Division of the Marked (The Marked Series)

by March McCarron

  Several yawns broke the silence and Ander checked his watch.

  “I will have a telegram sent to the Cape to inform our brothers and sisters at home of this news. For now, I think it is best that we sleep. There is nothing more to be done tonight,” Ander said.

  Gratefully, the congregation rose and departed for their respective beds.

  Yarrow and Ko-Jin dallied until the room was emptier. “Britt?” Yarrow asked tentatively.

  “Yes?” she snapped.

  “How is Bray?”

  Yarrow saw the lack of comprehension on Britt’s freckled face. “The girl who found the body,” he elaborated.

  “Oh—fine. Why shouldn’t she be? Dead men don’t bite,” Britt said, and strode off without another word.

  Ander still sat at the head of the table, writing a second letter in neat, careful script.

  “Can I help you gentlemen?” he asked, looking up with tired eyes.

  “I was just curious,” Yarrow said. “You said the Chiona are suspicious of us. Why?”

  The dislike between the two sides was eminently evident, but its intensity did not make sense to Yarrow. Surely differing cultural practices alone could not elicit such ire.

  Ander leaned back in his chair and scanned Yarrow appraisingly. “They are suspicious of us, and we are suspicious of them, because of a three-hundred-year-old foretelling, the Divisionary Prophecy, that promises the Chisanta will at some time go to war.”

  “War?” Ko-Jin whispered.

  Ander nodded. “It is unfortunate. The Chisanta were much stronger when we worked in unison.”

  Yarrow frowned, a crease forming between his brows. “So, tensions are high because of this prophecy. And with tensions high, it is likely we will, at some point, come to conflict. It seems like the prophecy itself will be what sparks the war.”

  Ko-Jin looked thoughtful and nodded agreement.

  Ander smiled. “Very astute observation, and probably true.”

  “So...” Yarrow said, “why can’t we just…stop? End the suspicion?”

  “Such things are easier said than done, I’m afraid.” Ander took up his pen. “Now, I really must finish these correspondences.”

  “Of course,” Yarrow said, and bobbed his head. “Good night, brother.”

  Ko-Jin and Yarrow exited the dining hall and stepped into the cool night.

  “I’m too preoccupied to sleep,” Ko-Jin said. “I think I’ll do the Ada Chae if you’d like to join me.”

  Yarrow suspected he would not sleep either. He nodded agreement and they strode together toward the lawn, illuminated only by moonlight.

  He and Ko-Jin settled themselves slightly apart and began.

  Yarrow’s arms lifted up from his sides and his feet sunk into the earth as he formed Warm Hands Over Fire. Immediately, much of the tension left his body. He moved instinctually into Brush the Dragonfly and Take Flight, letting his limbs take control as his mind wandered to the dead man. Graze Leg—and Bray, who despite what Britt said, might be having a difficult night. Hold the Veil transitioned into Evade Back—no, Bray was strong. She would be just fine. Turn the Sphere—what were his brothers and sisters doing back home? Gracious Offering—surely they were alright. Push Forward, Ease Back—they were not possibly going to war. A war between two groups of preternatural fighters and brilliant minds. The damage they could do each other would be devastating.

  As Yarrow moved into Slow Lash, his mind began to slip—reality began to recede. His impulse was to grab for it, but he hesitated for a split second. Wafting Arms—why should he want to remain here, with such troublesome thoughts?—Second Slow Lash, High Hand.

  The world fell away in an instant, and Yarrow no longer stood in the moonlit garden with Ko-Jin, but in an entirely different place. The sun shone high and bright in a cloudless sky. The air was dry, much drier than Yarrow had ever felt before. The grass beneath his feet was rough, stiff, and tinged with orange, as if thirsty. He stood in a valley, perfectly circular in shape, the ground unnaturally level. Aside from the grass, there was no vegetation or living thing, save for one massive, gnarled tree. It reminded him of the tree that he and Bray had raced to so many days ago.

  The circle of grass ended in a sheer rocky ring that ascended to the sky, then leveled off in a sort of step, and ascended again over and over, like naturally occurring stairs. Against the glare of the sun, Yarrow counted the steps in the mountain. There were three. If he counted the grassy center at the bottom and whatever lay beyond the topmost ledge, there would be five layers in total.

  “Aeght a Seve,” Yarrow whispered to himself.

  It looked like a massive, natural amphitheater—large enough for a species of giants. And, if Yarrow could look down upon it as a bird overhead, it would form five concentric circles; the symbol of the Chisanta, save for the dividing vertical line.

  Yarrow’s thoughts were at peace. As if he had come home—a place he had been missing without ever realizing it. As he took in his surroundings, a pleasurable chill ran up his body, and he knew he had received his first gift.

  A strange series of small bursts, like firecrackers, occurred within his mind. He sank to his knees, tears appearing in his eyes. He could sense the feelings of those he loved—they resounded in his skull like an off-key orchestra. His father’s feelings twanged with frustration. His mother purred maternal affection. His brother Allon drummed, pleased with himself, while his sister Pedra tinkled with humiliation. His eldest brother, Rendal, emanated a strange combination of emotions Yarrow could not pick apart or interpret. The baby thrummed happiness, in a simple kind of way. Though these terms—frustrated, pleased, happy—were just the closest words Yarrow could assign to the emotions. In reality, they were so layered and complex that Yarrow couldn’t completely understand any of them. Still, they were all there in the back of his mind, like living, pulsing things.

  Bray’s feelings boomed, a numb, sad beat. It didn’t surprise Yarrow that she was there, with his family. He should have found her absence stranger.

  The buzz of all these emotions made his skull hum like a hive of bees. Just when Yarrow thought this gift was strange and overwhelming, he found that he could turn it off as well. And his mind was his own again.

  Yarrow took several slow breaths. It was—in a way—what he had wanted. He would always know how his family fared, even if he was far away. Of course, if they were in danger he could hardly get there in time to help. But alas, the Aeght a Seve did not take returns or exchanges. Britt had told him that; anything he gained or lost in this place would be his to have or lack forever.

  Yarrow was more than ready to leave. He felt his own body, still moving through the Ada Chae in the garden. He focused his mind back into the movements and stepped into Floating Down Stream just as his body in reality did as well. As he formed Divide the Air, the coolness of night kissed his cheek.

  “You were in Aeght a Seve, weren’t you?” Ko-Jin asked, as they walked back to their rooms a short while later.

  “Yes. How could you tell?”

  “You moved better,” Ko-Jin said simply. “So what’s your gift?”

  Yarrow bit his lip, his cheeks reddening.

  “Go on, then,” Ko-Jin urged.

  “I know how some people—my family—are feeling. They’re in my head,” he said.

  “Just your family?” Ko-Jin asked.

  “Yes,” Yarrow lied, as he allowed Bray’s emotions to pop into existence. Her feelings hummed calmly now. He thought she must be asleep.

  “So, you can read their minds?” Ko-Jin asked.

  “No—just how they feel. It’s sort of hard to explain. Without knowing what they’re thinking or what they’re reacting to, it’s difficult to interpret. But I know that they are all safe, at least.”

  “That’s interesting,” Ko-Jin said. Yarrow looked to see if he was being mocked, but Ko-Jin’s face appeared merely thoughtful.

  “I asked Ander earlier about the gifts,” Ko-Jin said. “He told me that we alw
ays receive that which we most need. I was given physical strength because it is what I lacked. His first gift was speech.”

  “What—he couldn’t talk?” Yarrow asked.

  “He had a stutter. But once he was gifted he could speak perfectly, not only in Dalish, but in Adourran and Chaskuan as well. He said that our greatest defect often becomes our greatest strength.”

  “What does that say about me?” Yarrow wondered aloud.

  “I think it means that you could never be at peace not knowing whether those you love are safe and happy.”

  Yarrow sighed. So much for those fantastic abilities Mr. Paggle had spoken of. No floating wine glasses for Yarrow.

  Bray stirred her uneaten breakfast around her plate. She and the other nine remaining plebes took their breakfast without conversation. It had been two weeks since she had found the body, though none of the Chisanta had condescended to tell her anything about the matter. She still saw his unseeing eyes in her mind when her thoughts wandered.

  Her body was now a mass of bruises, her face constantly puffy and swollen. Every movement, every breath, hurt. The physical ills paled in comparison to her emotional wounds, her estrangement.

  It had been eleven days since she had spoken to Arlow, since he had passed the test and been named Cosanta. This had surprised Bray—in her time at the Temple she had seen clearly the difference in temperament between the two groups. The Chiona were more aggressive, more hot-headed. The Cosanta had a kind of serenity about them, and a certain aloofness. Arlow had never struck her as terribly serene, but there were no mistakes in the testing.

  She could see how it worked now, the test. The Chiona and the Cosanta passed in starkly different manners. Yarrow, Arlow, Ko-Jin, and the many others who had been named Cosanta moved with a fluid grace, as if they were dancing. They tended to use Lendra’s force against her, knocking her off her balance. When a Chiona passed, they did so with a new-found strength, agility, and fierceness.

  Bray stabbed at a bit of sausage and chewed it gingerly. The grease upset her stomach, so she spit it back into her napkin.

  It had been eight days since she had spoken to Peer, and his loss had been a great blow. It saddened her to think that she and Peer would be forever separated when she was at last named Cosanta. Peer had passed the test by hitting Lendra hard and true in the face, giving her a bloody nose. He was pronounced Chiona. This, too, had surprised Bray. Peer was always so calm and thoughtful, she had been certain he would be Cosanta. Though, later, when she saw him with his newly shorn hair and leather jerkin, she thought he looked just as he ought.

  She sipped her orange juice and winced as the acid hit the lacerations in her mouth.

  It had been nearly a month since she had spoken to Yarrow. She saw him now and again, looking much older than he had before, in his long Cosanta robes. His dark hair had grown into a curling halo around his head, covering his ears, but still far too short to braid. He always sought her gaze from a distance, locking his eyes on her. She could not explain it, but it was as if he knew just how she felt, and was trying to pour comfort into her through those soft gray orbs. If he was attempting such a thing, he was failing. She felt utterly wretched.

  “You look gloomy today,” a rich voice said, pulling her out of her reverie. Adearre was the last left of those with whom she had been friendly.

  “Why shouldn’t I be?” She gestured around at the largely empty room.

  Now, every day, multiple plebes passed the test. Their numbers dwindled rapidly, and their mood had grown dark and frustrated. The dregs of the plebes no longer played games or spoke much to each other. Bray wondered if they all felt their continued failure was due to some kind of innate deficiency, as she did. She feared she would be the last of them left—that they would pronounce the mark on her neck an error and send her back to her uncle.

  She tried not to think how he would look if she turned up on his step. The savage, ravenous glint in his green eyes. How he would touch her; causing her agony and shame in equal parts. When she was a girl she used to imagine that she could turn into mere air—a thing that could not be touched. That her uncle’s hand would pass right through her.

  She wished for that again every afternoon, when Lendra would deal her new bruises. It was so much worse now in the arena. Before, the majority of the observers had been others like her, afraid fourteen-year-olds, bearing the exact same share of pain and humiliation. Now, the eyes on her were the eyes of the Chisanta—people who had once been her friends, and were now the cool surveyors of her misery.

  “I think it cannot take many days more for us,” Adearre said.

  “How do you know?”

  He shrugged. “Call it an inkling.” His honey eyes were earnest and he flashed her a bright white smile.

  “Are you always such an optimist?”

  He took a loud bite from an apple and chewed slowly. “Optimist? No. I have seen too much of the ugliness of man to be called such. I do believe in trends. And the passing increases every day, so we shall pass soon. You see?”

  Bray smiled. He had made her feel a bit better, despite her resolve to be morose. The numbers were in their favor. “Thank you, Adearre. I appreciate the pep talk.”

  “What is ‘pep talk’?”

  “It’s when you try to cheer someone up.”

  “I wasn’t trying to cheer you up,” Adearre said, his lip twitching. “I was making a distraction so I could steal your apple.”

  She looked at the half-eaten fruit in his hand and realized it was hers.

  She laughed. “I don’t think I’ve heard you make a joke before.”

  He took another great bite. “I think of many jokes, but I worry I will not say them correctly.”

  “You said it just fine. I haven’t laughed in ages.” She patted his shoulder and stood. “I’m going to get some fresh air. I’ll see you later.”

  He waved her goodbye and Bray left the dining hall and meandered around the grounds. It was cooler than it had been when they first arrived. Fall had truly set in, the leaves beginning to die. She walked all the way to the sheer cliffs that overlooked the sea and sunk down onto the rocky ground. The dark water churned, sending salty spray all the way up to her high perch.

  “Not afraid of heights, I see,” a familiar voice said behind her.

  “Yarrow?” she said in complete disbelief, because there he was—her Yarrow. She jumped to her feet and ran to him.

  “I’m not supposed to talk to you; I can’t stay long,” he said.

  “Why not?” she demanded. “They are so evil!”

  “Who are?”

  “The Cosanta…the Chiona, the whole lot of them.”

  He looked hurt, and she remembered he was Cosanta.

  “Well, not you, Yarrow,” she amended.

  “I am Cosanta, Bray. It’s who I am…It’s who I always was. Know that we do nothing without a reason. There is good cause to separate the passed and the un-passed.”

  Bray’s eyes narrowed at his use of the word ‘we.’ She had managed to think of him as apart, not one of those responsible for her suffering. And there he stood, defending them, including himself in their sins. She took a step back.

  A look of confusion crossed Yarrow’s face. “Why are you angry?”

  “Why am I angry?” Bray shouted back at him. “Oh, I don’t know? What could possibly make me angry about someone I thought was my…” she searched for a word that properly described what Yarrow was to her and came up empty. “Someone I thought was my friend thinking there is good reason to—”

  “Bray, please don’t be angry. You’ll understand once you’ve passed, I promise. I’ll tell you everything, then.”

  “Why are you talking to me at all if there is such good cause for our separation?” she asked, her voice becoming increasingly shrill, tears welling in her eyes.

  Yarrow’s brows drew together. “I just know that you’ve been feeling so badly. It’s been killing me.” His voice broke slightly and his eyes pleaded with
her to understand.

  A part of her felt sorry that she was causing him distress, but the other part of her mind—the part that had already worked up a strong sense of justified anger—squelched that pity ruthlessly.

  “Yes. I’m sure it’s been just dreadful for you, Yarrow. How have you ever survived?”

  “Bray…” He reached out a hand to her, but she was too upset to forgive him.

  “It’s a good thing we aren’t supposed to talk, Yarrow. I don’t even want to look at you,” she concluded without sympathy. This was true, not only because of the ire she felt, but because the look of pain on his face—pain she was inflicting—was like a shower that threatened to extinguish the fire of her rage. She wouldn’t let him make her remorseful, not when she was in the right and he the wrong.

  So she strode away and left him standing there on the cliff. She did not spare him a parting glance, for fear she would change her mind.

  Bray still fumed as she plunked down on a bench outside the arena. She hated everything and everyone at that moment, even Yarrow, trying to catch her eye across the stands. Continue to try, she thought savagely. She could not tolerate the rest of them either: the Cosanta—Arlow, Ko-Jin, Roldon, Rinny; and the Chiona too—Peer, Magery, Mi-Na, and the rest. She despised the plebes to her left and right, timid and shaking. She loathed Lendra—detested everything from the fuzz of hair atop her head down to the soft leather soles of her boots.

  More than the rest of them together, Bray hated herself. For not passing the blasted test. For allowing herself to be a victim yet again.

  Lendra strode into the arena, rolling the snowy sleeves of her shirt up to her elbows. The hate and anger burned like white hot coals in the pit of Bray’s stomach. She was scalding from head to toe, as if with fever.

  “Who should like to be first today?” Lendra taunted. She smiled wickedly as the remaining plebes averted their gazes, as if hoping she would not see them if she could not make eye contact.

  Bray was finished with the games. Something inside her, that day, had changed. She was done being the victim. She stood.