Elevation of the Marked (The Marked Series Book 2)

by March McCarron

  “You know I won’t,” Charlem answered, leaning back in his chair and scanning the patrons of the inn idly. “I’m not going anywhere until I find my bevolder.”

  “And what if you don’t have one.”

  “Oh, I have one. I’ve got a destiny; I can feel it.”

  Denrick snorted. “You’ve got a big head, is what you’ve got. I can feel, hear, and see it.”

  “What, no smell or taste?”

  The inn’s crowds parted, and Charlem’s eyes locked onto the face of a woman—in that moment all else around him faded into nonexistence. He saw her alone.

  She was Chaskuan—What is she doing all the way down here?—with a curtain of black, gleaming hair. Her dark eyes bore the glittering mystery of a nighttime sky; her mouth, though frowning, contained secret smiles.

  Charlem watched, his heart lodged somewhere in his windpipe, as she spun, the candlelight making love to the planes of her face, and her eyes locked on his own for a brief infinity. Too soon, she withdrew her gaze, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly, and spoke to her companion. The man—Charlem noted her comrade’s gender with a frown—replied, and her face broke into a smile so wondrous in its warmth and ease that Charlem’s chest ached.

  Beautiful, he thought, though the word seemed woefully insufficient, or at least requiring further qualification. For she was not beautiful in the way of flowers or sunsets. Her allure had none of their frivolousness; it was not ornamental, did not live on the surface. No, she was beautiful in the way the sword at his hip was beautiful—full of gut-wrenching symmetry, but also imbued with purpose, with usefulness—a necessity. Not to mention that, like his sword, he strongly suspected she would feel right in his hands.

  Denrick’s elbow jabbed his side and Charlem started. “What’s the matter with you, Charlie?”

  “I think I’m in love.”

  His friend laughed mightily and followed his gaze to the Chaskuan woman. “You’re in love with a woman you’ve only just seen? What happened to your stance on love being a weakness for fools and youths?”

  “You should disregard everything I’ve ever said before this moment. I was an idiot.” Charlem knocked back his whisky and winced. “What should I do?”

  “Well,” Denrick said, amusement still in his voice. “I recommend you continue staring like a goon, for starters. Girls love that.”

  Charlem, once again not truly listening, stood. “I’m going in.”

  He weaved his way through the crowd, his heart drumming in his throat. He had the strange sense that she was attracting him like a magnet. His skin seemed to buzz as he drew closer.

  “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, belatedly wondering if she even spoke his tongue.

  She turned to him, one brow arched in stunning derision. “I have one,” she answered with a thick, appealing accent. She lifted the glass in her hand and shook it in evidence.

  “So you do,” he said, covering his foolishness with a charming smile. “Then perhaps I could get you something else…some peanuts, a chicken leg, slice of cake, the moon. Really, whatever you require. I am at your service.”

  She eyed him up and down for a moment, and then she laughed—a sound that seemed to resonate within his own body. “Is that so?”

  And then, with a motion of utter grace, her hand came up and tucked her silky hair behind her ear, revealing the side of her neck.

  Charlem’s breath caught. She bore the same tattoo as he, five circles halved by a single line. But he did not know her, which could mean only one thing: she was Co’santa. The two halves rarely mingled.

  Her own eyes narrowed in scrutiny, examining his exposed neck. His tattoo often went unnoticed, especially in poor lighting, due to the darkness of his skin. By the expression on her face, however, she had managed to discern it, knew him to be Chi’ona.

  A frown tugged at her lips. “Are you mocking me?” she asked coolly.

  “No,” he said, taking a half-step in retreat. “I wasn’t aware of your,” he pointed to her mark, “condition when I came over.”

  “My condition?” she repeated, her eyes narrowing further.

  “Well, yes. I obviously would not deliberately offer a Co’santa a drink.”

  “Let me offer you one,” she said with a smirk, and then her wrist flicked forward and the contents of her glass met with Charlem’s face.

  He sputtered, the alcohol stinging his eyes. Laughter erupted around him. His eyes twinkled as he licked her beverage from his lips. “Delicious. I thank you.” He bowed to her with mock solemnity and returned to his table.

  Denrick had turned a deep shade of red, beset with silent gales of laughter so intense that tears glittered in his eyes. “Still in love, mate?”

  Charlem mopped his face with his sleeve. “Oh, most definitely.”

  Charlem massaged his temples and cursed himself for drinking the night before a test…again.

  He could hear the clatter of wasters from within the testing chamber. The sound did nothing to soothe his aching head. He sighed gratefully when the bout ended and quiet ensued.

  Two acquaintances to his right spoke in subdued tones about leaving Nerra should this test not prove fruitful. Charlem rolled his eyes—they all said that. Though, some of them meant it. He never spoke that way. He would live and die right there, waiting for his bevolder to come along, should it be necessary. For only Chi’santae could enter the Confluence. He had every intention of placing hand upon that tree, of receiving what gifts the Spirits had to offer him.

  Denrick tramped into the waiting chamber shortly thereafter, his chest heaving and face gleaming with sweat.

  Charlem met his friend’s eye. “Any luck?”

  Denrick shook his head, then walked to the waste bin and proceeded to vomit magnificently. He wiped his mouth and croaked, “You’re up next.” Charlem stood and trudged to the door, weariness weighing on him. “I think you’ll like this one.”

  “Why is that?”

  “You might even love this one,” Denrick teased.

  Charlem’s stomach flipped over. Her.

  Of course it would be her, he realized. He hadn’t met her before, so she must be one of the latest risen to full Co’santa. He strode through the door, his spirit buoyed.

  The arena looked as it had the countless other times he had tested some new Co’santa—the ground rocky and uneven, dotted with trees. The morning sun painted the scene an eerie gold.

  “Next test, Charlem Bowtar and Min Jae-In,” the administrator said in a bored voice.

  Jae-In. The name sang in Charlem’s mind.

  She stood in the center, her face ruddy with exertion. A bruise blossomed on her right cheek and her hands trembled slightly. Charlem sympathized. He remembered well how exhausting it had been when he’d risen to full Chi’ona and had to test himself with every full, bevolder-less Co’santa.

  He swallowed down his rising sense of anticipation and studied her. Her spectacular abundance of hair was tied in a tail at the base of her neck, as she had not yet earned the right to braid it. She wore the robes typical of her kind.

  She saw him approach and her brows shot to her hairline, the hint of a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. “You,” she said.

  “Me,” he agreed.

  As he stepped up onto the plateau with her, he felt again that strange tug, the buzzing of his flesh.

  The horn blared, announcing that their test had begun. He unsheathed his waster and they positioned themselves back to back. He surveyed the trees around them, waiting for the approaching enemy.

  “I would apologize about the drink,” she said, not taking her gaze from the tree line, “but I have honestly always wanted to do that.”

  Charlem laughed. “If there is anything else you’ve always wanted to do, please do inform me. I’d love to help.” He peered over his shoulder at her and wiggled his brows.

  She stifled a smile. “Focus on the enemy, fool.”

  Charlem grinned, but dutifully turned back, readying himse
lf.

  The shadows of the approaching combatants lengthen across the grass. He bent his knees.

  “Five,” he said.

  “Four here,” she answered.

  “Should be a slice of peidra,” he said, raising his sword arm.

  “Why do I believe you?” she asked softly.

  They approached as a unit, as Charlem knew they would—a ring of enemy tightening in on them like a noose about a thief’s neck. He could feel Jae-In behind him as if she were a fire and he were sensing the heat of her.

  They did not communicate verbally, but it was as if they were connected in mind. Together, they attacked a single opponent, knocking him out cold, then darted to the outside of the ring. Back to back, they anticipated their enemy as they came, together. Jae-In took on the opposition in volume, moving like a leaf in the wind. Some she knocked away from them, others she sent towards Charlem, who incapacitated their foe one at a time. She was the crowd control, he the hammer.

  He beamed, his blood pumping exuberantly in his veins. He’d always enjoyed a good fight, but this, this was something else altogether—this was magic, a spiritual experience. They were like two arms on the same body, working in perfect synchronicity, towards the same unspoken goal. He was as aware of her as he was of himself.

  When the last of their opponents fell, he was disappointed that the moment was over, not wanting to ever lose that electric sense of connectedness.

  Jae-In panted and swatted stray hairs from her face. She gazed up into his eyes and, in that moment, they acknowledged each other for what they were—spirit-mates.

  She extended her hand to him and he took hold of her forearm. The moment of contact sent sparks up his arm.

  A good deal of bustling transpired around them. The elite trainees who had been dispatched received medical attention, a messenger had been sent to collect the senior Chi’santae, who would come to welcome them as full members of the elite Tree Guard.

  But Charlem was only peripherally conscious of all of this—he could not wrest his eyes from this woman who had swept into his life like a wildfire. A part of him had known from the first glance, that was what he had felt when he set eyes on her—his spirit recognizing its other half.

  He beamed down at her and she grinned back, radiantly.

  Charlem regarded Jae-In as she smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from her white tabard. She darted quick uncertain glances at him. “And what is the purpose of this?”

  “I used to climb up to the top all the time as a boy. When you get up there, you’ll understand. It’s indescribable. You can see clear across the desert.”

  Jae-In frowned up at the towering pyramid uncertainly, the hot wind tugging at the hairs that had worked free from her braid. “It looks impossibly high.”

  “It takes a few hours, I’ll grant you,” Charlem said. “You aren’t afraid of heights, are you?”

  She shot him a glare. “No.”

  They began to climb up the towering stair, side by side. In no time he had sweated straight through his shirt. The higher they climbed, the quieter it grew. Charlem looked over his shoulder now and again, watching Nerra shrink beneath him.

  Jae-In wiped perspiration from her brow and grunted. “It is always so hot here?”

  Charlie chuckled. “It only gets hotter, I’m afraid.”

  “Unfathomable.”

  Charlem paused and produced a water-skin from his bag. He watched her gulp down the warm water and sink onto the step. He plunked down beside her and observed the miniature city sprawled beneath them.

  “Is it always cool in Chasku?” he asked.

  “That depends on where you are. On the coasts it gets hot enough, but in the mountains it has been known to snow all year round.”

  “I’ve never seen snow,” Charlem said, a touch wistfully.

  She turned to him, her dark eyes glimmering with disbelief. “Truly? Never once?” He shook his head. “You will have to come home with me some time. There is nothing more beautiful than fresh snow.”

  “I would like that.”

  He bumped her shoulder with his own and smiled to himself. It was strange, to feel so connected to a person and yet know so little of her. They were the most intimate of strangers.

  “Shall we continue on?”

  She indicated that they should, and they once again began their ascent, feeling ever more disconnected from the rest of the world the higher they climbed—as if this altitude existed only for them. They spoke as they went, of their lives. Jae-In told him about her family back in Chasku, Charlem related humorous stories about his escapades on the streets of Nerra.

  By the time they reached the apex, the sun had begun to set, the heat of the day leaking away. The sky burned orange, bathing the seemingly infinite expanse of desert in warm hues. Wind tugged at their matching tabards and sent Jae-In’s long braid streaming.

  Charlem scanned the distance. He discerned the Confluence south of them and smiled—he and Jae-In had their second guard duty on the morrow. He looked forward to it. The peace he felt in that place was beyond description.

  Jae-In held her arms out from her body and closed her eyes. “It feels like flying.”

  For all the grandeur around him, he could not wrest his eyes from her. She was perfect, down to her minutest detail.

  She opened her eyes once again and caught him staring. Her mouth seemed to fight a smile, and her cheeks glowed. She turned away, embarrassed.

  “You know, I think this may be the best place for it.”

  “Best place for what?” she asked.

  He grinned. “For our first kiss.”

  She crossed her arms and raised a single brow. “And who ever said we were having a first kiss?”

  “The way I figure, it is an inevitability for three reasons. And as it is inevitable, we might as well choose a suitable location.”

  She shook her head at him, her eyes rolling with amusement. “Clearly you mean to tell me your three reasons, so go on.”

  He held up a single finger. “For starters, we will spend the rest of our lives together, bevolder. Do you honestly believe we could resist for so long?” He raised another finger. “Secondly, I am terribly charming.” He grinned and winked. “If you are not in love with me now, you certainly will be.”

  “A peacock like you?” She snorted and bit her lip. “Not likely. And your last reason? It had better be good, thus far I am unconvinced,” she said, though her tone was joking.

  “Third.” He stepped close, and stared down into her eyes with a look of utter sincerity. “We will kiss because I have loved you from the first second, because my spirit was waiting for yours all these years. When you are near,” he took her hand in his own and felt again that wonderful thrill, “I feel it right to the core of me.”

  She took his face in her hand, her eyes met his with tenderness. “It is the same for me.”

  And then their lips met, and Charlem truly did feel as if he were flying. He was suffused with heat and joy and a sense of completeness. The kind of instant that defines a lifetime.

  Charlem strolled through the marketplace, enjoying the rare cool day. The crowds parted before him, though after so many years as a Tree Guard he barely took notice.

  “Master Chi’santae,” the butcher called, “I have, for you, excellent cuts this day. A sirloin so tender it will make you weep.”

  Charlem laughed. “With all my heart, I would that I could, but my wife has insisted we reduce our red meat. She says it is bad for my heart.”

  The butcher shook his head, baffled. “Madness! Why, a man such as yourself needs animal flesh; it keeps the back straight and the mind sharp.”

  “I wholly agree, but I’ve been sent for fish and am not a brave enough man to return with anything else.” He bowed. “Good day.”

  Charlem moved on, chuckling to himself. He’d have fun teasing Jae-In with the butcher’s words later. As he approached the fish market, a familiar face caught his attention. “Denrick?”

  His o
ld friend, much aged since their last meeting, turned at the sound of his name. “Charlem,” he said, sounding confused. He glanced around him, his forehead creasing.

  Charlem closed the gap between them and embraced his old mate with a hearty slap on the back. Denrick returned the gesture somewhat awkwardly.

  “Why did you not write to say you were coming, you old rascal?”

  “Ah, well, you know how it is…”

  “You’ll join us for dinner, I hope. Jae-In will be happy to see you.” Denrick took a step back, and Charlem realized something was amiss. “Is everything alright?”

  His friend cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Charlie. Truly, I am.”

  “Sorry for what, exactly?” Charlem asked, his voice turning cool. “You can’t mean you’ve joined Herrene and his thugs?”

  Denrick took another step backwards. “You had better take your wife and your kid and get out of Nerra, Charlie. It’s only going to get worse from here.” And then Charlem heard it: the tolling of the Chi’santae bell—a baleful, resonant knell—the battle call, the warning that the Confluence was in danger. A sound that had not been heard in hundreds of years. “Too late.”

  In his shock, he took his eyes off Denrick—an error. His old friend struck him hard in the side of the head. Pain exploded from his temple. In the strange moment before unconsciousness, before he fell to the street, he heard Derrick say, “For your own good.”

  And then he collapsed, senseless.

  Charlem came to with a start. Someone had pushed him to the side of the road, and by the lightness of his belt, had taken his purse for good measure.

  The ringing of the bell had ceased. The light had dimmed, the day grown cooler as night approached. Charlem’s chest tightened with fear. How much time has passed? He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the ache in his head, and took off at a sprint, weaving in and out of the crowded streets, just as he had done as a boy.