Division of the Marked (The Marked Series)

by March McCarron

  He tore his eyes away and hobbled to the mouth of the cave, where the horse grazed. The animal was unsaddled and Yarrow was not much of a horsemen, but, even injured and one-handed, he managed to mount the steed with only a small amount of difficulty. He dug his heels into the beast, who, with obvious reluctance, left his meal.

  Yarrow spared a parting glance for the dark, twisted shape that was Adearre’s body. “Goodbye, my friend,” he whispered.

  Then he steered his mount away, down the coast and toward the carriage, where, Spirits willing, Bray and Ko-Jin would be waiting. The sun had nearly sunk from view, leaving the sky to the west black and the sky to the east an ominous blood red. Thunder clapped overhead.

  The events of the last ten minutes swirled in his mind. He had just killed a boy—had done so without even a hesitation, he realized with disgust. Yarrow turned, feeling a redoubling in the pain in his stomach, to look at the corpse. He was confused when he saw it standing, watching him.

  Right, Yarrow remembered. The gift of healing. Still, this day had answered the question Bray had asked him back in Accord: could he kill if the situation necessitated it? He had his answer, he thought, as the rhythmic muffled pounding of hooves carried him farther and farther away—and he was not sure he liked it.

  Bray and Ko-Jin hid. It had been raining for some time. The drops pelted the leaves and branches with varying notes, creating a kind of discordant music, before dripping onto their heads. Bray shivered.

  They heard footsteps and voices now and again as the night waned, but they did not stir. The carriage had been searched more than once. Bray was bone weary and in a state of mental terror. The words of that girl cycled through her mind—one of them was dead. The longer the others did not return, the more she feared they were all dead. The mere thought made her want to vomit. She couldn’t fathom it. Peer or Adearre, her dearest friends, dead? Yarrow? She could not even define what Yarrow was to her, but the idea of a world without him was alien and wrong.

  Bray imagined Ko-Jin’s mind was equally in turmoil, but they did not speak of it. To say it aloud would seem to make the possibility truth. Besides, it was safer to remain quiet.

  Hoof beats thumped in the near distance, growing closer. Bray remained still as the riders approached. They were close enough that she could hear the snort of a horse. Feet hit the ground as several people dismounted.

  “They’re here,” a female voice said.

  “Where?”

  “In the bushes.”

  Bray gaped at Ko-Jin. How had they known?

  “You phase through the bushes and flank them—I’ll distract,” he whispered so softly she barely heard him. He offered her the knives he had requisitioned from their previous foes. She took them and nodded.

  Ko-Jin charged through the foliage and Bray phased, moved soundlessly in the opposite direction. She heard the sound of steel meeting steel and a shout.

  She exited through the far side of the copse. Ko-Jin fought furiously against two swordsman. Her breath caught momentarily. He was magnificent. He moved with such speed and grace, like an inhuman thing. These two were skilled, for sure, and a good deal older than their previous combatants, perhaps in their early twenties, but they looked inept and childish by comparison.

  She counted. There were three horses, and Ko-Jin only countered two men. She searched the darkness for the third opponent and found her—a woman, just beside the closest horse.

  The woman crouched, loading a pistol. She jammed the ramrod down the barrel and chucked it aside, then raised the weapon, taking aim at Ko-Jin. Bray wondered that she should risk hitting her companions—pistols, even in the most skilled hands, were highly inaccurate.

  Bray raised one of the knives, took aim, and threw. She could just barely see the silver of the short blade flipping end over end through the air before it dug itself into the woman’s side. She called out in pain and turned to Bray. To the woman’s credit, despite a knife stuck deeply in her torso she stood, her arm steady, with the pistol pointed at Bray.

  “Drop your weapons or I shoot,” she threatened. She was a plain, shrewd-looking Dalish woman with a mop of dark curly hair. Bray wondered where in Daland she was from—her accent sounded unusual. Andle perhaps?

  Bray shrugged and stepped toward the woman. “Do your worst.”

  She looked, momentarily, shocked. Then she pulled the trigger. The blast rung loudly through the clearing and the bullet passed harmlessly through Bray’s chest and found its home in a nearby tree.

  The woman’s eyes widened marginally. “A useful gift.” She then sunk to her knees, succumbing to the wound in her side.

  Bray drew closer and heard her labored, whistling breath—a punctured lung. Without medical attention she would die. Bray’s mouth turned down. She hadn’t wanted to kill if she could help it; these were kidnapped children after all. Adearre would be displeased.

  Ko-Jin continued to parry with the two men, the clashing of blades and grunts rendering them easy to locate despite the darkness. Bray noticed a sword strapped to the horse by which the woman had crouched.

  She took it and ran to the fray. Adrenaline pumped in her veins, thrusting her weariness aside. She diverted one of the swordsmen. He was Adourran, with high cheekbones and skin a shade or two darker than Adearre’s.

  He moved with the smooth grace that comes from extensive study. He was the better swordsman for sure. He swung, a blow that would have ended Bray, had she not phased. Rather than look surprised, the man smiled as if pleased, a bright white flash in the darkness of the night.

  “I have never fought a vapor before,” he said, his accent thick and charming.

  Bray passed through him, in her typical style, but he anticipated her, spinning with unbelievable speed. She only realized just in time, and phased again, frowning. He couldn’t hurt her if she remained intangible, but nor could she hurt him. Most people were thrown more off balance by her ability, even Ko-Jin.

  He swung his sword straight through her chest. She rolled away, but before she could come to her feet his sword was there again, squarely in her torso.

  He smiled wider. “Ghosts cannot bite, my love.”

  Bray’s anger spiked. No matter how fast she moved, he was faster. That must be his gift, she thought. How in the name of the Spirits had Ko-Jin fended this man off while sparing time for another?

  Bray ran several paces, hoping that if she stopped short he would overtake her and she could re-solidify. She forgot her plan entirely when she reached the crest of the hill. In the distance she could see a wide cluster of torches born by horsemen—a hundred or more. Still a ways off, but approaching steadily.

  “You cannot win,” the Adourran man purred in her ear. She jumped and turned. He stood terribly near—if she were tangible his face would touch hers. She could see the gold flecks in his brown eyes.

  The pounding of hooves reclaimed her attention. Not the massive band in the distance, but a single rider much closer at hand. Bray thought, for a moment, to run, but then she studied the approaching figure. The horse was unsaddled and the rider hunched low. She saw the barest blue glow in the darkness.

  “If you submit, I promise not to harm you,” the man said.

  She waited, acting as though she were considering his offer, until the horseman was just below. The Adourran must have assumed it one of his kind—he did not look. Bray waited until that horrible feeling washed over her, stealing her ability. Then she struck quickly and sharply. She hit the man over the head with the hilt of her sword. She saw in his eyes an instant of confusion, and then he collapsed.

  The horse crested the hill and Bray saw it was Yarrow—Yarrow alone. He sat slumped in a way that worried her, his face, even in the limited light, looked gray and slack. He dismounted and collapsed on the ground beside her—and then she saw the blood, thick and dark on his shirt.

  “Yarrow!” she called, running to him.

  “Bray,” he said with a weak smile.

  Ko-Jin appeared at their sid
e, looking again as he had in their prison, shrunken and twisted. He seemed to hardly notice in his concern for Yarrow.

  “Peer and Adearre?” Ko-Jin asked, as if afraid of the answer. Bray tensed, waiting for the blow that seemed sure to come.

  “Peer was alive last I saw him, but captured,” Yarrow whispered. He looked pained, pained beyond his wounds.

  Bray understood. Peer was alive…and Adearre was not.

  Adearre was dead.

  She felt hollow, stunned. It seemed an impossible thing; Adearre was so full of life. She had just seen him earlier that very day. How could he be gone?

  No tears came to her eyes, but she fell back, landing on her bottom. A dry sob broke from her chest. It was too much, far too much, to take in. Adearre…

  “We have to get rid of it,” Yarrow said.

  Ko-Jin gazed out over the hill, toward the approaching enemy. “We can’t outrun them—not all the way across Daland.”

  “No,” Yarrow agreed, and he struggled to get to his feet. Bray helped him. Oh Spirits, how colorless his face was.

  “There was a fishing village not far off, remember?” he said.

  Bray and Ko-Jin nodded.

  “A ship,” Ko-Jin said in agreement. “Most of the fishermen will be departing around now anyway. They won’t know which vessel we’re on.”

  Bray helped Yarrow mount one of the saddled horses, and climbed up behind him. She worried that he would pass out and fall from the saddle without her.

  She watched Ko-Jin hobble on his twisted foot until he passed beyond range of the sphere. It was an amazing thing, to see a person transform that way. To be, in one moment, small and deformed, and in the next tall and strong.

  “Stay back a bit,” Ko-Jin said. “It will be hard for me to ride with that thing near.”

  Bray nodded and watched Ko-Jin swing onto his saddle. He trotted towards the coast. She waited a moment then kicked her heels and her own steed—a well-trained one, it would seem—sprung into motion.

  Yarrow’s flesh felt cold to her. He seemed to be drifting off to sleep. She stirred him. “Yarrow!”

  “Hm?” he asked blearily.

  “You need to stay awake,” she said. She wasn’t sure, medically, if this was true or not. But if he was awake and talking then he wasn’t dead.

  “You better entertain me, then,” he said softly.

  “Alright,” she said and racked her withered mind for ideas. “Let’s play the question game.”

  “It’s not really a game,” he said, a smile in his voice. She forced a laugh, though it sounded weak and strangled.

  “You first,” she said.

  The horse pounded and Bray saw the horizon to the west lighten. Dawn.

  Yarrow did not speak and Bray felt a spasm of panic. “Alright, I’ll go first. What was your mother’s maiden name?”

  He shifted slightly—still awake, at least. “Trevor,” he breathed.

  “Good. Your turn. Ask me a question,” Bray said desperately.

  A moment of quiet—nothing but the wind and the pelting of the rain.

  “Did you pay for the wine?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “At the Gallan Inn, did you really pay for the wine?”

  Her mind darted back to that night—how young they had been. How happy. Spirits, how she had liked him.

  Bray cleared her throat. “No, I nicked it.”

  He let out a shallow, pained chuckle. “I knew it.”

  The fishing village came into view and Bray urged the horse forward. The sun had risen in earnest, casting a weak yellow light across the landscape.

  “Yarrow,” Bray demanded. “I asked you what the name of your shop was?”

  “Hm?”

  “What was the name of your family’s shop?”

  “We just called it the General Store,” Yarrow said at last. Bray let out a sigh of relief.

  She slowed as she entered the village, though it was hardly large enough to be called such. Ko-Jin still led. She was careful to keep back far enough that he would not be touched by the sphere’s effect.

  When they came to the line of boathouses Ko-Jin dismounted. “I’ll find us a boat.”

  Bray agreed. She didn’t want to leave Yarrow. Ko-Jin jogged down to the dock and Bray dismounted, then helped Yarrow down from the horse as well. He collapsed his full weight into her and she only barely kept her feet. She placed his arm around her neck, and held him by the waist.

  “It won’t be far,” she promised. Yarrow nodded, and his feet began to move. Bray saw this with relief, as she was not strong enough to carry him.

  She took the sphere from Yarrow and clutched it in her other arm. Then they trudged, slowly, towards the sea.

  The wooden planks of the dock creaked beneath their weight and the salt stung her nose. Gulls cawed and circled above the heads of the many fishermen, moving about purposefully. The diurnal minutiae struck her as strange. Didn’t they know what had happened, what had been lost? Couldn’t they sense it?

  Ko-Jin appeared a ways down the dock and gestured for Bray to come quickly. “I’ve found us a ride.”

  Bray approached, and as she did so Ko-Jin was again transformed. She looked up dubiously at the boat he had hired. It appeared smaller than many of the others and looked a bit rundown to her untrained eyes. She raised a questioning brow at Ko-Jin.

  “It’s a sound vessel,” he said. “Fastest one here.”

  Bray nodded and she helped Yarrow step up onto the ramp. It was narrower than made her comfortable—perfect for one man, but tight for two people walking abreast. The harbor waters sloshed against the hull below her. Ko-Jin hobbled behind, his ill-formed foot scraping against the wood.

  As Bray stepped onto the deck of the boat she was greeted by a cheery, bearded man with a large pink nose and watery eyes. “Master and Mistress Chisanta.” He bowed his head to her. His eyes moved to Yarrow. “Spirits!” His gaze lingered on the blood. “This man needs medical attention—there are doctors a plenty up at Easterly Point!”

  “I thank you,” Bray said, her breath labored. “But this is, I’m afraid, an emergency. We need to be at sea.”

  The man shrugged but still eyed Yarrow with concern. “As you say, miss. Molla!” he shouted over his shoulder. A thin woman with greying hair appeared by his side.

  “My wife,” he introduced her. “Could you do something for this lad? I’d hate to have him die on my deck, here.”

  Molla raised an eyebrow, clearly wondering, like her husband, why they did not seek a doctor’s care. “I’ll do what I can,” she said and gestured for Bray to follow her below deck. Bray managed, with trouble, to aid Yarrow down the stair and into the hull of the boat.

  “You and your husband work this vessel on your own?” Bray asked as she helped Yarrow lay on a pallet. She felt the vessel sway beneath her and heard the sounds of footfalls above her as the fisherman moved about.

  “Aye,” the woman answered, as she carefully ripped away Yarrow’s shirt to inspect the wound. She drew in a breath and Bray’s mouth fell open. The cut was just below his navel, about a handspan wide. The metallic odor of his blood assaulted her nose. It looked horrible. She felt her throat clench with panic. He could die, she thought. A wound like that could surely kill him. Tears welled up in her eyes at the thought—weariness overcame her.

  “Now, now,” Molla said sternly. “Tears won’t help the lad. Get me some clean linen from over there.” She gestured to a cabinet at the far corner of the cabin.

  Bray aided the fisherman’s wife as best she could as the woman cleaned the wound then extracted a common sewing needle and thread. She sanitized the needle over the fire, then began to stitch Yarrow back together.

  Bray had never seen anyone receive sutures before. It looked just the same as sewing up a ripped seam in a pair of trousers. She felt an insane desire to laugh and repressed it. Yarrow forced his eyes closed, gritted his teeth. His face, once pale, had turned ashen.

  The woman completed the s
titches and moved away to wash her hands.

  Yarrow’s eyes opened—they found hers. She took his hand. “It will be alright,” she said softly.

  He rocked his head back and forth on the pallet. “No. It can’t be alright.”

  Molla returned and looked down at them with shrewd eyes. She crossed her arms before her chest. “How are you possibly still awake?”

  “The drugs are still in my system,” Yarrow murmured. For a moment Bray didn’t understand him. The drugs had made her want to do nothing but sleep. And then she recalled; the Cosanta had been given stimulants to keep them from entering the Aeght a Seve.

  “It will fade soon,” she said.

  He nodded. She leaned down and kissed him gently. His lips burned against hers.

  “Bray?” Ko-Jin’s voice called from the deck.

  She pulled away with reluctance. “Yes?”

  “We’ve got a problem.”

  Yarrow watched from his cot as Bray and the fisherman’s wife hurried up the stairs.

  He could only feel minutely concerned by whatever trouble Ko-Jin had discovered. He hadn’t much room for anything besides weariness and pain. The ship rocked him back and forth, like a babe in a cradle. It should be enough to ease him into sleep—glorious, glorious oblivion. But it was not. Instead, it made him want to heave up the meager contents of his stomach. Even his eyes didn’t want to close. They felt strange and itchy when he did shut them, so they remained open, staring at the grain in the wood.

  The voices of those above drifted down to him.

  “What in the name of the Spirits is that?” Bray asked. Yarrow distantly registered the note of fear in her voice.

  “A cruiser, looks like twenty guns. It could blow us out of the water as easy as sneezing,” a gruff voice answered.

  “Can it catch us?” Ko-Jin asked.

  “Yes—easily,” the man said.

  “Where in the name of the Spiritblighter did they get a warship?” Bray asked.

  Yarrow’s mind perked at this. Quade had a warship? How unlikely. There were so few of them in existence anymore.