Soulmarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 3)

by David Estes

  Fox said, “May the gods—”

  “Save it,” Falcon said. “This is the work of men, not gods.”

  Fox said, “It didn’t have to be this way, brother.”

  “I am no longer your brother. May you die quickly and with great pain.” Falcon was surprised at his own words, at the intensity of the heat rising within him. It was borne of a realization of how foolish he’d been his entire life, how much time he’d wasted on pretending to be someone he wasn’t. His brothers had always fit the mold, while he didn’t seem to be meant for a mold at all.

  Fox forced out a laugh, but he could see the fear in his youngest brother’s eyes. Almost certainly it was Fang who’d bullied him into this—as children, he was always the one coming up with schemes. And Fox always went along with them, trying to impress his older brothers. I’m as much to blame as anyone, Falcon thought. Instead of being a good example to Fox, he’d become his father in miniature, at least when anyone was watching.

  Now, abruptly, the intense anger he felt just a moment ago, evaporated completely, leaving him melancholy. And, he realized, despite everything:

  He didn’t want to kill them.

  Not even Fang, who’d forced them both into this situation. Even if it meant Phanes was doomed to repeat the same cycle again and again. He would fight, but not to the death.

  As the officiant raised his arm to signal the beginning of the bout, Falcon began unstrapping his weapons.

  Jai Jiroux

  “What the Void is he doing?” Jai said, watching as each blade dropped to the ground. The officiant seemed to be in shock, too, his arm still raised. He seemed uncertain as to whether to start the fight, what with the emperor having discarded his weapons like rusty butter knives.

  Shanti said, “I told you he’s different.” She didn’t look pleased, only thoughtful.

  She had told him, and Jai had believed her, but this wasn’t just different—it was suicide.

  “Begin!” Fang shouted at the officiant. “If my brother chooses to make this more challenging, so be it. We all make our choices.”

  Fox looked less convinced, eyeing his own blades, as if considering whether he should follow his eldest brother’s lead. In the end, he tightened them instead.

  Jai felt his justicemark give a faint pulse, the first since he’d arrived. He had a role to play on this day, and it was fast approaching.

  The officiant, sweating profusely in the canyon heat, closed his eyes and dropped his hand.

  Fang didn’t waste any time, springing off his hands and launching himself through the air, his body twisting all the way around twice, his bladed feet slashing the air to ribbons.

  Falcon sprang forward, performing a perfect somersault beneath the flipping Fang, catapulting out of it into a kick that caught Fox in the throat before he could defend himself. Gagging, the youngest brother stumbled back, clutching his neck with one hand while sweeping a rounded kick before him to keep Falcon at bay.

  By then, Fang had landed, turned, and cartwheeled back toward his brothers. He lashed out with both wrist blades in short succession, a series of deft swipes that would’ve given most martial artists more than they could handle. But Falcon truly was a master of phen ru, dodging each blow by ducking, sliding, and, once, blocking his brother’s wrist with his own hand, while avoiding being sliced open. He twisted Fang’s arm back, and the middle brother cried out in pain. Falcon followed it up with a powerful knee to his abdomen.

  Unfortunately, Fox had regained his breath and was charging in from behind. At the last moment, the emperor seemed to sense it, dropping flat to the ground and kicking both legs upward to propel his brother into the air.

  Fox, however, managed to control his body in midair, landing on his feet. He kicked toward Falcon’s head, but he rolled over, once more regaining his feet.

  There was a lull in the action, as each caught their breath, circling like vulzures. Something about Fang’s and Fox’s nearness made it obvious they were in league, at least until their older brother was dead.

  Jai scanned the sea of slaves, watching their faces for any signs of emotion. Any evidence that they cared what happened in the ring. Instead, all he saw were blank faces, devoid of expression. His heart broke for them, for they had never been given the chance to live.

  His justicemark began to heat up.

  He caught Shanti’s eyes, and nodded at her once. The night before, he’d told her about his mark, about how it told him when someone was lying, how it gave him insights into the justices—and injustices—of the world around him, helping him see the truth where lines began to blur. She’d taken the news well, all things considered. He also told her about what else he thought it might help him do, a power he was only beginning to understand.

  The power of persuasion.

  He refocused on the match, where Fang and Fox were simultaneously flanking the emperor, each trying to distract him while the other attempted to infiltrate his defenses. Jai, with his training in the defense art of phen lu, could see a dozen opportunities for them to breach Falcon’s defenses, but they could only seem to focus on his fists and feet. Still, bit by bit, strike by strike, they wore him down, until he was breathing heavily as he retreated across the circle.

  “Tighten the net!” the officiant commanded, after a set amount of time had passed with no one dead or wounded.

  Without question, the slave soldiers began to march forward, until the large ring was cut in half. Falcon was forced to sprint full speed around its edge to avoid being trapped by his brothers.

  “He can’t win this,” Shanti said. “Especially without weapons.”

  As if in response to the truth of her words, Fang performed a front flip, unfastening one of his blades from his wrist in midair, and throwing it as he landed. Having not expected the unorthodox maneuver, Falcon was only able to save himself by twisting his body at the last moment, grunting as the blade entered his shoulder.

  Fang grinned. “We haven’t fought in a while, brother. I’ve learned a few new things.”

  Jai watched Fox closely during the exchange; could see the way his face twitched as he realized that once Falcon was dead, he would be next.

  Shanti leaned forward, as if considering joining the battle, the first ever slave woman to protect an emperor. “No,” Jai said. She looked at him, biting her lip. “Do you trust me? Do you believe what I told you last night?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I believe you believe what you said. But what if this doesn’t work?”

  “Then gods help us all,” Jai said.

  Back in the ring, Falcon had wrenched the blade from his shoulder, blood pouring down his arm. Like before, he tossed the weapon aside. Fang said, “You’re making this far too easy, brother.”

  “I shall try harder,” Falcon said between clenched teeth, clutching his shoulder and trying to stem the flow of blood.

  The officiant called, “Tighten the net!”

  Once more, the slaves marched in formation, cutting the size of the fighting area to a quarter of what it had been to begin with.

  Fang lashed out and Falcon dodged. Fang started a kick, but at the last moment twisted it to the side at Fox, catching him in the midsection, the blade sinking into his flesh. He hadn’t expected it at all, a final betrayal by a brother he’d seemed to look up to.

  A stunned look in his eyes, he dropped to his knees, blood spilling between his fingers. “Falcon?” he said, his words slurring, his eyes finding the emperor.

  “Yes, my brother,” Falcon said, sadness in his eyes. “I am here. Go meet the gods.”

  Fox Hoza collapsed as life left him.

  Jai’s mark sang; an enemy to justice had perished.

  Falcon Hoza

  Though Fox had become a miniature version of Fang, he still didn’t want him to die. Seeing his lifeless body lying in the dust made his chest squeeze his heart. What a waste, he thought. Why do we waste lives like so much rotten fruit? It was a question he knew there was no answer to.

/>   Determination poured through him, lending his body a jolt of strength. I will not kill Fang.

  With their brother dead on the ground, the battle continued, Fang charging at him, slashing his remaining wrist blade from side to side, intermittently launching a front kick to keep him guessing.

  Falcon did his best to dodge the blows, but his body felt weakened, by loss of blood perhaps. He performed a side flip to escape a killing slash, but wasn’t able to complete the rotation, landing awkwardly on his ankle.

  A moment later, pain roared through his shoulder and he felt a strange sensation pouring through his arm, chasing the agony away. A dull numbness set in. No, it was more than that. Paralysis.

  I can’t move my arm! he thought.

  Wait. The feeling was spreading through his chest, into his other arm, his legs. His entire body felt like it was made of rhubarb jam. He tried to stand, but his legs gave way and he collapsed.

  His mind felt clouded over, a thunderstorm brewing. Everything was spinning, his brother’s face appearing overhead, circling him. A grim smile of victory.

  A ray of light burst through the fog—a realization. The knife my brother threw. It was poisoned. Jade hemlock had been known to cause paralysis over a period of time, an effect that occurred faster during periods of strenuous activity. It wouldn’t kill him, but Fang didn’t need it to. Disabling him would allow Fang to finish Falcon off with ease.

  I am sorry I failed you, Shanti, Falcon thought. I am sorry I wasn’t the man you thought me to be. I am sorry about your mother, your father, your sister, your life. I wish…

  A blade flashed overhead, sparking as the light crested the cliffs, catching its edge. Fang, being overly dramatic as he finished off his wounded prey.

  Falcon closed his eyes.

  Jai Jiroux

  From the moment Fox Hoza had taken his last breath, Jai’s justicemark had been growing hotter and hotter on his heel, until smoke had begun to curl from his slave moccasins, a hole having burnt through the thin sole.

  It is time, Jai thought. He could feel the raw power filling him, making his heart pound. Not strength. Not magic of the conventional kind, but magic nonetheless, not altogether different than that the Slave Master, Vin Hoza, had wielded. The thought made Jai uncomfortable, but with the emperor lying prostrate on the ground, he had little time to contemplate the choice he was about to make.

  “You don’t have to save him,” Shanti said, her voice angry, tears brimming her eyelids. Though her words were filled with vengeance, Jai could see the truth behind the mask:

  She didn’t want Falcon Hoza to die—still believed he was more than the world thought him to be. Jai didn’t want to kill him either, not from the time he’d unstrapped his weapons and refused to kill his brothers.

  Fang sauntered over to the fallen emperor, the confidence of certain victory spreading across his face. He raised his blade with a flourish, knowing all eyes were on him, the man about to become the new emperor, the most powerful man in all of Phanes.

  Jai stood to his full height, a hunch-backed cripple no longer. In fact, he felt no pain at all, his festering injuries granting him a respite. At the penultimate moment, when Fang’s blade reached its apex and, inevitably, must come slicing down toward his brother’s heart, Jai raised his voice and spoke:

  “Soldiers!” he shouted, his voice thunderous, echoing through the canyons. He could feel the raw, unnatural power in each syllable, and all heads turned his way. Fang’s blade hung in midair, his eyes flicking to where Jai stood, narrowing in anger at the one who would interrupt his moment of glory. “Your generals have clouded your minds, forcing you to obey them by the threat of the whip,” Jai continued. He was aware of several men—guards from the palace—rushing his way to put an end to his outburst, but he ignored them. “But you are theirs no longer. No…” He shook his head, not reacting as one of the guards reached him, tried to grab him. He trusted Shanti, and she did not fail him, performing a maneuver graceful enough to be part of a dance, her leg lifting high, swooping over the guard’s head, and then crashing down on his spine. He collapsed in a heap.

  Jai could sense the minds of each and every slave soldier, more than ten thousand strong, waiting for him to speak the words, already anticipating it. His words were justice—perhaps not the kind he wanted the most, but that could come later. He had to believe that.

  “Now,” he said, “you are mine.”

  On the final word, there was a thunderclap, though the sky was clear. The earth shook, and rocks tumbled from the canyon walls. Several large stones crashed into the helms of the generals, knocking them senseless, perhaps even killing them.

  The soldiers raised their fists to their chests. In one voice, they boomed, “What is your command?”

  Jai said, “Save the emperor.”

  Falcon Hoza

  Falcon’s eyes fluttered open when he heard the voice. Something was happening, though it was difficult to determine what. All he knew was that, inexplicably, he wasn’t dead—at least not yet.

  Above him, that sparkling scythe hung, like the green moon god in early spring. Not falling, but threatening. His brother’s attention was drawn elsewhere, most likely to the powerful voice echoing through the canyons.

  Frantically, Fang’s eyes shot downward, meeting Falcon’s in a shattered instant. He saw the uncertainty, the remorse, the fear, and then, the decision.

  I don’t want to die, Falcon thought, pushing any energy he had left against the paralyzing poison flowing through his bloodstream. “Argh!” he yelled, rolling halfway to the side, just far enough for the blade whooshing down to scrape against his flesh but not impale him. He heard it thunk into the ground as all strength left him.

  Darkness swarmed over him.

  One-Hundred-and-One

  The Southern Empire, Phanes

  Jai Jiroux

  One week later

  Jai could still remember how it had felt as the soldiers had swarmed Fang Hoza, taking him apart bit by bit. Next, on Jai’s command, they had taken the guards and the generals. He had spared the lives of the wealthy spectators, though he had captured them.

  It had felt powerful. Though he knew justice was being served—his justicemark proved that—something about it had felt wrong. Maybe it was that he was controlling the slaves with naught but his voice, convincing them he was their commander. Or maybe it was that he was rounding up people he didn’t even know, stealing their freedom, chaining them together and marching them back to the palace.

  From there, things had only gotten messier. The army had taken Phanea with ease. Though one general had remained back at the palace with a contingent of guards and soldiers, when they’d seen the thousands of soldiers marching on them, they’d tried to flee. Jai had the soldiers catch each and every one of them before they could spread the word about what had happened.

  The wealthy slave owners were next. Few of them fought back, and those that did were subdued and chained using the metal links of their own slaves, who were released.

  The last week had been chaos.

  There were released slaves living in the dwellings of those they used to serve. The prisons were overflowing with the previously wealthy, whom Jai now had to worry about feeding and caring for. And, despite their efforts, someone had escaped to spread the news around Phanes. Stories of mine masters being overrun by their slaves were coming in each day. Some of those very slaves—well, not slaves any more—had begun wandering into Phanea looking for shelter and food. There were rumors that the war cities along the Southron Gates were already raising their armies and preparing to march on Phanea.

  However, of all the challenges, the one that troubled Jai the most was that he hadn’t been able to find his mother anywhere in the palace. He was beginning to wonder whether he’d imagined her.

  Jai hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep, and there wasn’t much more on the horizon.

  Despite all of that, he knew he’d make the same choices again in a heartbeat.

&n
bsp; Watching Shanti approach, her muscular stride commanding the attention of all she passed, Jai couldn’t hold back a smile.

  “More good news?” he said sardonically. He was standing just outside of the room he’d been bedding down in, one of the general’s, deciding whether to try to take a nap.

  She touched him lightly on the chest, rose onto her toes, and kissed him deeply, stealing his breath.

  Any thoughts of a nap flew out of his mind.

  She pulled back, laughing. “A kiss seems like such an easy thing now,” she said.

  “True,” he agreed, curling a hand behind her back. “We should do it more often.”

  “Gladly.” Her lips brushed his cheek before finding his once more, parting to allow their tongues to meet. He tugged on her shirt, drawing her toward his door.

  Still kissing her, he fumbled to get it open. When it finally burst free, he was barely able to kick it closed before she’d shoved him onto the bed, her hands burning their way under his shirt, drawing it over his head.

  This he needed, not only because his feelings for her were lightning and thunder bottled, but because it was a reprieve from the challenges of fighting a civil war against his own people while trying to rebuild an empire from the bottom up.

  As her lips kissed a path from his abdomen to his neck, he worked on her shirt, eventually figuring out the complex ties to unravel it over her head.

  Her lips found his once more, and any thoughts of war or rebellion or justice disappeared into Shanti.

  Shanti lay against him, skin on skin, so warm, so full of life. His heart beat with hers, their breaths naturally falling into sync.

  Her face was perfection in sleep, smooth red stone carved into a statue of a goddess. Her black tears shone in the waning afternoon light. He spotted one that was slightly darker than the others.

  It’s new, he thought. For her mother.

  The thought made him sad. It also made him long even more for his own mother. Perhaps he’d only thought he’d seen her. He almost laughed at his own foolishness. He hadn’t even seen the woman’s face, only assumed it was his mother based on the beauty of her dance of phen sur. The last time he’d seen his mother dance was as a boy. In fact, it was probably the imagination of a child that had built his mother’s artistry to such a high level.