Ostracized (The Ostracized Saga Book 1)

by Olivia Majors

I ignore the swords. A part of me hates them. I reach for my dagger instead.

  One hour.

  Two hours.

  A loud rustle interrupts my concentration mid-throw, embedding the dagger in the tree opposite of my target.

  “Damn,” I mutter and retrieve it from the rough bark.

  I assess my surroundings quickly. It is a sunny day but the forest is so thick that only pockets of light seep through the leafy branches. It gives the forest an eerie look. The crumbling ruins and misshaped, jutting walls add to the disconcerting imagery.

  Another rustle stirs the silence of the forest. Softer. But closer.

  Hesitantly, I return to the fine line I’ve drawn in the dirt for my “respective distance” and pick up the sword I tossed aside. I sheathe the dagger beneath my skirt.

  Leaves crumple.

  I back away from the sound. I have practiced enough for the day. It will be alright to return to Agron earlier than usual.

  A soft intake of breath halts my departure mid-step. A snort.

  An animal.

  Leave. Flee.

  I ignore the warnings and move forward instead. The sounds came from a corner of the ruins. I step through the thick foliage of low-hanging trees.

  I try to sift out the danger. I have familiarized myself with the forest creatures that inhabit this part of the forest, but I can see none of them. Not the strange green birds that like to laugh at my practice. Not the fat squirrels that run up and down the trees as I collect their nuts for my returns to Agron. Not the furry, four-legged creatures that Shade and I ate on our journey to Agron for the first time.

  In fact, there is no wildlife at all.

  A soft rustling brushes my ears once again. I snap my attention to the crumbling wall from whence it came, but only see a giant pile of leaves blown against its form.

  I turn my head to the left.

  A soft breeze teases my hair. Leaves furl up from the forest floor in delicate circles. I hear rustling everywhere. I look to the wall again.

  The giant pile of leaves is still there.

  My heart skips a beat as I blink in horrified shock.

  It’s not a pile of leaves.

  It’s a beast.

  The leaves unravel into the four-legged ferocious animal with three rows of shiny, white, blood-stained teeth smiling back at me through its gaping mouth. A long tail uncurls from around its legs, with pronged needles rising up from the surface of its brownish skin. It has a spine of spear-like horns all along its raised back and its ears. A long hiss vibrates from the back of its throat like a pissed off snake.

  It launches towards me.

  I drop my sword and rush for the nearest obstacle – a five foot high piece of ruined wall. My hands grapple with the edge before I successfully lift myself onto its surface. I turn around.

  A collision of spiny needles slams into my arm. Flesh rips. Blood splatters the stones. The creature inhales as the smell reaches its nostrils. It glares up at me from the ground, its hind legs convulsing. I recognize that mannerism.

  It launches itself towards the ledge, claws successfully catching the stones. I roll off the ledge and land on all fours, palms and knees burning. The beast hisses at my trickery. It struggles to scramble free from the ledge. I have seconds to find safety.

  There is a large group of ruins directly in front of me. The remains of a lord’s esteemed manor. Shade told me never to enter it because, though it was the only ruin with all of its many walls still standing, it was dangerously close to collapsing. I don’t think. I don’t breathe. I dash in through the large, arched doorway – and wish I hadn’t.

  It’s a maze. I had always wondered what the skeleton of my home back in Kelba would have looked like had the fixtures and ceiling been removed. Now I know. An endless amount of jagged doorways and crumbling rooms to choose from – each one probably an entrapment. My mind, once again, tries to remember the typical geography of a lord’s home, but a furious snort behind me makes fear choose for me. I dash to the left.

  The room I enter must have been a study. It is small and the now open window is covered with ivy and moss resembling a spider’s web, making it impossible for me to rush through for safety. I hear the creature’s nails scraping on the stones in the foyer.

  My silence is imperative.

  It hisses angrily when it cannot hear me.

  Softly, I enter the next room. A hallway.

  Behind me, the beast snorts. It sees me!

  I run. Try to think as the beast closes in behind me. As the hallway begins to narrow out.

  In most noble homes, a hallway like this would have led to a veranda. Ahead of me, I spot a light. There’s a doorway around the corner. An escape!

  I smell dirt and putrid, damp skin behind me. Warm breath edges my spine. Its close. The back of my dress rips as claws rake the hem. I force my legs to pump faster. Reach the corner. I grab it and propel myself in a circle through the ivy-covered opening it presents. For a moment, I think it won’t break. I’ll be trapped in a spider’s web of vines as a free meal for the sharpened teeth of my hunter. But the vines snap, and I crash through them onto the stones behind. I roll down the steep embankment of what used to be a graveled pathway and push myself to my knees.

  The creature is not so lucky. Its claws rake the ground as it struggles to come to a stop. It slams into the wall by the door, unable to turn the corner at its furious pace. Stones crumble. The walls on either side of the hallway shake and begin to give way. The beast barely manages to escape as the remains of the lord’s lovely manor crash to the ground. I choke as dirt and decay cling to my lungs.

  The beast is clumsy around corners.

  I ponder the new observation and search for the nearest wall. The creature looks at me. Rage burns in its eyes. Apparently, it expected me to be a much easier kill.

  I see the wall it hid against only minutes before. My sword is not far behind it. If I can reach it . . .

  The creature runs at me. I note its cat-like leaps.

  I stumble around the corner. My ankle tightens from the movement. Twisted.

  Shit!

  The ledge I’d used as a safe-haven moments prior teeters unsteadily above me. I step away from the wall.

  The beast turns the corner in a blur of brown and claws so fast it startles me. Its nails rake the leaves as it slides, but not as far as I had hoped. It is close enough to strike at me. I watch its tail ready for the attack. Blood stains my left arm in deep red. The wounds lashed across my skin burn.

  Pump.

  Pulse.

  My palm is heavy again.

  The creature lunges at me.

  A pulse – like a massive heartbeat – shoots from my hand. The ledge launches sideways, uncharacteristically fast, and crashes onto the monster’s back. It howls in pain – so loud that my ears pound. Blood flows down the monster’s brown sides and pools on the ground as it struggles free from beneath the stones.

  I pull my dagger free and throw it. The blade sinks into the beast’s neck up to the hilt. I put twenty feet of distance between us and wait for it to fall to the ground. To breathe its last. To die.

  But it doesn’t. The monster howls and shakes its head from side-to-side like a dog trying to free itself from a collar. Blood spots the ground. It teeters on four legs.

  Damn it! It’s not dying!

  It rushes at me, still fast for a wounded animal of its size.

  I crouch low to the ground. I sense the sword behind me, inches from my foot. I don’t dare reach for it. I don’t dare take my eyes off of my attacker.

  Fifteen feet.

  Ten feet. The creature’s mouth opens.

  Five feet. Its eyes yellow with rage.

  It leaps into the air above me. I roll to the side the way I remember Shade doing so many times. The creature lands heavily on all fours exactly where I would have been. Exactly where my sword rests. I reach over, grab the hilt, and slice upward with all the strength that I can possess. I hear the sword connect with f
lesh – breathe heavily as it hesitates slightly on the brink of skin – and then blood gushes, freed from its veined confinements.

  The creature falls to the ground, a new smile carved beneath its fearsome one.

  The hilt of my dagger glares up at me from its lifeless neck. I reach down and violently pull it free. The blade is stained red.

  The creature looks so much larger up close. Seven feet in length, not counting the tail. Five feet tall.

  And I killed it.

  I killed something! I killed. I killed. I killed.

  My tunic is torn. My boots are filthy with dirt and blood. My arms are bloody and scratched and scarred.

  And I’ve never felt happier in my life.

  I want to kill it again. I want to watch its horrible, monstrous form fall to the ground once more. I want to watch its raging eyes fill with shock as I outmaneuver it. I want to watch it shiver and quake beneath me when I rise above it, victorious.

  And, suddenly, I am not alone. From across the ruins, I hear enthusiastic, undefinable shouting and hands clapping.

  Axle is the first to appear from among the trees and ruins, excitement painted on his face. He doesn’t even stop running when he reaches the monster and lands a good kick against its side. He kicks it again. “Oh, hell, yeah. It’s dead! No doubt about that!”

  He bends down and admires the gash in its throat. “Congratulations, Kyla. Not a bad job for a first timer.”

  I wait for his companion. Shade approaches, slow and sullen, as usual. But the corners of his lips twitch. He’s proud. Even if he won’t say it openly, he’s proud of me. My face feels uncharacteristically warm.

  “It’s a razor,” Shade tells me. He brushes a hand over one of the horns ridged on its back. “Their skin is so tough it can withstand a blade’s touch – only once, though. We use it for our vests. Our armor. And their horns they use for charms.” By “they” I assume he means Axle and all of the others. I have never seen him wear any charms but his swords.

  Shade walks the full length of the creature before joining Axle in examining the killing wound in its neck. He raises a brow at the gouged wounds in its back.

  “You’re lucky those stones fell when they did,” he remarks.

  A wave of shock ripples through me. “You . . . were watching?”

  Shade shrugs. “You needed a real test.”

  I don’t know whether to attack him now or to plot his demise elsewhere. He watched the razor rip my arm. Watched me rush into the dilapidated manor. Watched me try to outmaneuver the beast. Outsmart it. Kill it. And he did nothing.

  Axle ignores the tension between us. He is trembling with excitement. “Yes. It was risky. Damn crazy, actually. But . . . but you killed a razor, Kyla! Shit, you killed a razor!”

  Axle shows me how to skin the beast. It is tedious work, but I enjoy it. With the skin removed, the beast looks a lot less terrifying, and a heap more appetizing. I marvel at myself. I am not sick. I am not retching. I am not even remotely remorse about the dying mourns it emitted before its quick passing.

  I struggle not to look at Shade as we cut up the razor into transportable pieces.

  Dusk has already fallen by the time we’re ready for the return to Agron.

  Axle opts to carry the meat on his shoulders since he cleverly designed a contraption for the purpose. That leaves Shade and I to carry the skin between us. We each grab a side awkwardly, taking extreme precaution not to look at one another. For a long time we walk in silence. Axle is far ahead of us, a ghostly silhouette through the darkening trees.

  “You understand it too, don’t you, Kelban?” Shade says softly.

  I look at him then, struggling to determine his features in the dim light. To determine the meaning of his words.

  “The thrill,” he explains when I don’t answer him. “Of ridding the world of something evil.”

  I do.

  The enthusiastic welcome of Shade and Axle lasts a short five minutes before Otis addresses the subject of the “razor.” I try to wiggle my way through the crowd, intent on letting Axle and Shade take credit for the uncommon kill.

  “We didn’t kill it,” Shade says.

  Everyone looks at me. The torn dress. The wounded arm. The bloody dagger that I haven’t cleaned yet. Realization hits them soundly.

  “That’s a gods-cursed lie if I ever heard one,” Keegan chuckles directly behind Otis. “She doesn’t have the skills to ground a creature like that. Now, maybe, to ground me . . .” He winks.

  “Would you like me to make a demonstration of my skills?” I slide a hand over the edge of my torn hem. The tip of my dagger’s sheath is visible.

  Keegan’s grin widens. “You wanna roll in the dirt, vugra, just say the word anytime.”

  Bastard!

  Mama Opal reaches me and immediately grips my wounded arm gently. Her fingers probe the lash marks. “Let’s get you to the house and disinfect this quickly, honey. The last thing you need is an infection.”

  I dare a look over my shoulder at Keegan as she pulls me from the square, and he wiggles his middle finger behind his back in a grotesque gesture.

  I might have been mistaken, but Shade’s eyes grow dark for a moment.

  One second, and I see the barest flash of a memory (a memory tainted, horrifying, and violent) in his gaze before it flies away.

  Mama Opal has the meal hot and ready, but neither of the boys show. River eats in silence, occasionally glancing up at me from across the table. Her eyes frequently dart from my bandaged arm to the branded edges of my scar that peek out beneath my shoulder strap.

  “Where are they?” I finally ask.

  Mama Opal swallows a bite of her smoked fish before replying. “When a monster like the razor is killed, honey, the menfolk celebrate. It is cause for rejoicing. Razors hunt the children of the village and diminish the game in the forest. And their hides are prized for armor.”

  “What do they do for celebration?”

  “They gather at the establishment in the center of Agron and tell tall tales, insult one another, and drink themselves under the table, that’s what they do,” River cuts in. “I once tried to sneak a peek at the ruckus, and Axle nearly tanned my hide. He told me it was a no place for his ‘sister’ to waste her time.”

  No place. I smile to myself. Despite their differences, not many of the rules here in the Wilds were different from those in Kelba. But none of those damned rules had stopped Landor from excluding me.

  I have no scholar’s uniform to hide beneath.

  But I am done hiding.

  “Where are you going?” River asks when I stand abruptly and excuse myself from the table.

  “I killed the razor. By right of victory, I am entitled to participate in the celebration.” I adjust the skirt of my new tunic. Until the other one is properly mended, I am wearing Leanna’s white outfit. I never liked the color. It makes me stand out.

  “Kyla, don’t. You’ll get in trouble. You’ll degrade yourself. Tell her, Mama Opal!”

  Mama Opal smiles. A far-off glint flickers in her eyes. She isn’t looking at either of us when she speaks. “Leanna . . . she was so proud when she killed her first razor. So proud. I never saw her smile like she did that day. Never saw the strength she possessed because I never gave her the chance. I didn’t let her celebrate that victory because of a few damned rules made up by pompous bastards. I’ll be damned if I do it again.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper and walk into the street.

  The tavern is not hard to find. I follow the sounds of laughter and shouting until I approach the long, rectangle-shaped building with multiple windows open to the night air. Inside I see men – dozens of men – with their mugs raised high and their voices drowning in the chaos. The sounds draw me in. I glance over my shoulder, half-expecting to see Landor, Asher, and Craig hurrying towards me after they lagged behind as usual. A painful reminder of where I am gnaws at my gut when they are not there.

  No one notices me enter. They are all too busy l
istening to a tall, rum-bellied elder speak of his dalliances with a girl in a neighboring village when he was in his prime. Years of hearing every obscene story known to humankind slam silent fists against what should be lady-like shock.

  The tavern has a single counter in one far corner. Four barrels, twice as big as a grown man, rest on sturdy shelves behind it. A tall, thin man with a wispy black beard jutting from his chin refills mugs with the requested orders. The smells of smoke and alcohol tickle my nose.

  I slap a hand to the counter.

  The bartender swivels around and his eyes widen.

  I recollect my encounter with Shade in the forest. Here, they don’t call their liquor “ale.”

  “Brew,” I order.

  My voice – a voice devoid of male gruffness – cuts through the noise of the room. Everything goes silent. I am aware of the ninety-eight pairs of eyes staring a hole in the back of my head, but I don’t take my eyes off of the bartender. I watch his lips move as he tries to think of something to say. Instead, he hesitantly reaches for one of the mugs.

  “Wait,” a voice snaps. I don’t turn around, even when the owner of the voice stops a foot behind me, their hot breath tickling the hair on the back of my head. “What are you doing in here?”

  Otis.

  Slowly, I turn around, inching my chin up so I can meet the big man’s eyes. “Celebrating my triumphant kill.” I tap one finger – two – against the wooden counter-top impatiently.

  The bartender fills my mug and sets it beside my hand.

  “What makes you think you have the right to celebrate such a thing?”

  I shrug, ignoring the twist in my stomach. “The razor’s blood on my dagger. The marks on my arm.” I gesture at the bandages. “The fact that I just saved Agron a fair amount of panic and suffering. Take your pick. Each of them is factual.”

  Otis’s thick brows raise – and then straighten out. He smiles. The tension in the room dissipates. He claps me on the shoulder. “In that case, as leader of Agron, I offer a reward. Alistair.” The bartender looks up. “Put her drinks on my tab.”

  Alistair nods.