Shade and Axle taunt each other back and forth about stories from their slavery days. Even within hell’s gates they had memories that weren’t completely painful. Apparently, Axle pissed in a cup for their jailer once, and Shade drank it instead, unaware of its contents. Also, Shade installed a trap designed to catch small prison animals and caught Axle’s foot instead. Axle shows me the two-inch scar on the sole of his foot as proof.
I end up confessing about a three year crush on a neighboring lord’s son ten years my senior and admitting that my first kiss was a stable lad who I swore to silence when he caught me sneaking out of the mansion to meet Landor at the tavern.
I don’t know when we doze off. I think Shade went first. Then me.
All I know is when I wake up the next morning, Shade and I are curled together, his arm around my waist, mine on his arm, and his chin on my shoulder.
Axle chuckles softly from where he lays, an arm propping up his chin, and stares at me. “Warm enough?” he asks.
I disentangle myself from Shade’s hold and squirm a proper distance away. Gods, how can he still be asleep?
“Trust me, he isn’t,” Axle answers my thoughts out loud. “Are you, pal?”
His answer is a sleepy murmur.
Axle winks at me. “He isn’t.” He pats the space beside him. “You’re welcome to curl up here, though. I promise, you’ll be more comfortable.”
I swear, Shade’s eyelids flutter.
“No thanks,” I mutter and stand up groggily, “you’re much too skinny for me.”
Axle laughs.
Shade picks the perfect time to roll his back to us, a shiver running down his shoulders.
He doesn’t fool me.
Strolling into Smoke, a warrior on each side of me and my leg bare of weapons, gives me a naked feeling of being at the mercy of the wild-folk who imprison me on all sides. The stench of hundreds of bodies packed close together is enough to drive my senses into a frenzy.
Merchants hawk their wares from canopied carts, and performers line the streets, each clamoring for the attention of interested passerby. One girl bends herself in half and does a flip, landing perfectly in spider formation. A young man forces a silver blade, reminiscent of an Illathonian sword, down his throat and draws it back out a minute later.
“Idiot,” Shade mutters underneath his breath.
Axle follows a savory smell to a cart full of smoking meat. A girl with red curls and eyes circled in charcoal dip, offers him a taste. His eyes roll into his head as he chews on it. He begins flirting with her.
“He’s desperate to get laid before we return to Agron. Here, in Smoke, he’s famous,” Shade mutters.
“Aren’t you?” I ask, brow raised in question.
“Yes, but I am not the ‘laying type.’”
“What makes you say that?”
His brow rises too. “What do you mean by that?”
“I just find it unbelievable that no girls approach you . . . at all?”
“I’m too rough.”
“And you think girls don’t like roughness?” The minute the words leave my mouth I want to drag them back.
“Do you?” He leans close – so close his breath teases my ear.
“I- I don’t know.”
He leans closer, until his lips are touching my earlobe – barely. “Or do you like it slow . . . gentle?” His fingers brush my elbow. “Hasn’t anyone ever been soft with you? Touched you like you were something that could break and shatter?”
“Hasn’t anyone told you there are things you’re not supposed to touch?” I shield. I slip my arm from his grasp, ignoring the growing ache in my lower regions at the loss of his touch.
“All the time,” he whispers, drawing close again. This time his hand rests on my shoulder, fingers tracing the scar beneath the strap of my tunic. “But no one ever let me touch . . . until now.”
I slip back, heat rising in me at the look in his eyes. The tilt of his lips. The warmth of his hand. And the rising realization that I want to push him into an alley and ask him to show me just how gentle and slow he can be.
“I . . . I’m hungry.” I glance towards the cart. Not surprisingly, a different girl, this one with a hood covering her hair, has taken the red-head’s place. Axle and the girl are nowhere to be seen.
Shade notices my gaze and nods. “I’ll get you some.” He walks towards the girl. She smiles at him. He ignores her and focuses on the meat.
I slip away.
The constant bustle of people around me – the stench, the heat, the noises – makes my stomach constrict. At the nearest empty street, I escape. The buildings and the air changes. Clouds of smoke dull my vision. Stone houses carved out the rocky valley wink at me through the natural curtain.
I take a sharp left off the paved street. Domed formations that look like temples rise up on each side of the abandoned road I’ve discovered. They are not in good repair and appear to be completely abandoned. The thick vines and weeds that grow from the cracks within their stone walls give it a weak appearance, but when I put my hand to the stones, they are hard and brittle. Curious, I search for an entrance into the nearest one, finally finding a great iron door burrowed into the side of the massive stone structure.
Five pulls at its rusty handle and the door creaks open wide enough for me to slip inside. The interior is nothing but a long stairwell leading down into damp darkness. Warning bells sound in my head, but curiosity gets the better of me.
I have to see what’s down there.
Bunching my hands into the fabric of my tunic I take one step – then another. There is no light, but my eyes have adjusted perfectly to the black abyss. I can see the walls and steps in faint highlights of gray.
The air, which smelled of stone and damp earth, begins to change – the remains of something dark and horrible curling into an overwhelming stench. Holy incense faintly scents the air, mixed with a familiar smell I hoped never to breathe again; blood, death, and rotting flesh. The stairwell ends.
A corner is ahead of me. I don’t want to push beyond it. I shouldn’t. This place – this dome – is evil. However, my body keeps moving.
I turn the corner.
The dome is indeed a temple. A rusted altar sits atop a small, three foot podium, complete with candles, incense burners, and torn scrolls surrounding its base.
But it is not the altar that makes my insides swirl. Around the rusted furnishings of holiness lie the twisted, ugly remains of people, all with their arms and legs at odd angles, necks craned violently, and skin falling off their bones. Rats scurry away at my presence, disappearing into their homes within the walls. Weapons lie, unused, against the walls. Moon Lamps, long diminished of their power, fill a corner. A bone cracks beneath my sandal and, when I look downwards, it’s a child’s arm. Air seizes in my lungs. I gasp.
I need to breathe! But the only stench I inhale is that of decomposing flesh.
My stomach constricts. I put a hand over my mouth. I mustn’t retch in such a holy place, but I am frozen, limbs unyielding.
The grove in Brunt had been similar – but shadows had done that. This – this was something different. Something more sinister. Brutal. Evil. An evil that bit close to home. The iron door – there had been no handle on the inside.
Panic hits me low in the gut.
I’d shut the door behind me.
“You shouldn’t be down here.”
Shade’s presence doesn’t startle me. Not anymore. I hurry to his side and grip his arm. He doesn’t flinch beneath my touch. He doesn’t gape or wrinkle his nose at the sight around me. A sickening part of me knows why.
“Take me out,” I plead. “Please.”
Shade doesn’t say a word and leads me back the way I came. He propped the door open with a foot-long brick. When the iron door closes over the centuries-old grave, I fall to my knees and clutch at the dirt, sucking in mouthfuls of cool, delicious air. I can’t see anything but the odious, ghastly appearance beneath the ground I kneel
upon.
“You shouldn’t have gone down there. They close them for a reason. Did you not know of . . .?” Shade cuts himself off, realizing how little I know of Wilds history.
“I thought it was a temple.” Tears sting my eyes. “W-what happened? Why were they – that way?”
“Are you sure you really want to know?” asks Shade.
I nod.
“It happened forty years ago when the temples of Calaisar still thrived. The remaining survivors of the Poison Wall were determined to return the old ways and restore the old religions and myths of their former land. So these domes were built, boring deep into the ground for safety and ‘humbleness’ to the gods. It was the night of the Half-Moon. A time when all believers in Calaisar would enter the temples and worship.” His face darkens and his mouth twists up in a cruel smirk. “Do you know what my people did?”
My fists clench up. No. Please no.
“‘Loyal’ Wilds inhabitants said that the ways of the past were over and done with. That if we focused on the past we would be subject to ruin. The religious fanatics of the old ways were too much of a danger. Too much of a liability for progress. We needed a future – not the demise of the past.” His lips tremble, and I notice his struggle to maintain a nonchalant expression. “So, on the night of the Half-Moon, when all worshipers had to gather in the temples for their holy rites, the inhabitants, lead by three grand leaders, surrounded the domes and barred the iron doors.”
“No.” I shake my head. “You’re lying.”
He glares at me. “Would I lie about something so sinister? They barred the doors! They cut off what remained of our past with Kelba. They started anew. And do you know who one of the leaders was?”
I know it, but I let him say it.
“It was King Arkran’s father, Brock of Smoke, and Lucius’s father, Lucien of Smoke. They go down in our history books as the leaders of the reformation. The restorers of a nation. But no one writes about how they reformed this shit-hole. How they made the damned kingdom. History books decline to inform us how the Wilds was built on lies, deceit, greed, and the lives of fellow countrymen.” He turns, a deep fire in his eyes. “I hate such people. I hate such dishonesty. I hate the very idea that we –” He gulps in air, a vein throbbing at his neck. “That we need to sacrifice our own citizens for a nobler cause. Damn them, it was no noble cause. It was murder. It was – abominable!”
I stand, suddenly angry. “And you hate my kind? What are you – to do that to your own people? What kind of animals have you become?”
“Don’t be so quick to judge, Kyla,” Shade sneers, pointing an accusing finger at me. “You – your kind – are no different. Do you know how many were assassinated so Celectate Wood could maintain his position in Kelba? Do you know all those who are bribed, threatened, and tortured so Kelba can be under his thumb? Do you know how many nobles – such as yourself and your father – shiver beneath such a man because they’re afraid of angering him? Afraid of ending up – like that?” He points at the dome. “You would rather live your life in fear than face it head on.”
“Is that why you think I was ostracized? Because I cowered? What about you, Shade?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Are you a coward? Do you face your fear head on?”
“If I were to face my fear head on, the entire world would suffer the repercussions,” he whispers. “I would destroy every last shadow, I would raid their land, I would slaughter the monsters, I would punish all the greedy bastards sitting around King Arkran, and I would make this land – these Wilds – a true nation. A nation built on honesty, on morals, and peace.”
Even as he says it I see the sparks fade in his eyes. He lingers on the word “peace” like a lover. I want to caress the word, too, and I draw closer to him. When our eyes meet, the lies inside of us become open – because we both know the truth. And the truth is always honest – as blunt as a spinal blow, as sharp as a sword, as hard as iron. The truth – no nation has ever been built on honesty, morals, or peace. Every nation in its birth had underhanded means of achieving its individuality. We both know it.
All the anger fades from Shade’s eyes. “Well . . . we can have our dreams, can’t we?”
I echo his bitter laugh, a single tear skating down my cheek against my will. I want a nation like that. I want to see such a dream come true.
I catch my breath when Shade’s thumb gently wipes the drop from my chin and palms my jawline. He leans close, looking me in the eye, and our noses brush.
“I want a world like that,” he whispers. “Where justice is served.”
“I want a world like that,” I whisper back, “where peace abounds.”
Shade smiles and leans closer . . .
“There you are!” Shade and I tear ourselves apart, a flurry of arms and legs.
Axle stalks over from the corner of the street. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you two. I thought Dirk had initiated plan B and somehow managed to defeat the great ‘shadow warrior’ and his ‘avraga.’” He slaps Shade playfully on the shoulder.
I sigh with relief. He hadn’t seen anything.
“What do you want?” Shade asks, sullen once more.
“Time to return to the palace. It’s nearly dusk. Didn’t you notice?” Axle asks, ignoring his friend’s aloofness. He leans close and elbows him in the side playfully. “Or were you too preoccupied?”
On second thought, maybe he had seen something.
Shade growls and stalks down the street, leaving me to keep Axle company. We follow his fast gait as best as we can, but eventually Axle has to slow his pace.
“What was that I heard about dreams?” Axle asks.
“Nothing.” I don’t want him to know about my escapades in the domes or what Shade and I discussed.
“It sounded like more than ‘nothing’, wouldn’t you say?”
“Are you doubting me?”
“Hey, don’t get uppity. I’m just wondering why two people who are supposed to ‘hate’ each other to their very cores were standing together looking real friendly.” Axle’s eyes glint with suppressed mirth. He leans close, until his nose brushes my ear. “Or could it be that I was right? Could it be that Shade doesn’t hate you?”
I dodge the question. “Where did you disappear too?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Was she good?”
He coughs, suddenly, and finds interest in the stone wall that keeps his head turned away from me. “What do you think?”
“Well,” I reach out and pluck a strand of yellow straw from his hair, “considering your dishevelment, I would say she either fancies wrestling or something akin to the sport.”
He releases a low chuckle. “You’re not far off target, Kyla. Let’s just say, between you and I, I came out on top.” He winks and laughs at his foul joke.
“That’s disgusting,” I groan.
“Really?” He cocks his head to the side. “You prefer the top?”
“Another word and you won’t wrestle again!” I touch the side of my leg and find it empty. I drop my hand casually at my side, once more, trying to hide the pain that stabs my rib-cage.
“I’ll have Otis officially gift you a new one,” Axle promises. He pats my shoulder. “Upon my word of honor.”
“When did you have that?” I grin up at him wryly.
He scratches the top of his head, releasing another yellow straw from his hair, and frowns at it. “Good point.”
“Hey, you wanna hurry up, maybe?” Shade calls from the street corner, his black hair peeking around the stone building.
“Keep it in your pants! We’re coming!” Axle shouts back. He elbows me in the arm. “But seriously, did he keep it in the entire time he was with you?”
I glare at him.
He grins. “I’m lucky you don’t have that dagger, aren’t I?”
“Hell, yeah,” I snarl and punch him in the ribs.
We meet in Axle’s room for the second night in a r
ow. He’s prepared this time. There are three bottles of wine instead of one. We don’t play games though. Instead, we try to figure what will happen when we return to Agron in two days.
“Dirk will be pissed. That’s for sure,” Axle affirms. “And some of the villagers will back him. But they won’t say it openly. You’ll have to watch your back, Kyla.”
“Like I’ve always done?”
Axle nods. “Keep doing it. You’ve got more at stake now than you did as an outsider. Now you’re a citizen of our realm . . . and that paints a big red target on your back.”
“Am I cursed to forever be looking over my shoulder?”
Axle shrugs. “Perhaps.”
“After a while, you’ll get used to it,” Shade mutters from his place by the fire.
“I don’t want to live in constant fear,” I whisper. “I want to have . . .”
“What?” Shade interrupts. “Peace? It’s been centuries since that word existed. Not even the gods could bring this land peace – even if they did exist.”
“You don’t believe in the gods?”
“Do you?” His dark eyes flicker over my face. I look away. “I didn’t think so. If you did, you’d have stayed away from the domes today.”
“You went inside?” Axle’s eyes widen. “Kyla, that’s . . .”
“She didn’t know what they were,” Shade cuts in. “Don’t reprimand her. Honestly, she needed to see it. She needed to know that her kind aren’t the only doomed species.”
“Shh,” Axle hisses and looks around. “Walls have ears.”
“And if they did, I could still find a way to cut them off, so calm yourself,” Shade says. He rubs the flat of his knife along the round of his knee. He tests the edge with his thumb. “‘The three saviors of Wilds’ are nothing more than lies, built on lies, built on blood, built on more lies.”
“‘Three saviors?’”
Shade notices my confusion. “Brock of Smoke. Lucien of Smoke. Fair of Smoke. The three saviors of the Wilds. The heroes of the configuration. The leaders of this land. They lead those of the New Age against those who wanted to restore the Wilds to its former glory. They won – but they lost.” He points at one of the leather-bound books next to Axle. “All the stories of our lands are written in those – sequestered away in the king’s private library.”
Ostracized (The Ostracized Saga Book 1) Page 51
