by Angie Arms
Outcast
A Novella
Angie Arms
©2011 by Angie Arms
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means-for example, electronic, photocopy, recording - without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 1
She heard the approach of the horse. It was only one and it seemed to be moving unsteadily along the road. Not that the path could be considered a road, even calling it a path was being far too generous.
Jillian waited, hidden behind the underbrush. Fear made her want to bolt but curiosity kept her rooted to the spot. Were it more than one she would have already fled.
Unbidden a vision of a contingent of soldiers floated before her eyes. She remembered the fear as she sat in the hot carriage with her maid Mara. She remembered her desperation and her guilt that she was the sole reason the woman who had raised her was now being banished from court with her. Not just from court but from all human contact.
Soldiers, there were so many it had been laughable, if she had thought she would ever laugh again. So many she would have been flattered had they been sent to protect her. These soldiers had been sent however to insure she stayed in the coach. The four days of travel had been torture. The coach was black, the black shades drawn the entire time so rarely she had a glimpse of light but always was the heat. Despite the fact Mara could have ridden outside the coach and escaped the loneliness from her charge’s silent misery she had remained with her. Only leaving to empty the chamber pot and bring her food and water, the water Jillian had been eager for but the food she could not stomach. Always the soldiers surrounded the coach with the orders if the six-year-old girl stepped from the coach they kill her.
For four days she heard them moving around her, but never did she see them, she didn’t dare. She craved to talk to them, to someone other than Mara who insisted all would be well and they would be back at home in no time at all. Even at the tender age of six, Jillian knew she would never be allowed back. Everyone at Severn had grown afraid of her and the only alternative to being an outcast was death. Perhaps it had been her parents who were most frightened of all for they had not seen her in months and had not even come to bid her farewell. Before leaving the only assistance given to her had been Mara, solely because no one else wished to serve her. Thankfully Mara had not abandoned her or she would have made the journey alone. Had it not been for her maid she knew she would have chosen death. She remembered during the trip she wished many times that was the choice she had made. She kept that to herself, hidden away in the darkest part of her mind where she had learned to keep many things in the time since, for Mara’s sake. It was but a small sacrifice for what the woman had sacrificed for her.
After all she had given up the possibility of an easy life in her golden years to toil with Jillian to feed them. She had given up all possibility of friendship save for the friendship she had developed among the frightening Druids. She had given up a grand procession with those women and men who she served with and the nobles who loved her for a lone torch sending her away amongst the delirious tears of one lone frightened young woman.
The proximity of the hoof beats jolted her back to the present. She craved the site of another person so deeply even a glimpse would do. A stranger, someone, was near.
The horse’s head came into sight. It was tall and black as midnight, seeming to falter slightly before continuing forward. His neck was thick leading down to a massive chest. Leaning over the broad withers was its rider in full battle armor sloshing from side to side in the saddle. It seemed to be the unsteady weight of the rider that was throwing the horse off its gait.
As the pair came to the point directly across from her, the horse stopped. His ears pricked forward then turned its head toward her and let out a low whiney. The rider had braced himself on the front of his saddle when the horse had come to a stop, weaving to and fro for a moment until he noticed his horse’s reaction. He reared up straight in the saddle and tried pulling his sword from its sheath but had to grab for the horse’s mane as he pitched to the side nearly losing his seat.
He turned his head in the direction his horse was looking, his gray-green eyes locked with hers. She watched him make a grab again for his sword but his weak efforts made him weave off balance and he tumbled from the saddle.
Chapter 2
“I hear you are my bastard.”
Evander looked up at the man he was told was his sire. The man scowled, a fierce look crossed his face. “Do you forget yourself?” he demanded at the bold glance the young boy could not resist so he could look upon his father for the first time.
Evander dropped his head submissively and offered a small shake of it. Instead he contented himself with studying his father’s shoes and the bottom of his richly designed toga. It helped keep his dinner bread down to not look up at him. This morning he had only been one of the stable boys. One who never knew his father and had long forgotten his mother who raised him for his first six years before he became an orphan.
Evander had been lucky he had already come to labor in the stable. He had seen what became of orphans and a bed in the stable was far better than that fate. Now he stood before his father, Tiberius Claudius Drusus and he couldn’t stop his thin body from quaking. He knew the man had fathered a number of bastards and none were recognized. He feared he had done something grievously wrong to gain his attention.
“I want you to do something for me.”
“Of course Your Highness,” came the boy’s quavering reply.
“This is such a momentous duty if you do it well it will get you out of the stable and headed to a position of rank.”
Evander could not stop his quick glance of surprise at his father. His father’s hand came up and the back of his knuckles struck Evander’s cheek so hard pain exploded in his head and he saw stars.
He felt the ground under his back. His father had not knocked him down, had not caused the pain he now felt. Then the years since flashed through his mind. He must have fallen from Amicus. He remembered the eyes watching him, the shock that Amicus had discovered her hiding place and the fear that she was a foe. He tried to open his eyes but pain shot through his body as someone pushed against his back. A moan escaped him, the pain only intensifying as the pressure increased. Someone was rolling him over and he had a glimpse of bare legs and feet as he rolled onto his stomach and on over to land on his back again. Once the pain subsided he realized he was staring into the same dark eyes that had been watching him.
He moved his hand to his weapon, felt his fingers wrap around the hilt but he had no strength to withdraw it. He lay helpless staring up at the woman. Was this a druid? Surely he hadn’t survived all he had to be sacrificed.
“Show mercy,” he heard himself beg as the shadows closed in around him.
Chapter 3
It had taken hours to build and harness a travois to the soldier’s horse. He had remained oblivious to
it all until she had moved him. He was so big the task could be accomplished none too gently. She wished he was free of his armor but that was a choir of itself and she figured better accomplished in the safety of her hut. When he had awakened his eyes were piercing, seizing her breath in her throat. The pain she caused him rolling him onto the travois and the bumps along the way had him calling out in the delirium. People had been killed and he had escaped. He spoke of druids and sacrifices and spoke to death welcoming him.
The task of getting him inside the cabin was an impossible one. As night began to fall she built a fire near where the horse had been unharnessed and set to work getting him from his armor.
He awoke twice during the process attempting to help one minute then trying to fight her off the next. By the time she had stripped him of his armor and clothing she was exhausted. She sat back on her heels and watched the glow of the fire caress the man’s skin. He was big, his body solid, a warrior’s body.
“He is a joy to look upon.”
Jillian started at the old woman’s voice. Mirna and the others like her frightened her, their old ways were outdated and Jillian lived in fear she would become one of the druids’ sacrifices. She wanted the woman to go away and leave her alone but she was wise in many ways, healing was one of those.
“Do you think he will live?” Jillian asked grimacing at the mangled flesh she had uncovered. It was a wonder the man had survived this long with the infection setting into his numerous wounds.
“The question is should he live?”
“I am not a god. I do not hold his fate in my hands.”
The woman laughed. “But you do Lady Jillian,” the woman said sneering at her title. “He’s a soldier. Do you doubt he has shed rivers of blood?”
“Go away old woman, I tire of your presence,” Jillian grouched her patience at an end.
“He would be a good offering for the gods. Take his life into your hands and rid the world of him,” the woman advised with a chuckle as she turned and left the firelight.
Mara had gotten along with the druids and they had taught her much about healing which she passed on to Jillian. While the woman was alive she had kept Jillian shielded from the druids and others she feared would cause her harm. Now she was unshielded from those people but she had called on her upbringing and strength that ran in her bloodline to appear unaffected by the fear these people sparked in her.
With the woman’s words ringing in her head she sat to work gathering the plants she would need to cleanse the wounds. This was the most pressing task at the moment for many were deep. Several had already begun oozing the puss of infection. She worked diligently against the infection praying for his recovery and that he would not be one to bring her harm. Jillian knew no matter how hard she worked the man would never be the same. Two blades from two different angles had sliced across his handsome face. It was only by a miracle his eye had been left intact but the infection that was gathering in the cut around it might claim it still. More blades had hacked their way into his back and chest, a thrust of a sword had entered his back and this one was the worst. The blade had gone so deep she feared damage had been done to his insides. Dawn was breaking when she lay down exhausted next to him and let sleep claim her.
“Her weakness has allowed evil in,” the voice of the healer said from outside the door.
Weakly she tried to raise herself from the bed but the dizziness forced her back down onto the pillows. Her body was tired, her back screamed at her, and any movement brought on waves of dizziness and nauseous.
“What can we do?” she heard Mara ask him.
“It’s too late to do anything. The evil will grow in her, if we purge it from her body it will take over someone else.”
Fear crawled up her spine and she struggled to remember what had happened to her. The last memory she had was entering the bath. Had she finished it? She did not have the strength in her arm to raise it and feel for herself. Surely she would be able to feel if her head was wet even without her hand but her head felt as if it were stuck in a fog. Confused was the best way to describe what was happening to her.
“She must be killed or cast out.”
She heard Mara’s gasp, fear slammed into Jillian and she felt the world tilt and the edges of her vision blackened.
“We have to get you out of here!” Mara sounded frantic. Tiredly Jillian stared at her maid who was hurriedly throwing her togas and possessions into bags. She sat on a stool, near the bed and she could not grasp what was happening. Something wiggled at the edges of her consciousness for understanding but it would not come, only the fear she was not grasping something important.
“Finish here,” Mara said moving to the door. “I have to gather my things.”
On shaking legs Jillian stood. She had to place a hand on the stool as she teetered and her knees threatened not to hold her. Such confusion would not lift from her. She had heard Mara’s urgency and moved to do her bidding. She watched her hands grasp her clothes to stuff them into her bag, but she could barely feel the fabric between her fingers. She picked up some of her jewels and tossed them in too all the while her brain struggled to recall what else she would need and for what purpose she was packing.
All too soon Mara returned to her door, a bag so large thrown over her shoulder it looked as if she had packed all her possessions.
“She must be killed or cast out.” The words came so vivid to her mind she nearly dropped the bag she held in her own hands.
“Come my child, let us be gone from these ignorant people.”
Through the corridors, into the main hall, not a soul was seen. In the fog that was her brain it registered to Jillian this was strange but she did not question, just followed Mara who she trusted to lead her through her current state. A state that frightened her to her very core for she could not recall what had happened to her.
Out to the courtyard that was eerily quiet and empty this time of day, evening she noted, wondering where the morning and afternoon had gone. A coach stood in the courtyard, not even hitched to horses but it was to this Mara urged her. They left their bags outside and settled into the interior, Mara lowered the shades plunging them into darkness.
“What is happening?” Jillian finally had the courage to ask as the noises began outside, horses being hitched, orders called out.
“It’s okay dear. We’ll get away from here where you’ll be safe,” the older woman said finding her hand in the dark and patting it.
Jillian must know somewhere in her mind what was happening but all she could recall was the healer’s words that she must die or be cast out. Surely she was being cast out since she was able to take possessions with her otherwise they would not be bothering and would just kill her. She could not call forth enough energy to care so settled back and closed her eyes and let herself drift away.
Chapter 4
Evander stared at his shaking hands. They were covered in blood and still held the dagger. The gurgling noise from the bed before him finally ceased and he backed farther away. He stood a moment more in the large chamber, the riches of the room was of no import to him. He had just killed a man, which had been his father’s request. Claudius had told him he would be alone in the endeavor but when the task had been completed and things settled down, he would bring him from the stable and raise him to a position his courage deserved.
Evander didn’t seem very courageous now. He had seized the opportunity to please his father, to earn himself a place not at his side, for that would be far too ambitious for a bastard, but somewhere in his vicinity so he might continue to earn his acceptance. He had been so anxious for the opportunity Claudius had offered him he had not worried what his blade would feel like sinking into the emperor’s neck. He never once wondered how it would feel to quickly draw the blade across his resisting skin. He never thought what he would do if the blade did not bring death to the emperor.
All these things he now knew. He knew to bring death he must not hesitate and bare down on th
e blade heavily so as to break the skin and spill the person’s life blood. He also knew he must not be too close as he sliced through the throat because the blood would drench him in its warmth as it spilled from the body. Valuable life lessons he supposed, but worth the fear that now left him quivering with the urge to wet himself. He had accomplished the task for his father and now must flee or it would all be for not, at least for himself, for to have killed the emperor was to kill one’s self, but only if caught.
He hurried to the window, high up the palace wall, slipping the bloody dagger into the rope around his waist. The darkness still hid him as he climbed out, holding tightly to the ledge as he worked himself across to another window. He dropped silently onto the stone floor and waited listening. The blood filled his nostrils, he could taste it in his mouth but he ignored it for it was now the least of his concerns.
He moved passed the snoring occupant and to the cracked door he slipped through and into the corridor that was lit sparingly by the torches. Moving along the shadows, his heart hammering in his chest he headed for the back of the palace. Down the stone steps to the ground floor he went, out of breath from the fear. As soon as his feet touched the first level a yell came from the floor above. Adrenaline coursed through his young legs and he broke into a full out run toward the door he had left slightly ajar upon his entrance.
Claudius had made his entrance to the palace possible but he had warned if anything happened to keep him from escaping it would be his head alone that would be severed for Claudius would claim no knowledge or kin to him. He slipped through the giant door and quietly closed it completely behind him as the palace came alive.
Guards ran toward him and he ducked into the shadows, waiting anxiously, fear as he never knew before crowding in on him as he watched the guards run passed. Quickly he left the shadows and ran toward the stable. A yell from above ordered him to stop but he had too much to lose to obey.
