn’t found what she was looking for yet—but it pulled at her, demanding her attention. It was dragging her back toward Kudan. She tried to fight it, resisting the pull. She had to find Yiloch, had to know he and the others were still alive. What if they had caught up with the army? What if the army had spotted them and they were already dead?

  •

  She woke with a choking gasp, as though sucking in the first breath after almost drowning, then turned on her side and vomited. Purged of the vile substance, she rested there for a few minutes, shaking. Turning inward, she took inventory of the state of her ascard connection. A thrill of excitement and fear charged through her and an ironic smile twisted her lips.

  This time, she had paid careful attention to the strength of her connection before swallowing the rank, viscous fluid. Now, as she focused her ability in on the connection to her inner aspect, she was certain it was stronger. It wasn’t a significant increase, but enough of one for her to notice.

  What else might the drug be doing to her?

  Excitement faded and she turned her attention away from her connection, remembering her experience with a flash of annoyance at the abrupt end. The high priest still sat where he’d been when she started, cross-legged on a rug nearby, now watching her thoughtfully. The elaborate tattoos took on an illusion of movement in the fading light of evening, writhing about his arms and torso, climbing his neck to his face, and causing her upset stomach to turn alarmingly. Using a touch of ascard to ease the nausea, she sat up and faced him.

  “You said I should take this walk alone.” The words came out more snappish than she intended and he narrowed his eyes at her. She swallowed her irritation and forced a more respectful tone. “Why did you pull me out?”

  “One should never overstay their welcome among the gods.”

  “I hadn’t found what I was looking for yet,” she objected, aware that she sounded much like a spoiled child.

  “Sucar is poison,” he replied, patient, but firm. “It is given only to those deemed strong enough to be chosen by the gods. Among those few, many still die their first time. If your system isn’t allowed to purge what it can’t yet handle, it could still kill you. You should not stay away too long or you might never come back.”

  She stared at him, letting his words sink in, forcing her to acknowledge the unpleasant truth. A chill swept through her, bringing goose flesh to her arms. “That’s what happened to the dead man in Suac Therah’s hut.”

  Chozai nodded.

  She thought back on the day he had first given her the sucar that the priests of the Ithik Ani consumed to initiate a walk with their gods. Anger flickered to life, starting as little more than a spark and flaring until it blazed through her, poisonous in its own right. “You could have killed me that first time.”

  Suac Chozai held her gaze, unmoved by the accusation. “It was the only way I could know if you spoke the truth.”

  “But you didn’t expect me to survive it.” This wasn’t accusation. It was fact. She could see that much in his eyes.

  “You would live if the gods wanted you to. If not,” he shrugged, “it would have simplified things.” Reaching out, he placed a finger against her jaw and turned her face so that her cheek was to him. “This was your third walk with the gods. You should have an identity so they will know you the next time you come to them.”

  She drew back from his touch. Undeterred, he repeated the gesture, this time moving his finger to trace a pattern along her cheekbone. With a growing sense of alarm and something else, something a lot like pride, she realized he was suggesting a tattoo. All of the Kudaness had the symbol of their tribe and their role within it tattooed on their face. The suacs, the high priests, also had tattoos over most of their body along with the uncut, long black hair done into small braids weighted with beads.

  “I’m Caithin. I’m not even of your people,” she objected, moving back away from his hand again. She wasn’t ready to let him distract her from her anger with him yet. “How could you treat my life so superfluously?”

  He lowered his arm and smiled so that his sharpened teeth showed. “If the gods had not shown you favor, your life would mean nothing to me even now. However, it seems that, even though your flesh is Caithin and you are an adept, the gods have chosen to embrace you. You are of the Kudan in spirit. I would not have known this if we had not walked with the gods together.”

  She met his dark copper eyes, his steady solemn regard telling her that he believed his words. Caithin would regard her as a traitor. She was an exile with no home. If she went back now, they would certainly arrest her and perhaps even put her to death. The man she loved had turned her away and not without good reason. Regardless of her intentions, she had betrayed his trust, inadvertently caused the death of one of his closest companions, and left him stranded in Kudan while an army invaded his empire. He would probably never accept her back into his heart after all of that. Maybe it was time to let her past go and create a new life. She had never envisioned herself living in the desert, but at least here, the tribe’s high priest was inviting her to embrace a new identity as one of them. With his acceptance, others would accept her in time.

  “Perhaps you’re right. I am no one now.”

  Suac Chozai nodded and rose, long, muscular limbs unfolding smoothly. “Wait here, Indigo un Ani.”

  She watched him leave, something frightening and wonderful blooming in her chest. Indigo un Ani, he had called her. The Ithik Ani were the Kudaness priests. Suac was the title granted to the highest of that order, but un Ani was an honorific appended to the names of lesser priests. To the best of her knowledge, there were no priestesses and almost certainly no foreigners among their ranks. The identity he offered her was o
ne of great respect and honor.

  A woman entered the hut and collected the rug on which she had thrown up the sucar. A few minutes later, Chozai returned flanked by a muscular man carrying an assortment of tools for tattooing. A young woman also entered, her purpose unclear until she settled on Indigo’s left and dumped a selection of beads on the rug next to her. The man with the tools sat on her right. Chozai stood behind him and reached down, tucking her hair behind her ear. He traced a pattern with one finger and discussed it with the man in Kudaness. She caught a tiny fraction of what they said. She was picking up some more common words, though it would be a long while before she didn’t have to rely on the Lyran trade dialect for communication.

  How long had it been since she had spoken her own tongue? That question brought a flood of memories to mind that she did not want to consider now. There hadn’t been a need to speak Caithin since she boarded Captain Murchadh’s boat the night she fled Demin after freeing Yiloch and Ferin, killing Jayce, and attempting to do the same to Myac with less success.

  She swallowed around a knot in her throat. “When will the tribes be gathered?”

  “Soon. Do not speak while they work,” Chozai snapped as he sat cross-legged in front of her.

  She forced herself to be still, trying not to let her thoughts become caught up with the permanence of the choice she was making. The quick, sharp stabs of pain as the tattooist began his work were unpleasant in a way, but they also brought a heightened sense of clarity after the dizzying effects of the sucar. She met Suac Chozai’s gaze and held it, refusing the temptation to use ascard to mitigate the pain. He would notice the lack of reaction and respect her less for it. On her left, the woman began to work some of her thick, dark hair into a delicate braid.

  Chozai watched in silence for a time, perhaps ensuring that the work was done to his satisfaction. Eventually, he responded to her question.

  “The southernmost tribes, Denilik and Chusin, will head north. As they cross the lands of the tribes to their north, those tribes will join them. This process will continue until all have arrived here, at the northernmost Murak village. This is the most efficient way.”

  She started to nod her agreement then caught herself. It was best not to move while someone was pounding ink into her cheek with a sharp implement.

  Chozai continued. “When all the tribes have gathered, the Dursik un Kar will move into Lyra. This is as you wished it, Indigo un Ani, is it not?”

  His teasing smirk told her he was baiting her to see if she would forget and move. She held still and marveled that this powerful man, religious leader to a people who considered use of ascard to be sacrilege, had already become so at ease with her. When she first arrived here, he’d been hostile, not only due to her race, but also because he hadn’t foreseen her coming as he had that of her companions. It was a tense encounter, very different from the relative comfort that was developing between them now, after such a short time together. Since the first time she walked with the gods with him, he accepted her, even brought her under his protection, because he believed the gods accepted her.

  She waited, wincing as the tattooist began to work over her cheekbone. When he paused to wipe away the blood, she took advantage of the moment.

  “It is as I wished,” she confirmed, hoping her words might prompt him to say more.

  Chozai nodded, his gaze turning inward. “Yes. But why do you wish it? The Blood Prince has rejected you.” She struggled not to frown at his use of Yiloch’s old derogatory title, not daring to speak in his defense now that the tattooist was working again. “Why do you risk yourself for him even now after he has turned you away? Perhaps it has something to do with this thing you call love. This thing you told me I know nothing of.”

  She flushed, embarrassed to be reminded of the hateful words she had once spat at him. Chozai smirked and shook his head, dismissing her shame.

  “Your words were not wrong, not in regards to the type of love you spoke of then. I love my people. I loved my parents. I love being alive. I love the gods that guide, protect, and challenge us. None of these things is the same as the love you have for Emperor Yiloch. Or the love he has for you.”

  She placed her fingertips on the tattooist’s arm, stopping his work with a light touch. “You told me that he hates me now, did you not, or were you only being spiteful when you said that?”

  “Part of him did hate you. Part of him will never stop loving you. It is because of the strength of that love that your betrayal ignited an equally passionate hatred. He does not hate you now.”

  She lowered her hand, allowing the tattooist to continue. There were many things she wanted to ask, not the least of which was how he could possibly know how Yiloch felt toward her now. His power of prophecy had been proven more than once, but it was unlikely that he would spend his time among the gods trying to divine the Lyran emperor’s feelings for her. There was too much emotion wrapped up in the subject though, so she opted for settling into the silence forced by the tattooist’s work.

  Chozai continued to watch in silence, only offering the occasional word of advice to the two who were building her Kudaness identity. His critical observation, noting every flinch or twitch of a finger in response to the pain, didn’t bother her as it once would have. After all she had been through and done to get to this point, the judgment of others wasn’t something she was willing to waste energy on. She had killed men in war to save Yiloch. She had killed her ex fiancé in an act of hatred and fear. She could try to convince herself that was self-defense, but it didn’t matter in the end. No justifications would make him any less dead. As far as her king and country knew, she had freed the man who ordered the assassinations of King Jerrin and his family. She knew Yiloch wasn’t guilty of the crimes, but they didn’t, and she could do little to prove that from here. Now she had put into action her plan to see the Kudaness army come to Lyra’s aide against the Grey Army that was marching on the capital. With all of that already resting on her shoulders, Chozai’s scrutiny didn’t have the power to unsettle her.

  The woman finished three beaded braids in her hair and left the hut. A short time later, the tattooist finished his work and left the hut as well. Chozai considered her for a long moment, taking her chin and turning her face first to the left so he could look at the tattoo, then to the right so he could see the braids. After a few minutes of this contemplation, his expression unreadable, he nodded.

  “You are now a priest of the Ithik Ani.”

  Her cheek throbbed, the lines of the tattoo stinging, needling her with an acute awareness of the choice she had made. “Don’t you mean priestess?”

  He shook his head. “There are no Kudaness priestesses.”

  She stared at him, confused.

  “It is good,” he continued, ignoring her expression. “Now everyone will know who you are.” His tone suggested a depth of knowing that went well beyond that of simply knowing someone’s name.

  “Yes, everyone except me.” She recognized her words as a shameless grab for guidance even as she spoke them.

  Chozai chuckled and smiled at her with reserved fondness, the expression looked out of place on his strong, tattoo-covered features. “With that I cannot help you. You must figure that out for yourself.”

  The heat of embarrassment rose in her cheeks and she lowered her gaze. Oh, to have the nearly black complexion of the Kudaness, at least then her embarrassment wouldn’t be obvious at all.

  “Yes. I realize that.”

  “I know you do,” he replied. “Keep the tattoo protected from the sun until it heals,” he instructed.

  She nodded understanding as he turned and left the hut. Running her fingers absently over the soft textures of the woven carpet on which she sat, she contemplated healing the tattoo with ascard. Such a simple act, using the very skill she had trained for so long to develop, would lose her considerable ground with Suac Chozai. Something that was such an integral part of her would always be blasphemy to the Kudaness. No matter what
her new identity declared her to be, she would never truly be one of them. Still, she had gained far too much ground with the suac to destroy it in a moment of indulgence.

  Donning a hooded wrap, she left the hut and walked to the edge of the village, her soft shoes sinking a touch in the rocky sand. Continuing out away from the huts, she stopped next to a large bush, gently touching the tip of a thorn with one fingertip. All the plants here had thorns. Many of the creatures were prickly too, the Kudaness people included.

  Watching the ground for snakes and scorpions, she continued walking until she could no longer hear the sounds of the village. Then she stopped and closed her eyes, feeling the heat of the sun blazing down, the lingering pain of the fresh tattoo, and the contours of rocks mixed into the sand under her feet. She stood there for several minutes feeling the desert and listening to the sounds of birds and other creatures that lived there. When she opened her eyes, a wild dog stood no more than ten feet away, watching her. The animal was still in the way only a wild animal could be. She yearned for that stillness, staring into the wild dog’s eyes with a longing to understand its nature. The animal held her gaze for a long, breathless moment, neither hostile nor friendly. Then it turned and trotted away from her.

  Realizing she had been holding her breath, she let it go and inhaled the warm evening air. The sun was touching the horizon. It was time to go back to the village. No one wandered the desert after dark given a choice. There were far too many dangers lurking in the sand, scorpions and other such poisonous creatures, that might be missed in the dark. The voices of wild dogs sang her along her way and she smiled to herself. They were predators of the desert, but so was she now. In that sense, they were kin.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The sitting room was empty. Lush gold chairs accented with maroon detail waited in quiet repose. Caplin walked to the far corner of the room and slumped into one with a distinct lack of grace. Somehow, he managed not to spill his wine in the process. One elbow came to rest on the arm of the chair and he pressed the wine glass against his forehead, closing his eyes.