Fatemarked Origins (The Fatemarked Epic Book 4)

by David Estes

  The crack of knuckles hitting flesh rang out, cutting off his protest. “Answer my questions only. Do you and your woman live here?”

  “My wife. Yes.”

  “Just you?”

  “Yes.”

  “No children?”

  “We have not yet been blessed by Absen—”

  Crack! The sound of someone spitting. Her father? “Don’t speak to me of your false god. Your false god is dead!”

  Despite her fear, Shanti couldn’t help but think: How does he know that already?

  “You filled in the hole, didn’t you?” her father asked.

  What? Shanti thought. Why would the Phanecians…

  The man laughed. “Very clever. Good thing the rest of your people aren’t so smart. Not me personally, but yes, we are responsible for the death of your god. Someone tried to ruin our plans, but failed.

  Shanti wanted to cry, “It was us! We did it!” but she managed to hold her tongue, listening intently for whatever came next.

  There was a creak as the man sat down on the chest, moving it slightly with his weight. Shanti could see a sliver now. Her father’s boot, his thick leg. Someone was standing behind him. Holding him perhaps? Is that why he’s not fighting back?

  She remembered the knife, the fierce gleam in her mother’s eyes. She wanted her mother to stab this man, to kill him, to break him and end him and—

  She realized her fists were clenched so tightly her own fingernails were digging into her palms, hurting her. Slowly, she released them. She’d never felt so angry in her life. Never had thoughts of violence. But now…

  She hated the man sitting on the chest. The one holding her father, hurting him. The Phanecians.

  “Did this chest used to be over there, against that wall?” the man asked. “I see an outline, a discoloration on the floor.”

  Her father said, “Yes. We moved it only recently.” He kept his voice remarkably even.

  “Why?”

  “We kept tripping over it.”

  “Hmm. You have two beds. You and your woman sleep in separate beds?”

  “My wife,” he corrected with a growl. “Yes. I am a restless sleeper.”

  “You are a good liar,” the man said. “Why do you not submit to us the way the rest of your people do? Why must you make my life difficult?”

  “Because I have Faith and Hope and Courage, and all of the other virtues. I am a Seven.”

  “Words will not change your fate. Nor your woman’s. Nor your children’s.”

  “I have no children.”

  “Remove him,” the man ordered. Shanti’s father finally struggled against the man holding him, but it was fruitless, his boots dragging across the wood and out the door.

  “Where would I find two little red-skinned heathens hiding?” the man said. There was a tapping sound, perhaps his fingernails against his teeth.

  Aliyah’s breaths were coming too fast now, getting louder. Shanti pressed her lips to her sister’s ear and said, “Shhhh.” Her sister quieted and they both held their breath as the man stood up from the chest. His foot was right in front of the narrow gap, facing away. It turned.

  With a suddenness that took Shanti’s breath away, he roared, the chest tumbling away, crashing open, spilling its contents—clay pots and dishes, which shattered into thousands of sharp shards.

  “Two little heathens, hiding under a bed,” the man sang. His hands flew underneath, dragging Aliyah out by the hair as she screamed.

  Shanti tried to grab her sister’s foot, but she was already gone, passed to someone else, who took her away.

  Next he came for her.

  But she was ready.

  The moment his hands appeared, reaching for her, she lunged forward, clamping her teeth down on his wrist. She bit down as hard as she could, tearing at the skin like a piece of meat, growling like an animal. She poured all the hatred and anger and fear she’d felt over the last few moments into that bite.

  The man howled, wrenching his hand away, which only caused more of his skin to tear off. Drips of blood pooled on the floorboard in front of Shanti.

  She kicked hard, wriggling like a worm, trying to escape. She slid through the blood, fighting to her feet. “You little animal!” the man—who looked more like a woman with his short-cropped hair—screamed, grabbing her shoulders.

  She shoved her fingers into his eye, as hard as she could.

  He dropped her, releasing another howl, and she tumbled to the floor, banging her knee. Ignoring the pain, she rolled back to her feet and raced for the door, which stood wide open. She galloped into the light, blinking back tears as she scanned her familiar city filled with unfamiliar people.

  People who, now, stared at her. The Terans were dead-eyed, looking lost, their hands and feet tied with thick rope. They were being marched along, toward the sea, their feet shuffling lifelessly.

  They almost look dead, Shanti thought.

  “Shanti!” a voice cried and she spun to the left to locate it. Her father, also bound, twisting his head around to look at her. Three men surrounded him, shoving him away.

  “Father!” Shanti took off toward him, slamming into the back of one of the captors, knocking him into her father. They went down in a sprawl of human flesh and ropes, and for one stolen moment, she found herself face to face with the man who’d raised her.

  “Don’t fight them,” her father said. “Not now.”

  And then strong arms ripped her away from him, lifting her high into the air. No matter how hard she struggled, she couldn’t escape.

  The stench of human filth seemed to permeate everything. The only sounds were groans and moans and the creak of the wooden ship as it swayed from side to side.

  Shanti had lost count of the days and nights at sea, each one blending into the next. In the dim lighting, she stared at her bent legs. They didn’t hurt anymore, so long as she didn’t move them too much.

  The man she had hurt back in their hut had broken them both as punishment. They promised her the bones would heal before it was time for her to work.

  Her father had collected enough scraps of clothing to wrap them up, stabilizing them for the journey across the sea.

  She wondered whether she would ever walk again.

  It doesn’t matter, does it? she thought bitterly. We are slaves now. We are nothing.

  It was true, the slave masters treated them like sheep, herding them hither and thither, forcing the able to walk for exercise, to keep them healthy enough to work when they arrived in Phanes. Shanti, however, was forced to stay with the youngest of the children and the oldest of the elders, like some kind of cripple. I am a cripple, she thought.

  Aliyah cried every time she was forced to move. It broke Shanti’s heart, but there was nothing she could do for her sister now. At least they hadn’t hurt her—not physically, at least.

  Her parents tried to comfort them from time to time, but even they had grown quieter in recent days.

  The women were not allowed to cut their hair anymore, and many of them were beginning to look like men. Her own hair felt hot on her shoulders, and she longed to pull it out.

  She remembered the last conversation she’d had with her father, whose hair was short now, a coppery dome atop his head. If not for his familiar eyes, he might be a stranger. “Sha-flower,” he’d said. “How do your legs feel?”

  “Broken,” she’d said.

  She hadn’t meant it as a jape, but he’d laughed anyway. “They will mend. Give them time.”

  “Why is this happening?” she’d asked. “It is because the people lost Faith?” She’d been thinking about this a lot.

  “Only Absence knows.”

  “But Absence has abandoned us, right? Everyone says so.”

  Her father shook his head. “No. Absence will never abandon us if we keep space in our hearts for something more than ourselves.

  “Father?”

  “Yes?”

  “We communed with Absence, right?”

 
; “I believe so,” he said.

  “But I don’t feel any different. What did the darkness do to us?”

  He licked his dry lips, seeming to consider whether to answer such a direct question. Then he nodded. “You deserve to know the truth. Absence grants us our deepest desires.”

  Shanti frowned, thinking. “What is yours?”

  “To protect my family,” he said.

  Shanti glanced over at her mother and sister, both of whom seemed to be sleeping. Even so, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Why?”

  Her father laughed. “Absence told me I should. Apparently Absence needs us. Needs you.”

  “For what?”

  “Only Absence knows.”

  Even though Shanti had a million more questions, something about knowing Absence needed her made her feel warm inside. “What is my deepest desire?” Shanti asked.

  “That is for you to determine,” her father said.

  Shanti stared through the portal at the rolling sea, surprisingly thankful for the burst of fresh salty air that met her skin. Something caught her eye in the distance. Something new, different than water and clouds.

  Land.

  And, in that moment, she knew what her deepest desire was:

  Freedom.

  11: Viper Sandes

  The Southern Empire, Calypso- Circa 524

  Gods, how Viper despised her sister, Sun.

  From a safe distance atop the pyramid, the three sisters watched as Empress Riza Sandes’ plague-riddled corpse was burned, her ashes sent to the gods in a billowing cloud of black smoke. Viper pretended it was someone else—anyone but Mother—which was the only way she could keep from crying. She was the youngest, the Third Daughter, twenty-one name days old, but that was no excuse for weakness. The Three Daughters were Sandes, and had to maintain appearances, even on the worst day of their lives.

  The Second Daughter, Windy, two years older than she, barely seemed to notice the burning ceremony had begun, her nose stuck in a book. Windy’s medium-length black hair was a frizzy mess, her dress wrinkled beyond repair. She was even missing a shoe, though she probably wouldn’t have noticed if she was missing a foot, such was her concentration on the confounded pages of whatever topic she was currently obsessed with. Teran Beliefs Related to the Afterworld, the cover read. Viper had to stifle a yawn. Her scholarly sister annoyed her, but not nearly as much as their eldest sister.

  The First Daughter, Sun, was six years older than Viper, a fact she never failed to remind her of. She wore a long pale-blue dress, which served to accentuate the perfection of her smooth, dark skin. Her long black hair was pinned up, resembling a crown, which Viper was certain was no accident. Even while in mourning Sun managed to maintain her pretentious holier-than-thou air, her chin lifted high, her hand raised over her head as though she could feel something electric in the air.

  Viper had the urge to push her down the pyramid. In her mind, she relished the impact of each of the thousand stone steps on her sister’s body, breaking her bones one at a time.

  She never loved Mother the way I did. Neither of them did. Yes, Windy and Sun had always been respectful and devoted to their mother, but neither had cared for her as Viper had. Windy was more concerned with soaking in as much knowledge as she could, even if she’d probably never use any of it. She was a scholar without a purpose, the worst kind as far as Viper was concerned. But Sun…

  Sun coveted the empire. Though she’d never said as much aloud, Viper knew her eldest sister had longed for her mother’s death like a flower longs for sun and rain. A poisonous flower, the desert lumia perhaps. Viper had even once caught her sister sitting on the Empress’s dragon throne. The nerve!

  Worse, Sun had already produced offspring, three daughters, Raven, Fire, and Whisper, the middle of whom bore a tattooya, the firemark, though she was only a child of eight name days old. Not a threat.

  Yet.

  It didn’t even matter that her sister’s political marriage to the Phanecian emperor had gone up in smoke four years earlier, thrusting the empire into a civil war. If Sun wins the throne and one of her daughters eventually claims the empire, I’ll never get it back…

  That isn’t going to happen, Viper reminded herself.

  She’s in for a surprise, she thought. She knows Windy cares nothing for ruling and she thinks I’m too young…

  I’m coming, sister. I’m coming.

  All Three Daughters had made a claim on the throne, as was expected of them, though Windy had done so grudgingly. At the ceremony, Sun had worn a neutral expression, but Viper could see the fakeness behind it. The smile. She thinks she’s already won, Viper had thought.

  Now, in the giant arena nestled between the three pyramids, amidst the raucous shouts and applause of the Calypsian audience, Sun Sandes donned a new mask, a fierce snarl, which was clearly meant to intimidate her two younger sisters.

  Viper played along, backing away as if scared of her sister’s wrath.

  Windy had already been defeated by Sun, within moments of the contest’s start. She’d basically let Sun defeat her. The Second Daughter had left the arena in a hurry, probably off to return to studying some droll book with more pages than her sister had sense.

  Not me. I refuse to be intimidated.

  Sun closed in, her long, scythe-like weapon shining in the sunlight.

  Viper retreated until her back hit the wall. Weaponless, she held her hands over her head.

  Sun smiled a beautiful smile. “Do you submit to your new empress, sister?” she asked.

  Viper dug her toe into the sand, pretending to consider.

  “You have no weapon. You have no chance. Save your dignity and surrender to your better sister.”

  “I—I—”

  “Dragon got your tongue?”

  The crowd chanted Sun’s name—they were already naming her as the new empress.

  “You’re not the empress,” Viper growled, kicking her foot in the air, spraying hot sand into her sister’s face, into her eyes.

  Simultaneously, Viper lunged forward, slamming her shoulder into Sun’s abdomen, rocking her back. The scythe went flying while Sun scrubbed at the rough sand blinding her.

  Viper was blind too—with anger. All the pain, all the sadness, all the frustration seemed to pour out of her. She saw red and orange flames. She saw black smoke. She saw golden shards of light. Her fists were true to her name—the lightning-quick strikes of a deadly snake—landing blow after blow to her sister’s head, face, stomach…

  The crowd roared even louder, enthralled by the unexpected turn of events and the entertainment it provided. The only thing the Calypsians liked better than the crowning of a new empress was a street fight. Viper planned to give them one.

  Her sister’s face was bloody and one of her eyes was already puffy and closing up, and still Viper pummeled her.

  Ungh. Out of nowhere, Sun bucked backwards and kicked out, connecting solidly with Viper’s midsection, sending her head over heels into the air. She landed with a thud in the dirt, the wind gasping out of her. Gone were the flames, the smoke, the golden light. Gone was the pain, the sadness, the frustration.

  She felt nothing, a numbness settling into her bones.

  And then, as she blinked away stars, she felt sun-heated metal pressed against her throat. “I’ll do it,” Sun growled. “I’ll slice you open from ear to ear if you don’t submit to me.”

  Her sister’s face came into view. Gone was her beauty, her perfection, her face a mess of blood and bruising, her lips contorted into a snarl. It’s almost poetic, Viper thought. The outside finally reflects the inside.

  Do I want to die? Viper wondered.

  Yes, she answered herself.

  But then another thought struck her, something her mother had said to her years earlier, when Viper, just a young girl, came to her in tears after Sun had knocked her over and made her eat sand. Your trials will only make you stronger. And, as the youngest, you will have more trials than either of your sisters,
which means you’ll be the strongest.

  Her mother wouldn’t want her to die. Her mother had loved her. She could be strong for her memory; she could be strong for herself.

  Viper did the hardest thing she’d ever had to do:

  “I submit,” she said. “My empress.”

  Viper left Calypso three days later. Now that the rule of the empire was decided, there was nothing chaining her to the city. She’d lasted longer than Windy, who had departed for Citadel two days earlier.

  Viper, as was her right, claimed three of the guanero, the royal guards, to accompany her. They would be her guards for the rest of her life, or theirs, whichever was shorter. The four of them rode guanik, fierce reptilian steeds that performed far better than horses under the fiery Calypsian sun.

  As they rode out from the city, watched by throngs of silent Calypsians lining the streets, Viper replayed her final conversation with Sun in her mind.

  “You tried to disgrace me,” her sister had said, whilst sitting on the dragon throne. She wore a half-mask in the shape of a dragon’s face to hide the worst of the injuries inflicted upon her by Viper.

  “How dare I,” Viper said. She infused just enough mocking into her tone to get her sister’s attention. It was all part of her plan.

  “And now you would be so bold as to mock me, the Empress of Calyp, Empire of the Rising Sun, She Who Sits Upon the Dragon Throne?”

  Gods. The arrogance of her sister never failed to astound her. “Yes.”

  “I should have your tongue cut out.”

  “What would it look like to the people?” she said, dialing back the sarcasm a notch, reeling her sister in. “If you cannot maintain order amongst your own sisters, how can you be expected to maintain order in the empire?”

  Her sister fumed silently. Viper knew she’d gained a point. Now to seal the deal. “It is clear we cannot exist in the same city,” she said.

  Sun cocked her head to the side, narrowing her uncovered eye suspiciously. “You would leave Calypso, as Windy did?”

  “Yes.”