Rosemarked

by Livia Blackburne

  “Yes, please do, Zivah. I want to find out everything I can about him.” As he stands, he takes a rolled parchment out of his pocket. “This was sent to my estate from Dara. It’s a letter from your family.”

  My breath catches. Leora had mentioned she would write, but with the distance, I hadn’t allowed myself to hope for a letter. I take the roll carefully by the edges, as if I might crush it with my eagerness.

  “I’ll let you read it,” says Arxa, and leaves me.

  Only after he’s left do I realize I hadn’t even said good-bye. But I’m already running my fingers under the edge of the parchment. The clay seal, unsurprisingly, has already been opened.

  Dearest Zivah,

  I’ve no idea whether this letter will reach you, but I had to try. We miss you dearly. Alia mentions you almost daily, and I’ve caught Mother looking at your old dresses more than once….

  The letter talks of Leora’s new embroidery, Alia’s goat bearing a kid, and recent repairs to our cottage’s roof. Day-to-day mundane things, but I linger on every word, and I wonder if I’ve made a mistake by leaving them. I could be seeing Leora’s embroidery for myself, advising Alia on the best feed for her goat.

  The parchment quivers in my hand. Then my eye is drawn to something she says at the end.

  Things at the village are well, though there seem to be more soldiers coming through lately. When I see them, I think of you, wonder how you’re faring in their land.

  A knot forms in my stomach at her words. So the number of soldiers in Dara continues to increase, and even Leora’s noticed it by now. It frightens me to think of what it means.

  I don’t know if there’s any way for you to get a message back to me. Perhaps Commander Arxa or another umbertouched soldier would be willing to carry something back the next time they come. Kaylah assures us that if you wear gloves to write the letter and we take care to press your parchments with a fired stone, then we need not worry about the disease essence traveling all the way here. I hope to hear from you soon. Until then, we place you in the care of the Goddess.

  There’s a thickness in my throat as I read the letter twice more. After I finish, I fold the parchment and tuck it into my apron, choosing the pocket that’s closest to my heart.

  Zivah brings news a few days later. I’m to report to Sehmar City and train with Arxa’s troops. The news lights a fire inside of me. I’m still bruised and sore from my test, and I think I might have injured my shoulder, but I can’t wait to get started.

  “So you’re happy with this?” Zivah asks.

  I grin. “Just tell me when I can go. I can still come back and see you, right?” Zivah has been the only constant in the days since I’ve awoken.

  “I’d like that,” she says. “In fact I’ve spoken to Commander Arxa, and he’s agreed that you should visit me regularly for treatment. Your mind is still fragile, and I have some potions that will help you recover.”

  “Fragile?” That doesn’t sound good.

  “Don’t worry. It just means you’re more likely to be confused in these first few weeks. The herbs will make it easier on you. It’s nothing to worry about.”

  Her words are comforting, but when she fetches me that afternoon for our first treatment, she’s not exactly calm. She walks ahead of me instead of beside me, and I can see her fidgeting with something in the pocket of her apron. It makes me wonder if I should be nervous too, but then, she’s never given me reason to doubt her.

  Zivah opens the door to a back room. It’s not a patient room. There’s just a few shelves, a table, and a window.

  “We’re doing it here?”

  “It’s better if we’re not interrupted.”

  She drags a pallet in for me. I make myself comfortable on the straw, and Zivah hands me a vial.

  I sniff and cough. “Do you healers compete to make the most horrid-tasting brews?”

  “If it tasted good, it wouldn’t be medicine,” she says with a half smile.

  The bad taste doesn’t disappear after I swallow. There’s a hellish aftertaste that has me gagging. For a while I just sit there, making faces. And then…

  It’s not exactly pain. Because it doesn’t hurt. And not light either, because nothing real appears in front of my eyes. But that’s what it feels like. Some kind of flash that hits my mind.

  Dineas. That really is my name. And after that, the images all rush in, one on top of the other. Gatha, Monyar, my fellow tribesmen. I feel like I’m falling, and I reach out to grab something. Zivah jumps, and I realize that I’m not falling after all.

  As the images settle, the last few days unfold before me. Though my old knowledge returns, my new memories remain just as clear: waking up in the hospital, getting tested by Arxa…I go over every detail in my mind, reinterpreting them in light of my past. The face of the commander swims before me. Over the last few days, I’d admired him, but now I remember who he truly is.

  “Arxa.” I fling the name at Zivah. “You introduced me to him.”

  My words have the bite of accusation, and she blinks, confused. “That was the plan, wasn’t it?”

  Of course it was. I look away, trying to push down a panic I can’t explain. I hadn’t realized what it would be to wake up after living another life, to look at a man who’s haunted my nightmares and think him a benefactor. Just the thought that I stood in front of him and shook his hand. I think over the rest of it: the fight, how I proved myself to them, and how proud I was to be invited to join the army.

  My lips curl. “I guess I’ve made a good impression. I sure was eager to please.”

  “You did well,” Zivah says firmly. “Better than we could have hoped.”

  She’s right, of course. I have no reason to be upset. So why do I feel like I’ve betrayed everything I stand for? I want to lash out at something, and it’s only with a great deal of effort that I don’t. “So I leave soon for the capital?”

  She relaxes a bit. “Yes, and with any luck you’ll do well there. Now, listen carefully. I didn’t give you much potion just now, so you’ll likely fade away soon. Is there anything else we need to discuss?”

  No. Not really. We just need to continue with this crazy scheme. “Just send word to Gatha that I’m in.”

  My head feels fuzzy already, and I know instinctively that I don’t have long. I have a strange urge to wave my hands and dispel the fog, but that would only make me look like a madman. Though, I wonder, with all Zivah’s done to me thus far, can I really say I’m that far from madness? I’m mulling that over when the mists drift back in to stay.

  After a week, I step out of the compound for the second time. Zivah gives me a waterskin and a pack of dried fruit. I have an old tunic and sandals, and a token of introduction to present when I arrive at the palace. Not exactly starting off my new life with untold riches, but it’s more than any of my fellow patients will ever get.

  “Do us proud, Dineas,” Zivah says, clasping my hands. There’s something about her smile. I’m guessing lots of pretty girls have smiles that light up their face, but Zivah’s smile feels like it comes from within.

  “I’ll come back with all kinds of news,” I promise her. The guard at the compound gates salutes me, and then I set off along the single trail leading toward the city. It’s not yet noon, but the sun’s rising fast. Lizards scurry across the path ahead of me, and I kick stones at them as I go. Beyond that, I don’t have much company, but I’m enjoying the fresh views. The hospital walls had started to feel confining lately, and it’s nice having something new to explore. It’s strange to think I must have walked this trail before.

  Finally tall stone walls appear ahead of me. And though I have no memory of this place, there’s something in me that understands this is a true city. The grand stone walls, the stream of citizens coming in and out of the gates—this place is the center of something big. There’s all kinds of people here: tall men and short men, women in jewels and women in rags. What’s most noticeable though, is the smoothness of their skin. Not a
single rosemark in sight.

  I ask a bored-looking gate guard for directions to the palace. He gives me an annoyed look. “Just keep going up.”

  Up? But then I actually peer through the gates. There, on a hill in the distance, I see grand stone buildings surrounded by smooth walls and lush trees.

  Fair enough.

  The neighborhoods inside the gates aren’t very different from the rosemarked compound, though the buildings aren’t quite as shabby, and it’s more crowded. As I walk though, the houses get nicer, and the people around me wear finer clothing. The roads themselves are paved with well-fitted cobblestones instead of dirt. Finally I arrive at the smooth limestone walls of the palace, where a dour guard looks at my token and points me to a small mud-brick building nearby.

  “That houses the army scribe. Give your token there.”

  By now I’m wondering if life in the army isn’t as exciting as I thought it would be. First the bored guard at the city gate. Then the grumpy one at the palace, and now the scribe in the army hut looks positively drowsy. I hand him my token of invitation, and he squints at it, frowning. “It’s not the season for new recruits.”

  “Commander Arxa sent for me.”

  The scribe pulls out a long scroll, which he pores over. He shuffles to the back and comes out with an armful of things, handing them to me one by one.

  “Bedding, two tunics, two trousers, cloak, sandals. Your commanders will see to your weapons.”

  He points to a map carved into the wall. “Barracks seven, bed five.”

  These are the most detailed directions I’ve gotten all day. I scoop up my newfound wealth and head out. From my glimpse of the map, it looks like the grander parts of the palace make up the center of the compound, while the barracks and training fields sit on the outer rim. I glance over my shoulder one last time at the polished limestone columns of the palace proper before heading to the section for mere mortals.

  I run across more soldiers as I walk. Some I recognize because they’re in livery. Others simply have the look of fighters, even though they’re just milling around the grounds. I linger a bit by a large training field where men are working through fencing drills in pairs, and then continue on to the big rectangular barracks. I get a few second glances as I walk by, though I don’t know if people are noticing my skin or my armful of new possessions. One man in particular turns his head sharply toward me. He has umbermarks like me, and I recognize Cas, the small man I fenced with at the compound. I nod a greeting.

  His nostrils flare. His eyes harden, and he turns away.

  So much for making a friend.

  Besides soldiers, there are messengers and servants in imperial livery hurrying back and forth. Two men with slave brands on their faces clean out gutters along the barracks. People walk by them without giving them a second glance.

  Barracks seven looks quiet at this time of day, and it’s blissfully cool inside compared to the sunny training fields. Two men stand just inside the door. I nod a greeting and they nod back, but they don’t pause in their conversation, and I continue on. Bunks line either wall, and the fifth one is the only one stripped of linens. I drape my bedding over the straw as best I can, change into the army tunic, and then I sit down and wonder what to do next. I suppose I’ll get orders tomorrow, but I can’t exactly sit here until then. At the very least, I’ll need to find the mess hall.

  I make my way back out. I’m about to step through the door when a big man comes in the other direction. We both stop, and I back up a few steps to let him through. Then I realize I know this man. He’s the big soldier, the one who snuck up on me in my test.

  Great. I turn my head on the off chance he might think I’m simply another new umbertouched soldier and pass me by. No such luck. He squints at me, then frowns.

  “Aren’t you that mystery soldier? The one abandoned at the compound?”

  So much for blending in. “That’s right.”

  The man strokes his beard. “Well, well,” he says.

  Behind me, the two men stop their conversation to watch.

  The big man takes a step toward me, and I take a step back.

  He furrows his eyebrows. “What’s the matter? Shy?” He takes in my tense stance, my half-raised fists, and then throws his head back into a roar of a laugh. “You’re a jumpy one, aren’t you? Don’t worry. I don’t fight unless I’m being paid, and today’s my day off.” He reaches out his hand. “We’ve never met properly. I’m Walgash, soldier under Arxa in Neju’s Guard. And you’re the upstart maltworm who bruised my ribs.”

  I take his hand, trying not to look too sheepish. “They call me Dineas.”

  Walgash turns to the other two soldiers. “Naudar, Masista, you’ve got to meet this man. He appeared out of nowhere at the rosemarked compound with no memory of where he came from.”

  The two come to shake my hand, peering at me as if I were some kind of oddity, which I suppose I am. Naudar looks to be a young Amparan about my age, and Masista is a dark-skinned southerner who looks slightly older.

  Walgash pats his belly. “You three had your midday meal yet? My stomach’s about to turn inside out.”

  Naudar and Masista say they haven’t, and Walgash turns to me. “You in, Dineas?”

  My stomach growls in response.

  Walgash keeps up a running monologue on our way to the mess hall. “We have our regular units housed here in the palace. There’s battalions one through ten, then the various pet units of the commanders. We share the training fields and whatnot. Division of resources is usually equitable, unless some commander’s out of favor, which happens more often than you’d think. It’s all politics in here. You’d think men of war wouldn’t be so petty, but you’d be wrong.” Walgash continues with a rundown of all the commanders, though I’m lost in the pile of names after the first two.

  Masista smirks. “That’s why you’re so excited to find a man with no memory, Walgash,” he says. “An empty head to fill with your talk.”

  “I’m in favor of anything that spares the rest of us from Walgash’s ramblings,” says Naudar.

  To be honest, my head is spinning. But I suppose they’re right about one thing: I’ll gladly listen to anything that will fill in the gaps in my mind.

  The smell of spices drifts out of a large stone hall. There’s a line of soldiers out the door, and we take our place at the end. It’s loud with conversation inside. Once we reach the serving line, a cook passes me a bowl of greenish stew over rice and we continue to the tables and benches in the back. Walgash waves at someone I can’t see.

  “Kosru has some room down there,” he says, directing us back.

  Kosru turns out to be a man even bigger than Walgash, with a thick black beard and hair.

  “This is Kosru, my other half,” says Walgash, clasping the man’s shoulder.

  “His quieter half,” says Masista. “The adage about lovers becoming more alike over time doesn’t seem to apply to those two.”

  Walgash continues without missing a beat. “Kosru, this is Dineas, the soldier I told you about.” Kosru gives me a firm handshake and a one-word greeting.

  The stew is decent, though surprisingly spicy, and I start to relax. The men seem friendly. Masista has a wife and son in the city, though he lives in the palace when training is heavy. Walgash, Kosru, and Masista have been in the army for several years now, while Naudar joined just a few months ago.

  “So, Dineas,” says Masista. “Where are you serving?”

  “Third battalion, I believe.”

  Walgash snorts. “Third battalion? No, where you want to be is Neju’s Guard.”

  “Your unit?”

  “Arxa’s elite unit,” he says. “Masista’s in it too. Kosru is in Commander Vaumitha’s elite unit, but we don’t hold it against him.”

  Kosru lets out a long-suffering sigh. Walgash pats his hand fondly and continues speaking.

  “Believe me, Dineas. You want to serve under Arxa if you can. Every unit he trains ends up fighting bett
er. He pays attention to his men. Notices what makes them better soldiers.”

  Masista chimes in. “He stands up for us. A few years ago, the emperor wanted to save money by cutting our time on leave and skimping on our rations. Arxa fought him on it—spoke out in front of the court about how it would wear us down in the long run. He kept at it until the emperor gave in, and in the meantime, Arxa paid for our supplies out of his own fortune. There’s many who think that Arxa would be a general now, if he hadn’t offended the emperor like that.”

  “Neju’s Guard is holding a round of tryouts starting next week,” says Walgash. “Open to everyone. Naudar’s trying out.”

  “You are?” I say to Naudar, who nods in response.

  “Don’t underestimate our Naudar,” says Masista. “He may have a face pretty enough to grace the temples, but he’ll put up a good fight when he needs to. And he’ll do it without letting a single lock of his hair fall out of place.”

  “At least I have hair,” Naudar says between spoonfuls of stew.

  “For now,” Masista says, rubbing his own shaved head.

  Kosru and Walgash guffaw, and my thoughts circle back to what Walgash said about Neju’s Guard. “The trials are open to everyone?” Arxa does sound like a good commander. And after last week’s test, I’m curious to know what else I’m capable of.

  Walgash grins. “That’s right. You interested?”

  I hold my blowgun steady as I try to peer through the leaves of the tree overhead. The snake I’m stalking is a master of camouflage, and its brown and green stripes confuse the eye, especially when the wind rattles the leaves. I’ve seen the snake a few times and I don’t recognize it, which makes me all the more determined to get ahold of its venom. Now that Dineas is settled in the army, I have more time to experiment with rose plague treatments, and Central Ampara is rich with new specimens for me to study.

  I draw breath to shoot, but the wind blows again and I have to wait. The next time the breeze dies down, I exhale a percussive puff. The dart embeds itself in the snake’s side, and the creature’s tail waves back and forth. I ready another dart in case the first wasn’t enough, but the snake falls still as the sleeping potion takes effect. I reach for the long forked stick I cut for myself last night. Carefully, I thread it through the branches and work it under the motionless body, then dump the creature into a burlap sack. A few days should be enough for me to get the venom I need, and then I’ll let the creature go on its way. This serpent’s markings remind me of Diadem, and I’m curious to see if the snake’s venom has some of the same properties.