Royal Outlaw: (Royal Outlaw, Book 1) (2 page)

Mariel moved through the familiar fighting pattern with a stick substituting for her sword, which she had left back in the room she used. Her brown curls had been tamed into a braid. The freckles sprinkling her face and the tanned skin gave proof of long hours spent in the sun. Well-toned muscles flexed as she moved. The exercise only helped to distract her until she finished the pattern and then she was left standing on the bank of the river that slowly meandered through the ancient land south of Natric called Parloipae. It had almost been eleven years since the river had brought her into the world of the zreshlans, but she did not like to remember those early days.

Those were the days she lived without any memory of her past. While most of her memory had eventually returned, there was a gap of several weeks stretching from a night she had fallen asleep in her bed at the manor Remel to the time she awoke in Ambras Añue in Parloipae with the zreshlans. Not that Mariel tried to elicit those memories. The nightmares she had of her memories if she did not take the special dream-banishing potion were enough to drive her into madness and when she came out of the madness she never remembered the dreams. As far as Mariel was concerned, those forgotten memories were better left locked away in a part of her mind she could not consciously reach.

Mariel’s body went rigid and all thoughts of her lost past vanished from her mind, replaced instead by heart-pounding fear. She felt it on her right arm: a small creature that barely brushed her skin and she released the stick from her hand. Slowly, she turned her head, tilting it down slightly. There it was, staring back at her with its six eyes. It was small and brownish in color, except for the distinct mark on its head and midregion that looked like a violin. Mariel wanted to scream, but the scream caught in her throat as the monster began to move slowly up her arm with its eight legs. She shut her eyes, trying to block out the image and relax and think of what to do. But fear of the brown recluse spider refused to give way to calm, collected thinking. Instead of solving the problem, her brain sent her a horrendous image: the spider sinking its fangs into her soft skin, releasing its poison into her body and killing the tissue, and possibly her.

She swept her left hand down her arm toward the spider and jumped sideways to get away from it. Her jump was in the direction of the river and she stumbled as she landed at the edge of the riverbank and tumbled into the water. The mind numbing fear fled instantly as the frigid water consumed her. She quickly twisted her body to find footing on a rock in the riverbed and stood up in the water.

Her body shook from the after effects of the all-consuming fear and the chill of the water. Mariel took deep, calming breaths, trying to collect herself now that the danger had passed. She swallowed and glanced at her arm just to make sure the brown recluse was gone. She almost cried with relief, but then a sound struck her ears, one that made her blood curdle with anger: a musical laugh coming from behind one of the large trees of the forest.

She crawled onto the grassy bank and stood quivering with anger rather than fear, as water dripped off of her. “Anoria, that illusion was not funny.”

From behind the one of the xanlor trees that could only be found in Ambras Añue, the ancient forest of Parloipae, stepped what appeared to be a young woman with a wide grin spread across her striped face. Her black hair shined in the late afternoon light reaching to the ground through the canopy of the large trees.

What marked her as belonging to the people called zreshlans was her skin, which was naturally striped like a tiger’s with tanned skin alternating stripes of darker skin. This adoptive sister of Mariel’s was the one who had plucked the nearly-dead six year old from the river and persuaded her fellow zreshlans of Ambras Añue to permit the human child to remain.

Like Mariel, she spoke in the formal zreshlan language as she said, “It was amusing, Greslina. It is always enjoyable to frighten you, as it is so difficult to do.”

Mariel glared at her adoptive sister, anger and humiliation causing her to clench her fists. Mariel was afraid of spiders, and although her rigorous training for her work with the Resistance outside of Parloipae had taught her to control that fear, she was still scared by the creatures, especially the brown recluse breed. She would never admit fear of anything, though. To her, admitting that was a weakness.

Mariel wrung out her braid and zreshlan-style knee-length dress, hoping to retain at least some of her dignity by not dripping water. “The line of work I do does not allow space for fear.”

Anoria laughed again and shifted the empty fishing net draped over her shoulder. “Studying?”

Mariel snorted. “Not the zreshlan work, the work I do in the human lands.”

The zreshlan’s face darkened, although she remained silent. Mariel knew that behind those large brown eyes, Anoria wondered, like other zreshlans did, why Greslina, the human they had raised from the time she was six, was so eager to leave the land of Parloipae and wander into the world of humans. Humans were considered to be beneath zreshlans. Any daring to cross the border into zreshlan land were usually killed on sight.

Mariel had been forced to learn the zreshlan language since most of the people of Parloipae did not know Natrician, even though Natric was Parloipae’s northern neighbor. In fact, other than the scholars who dedicated their lives to studying texts, most zreshlans refused to learn human tongues. Anoria was one of the few exceptions, but this resulted from the fact that she was one of the zreshlans closest to Mariel. Possessing a knack for languages, Mariel had been taught five other languages besides Zreshlan and Natrician by the zreshlan scholars.

Mariel shook her head, causing droplets of water to fly into the air. Anoria screeched and backed away. “I do not wish to be wet.”

“Neither did I. Now help me pick these supplies up.”

It only took a few moments for the two of them to gather the book Mariel had been reading, along with ink, pen, and the paper she had used to write notes. Mariel threw her cloak around her wet shoulders and took one last look at the river. She shivered as the image of a brown recluse spider flashed across her mind and felt a memory start to rise up.

“Are you coming?” Anoria called back and Mariel banished all thoughts of rivers, lost memories, and spiders, and hurried to catch up.

“Did you like the illusion skills?” Mariel shot the zreshlan a scathing look and Anoria smiled slightly. “If you look past the frightening part, would you not say I have improved?”

“It was a little too realistic for me.”

The musical laugh rang in the ancient forest again. “I could teach you to improve the skills you have, which are nothing more than mediocre. I am sure you would excel in
evraïsér
if you chose to study it more.”

Evraïsér
was the Zreshlan word for magic. It was in all things, but was especially concentrated in living things and precious stones. The highest concentration of evraïsér pulsed through the living veins of intelligent creatures, but that evraïsér was nearly impossible to tap. Any person could access evraïsér; they only had to know how. It took years of study and hard work to use evraïsér with skill and it also depended on each person’s own strength. Zreshlans lived and breathed
evraïsér and all studied at least some of it, but most humans did not realize that magic could be used by anyone and those people who accidently discovered it were quickly whisked away to the temples dedicated to the gods. Most humans believed those who controlled magic were touched by the gods and were to be revered and feared, without an inkling that anyone could wield the natural power.

“You are thinking deeply,” Anoria accused, cutting into Mariel’s thoughts, “Or are you simply trying to avoid my confrontation about the lack of interest you have of learning evraïsér?”

Mariel cocked her head and raised her left eyebrow. “I would never! How could you, dear sister, ever think that I would dare to ignore important words?”

“Will you never take anything seriously?”

Mariel smiled wickedly. “And why would I want to do that? It takes too much fun out of life to be serious. Besides,” she mentally began a spell, gathering some of the magic that resided in the ancient trees around her. She twisted the magic into rope form, so that it was a mere contortion in the air impossible to see unless one expected it. When Anoria took her next step she tripped over the rope of evraïsér and sprawled across the ground. The ink she had been carrying for Mariel splattered her. “I think I have a fairly decent grasp of evraïsér.”

Anoria glared at her as she rose gracefully. “There is always room for improvement.”

Mariel fluttered her long eyelashes and took on a look on innocence. “But regardless of the time and work I put in I will never be as good as you. I am human remember? You are eighty-nine and considered young for a zreshlan, but I probably will not even live that long.”

Anoria looked horrified. “I did not mean that! Greslina, I loathe the knowledge that the human life you lead will be so short lived. I am truly—”

“Do not worry about it. I was jesting.” Mariel smiled wickedly and picked up her pace toward home, forcing Anoria to trot to catch up.

The xanlor trees, a relative of the mighty sequoia, only grew larger as they walked through the forest. At the very heart of the forest the trees towered four hundred-fifty feet in the air and were as wide as entire human castles. Ambras Añue, the zreshlan city that Mariel called home, was built on branches with rope bridges connecting the trees high above the ground. She and Anoria steadily climbed the circular wooden stairwell built around the girth of one of the massive trees.

The two sisters were greeted by other zreshlans. After reaching the first layer of the city, Anoria gave Mariel her things and hurried off to attend to her duties, as she was assigned cooking for the evening.

Zreshlans had no ruler, although some people’s opinions were held in greater respect than others. No words existed in the Zreshlan language for “king” or “leader.” Zreshlans shared in the tasks of cooking and cleaning and caring for each other, and to them it was never a job, but a duty that they performed without complaint. They traded off the tasks so that no one was on the same duty more than two days in a row. Each person had a specific job they performed for the community, for Anoria it was fishing, but at any time they could change their job without so much as a complaint from anyone else. It was not a flawless society, there were plenty of problems, but in Mariel’s opinion it was much better than any human culture.

When her bare feet finally reached the third level she stepped off the open stairwell and onto the platform. She walked around the tree until she reached the small room she used. The wall across from the door was made of the living xanlor tree and an open-air window faced out to the forest on the same side of the wall that she had entered. Simple wooden furniture filled the room: a desk, a chair, a bookshelf, a small wardrobe, a chest, a nightstand, a washing table, and a small bed.

Mariel’s room was plain, the way she liked it. No paintings or tapestries decorated the walls, just an intricate map depicting Parloipae and the human lands surrounding it, including Natric, its northern neighbor. A few carvings were etched into the furniture, but nothing fancy. Unlike when she entered rooms in human lands, she did not bother to observe the room and note if anything had changed. She felt safe in zreshlan lands.

As she set her supplies on her desk, she saw something move on her bed. In a quick, fluid movement, she drew her zreshlan-style sword from its plain scabbard leaning against the desk and spun to see a
snake with a cryptic pattern of brown, copper, and gold curled up on her bed. An instant later the serpent was replaced by a young man with olive-colored stripe-less skin. A white shirt with its laces undone at the top revealed well-toned chest muscles as he lay sprawled across her bed with his arms tucked behind a head covered in shoulder-length dark hair.

His amber eyes sparkled with humor as he watched Mariel intently. “Not planning on killing me, are you, Green Eyes?” he said in Natrician, as he rose from the bed.

In a few strides she stood in front of the serpentramel with the tip of her sword pressed against his shirt. She was small and the top of her head was not even level with his shoulder, but she could still be dangerous. “Do you have a death wish?” she growled, responding in the same language.

He did not appear concerned as he glanced down at the thin, sharp sword blade pointing to his heart. He looked up at her, grinning. “A feisty one, aren’t you?”

“I’ll kill you, James Snaketongue.”

“You won’t,” James said boisterously.

Mariel twisted the sword-point against his chest, tearing his shirt, but drawing no blood. “Watch me.”

The annoying grin played on his face and his eyes raked across her body in an uncomfortable way. Mariel fought a blush, refusing to give him a reward for his disgusting behavior.

“I’ve always preferred you in the zreshlan dresses.”

Of course he liked her zreshlan clothes. The dresses were short-sleeved and usually only reached to the knees. It was also tight around the chest area. Woman in the human lands wore nothing so revealing. She pressed a little harder and the point of the sword drew blood.

“That hurts,” James said.

“I don’t care.”