Chapter 1: The Flight's Beginning
Selene
balanced her bare feet upon the faded tiles that formed the edge of the Elders’
Square. A light breeze, cooled by nearby ocean waves, caressed what skin was
left bare by ill-fitting funeral robes. The wind carried with it the comforting
scent of seaweed and burning wood, but also the hushed voices of those left
living. The few condolences offered to Selene’s mother by friends and neighbors
were cast into shadow by gossip whispered when they fancied themselves out of
hearing range.
“May the Spirits protect and guide you.”
“If you have need of anything…”
“Nearly a week and still no sign of the boy.”
Selene lifted a foot, moving it carefully across a chipped tile.
“…lost her father, and…”
“It was for the best, I say.”
“You’ll not believe what I…”
“…Marked.”
Her foot slipped, causing the edge of the tile to bite into its soul. She landed hard on the damp sand just outside the last line of tiles. Blood mixed lazily with a small puddle of water left by a late rainstorm.
Marked. Her mother had spoken the word countless times, yet refused to reveal its meaning. There was much one could glean from eavesdropping, however. Their souls are unbalanced. They are a curse to themselves as well as those around them. No one knew more than that, or at least they were not willing to speak of it. A Marked One was too evil to mention even in fireside stories.
Keep Islyr’s secret as well as you have kept your own. Her mother had warned her.
Sand burrowed its way into Selene’s wound as she moved. Shivers born of wet clothes and cold stone engulfed her as she sat upon the edge of the Square. She pulled her foot close, squinting to see through the gathering darkness. The cut stretched half the length of her sole. Luckily, it was not deep.
Selene drew a shallow breath and blew lightly upon the wound. Flesh crept quickly over the open space, leaving nothing but a few drops of blood in its wake. She wiped at it until no trace was left.
Something warm pulled her hand back. Her gaze followed. Pyresong robes of flowing silk, the gray of a storm-swept sky, concealed her mother’s natural shape.
“Selene, no!” she warned in hushed tones. Her eyes shifted nervously as if to be sure no one was watching.
Tears left dark marks where they touched billowing robes. Selene had never before seen her mother cry. Her hand freed itself from her mother’s grasp and moved to touch the mark upon her back.
“I know that this is difficult for you,” Maye said, “but you must learn some control.”
“Our deepest condolences,” Elder Aldyn’s approach had been as silent as an owl’s flight. Selene had not noticed her until the first word passed her lips. The pallor of Maye’s skin as she stared into the Elder’s face made even the thickest foam of ocean waves seem a dingy gray.
“Elder Aldyn, forgive me. I did not see you.” Maye said with a swift bow.
“So I gather.” Elder Aldyn answered. The woman’s frown carried more warning than discontent. “This day has been long for us all. You are needed for the Sending Hymn and I wish to speak with the child.” The light of a nearby torch turned numerous wrinkles into deep valleys of flesh.
Selene’s mother reluctantly turned to the pyre.
Shadows swallowed the Elder’s face as she turned from the firelight. It seemed no longer human, this old, dry thing that spoke. “Do not worry for your mother. The pain of your father’s death will surely ease with time. Indeed, we all feel lost without his presence. He was a good man and a valued member of the community,”
Selene’s chest ached at the thought of her father dead upon the pyre.
The Elder’s tongue slid slowly over her parched lips. The harmonized notes of the Sending Hymn caressed Selene as they guided her father’s soul to rest before the journey to a new life. Its melody was not enough to put her at ease. Selene’s face heated with the threat of tears. She wished desperately to be old enough to join her mother beside the pyre.
“Islyr.” A soft hiss escaped with the word, as if a saltsnake was trapped in the Elder’s gullet. “It is truly a curse to have a Marked One born into your family. It turns to a crime when you keep that One hidden.”
A cold burn washed over Selene’s mark. She fought to keep her hand from moving towards it. Concentrate. Selene’s lungs constricted beneath the ancient woman’s gaze.
“We were unable to find your brother’s body.” Hatred slithered out to rest within the Elder’s eyes as she continued. “Be truthful with me now.”
Selene wished desperately for Maye to return, though she knew it was impossible. Her mother would remain by the pyre until the final notes of the Sending Hymn had flown away.
“H-he was not marked, Elder.” The words came out in a whisper though she had not willed them to do so. No amount of fear would force her to betray Islyr, neither in life nor after. “I swear it.”
The Elder leaned closer. “I see.” Her jaw twisted.
The sending hymn was nearly finished. The tones of many voices combined to form a solid note.
Elder Aldyn glanced towards the funeral pyre. “If Islyr returns, if his body is found to be marked…”
Selene wished her heart would quiet.
“I protect this village. I ensure that the law of the King is followed. Do you know what happens when someone is convicted of harboring a Marked One?”
It was not truly a question. Everyone knew that hanging was the punishment for Marked Ones as well as those harboring them. “Yes Elder.”
The sounds of the Sending Hymn ceased.
“I leave you to mourn, then. May the Spirits protect and guide you on this day and thereafter.” Her steps were as silent as they had been at her approach.
Selene drew the chill of night deep into her lungs in a futile attempt to rid herself of the fear that had made its home within her chest. Maye would return any moment.
A soft sound, like that of the wind through river reeds, attracted Selene’s attention to the woods beyond the square. There stood a line of palmfruit trees with twisted limbs. A dark shape of feathers and claws flew down from within their branches. A raven. She could have stroked it with little less than an outstretched arm. Never before had one dared to come this close to her, and certainly never at night.
The Elders offered a copper piece for each raven’s corpse brought to them. Cursed animals, or so they said. She had found that she simply did not have the heart to kill one.
The creature folded its wings and stepped towards her. It stood mutely upon the flowing fabric of her robes. Silk and feathers momentarily merged into one. A dark eye turned to scrutinize her. The dying flames of the pyre flashed against its mirrored surface.
“Selene?”
Strange. It was certainly her mother’s voice, yet she was nowhere to be seen.
“Selene. Get up. I won’t be in again.”
Selene struggled to open her eyes. A vision of Maye’s face, framed by the light of a single candle, wavered into view.
“What hour is it?” Sleep slurred Selene’s words though she tried her best to speak clearly.
“See for yourself. I’ve breakfast to finish.”
Selene glanced through the bubbled glass of the tiny window that graced the room’s far wall. It was still dark, though the featherlarks had already begun their song in anticipation of morning. It was still early enough to be on time.
She stumbled to the aged wardrobe she shared with Maye, shivering in the cold of morning. The fire had gone dead some time ago, and heat seeped through old wood like water through a fishing net. Selene pulled her hair into a Rider’s knot, secured it with a steel pin, and headed for breakfast. The dream scraped at her concentration. This was not the first time she had relived father’s funeral, nor was it the first time that a raven had appeared in her dreams. It had been nearly twelve years since her father’s death. The dreams came most often before she went on errand for the Elders.
The smell of burning wood greeted Selene as she entered the main room of the house. Light flowed gently through curtains embroidered with flowers of ochre. Maye had already begun to eat, and did not so much as glance up at Selene as she entered.
Selene’s chair tilted dangerously to one side as she attempted to sit. She grumbled at her own clumsiness.
The purpose of each errand was not announced until the time it began for fear of rogue Riders taking it up without a Praecyr’s guidance. The notice for this particular errand had only appeared on the board one morning past. The pay was to be better than most, which enhanced Selene’s curiosity tenfold. Even knowing that it would drive her mother to anger had not kept her from adding her name to the list.
A poached egg and an end of bread loitered stubbornly on her plate. She was not hungry in the least. Gentle prodding with the point of her knife caused a river of yolk to spill dangerously close to the tabletop. The wide grin she flashed in her mother’s direction did not receive anywhere near the response she had hoped for. She had dared to presume that an evening of thought would quell Maye’s anger. It seemed only to have made things worse.
Maye’s eyes were a peaceful green most often, but when her thoughts turned to anger they became the gray of thick, storm bearing clouds. It was indeed that turbulent gray that glared back at Selene.
“At least have the courtesy to eat something. If I’d known you were only going to play with breakfast I wouldn’t have bothered with your half.”
“I ride these errands for us. We have been promised ten silver pieces upon the completion of this one. Would you allow such an opportunity to pass us by?” Selene straightened herself as she spoke in an attempt to seem more mature.
Maye did not seem to notice.
“There has not been an errand available in several months,” Selene continued. “I must ride this one. It may be longer before the next and the pay will certainly be less.” That should sway her a little.
“True,” her mother said slowly.
At last, progress. Selene’s guilt faded, as did her mother’s frown, but the relief was only temporary.
“But do we really need it? I think not. We have money enough to survive the winter.”
Guilt grabbed hold of Selene once again and hung there, this time with great tenacity.
“Is your well-being, perhaps your life, worth ten silver?” Maye lowered her voice. “That aside, I know that wealth is not the only thing you seek on these errands.”
How irritating it was that Maye always knew her true intentions. Selene took a full bite of bread and pretended to concentrate on chewing. “I’d better go,” she said as she crossed the room and looped the belt that held her sword and scabbard in place. The wad of bread in her mouth only impaired her speech slightly. “We’re to meet at the Elders’ Square. Got to get Cyprus ready.”
She took one last bite of bread and stuffed the remaining piece into the leather pouch that hung at her hip.
“Please,” Maye began.
“I’ll be very careful.” Selene cupped her mother’s head in her hands and kissed her forehead lightly. She plucked her bedroll and a small sack of dried meat from the floor near the stove. Guilt moved to her stomach and formed a hard lump there. Selene made up her mind to leave before it could overcome her. She grabbed her woolen cloak from its hook by the door and headed out towards the barn.
The pale light of the newly risen sun pulled shadows from the fence posts across the pasture. Selene wrapped her cloak around her. A few days hence and none of this will be of any consequence. The thought comforted her. She and Maye would be ten silver pieces richer. That would buy several more chickens and a few yards of cloth for clothing, some pitch to repair the roof, perhaps even that milking goat she had been eyeing at market two days prior. The thought of goat’s milk and cheese made her mouth water, although excitement had stolen any real desire for food she may have had.
Frost cooled her hand as she grasped the weathered wood of the pasture gate. A finely built black and white horse trotted out from behind the barn to greet her.
“Good morning Cyprus.”
He nuzzled her gently, searching for any snacks that might be hidden beneath her cloak. She took a moment to smooth the soft hair on his neck before heading to the barn for his saddle and blanket. Cyprus eagerly followed her. He was always anxious to be out of the pasture.
In moments they were headed down the packed dirt path that led to the center of town. She would make it with time to spare. The Tides of luck must be with her on this day.
Cyprus’ hooves made pleasant clicking sounds as they crossed the intricate pattern of cracked tiles that composed the Elders’ Square. A group of three men, all on horseback, stood in the center of the area where years of Elders’ council meetings and Tides Festivals had worn the color from the tiles completely. The tallest of the three rode up to meet Selene as she approached. Two massive dogs, each of which stood nearly as high as Cyprus’ stomach, shadowed him as he moved. Selene had not seen any of their type before today, though dogs were often used on errands for tracking. The muzzles of these were wide and their heads broad. Their short coats were patched in brown and black, and their tails had been cut short as was most commonly done with smaller dogs for use in hunting rodents. The two looked very much out of place here, as did their master. She guessed by the man’s confident stance that he must be the Praecyr for this errand. He wore a pair of leather riding gloves, the fine quality of which placed them very much at odds with the rest of his gear. The deep brown leather armor that covered his chest looked as if it had been quite impressive in its youth. Lengthy gashes ran across its battered surface, some in areas that made Selene wonder at the fact that the man had survived long enough to repair them. A long, battle-worn sword hung casually from his belt. He rested his palm lightly upon it, releasing the weapon only at the last moment to offer his hand in greeting.
“Ranur” he said through a short black beard much like the scrub bushes that grew by the riverside. “You are Selene, I assume.”
It was not surprising that he knew her. One could count the number of female Riders within a hundred mile span on a single hand. Anyone who had run errands between Eiboren and the Mortal Sea had heard tell of her, as likely as not. She edged Cyprus closer to him to shake his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”
Cyprus was several hands shorter than Ranur’s thick legged, tawny stallion. Although Selene straightened her back and set her feet down in the stirrups she was forced to tilt her head up to meet his gaze. The gloves he wore had been recently oiled and were soft to the touch. She tried to make her handshake firm, as her father had taught her long ago. A strong hand mirrored a strong soul, or so he had been fond of saying. In the end she fell just short of matching the strength in Ranur’s grip with her own.
“Wait with the others,” Ranur said, turning his horse down the path that led to the Elder’s cottage. The skin of his nose and brow creased momentarily, as if something foul was upon the breeze. “I must speak with the Elders briefly. We leave the moment I return.”
Selene tapped Cyprus lightly, guiding him to where the other Riders waited. During her first days as a Rider it had seemed odd to trust her life to people she had not laid eyes on before that day. Years of travel with strangers had forced her to accept it, though not to the point of liking.
She turned her attention to the men who would be her companions for the next few days. The closest was a squat, half bald man. What oily hair he had left hung loosely over his disheveled clothes. There would not have been enough to make a riders’ knot of it even if he had decided to attempt it. A well-used bow and a quiver of arrows hung at his shoulder. The man did not acknowledge Selene’s presence, though the mare he sat upon certainly noticed Cyprus, and was not pleased that he was so close. The horse stepped aside with a snort of displeasure, which was when Selene then received a full view of the group’s final member. Terran. She sighed heavily. She would have given half her promised pay to be able to ride this errand without him.
Terran noticed her at once and turned his well-muscled gelding in her direction. The shine of its smoke-gray coat mirrored that of the new metal breastplate the man wore. “Selene,” he said, flashing her what she was sure he considered to be his most alluring smile. “The Tides bring us together once more.”
“Honestly, Terran?” She moved Cyprus as far from him as she could manage while still remaining in the center of the Square. He frequently said the most ridiculous things. The fact that he was here had absolutely nothing to do with the Tides of Fate. She would have wagered her life and the second half of her pay on that.
Relief washed over Selene as Ranur trotted back into view. She would be safe from Terran’s obnoxious banter for a short time at least.
The Praecyr wasted no time in giving his commands. “The man we are to track,” he said as he pulled his horse around to face them, “was last seen headed northwest into the woods that stretch between Eiboren and this place. The Elders have informed me that he will be a formidable opponent though he is still young.” The hand that had previously rested just above his sword lowered, taking a firm grip on its hilt. His gaze settled upon Selene and his brow creased once more. “You three are considered the finest Riders between Maresbane and Vale. Be that as it may, we will need the Tides on our side to return from this errand without incident. The man is to be captured alive and unharmed, with extra silver to be given for his timely return.”
The grubby, balding man beside Selene pulled back his lips in a dry smile at the mention of extra silver. Several half rotted teeth jutted from his nearly barren gums. She hoped that his archery was better than his hygiene.
Ranur turned to the man. “Ormun, you’re with me.”
Ormun’s grin faded as he moved his horse to the front of the group. Ranur’s stallion towered over the shaggy mare, causing Selene to feel a bit better about Cyprus’ stature.
“Tarr. Dai.” The dogs’ ears perked up as Ranur mentioned their names. They promptly lifted themselves from the ground and loped over to stand by their master, their coats mottled beneath slivers of morning sun. Ranur lowered a strip of blue cloth down to them, allowing them to take in its scent before tucking it into the pouch that hung at his waist.
“You two take up the rear.” Ranur nodded towards Terran and Selene. “Any sign of the man we seek should be made known to me immediately.” He started towards the woods with Ormun close behind. “Insubordination of any kind will be reported to the Elders upon our return, and a cut in pay will be arranged,” he warned. “Just follow my lead and all will be well.”
They left the square and started down the one remaining path to Eiboren. There had once been several that led in that direction, but the forest had taken them from the grasp of man and made them hers once more, thus rendering them impassable to those on horseback.
Selene glanced at Terran, who was somewhere between clearing his throat quite a bit more noisily than was necessary and preparing to spit something onto the roadside. It was just one of a great number of irritating habits that he possessed. “Praecyr,” he asked when he was finished, “just what is our quarry guilty of?”
“They did not mention his crime.” Ranur’s voice held a savage bite. “And I did not ask, as there is no need for me to know. That also means that there is no need for any of you to know.” His eyes rested solely on Terran, whose face shaded with embarrassment.
It was pleasing to have someone put him in his place.
Ranur turned once again to face the road ahead. “Understood?” he added without looking back.
“Yes Praecyr.”
By the Tides Terran had the intelligence to end it there. Selene would also have liked to know the man’s crime, though she would never have asked. There were some things Riders simply were not meant to know. Most of them, she had found, a person was better off not knowing.
Days passed with the speed of an early summer storm. There was little wind to speak of and no rain, thus the scent remained clear and strong. The trail was not like any Selene had followed in her years as a Rider. The dogs rarely left the path, though they often wavered from one side of it to the other with the scent. It was almost as if the man did not realize he was being tracked, or else did not care.
Without warning the afternoon of the third day was upon her. The weather was just chill enough to be comfortable, and Selene was quite happily dwelling in thoughts of silver coins until Terran moved his gelding to Cyprus’ side. Cyprus snorted irritably. He did not seem to care for Terran’s gelding any more than Selene cared for its master.
Terran remained next to her, saying nothing. The words Ranur had spoken to the man upon their departure had kept him silent for the most part. She had very much enjoyed the peace, and as time had passed she had become quite used to him not speaking to her save for pleasantries. Perhaps he simply wished to ride on ahead. What little hope she had vanished suddenly as he turned to face her.
“You are not wearing the pre-caerim pendant I gave you,” he said, glancing at her bare neck.
Selene glared at the path ahead. Terran was either quite dense, or completely arrogant. Perhaps it was a bit of both. The pendant was finely crafted. It was easily worth more than she could make in a year on a Rider’s earnings. Still, neither its beauty nor his insistence would force her to wear it. Selene had attempted to return the gift on numerous occasions. He had refused to take it. She had entertained thoughts of selling it at times when money had been short. Unfortunately, as it was a gift, she had realized that she simply had too much common courtesy to do so. In the end it had found a permanent home on the top shelf of the wardrobe she shared with Maye. It had gathered dust there since the last Festival of Low Tides, nearly a year ago. In only a few short weeks the next Festival would be upon them.
“I am not wearing it because I do not intend to take vows with you.” An irritated tone crept into Selene’s voice although she tried her best to keep it at bay. It was not that Terran would have made a horrible husband. He and his father owned what was easily the largest number of fishing boats in Maresbane. He was not prone to violence, and when it came to looks he was treading squarely on middle ground. She may have accepted his offer in another life, for the sake of providing for her mother. Giving in was simply impossible, however. Her mark made it so. After all, one could hardly expect to spend their entire married life fully clothed. Besides that, Terran always managed to burn her patience away like fire upon flashgrass. He surely thought the world should bend to his whim. That must be why her unwillingness bothered him so. She suppressed a sigh and urged Cyprus faster. Terran’s gelding took only seconds to match speed.
“I find your attitude to be completely unreasonable.” Terran said, seemingly oblivious to her disgruntled expression. “Whoever he is, he most obviously cannot care for you and your mother the way I can. Otherwise you would have taken up with him long ago.”
Selene gave no reply. She used her free hand to pull at a stubborn tangle in Cyprus’ mane. Perhaps the man would finally choose to go on ahead if she ignored his idiocy.
“Or perchance it is a female with whom you take your pleasure? Let me assure you that I have attended more than the common share of Tides’ Festivities and thus I am quite understanding concerning such things. An arrangement can still be made. It is a common enough occurrence in these times. None will think ill of it.”
“There is no other, Terran,” Selene said with as much of an even tone as she could manage. “You are the only one who pesters me so, thank the Spirits.”
Terran made his reply, but his words were buried by the deep barking of Ranur’s dogs.
“Stop where you stand, or forfeit your life.” Ranur had come to a halt only a few yards ahead. His sword was drawn. Ormun lingered close behind him, his bow ready; holding for the movement of his prey.
A blonde haired man stood in the center of the path. He wore dark breeches and a shirt of midnight blue. The latter struck Selene as odd. That particular tone of blue was reserved most often for those in favor with the king, or so she thought. But certainly no companion of the king would be hunted by Riders. He had stolen it, perhaps. It was the most reasonable explanation.
It was immediately obvious that Ranur’s words of warning had not been well received. The blonde haired man started running in less than a Spirit’s breath. Ormun loosed an arrow. He and Ranur sped forward. Selene pushed Cyprus to a gallop, leaving Terran gaping behind her on the trail.
“To the north.”
Selene could barely hear Ranur’s voice over the thundering sound of Cyprus’ hooves hitting the packed dirt of the path. She could sense Terran gaining on her, though she had neither the time nor the desire to look back. The path ahead split into two. Ranur slowed in the slightest upon reaching it.
“Terran, Ormun, take the left. Selene, with me,” he shouted back at them. It was strange that he would split the party. Something was wrong, though she could not figure out what. Aside from that, no man could outrun a horse at full gallop. Even Ranur’s massive dogs were unable to keep up with the horses’ gait. Strange. She was given no time to think on it, for Ranur’s stallion veered suddenly from the path into the woods. He seemed to have no trouble navigating the scattered trees and thick underbrush. Cyprus managed to keep up for a short time, but the forest began to tear at him. Sharp branches and blackberry thorns bit through skin and hide alike.
Selene lost sight of Ranur suddenly. She urged Cyprus to pick up speed. The forest thinned, allowing him to hasten his steps. She breathed a deep sigh of relief as Ranur’s tawny stallion came back into view, and another as the pair slowed. They came to a halt a few yards away. She slowed Cyprus and dismounted.
Selene drew her sword as she approached the clearing. The blond haired man lay face down on the leaf-covered soil. An arrow protruded from the rear of his left leg. Tarr and Dai issued rumbling growls of displeasure as they circled him. They had been well trained, for they merely watched the man rather than seizing him. Their master was another matter. Selene watched in horror as Ranur thrust the point of his sword through the man’s neck. Blood welled up from the wound. It flowed onto the man’s tattered cotton shirt and the soil beneath him, staining it in deep crimson hues.
Selene closed the distance between them at a run. The dream of silver pieces and goat’s milk was quickly fading, as was her confidence. The man had done nothing to deserve death. “For what reason did you slay him?” she demanded. Normally she would not have spoken to her Praecyr in such a way, but the rashness of Ranur’s actions had stolen all reason from her.
Swift and severe was the punishment for displeasing an Elder. Terran had several lashing scars as a result of disobedience, most of them from years long past. At least one, however, was recent. She had witnessed its placement with two other Riders at her side. There was no fear or pain on Terran’s face as Elder Aldyn struck him, only the embarrassment of having failed her. Selene had been lucky enough to escape such punishment thus far. Her marked body, when found, would seal her fate so that even the Tides could not turn it.
“He was to be returned to them alive.” The words barely escaped Selene’s lips. For a moment she was not certain Ranur had heard her. A soft breeze rustled the leaves overhead, pushing at the silence that enveloped the woods.
“They certainly would have received him as such,” Ranur said with a scowl, “was he found to be human.”
Selene edged closer to inspect the boy. Save for his blond hair he could have been any man of Maresbane. His strong build reminded her of Terran’s younger brother.
Ranur placed one foot on the man’s back and used it as leverage to remove his sword. He used what remained of the man’s shirt to wipe the blood from its blade before returning his weapon to its scabbard.
“It is here,” he said, forming an expression of distaste. He placed a gloved finger on the corner of the man’s shirt near the right shoulder and pulled it back to reveal the skin beneath. What had at first seemed to be a dark spot covered by worn fabric was now revealed in its true form. An area of interlocking lines curled like smoke from an extinguished candle across the man’s flesh. Selene could feel the blood drain from her face as she gazed upon it.
“Hideous, is it not?” Ranur had clearly mistaken the look of shock upon her face for one of repulsion. “This mark,” he said thoughtfully as he traced the tattoo-like symbol with his finger, “is the sign of a soul lingering somewhere between man and beast. The Marked Ones may look as we do, but you cannot let that fool you. They are evil, cursed things. They are a danger to themselves as well as those around them.”
A slow burn crept across Selene’s mark as Ranur spoke, just as it had during Elder Aldyn’s questioning long ago. She had more control over it now, age and practice had seen to that, yet days of travel had made her weary. How many Marked Ones had Ranur killed? Had Islyr been one of them? Curiosity held Selene’s feet firmly in place.
“They can change from man to animal at will. By the shape of the mark you will know which beast they are linked to.” His expression grew dark as he spoke. “I have seen this pattern before. Not five months ago. Mark of wolf.” Ranur backed up a few paces and pulled a square of white cloth from his belt pouch. He wiped his gloved hands with it, as if to rid them of some unseen filth. “Last one escaped me. Not this one though.”
Selene’s concentration began to slip. Ranur continued speaking, yet his words were lost to her. The world slid away. She reached down to touch the dying man’s blood spattered back as if compelled by the Spirits. As she placed her fingers upon him the burn in her mark intensified. One dozen knives, just off the metalsmith’s fire, forced themselves through her skin. It was unbearable. Selene’s hand slid toward her mark. The burning faded as her fingers left the man’s back. She looked up from where she now knelt. Ranur was next to her. His smile had disappeared.
Her error had been as bold as the sun at midday. She withdrew her hand and placed it upon the hilt of her sword, though she made no move to draw it. Ranur watched her calmly. It did not look as though he had noticed anything odd. Selene looked to the east, as if checking upon Cyprus’ whereabouts. He was not known to stray, but she was in dire need of some reason to take her eyes from the dying man.
Ranur’s pondering expression vanished as he turned from her and mounted. “You are the lightest among us,” he said. “Take this thing and tie him to your horse. I trust you’ve enough strength for that.”
“Yes, Praecyr.” The words came out normally, by luck of the Tides.
“Be ready to ride when I return.” He started off at a trot.
Selene willed her breathing to slow. She whistled for Cyprus, who trotted obediently to her side. It would not do to have Ranur return and find her staring numbly at the body.
Selene pulled her spare blanket from Cyprus’ saddlebags and unrolled it next to the man. After removing the arrow from his leg and tossing it aside she knelt down beside him and grasped his arm. It was still slightly warm.
Perhaps he was not too far gone. It was an absurd thought, but something within her would not let it go. She had sworn to Maye that she would not use her healing ability where others might see it. But what if he could be saved? She would simply be quick about it. If the man did not rise then nothing would be lost. Selene rolled him over onto the open blanket, trying desperately to ignore the burning that returned to her mark as she touched his skin. It was not as strong now as it had been. She was thankful for that.
It was strange to look upon his unmoving face. He was indeed young, much younger than she had expected. He was no more than a boy. She leaned in close. No breath escaped him.
He did not stir as Selene tore the cloth of his shirt and placed her hands upon the wound that pierced his neck. Every drop of concentration she could muster was channeled into the healing. Her hands grew warm. Her head began to ache. His flesh refused to close in upon itself. She sat back with a sigh. He was most certainly dead. She had been a fool to think that even a Marked once could survive such an injury.
Two bright blue eyes probed her soul from behind golden locks of hair matted with drying blood. She pulled them gently closed, mostly out of respect, but partly to quiet their accusing gaze. “May the Spirits protect and guide your soul on this day and thereafter.”
Selene was halfway to her feet when something caught her eye. A leather cord hung around the boy’s neck, miraculously untouched by the blade of Ranur’s sword. She pulled it gently, taking care not to touch any bare skin. A clear, rounded crystal hung at the cord’s end. A setting of silver metal, molded into dragon’s talons, held the stone top to bottom leaving the center unobstructed. It seemed such a costly a thing for a young boy to have. It must have been stolen along with the clothing.
Selene moved her fingers across the stone’s face to clear the blood that rested there. As she did so a thin line of black smoke swirled through its center. Before she had time to think on it another appeared, this one as white as the other had been dark. They danced swiftly within the orb, nearly touching each other at times yet never mixing. She removed her hand from the stone. The smoke vanished. The pain in Selene’s head faded to nothing.
The pendant was an item of magic, that much was certain. She pulled the cord carefully over the boy’s head and moved to place it into one of the bags that hung from Cyprus’ saddle, but suddenly thought better of it. Riders were entitled to keep any items found while on errand, providing that neither the Praecyr nor the person funding the errand had asked for them. Neither Ranur nor the Elders had mentioned a pendant within her hearing. Furthermore, she simply did not wish to let it go. She pulled the leather strap over her head instead, tucking the crystal beneath her shirt to be sure no one would see it. If it was asked for then she would return it.
In mere moments the body was wrapped and the blanket surrounding it secured with a length of rope. The process of loading the boy onto Cyprus, however, did not go as smoothly as Selene would have liked. His body was heavier than she had anticipated, and freshly dead people were not at all balanced for carrying. To make matters worse, Cyprus did not seem to want anything to do with her as long as she held the dead boy. He snorted and stomped his feet, showing the whites of his eyes as she drew near him. It took quite a few soothing words and a rope from his bridle to the nearest tree to calm him long enough for her to perform the needed tasks. Once she had loaded the body she tied it quickly, before Cyprus had a chance to change his mind. The task was done none too soon, for Ranur rode swiftly into the clearing with Terran and Ormun trailing close behind.
None of the men spoke as they headed back towards the trail. Ormun’s silence did not bother Selene, for it most likely came from the vastly diminished probability of receiving extra silver. Ranur’s demeanor, however, filled her with uncertainty. She did her best to avoid his gaze as she took a place at the end of the line.
Days passed at a grinding pace. Selene’s anxiousness grew as they approached Maresbane. Ranur must know her secret. Part of her wanted to flee, though she knew that she would not get far. Cyprus was fast, but his stride was much shorter than that of Ranur’s stallion. Even without the extra weight of the boy escape was not a possibility.
The body had become a bane to Selene upon the first night, and it had continued to fuel her frustration since. Unloading it was a chore. She preferred not to touch it even through the blanket, and the smell became worse with every hour that passed. Today it was nearly unbearable. Ranur and the others assured her that there was little scent to be noticed. It was the only conversation that they had all taken part in since before the murder of the boy. Perhaps it was true. The nights had been cool, slowing the advance of decay. Still, every once in a great while when the wind was right, she would catch that unmistakable smell. Selene glanced up at the partially clouded sky. Rotting or no, the boy deserved a proper sending. She was certain that he would never get one. Marked Ones rarely met the flames of a funeral pyre.
Selene glanced at Terran. On any other day she would not have dared lest he consider it an invitation to speak with her. It was safe today, distant as he was, raising his hand from time to time to touch the lashing scars upon his back. The closer they came to town, the more frequent his actions became. If the Tides were with them they would not receive a lashing. Ranur was the one who deserved it. None of the Riders had taken part in the killing of the boy. Selene knew that Praecyrs were not eligible for punishment, only for lessened pay, but that did not keep her from wishing that it could be so.
The clicking of Cyprus’ hooves against the tiles of the Elders’ Square served only to strengthen the nervous feeling within Selene’s chest. A light breeze twisted from behind her, sending the scent of rotting flesh swirling around her face. She suppressed the urge to retch by concentrating on the wave-like pattern of colored tiles upon the ground.
Ranur came to a halt in the center of the square near where they had stood at the errand’s beginning. “Settle your horses and clean yourselves. Meet me here when you’ve finished. There will surely be some silver to be given, perhaps a feast in our honor.” He looked to Ormun. “Take Tarr and Dai with you. Be sure that they are properly cared for.”
Ormun seemed content to follow Ranur’s orders although they were technically no longer on errand. He nodded his head in consent and started off in the direction of the Hasana family home. He must have offered them a fair amount of coin; Lelyn Hasana was known to be choosy about whom she took in for boarding. Terran no longer rubbed his lashing scars, though he held a sour look upon his face as he turned his gelding towards home.
“Selene, with me.”
Selene would have given anything to be allowed to leave. It seemed unfair that Terran and Ormun had been given that privilege and she had not.
She followed Ranur through the Square, past the carved wooden awning under which the Elders sat during council. She and Islyr had played there as children, under ocean waves and seabirds chiseled into weathered wood. They had taken the Elders’ seats, sending each other on errand against Bloodsoul and shadeslight and having great feasts of bread and sunberries upon their successful return home.
Selene’s gaze traveled past the Elders’ place of council to a stout tree that grew between the awning and the Square. Its leaves were a deep red in color and its bark the perfect white of freshly fallen snow. Two short lengths of knotted rope hung from the largest branch, which grew out over the road so that anyone who wished to visit the Elders cottage would be forced to travel beneath it. The Sending Tree… Maye had not allowed them to play in the square while the tree was in use. More Marked Ones had lost their lives to that tree than Selene cared to think about. They had been cleansed of their curse. It was what was whispered as the Marked Ones dangled from that tree; as the ropes around their necks stole their breath.
It had been so long ago that the last One was punished. She and Islyr had run out to see him while Maye went to market and their father was out on errand. Islyr had suffered from nightmares for several months after. The man’s face, the black emptiness where his eyes had once resided, still haunted Selene’s dreams from time to time.
The path from the Square to the Elder’s cottage was a short one. Its sandy surface faded suddenly beneath the tiles of the Elders’ porch, pulling Selene abruptly from thoughts of the past. Driftwood walls came to life as the ocean’s breath twisted the leafy vines that covered them. The entrance had been prominent when Selene was a child. It was now difficult to tell where the walls ended and the door began.
“Wait here.” Ranur’s voice severed her thoughts with ease. He dismounted and climbed the stone steps. The Praecyr knocked twice, centering his fist carefully in the only leafless spot upon the door’s face.
Aged hinges screeched in complaint. Selene leaned forward in her saddle, hoping to catch even a few of the words exchanged between Ranur and the Elder as he was admitted. Her efforts were in vain. Ranur slipped inside.
Selene lowered herself from Cyprus’ back. She untied the body and lifted it from him, trying hard not to breathe while it was near her face. Cyprus shook himself once he was free of it, as if to remove the scent from his hide. He lowered his head to pull at a ragged tuft of grass that had sprouted in the center of the path.
The body seemed heavier than it had been. Selene managed to get just to the edge of the porch before her stomach lurched. The smell of death gnawed at her senses. The body dropped to the ground and she to her knees. Bile burned her throat. It suddenly seemed more fortunate that she had not had any breakfast. Selene lowered her head to the tiles, letting the cold soothe her.
“Having some difficulty?” Ranur loomed over her.
“No, Praecyr,” she stammered, searching his words for hidden meaning. “The smell of this thing is beginning to bother me, I suppose.” She dusted stray sand from her clothes as she stood. Her feet held steady, though her stomach was far from settled. “I will be fine.” Perhaps saying the words aloud would somehow make it so.
“Excellent. In that case you shall be pleased to hear that the Elders will see us now.” He shot a steady look at the bundle. “With that as well. Take the feet.”
Selene was not at all pleased to hear the news. The more time she spent outside the Elder’s cottage, the less inclined she was to venture in. It was too late to run. She did as she had been told.
Selene’s eyes were given no time to adjust as the door closed heavily behind her. The scent of musty cloth and beeswax candles permeated the air. Thick fabric covered each of the room’s windows, blocking what little light crept between the vines residing upon the outer walls. She waded through the darkness, trying desperately not to stumble over anything as her vision returned. They traveled a narrow hallway, over creaking wooden floors and soft, threadbare rugs to the Elders’ common room. A fireplace of smooth ocean stones encompassed one wall. The dying flames within it were the room’s only source of illumination. The other walls were lined with light blue tiles, several of which held carefully painted ocean waves. A few wooden chests and glazed jars of pottery served as decoration, surrounding a single shelf of dust covered books all bound in various shades of leather. Three stuffed chairs sat near the hearth, though only two were occupied.
There were always three elders; one man and two women, or so Maye had told her. Selene recognized the closest one as Elder Prenn, the Father. He attended nearly all of the Elders’ councils. A waterfall of white hair cascaded from his wrinkled face, ending just above the open tome that rested in his lap. Not one syllable of speech had ever escaped his gaunt lips, at least as far as Selene had heard. Elder Aldyn was always the one to speak when words were needed.
Elder Aldyn sat now by the hearthside, surveying Selene’s progress with a look of careful consideration. Her face, with the fire’s light casting shadows over its surface, looked much as it had on the day of her father’s Sending. The Elder must have been a child once, long ago, though Selene found it hard to imagine that face without the mask of age covering it.
Nervousness washed over Selene as she realized that the third Elder was not present. Out searching for a whipping branch, or worse. She pushed the thought hastily from her mind.
“Set him here.” Elder Aldyn said as she unfolded a blanket in front of the hearth. Her voice was the sound of sand ground against stone.
Ranur set his end upon the floor. Selene held her breath as the body’s scent caught her once more. She stood quickly and bowed in Elder Aldyn’s direction, as was proper. Perhaps they only wished her to aid in bringing the boy in. They might send her away now that the job had been finished.
“Now, child,” the Elder said, peering at her from behind sagging layers of skin. “Explain to me why there is a dead boy on my floor when you were given explicit orders to bring him here unharmed.”
All hope of leaving vanished like morning mist touched by the first rays of the sun. The thought of speaking to the Elder on the subject of Marked Ones made her skin grow cold. She eased her words out, taking great care not to show fear, and bending slightly at the waist to add formality. “With greatest respect Elder, perhaps the Praecyr could explain this better than I.” It was the best plan she could concoct, short of taking flight.
Elder Aldyn turned at once to Ranur, who did not seem fearful in the least at becoming the focus of her attention.
“You certainly would have received the boy alive as you requested, were he found to be human.” There was no hint of distress as he continued. “A Marked One, Elder. Mark of wolf. Death is the penalty for those bearing the Mark.”
The Elder fell silent for a moment, as if considering what Ranur had said. The fire had dwindled, making it difficult to read her expression. Even so, Selene was certain it was hatred that crossed her ancient face.
“Show me his mark,” she ordered.
Ranur knelt by the body’s side. He pulled a small hunting knife from his belt and sliced easily through the ropes that held the blanket in place. Selene fought the urge to turn away as he uncovered the boy. Concentrate. She had managed to stay out of trouble thus far, but she was fairly certain that she had used up all of her luck for this particular errand.
“Turn him over.”
The body was not nearly as rotted as Selene had thought it would be. She had wrapped it tightly, allowing no room for flies to crawl between the layers of fabric. Still, his skin seemed swollen and his eyes sunken. The closeness of the room left nowhere for his putrid scent to travel, making Selene wish she was anywhere else in the Ethereal Realm but where she now stood.
A rattling emanated from the far side of the cottage, followed by the now familiar complaint of hinges. The third elder had found her whipping branch, no doubt. Selene entertained the idea of pleading for a whipping on the rump rather than the back. Then she would not have to remove her shirt, bearing her mark for all to see. A bit of embarrassment was far better than a trip to the hanging tree.
“Are you listening, child?” The Elder’s hand struck the back of Selene’s head with surprising force.
“Yes, Elder,” Selene replied in wonder. When had the Elder’s attention turned to her? The blow had not been terribly painful, but it had been much more than was necessary to let her know that she was being spoken to. Years ago it would have been enough to draw her hand to her mark for comfort. Today, it merely angered her. “Forgive me, Elder,” she added, making her best attempt at sincerity.
The Elder did not acknowledge Selene’s words. She merely stood, her dark eyes passing along the length of the body, her scowl deepening with each second that passed.
Selene took Ranur’s place. She grabbed the boy’s tattered sleeve and rolled him over, taking great care not to glance at his face. It was troubling that the Elder had chosen her for the task. Ranur was just as capable, and he was certainly stronger than she.
“Move the cloth aside, so I can better see it.”
Thick, rancid air filled Selene’s lungs as she leaned down towards the body. She reached for the edge of the fabric that covered his mark. Her fingers slipped, touching not cloth, but rotting flesh. The burning pain of days before instantly returned. It was only a shadow of what it had been on the day of the boy’s death, yet when combined with the smell of decay and the heat of the fire it became intolerable. Nothing mattered except ceasing the pain. Her hand moved to touch her mark. Realization of the mistake she had made came much too late.
“Are you ill, child?” The Elder’s tone was just the same as it had always been, stiff and cold, but her eyes…
She knows.
Selene’s mouth opened as if to speak, but no sound left her. The shock of what she had done settled heavily upon her.
Spirits protect me, she knows.
“Answer your Elder.” Ranur placed a gloved hand upon his sword as he spoke, loosening the weapon from its scabbard. Dying flames illuminated its polished blade. He smiled as he had after killing the boy.
Selene’s stomach rolled.
“A Rider should know better than to show such disrespect,” Ranur said.
The Elder drew closer. She leaned in; her dark eyes searching Selene’s face, delving through her skin to find what secrets were kept within.
Selene stood. She stepped back from the boy.
“Hold her.”
Ranur’s sword snapped as he pushed it roughly back into its scabbard. Selene reached for her weapon but found her wrists pulled securely behind her back before her fingers could touch its hilt. The Elder unbuckled the belt that held Selene’s sword and set it, complete, into a metal chest that stood against the nearest wall. She locked it quickly, using a key that hung from a chain around her neck.
Ranur pushed Selene down. Her knees smashed against the wooden floor. Elder Aldyn stood over her. She could feel the fabric of her shirt being pulled back below her right shoulder, revealing the mark that resided there. Death is the penalty for those bearing the Mark. Natural patterns formed from the grains of the polished floorboards danced in the remaining light. The smell of the dead body engulfed her. It was stronger than it had ever been.
“Unbelievable,” Ranur muttered. Fingers encased in leather tightened upon her wrists until it became painful.
“Mark of raven, and on you no less.” There was an air of confusion in Elder Aldyn’s tone.
“Turn it towards the light.” Elder Prenn’s voice was barely a whisper, but it held no less command than Elder Aldyn’s. He rose from his chair and hobbled toward Selene.
Selene resisted Ranur’s attempt to shift her.
“The Elder wishes for you to move.” Ranur let go of her just long enough to drive his boot into her side. It was painful, certainly, but the pain was nothing when compared to the burning that had rushed through her mark as she had touched the boy’s skin. She attempted to show no signs of anguish, though her left side now throbbed terribly and the urge to retch was strong.
Selene was now angled enough towards the fire to catch a glimpse of the boy. Her eyes focused upon the gaping wound that split his neck. Ranur had slain him without a second thought, without the slightest hint of regret. He would do the same to her.
The creaking of a floor board, the slightest of sounds, pulled Selene’s gaze towards the hallway. She realized with horror that the scent that had trailed her from the woods had not come entirely from the boy. A Bloodsoul stood there, lurching dangerously from one side of the hall to the other as it attempted to keep its balance. The only Bloodsoul that Selene had battled had been found far from here, near the edge of the Barren Lands. Their group had come upon the thing merely by chance, and an unlucky chance it was. They had lost three Riders that day. The casualties would have been much greater had the Praecyr not called a retreat. That Bloodsoul had been ancient; made only of bleached bones. This one was considerably fresher. By the look of it the creature had been human not so long ago. Rotting clumps of flesh and bits of torn clothing clung precariously to its bones.
Panic gripped Selene. Ranur still held her wrists tightly, though his attention was now upon the Bloodsoul that was striding quickly towards them. She looked to the key which hung upon Elder Aldyn’s neck. There was no chance of gaining her weapon in time for it to be of use.
Heat burst against Selene’s neck. The orb. The sound of scraping metal came suddenly from behind her. The chest in which Elder Aldyn had placed Selene’s sword moved as if thrown. It passed swiftly behind her, narrowly missing her head before striking Ranur with full force.
Selene’s knees ached as she stood. She knew that items of magic were dangerous, yet she had still taken the orb from the boy. Lucky I didn’t knock my fool head off. Perhaps the Tides were with her this day after all.
Hands of rotten flesh reached for Selene. The walls of the room seemed to press in around her. There was no known way to kill a Bloodsoul, and she had no weapon besides. A poker rested near the hearth. Its metal was warm to the touch. She forced the length of it through the creature’s chest. The cracking of bones split the air of the room. The Bloodsoul did not seem hindered in the least, though portions of its ribs were now missing. Selene pulled the poker from between its splintered bones. She struck again, harder this time. The creature’s arm separated from its shoulder. It hit the wall that stood behind it, shattering some pottery that rested upon a shelf. Selene swung back in preparation of a third blow, this time to the head. The pieces that she had knocked from the bloodsoul’s ribcage flew up from the floor to reattach themselves to the beast.
Hard metal connected with bone. The creature’s head cracked and splattered. Selene threw the poker down. Ranur had already begun to stir. His hands reached feverishly for his sword. Selene pushed past the headless body and ran. She burst out the front door, stumbling on the stairs but catching herself before she landed on the sand strewn path. Blinding midday light assaulted her eyes, pulling a curtain of white across the world. A knot of despair formed tightly around her stomach as her vision finally returned. The area before her was empty. She knew now why the third Elder had not been present. Cyprus was gone, as was Ranur’s stallion.
Selene ran towards home, taking the back way so as not to pass through the Square. Word traveled fast when Riders returned from errand. By now a crowd of people had surely gathered there to witness the Elder’s council. Terran and Ormun would be present as well, anxiously awaiting their pay or perhaps a lashing. Setting one foot upon the Square’s worn surface would mean sentencing herself to death, unarmed as she was.
Selene glanced behind her as she reached home. There was no sign of either the Bloodsoul or Ranur thus far, but she did not expect her luck to last. It would take Ranur time to gather his party and the dogs, even if he managed to defeat the creature. She was certain that he would not waste a second of the time he had been given. She had injured his pride. That, combined with his hatred of Marked Ones, would cause him to seek swift retribution.
She pushed her front door aside, not bothering to close it behind her. “Maye?” Her voice echoed slightly as it forced itself through the silence of the empty room. She searched, only to find each room as devoid of life as the first. The barn. She’s there. She must be. Selene’s feet carried her out through the pasture and towards the barn. The tall door was open. Maye was not there. In fact, it looked as if no one had entered at all in the days since Selene had left.
Despair settled upon her. She could go back towards the Square. Perhaps it was not too late. If she found her mother on the path before it reached the center of town they might have a chance to leave without being seen. Selene started forward, but was stopped by the deep bellowing of Ranur’s dogs. They were not far. It was frightening to think that he had dealt the Bloodsoul so quickly.
She would not be able to rescue anyone with Ranur’s sword through her chest. Perhaps they would be much too concerned with her whereabouts to even think of Maye at all. She hoped desperately that her mother would manage to escape this place. May the spirits guide her.
The woods of Eiboren began just behind the pasture. An old path lay beneath the trees, overgrown with thick weeds and thorn bushes. What space remained was barely wide enough for one person on foot. It would certainly slow them down, perhaps even enough for her to lose them. Pounding hooves joined the frenzied barking of Ranur’s dogs. The forest’s cool breath slid across Selene’s skin as she stepped into its depths.
“May the Spirits protect and guide you.”
“If you have need of anything…”
“Nearly a week and still no sign of the boy.”
Selene lifted a foot, moving it carefully across a chipped tile.
“…lost her father, and…”
“It was for the best, I say.”
“You’ll not believe what I…”
“…Marked.”
Her foot slipped, causing the edge of the tile to bite into its soul. She landed hard on the damp sand just outside the last line of tiles. Blood mixed lazily with a small puddle of water left by a late rainstorm.
Marked. Her mother had spoken the word countless times, yet refused to reveal its meaning. There was much one could glean from eavesdropping, however. Their souls are unbalanced. They are a curse to themselves as well as those around them. No one knew more than that, or at least they were not willing to speak of it. A Marked One was too evil to mention even in fireside stories.
Keep Islyr’s secret as well as you have kept your own. Her mother had warned her.
Sand burrowed its way into Selene’s wound as she moved. Shivers born of wet clothes and cold stone engulfed her as she sat upon the edge of the Square. She pulled her foot close, squinting to see through the gathering darkness. The cut stretched half the length of her sole. Luckily, it was not deep.
Selene drew a shallow breath and blew lightly upon the wound. Flesh crept quickly over the open space, leaving nothing but a few drops of blood in its wake. She wiped at it until no trace was left.
Something warm pulled her hand back. Her gaze followed. Pyresong robes of flowing silk, the gray of a storm-swept sky, concealed her mother’s natural shape.
“Selene, no!” she warned in hushed tones. Her eyes shifted nervously as if to be sure no one was watching.
Tears left dark marks where they touched billowing robes. Selene had never before seen her mother cry. Her hand freed itself from her mother’s grasp and moved to touch the mark upon her back.
“I know that this is difficult for you,” Maye said, “but you must learn some control.”
“Our deepest condolences,” Elder Aldyn’s approach had been as silent as an owl’s flight. Selene had not noticed her until the first word passed her lips. The pallor of Maye’s skin as she stared into the Elder’s face made even the thickest foam of ocean waves seem a dingy gray.
“Elder Aldyn, forgive me. I did not see you.” Maye said with a swift bow.
“So I gather.” Elder Aldyn answered. The woman’s frown carried more warning than discontent. “This day has been long for us all. You are needed for the Sending Hymn and I wish to speak with the child.” The light of a nearby torch turned numerous wrinkles into deep valleys of flesh.
Selene’s mother reluctantly turned to the pyre.
Shadows swallowed the Elder’s face as she turned from the firelight. It seemed no longer human, this old, dry thing that spoke. “Do not worry for your mother. The pain of your father’s death will surely ease with time. Indeed, we all feel lost without his presence. He was a good man and a valued member of the community,”
Selene’s chest ached at the thought of her father dead upon the pyre.
The Elder’s tongue slid slowly over her parched lips. The harmonized notes of the Sending Hymn caressed Selene as they guided her father’s soul to rest before the journey to a new life. Its melody was not enough to put her at ease. Selene’s face heated with the threat of tears. She wished desperately to be old enough to join her mother beside the pyre.
“Islyr.” A soft hiss escaped with the word, as if a saltsnake was trapped in the Elder’s gullet. “It is truly a curse to have a Marked One born into your family. It turns to a crime when you keep that One hidden.”
A cold burn washed over Selene’s mark. She fought to keep her hand from moving towards it. Concentrate. Selene’s lungs constricted beneath the ancient woman’s gaze.
“We were unable to find your brother’s body.” Hatred slithered out to rest within the Elder’s eyes as she continued. “Be truthful with me now.”
Selene wished desperately for Maye to return, though she knew it was impossible. Her mother would remain by the pyre until the final notes of the Sending Hymn had flown away.
“H-he was not marked, Elder.” The words came out in a whisper though she had not willed them to do so. No amount of fear would force her to betray Islyr, neither in life nor after. “I swear it.”
The Elder leaned closer. “I see.” Her jaw twisted.
The sending hymn was nearly finished. The tones of many voices combined to form a solid note.
Elder Aldyn glanced towards the funeral pyre. “If Islyr returns, if his body is found to be marked…”
Selene wished her heart would quiet.
“I protect this village. I ensure that the law of the King is followed. Do you know what happens when someone is convicted of harboring a Marked One?”
It was not truly a question. Everyone knew that hanging was the punishment for Marked Ones as well as those harboring them. “Yes Elder.”
The sounds of the Sending Hymn ceased.
“I leave you to mourn, then. May the Spirits protect and guide you on this day and thereafter.” Her steps were as silent as they had been at her approach.
Selene drew the chill of night deep into her lungs in a futile attempt to rid herself of the fear that had made its home within her chest. Maye would return any moment.
A soft sound, like that of the wind through river reeds, attracted Selene’s attention to the woods beyond the square. There stood a line of palmfruit trees with twisted limbs. A dark shape of feathers and claws flew down from within their branches. A raven. She could have stroked it with little less than an outstretched arm. Never before had one dared to come this close to her, and certainly never at night.
The Elders offered a copper piece for each raven’s corpse brought to them. Cursed animals, or so they said. She had found that she simply did not have the heart to kill one.
The creature folded its wings and stepped towards her. It stood mutely upon the flowing fabric of her robes. Silk and feathers momentarily merged into one. A dark eye turned to scrutinize her. The dying flames of the pyre flashed against its mirrored surface.
“Selene?”
Strange. It was certainly her mother’s voice, yet she was nowhere to be seen.
“Selene. Get up. I won’t be in again.”
Selene struggled to open her eyes. A vision of Maye’s face, framed by the light of a single candle, wavered into view.
“What hour is it?” Sleep slurred Selene’s words though she tried her best to speak clearly.
“See for yourself. I’ve breakfast to finish.”
Selene glanced through the bubbled glass of the tiny window that graced the room’s far wall. It was still dark, though the featherlarks had already begun their song in anticipation of morning. It was still early enough to be on time.
She stumbled to the aged wardrobe she shared with Maye, shivering in the cold of morning. The fire had gone dead some time ago, and heat seeped through old wood like water through a fishing net. Selene pulled her hair into a Rider’s knot, secured it with a steel pin, and headed for breakfast. The dream scraped at her concentration. This was not the first time she had relived father’s funeral, nor was it the first time that a raven had appeared in her dreams. It had been nearly twelve years since her father’s death. The dreams came most often before she went on errand for the Elders.
The smell of burning wood greeted Selene as she entered the main room of the house. Light flowed gently through curtains embroidered with flowers of ochre. Maye had already begun to eat, and did not so much as glance up at Selene as she entered.
Selene’s chair tilted dangerously to one side as she attempted to sit. She grumbled at her own clumsiness.
The purpose of each errand was not announced until the time it began for fear of rogue Riders taking it up without a Praecyr’s guidance. The notice for this particular errand had only appeared on the board one morning past. The pay was to be better than most, which enhanced Selene’s curiosity tenfold. Even knowing that it would drive her mother to anger had not kept her from adding her name to the list.
A poached egg and an end of bread loitered stubbornly on her plate. She was not hungry in the least. Gentle prodding with the point of her knife caused a river of yolk to spill dangerously close to the tabletop. The wide grin she flashed in her mother’s direction did not receive anywhere near the response she had hoped for. She had dared to presume that an evening of thought would quell Maye’s anger. It seemed only to have made things worse.
Maye’s eyes were a peaceful green most often, but when her thoughts turned to anger they became the gray of thick, storm bearing clouds. It was indeed that turbulent gray that glared back at Selene.
“At least have the courtesy to eat something. If I’d known you were only going to play with breakfast I wouldn’t have bothered with your half.”
“I ride these errands for us. We have been promised ten silver pieces upon the completion of this one. Would you allow such an opportunity to pass us by?” Selene straightened herself as she spoke in an attempt to seem more mature.
Maye did not seem to notice.
“There has not been an errand available in several months,” Selene continued. “I must ride this one. It may be longer before the next and the pay will certainly be less.” That should sway her a little.
“True,” her mother said slowly.
At last, progress. Selene’s guilt faded, as did her mother’s frown, but the relief was only temporary.
“But do we really need it? I think not. We have money enough to survive the winter.”
Guilt grabbed hold of Selene once again and hung there, this time with great tenacity.
“Is your well-being, perhaps your life, worth ten silver?” Maye lowered her voice. “That aside, I know that wealth is not the only thing you seek on these errands.”
How irritating it was that Maye always knew her true intentions. Selene took a full bite of bread and pretended to concentrate on chewing. “I’d better go,” she said as she crossed the room and looped the belt that held her sword and scabbard in place. The wad of bread in her mouth only impaired her speech slightly. “We’re to meet at the Elders’ Square. Got to get Cyprus ready.”
She took one last bite of bread and stuffed the remaining piece into the leather pouch that hung at her hip.
“Please,” Maye began.
“I’ll be very careful.” Selene cupped her mother’s head in her hands and kissed her forehead lightly. She plucked her bedroll and a small sack of dried meat from the floor near the stove. Guilt moved to her stomach and formed a hard lump there. Selene made up her mind to leave before it could overcome her. She grabbed her woolen cloak from its hook by the door and headed out towards the barn.
The pale light of the newly risen sun pulled shadows from the fence posts across the pasture. Selene wrapped her cloak around her. A few days hence and none of this will be of any consequence. The thought comforted her. She and Maye would be ten silver pieces richer. That would buy several more chickens and a few yards of cloth for clothing, some pitch to repair the roof, perhaps even that milking goat she had been eyeing at market two days prior. The thought of goat’s milk and cheese made her mouth water, although excitement had stolen any real desire for food she may have had.
Frost cooled her hand as she grasped the weathered wood of the pasture gate. A finely built black and white horse trotted out from behind the barn to greet her.
“Good morning Cyprus.”
He nuzzled her gently, searching for any snacks that might be hidden beneath her cloak. She took a moment to smooth the soft hair on his neck before heading to the barn for his saddle and blanket. Cyprus eagerly followed her. He was always anxious to be out of the pasture.
In moments they were headed down the packed dirt path that led to the center of town. She would make it with time to spare. The Tides of luck must be with her on this day.
Cyprus’ hooves made pleasant clicking sounds as they crossed the intricate pattern of cracked tiles that composed the Elders’ Square. A group of three men, all on horseback, stood in the center of the area where years of Elders’ council meetings and Tides Festivals had worn the color from the tiles completely. The tallest of the three rode up to meet Selene as she approached. Two massive dogs, each of which stood nearly as high as Cyprus’ stomach, shadowed him as he moved. Selene had not seen any of their type before today, though dogs were often used on errands for tracking. The muzzles of these were wide and their heads broad. Their short coats were patched in brown and black, and their tails had been cut short as was most commonly done with smaller dogs for use in hunting rodents. The two looked very much out of place here, as did their master. She guessed by the man’s confident stance that he must be the Praecyr for this errand. He wore a pair of leather riding gloves, the fine quality of which placed them very much at odds with the rest of his gear. The deep brown leather armor that covered his chest looked as if it had been quite impressive in its youth. Lengthy gashes ran across its battered surface, some in areas that made Selene wonder at the fact that the man had survived long enough to repair them. A long, battle-worn sword hung casually from his belt. He rested his palm lightly upon it, releasing the weapon only at the last moment to offer his hand in greeting.
“Ranur” he said through a short black beard much like the scrub bushes that grew by the riverside. “You are Selene, I assume.”
It was not surprising that he knew her. One could count the number of female Riders within a hundred mile span on a single hand. Anyone who had run errands between Eiboren and the Mortal Sea had heard tell of her, as likely as not. She edged Cyprus closer to him to shake his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”
Cyprus was several hands shorter than Ranur’s thick legged, tawny stallion. Although Selene straightened her back and set her feet down in the stirrups she was forced to tilt her head up to meet his gaze. The gloves he wore had been recently oiled and were soft to the touch. She tried to make her handshake firm, as her father had taught her long ago. A strong hand mirrored a strong soul, or so he had been fond of saying. In the end she fell just short of matching the strength in Ranur’s grip with her own.
“Wait with the others,” Ranur said, turning his horse down the path that led to the Elder’s cottage. The skin of his nose and brow creased momentarily, as if something foul was upon the breeze. “I must speak with the Elders briefly. We leave the moment I return.”
Selene tapped Cyprus lightly, guiding him to where the other Riders waited. During her first days as a Rider it had seemed odd to trust her life to people she had not laid eyes on before that day. Years of travel with strangers had forced her to accept it, though not to the point of liking.
She turned her attention to the men who would be her companions for the next few days. The closest was a squat, half bald man. What oily hair he had left hung loosely over his disheveled clothes. There would not have been enough to make a riders’ knot of it even if he had decided to attempt it. A well-used bow and a quiver of arrows hung at his shoulder. The man did not acknowledge Selene’s presence, though the mare he sat upon certainly noticed Cyprus, and was not pleased that he was so close. The horse stepped aside with a snort of displeasure, which was when Selene then received a full view of the group’s final member. Terran. She sighed heavily. She would have given half her promised pay to be able to ride this errand without him.
Terran noticed her at once and turned his well-muscled gelding in her direction. The shine of its smoke-gray coat mirrored that of the new metal breastplate the man wore. “Selene,” he said, flashing her what she was sure he considered to be his most alluring smile. “The Tides bring us together once more.”
“Honestly, Terran?” She moved Cyprus as far from him as she could manage while still remaining in the center of the Square. He frequently said the most ridiculous things. The fact that he was here had absolutely nothing to do with the Tides of Fate. She would have wagered her life and the second half of her pay on that.
Relief washed over Selene as Ranur trotted back into view. She would be safe from Terran’s obnoxious banter for a short time at least.
The Praecyr wasted no time in giving his commands. “The man we are to track,” he said as he pulled his horse around to face them, “was last seen headed northwest into the woods that stretch between Eiboren and this place. The Elders have informed me that he will be a formidable opponent though he is still young.” The hand that had previously rested just above his sword lowered, taking a firm grip on its hilt. His gaze settled upon Selene and his brow creased once more. “You three are considered the finest Riders between Maresbane and Vale. Be that as it may, we will need the Tides on our side to return from this errand without incident. The man is to be captured alive and unharmed, with extra silver to be given for his timely return.”
The grubby, balding man beside Selene pulled back his lips in a dry smile at the mention of extra silver. Several half rotted teeth jutted from his nearly barren gums. She hoped that his archery was better than his hygiene.
Ranur turned to the man. “Ormun, you’re with me.”
Ormun’s grin faded as he moved his horse to the front of the group. Ranur’s stallion towered over the shaggy mare, causing Selene to feel a bit better about Cyprus’ stature.
“Tarr. Dai.” The dogs’ ears perked up as Ranur mentioned their names. They promptly lifted themselves from the ground and loped over to stand by their master, their coats mottled beneath slivers of morning sun. Ranur lowered a strip of blue cloth down to them, allowing them to take in its scent before tucking it into the pouch that hung at his waist.
“You two take up the rear.” Ranur nodded towards Terran and Selene. “Any sign of the man we seek should be made known to me immediately.” He started towards the woods with Ormun close behind. “Insubordination of any kind will be reported to the Elders upon our return, and a cut in pay will be arranged,” he warned. “Just follow my lead and all will be well.”
They left the square and started down the one remaining path to Eiboren. There had once been several that led in that direction, but the forest had taken them from the grasp of man and made them hers once more, thus rendering them impassable to those on horseback.
Selene glanced at Terran, who was somewhere between clearing his throat quite a bit more noisily than was necessary and preparing to spit something onto the roadside. It was just one of a great number of irritating habits that he possessed. “Praecyr,” he asked when he was finished, “just what is our quarry guilty of?”
“They did not mention his crime.” Ranur’s voice held a savage bite. “And I did not ask, as there is no need for me to know. That also means that there is no need for any of you to know.” His eyes rested solely on Terran, whose face shaded with embarrassment.
It was pleasing to have someone put him in his place.
Ranur turned once again to face the road ahead. “Understood?” he added without looking back.
“Yes Praecyr.”
By the Tides Terran had the intelligence to end it there. Selene would also have liked to know the man’s crime, though she would never have asked. There were some things Riders simply were not meant to know. Most of them, she had found, a person was better off not knowing.
Days passed with the speed of an early summer storm. There was little wind to speak of and no rain, thus the scent remained clear and strong. The trail was not like any Selene had followed in her years as a Rider. The dogs rarely left the path, though they often wavered from one side of it to the other with the scent. It was almost as if the man did not realize he was being tracked, or else did not care.
Without warning the afternoon of the third day was upon her. The weather was just chill enough to be comfortable, and Selene was quite happily dwelling in thoughts of silver coins until Terran moved his gelding to Cyprus’ side. Cyprus snorted irritably. He did not seem to care for Terran’s gelding any more than Selene cared for its master.
Terran remained next to her, saying nothing. The words Ranur had spoken to the man upon their departure had kept him silent for the most part. She had very much enjoyed the peace, and as time had passed she had become quite used to him not speaking to her save for pleasantries. Perhaps he simply wished to ride on ahead. What little hope she had vanished suddenly as he turned to face her.
“You are not wearing the pre-caerim pendant I gave you,” he said, glancing at her bare neck.
Selene glared at the path ahead. Terran was either quite dense, or completely arrogant. Perhaps it was a bit of both. The pendant was finely crafted. It was easily worth more than she could make in a year on a Rider’s earnings. Still, neither its beauty nor his insistence would force her to wear it. Selene had attempted to return the gift on numerous occasions. He had refused to take it. She had entertained thoughts of selling it at times when money had been short. Unfortunately, as it was a gift, she had realized that she simply had too much common courtesy to do so. In the end it had found a permanent home on the top shelf of the wardrobe she shared with Maye. It had gathered dust there since the last Festival of Low Tides, nearly a year ago. In only a few short weeks the next Festival would be upon them.
“I am not wearing it because I do not intend to take vows with you.” An irritated tone crept into Selene’s voice although she tried her best to keep it at bay. It was not that Terran would have made a horrible husband. He and his father owned what was easily the largest number of fishing boats in Maresbane. He was not prone to violence, and when it came to looks he was treading squarely on middle ground. She may have accepted his offer in another life, for the sake of providing for her mother. Giving in was simply impossible, however. Her mark made it so. After all, one could hardly expect to spend their entire married life fully clothed. Besides that, Terran always managed to burn her patience away like fire upon flashgrass. He surely thought the world should bend to his whim. That must be why her unwillingness bothered him so. She suppressed a sigh and urged Cyprus faster. Terran’s gelding took only seconds to match speed.
“I find your attitude to be completely unreasonable.” Terran said, seemingly oblivious to her disgruntled expression. “Whoever he is, he most obviously cannot care for you and your mother the way I can. Otherwise you would have taken up with him long ago.”
Selene gave no reply. She used her free hand to pull at a stubborn tangle in Cyprus’ mane. Perhaps the man would finally choose to go on ahead if she ignored his idiocy.
“Or perchance it is a female with whom you take your pleasure? Let me assure you that I have attended more than the common share of Tides’ Festivities and thus I am quite understanding concerning such things. An arrangement can still be made. It is a common enough occurrence in these times. None will think ill of it.”
“There is no other, Terran,” Selene said with as much of an even tone as she could manage. “You are the only one who pesters me so, thank the Spirits.”
Terran made his reply, but his words were buried by the deep barking of Ranur’s dogs.
“Stop where you stand, or forfeit your life.” Ranur had come to a halt only a few yards ahead. His sword was drawn. Ormun lingered close behind him, his bow ready; holding for the movement of his prey.
A blonde haired man stood in the center of the path. He wore dark breeches and a shirt of midnight blue. The latter struck Selene as odd. That particular tone of blue was reserved most often for those in favor with the king, or so she thought. But certainly no companion of the king would be hunted by Riders. He had stolen it, perhaps. It was the most reasonable explanation.
It was immediately obvious that Ranur’s words of warning had not been well received. The blonde haired man started running in less than a Spirit’s breath. Ormun loosed an arrow. He and Ranur sped forward. Selene pushed Cyprus to a gallop, leaving Terran gaping behind her on the trail.
“To the north.”
Selene could barely hear Ranur’s voice over the thundering sound of Cyprus’ hooves hitting the packed dirt of the path. She could sense Terran gaining on her, though she had neither the time nor the desire to look back. The path ahead split into two. Ranur slowed in the slightest upon reaching it.
“Terran, Ormun, take the left. Selene, with me,” he shouted back at them. It was strange that he would split the party. Something was wrong, though she could not figure out what. Aside from that, no man could outrun a horse at full gallop. Even Ranur’s massive dogs were unable to keep up with the horses’ gait. Strange. She was given no time to think on it, for Ranur’s stallion veered suddenly from the path into the woods. He seemed to have no trouble navigating the scattered trees and thick underbrush. Cyprus managed to keep up for a short time, but the forest began to tear at him. Sharp branches and blackberry thorns bit through skin and hide alike.
Selene lost sight of Ranur suddenly. She urged Cyprus to pick up speed. The forest thinned, allowing him to hasten his steps. She breathed a deep sigh of relief as Ranur’s tawny stallion came back into view, and another as the pair slowed. They came to a halt a few yards away. She slowed Cyprus and dismounted.
Selene drew her sword as she approached the clearing. The blond haired man lay face down on the leaf-covered soil. An arrow protruded from the rear of his left leg. Tarr and Dai issued rumbling growls of displeasure as they circled him. They had been well trained, for they merely watched the man rather than seizing him. Their master was another matter. Selene watched in horror as Ranur thrust the point of his sword through the man’s neck. Blood welled up from the wound. It flowed onto the man’s tattered cotton shirt and the soil beneath him, staining it in deep crimson hues.
Selene closed the distance between them at a run. The dream of silver pieces and goat’s milk was quickly fading, as was her confidence. The man had done nothing to deserve death. “For what reason did you slay him?” she demanded. Normally she would not have spoken to her Praecyr in such a way, but the rashness of Ranur’s actions had stolen all reason from her.
Swift and severe was the punishment for displeasing an Elder. Terran had several lashing scars as a result of disobedience, most of them from years long past. At least one, however, was recent. She had witnessed its placement with two other Riders at her side. There was no fear or pain on Terran’s face as Elder Aldyn struck him, only the embarrassment of having failed her. Selene had been lucky enough to escape such punishment thus far. Her marked body, when found, would seal her fate so that even the Tides could not turn it.
“He was to be returned to them alive.” The words barely escaped Selene’s lips. For a moment she was not certain Ranur had heard her. A soft breeze rustled the leaves overhead, pushing at the silence that enveloped the woods.
“They certainly would have received him as such,” Ranur said with a scowl, “was he found to be human.”
Selene edged closer to inspect the boy. Save for his blond hair he could have been any man of Maresbane. His strong build reminded her of Terran’s younger brother.
Ranur placed one foot on the man’s back and used it as leverage to remove his sword. He used what remained of the man’s shirt to wipe the blood from its blade before returning his weapon to its scabbard.
“It is here,” he said, forming an expression of distaste. He placed a gloved finger on the corner of the man’s shirt near the right shoulder and pulled it back to reveal the skin beneath. What had at first seemed to be a dark spot covered by worn fabric was now revealed in its true form. An area of interlocking lines curled like smoke from an extinguished candle across the man’s flesh. Selene could feel the blood drain from her face as she gazed upon it.
“Hideous, is it not?” Ranur had clearly mistaken the look of shock upon her face for one of repulsion. “This mark,” he said thoughtfully as he traced the tattoo-like symbol with his finger, “is the sign of a soul lingering somewhere between man and beast. The Marked Ones may look as we do, but you cannot let that fool you. They are evil, cursed things. They are a danger to themselves as well as those around them.”
A slow burn crept across Selene’s mark as Ranur spoke, just as it had during Elder Aldyn’s questioning long ago. She had more control over it now, age and practice had seen to that, yet days of travel had made her weary. How many Marked Ones had Ranur killed? Had Islyr been one of them? Curiosity held Selene’s feet firmly in place.
“They can change from man to animal at will. By the shape of the mark you will know which beast they are linked to.” His expression grew dark as he spoke. “I have seen this pattern before. Not five months ago. Mark of wolf.” Ranur backed up a few paces and pulled a square of white cloth from his belt pouch. He wiped his gloved hands with it, as if to rid them of some unseen filth. “Last one escaped me. Not this one though.”
Selene’s concentration began to slip. Ranur continued speaking, yet his words were lost to her. The world slid away. She reached down to touch the dying man’s blood spattered back as if compelled by the Spirits. As she placed her fingers upon him the burn in her mark intensified. One dozen knives, just off the metalsmith’s fire, forced themselves through her skin. It was unbearable. Selene’s hand slid toward her mark. The burning faded as her fingers left the man’s back. She looked up from where she now knelt. Ranur was next to her. His smile had disappeared.
Her error had been as bold as the sun at midday. She withdrew her hand and placed it upon the hilt of her sword, though she made no move to draw it. Ranur watched her calmly. It did not look as though he had noticed anything odd. Selene looked to the east, as if checking upon Cyprus’ whereabouts. He was not known to stray, but she was in dire need of some reason to take her eyes from the dying man.
Ranur’s pondering expression vanished as he turned from her and mounted. “You are the lightest among us,” he said. “Take this thing and tie him to your horse. I trust you’ve enough strength for that.”
“Yes, Praecyr.” The words came out normally, by luck of the Tides.
“Be ready to ride when I return.” He started off at a trot.
Selene willed her breathing to slow. She whistled for Cyprus, who trotted obediently to her side. It would not do to have Ranur return and find her staring numbly at the body.
Selene pulled her spare blanket from Cyprus’ saddlebags and unrolled it next to the man. After removing the arrow from his leg and tossing it aside she knelt down beside him and grasped his arm. It was still slightly warm.
Perhaps he was not too far gone. It was an absurd thought, but something within her would not let it go. She had sworn to Maye that she would not use her healing ability where others might see it. But what if he could be saved? She would simply be quick about it. If the man did not rise then nothing would be lost. Selene rolled him over onto the open blanket, trying desperately to ignore the burning that returned to her mark as she touched his skin. It was not as strong now as it had been. She was thankful for that.
It was strange to look upon his unmoving face. He was indeed young, much younger than she had expected. He was no more than a boy. She leaned in close. No breath escaped him.
He did not stir as Selene tore the cloth of his shirt and placed her hands upon the wound that pierced his neck. Every drop of concentration she could muster was channeled into the healing. Her hands grew warm. Her head began to ache. His flesh refused to close in upon itself. She sat back with a sigh. He was most certainly dead. She had been a fool to think that even a Marked once could survive such an injury.
Two bright blue eyes probed her soul from behind golden locks of hair matted with drying blood. She pulled them gently closed, mostly out of respect, but partly to quiet their accusing gaze. “May the Spirits protect and guide your soul on this day and thereafter.”
Selene was halfway to her feet when something caught her eye. A leather cord hung around the boy’s neck, miraculously untouched by the blade of Ranur’s sword. She pulled it gently, taking care not to touch any bare skin. A clear, rounded crystal hung at the cord’s end. A setting of silver metal, molded into dragon’s talons, held the stone top to bottom leaving the center unobstructed. It seemed such a costly a thing for a young boy to have. It must have been stolen along with the clothing.
Selene moved her fingers across the stone’s face to clear the blood that rested there. As she did so a thin line of black smoke swirled through its center. Before she had time to think on it another appeared, this one as white as the other had been dark. They danced swiftly within the orb, nearly touching each other at times yet never mixing. She removed her hand from the stone. The smoke vanished. The pain in Selene’s head faded to nothing.
The pendant was an item of magic, that much was certain. She pulled the cord carefully over the boy’s head and moved to place it into one of the bags that hung from Cyprus’ saddle, but suddenly thought better of it. Riders were entitled to keep any items found while on errand, providing that neither the Praecyr nor the person funding the errand had asked for them. Neither Ranur nor the Elders had mentioned a pendant within her hearing. Furthermore, she simply did not wish to let it go. She pulled the leather strap over her head instead, tucking the crystal beneath her shirt to be sure no one would see it. If it was asked for then she would return it.
In mere moments the body was wrapped and the blanket surrounding it secured with a length of rope. The process of loading the boy onto Cyprus, however, did not go as smoothly as Selene would have liked. His body was heavier than she had anticipated, and freshly dead people were not at all balanced for carrying. To make matters worse, Cyprus did not seem to want anything to do with her as long as she held the dead boy. He snorted and stomped his feet, showing the whites of his eyes as she drew near him. It took quite a few soothing words and a rope from his bridle to the nearest tree to calm him long enough for her to perform the needed tasks. Once she had loaded the body she tied it quickly, before Cyprus had a chance to change his mind. The task was done none too soon, for Ranur rode swiftly into the clearing with Terran and Ormun trailing close behind.
None of the men spoke as they headed back towards the trail. Ormun’s silence did not bother Selene, for it most likely came from the vastly diminished probability of receiving extra silver. Ranur’s demeanor, however, filled her with uncertainty. She did her best to avoid his gaze as she took a place at the end of the line.
Days passed at a grinding pace. Selene’s anxiousness grew as they approached Maresbane. Ranur must know her secret. Part of her wanted to flee, though she knew that she would not get far. Cyprus was fast, but his stride was much shorter than that of Ranur’s stallion. Even without the extra weight of the boy escape was not a possibility.
The body had become a bane to Selene upon the first night, and it had continued to fuel her frustration since. Unloading it was a chore. She preferred not to touch it even through the blanket, and the smell became worse with every hour that passed. Today it was nearly unbearable. Ranur and the others assured her that there was little scent to be noticed. It was the only conversation that they had all taken part in since before the murder of the boy. Perhaps it was true. The nights had been cool, slowing the advance of decay. Still, every once in a great while when the wind was right, she would catch that unmistakable smell. Selene glanced up at the partially clouded sky. Rotting or no, the boy deserved a proper sending. She was certain that he would never get one. Marked Ones rarely met the flames of a funeral pyre.
Selene glanced at Terran. On any other day she would not have dared lest he consider it an invitation to speak with her. It was safe today, distant as he was, raising his hand from time to time to touch the lashing scars upon his back. The closer they came to town, the more frequent his actions became. If the Tides were with them they would not receive a lashing. Ranur was the one who deserved it. None of the Riders had taken part in the killing of the boy. Selene knew that Praecyrs were not eligible for punishment, only for lessened pay, but that did not keep her from wishing that it could be so.
The clicking of Cyprus’ hooves against the tiles of the Elders’ Square served only to strengthen the nervous feeling within Selene’s chest. A light breeze twisted from behind her, sending the scent of rotting flesh swirling around her face. She suppressed the urge to retch by concentrating on the wave-like pattern of colored tiles upon the ground.
Ranur came to a halt in the center of the square near where they had stood at the errand’s beginning. “Settle your horses and clean yourselves. Meet me here when you’ve finished. There will surely be some silver to be given, perhaps a feast in our honor.” He looked to Ormun. “Take Tarr and Dai with you. Be sure that they are properly cared for.”
Ormun seemed content to follow Ranur’s orders although they were technically no longer on errand. He nodded his head in consent and started off in the direction of the Hasana family home. He must have offered them a fair amount of coin; Lelyn Hasana was known to be choosy about whom she took in for boarding. Terran no longer rubbed his lashing scars, though he held a sour look upon his face as he turned his gelding towards home.
“Selene, with me.”
Selene would have given anything to be allowed to leave. It seemed unfair that Terran and Ormun had been given that privilege and she had not.
She followed Ranur through the Square, past the carved wooden awning under which the Elders sat during council. She and Islyr had played there as children, under ocean waves and seabirds chiseled into weathered wood. They had taken the Elders’ seats, sending each other on errand against Bloodsoul and shadeslight and having great feasts of bread and sunberries upon their successful return home.
Selene’s gaze traveled past the Elders’ place of council to a stout tree that grew between the awning and the Square. Its leaves were a deep red in color and its bark the perfect white of freshly fallen snow. Two short lengths of knotted rope hung from the largest branch, which grew out over the road so that anyone who wished to visit the Elders cottage would be forced to travel beneath it. The Sending Tree… Maye had not allowed them to play in the square while the tree was in use. More Marked Ones had lost their lives to that tree than Selene cared to think about. They had been cleansed of their curse. It was what was whispered as the Marked Ones dangled from that tree; as the ropes around their necks stole their breath.
It had been so long ago that the last One was punished. She and Islyr had run out to see him while Maye went to market and their father was out on errand. Islyr had suffered from nightmares for several months after. The man’s face, the black emptiness where his eyes had once resided, still haunted Selene’s dreams from time to time.
The path from the Square to the Elder’s cottage was a short one. Its sandy surface faded suddenly beneath the tiles of the Elders’ porch, pulling Selene abruptly from thoughts of the past. Driftwood walls came to life as the ocean’s breath twisted the leafy vines that covered them. The entrance had been prominent when Selene was a child. It was now difficult to tell where the walls ended and the door began.
“Wait here.” Ranur’s voice severed her thoughts with ease. He dismounted and climbed the stone steps. The Praecyr knocked twice, centering his fist carefully in the only leafless spot upon the door’s face.
Aged hinges screeched in complaint. Selene leaned forward in her saddle, hoping to catch even a few of the words exchanged between Ranur and the Elder as he was admitted. Her efforts were in vain. Ranur slipped inside.
Selene lowered herself from Cyprus’ back. She untied the body and lifted it from him, trying hard not to breathe while it was near her face. Cyprus shook himself once he was free of it, as if to remove the scent from his hide. He lowered his head to pull at a ragged tuft of grass that had sprouted in the center of the path.
The body seemed heavier than it had been. Selene managed to get just to the edge of the porch before her stomach lurched. The smell of death gnawed at her senses. The body dropped to the ground and she to her knees. Bile burned her throat. It suddenly seemed more fortunate that she had not had any breakfast. Selene lowered her head to the tiles, letting the cold soothe her.
“Having some difficulty?” Ranur loomed over her.
“No, Praecyr,” she stammered, searching his words for hidden meaning. “The smell of this thing is beginning to bother me, I suppose.” She dusted stray sand from her clothes as she stood. Her feet held steady, though her stomach was far from settled. “I will be fine.” Perhaps saying the words aloud would somehow make it so.
“Excellent. In that case you shall be pleased to hear that the Elders will see us now.” He shot a steady look at the bundle. “With that as well. Take the feet.”
Selene was not at all pleased to hear the news. The more time she spent outside the Elder’s cottage, the less inclined she was to venture in. It was too late to run. She did as she had been told.
Selene’s eyes were given no time to adjust as the door closed heavily behind her. The scent of musty cloth and beeswax candles permeated the air. Thick fabric covered each of the room’s windows, blocking what little light crept between the vines residing upon the outer walls. She waded through the darkness, trying desperately not to stumble over anything as her vision returned. They traveled a narrow hallway, over creaking wooden floors and soft, threadbare rugs to the Elders’ common room. A fireplace of smooth ocean stones encompassed one wall. The dying flames within it were the room’s only source of illumination. The other walls were lined with light blue tiles, several of which held carefully painted ocean waves. A few wooden chests and glazed jars of pottery served as decoration, surrounding a single shelf of dust covered books all bound in various shades of leather. Three stuffed chairs sat near the hearth, though only two were occupied.
There were always three elders; one man and two women, or so Maye had told her. Selene recognized the closest one as Elder Prenn, the Father. He attended nearly all of the Elders’ councils. A waterfall of white hair cascaded from his wrinkled face, ending just above the open tome that rested in his lap. Not one syllable of speech had ever escaped his gaunt lips, at least as far as Selene had heard. Elder Aldyn was always the one to speak when words were needed.
Elder Aldyn sat now by the hearthside, surveying Selene’s progress with a look of careful consideration. Her face, with the fire’s light casting shadows over its surface, looked much as it had on the day of her father’s Sending. The Elder must have been a child once, long ago, though Selene found it hard to imagine that face without the mask of age covering it.
Nervousness washed over Selene as she realized that the third Elder was not present. Out searching for a whipping branch, or worse. She pushed the thought hastily from her mind.
“Set him here.” Elder Aldyn said as she unfolded a blanket in front of the hearth. Her voice was the sound of sand ground against stone.
Ranur set his end upon the floor. Selene held her breath as the body’s scent caught her once more. She stood quickly and bowed in Elder Aldyn’s direction, as was proper. Perhaps they only wished her to aid in bringing the boy in. They might send her away now that the job had been finished.
“Now, child,” the Elder said, peering at her from behind sagging layers of skin. “Explain to me why there is a dead boy on my floor when you were given explicit orders to bring him here unharmed.”
All hope of leaving vanished like morning mist touched by the first rays of the sun. The thought of speaking to the Elder on the subject of Marked Ones made her skin grow cold. She eased her words out, taking great care not to show fear, and bending slightly at the waist to add formality. “With greatest respect Elder, perhaps the Praecyr could explain this better than I.” It was the best plan she could concoct, short of taking flight.
Elder Aldyn turned at once to Ranur, who did not seem fearful in the least at becoming the focus of her attention.
“You certainly would have received the boy alive as you requested, were he found to be human.” There was no hint of distress as he continued. “A Marked One, Elder. Mark of wolf. Death is the penalty for those bearing the Mark.”
The Elder fell silent for a moment, as if considering what Ranur had said. The fire had dwindled, making it difficult to read her expression. Even so, Selene was certain it was hatred that crossed her ancient face.
“Show me his mark,” she ordered.
Ranur knelt by the body’s side. He pulled a small hunting knife from his belt and sliced easily through the ropes that held the blanket in place. Selene fought the urge to turn away as he uncovered the boy. Concentrate. She had managed to stay out of trouble thus far, but she was fairly certain that she had used up all of her luck for this particular errand.
“Turn him over.”
The body was not nearly as rotted as Selene had thought it would be. She had wrapped it tightly, allowing no room for flies to crawl between the layers of fabric. Still, his skin seemed swollen and his eyes sunken. The closeness of the room left nowhere for his putrid scent to travel, making Selene wish she was anywhere else in the Ethereal Realm but where she now stood.
A rattling emanated from the far side of the cottage, followed by the now familiar complaint of hinges. The third elder had found her whipping branch, no doubt. Selene entertained the idea of pleading for a whipping on the rump rather than the back. Then she would not have to remove her shirt, bearing her mark for all to see. A bit of embarrassment was far better than a trip to the hanging tree.
“Are you listening, child?” The Elder’s hand struck the back of Selene’s head with surprising force.
“Yes, Elder,” Selene replied in wonder. When had the Elder’s attention turned to her? The blow had not been terribly painful, but it had been much more than was necessary to let her know that she was being spoken to. Years ago it would have been enough to draw her hand to her mark for comfort. Today, it merely angered her. “Forgive me, Elder,” she added, making her best attempt at sincerity.
The Elder did not acknowledge Selene’s words. She merely stood, her dark eyes passing along the length of the body, her scowl deepening with each second that passed.
Selene took Ranur’s place. She grabbed the boy’s tattered sleeve and rolled him over, taking great care not to glance at his face. It was troubling that the Elder had chosen her for the task. Ranur was just as capable, and he was certainly stronger than she.
“Move the cloth aside, so I can better see it.”
Thick, rancid air filled Selene’s lungs as she leaned down towards the body. She reached for the edge of the fabric that covered his mark. Her fingers slipped, touching not cloth, but rotting flesh. The burning pain of days before instantly returned. It was only a shadow of what it had been on the day of the boy’s death, yet when combined with the smell of decay and the heat of the fire it became intolerable. Nothing mattered except ceasing the pain. Her hand moved to touch her mark. Realization of the mistake she had made came much too late.
“Are you ill, child?” The Elder’s tone was just the same as it had always been, stiff and cold, but her eyes…
She knows.
Selene’s mouth opened as if to speak, but no sound left her. The shock of what she had done settled heavily upon her.
Spirits protect me, she knows.
“Answer your Elder.” Ranur placed a gloved hand upon his sword as he spoke, loosening the weapon from its scabbard. Dying flames illuminated its polished blade. He smiled as he had after killing the boy.
Selene’s stomach rolled.
“A Rider should know better than to show such disrespect,” Ranur said.
The Elder drew closer. She leaned in; her dark eyes searching Selene’s face, delving through her skin to find what secrets were kept within.
Selene stood. She stepped back from the boy.
“Hold her.”
Ranur’s sword snapped as he pushed it roughly back into its scabbard. Selene reached for her weapon but found her wrists pulled securely behind her back before her fingers could touch its hilt. The Elder unbuckled the belt that held Selene’s sword and set it, complete, into a metal chest that stood against the nearest wall. She locked it quickly, using a key that hung from a chain around her neck.
Ranur pushed Selene down. Her knees smashed against the wooden floor. Elder Aldyn stood over her. She could feel the fabric of her shirt being pulled back below her right shoulder, revealing the mark that resided there. Death is the penalty for those bearing the Mark. Natural patterns formed from the grains of the polished floorboards danced in the remaining light. The smell of the dead body engulfed her. It was stronger than it had ever been.
“Unbelievable,” Ranur muttered. Fingers encased in leather tightened upon her wrists until it became painful.
“Mark of raven, and on you no less.” There was an air of confusion in Elder Aldyn’s tone.
“Turn it towards the light.” Elder Prenn’s voice was barely a whisper, but it held no less command than Elder Aldyn’s. He rose from his chair and hobbled toward Selene.
Selene resisted Ranur’s attempt to shift her.
“The Elder wishes for you to move.” Ranur let go of her just long enough to drive his boot into her side. It was painful, certainly, but the pain was nothing when compared to the burning that had rushed through her mark as she had touched the boy’s skin. She attempted to show no signs of anguish, though her left side now throbbed terribly and the urge to retch was strong.
Selene was now angled enough towards the fire to catch a glimpse of the boy. Her eyes focused upon the gaping wound that split his neck. Ranur had slain him without a second thought, without the slightest hint of regret. He would do the same to her.
The creaking of a floor board, the slightest of sounds, pulled Selene’s gaze towards the hallway. She realized with horror that the scent that had trailed her from the woods had not come entirely from the boy. A Bloodsoul stood there, lurching dangerously from one side of the hall to the other as it attempted to keep its balance. The only Bloodsoul that Selene had battled had been found far from here, near the edge of the Barren Lands. Their group had come upon the thing merely by chance, and an unlucky chance it was. They had lost three Riders that day. The casualties would have been much greater had the Praecyr not called a retreat. That Bloodsoul had been ancient; made only of bleached bones. This one was considerably fresher. By the look of it the creature had been human not so long ago. Rotting clumps of flesh and bits of torn clothing clung precariously to its bones.
Panic gripped Selene. Ranur still held her wrists tightly, though his attention was now upon the Bloodsoul that was striding quickly towards them. She looked to the key which hung upon Elder Aldyn’s neck. There was no chance of gaining her weapon in time for it to be of use.
Heat burst against Selene’s neck. The orb. The sound of scraping metal came suddenly from behind her. The chest in which Elder Aldyn had placed Selene’s sword moved as if thrown. It passed swiftly behind her, narrowly missing her head before striking Ranur with full force.
Selene’s knees ached as she stood. She knew that items of magic were dangerous, yet she had still taken the orb from the boy. Lucky I didn’t knock my fool head off. Perhaps the Tides were with her this day after all.
Hands of rotten flesh reached for Selene. The walls of the room seemed to press in around her. There was no known way to kill a Bloodsoul, and she had no weapon besides. A poker rested near the hearth. Its metal was warm to the touch. She forced the length of it through the creature’s chest. The cracking of bones split the air of the room. The Bloodsoul did not seem hindered in the least, though portions of its ribs were now missing. Selene pulled the poker from between its splintered bones. She struck again, harder this time. The creature’s arm separated from its shoulder. It hit the wall that stood behind it, shattering some pottery that rested upon a shelf. Selene swung back in preparation of a third blow, this time to the head. The pieces that she had knocked from the bloodsoul’s ribcage flew up from the floor to reattach themselves to the beast.
Hard metal connected with bone. The creature’s head cracked and splattered. Selene threw the poker down. Ranur had already begun to stir. His hands reached feverishly for his sword. Selene pushed past the headless body and ran. She burst out the front door, stumbling on the stairs but catching herself before she landed on the sand strewn path. Blinding midday light assaulted her eyes, pulling a curtain of white across the world. A knot of despair formed tightly around her stomach as her vision finally returned. The area before her was empty. She knew now why the third Elder had not been present. Cyprus was gone, as was Ranur’s stallion.
Selene ran towards home, taking the back way so as not to pass through the Square. Word traveled fast when Riders returned from errand. By now a crowd of people had surely gathered there to witness the Elder’s council. Terran and Ormun would be present as well, anxiously awaiting their pay or perhaps a lashing. Setting one foot upon the Square’s worn surface would mean sentencing herself to death, unarmed as she was.
Selene glanced behind her as she reached home. There was no sign of either the Bloodsoul or Ranur thus far, but she did not expect her luck to last. It would take Ranur time to gather his party and the dogs, even if he managed to defeat the creature. She was certain that he would not waste a second of the time he had been given. She had injured his pride. That, combined with his hatred of Marked Ones, would cause him to seek swift retribution.
She pushed her front door aside, not bothering to close it behind her. “Maye?” Her voice echoed slightly as it forced itself through the silence of the empty room. She searched, only to find each room as devoid of life as the first. The barn. She’s there. She must be. Selene’s feet carried her out through the pasture and towards the barn. The tall door was open. Maye was not there. In fact, it looked as if no one had entered at all in the days since Selene had left.
Despair settled upon her. She could go back towards the Square. Perhaps it was not too late. If she found her mother on the path before it reached the center of town they might have a chance to leave without being seen. Selene started forward, but was stopped by the deep bellowing of Ranur’s dogs. They were not far. It was frightening to think that he had dealt the Bloodsoul so quickly.
She would not be able to rescue anyone with Ranur’s sword through her chest. Perhaps they would be much too concerned with her whereabouts to even think of Maye at all. She hoped desperately that her mother would manage to escape this place. May the spirits guide her.
The woods of Eiboren began just behind the pasture. An old path lay beneath the trees, overgrown with thick weeds and thorn bushes. What space remained was barely wide enough for one person on foot. It would certainly slow them down, perhaps even enough for her to lose them. Pounding hooves joined the frenzied barking of Ranur’s dogs. The forest’s cool breath slid across Selene’s skin as she stepped into its depths.