Page 70 of Fateless

“Council.” Raithe moved up behind me, his quiet presence giving me the courage not to flee the room. “If I may.” He did not continue immediately, but waited until both the hive mother and the lore keeper nodded for him to go on. “I was sent to Kovass to end the threat the ma’jhet represented,” he began. “I failed, and the ma’jhet were able to bring the Deathless King back into the world. Sparrow and I fled the city as it was falling, and we have been traveling to Irrikah ever since.

“When I first met her,” Raithe continued, “I thought she was just a thief. I regret that assumption. Sparrow has proven her bravery and her resourcefulness time and time again. I understand now, why she is the Fateless.”

“Yeah,” Halek echoed, nodding his head. “I’m a Fatechaser. I’m pretty sure I was supposed to die twice since I met her.” He glanced at me with a grin. “If anyone can change what Fate or destiny has decided, it’s Sparrow.”

“She is still an outsider,” Vorkyth insisted. “Granting her the tattoos means that she becomes part of the clan. That has never been done before.”

“Times are different, War Chief,” Kysa replied softly. “The clan no longer hides from the rest of the world. And a Deathless King has risen across the Dust Sea to begin the conquest of all the kingdoms.” She nodded at me. “His foul blood mages have relentlessly targeted this girl. She has already been the victim of several magic attacks. Why would a Deathless King want one single human girl dead? Because she is Fateless. Because she can change the course of what is to come.”

“The Deathless King.” The hive mother let out a long sigh. “Then it is true. I was hoping it would not come to this.” Her jaw tightened, and she glanced at the doorway behind us. “If a Deathless King has truly returned, we will have to leave this place,” she said. “It is not very defensible. We must venture into the steppes, rally the rest of the clans, and hope that they will listen to us. But first...” She sighed again and turned back to me. “The legends of the Fateless are scattered and inconsistent,” she murmured. “But if you truly are Fateless, then you might be the only one who can stand against the Deathless King. My choice is that we grant her the protection she needs to make that possible.”

War Chief Vorkyth made another sound of disgust. The lore keeper continued to watch me, searching for something I couldn’t place. “If I am to grant her the markings,” she said at last, “she first must understand where they come from. She must know the history of the Scarab Clan and the Deathless Kings.”

The hive mother gave a solemn nod. “Yes,” she said. “Agreed. That is the way of the Scarab Clan. We must all know the history of how we came to be, lest we return to it.”

The lore keeper, apparently, was not waiting for any approvalor objection from the war chief. “Long ago,” she began, “before we became insect riders and masters of the Barren Steppes, we served a Deathless King. His name has been lost to time, but the king created our ancestors for one purpose—to hunt down and kill the servants of rival kings. We were not warriors, we were not protectors... we were assassins.” Her gaze went, very briefly, to Raithe, before turning back to me. Her arms lifted, wrists turned up, displaying the swirls of ink down her skin. “These markings were given by the Deathless King’s own ma’jhet, to hide us from the magical sight of the other courts, and over the years, we learned how to craft them ourselves.

“When the War of Kings began,” the lore keeper continued, “instead of fighting for our land and ruler, our ancestors abandoned their Deathless and fled into the wastes. For centuries, we hid ourselves not only from the eyes of the king, but from everyone. We knew that should the Deathless King find us again, his wrath would be terrible. We relied on the markings, on the tattoos we took from the ma’jhet themselves, to remain hidden and safe. For eons, our people were invisible, alienated from the rest of the world. We learned to survive the steppes, and we learned to harness the giant beetles, who for millennia were our only company. We did not want to return to an existence of slaughter, where our only purpose was to kill.

“Eras passed,” the lore keeper went on. “Gradually, the age of the Deathless Kings was mostly forgotten, and when we emerged once more, we had changed. We had become the Scarab Clan, famous for our relationship with the giant beetles of the Barren Steppes. We no longer needed to hide. The tattoos that onceprotected us from the eyes of the Deathless King’s servants have become a rite of passage for our warriors, marking them as part of the elite. Those worthy to be partnered with the rock beetles. But...” She raised her arms again, wrists turned out, to show the full effect of the markings down her skin. “We lore keepers do not forget. We inscribe the history of the clan into our skin and hearts, so that we may always remember where we come from. And what we could return to, should the worst come to pass.

“Now you know the history of the Scarab Clan.” The lore keeper looked me straight in the eye. “And the true nature of the runes. They are not simply markings of water and ink. They carry the weight and the legacy of the entire clan. If you are willing to bear that burden, I will inscribe them onto you, and you will become one of us.”

“And this will hide her from the magic of the ma’jhet,” Raithe said, even as I had to catch my breath with the weight of the decision.

The lore keeper nodded. “A Deathless King has risen again,” she said. “But with these markings, neither he nor his servants will be able to find you with magic. The marks will not keep you safe from death,” she warned, raising a thin finger. “Nor will they shield you from an attack, should the king turn his wrath onto you directly. But he will have to find you first. And the tattoos will make that difficult.”

“You speak as if the decision is already made,” Vorkyth growled. We all looked at him, and he crossed his arms. “Unless the rules have changed, all three of us must be in agreement,” he said stubbornly. “And I’m still not convinced this thief deservesto be part of the Scarab Clan, much less an honored warrior.”

“Vorkyth,” the hive mother began, but at that moment, a tremor went through the air, and the smell of decay, rot, and death drifted into the room. My insides twisted, writhing in fear, as a voice echoed overhead, droning and terrible, and completely familiar.

“I have come for theFateless.”

Twenty-Four

Something hovered in the skies above the village. Something massive and terrible, blotting out the suns. A reptile of legend, a great dragon, the size of a sand strider and a hundred times more intimidating, peered down with eyes that blazed a sickly green. Its body was rotted and falling apart, pieces of rancid flesh clinging to exposed bone, more skeleton than beast. Its great tattered wings beat the air, part of a nightmare come to life, seemingly defying the laws of gravity as it hovered over us.

Fear clutched my heart with icy fingers, and wind shrieked in my ears. I looked around and saw that the entire village was surrounded in a familiar, choking sandstorm. The winds swirled madly, cutting off all escape, trapping us in the center.

“Give me theFateless.”

I cringed. The voice was Vahn’s, multiplied a hundredfold, but it sounded as if the abomination itself was speaking. I looked up to the top of the reptile’s bony skull and saw what I’d feared. A figure in familiar robes, a blackened staff clutched in one hand. Somehow, I knew he was staring at me.

“Vahn,” I whispered.

“The Deathless King has returned,”the voice went on, booming over the sands. “Gaze upon his infinite power. He has brought the ancient giants back to life, he will remake the world to hisliking, and all kingdoms will bow before his might. Give us theFatelessand be spared his wrath when he comes to claim your loyalty.”

War Chief Vorkyth strode forward, the light gleaming off his armor as he glared defiantly at the huge abomination. For a moment, I wondered if he was going to agree, hand me over to Vahn and be done with the hassle I represented once and for all.

“The Scarab Clan stands defiant!” Vorkyth shouted, though his voice was muffled by the wind and sand. “We will not bend a knee to any king ever again! If the Deathless King comes for our loyalty, he will find an army waiting for him instead.”

“Fools.”The giant abomination raised its head, eyes blazing. On its skull, Vahn lifted his staff and swept it forward. “Then I will take theFatelessby force. And you will regret your defiance. When this day is done, nothing will remain of your clan but bones and dust. Your memory will be scattered to the winds, and no one will remember you existed.”

A terrified scream rose into the air, sending my insides into a wild twirl. At the edge of the village, figures hurled themselves out of the sands and into the camp. Only a few at first, then dozens. Withered, rotting corpses with the heads of slavering jackals, they bounded into the village, tearing into everything with fangs and swords and ripping claws, and the camp erupted into chaos.

War Chief Vorkyth gave a shout of rage and turned, his eyes wide and furious, toward the hive mother.

The hive mother gave a sharp nod. “Go, Vorkyth,” she said. “Do not worry about us. Protect the people.”

---