Ostracized (The Ostracized Saga Book 1)

by Olivia Majors

  Dirk doesn’t pass up my moment of weakness. “She is cursed. If she was not good enough for them then she is not good enough for us. Banished was bad enough . . . but ostracized? She will eat at the soul of this city. At the soul of our hearts. We will be cursed by her presence. Her words. She will bring death just like the last one.”

  A presence close behind me sends shivers down my spine. A hand, rough as sandpaper, rests on my wrist and slowly creeps towards my fingers. Fingers that still hold the dagger in a crushing grip. Gently, the foreign fingers press against my knuckles. That touch . . . it’s gentle, soft, and . . . understanding. I release the knife.

  “Good job,” he whispers in my ear.

  Shade steps in front of me, his body blocking my exposed half.

  “If you really fear her . . . tormenting is not the brightest idea you pricks have come up with!” he snaps.

  “And you,” Dirk growls, rising up to the challenge. He comes close, so close I have the urge to warn him that Shade doesn’t like his personal space invaded. “I warned you last time. You, with your demons and your gods-cursed secret vow and your pride. I’ve warned you to keep away from that forsaken land – to keep your stories the hell away from us. But do you listen – no.” He raises a finger near Shade’s eyes. “You are a reckless, unlawful, arrogant bastard brat and you are the reason we’re this deep in shit.”

  “If I were you, I’d get that finger out of his face,” Axle says, stepping up next to his companion with a twinkle in his eyes. He winks at me. There’s no amusement in his gaze, though.

  Dirk sneers, but he removes his finger. “And you, guardian of the city. You’re supposed to be his leash. You’re supposed to quell his animal behavior since he is unable to do so himself. Answer me, guardian. Wasn’t that your duty as his companion?”

  Axle shrugs. “I did try a leash.”

  Dirk rolls his eyes. “And then what?”

  “I took a piss on the leash. Naturally, Shade wouldn’t want to wear it after that so I threw it away.” Axle says the words with such sincerity that everyone laughs. Even Otis’s mouth turns up at the corners.

  “We are getting nowhere,” Shade says pointedly. He looks at Otis. “Question her. Make your decision. I’d prefer to wash my ass and get it in some clean clothes, if you don’t mind.”

  Otis rubs his chin. “From what I’ve seen I see no outright danger to her presence.”

  Dirk and Keegan look stunned.

  “She drew a knife on me!” Keegan protests.

  “Rip my tunic down the front and I’d have it in your guts, boy!” Otis snaps, his calm demeanor shattering. “Grab my arm and I’d remove them for you, too.”

  Keegan becomes silent.

  “She is ostracized,” Dirk offers.

  “Doesn’t mean a damn to me,” Otis says with a half-hearted shrug. “Ostracized . . . banished . . . they only made it more meaningful with an ugly brand and some odd symbol. And don’t spew any of that nonsense about demons and curses, Dirk. To be honest, that talk is making me rather irritable. To hell with the gods. To hell with the demons. To hell with the curses. That’s where they belong. She’s an innocent girl, Dirk of Brunt. A mere child, married or no. I’ve never had a daughter, and the gods be praised you haven’t either, Dirk. But the rest of you . . . if your girls were put on the other side of the Wall with the Kelbans, would you want them stripped, body and soul, before a tribunal of men?”

  The silence is answer enough.

  “That’s it?” asks Dirk. “You’re going to allow this outsider . . . this defiled trash . . . to stay within our walls. Gods knows the turmoil she can reap. The woe she can bring upon us. You are making a dangerous, foolish decision, Otis. Think about this city. The people.”

  Otis slams palms to the chair arms and rises so fast that Dirk takes several steps backwards. “Do not use my vow against me, Dirk of Brunt! I’ve had it with your filthy games, little man. I am no fool and I will put no lives at risk for an outsider.”

  “We should let the King decide,” Axle says from behind me.

  Multiple council members mumble their agreement.

  “Tis the law,” assents a reluctant elderly man. “And as good citizens we must not ignore the law.”

  “Send the law to hell!” Dirk snaps. He points a trembling finger at me. “She’s a danger to us. A curse! Get rid of her or face the wrath of the gods!”

  “And what power do you possess over the gods, Dirk, I’d like to know, please?” Sarcasm from Shade sounds foreign. He turns around to glare at the man who seeks my death. “And if you prefer, I can tell the King what your opinion of his law is?”

  The threat carries clear. Dirk grows silent.

  “The girl stays . . . until the King says different,” Otis says. “This council is adjourned. You may return to your homes and your families.”

  The council members file out. A few glare openly at me as they exit. They are the ones to watch out for. I memorize their eyes. Their faces. Their steps.

  When the last member has filed out, Axle turns to me and elbows Shade aside. “Damn him, did he have to rip the whole damn thing in half!” He struggles to pull off his vest but it catches around his elbows, locking them behind his back. He curses violently.

  “Don’t bother, lad,” Otis says. He removes the cape around his shoulders and tosses it at me. I hold it tenderly across my front, relishing the warmth it brings, and cover the scar on my shoulder. It has gotten uglier.

  “Do not hate your scars, girl,” Otis says, noticing my discomfort. “They make you stronger.”

  “Says the wise old sage,” Axle jests.

  Shade says nothing but his back has gone stiff. That long, white scar on his chest had been horrifying, and he had tried to hide it from me. He must abhor his scars too.

  “Where will she reside for the time being?” Axle asks as he tugs his vest back into place. I note the scars along his abdomen. They don’t seem to bother him.

  Otis shakes his head and faces Axle. “I sent for her.” He sighs irritably. “Where is that woman?”

  “That woman,” says a shrill voice, “is standing right behind you!” The sound of skin slapping skin startles me. Otis gasps. “And that’s ‘Mama Opal’ to you, you big ogre!”

  I turn around and lock eyes with a woman exactly my height. She is plump, with rosy cheeks, and hair tied around the top of her head in a simple, but graceful, knot. Her nose is a bit crooked, like it’s been broken, and her smile shows nearly all of her teeth. Her eyes narrow when she sees me. She turns around and slaps Axle and Shade on the back of their heads. Axle screeches.

  “Mama . . .!” Axle whimpers.

  “What did you boys do to the poor girl? Drag her through a bramble field? Look at her face. Her clothes. And her feet! Did you pay any mind to the poor girl’s feet? They’re practically shredded. Are these the two gentlemen I raised? Huh? Did I raise you to be abhorrent little bastards, is that it?” She raises her hand to strike again.

  I like this woman.

  Axle scampers away and uses Otis as a human shield. Shade remains stiff and silent. Mama Opal lowers her hand and glowers at him. He remains unphased. Her face softens and she turns to me.

  “Come, honey. Let’s get you cleaned up. A hot bath . . . some new clothes . . . you’ll be good as new,” she whispers and propels me towards the door, her arm firmly latched in mine.

  “I’m going to write to the King about her, Opal,” Otis calls after her.

  “Do that,” she retorts. “And that’s Mama Opal, you rude vagabond!”

  Axle and Otis chuckle at her response. I do not hear anything from Shade.

  Chapter XV

  Mama Opal takes me down a winding street not far from the gate’s entrance. The houses surrounding me are made of stone and mud, covered with snaking vines, and crumbling at the corners. She notices my critical gaze and laughs lightly.

  “I dare say it’s not what you’re used to, honey.” She pats me gently on my good shoulder. “Don�
��t worry, though. Bad shit they may be, but the roofs are strong.”

  I nod.

  Mama Opal turns abruptly and stops before a solid oak door belonging to a two-story, windowless house. She opens the door and steps aside to let me pass.

  It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the different lighting. There are truly no windows. The entire room is a bit damp, but smells of herbs, smoke, and dirt. Four lamps hang from the ceiling, all lit brightly. The fireplace is so large it takes up nearly the entire left side of the wall. The entire area is just one giant room. There is a modest table before the fire with sturdy-looking stools. A large wardrobe stands directly across from the door. Two cots rest against the right side of the room. Aside from that, there is no other furniture.

  Mama Opal steps past me and leans over the fireplace. She pulls a large kettle from the flames and sets it on the wooden table before looking at me with a sheepish smile. “I’m sure it’s not what you’re used to, honey,” she says again. Her cheeks are flushed with embarrassment I hadn’t expected to see. “It is very miniscule compared to the wealthy decorum of your Kelban home.”

  I shake my head at her and speak for the first time, “Compared to the Burnt Forest, ma’am, and a blanket stretched across leaves in Shade’s camp, I assure you this is more than enough. My people have a nasty habit of collecting useless things anyway. Your home is much better without such petty decorum.”

  She beams brightly. “Oh, my dear, its so good to hear your voicel. I was afraid those boys had frightened you too much to talk. They have a nasty habit of taunting that is impossible to leash. And your eyes, my dear. Beautiful. It’s like staring at the night sky. Once we get you cleaned up . . .” she gestures at the kettle which I now see is full of water, “. . . you’ll look less . . .”

  “Like a demon,” I finish.

  She frowns. “Dirk’s a bastard if ever there was one. Don’t you let him get to you. Behind all that bluster and brawn is a sniveling little coward. Come. Let’s get you a bath and show him how wrong he can be.”

  She leads me to the corner farthest from the door and draws a curtain across it. An iron tub big enough for me to sit in is full of steaming hot water. The final kettle pushes the water to the brim.

  “Now lets get you out of these.” She unwraps Otis’s robe from around my shoulder and, instinctively, I cross my arms over my chest. She doesn’t stop me, and turns me around so she can slide the remaining shreds of my tunic over my back. She gasps. “Gods of mercy!” Her hand touches my back. Surprisingly, it doesn’t hurt. “Gods of mercy . . .”

  “Bad?” I ask.

  She doesn’t answer and leads me towards the tub. I sink in up to my chest and let her pull at the knots in my hair. The water becomes an ugly brown. A few twigs and leaves float on the surface. The black crusty skin surrounding my ostracized scar breaks away, leaving red, healed flesh. Only the ugly symbol carved black against my skin remains.

  Healed. I trace it with my fingers. Already healed?

  Mama Opal slides a wet rag across my back. It stings but it doesn’t blast pain up my back like it had the previous nights.

  “The lashes . . . are they healed?” I ask.

  “There’s a really deep one that is still scabbed over,” she answers. “But the others have closed up completely. They’ve left markings, dear. Horrible markings.” She realizes how much her words hurt and pats my shoulder gently. “They aren’t that bad, dear. You’re beautiful. You’re still beautiful.”

  She’s a horrible liar.

  I hold my breath and lower my head beneath the surface. Once. Twice. Three times. Until Mama Opal says she can’t find anymore blood or dirt. She holds a roughly woven blanket for me and wraps it around my shoulders once my feet are on the floor again.

  She leads me to the sturdiest cot and motions me to sit. The mattress is hard – most likely packed with straw – and the wood is carved with delicate designs and ancient symbols much like the ones on Shade’s swords. I determine that it must be his.

  Mama Opal fumbles through the wardrobe. She swats oversized tunics and aprons out of her way in her frantic search. I imagine trying to cinch a tunic meant for her ample frame around my half-starved hips. She sighs in satisfaction and hurries towards me.

  She slams a black tunic, just my size, and a dark, woven belt on top of it. “There you are,” she says and wipes a drop of sweat from her brow. “How in the hell I found those I’ve no idea. Well, try them on before you freeze, girl.”

  I do. The tunic fits perfectly once the belt latches it around my waist. I stand up and do a little spin so she can see. She nods approvingly.

  “Once you’ve eaten a few fine meals you’ll fill those gaps out quite nicely, honey,” she praises. “What did those boys do? Starve you too?”

  I don’t comment and follow her to the fire. She has a strange creature roasting over the flames. It looks like a fish, but it has two arms where fish normally have fins. Its tail has five awkward rudder-like angles at the tip.

  “It’s a blugartha,” she explains. “Its bite is very poisonous, but their meat is harmless.” She pulls a small vial from one of the many tinkling on the ceiling. A blue substance moves inside, thick and pasty. “We use the poison for painkillers. Mixed with the correct herbs, the venom becomes a tonic.” She returns the vial to is proper place.

  “So you’re a doctor?” I ask. “An alchemist?”

  She shakes her head. “No. Just a woman who knows her herbs and medicines. In this country, girl, you survive with brains. Brawn helps but brains . . . they can drag you out of deep shit when muscle can’t. Remember that, darling.” She flicks her eyes over my face and smiles. “But I don’t think I have to tell you that, do I? You’ve done a marvelous job surviving this country so far.”

  “I think I’m running out of luck,” I whisper and glance at the door, half expecting an angry mob to burst through at any moment and drag me out to a tree.

  “Don’t let Dirk or any of his fellow bastards scare you, honey. They’re a bunch of big-mouth cowards. You’re safe here with me. I’ll take care of you just like I did the last . . .” She cuts herself off abruptly and turns to the fire again.

  “The last what?” I ask. “Kelban?”

  Her shoulders tighten, but she doesn’t say anything, confirming my guess.

  “What happened?” I remember Dirk’s argument about the last “one” they let inside the wall. I am not the first Kelban to enter this village. I am definitely not the first Kelban to make it out of the Burnt Forest and across the river.

  “It would do you no good to know, child,” she whispers. When she turns around her face has lost its light. “Needless to say, it was horrible and wrong. Nothing will happen to you, though, honey. No one can touch you until the King has a say in the matter and that’s that. Whoever dares will face not only his wrath, but also the wrath of every noble citizen of Agron.”

  I had been so intent on spinning my deceptive back-story I hadn’t taken the mention of their king to heart. Now, it beats wildly in my breast. Not only are the stories about their cannibalism, their complete savagery, exaggerated rubbish, but they are a functioning society as well, with a hierarchy and ruler. Once again, I wish for my journal. There are so many things to take note of. So many things to draw. To piece together. My fingers ache for a pencil but I don’t see a sign of any literature in Mama Opal’s home. I haven’t seen a book or piece of paper since I entered the Wilds. In the area of knowledge, they are still savage.

  Mama Opal proceeds to cut up vegetables. I recognize a carrot but the others are foreign to me. She looks up and notices my restlessness. “My shawl is hanging by the door, honey. Wrap it around yourself and get some fresh air.”

  I hesitate.

  “Oh, I don’t mean go walking all about the town. That would be foolish. I mean stand outside the door. Breathe. Let the air dry your hair. I’ll come get you when supper is ready. That door is so thick you wouldn’t hear me if I hollered.”

  I do as
she says. The shawl is woolen homespun: just like the blanket Shade lent to me that first night. She made them. I peek at her over my shoulder. She’s cutting vegetables at a frightening speed and humming a strange tune to herself. I see no resemblance of any kind to Shade in her face so she cannot be his mother. Aunt? Distant relation?

  I pull the door open and walk outside. Dusk has begun. Over the stone roofs and the wall trees jab sixty to a hundred feet in the air. I watch a bright blue bird flutter back and forth between the leaves, chirping a low, sweet tune. A night-bird. I lean against the wall and watch it preen its feathers. A few fall out and flutter towards the ground, out of my sight. Maybe tomorrow I can find them.

  “Mave, le nac frin mi dei naw.” I know that voice. I know those words.

  Keegan and Hayden stand directly behind me.

  “Enjoying the solitude, Kelban?” Keegan asks in my language.

  I stare at him, feigning nonchalance at his arrival.

  “Le drafe?” Hayden asks Keegan, and they both chuckle.

  “What do you want?” I ask, resisting the urge to tell him that I am not deaf.

  Keegan moves forward, arms behind his back casually, but his gaze is anything but friendly. “You know, not many women pull knives on me. Particularly Kelban bitches.” Rage dances in his eyes. He smiles. “I was right. I should have taken a tumble up your skirts – to search for weapons of course. A minor bridge of forgetfulness on my part.” Our noses brush as he leans close. “The next time I won’t be so careless.”

  “Be careful,” I whisper. “I might put a curse on your head.”

  Keegan snarls and grabs me by the neck. “You’ve a dirty mouth, bitch.”

  I spit in his face. He lets go of me and wipes at the glob of saliva dangling from his lips and chin. He stares at his hand in disgust.

  “Mind what you touch, savage!” I snap. “Where I come from they’d have removed your hand.”