Marked

Lantern light gilded the temple courtyard as I set out the last of the offering bowls. Pilgrims’ hymns echoed off the limestone arches. It was the Eve of Ascension festival, meant to be a night of joy, but my hands shook with dread over the secret coiled inside me.

At dawn, Master Radan and I cleansed an ash-curse from a young girl. The memory of her screams and the black smoke funneling into my glass flask still haunted me, especially how the ritual’s Light had tugged at the hidden darkness in my own flesh. We weren’t sure it would work. The curse had nearly taken hold, but we’d caught it just in time. When the last wisp sealed into the flask, Master Radan whispered a prayer of thanks. I only pretended to echo him.

Beneath my sleeve, a smear of grey ash curled around my forearm, the mark I had hidden since childhood. It was etched into me like a sentence already passed. In our holy order, bearing the ash-mark is a death sentence. By law, anyone who carries it must be executed. So I scrub my skin raw each morning and hide under bandages and calm smiles, praying the Light spares me discovery.

Master Radan once told me that the Radiant One’s greatest miracles came at a cost.

“The Light binds itself to sacrifice,” he’d said, wrapping a pilgrim’s wounds in blessed cloth. “The more one gives of themselves, the stronger it shines.”

At the time, I thought he meant martyrs. Burned saints. Acolytes who leapt into fire with hymns on their lips. I didn’t yet understand there were other kinds of giving.

“Nara!” a voice hissed. I snapped out of my thoughts. My fellow apprentice, Leisa, hurried over with a basket of votive candles. “Stop daydreaming. Mother Arien will skin us if these altars aren’t lit by sundown.”

“Sorry,” I murmured. Together we began placing candles around a marble statue of the Radiant One.

Leisa sidled up as I lit the last candle. "Heard you had excitement this morning. They say you and Master Radan cleansed an ash-marked girl?"

"Something like that," I murmured, adjusting my sleeve over my bandaged arm. The glass flask containing the remnant curse clinked at my belt, a heavy reminder.

Leisa lowered her voice. "Also, an Inquisitor arrived from the capital."

My stomach dropped. "Here? Why?"

She nodded, eyes flicking around. "No official word. Rumor is a cult was found in the western provinces. They want to ensure no corruption lurks here." She attempted a smile. "We’re safe among so many Pure. Unless you’re hiding something!"

I forced a laugh and changed the subject. "We should hurry, the High Priest is starting." We joined the other acolytes gathering in the main courtyard. Dusk settled warm and golden. Hundreds of lanterns swayed from the colonnades, and the eternal flame at the altar burned bright, fed with sacred oil. I edged toward the side of the crowd, keen to remain unnoticed.

The High Priest, resplendent in white and gold, stepped onto the dais by the eternal flame. Master Radan stood at his right, and at his left a man in a dark cloak, the Inquisitor. I shrank into my hood, heart pounding.

The High Priest raised his arms. "On this holy eve, we renew our covenant with the Light. Behold this blade, once tainted by the Ashen evil. Tonight it will be destroyed and our land delivered from its shadow." He held aloft an ornate black dagger. Even at a distance I felt the malice radiating from it.

Two attendants lit braziers at the dais’s edge. The crowd murmured in awe and apprehension. I bit my lip. Destroying a cursed object at a public ceremony… an uneasy feeling coiled in my gut. This was meant to be a grand gesture, but what if something went wrong?

Master Radan seemed tense too; his eyes flickered over the gathering.

The High Priest began a low chant, holding the dagger over the flames. Radan hefted a heavy ceremonial warhammer, ready to shatter the blade once its corruption was weakened by the prayer. The Inquisitor stood at attention, one hand on a shortsword at his belt, scanning the crowd intently.

As the holy incantation built, the air itself grew taut. My mark started to tingle and burn under my sleeve. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stay still and not claw at the itch. Not now… please, not now.

Suddenly the dagger in the High Priest’s grasp shuddered. A keening wail emanated from it, inhuman and furious. The High Priest recoiled. Gasps rippled through the onlookers.

Without warning, a plume of black smoke erupted from the blade. It coalesced into a writhing mass that struck the High Priest like a spiked tentacle. He was flung back off the dais, slammed into the marble floor. Screams rang out.

The cursed entity from the dagger unfurled itself, a shape of living shadow with too many limbs. Guards charged with spears; the creature knocked them aside like straw. Master Radan bellowed for people to get back as he swung his warhammer, cleaving off one shadowy limb in a burst of light.

Chaos erupted. Crowds shoved toward the exits. Bodies shoved past me in panic. Near the dais, I spotted Leisa trying to lift an elderly pilgrim. A tendril of shadow whipped out and struck her down. Leisa collapsed with a cry as the creature reared above, poised to impale her.

“No!” I screamed. I sprinted and threw myself down beside Leisa, grabbing her shoulders to pull her away. She was half-conscious, blood at her temple. The shadow loomed, a chittering maw of darkness opening above, ready to consume us both.

I didn’t think. I just moved.

Maybe this was the kind of sacrifice Radan meant, not dying for the Light, but giving yourself to save someone else.

Terror and fury collided inside me. Something hot surged along my marked arm, a desperate, reckless power answering my need. I thrust out my left hand instinctively just as the creature struck.

Shadow met flesh. Instead of cleaving me in two, the monster’s limb slammed into my palm and halted, as if hitting an invisible wall. Agony blazed through my arm; beneath my sleeve, the ash-mark burned ice-cold. But I held firm.

The entity hesitated, tendril pressing against my hand, unable to move forward. It writhed in confusion. Black smoke curled around my fingers, and I felt it then, a dark flood pouring into me, the curse recognizing its own kind. I was drawing the corruption out, just like with the girl this morning, only directly into myself. My vision blurred with pain, but I did not let go.

“Now, Master!” I managed to scream through clenched teeth.

Master Radan appeared beside us like thunder. With both hands he brought the blessed warhammer down upon the creature’s center. A thunderclap of Light exploded. The monster shrieked one last time as its smoky form shattered into a million flecks of ash that rained down on the courtyard.

It was over. Coughing, I collapsed to the ground. My limbs felt like water; every nerve in my arm was aflame. But Leisa was alive, blinking dazedly. Relief flooded through me.

Then I heard murmurs, rising, spreading, people gasping not at the vanquished creature, but at me. I followed their eyes downward and froze. The sleeve of my robe had burned away from shoulder to wrist during the struggle, exposing the swirling charcoal stain that covered my skin. In the chaos, my wraps must have unraveled. The ash-mark writhed openly now, dark tendrils glistening against my flesh. Everyone could see what I truly was.

“She’s cursed!” someone yelled.

“Witch!” cried another.

I scrambled up, trembling. Two temple guards rushed forward, pikes leveled. Master Radan stepped between them and me, holding them back with an outstretched arm. “Wait!” he barked.

The remaining crowd formed a wide circle, eyes filled with fear and revulsion. I caught a glimpse of the High Priest being tended to; even he had pulled himself upright to stare at me in horror. The Inquisitor’s face was alight with grim triumph.

Leisa had pulled herself to a sitting position at my feet. She looked up at me, shock widening her eyes. Her lips moved soundlessly, my name or a prayer, I couldn’t tell. When I reached a hand toward her. She flinched away as if I were a snake. The rejection struck hard and cold, sudden and shameful. My heart cracked at that more than all the other stares.

I wanted to plead, I saved you. I would never hurt you. But the words died in my throat. In their eyes, the monster was gone and another stood in its place: me.

The Inquisitor stalked toward me, sword drawn. "Abomination," he spat. "By law, she dies." He ordered the guards forward.

Master Radan threw out his arm. "No! She saved all of us."

The High Priest, bloodied and unsteady, raised a trembling hand. "The law is clear. She bears corruption. Execute her at dawn." His voice was heavy with sorrow but final.

Radan shut his eyes, agony on his face. At last he stepped aside, whispering, "Forgive me."

Rough hands yanked my wrists and forced me to my knees. Cold iron shackles, etched with silencing runes, what the priests called glyphs of binding, clamped around my forearms. I did not struggle. A numbness spread through me as the reality set in. After all my efforts, I had revealed myself, and they would kill me for it. My life as Nara the apprentice was effectively over.

They dragged me through the dispersing crowd. People shrank back, making signs of warding. My ears buzzed; my vision blurred with tears I refused to shed. Over the ringing in my head I heard snippets of argument, Radan and the Inquisitor hissing heated words nearby, something about “tomorrow at dawn” and “no public spectacle.”

They hauled me into a side cloister and down a torchlit stair to an empty cell. The heavy oaken door slammed behind me, bolts grinding shut. Darkness fell. Alone on the cold floor, I finally let the sobs wrack me, muffling them into my sleeve.

I had tried so hard to do good with a curse I never asked for, and now, by law, I would be killed for it.” The injustice of it dried my tears, replacing them with quiet fury.

After a time, footsteps approached. The cell door eased open and Master Radan slipped in, lantern in hand. I staggered to my feet, chains rattling. To my shock, he pulled me into a fierce embrace. I choked back a sob against his ash-scented robe.

He released me, eyes shining. "I am so sorry," he said hoarsely. I shook my head, wiping my face. Haltingly, I confessed “I’ve carried the mark since I was nine. The bonfire had been cursed, yes, but unlike the girl today, I wasn’t helped right away. The ash didn’t just touch me, it rooted inside. By the time I understood what it was, it had already sunk too deep to cleanse.”

Radan gripped my shoulders. "It’s wrong. All of it. You saved lives tonight, and our laws would punish you for it." He drew a breath, resolve hardening on his face. "I won’t let them kill you."

I blinked, barely daring to hope I’d heard right. “But… the High Priest?”

“Let me worry about him.” Radan fished a key from his belt and gently unlocked my shackles. The runes sputtered out as the irons fell from my wrists.

I gaped at him in disbelief. “You could be executed for helping me.”

“Better that fate than living with this guilt,” he said. “Listen, there isn’t much time. The Inquisitor is ensuring the square is cleared. At first light he’ll come for you. We must get you away now.”

From under his robe he produced a dark hooded cloak and wrapped it around me. This was real, he was saving me.

He pressed a coin purse into my hand. "Go out the east postern gate. Brother Khem is on duty; tell him 'dawn comes.' He’ll let you out. Find a boat, cross the river, keep going. There are lands beyond the Order’s reach. Live, Nara."

Tears blurred my eyes. “I-I can’t leave you. They’ll call you a traitor.”

“I’ve been questioning things for a long time,” he admitted quietly. “Perhaps it’s time someone did.” In the distance above, I heard boots on stone, the Inquisitor, maybe. Radan cupped my cheek roughly. “Nara, you have a chance at life. Take it. Show them, show the world, that we were wrong. That ash does not always mean evil.”

I covered his hand with my own, turning my face to kiss his callused palm. It smelled faintly of incense. “Thank you,” I whispered, voice breaking. It wasn’t enough to express the ocean of gratitude and love I felt, but he saw it in my eyes.

He nodded once, then guided me to the door. We slipped out. The corridor was empty. We crept through deserted passages to a small arched door in the outer wall. The guard on duty startled at our approach. Radan exchanged hushed words and pressed something into his hand. The guard glanced at me, then sighed and unbolted the gate.

Beyond the gate, cool night air heavy with jasmine and river mist enveloped me. I turned back to Radan one last time. Tears blurred my sight. "I won’t waste it," I vowed.

"May the Light guide you," he said, voice thick.

I fled into the dark.

The narrow path down to the river was rough under my stumbling feet. At the docks, I hailed a small fishing boat. The ferryman, an old woman, took a few coins and helped me aboard. As the boat drifted off, I looked back at the golden glow of the temple on the hill. The lights of my city were dwindling behind me.

I found the glass flask in my satchel, still holding the sliver of darkness we captured that morning. I turned it in my fingers, marveling that even this cursed ash could be bottled and controlled.

I pulled back my sleeve and stared at the mark coiled along my arm. It still shimmered dark, like smoke pressed beneath skin. But something was different. At its edge, faint lines of gold pulsed, barely visible, like veins of sunlight threading through shadow. It was not a cure. It was a path. As if grace had entered quietly, without asking permission. The curse remained, a wound not healed but touched. Not by its own nature, but by the Light. Not erased, but transformed by grace.

I remembered Radan’s words. The Light binds to sacrifice. I had not burned or bled for it. But I had given something of myself. Maybe that was enough.

For years I had lived a lie, a dutiful acolyte of Light hiding a frightened marked girl. Now both sides of me were bared to the world. And though I trembled, I also felt an unexpected relief. I had faced the darkness and not fallen. I was not pure, but I was not lost either.

Ahead of me, the horizon lightened. A sliver of dawn. A new day.

Whatever awaited, I would face it as I truly was, unashamed. Not because the ash had made me strong, but because the Light had found me in spite of it.

Some things are too rooted to be removed, but not too deep to be redeemed.