The Fall of the Riders

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Hardeep Passi

"Truly?" Hardeep said, pulling the spool and needle away, eyes narrowing. "There is no story, no controversy, no legend around it?"


There was a reason why Lene had been so adamant about the mark, the curse. Even if her words were nothing but drivel, there had to be reason. If it was "only a tattoo," then it had carried great power that could be perpetrated by fear and a heavy hand of law. It was possible, but it had also been oddly specific which caused Hardeep to pause in thought.


If there was some grain of truth, than it would be his turn to think that Irene might have more hidden than exposed.


He tilted his head and spoke again.


"Is it not called the Mark of the Exiled?"

 

[Lenaara]

Irene’s brows furrowed in confusion at Hardeep’s words, his actions. “There isn’t,” she lied again.


A chill that was not caused by the howling winds outside ran over her back. Heart beat loudly in her ears, a bit of adrenaline coursing through her veins at having lied again to a man who could easily cut her down if he had seen through her words. It was easy to lie to others. A weapon at her side and a skill powering her muscles were always an assurance that no matter what, she’d be alright. Those lies did not bear the same consequences as the current ones did.


Hardeep was no Ammon, whom Irene thought to be a spoiled nobleman’s child. Neither was Hardeep some commoner who had never even heard of a nation called Izmar.


He was a rider who owned her. She remembered well how her previous owner treated those who dared lie to him. Her back remembered, too.


“Is it not called the Mark of the Exiled?”


Irene forgot how to breathe.


She was positive that he did not recognize the Mark the other night.


Panic crept its way into the woman’s mind. He had seen through the lie; he knew what the ink on her chest meant. His question less that and more an accusation.


Before she could stop herself, Irene stepped back from Hardeep and cast a glance around the room. It was empty save for her and the rider; she doubted either Warren or Kydoimos could hear them. Though it was not assistance that she was looking for. Rather an assurance that no one else had heard Hardeep’s words that meant much more than just a name for an intricate tattoo.


Fire crackled in the hearth. The winds howled outside and something tapped onto the cabin’s roof; it was raining.


Silence seemed to have stretched on for an eternity until the woman reminded herself to breathe. When she looked at Hardeep again, her jaw was set and eyes cold; with tense shoulders she stood before him, fighting the urge to take another step away from the man. Her heart beat so loudly she feared Hardeep could hear it.


“It is,” Irene said, accepting to have lied. “It is a punishment for leaving my homeland during the Exile. I got it when I was eight.” She tilted her head to look to the side and down. “There is no story or controversy behind it. Only the fact that it was issued by a mad king who wished to turn his land into a cage.” She lifted her eyes to look at Hardeep again, half expecting him to either punish her for having lied to him or accuse her of not warning him of something that many believed to be cursed. Maybe both. “It does not affect anyone but me. I apologize for lying to you. The Mark is nothing to be proud of.”

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Hardeep Passi

Hardeep stepped forward, his eyes hard and mouth in a thin line. He presented the spool of thread, clenched tightly in his hand and the needle.


"I have been told things about it," he said flatly, "things that are not appealing to hear by anyone's standards. Should you be lying to me as to what that Mark truly means, what it can do and what it will do..."


The flames crackled by the fireplace, the wind cold and sharp through the cracks of the measly cabin they had been thrown in. It was a pity, really, that this was where they were. The cold made Hardeep on edge, never quite comfortable and with the feeling that anything could be reaching for him at any moment.


"If I have any notion that what I have been told is true opposed to what you have said, there will be consequences."


He did not state what they were, letting the woman instead come up with her own threats. He had enough on his mind. "Make my burden easier," he continued, "and any consequences that may come with that Mark, I will aid you. Make it more difficult and you will shoulder everything that comes towards you, even the wrath of a god."

 

[Lenaara]

A chill had entered the little cabin, turning the air heavy and tense. Fire flickered in the hearth and the kindling crackled from the heat, the flames eating away at the dry wood. No more could Irene hear the howling winds outside and the softly crackling fire. Even the rhythmic beating of her heart pumping blood in her ears was not enough to soften Hardeep’s cold as ice words.


His voice cut crisply through the air and when he stepped forward and looked at Irene, she felt herself pinned to the spot, unable to move. Even breathing was hard. The familiar panic crept its way into her mind, reminding of the repercussions for having said a lie in front of the one who owned you.


Her back ached unpleasantly. Some part of her refused to let the fear show and she stared back at Hardeep, jaw set and eyes locked on his.


“My Lord,” Irene managed to say, surprising herself with how calm her voice was. “The Mark is in my skin. I know of what it does. What others claim is supposition.”


There was a tint of sadness to her words. It was apparent that discussing the cursed ink on her skin brought her no joy, though she refused to look away in shame. Many years have passed since she got the Mark. Many years full of events that prevented her from thinking too much on that decision to leave, the decision that was not entirely in her hands at the time, though had she chosen to stay she could have. The mark was accepted and Irene knew well that she’d be with it until her last breath. She knew what it meant and what it prevented her from having.


Time healed, they said.


She long realized that time only made matters worse. As years passed by, Irene began to think more on thoughts that were not acceptable as the mark itself prevented her from even considering the possibility.


Leon’s death made it worse.


“The Mark is a stamp of shame,” she said. “It sterilizes me and forbids me from returning to Izmar. That is all. There is no divine power behind its creation. Only a mad king’s edict.”


There were many tales surrounding the Mark. Mountain’s landslide, Irene had heard many. One story was wilder than the other. It was strange to think that anyone of sound mind was going to believe them. Fuelled by the propaganda that was whispered into the ears of each Izmarian, the rumours spun out of control and spread all over the continent in tales full of superstition.


Not one to believe superstitious rumours that the milkmaids whispered to one another, Irene paid little attention to the tales. Though even if she did not believe – or refused to believe – the supposed consequences of having left her homeland, others did and they were afraid. Afraid of a woman whom they did not know and pointed their fingers at anyway, spitting and hissing at her as if she was some vile creature.


Irene left before the accusations turned from only verbal insults to more physical measures.


Now, she could not leave. She could only stand in front of Hardeep, fighting the urge to step back from the man who held out his hand. She looked at him and felt her chest tighten at seeing the anger in the dark eyes that she once thought were similar to Rael’s. She’d seen such eyes before. Those who resented the Cursed Ones shared the same look about them.


Feeling her throat tighten, Irene stopped herself from looking away from the man and reached out towards him instead, her hand below his to receive the needle and thread.


“A shaman put it onto my chest,” she continued. “No God or other holy force. It was an old woman who was following orders.”


Was there a point in explaining this to him? Would he even believe her?


He did not believe her when she claimed she did not kill Balin. He did not believe her when she offered she could hunt. It would not be surprising he was not going to believe her words now, after she had truly lied to him for the first time.


“I left my homeland for my own reasons. The consequences are mine to bear. Sterility or the wrath of a god will be mine alone to shoulder.” At these words, Irene seemed to straighten and let the tension ease from her shoulders. There was no doubt in her words, no hint of slight shame and sadness that seemed to tint her voice when she spoke of the Mark.


The threat still hung in the air, as dense as the rain that was patting onto the rooftop above them. Hardeep’s words were cold, unpleasant, angry; probably influenced by the superstitious idiot who spread the rumours of the supposedly cursed mark.


Irene stood before Hardeep, her eyes focused on his and unwavering, a hand lifted palm up to take the thread and needle that she did not know if she wanted anymore.


“There are people out there who are after women like me. Marked women. Hisraad is one such example. For this reason, I lied to you. As long as no one else knows of this, no troubles shall befall you. You will not be burdened by it," she said and quelled the urge to roll her shoulders. The scars ached. “It is for you to decide if I deserve punishment for having thought you to be…one of them.”