Division of the Marked (The Marked Series) (10 page)

She smiled. “My dad used to call me monkey.” She looked down at her hands and the sticky sap that coated her palms. “Blight it all, this stuff never comes off.”
 

“Let me see,” Ko-Jin said, and took her hand. He touched the sap and looked slyly up at her. “Yes, I think you’ll be sappy for life.”
 

He held eye contact and ran his fingers along her hand, and Bray’s face flushed. Not for the first time, she wondered at their frequent seclusion by his design. He had warm brown eyes lined in thick, dark lashes and a nice smile, but he looked so very young. And, more to the point, he wasn’t Yarrow.

“Look.” Ko-Jin pointed.

Bray could see a great portion of the grounds from their perch—all of the vegetable gardens spread out below her and, down the hill, she had a clear view of the testing arena, the lake, and the gazebo. Ko-Jin pointed to several moving shapes to the right of the dining hall.
 

“I see them,” Bray said.

Ko-Jin hooted loudly, sounding just like an owl. At the signal, Peer and Adearre scurried from their hiding place and came to the foot of the tree.

“Right of the dining hall,” Bray whispered. “Tell the scouts.”
 

Peer opened his mouth to say something in response. He was cut off by the sound of a door opening and adults conversing. He and Adearre crouched low and Bray froze on her bough.
 

“Is it certain?” a deep voice asked.

“Quite certain. One has not been found,” a female responded.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” the man said, the worry in his voice audible.
 

Two shapes moved into view below, both wearing the leather jerkins of the Chiona.

“That is because such a thing has never happened. There have always been fifty—exactly fifty.”

Bray and Ko-Jin exchanged confused looks. She endeavored not to breathe, suspecting she was not meant to overhear this conversation.

“What is to be done?” the man asked.

“What can be done?” the woman replied, sounding weary. “We do not know who the child was or where the child was from. How can we search for a person who was never identified? It is distressing, but there is no recourse.”
 

The two Chiona moved on. Bray and the others remained still and silent until confident the adults had passed well beyond hearing range.

“What did it mean?” Peer asked.

“Only forty-nine children found,” Adearre said. “One of our year is missing.”
 

Bray’s brow creased. “But how? Why?”
 

“Is it possible there just weren’t fifty of us to begin with? That there were less, for some reason?” Ko-Jin asked.

“It seems unlikely,” Bray replied. “Like the woman said, there have always been fifty. Always. Why would that change now?”

“So then, where are they?” Peer called up.
 

Bray leaned back against the trunk of the tree and idly picked at the sap on her hands, the game, for a time, forgotten.

Come midday, the plebes trooped back to the garden for testing—the mood, as ever, tense and fearful. Bray envied the missing youth. Wherever that individual was, it seemed unlikely he or she would be pummeled before an audience. Since Yarrow’s success that first day, no one had passed the test.

Bray took a seat between Arlow and Peer and watched as the bald woman, whose name was Lendra, stalked into the center of the arena. The quiet subsided into silence. Bray swallowed, vaguely nauseous. Clear across the amphitheater, she located Yarrow, wearing his Cosanta robes and looking solemn. He held her gaze for several long moments, a small smile on his lips, before the blonde woman to his right claimed his attention.

“With whom shall we start today?” Lendra asked the group at large, striding before them like a predatory cat. She played this game every day—asking for volunteers, and receiving none.
 

“How about you?” she said, calling forth a tall Adourran girl whose name Bray could not recall. The girl approached boldly, her spine straight and her chin uplifted. She poised her fists and tightened her jaw, but Lendra struck her in the stomach almost immediately. The girl let out a soft huff and collapsed to the ground.

Next, poor Roldon was summoned, his rosy-cheeked exuberance from earlier in the day utterly gone. He looked depleted and small as he strode forward, the wind ruffling his curly hair. Lendra delivered a savage strike at his face and he, too, crumpled, bloody-mouthed.

A dragonfly darted before Bray’s face, and she followed it with her gaze. The wind fluttered her hair and the sweet smell of the gardens filled her nose.
 

“You,” Lendra said. Bray, for a moment, thought that she had been called forth and failed to notice in her moment of distraction. But it was Arlow who stood, trembling. She looked after him, pityingly. He was bearing the pressures of the testing worse than most. Without his cocksure expression, without the confident strut in his step and the glint in his eye, he seemed an entirely different person. No longer handsome and smug, but childlike and fearful.
 

He took his place but did not raise his fists or even bend his knees.
 

“Come now, boy,” Lendra taunted, “you can do better than that.”
 

“I assure you, I cannot,” he drawled, earning a soft titter of laughter from the crowd.
 

Lendra frowned. She shifted her weight, and Arlow must have thought her ready to strike, because he attempted to dodge. Unfortunately, he became entangled in his own feet and fell to the ground in a heap. Lendra let out a peel of crisp, cruel laughter that floated over the otherwise silent arena.
 

“Come on, Arlow…” Bray whispered under her breath.

He got back to his feet, and brushed the dirt from his wide, black trousers with a pair of shaking hands. Lendra waited until he faced her again. She kicked, her foot striking him full in the chest. Bray heard an ominous, sickening crack ring through the stadium. Arlow landed in a tangle, moaning. He did not rise.
 

“You’ve broken the boy’s ribs, Lendra,” a bearded Cosanta man, across the stadium, said, his voice cool and inscrutable.

“Yes, I heard,” she replied. “Will one of you take this one to the medic?” she asked the crowd at large, gesturing to Arlow as if he were beneath her concern. Several hands shot up, all clearly hoping they could forgo a beating in the completion of the task. Their hands went down when Peer stood and stalked past Lendra as though she were not there. Bray watched his massive back—all she could see—as he knelt, whispering to Arlow. She gave a loud sigh of relief when Peer aided Arlow to his feet. His expression was pained, but he was conscious and able to stand.
 

As the pair of them sidled away, Lendra called, “You will come back once you’ve delivered him. You don’t want to miss your own testing?”
 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Peer replied with chilling coolness, not turning to face her. Lendra’s mouth hooked into an unreadable smile.

“Lendra, if you are incapable of executing your duties without causing real damage, we shall insist on your replacement,” the bearded Cosanta said.

The bald woman reacted as if slapped. She turned, slowly, and speared him with a look that could have melted the coldest glacier in the North Sea. The other Chiona in the arena rounded on this man with expressions of intense loathing. Bray could feel the crackling tension between the two groups from clear across the amphitheater.
 

“Do you have a problem with my sister, dance master?” a Chiona man asked. He crossed his muscular arms before his leather jerkin and glared.
 

“I have a problem with anyone who breaks the bones of children. Or have the Chiona lost the last vestiges of control they possessed?”
 

Lendra hissed. “You know perfectly well—”

“Yes, I understand better than you how these proceedings must go. I am merely suggesting you execute your role with greater care.”

The Chiona grumbled mutinously and the Cosanta stared, smooth-faced, back.
 

Lendra nodded her head to the bearded man, not in acceptance or respect, but with a kind of smug sarcasm. Then she turned back to the plebes, her eyes positively wild, and breathed, “Who’s next?’

Bray’s palms began to sweat, and she shot a disgruntled look at the old Cosanta man. He had certainly made their situation far worse by enraging the woman.

Lendra’s gaze swept over them, her nostrils flared, until her eyes finally fixed, maliciously, on Ko-Jin.

“That horrid, evil, miserable…” Bray said between clenched teeth as she watched her friend limp forward. She was not the only one to protest; a mutinous rumble of carrying whispers spread across the crowd. They were, all of them, victims in the testing, but compared to the small figure now moving to the center of the amphitheater, each of them were positively brawny. He stood, minute and hunched, but with shoulders even and eyes gazing directly at Lendra, waiting. Bray’s stomach gnawed—to watch this boy take a beating felt wrong, like the whole lot of them were culpable for allowing it. She knew that he would not appreciate her concern, that it would wound his pride, but the emotion lingered nevertheless.
 

Still worse was that Lendra seemed to be taking a spiteful pleasure in this particular encounter. She circled around him, a lioness closing in on an injured gazelle, taking far longer to strike than usual. Bray feared he might come to real injury. If Lendra had broken the rib of a proper-sized boy like Arlow, what would she do to one as small as Ko-Jin?

Lendra moved with incredible speed; she struck purposely towards Ko-Jin’s weak side. Bray’s palms cut against the edge of her seat as she waited for the impact. But it did not come. Somehow, in a blur of speed, Ko-Jin had moved out of the way and Lendra had tumbled onto the ground, her face a deep red.
 

The crowd erupted in cheers. Bray stood and clapped, beaming down at her friend. They applauded his triumph, because the triumph of the weakest among them was proof that they could all succeed. But even more, they applauded Lendra’s failure, which felt like sweet, gratifying justice.
 

Two Cosanta crossed the arena—Arlow’s defender and the young blonde woman. The man asked the question none of them had heard in a week’s time.

“What is your name?”
 

“Sung Ko-Jin.”

“Welcome, my brother, Sung Ko-Jin.” He grasped the boy’s forearm. “You are Cosanta, and one of us.”
 

Yarrow stood and applauded with such vigor the palms of his hands stung. He watched as the small Chaskuan boy clasped forearms with Ander and made his way into the Cosanta benches. Even Britt’s freckled face had lost its surliness and split into a rare smile.
 

“Yarrow,” Ander said, the flesh around his dark eyes crinkled, “why don’t you show our new brother around?”

Yarrow didn’t have to be asked twice. He hopped from his seat and turned his back on the arena, glad to forgo witnessing more testing that day. It troubled him, having to sit and appear complicit as his friends were tormented. The newest Cosanta boy joined him as he climbed the stair, keeping his pace deliberately slow, and reentered the gardens.

“I’m sorry, what was your name?” Yarrow asked his brother.

“Ko-Jin,” the boy said. He held out a hand. “And you’re Yarrow, right? Bray, Arlow, and Peer talk about you.”

Yarrow’s eyebrows shot up. “She does?”

“Yes,” Ko-Jin said with an unconcerned shrug. Whatever they said, it must not have been terribly interesting.
 

Yarrow led the way into the Cosanta quarter of the Temple grounds, his robes billowing around his feet.
 

“Our rooms are in here,” Yarrow said, opening the door to one of the larger buildings. “You can take any of the ones down this hall. I’m in here.” He pointed at the oaken door at the far end.
 

“Should I go back and get my things?” Ko-Jin asked.

“I doubt it. They’ll probably be brought for you,” Yarrow said. Having had no things to move, nor a room in the plebe quarters, he could not speak with any authority on the matter.