The Caste Marked

by Mariah Esterly

  “Sir, if you would kindly remove your hands from my person.” The shopkeeper looked startled and pulled his hands away from her shoulders quickly, as if burned.

  “Forgive me, my lady, but I am merely surprised to see you here. The Venir told me that you were no longer in town. He went to the inn to look for you and your husband last night.”

  Serra sniffed. “Yes, well, we decided to put the bedroll we bought to good use. We made camp in the woods south of here. The bells woke us from our sleep.”

  The shopkeeper nodded, too distracted by the recent tragedy to wonder why a nobleman would choose to sleep in the ground when a bed was available. “Yes. It’s tragic, though a good thing that you and your husband slept out of town. The child was taken from the inn. The Strops own it. Who knows what might have happened had two people of your stature been there.”

  Serra gave him a tight smile. “Yes, it is fortunate. Tell me, was anyone staying at the inn last night?”

  The shopkeeper shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of. We don’t get many travelers through here until the spring. In fact, you and your husband are two of the only travelers we’ve seen in a month. Eh, where is your husband?”

  Serra looked around in an unconcerned sort of way. “He is around here somewhere.”

  “I was thinking after you left last night that there are a few more items which might make your journey more comfortable. A fine lady like you should not simply be sleeping on a bedroll. I have a pad made from goose feathers so soft that you’ll feel as though you’re in bed at home.”

  Serra looked at him as he tried to convince her of all the items she needed to survive on the road. His oily tone slightly sickened her. A mother and father had lost their son and here was this man trying to make a quick penny. They had already given him more than enough money for all the things they’d bought the night before, yet here he was trying to entice her.

  A gentle arm slipped around her waist and Serra looked up into Reks' silver eyes.

  “There you are, darling. I thought I’d lost you.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. His gaze flicked to the shopkeeper who bowed quickly. “I do hope you are not pestering my wife.”

  The shopkeeper was shaking his head. “No, no, of course not, my lord, I was merely trying to see to the lady’s comfort on your journey.”

  “Ah, yes. Well, I do think she’ll be more than comfortable with me looking after her, don’t you agree?” Reks' tone brooked no argument. Serra shivered slightly. She knew that Reks was only pretending to be a nobleman, but the chill in his voice made her hope that she never got on the wrong side of his temper.

  The shopkeeper bowed his head. “Yes, of course, my lord.”

  “Well, now that’s settled. I think it’s time for us to go. Our companions are waiting.” The shopkeeper’s head remained bowed. Feeling slightly sorry for the man who no doubt was simply trying to feed his family, Serra reached out a hand and placed it on his shoulder.

  He lifted his head and met her eyes. “I do appreciate your caring about my comfort, Sir.”

  The shopkeeper smiled slightly, reached out and took her hand. Startled, Serra nearly jerked away, but doing so would only draw more attention to it.

  Reks stiffened beside her, his fingers digging into her side.

  Staring sightlessly ahead, she allowed him to bow over her hand, his lips brushing the unblemished skin. She waited for his cry of discovery, for him to point out her obvious lack of a Caste Mark.

  But it never came.

  He straightened and bowed to Reks, who relaxed enough to nod his head. Then Reks turned her and they began to quickly walk back to the horses.

  “What just happened? Why didn’t he notice…” Serra looked down at her hand. She stopped dead in her tracks. “Reks.”

  The Thief Lord had continued without her and had to take a few steps to reach her side. She was staring down at her hand, a confused expression on her face. Reks followed her line of sight and saw what held her attention. In the early morning light, there was no mistaking it for shadows thrown there by the flickering fire.

  A pattern had twisted itself in black ink over the back of her hand.

  Without a word Reks took the hand she was staring at with such confusion and pulled her to where Shadowdancer and his own mount stood waiting. Shadowdancer let out a whinny and gently butted her head against Serra’s shoulder. The contact startled Serra out her trance and urged her into action.

  As soon as they were out of the village and safely in the trees, Reks pulled on his reins, drawing up short. Serra stopped as well. She looked down at her hand, the marks were beginning fade, but they were still there.

  Reks moved closer to Serra and took her hand. He rolled up the sleeve of her shirt with sure strong fingers. When the entirety of the Caste Mark had been revealed he let out a breath. “Fava lats hurrad.”

  Serra wrinkled her brow, momentarily distracted by the words he’d spoken. It was a language she had never heard before.

  “If Arseno Valen were married this is what her Caste Mark would look like.” He pointed to a section on her forearm. “See that? That’s-”

  “The Mark of the Grand Lord of Lyre.”

  Reks nodded and pointed farther up. “This here symbolizes marriage and here is the Mark of Arseno Valen, Grand Lord of Thorndike.” The Mark was fading fast, and Reks had to lean closer to see it. “This is really… amazing. The detail is perfect.” He straightened up and looked at Serra.

  Her fingers shook as she unrolled the sleeve of her shirt. She had no idea what was going on. Never before had she imagined that she could create her own Caste Mark. If she had known it would have saved her a lot of sneaking around back in Malvern’s Ward.

  Once she had her sleeve back down she picked up her reins and urged Shadowdancer forward. She didn’t say anything to Reks and he seemed to understand that she didn’t want to talk about it.

  They arrived in the clearing where they had spent the night to find their three companions bent over a pile of papers and a map. Sylvan was carefully quilling the most recent account of a kidnapping while the others watched. Serra and Reks dismounted, made their way to the others.

  Rian looked up at their approach. “What took you so long?”

  Serra shot Reks a warning look before answering. “I got caught up talking to the Shopkeeper. He told me that they don’t get very many travelers through here this time of year. No one was staying at the Inn.”

  The map was spread out as well and Serra saw that a new marker had been placed on the village. She looked down at what Sylvan was writing, her eyes skimming the top of the page. A stab of pain went through her as she read: Lady Evalyne Senillion, First daughter to the Grand Lord of Lyre, age 17, Malvern’s Ward.

  Serra didn’t need to continue. She herself had written in the information the day before at Sylvan’s request.

  Now, Sylvan blew on the ink to dry it and then straightened. “There’s really nothing new. Neither of the parents heard anything. The other children, who were asleep in the same room as Hunter, heard nothing. The only sign that there had been anyone there was the smell. No windows broken, no forced entry.” She sat back on her heels. “I don’t understand what happened. The Creature broke his pattern.”

  Serra knelt next to her. “What do you mean?”

  Sylvan pointed to an area of the map. “In the past, he has always taken from this town first. I have noticed the creature prefers to take from larger towns, towns at least big enough for a Lord. That he came here with only a Venir, does not fit the pattern.”

  Serra shrugged. “Maybe he knows we’re on to him and decided to break the pattern to avoid us.”

  Vaughn nodded. “It would make sense. Once a pattern is established he’s easy to track. While he certainly didn’t seem very intelligent when we crossed paths with him, he might have figured that out.”

  Serra shuddered. The others had given her a brief description of the creature. Long shaggy grey hair, grey skin. A Mark on
the left hand, but unrecognizable due to grey thread stitched through it, breaking the pattern. More grey thread was laced through his skin, holding together rotting pieces of flesh.

  How he could determine that they were onto him, Serra wasn’t sure.

  “So now the question is,” Reks said from above them all. “Where do we go from here?”

  After a lengthy discussion, which mostly comprised of Rian and Sylvan arguing, they agreed to travel to Norwood, the largest city in Plysa. It seemed likely that the Creature would eventually end up there, if for no other reason than because of the population.

  As they were mounting up a sharp hawk’s cry from above them drew their attention. Serra’s eyes scanned the trees, trying to find the bird, but the others continued with what they were doing.

  Reks, already mounted, held up his arm as a tawny hawk with viciously sharp claws and beak soared into the clearing. It came to rest on his forearm. Reks stroked a finger over the feathers on his head. “Hello, my friend. I was wondering when you’d pay me a visit.”

  The hawk tilted its head to one side, clicking its beak in impatience as Reks searched his saddle bags for a piece of dried meat.

  Serra watched as the hawk took the flesh, careful to not nip Reks, then held out one claw. Serra saw that there was a note attached to it with a piece of brown string. After Reks had untied the note the hawk moved from his arm to perch between Reks' horse’s ears. The horse didn’t even flinch.

  As they moved forward, Reks read the note then tucked it into a pocket on the inside of his long jacket. The hawk began to chatter to him while Reks nodded as if he understood.

  Serra watched the interaction with fascination. Reks spoke quiet words to the bird that she couldn’t hear. The bird remained silent as Reks talked, then spread his long wings and shot into the sky. Reks watched him go a small smile on his face, and then his gaze drifted down and fixed on Serra.

  She felt her face grow warm, embarrassed to have been caught staring, but it was hard not to. After all it wasn’t every day that one saw someone speak to a bird. It appeared that there was more to her companions than met the eye.

  They traveled for the few days through the forest. Serra tried her best not to question Reks about talking to the hawk, after all he didn’t say anything about the Mark that had appeared out of nowhere, but she found herself watching him more and more. Especially since any number of birds came to him with letters from someone.

  The others appeared to ignore Reks’ frequent visitors.

  Their second evening out Vaughn had approached Serra and offered to teach her more fighting. They had started with basic hand-to-hand combat, Vaughn throwing everything he could think of at her. Serra’s main strength was in her punches, though she knew a few kicks and holds. Bull had really only been good with his fists.

  The next evening, when Serra would have been happy to forgo training as her body ached from the night before and from being in a saddle all day, Vaughn dropped a long smooth stick in front of her.

  “Pick it up.” Serra did, and then struggled to her feet, her muscles screaming in pain. The wood felt solid and heavy in her hands. It was too long for a practice sword and Serra wondered what new form of torture Vaughn had come up with.

  She felt the other’s eyes on her as she faced Vaughn, resting one end of the stick on the ground. “You don’t have the strength for the sword right now, so we’ll start with the staff. Its effective for protecting yourself and doing physical harm, but not necessarily for killing.”

  Serra nodded. If she were honest, she wasn’t sure she wanted to learn how to kill someone. Nausea roiled in her stomach at the thought.

  Vaughn came toward her, showed her the correct way to hold the staff. He took her through basic movements, blocking mostly and then had her try them against a tree. After a time, he stood against her, calling out the moves he wanted her to do and meeting them with their counters.

  By the time they were finished for the evening Serra’s hands ached from the unfamiliar weight of the staff and blisters had formed where the wood had rubbed her skin raw, but they were nothing compared to Vaughn’s bruised and swollen ones. Being a beginner, Serra’s aim was not that good and Vaughn had suffered for it.

  After watching Sylvan heal Vaughn’s hands for him, Serra made her way to the stream that the Dryad always seemed to include in their campsite. Back at the Great House Serra had washed every day, not just with a bucket of water and a cloth, but a full bath. One of the advantages of having your mistress be your best friend.

  If ever she needed a bath it was now. Her body ached from the unfamiliar exercise, her hands throbbed painfully with each heartbeat. A bathtub deep enough for Serra to sink up to her chin and just soak away her aches and pains would be like heaven. She reached the stream and looked down in dismay. If possible the water was even shallower than it had been when she’d met the pixie. Sighing, Serra began to undress.

  Serra was just sinking into the shallow water when a bright white light appeared above her. Startled at first, Serra jerked, splashing water, but in an instant, she realized what it was. The pixie was back. Or was it a new pixie? Serra wasn’t sure.

  “Hello, there,” Serra said, subsiding back into the water. The pixie came closer and she saw that it was the same one from before. “You startled me again. I’m sorry if I splashed you.” The pixie shrugged her shoulders as if to say, ‘it’s no big deal.’

  “I’m Serra. Do you have a name?”

  The pixie cocked her head to the side and blinked her very large blue eyes. “You know something that other people… pixies call you.”

  The pixie nodded emphatically and flew over to a plant that flowered by the bank. She rested delicately on the purple-green spines and pointed with one graceful finger. “Thistle?” Serra asked. “Your name is Thistle?”

  The pixie nodded again, and then took off in flight doing a few loop-dee-loops before coming to a rest in front of Serra once more, floating on the air. “Are you following me, Thistle?”

  The pixie nodded again.

  “Why?”

  Thistle held up her hands in front of her face and balled up her fists. She pantomimed fighting, throwing in a few kicks for good measure.

  “You want to fight?” Sara asked.

  Thistle nodded.

  “Against the creature who’s been taking human children?”

  Another nod.

  “I’m not certain what you’ll be able to do, but honestly we can use all the help we can get.” Thistle put her fingers to her lips and let out what sounded like a whistle. Within moments the entire area around the stream was covered with tiny bright lights different colors ranging from white to silver to purple to green.

  Awestruck Serra looked around, her eyes taking in the lights. There had to be hundreds of them. She turned disbelieving eyes back to Thistle, who puffed out her chest in pride. She motioned around her then crooked her arm and pretended to rock a baby.

  “These are your children?” Thistle nodded. “All of them?” Another nod.

  A crashing sound startled Serra, though the Pixies did not move. She spun towards the camp and saw her companions, weapons at ready for battle. They drew up short when they reached the stream, looking around in surprise.

  Sylvan was the first to recover, no doubt used to seeing pixies in the Sidonian Wood. She quickly bowed her head to the Pixies at large and then again as Thistle flew to her. “Hello, my lady.”

  Thistle bowed her head slightly. They conversed for a moment and Serra realized that Sylvan could understand the strange tinkling that issued from Thistle. After a moment Sylvan said, “Thistle and her clan wish to help us in any way they can. They have agreed to be our eyes and ears in places that we cannot go. Similar to your birds, I would imagine, Reks.” Serra glanced at the Thief Lord. So, he could talk to birds.

  “Great.’ said Rian. “We gratefully accept any and all help they are willing to give us.”

  “I already told her that.” Serra said, from t
he water. She immediately wished she hadn’t as four pairs of eyes turned to look at her. She became acutely aware that the only thing she had on was her thin under clothes, which were mostly likely made translucent by the water. She brought her hands up to cover any part of her that might be exposed. Sylvan looked back at Thistle and finished up the conversation they were having, while Rian and Vaughn looked away blushing. Reks was the only one who didn’t move his eyes.

  Serra glared at him, her face growing pink in embarrassment. “Reks.” she said her tone warning.

  He grinned slowly. “I am a rogue and a scoundrel. What more can you expect from me?”

  Serra jerked her hand, splashing water in his direction. Reks laughed and danced out of the way, heading back to camp. Rian and Vaughn followed him, leaving only Sylvan at the stream with her.

  Sylvan finished her conversation with Thistle and the Pixies disappeared. “Thistle will be back in the morning to travel with us. She is dispensing orders to her kin as we speak.” She crouched by the stream and trailed her hand in the water. “It takes someone with a very strong pull towards magic to call a pixie.” Serra nodded. She had heard that, though she had no idea if it were true or not. “Most humans have never even seen a pixie. So, what did you do, Serra, that called Thistle to you?”

  “Nothing. I-I didn’t do anything. All I did was take a bath in a stream. I’m sure she was pulled toward you and I just got in the way.”

  Sylvan nodded and stood up. “I have seen you practice fighting with Vaughn. If you wish I will teach you to use a bow. We Dryads are known for our skill in archery.”

  “That-that would be nice. Thank you, Sylvan.”

  The Dryad nodded and moved off through the forest, making not one sound.

  Chapter 9

  SERRA

  The next few days followed the pattern of the previous ones. They woke early, ate a brief meal rode through the morning, paused to eat lunch and then continued until evening, when they finally stopped and set up camp.

  Each night after supper, Vaughn taught her something new and made her go over what she had learned previously. When she was done with that Sylvan took her a little way from the camp and taught her the bow and arrow.