“How can you not know? You’re covered in Skinscript!” Panic was boiling over and creeping into my voice. Incoherent rage wasn’t far behind it.
“I’ve never seen this glyph before,” he admitted. “And Skinscript doesn’t appear out of thin air. Much less on two people at the same time.” He paused for a moment before adding. “If this is even Skinscript.”
Putting my hands over my face, I tried to breathe through the tension that was undoing my ability to reason. This man was a complete stranger. I didn’t know much about Skinscript, its secrets were so jealously defended by the Ascendancy. He could be lying, or he could be wrong. This mark had to be removable, or normal. Maybe it would disappear by tomorrow. Or maybe everyone on Mesmoria had one of these glyphs on their chests now. It could be the Devourer’s will, part of the greater Tide.
I was thinking too hard about this. Skinscript was magic, unexplainable and unknown.
Either way, this man was trouble. And that was something I had more than enough of already. Putting as much distance as possible between myself and him was urgent.
I turned away so I could bolt back down the cliff. A calloused hand closed around my wrist before I could take more than one step. Tugging my arm was futile, his grip was firm around my wrist.
“Skinscript glyphs are an honor,” he said. “And they belong only to Voyagers.”
A childish daydream of running away from all of my problems and living off the land as a fugitive was mutating itself closer to a plan in my mind. It would be easier to deteriorate into a life of crime than face the current trajectory that lay ahead of me. There wouldn't be any anxiety-inducing Mistrun, tiresome fiance, distressing illegal Skinscript, or daily threat of death from fighting monstrous creatures as a glorified courier if I became a Voyager. It would be a constant challenge to stay one step ahead of the Ascendancy as a criminal, and out of reach of Nikolach and his cronies. But the extended freedom might be worth it.
The fantasy skewered itself as it collided with reality. As one person, I was independent, capable, and resourceful. But not invulnerable, not against the Ascendancy and the reigning drug lord on the island. The hidden places that were safe from the Ascendancy's attention were rife with criminals who worked for Nikolach or Yeshar.
Nowhere was safe from both. I'd be dead within a month. None of the possible futures ahead of me looked appealing, though.
“You can’t show that Skinscript to anyone,” the stranger stressed, dark eyes boring into mine. “I don’t know what it means, but it’s on both of us.”
An absurd laugh escaped. “Are you kidding me?”
“No, I am dead fucking serious.” His eyes darkened beneath the shadow of lowered eyebrows. “You cannot show that to anyone, ever.”
“Fine,” I said, trying again to pull my arm free. He didn’t budge. “I won’t.”
His eyes narrowed. “Swear it.”
“Sorry, I’m all out of sworn oaths for today.” I yanked at my arm, and his grip loosened enough for me to get free. “I’m leaving.”
“No,” he ordered, moving to intercept me. “This isn’t something that just happens. We need to make sense of this.”
“What’s there to talk about? I’m supposed to believe what you tell me? After you did this?” I gestured to the spot on my chest where the glyph nested. “You don’t know what it is. I don’t know what it is. Besides one more problem Idon’tneed. And who cares anyway, it’s not like it’s somewhere where anyone will see it.”
“Skinscript is dangerous, and ignorance is even more dangerous.” He took another step toward me as I turned to leave. Ignoring him, I began climbing down, even as he called after me. “You’ll see for yourself during tomorrow’s Mistrun.”
Chapter 4
Mistrun
Itoed the dark sand of Aeridor beach with my boot, stretching my legs to the limits of my shorts to prepare for whatever came next. This was one of the biggest events on the island, and the Ascendancy had spared no expense with the preparations for today's race. Stalls with colorful candied honeybell, grilled glimmergill fish on sticks, and more exotic delicacies were set up all along the edge of the inner perimeter, with crowds of participants and their families partaking in them. I wasn’t hungry, Mama had seen to that, but the scent of fresh honeybell was tempting.
I was well-fed, but far from well rested. Nightmares had infected my subconscious all night, probably summoned from stress. Ever since childhood, visions of Krakens had periodically preyed on me while I slept. Sometimes it was one Kraken, sometimes an army of them, but at the end of the nightmares, I always died. And last night, I’d tossed from one Kraken nightmare only to turn into another, only to wake up with the Skinscript still between my breasts, an unwanted remnant ofyesterday.
I hoped the lack of sleep wouldn’t impact my performance today.
The Mistrun was an annual tradition, named for the race element it always featured and that it qualified the fastest hundred participants for Voyager service, which required crossing the colloquial mist, or miasma.
But the Mistrun didn’t always play out the same. Anyone of any age could participate, but those who didn’t qualify would go back to their assigned service or be returned to the Reformatory if they were Apostates, like myself.
Those were about the only consistent features it maintained year over year.
Sometimes the race involved relays, with randomly assigned teams that would sprint to reach specific goal posts. Other times, the race could involve acquiring specific objects, swimming through lakes or even crawling through mud.
There were no visible hints of what to prepare for.
I tried not to let my nerves get to me.
