The Complete Marked Series Box Set

by March McCarron

  They stopped briefly to chew on jerky and dried fruit, and to take long drinks of water. Yarrow left for a few minutes to once again refill their canteens, and his absence pressed on her like a physical thing. To be wholly alone in such a wide and alien place was unnerving, even for only short minutes. She couldn’t help but imagine that something might prevent him from returning. That she might die out here, shrivel from thirst and leave behind nothing but bleached bones in the sand.

  It was a needless speculation, however. Yarrow returned with a relieving pop, and she savored the cool feeling of the water through the skin of her canteen.

  “When we’ve seen this through,” she began, leaning back onto her elbows. “Where should we go next?”

  “You want to go to Accord, still?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Our friends are all there. Or they were, at least.”

  “You worry for your friend Peer.”

  She couldn’t tell if he said this as a statement or a question. He had made no reference to using his first gift since he’d rediscovered it. There were not many differences between this man and the Yarrow she’d known, but that seemed to be the greatest. He had looked downright horrified at having her emotions in his mind—an experience that had never once bothered him before.

  “Yes, well…” she began. “Peer’s had a rough go of it lately. I hate to think of him hurting, and on his own. He’s not the type to share his pain.”

  “And you are?”

  Bray laughed. “No. We’ve that in common.” She screwed on the cap to her canteen. “Shall we?”

  Yarrow hopped to his feet with a degree of energy Bray could not replicate.

  They trekked south, and the dunes flattened. In the distance, she could see the shadow of something protruding from the sand. Yarrow hastened his step, and Bray wearily matched his pace.

  The slight warmth of predawn had bloomed by the time they arrived at their goal. It was a stone archway—an ancient-looking thing. The symbols carved into the stone had been eroded by the years, so that only the barest of impressions remained. It looked vaguely familiar, giving Bray a nagging sense of déjà vu. She lowered her shawl and gazed up at the stone. There came a mounting realization that she stood before something momentous. Something which perhaps should not be disturbed.

  Yarrow ambled close to the stone and ran a finger along the archway, studying it with intent eyes.

  “Do you know these symbols?” he asked.

  “No,” she said. “But they look…” Familiar.

  Yarrow crossed through the archway and Bray hesitated, but only for a moment. Strong sense of foreboding or no, she would remain by his side.

  They walked into the center of a ring of ancient stone slabs protruding from the sand. At the midpoint, a timeworn stairway led up to nothing at all, to empty air. The entire circle warmed with the rosy glow of new daybreak.

  “Yarrow,” Bray said. “I’ve got the strangest feeling…”

  “Me as well.” His eyes gleamed. “It’s almost like a memory.”

  “Well,” she said, and she stepped up onto the first step of that peculiar, pointless stair. Though reason told her there was no cause to climb a stairway that led nowhere, a deeper urging suggested otherwise. Yarrow’s gloved hand slipped into her own and they ascended together, one step at a time. Each felt difficult, somehow. As if gravity were mounting, as if something did not want them to go on. By the time they reached the topmost perch, she was streaming sweat and her lungs strained to pull in air. The sun had appeared brightly on the horizon.

  “I think…” she began, wondering if she would sound as insane aloud as she did within her own mind. “I think we’re meant to go on.”

  There would be nothing but a drop, a long plunge into sand—not fatal, perhaps, but certainly injurious. And yet she believed they would not fall.

  “Count of three?” Yarrow suggested.

  Bray squeezed his gloved hand, acquiescent but still uneasy.

  “One,” he said.

  “Two,” they said together.

  “Three—”

  Peer reclined in his office chair and rolled his shoulders until he heard a satisfying crack. He looked to the window. The bell was ringing again, a distant mournful tolling that drifted to him from the nearby palace. It still seemed impossible that the king was truly dead. Peer might forget entirely, if it were not for that blighted bell punctuating his day every hour with its melancholy reminder.

  He rubbed his hands over his face, and made himself once again lean forward and focus on the patrol schedule. He flipped over a note from the Cosanta woman in charge of palace security and read the short message again, mouth drawn thin:

  Mr. Gelson,

  I trust that recent events have proven, even to you, the need for an increased Chisanta presence at the palace. I need not mention that my several previous written requests for more patrols were ignored. Let us not linger on troubling what-ifs, and look to protect the one remaining Bellra, before an ascension struggle is added to our troubles.

  Britt

  Peer rubbed his forehead with his palm, and wished that horrible bell would cease its clanging. He set the note aside with a sigh. King Jo-Kwan himself had insisted that Peer focus more attention on protecting the citizens of Accord than the palace. They were stretched too thin; and besides, it seemed no matter where he placed his pieces on the board, Quade found an opening.

  Peer had grown so accustomed to the sharp pop of teleportation that he didn’t so much as blink when the sound exploded at his back. He spun in his chair and found Su-Hwan releasing the hand of Tae-Young, a slim, friendly-looking young man.

  “There is another,” Su-Hwan said. Within her mask-like face, her dark eyes were agleam. “Come and see.”

  Peer had never been more grateful for good news, and required no further prompting. He tossed his pen to the desk with a slight spatter of ink and stood.

  “Is this six?” he asked.

  “Yes. Six.”

  The young Chaskuan man held out a hand and Peer accepted it. The office disappeared like a picture being pulled inside out, and for a horrible moment he was smothered in darkness. Then, just as suddenly, they were standing out on the bright and breezy green.

  The Chisanta were assembled on the lawn. They formed a tight circle of bodies, and Peer began shouldering his way into the throng.

  “Budge up, it’s Gelson,” someone called, and a space was made for him.

  Peer pushed to the front of the circle, at last able to see the two fighters at the center. He nearly guffawed when he spotted which Chiona it was—Malc, the big bald idiot who had been causing him the most headache. The Cosanta, too, was familiar—the curly-haired Elevated who was named Wynn, but often called ‘the Amplifier.’

  Peer had seen it before, and yet it was still a remarkable thing to behold: two people fighting as if they were one, unified whole.

  A group of ten Chisanta, mixed Chiona and Cosanta, took it in turns to attack the couple. Despite such unequal numbers, Malc and his Cosanta partner managed with seeming ease. They appeared to have more than their fair share of arms and legs between them.

  A large Chiona bloke—even bigger than Malc—sprung forward, and Wynn swept him off balance. He tumbled directly into Malc’s elbow. A lithe Cosanta woman spun in a movement reminiscent of the Ada Chae, and Malc kicked as Wynn simultaneously extended a leg to trip their opponent.

  Ander Penton rang a small bell—a much higher and more cheerful sound than the other bell that had been haunting them all day—and everyone came to a heaving halt. “Very impressive,” he called out.

  Applause took up across the crowd, but Malc and Wynn appeared incognizant of everyone around them. Peer had never seen the Chiona man’s eyes so gentle before. These two were gazing at each other with an intimacy that made Peer feel rather embarrassed. He looked away, but his mind had begun to spin.

  Six could be no coincidence. In fact, by the second pair, Peer had been certain. He had no name for
this phenomenon, but clearly within their ranks there existed matched sets—Chiona and Cosanta pairs who were inexplicably connected. There was something spiritly about it, something old and right.

  Su-Hwan, who had just managed to join him in the inner circle, tapped his arm. “They want to begin larger tests, to see if there are more pairs among us.”

  “Brilliant,” Peer said, having no notion how to organize such a list. He suspected this project would require some complex arithmetic. “Would you mind heading that up?”

  The ghost of a smile danced at the corner of her lips. “I would be happy to. It is exciting, isn’t it?”

  Peer caught sight of Whythe over Su-Hwan’s shoulder. He rubbed the back of his neck and fixed his eyes on her face. “Sure is.”

  “It’s as if we always had this larger purpose and simply did not know. Like a boot that’s just discovered the existence of feet.”

  Peer laughed. “Not a left boot that’s found a right?”

  She seemed to ponder this a moment. “Perhaps that is the better analogy, yes.”

  He was still laughing when he felt a hand slap him on the back, knocking the air from his lungs. “Heya, Gelson.”

  Peer was not certain when they had all taken to using his family name. Odd, that.

  “Malc,” he greeted. He extended a hand and they shook arms. “I take it you’d like to put in for a permanent partnership for street patrol duty?”

  “I would,” he said with a grin. He didn’t appear apologetic about how difficult he’d been in the past. Then again, Peer hadn’t expected him to be.

  “I’ll write you in, then. What’s her last name?”

  “Bridgington. Wynn Bridgington,” he said with a peculiar reverence. He glanced over his shoulder to where she was speaking with Ander. Her auburn hair was in disarray, her heart-shaped face flushed. “She’s really something, isn’t she?”

  Peer smiled, which was more answer than Malc was actually looking for. “I trust you’ll stop startin’ fist fights with every Cosanta who looks at you wrong?”

  Malc grimaced. “Might be tough to keep that up, with her by my side.” He winked and turned his back.

  “Wait,” Su-Hwan called. The Chiona wheeled back around. “This connection, could you feel it only when you fought together on the same side?”

  He ran a hand along his bald head. “Well, I started to feel it when we were practicing those Cosanta forms together.” Peer’s mouth quirked in smug accusation, and Malc bobbed his head in acknowledgment. “But really, first time she touched me. It was like…well, I don’t know how to describe it. Like home, I guess.”

  “I think I know how it should be done,” Su-Hwan said to Peer, as if there had been no interruption in their previous conversation. “We’ll form two circles—inner circle all Cosanta, outer circle Chiona—and have a sparring rotation. If someone finds their match, they’ll just step out.”

  Peer frowned up at the overcast sky and nodded. “A sound plan. Why sparring?”

  “It requires close contact and is less awkward than dancing.”

  “Doubt we have enough wasters…”

  “I thought grappling would be more effective anyway.”

  Those standing within earshot offered their agreement. Peer gazed at these faces, which were now so good-humored and open. It amazed him to what extent attitudes could change in such a short span of time.

  “When can we start?” asked an Elevated called Mick. “Now? Can we start now?”

  Peer shrugged. “Don’t see why not, as long as people on-duty keep doing their rounds.”

  He turned back to Su-Hwan. “You can lead this up. I’ll go finish next week’s schedule.”

  He had half-turned away when she called out his name.

  “Mm?”

  “You are not interested to see if you have a partner here?” She cocked her head to the side, owl-like. “Why?”

  Peer opened his mouth to answer, then shut it when no words came. His brow creased. The idea that he had some manner of spirit-mate, a person who was not Adearre, sat like a lie in his mind.

  But Adearre had never been for him. And Adearre was gone.

  “I…”

  “Stay, and I will help you catch up on your work later this evening.”

  Well,” he began with a sigh. “Why not, I suppose…”

  She bobbed her head, pleased. “Good. Can you get their attention?”

  “Why, can’t you?”

  “Your voice carries better than mine.”

  Peer shrugged and clapped his hands several times. The people near at hand were already giving him their attention, waiting for further instruction. There was a peculiar energy in this crowd—a kind of nervous excitement, with many shy glances between people who had, mere weeks ago, despised each other. But after Malc and Wynn, and the five couples who had preceded them, it was little wonder.

  “We’ll be conducting round-robin tests,” he shouted, “for all who’d like to participate. We need a wide circle, so spread on out. Two pairs facin’ each other, Chiona on the outside, Cosanta on the inside.”

  The arranging of this took more time and effort than it should have, in his opinion. How hard is it to stand in a bleeding circle?

  Peer, Su-Hwan, and Ander moved around the expansive ring, widening and shrinking gaps here and there to make the spacing even. They used most of the green—the square block of lawn that lay between the ivy-bearded lecture halls of the main campus.

  When all was arranged, Su-Hwan and Peer took up places across from each other. She beamed at him—actually beamed. It was such an unexpected show of emotion that he could not help but grin back.

  They had fought together in the past and felt no other-worldly connection. It would not be her, he knew. But a little friendly grappling never hurt.

  Ander handed the bell and a watch to one of the university custodians and spoke with him briefly, before taking up his place in the circle. A moment later, the bell rang.

  Peer and Su-Hwan bowed to each other, and then Peer prowled forward. The ground beneath his boots squelched, muddy from melted snow.

  Peer reached out to grab Su-Hwan, but she danced to the side, then shot to the ground with unexpected speed. In an instant she was under him with her two legs twined around one of his own like a serpent. He laughed, feeling hopelessly off balance. Her eyes twinkled up at him, and then she lifted her hips and he toppled backwards, his back splatting into the mud. She was on him in a moment, her sharp knees pressed into his torso as she balanced on top of him. She tapped her fist to his cheek, demonstrating the strike she would deal in a real fight. Peer rolled, and she lost her balance and flopped backwards. While she was still dazed, he flipped around and pinned her to the mud beneath the weight of a single arm.

  She remained pinned for some time, pushing futilely against his shoulder and arm. He made a show of yawning.

  “Ogre,” she said in her flat voice, and he chuckled. Then she thrust her hips away, swung a leg up and around, and took firm control of his arm.

  The bell rang and he grinned at his salvation. “Excellent timing.”

  She shook her head at him and he helped her up. The side of her face was caked with mud. “Tell the Chiona to rotate clockwise,” she said.

  “Clockwise, people,” he boomed.

  He slid to his left, and Su-Hwan remained in her place.

  Peer caught the sound of Whythe’s voice nearby and turned. “Careful, mate,” he was saying to the Cosanta beside him. “Elda cheats. She’s going to freeze you.”

  Elda grinned. “Right, and you fight fair, Whythe. Ha!”

  Peer was taken aback—he had not realized how near they were. Now he saw that Whythe was only two people away on the Cosanta side, and would therefore be his third opponent. He felt his whole self tighten in anticipation.

  Peer bowed to his second partner, an Adourran woman with an elfin face. She looked terribly serene for a person smeared in muck.

  The bell jangled, and Peer lowered his weigh
t into his knees. He tried to root himself, as Yarrow had once taught him, but wasn’t certain he had managed it. The woman waited for him to strike, so he thought he might as well oblige.

  He shot for her legs, but she was too quick. She sprawled, her feet shooting out of his grasp, her chest coming down hard on his upper back. He broke her grip and slipped out from under her, sliding onto his knees. They fought in such a way as to be at a total impasse. Every move was countered precisely. An excellent bit of exercise, but nothing remarkable.

  By the time the bell rang, Peer knew he must be downright coated in mud. But he was also having a rather nice afternoon, if he was being honest with himself. Or he had been—now, nervousness stole over him.

  He was reluctant to move to the next place in the wheel, reluctant to look up and meet Whythe’s eye. Reluctant, for fear that his eagerness might show. And afraid that he was setting himself up for disappointment.

  “Hey, Peer,” Whythe said.

  “You sure you should be doing this? Aren’t you injured?”

  “It’s well-bandaged. I’ve been going one-handed. Just go light on me, hey?”

  He had somehow managed to not dirty himself yet. His blond hair was mud-free.

  Peer grabbed hold of his own belt with his right hand. “Fair’s fair. One hand.”

  Whythe smiled at him, so he looked elsewhere. He wondered why the bell was taking so long to ring.

  “Peer, I—”

  The bell chimed, and Whythe shrugged away whatever he had meant to say. He bowed, and Peer matched him.

  It seemed to Peer as if time had suddenly slowed. He felt shivery, a bit queasy. Anxious, or possibly exhilarated; it was difficult to tell.

  Whythe tried to step around him, but Peer turned in. They began to struggle for grips, awkwardly in their one-handed conditions. Peer managed to snake his arm under Whythe’s armpit and secured a handhold on the man’s shoulder. He swiped his foot out, sweeping his partner’s boots up off the ground. Peer wanted to make the fall a light one, not wishing to jostle his injury, so he lowered Whythe down rather than dropping him.