Ostracized (The Ostracized Saga Book 1)

by Olivia Majors

  I have not seen Shade. He made an effort to stay away from me on our return journey. We have not spoken since that night. He’s angry with me.

  At least, this time, the feeling is mutual.

  “Don’t you have somewhere to be, Kyla, instead of dirtying up my cooking?” Mama Opal winks at me slyly.

  “I . . . not today, really. You see, Shade and I . . . we’ve kind of . . .” How can I tell her we’re having another one of our “hate” days?

  “Ah . . . I see.” She bustles around the edge of the table and pats my shoulder with a pudgy hand. “Lovers’ spat.”

  I make a face at the idea. “More like a mutual agreement not to kill one another.”

  “Hmm . . . that’s a very generalized explanation of a rift between two equally stubborn individuals with mild attractions to one another.”

  “Mama Opal . . .”

  “No whining. He left early this morning. We both know where he’s gone.”

  “He won’t want to see me,” I argue.

  “Since when did that stop you?” She pushes me towards the door. “Go find him. That boy’s a problem when he’s alone.”

  I won’t go see him. I’ll just take a walk. And if I accidentally happen to run into him . . . well . . . then I might broach the subject that’s been tearing at my mind.

  Otis approaches me as I stare at the wall surrounding the village. His face is stern. He puts his arms behind his back and looks up at the wall too. “Fine piece of craftsmanship, isn’t it, Kyla?” he asks.

  “Yes, sir.” I don’t show any sign of being disturbed. “It is magnificent.” And it is. For me, who hadn’t even considered anyone in the Wilds capable of basic hygiene, it is a masterpiece.

  “It took years to build. Three, in fact, with a harsh winter. There hadn’t been many men, thanks to the shadows. The king agreed to send us reinforcements, but they never came. ‘Too preoccupied with other matters’ he’d replied. I find it odd that the shadows are getting bolder. Getting closer.” He looks at me. He expects an answer.

  “It is odd,” I agree.

  “Very.”

  I widen my eyes. “You don’t think that I . . . I am bad luck, do you?”

  “No. I am not privy to Dirk’s hell-cursed superstitions. I care only about the safety of this village and the people within it. And I worry. The people of this village are mine to protect. I am their Keeper. They are my children. Even Dirk and Keegan. I am charged with protecting them. That is a responsibility I cannot ignore – even if my personal beliefs challenge that role.” He sighs. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yes, sir. You’re saying if it comes down to a choice between the Agronites and a Kelban you won’t hesitate to choose the former.”

  “Kyla . . .”

  “Don’t.” I hold up a hand to stop him. “I understand. That’s the way it’s always been. Everything in my life has always come down to choices.” Me or my father. Aspen or banishment. Agron or Kelba. And, in each circumstance, I wasn’t important enough to be chosen.

  “But,” I add, “I hope you understand this, Otis. I lived my entire life fighting to keep the right to make my own choices. I’m not going to give that up.”

  Otis smiles. “I don’t know why you would.”

  “You understand what I’m saying, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” He claps me on the shoulder. “Yes, I do. And if that day comes when your chance to make your choices is at risk, I will be there. I will make sure you retain that right. It is the basic right of any individual, Kelban or not.”

  “Thank you.” I know he means it.

  “If I ever chance to have a daughter, I prey she has your spunk. She’ll need it for this world we’re living in.” He looks sad and enthusiastic all at once.

  “Mama Opal will come around.”

  It takes him a moment to register my meaning. He blushes. “I-I don’t know what you mean, girl!”

  “Don’t you?” I raise an eyebrow.

  He coughs uncomfortably and waves his hand in the gate’s direction. “Continue about your business. I interrupted you. I have business to attend to at the . . . uh . . . at the . . .”

  “Mama Opal has almost finished making your bread. You could go retrieve it.”

  He turns even redder. “That woman does make the best bread in existence, but . . .”

  “But she’s very impatient. If you don’t pick it up on time, she’ll be very cross with you, Keeper.” I turn my back on him. “Go get it. She’s waiting.”

  “Y-yes.” The gravel crunches beneath his feet as he walks off. Very quickly.

  I chuckle. River would be ecstatic right now.

  “Making all the right friends a little quickly, eh, Kyla?” The voice is so close, so hot, against my ear that I jump with surprise. It’s impossible to not know the smooth, oily tone that has become the annoyance of my life.

  “My father says you’re a ‘witch’. Are you using your supernatural abilities on Agron’s Keeper now? How shameful of you, I must say.” Keegan pokes his face close to mine, his eyes darting over my features mockingly. He wrinkles his nose and draws back. “You even smell charming. No wonder Otis would be dragged into your little schemes.”

  His father says I’m a witch? What else is he saying? No. I won’t think about that.

  Drawing back, I cross my arms over my chest and give the impression of being totally unruffled. Heat floats throughout my body, fanning flames that have been left alone for far too long. “Still angry about our last encounter, I see. I must apologize, but I’m very unused to having foul-smelling vermin so close to me. After all, I was nobility.” His face has reddened. I lean closer, relishing the fact that it’s my turn to infuriate and mock him. “And you know what they would do to vermin like you who stick their faces, knees, and other body parts in unceremonious places?” I pause, waiting for the words to sink in. For his eyes to blink shockingly. For his jaw to harden. I land the gut-punch right where it will mean the most. “They cut their slagging balls off!”

  Keegan actually has to swallow before he can speak, and only after his eyes dart towards his manhood. “Really?” He takes a step towards me. His hands shake. He wants to hit me. Wants to hurt me. I see it in his face. “And who’s going to help you with that? I guarantee, it’s a little difficult to do by yourself, little girl. Why don’t you try? Let’s see if you can even begin to attempt it. Winner takes all.” He grabs at me, his hands framing my face, and pulls me in close.

  I am faster, though. He stops, his face hovering inches above mine. His skin turns a white pasty color. Slowly, his eyes glance down at his crotch where I have just placed the tip of my blade. His hands tighten on my jaw unsteadily, fingers shaking.

  “Winner takes all,” I say quietly, allowing the dagger’s tip to move forward just a fraction of an inch. It hovers just over the brink of puncture point. All it will take is one effortless push of my wrist. I look straight into Keegan’s eyes. “Make your choice.”

  Keegan makes his decision. He lets go of me and backs away. When the tip of the blade can no longer reach him, he lets out a huge breath. Rage lights his eyes. “I’ll . . . I’ll get you for that, Kelban!” he snaps. “And it won’t just be my boot on your lovelies when I do.”

  The words, though meant to frighten, only make me laugh. He widens his eyes at the reaction.

  I twirl the dagger lightly between my fingers, not even looking at it as they move swiftly over the rough surface of the hilt. Instead, I watch Keegan’s face. Watch his eyes trace the fluid motions of my wrist. Watch as he follows the blade all the way to the sheath on my leg where I secure it tightly. When he looks at me again, the rage has disappeared, replaced with sudden surprise.

  “You . . . where did you learn to do that?” he stammers.

  “Oh . . . in Kelba, where I spent my time attending parties, sipping wine, and spreading my legs for pompous lords. Later, Keegan.” I turn and walk away.

  I stroll through the gate and pass Axle, standi
ng on duty, and he lifts the corner of his lips in an elated smile. From the twinkle surfacing in his rimmed eyes, I deduce he must have seen the interaction. And every so conspicuously, he gives me a thumbs up as I head into the woods.

  Shade is sitting on the steps of the ruins when I arrive with his eyes closed and one of his Illathonian blades sweeping the air in front of him. He opens his eyes when I breach the distance between us and stop his blade with my dagger. For a moment, he looks startled.

  Did I really surprise him?

  “There’s no lesson today,” he growls.

  “I didn’t think there would be.”

  He frowns. “You’ve come to talk.” It’s not a question. “I don’t talk.”

  “I noticed. But we have to talk about this,” I say. “What happened to that boy was wrong and you know it.”

  I might as well have thrown a torch into a bucket of oil.

  “The boy could consort with the devils. He could speak to the shadows. That is a crime!” he snaps.

  “Why?”

  He stares at me. “Doesn’t that scare you, Kelban? That he could understand the fiends? Think about it. He could understand what they were saying. How? How could he understand if he wasn’t one of them? He deserved what he got. Deserved worse. Those monsters – they deserve to burn for a thousand years in pain and suffering for what they did to . . .” He cuts himself off.

  “So this is about fear?” I ask.

  He swings out an arm to encompass the forest. The sky. The crumpling ruins. “Isn’t everything in this damn place?”

  “That boy did not deserve to die just because you’re afraid of what you couldn’t understand.”

  “Can’t understand?” he asks. “What don’t I understand? Enlighten me, Kelban. Am I missing anything? One: he could understand the devils. Two: they came to the exact village where this boy who could understand them was living. Three: they annihilated everyone they could find, but they let him live. Tell me . . . what I am misunderstanding.”

  I want to tell him everything. I want to make him remember the first time we met. I want to tell him that I hear them too. That I see them. That I have a power I don’t understand. That I know who he is and not who he is pretending to be. That deep down – despite the facade – he does care about something other than fighting.

  Instead, I decide to be brutal.

  “You’re afraid,” I whisper. He flinches. He doesn’t like those words. Of course he wouldn’t. He thinks he’s not afraid of anything. But I’ve seen him, coated in sweat, and screaming in his nightmares. I’ve seen the raw pain in his eyes whenever he thinks I am not looking. “And I know what you’re afraid of.”

  He does what every foolish male does. He attempts to brush it off. “Do you?” he asks.

  “You’re afraid of people that care about you. You can’t understand it.” He flinches again. “You’re blind to emotion. To feeling. To humanity. And everyone knows it. Everyone is afraid of you. Grown men twice your size cower when you look at them. It must make you feel big and important. Powerful. And you waste your time gallivanting around my ‘kind’ in Kelba where you don’t belong.”

  “Where I belong?” He practically spits the words. “Where I belong? Who are you to tell me where I belong or not? Look at you. I found you, bleeding, abandoned, and shattered on the brink of defeat! Who doesn’t belong here? It’s you who doesn’t belong anywhere. Not here. Not in Kelba. Not anywhere! Understand, Ostracized? Not anywhere!”

  Ostracized. He called me “ostracized.” Not “Kelban.” Not “little girl.” Ostracized.

  He grabs my arm, pulling me against him harshly. I’m too shocked to pull away. His hand tears the thin sleeve of my tunic over my shoulder, revealing the scar behind it. The scar that says I don’t belong. The scar that says I’m alone in the world.

  “You don’t belong here,” he snaps and shoves me away.

  I rub my sore shoulder, trying to think of something to throw back in his face. To make him hurt. To make him bleed beneath skin like I am. “Neither do you, Shade.”

  That does it. He stops. Turns around. Stares at me, sudden curiosity replacing the anger. “What do you mean by that?”

  What do I mean? I mean you’re just like me. You’re ostracized, only without a scar. You’re alone, just like me. You’re a plague. A person who can’t find where he belongs. Tell him, Kyla. Tell him what he is. What you meant.

  We both stare at one another, waiting for answers.

  Make him bleed, that sinister voice inside of me whispers.

  “You don’t have anyone because everyone hates you,” I snap. “You hurt everything. You despise everything. You hate everything. How could anyone like you if you can’t return the feeling?”

  How can I?

  For a brief moment, there is pain in his eyes. And then . . .

  “I told you I was a monster,” he sneers.

  I flinch. What the hell?

  “Shade! Shade! Is Kyla . . .?” Axle turns the corner and stops so fast that leaves whirl up around him. He is panting heavily and leans over to clutch his breath. “The king . . . ah, one second . . .” He coughs and tries again. “The king . . .” He pauses again.

  “Damn it, Axle, spit it out!” Shade and I both say.

  He looks at us, eyes wide in surprise. “Well . . . what’s up with you two? I . .”

  “I swear, Axle, I’ll . . .” Shade takes a threatening step forward.

  “The king has sent word.”

  “And . . .” Shade and I say in unison.

  Axle looks at me. “He has sent for you.”

  PART THREE

  Fate

  Chapter XXIV

  The king’s answer sparks a bustle in the village; pivoting protesters against loyal citizens. Dirk and his followers are easier to spot inside the square. They openly glare, make faces, or curse me silently when I walk by.

  Otis started putting a group together seconds after the king’s decree was officially read in the square. It was a simple paragraph, explicitly verbalizing the king’s eagerness to meet the new “outsider” and to bring the “specimen” to the capitol for his perusal. Somehow, the idea of being referenced like supplies gives me the irresistible urge to show the king just how “human” I have become in this savage land.

  Mama Opal had already been working on a dress, but she pushed herself to finish it overnight. I had to have a dress, she said, that was appropriate for an excursion in the capitol. One that would make the king see how delicate and small I was, but also speak to my noble upbringing. I didn’t have to mention that it should hide my ruined shoulder. She already understood my distaste for the scar I permanently carry. The dress, when finished, is a beautiful forest green color. She used leaves from a certain tree in the forest to make it an authentic vibrancy, and I am grateful for it. The dress had a V-shaped neckline, flowing sleeves that fan out around my arms, but are up to my elbows to allow freedom of movement. The skirt sweeps the floor. It is inappropriate for a woman’s legs to show in front of the king, Mama Opal says.

  River signs up to accompany me but her request is denied based on complaints arising from a “secret secondary party.” I have a feeling it is Axle’s doing and watch River sniffle dejectedly on her pallet the night before I am going to leave.

  “He probably doesn’t want you to overexert yourself. He is going to have to be a guard on the journey and he doesn’t want to shirk his duties by . . .”

  “By watching me. I understand.” River wipes her nose with a bony fist. “But that isn’t why he doesn’t want me to come. He would be perfectly fine leaving me in your hands. It’s because he’s . . . he’s going to be passing . . .” She doesn’t finish.

  I don’t press her for questions. I’ve come to realize that anything I ask about Axle or Shade’s mysteries will go unanswered.

  The next morning those accompanying me to Smoke wait in the square, bags packed, weapons shouldered, ready for the long walk ahead of us. River lent me a pair of her boots and
they’re snug, scrunching my toes slightly. I’ll have to make due, though, because sandals would have my feet aching and bleeding by the end of the day.

  I count the guard that Otis organized around me. Fifteen men in all. I am not surprised to see two of his most trusted companions among the group. I am, however, disturbed to see Dirk, Keegan, and Hayden standing comfortably with sneers that imply their going to give me no peace. Dirk says he’s speaking for “the people” when he stands before the king.

  Who speaks for me?

  River tips her nose at the troublemakers, and helps me slide into the pack she’s created for me, situating the straps on my shoulders so they don’t rub the scar too hard. She pats my back lightly, before stepping aside.

  Otis unfurls the king’s decree and holds it up for the gathering crowd to see.

  “This is the word from his majesty. I and everyone in this company,” he gestures to my guard, including Dirk and his companions, “have read it thoroughly and know the punishment should his wishes be denied. You are to provide escort and protection for one ostracized Kelban, Kyla Kelonia Bone, to the capitol, Smoke, for a meeting with his majesty, King Arkran. Should any fate, accidental or otherwise, befall this person your punishment will be dealt out, according to the law. If the King hears of any failure to meet these demands from the plaintiff herself, or secondary parties, he shall punish accordingly and appropriately.” Otis looks around. “Are his majesty’s requests understood?”

  The group nods solemnly.

  “Good,” Otis says, satisfied. He steps back. “Captain of the guard, my trusted comrade, Gregor, will lead the journey. His second-in-command is to be obeyed and his wishes enforced should a situation in which Gregor is unable to give orders arise. Shade, my boy, are you prepared for such a responsibility?”