Pariah (The New Covenant Series)

by Bond, Casey L.

  “I have a twin, Altair! My brother is Riven—better known as the trader. He must have impersonated me and took Solara. Where did he take her? Why would he take her?” He paced, raking his hands down his face.

  “Go in the back and use the basin. I will get you some clothes. We can talk once you’re cleaner. I will explain all that has occurred in your absence, and we will devise a strategy.” He nodded in agreement. “Oh, and Faric, A great deal has changed since your departure, and you should know that I am the kingdom’s new authority—its sole authority. You would be wise not to cross me.” He nodded and stalked toward the back room.

  Darkness wrapped itself around me like a thick warm blanket. I curled up in it, taking comfort in its warmth. I had prayed for death and for the light to appear and sweep me up into the loving hands of the God who had chosen me for this task. Apparently, He had denied my request. I blinked away the blurriness and looked into the strange light-gray eyes of a woman so old her wrinkles had wrinkles. Her skin looked like the earth after a scorching drought—cracked and curling upward toward the merciless sun. Long gray hair fell over her shoulders, and she smiled at me, revealing a gap where her front upper tooth used to reside. Her smile reached the gleam in her eyes, calming me. Where am I? How did I get here? Who is she?

  I tried to sit up, but my muscles failed, and I felt a tight uncomfortable feeling rush over the skin, covering my spine and also across my shoulder blades. Memories flashed through my mind. Light and dark angels. I had been lifted into the air, Faric pinned to a tree, the sword, my back was sliced open by the light angel’s sword, the hellfire whip and its horrible cracking sound, the sting and burn of it landing across my shoulders, the smell of my flesh burning, the feeling of my lifeblood oozing out of my back, and the crimson wetness soaking lower and lower into the fabric of my stark-white wedding dress. The room began to spin.

  The woman looked at me and nodded her head. “You remember now, huh?”

  Who is this? How does she know me and what happened to me? I croaked. “Where am I?” Dryness clung desperately to my throat.

  “You’re in my house, child. My name is Maylon. I’m a healer in the settlement. Do you remember why the trader brought you here?”

  “Yes. My back. The mark,” I squeaked. She hobbled over to the basin and drew a cup of water and held it to my mouth, quenching the insatiable thirst for a moment.

  “Yes, child. You received the mark. You’ve been asleep for a couple of days,” she said nonchalantly. Days? A couple of days?

  “My back,” I said before taking another sip from the cup she extended. She nodded and grabbed my elbow and helped me into a sitting position.

  “Your back may be sore from lying around so much, but your wounds are completely healed,” she said, lifting up the brown tunic that was draped over my body, about six sizes too large. How had such wounds healed? God must have healed me because I thought I would surely die from blood loss or shock before getting help. “Actually,” she continued, pursing her wrinkled mouth in contemplation, “you have no actual wounds per se. You did. When you first arrived, I thought you would certainly die. Your wounds healed rapidly, or actually the Maker healed them for you, and then they turned into an intricate sort of tattoo on your back. It’s in the shape of a cross. Not solid though. It’s made from tiny written words. Not sure of the language or what it says. I’ve never seen such writing, child.”

  “Mirror?” I begged, still croaking.

  “No, but I may be able to borrow one from someone later. Believe me when I say that it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Her cool fingers slid down my spine tracing the new design. I looked back over my shoulder and could see a small portion of the black words flowing across my right shoulder blade. Weird.

  “You really should keep your mark covered you know.” She looked at me, waiting for me to acknowledge what she’d said.

  “Why?” I already knew the answer. I didn’t know much about the prophecy, but I knew that the chosen was to be some kind of a key fitting both the lock on the gates at the entrances of heaven and those of hell. It could only be used once. Those behind the unlocked gate would have full reign of the earth and its remaining population. It was part of the reason I agreed to leave Wes behind—to keep him safe in the event that I was, in fact, the chosen. Faric had believed that Wes and Lil would awaken and be able to buy us more time by making excuses that their spouses weren’t out and about. But the safety of my friends and my husband was paramount.

  “You’ll have people lining up to wield your power, child. You won’t be able to trust anyone from here out. Not your folks, friends, people you’ve been able to trust your entire life. You just never know what side people have chosen to align themselves with you know. Even the good ones may be great deceivers. Being the chosen will be hard. I don’t envy you and the burden you bear or the choices you’ll have to make, and the difficulties you’re going to face. It seems unfair for such a young person to face such a difficult path alone.”

  My heart sunk. She was right. I was alone. But in a way, I thought, I always had been. My parents died shortly after I was born. I was placed with Annette only to be taken by the kingdom and isolated from society, given to Wesley as his wife only to have him ripped from my arms, taken from my best friend, taken from my new home. I had no siblings. I couldn’t trust anyone from here on out. It would be my duty to question the motives of everyone, even my loved ones, should our paths cross again. I mourned the Solara and the life of freedom she’d only barely tasted. I was the chosen. There will never be freedom for me. Tears welled in my eyes.

  “The trader is gone for the afternoon. He will be back by sundown, maybe a bit after. You can stay here or go look around the settlement. The decision is yours,” she said, patting my hand gently.

  “What kind of settlement is this?”

  “Dissidents of the kingdom. People who disagreed with their law or the way their punishments were handed out.” She smiled. I decided to venture out into the afternoon sunshine. The houses were similar to Maylon’s—wooden octagonal structures with thatched roofs. Most things were brown here—homes, roofs, furniture, and animals that roamed about. Everything seemed to blend in with the surrounding thicket of tree trunks. A group of women smiled as they separated the wool from the skin of the sheep. Another group didn’t even look up at me as they dipped fabric into large vats of swirling brown water, muddying the pure-white fabric on contact.

  A group of children sat huddled in front of a middle-aged man with a brown beard and woman with delicate fingers and facial features, her blonde hair in a bun. They were teaching the alphabet and arithmetic using fruit and vegetables as examples. The children were engaged and excited, raising their small hands toward the sky eagerly awaiting their turn to answer a posed question.

  Walking farther into the village, young men milked cows and goats in stalls situated alongside a long wooden building. Young girls giggled as they walked past the boys, trying to imitate the posture of the woman leading their group, failing miserably with each fit of giggles that tore through their ranks. A man stood behind a chair, cutting the hair of a gentleman seated in front of him. Another couple of men waited for their turn. I stopped to watch as he quickly and expertly removed their stray hairs, leaving short neat styles in his wake. “Would you like a haircut, my lady?”

  The portly barber smiled with his eyes even more than his lips. I nodded, and he motioned for me to get in line. The gentlemen waiting insisted that I move to the front of the line, my protests fell on kind but deaf ears. The barber asked that I remove my cloak, and I clung to it and said that I had recently been ill; the chill still clung to my body. “Suit yourself.” He laughed. “How do you want your hair cut?”

  “I’m not sure. Would you just use your judgment and make me look nice, please?” I asked timidly. Faric had been the first person ever to cut my hair. I trusted the barber to even it up and give it some sort of shape or fashion consistent with the contemporary st
yles of the settlement. He brushed out my hair before pieces fell to the ground around me. When he was finished, the barber held up a small mirror. He had evened the longest parts and cut several rows of cascading layers starting at my shoulder blades and working their way down toward the ends, which grazed my lower back delicately. It was beautiful. “Thank you. How may I pay you, sir? I have no money but could help you clean up after the other haircuts.”

  The portly barber chuckled deeply, patting my shoulder. “My dear, it was my honor to cut your hair. It certainly is beautiful. You owe me nothing.” He smiled. His kindness shone through his entire person.

  “Thank you so much,” I said, hugging him good-bye. I left to take in the rest of the settlement.

  Thanks to my new hairstyle, I got several looks from settlement guys, even a few whistles. I wondered where Faric had gone and when he would return. For a moment, distrust filled my thoughts.

  Would he return, or had he left me here and returned to Lil? Job done? Annette had asked that I trust him and that he would keep me safe. I twirled the obsidian ring on my middle right finger. I hoped he hadn’t deserted me here, but the place was indeed charming in its own busy way. I supposed that I would just as soon be abandoned here as anywhere else.

  “Maylon?” I said as I stepped into the house. I heard snoring from the back room and crept back to find her asleep. I draped a fuzzy brown blanket over her frail shoulders, and she began to talk in her sleep, which I found entertaining. I decided to listen to what she might say, which at first was gibberish.

  Then she started frantically speaking, “Riven. Don’t take her back. They’ll find her. Don’t let them find her.” She shifted, and then her breathing steadied again. “Listen to me, Riven,” she said slowly, sleep swelling her tongue. “You need to keep her safe. Don’t do this. You are good. It’s Faric who is evil...” she trailed off in syllables and sounds that were indistinguishable.

  What? Faric—evil? No. He had saved and protected me from Altair and the kingdom. He had even tried to defy the angels’ invisible barrier. He had brought me here to Maylon for help. No, Faric was not evil. Who is Riven?

  I rummaged through her cupboards and started a fire to make dinner, finding it difficult to keep my thoughts from drifting to Maylon’s sleep-talking. I told myself it was only a dream, and dreams were nonsensical at best but a nagging sensation in my stomach urged me to heed her warning. Soon paranoia and doubt filled my thoughts, squeezing rationality toward the back of my mind.

  Faric returned at sundown as Maylon had said, and I went to wake her as he washed up for dinner. Maylon finally opened her eyes after I’d called her name louder and then finally shook her lightly. I wished that I could sleep so soundly. I decided not to mention her mutterings yet anyway. If she was right, and Faric as indeed evil, I didn’t want him to know that I was aware. Both ate heartily, and the conversation at dinner was light and jovial.

  Maylon’s body was still very tired after eating, and she retired immediately. I pondered sleeping in the floor of her room tonight to see if she unconsciously released any more information that might be of use to me but thought better of it. I hated the idea of invading another’s personal thoughts, let alone their dreams. Such things seemed sacred.

  Faric settled in front of the fireplace and was reading a leather-bound book with some sort of gold insignia on the cover and spine. After cleaning up, I sat down, joining him in the floor in front of the fire. I blushed, recalling Wes and I entangled in a similar light just a few days ago. “What are you reading?” I asked, trying to start what could be a difficult conversation.

  “Just a book I found recently. I just started to read it, so I’m not sure what it is or what it’s about yet.” His eyes skimmed the printed black words. I’d never seen a book like this one. Most books were handwritten, but this book’s writing was all uniform as were the spaces and its pages were numbered. Wesley had a few similar books that he showed us in class once. He said they were printed by great machines in ancient days before the earth’s upheaval. He’d claimed that the books came from the forbidden city, but I had assumed he was stretching the truth. No one ever returned from the forbidden city with the exception of the trader.

  “Faric,” I said, the question burnt the tip of my tongue as it thrashed to escape my mouth. “Who is Riven?”

  He looked up at me wide eyed and inhaled sharply then pressed his lips tightly together. Was he angry? “Why? How do you know of him?” he retorted, his words sharp.

  “Who is he?” I refused to answer any of his questions until he answered mine.

  “Who mentioned Riven, Solara?” he asked sternly, pinching his brows together. I saw the muscles flex in his jaw.

  I crossed my arms and stared over at him. “Answer me, Faric. Who is Riven?” My voice began climbing louder.

  Instead of answering me, he sat his book down between us, stood, and stalked out the door into the darkness. I jumped as the door slammed in its frame.

  A couple of hours later, still seated in the firelight, I wondered why he’d refused to answer me. Maybe he was evil as Maylon muttered while asleep. Maybe he was afraid of being found out. I was jerked from my thoughts by Maylon’s calls.

  “Solara, where is the trader?” she asked softly, still lying covered in her bed.

  “Maylon, why do you call Faric the trader? Why don’t you use his name?” I said and then decided to ask her, “Who is Riven?”

  “How do you know of the name, child?” she asked softly as she turned to look at me.

  “You said some things in your sleep earlier today about Riven. It seemed you were talking to him. You said not to trust Faric and that he was evil. Is Faric evil, Maylon? Please tell me. I’m scared of him now,” I admitted, grabbing her hand in mine. Her hand was cold and dry.

  “You need to speak with him, Solara. Tell him that if he refuses to explain everything to you that I will certainly do so. But you need to give him the chance to explain. You’ll find him at the pub at the end of the second street. Just follow the music and drunks.” She grinned, squeezing my hand. “Oh, I almost forgot”—she sat up—“I made you something. Look over there”—she pointed toward a wardrobe in the corner of her room—“On the far right. It should fit, and it will cover your mark.”

  It was beautiful, simple deep brown cotton. The fabric grazed my knees and the neckline was perfect. Cut high in the back with a stiff ruffle that curled in fitting the crook of my neck. The stiff ruffled hem traveled around and crisscrossed over my chest, enhancing ample cleavage of which I’d previously been unaware. A flat set of delicate brown leather shoes framed my feet. Wow. I look hot! I put my hair up in a messy bun and pulled a few strands down to soften the look. I found a charcoal pencil in Maylon’s desk drawer and used it to line my eyes and stepped into the darkness toward the lights of the town.

  The boisterous noise of band and bar patrons mingled in the warm summer evening air. There were no windows on the rectangular wooden structure, so I decided to slip in and try to locate Faric from the shadows. Hot air struck my face as I swung open the heavy wooden door. A lively rhythm had most people gyrating on the dance floor. Square wooden tables lined three sides of the building’s walls. The pattern was interrupted by the bar located on the far wall. Beautiful colored decanters, bottles, and glasses lined a shelf behind the bar and a plump dark-skinned man with gray hair and velvety chocolate eyes poured libations as he joked with the individuals waiting patiently for their drink orders to be filled.

  I didn’t see Faric anywhere at first, so I took a seat at a small table in the corner of the room draped in shadow. Knuckles rapped on the edge of my table.

  A handsome young man stood before me. His shaggy black hair was perfectly messy, and drops of sweat trailed down his temples. He smiled, and I noticed that his eyes were hazel—a perfect mixture of green and brown. His prominent nose added to his masculinity. Stubble dotted his jaw, and his smile was white and sparkling. I returned his smile.

  “Y
ou are way too beautiful to be sittin’ here all by yourself, love. Would you like a drink and some company?” He grinned, steadying his ragged breathing.

  I smiled and said, “Sure. Why not?” He asked what I’d like to drink and confirmed that they should have my favorite coconut liquor—like from introduction night. He nodded at bartender getting his attention and yelled our requests over to him, and as he waited for our drinks, he turned around, resting his elbows on the bar behind him, revealing his sculpted chest. I gulped. He stared at me, smiling until the barkeep tapped his shoulder and handed our drinks over.

  “The name’s Jonas. Coconut for the lady,” he said, smiling and placing the green glass in my hand.

  “I’m Solara, but my friends call me Lara.”

  He quirked a brow. “Can I be a friend then?”

  “Sure. But that’s all. I’m married.” He groaned and I laughed, taking a sip of the delicious divinity. The coconut filled my senses. I hadn’t even realized that the music had stopped until they began to play again, and a stout man of forty-ish stood at the front of the stage. “We have a treat for ya tonight. The trader’s gonna play!” he announced, and a loud roar of applause rippled through the crowd. My breath caught in my throat. Faric stepped forward, holding a guitar. I didn’t know he played.

  Wait? Trader? His face was uncovered! Oh my goodness. Faric was the trader and here, he was able to reveal his identity. Why did he cloak himself while in the kingdom?

  “So, Lara, would ya dance with me? As a friend, of course.” Jonas smiled, extending a hand to me.

  “I can’t dance well, but I’d love to,” I said, accepting his invitation. His hands were warm and slightly rough but strong. He pulled me into the crowd who was already dancing.