sprawled and his expression relaxed as if we haven’t just endured unimaginable pain. The silver medallion hanging from his neck reflects the firelight, but that’s not the only thing that glows. Wrapped around his left arm, just below his rolled-up sleeve, is a tattoo that illuminates as if by a dying flame. He catches my assessment and nods to where my arm is tucked beneath the tattered fabric draped over my body.
I remove my arm from its confinement, and to my utter astonishment, I find a tattoo of the same nature branding me. The location, thin black lines, and detailing are an exact replica of the one Ezarith bears.
He turns to the shaman. “Do you want to do the honors or shall I?”
The guide sets the bowl by the fire and removes his robe before draping it over a chair that looks to be carved from sun-bleached bone. I move into a sitting position on the bed, my gun still in hand, and scan the area for my leather coat. Fortunately, I’m still clad in my uniform, though I do not enjoy how the black material of my sleeveless shirt and pants clings to me. The heat is stifling in here. The shaman returns and drops into a chair beside me, but it is then Ezarith opens his mouth.
“We’re fucked, brother. In a nutshell, we’re absolutely fucked.” The humor that is usually present on his countenance is gone. He casts a glance to Master Irik. “Apologies. I could not resist the urge to inform my comrade of our rather wonderful predicament.” Turning back to me, he scoffs. “We defiled sacred water, and now the gods of this planet have cursed us. That mark”—he nods to my arm—“is the only thing that can save us.”
Bravik
I draw my brows together and repeat the warrior’s words. Of course, we had been warned of the lake’s repercussions, but it was a sacrifice we were willing to make. I suppose a part of me had thought Master Irik was a creature hindered by superstitions. From the moment we landed on this planet and paid him to guide us to our destination, he spoke of endless conspiracy theories that surround these lands. The ancient tree he claimed would kill me at the slightest touch did not when I pressed my hand to its briar. It is why I concluded that his tale about the lake was equally false.
“Tell me about this…mark,” I ask of the shaman.
The fire shrouds his features in shadows as he ever so slightly cocks his head. “It is what befalls those who defile our sacred land,” he says. “What you and your comrades have done this night cannot be undone.”
There is a note in his voice that wasn’t present before: a flicker of sorrow, or perhaps even guilt. I inhale quietly in hopes to calm the beast within me. I don’t take kindly to those who threaten my pride with pity. My every instinct is to challenge him, but this male has been true to his word and delivered us to our destination. Not only that, but he healed us too. I may not like the manner in which he looks upon me, but he helped my brothers and me, and for that I hold my tongue.
Ezarith narrows his eyes on him. “You said we would die a slow, agonizing death.” He flicks his chin toward me and then over his shoulder. “The eight of us are still alive. We survived your trap.”
“I offered no such trap. It is rare for anyone to survive the wrath of our gods, and as such, they have blessed you as much as they have cursed you.”
“Cursed?” I grit out the word, growing tired of this male’s riddles.
“Yes. They have cursed you with a vice and blessed you with a virtue. Only the latter can save you now, and you do not have very long to find them.”
The pain splitting my skull returns again. I grind my teeth and squeeze the bridge of my nose. Ezarith winces as he, too, suffers the pain.
“What…is this virtue you speak of?” Ezarith demands. “Is it a weapon?”
“In a way, the Forbidden Lake is a weapon, and the virtues are the arrows that can penetrate your darkness. The lake is a source of power that mirrors our darkest flaw of all. If you do not find a virtue to replenish what you have stolen, your flaw—your vice—will drive you to insanity. It will kill you.”
I peel my gaze off the