The fog clings to my skin. I move forward, stomach burning where the spear pierced me. The two soldiers shove me from behind, through damp stones and rust-colored ferns.
— Move it, Tracer, snarls the first.
I grit my teeth. The Mark pulses under my skin, insidious. I hold it back, but it wants to bite.
— Where do you think you're going? asks the other, less certain.
I raise my hands, palms open.
— I'm not looking for trouble. Just passing through.
— No one passes, spits the first. Not without the Captain's order.
The Captaincy looms ahead, a dark mass in the fog. Planks, shields nailed into place, faces between arrow slits.
A shiver. The Mark whispers in my head.
— You're bleeding, notes the hesitant soldier. What are you, some kind of sorcerer?
I smirk. Bitter.
— If I were a real sorcerer, you'd already be dead.
He flinches, spear tip pressing against my chest.
— You wanna try? Go on, do it! yells the first, eyes wild.
I inhale. The Mark claws at my throat, starving.
— Not here. Not in front of all of you.
— Bluff, he mutters.
The Mark throbs, painful. To let it out is to let a piece of myself slip free. But I hurt. And I must live.
— The Mark takes, I murmur. It takes what it wants. You think you control it? No one controls it.
The hesitant soldier steps back.
— Shut up.
A door slams. A bulkier guard emerges, dented helmet.
— What's this mess?
The two soldiers fumble.
— He came out of the Maw! A carrier, Captain—we saw his skin glow.
The Captain scans me. I keep my eyes low, sweat cold.
— Search him, he orders. Pockets, now.
I hand over my coins. One slips, rolls under a boot.
— Old coinage, Captain, says the soldier.
The Captain fixes me with a long stare.
— You want in? You'll pay.
The Mark vibrates, pressing hard.
— I just want water. And a bandage.
— You think that's free? Here, everything has a price, Tracer.
I sway, dizzy. The Mark clamors.
— What do you want in return? I ask.
— Your secret, the Captain breathes. How do you live with it without dying? The others scream themselves hoarse after two nights.
I hesitate. My skin prickles. Risk the truth, or die here?
— I hold it back, I say at last. As long as I give it a piece of me, it doesn't take everything.
The Captain chuckles.
— Show me.
— Not here.
He pauses. The tension thickens.
— If you lie, we throw you out. The fog will finish you.
I nod. The Mark hisses, alive, eager.
— Give me a dark corner. I'll show you.
The Captain considers, then gestures.
— Follow me.
I limp after him, side throbbing. A creaking stair, a heavy door. Inside: soot-stink, damp walls.
— Here, he orders.
I obey. I close my eyes. I let a trickle of the Mark seep out. It seeps beneath my nails, a sickly glow.
The Captain holds his breath.
— Does it hurt? he asks, fascinated.
— Yes. Every time. It costs.
He nods slowly, thoughtful.
— You'll stay here. We'll see if you last the night.
A rattle. He locks the door.
I sit in the dark, the Mark ebbing, my wound raw.
In the distance, a scream. Then footsteps approaching.
I hold my breath. The Mark stirs.
Someone is forcing the lock.