The Outliers

By Alison Weber

Autumn's brother was an Outlier. A true Outlier. He burnt their village to the ground.

Five years after her brother's death, seventeen-year-old Autumn now finds herself running from the king after being identified as an Outlier, too. The problem: she has no elemental abilities and most certainly does not plan to harm anybody. Before gettin

• Language: English
• Publisher: Self Published
• Release date: Feb 20, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869141217

Book preview

For Jake, Alek, and Mike

Without you this book

would not have taken flight.

The Outliers

Alison Weber

Copyright © 2023 by Alison Weber

All rights reserved

ISBN: 979-8-8691-4121-7

Prologue:

The streets were filled with laughter. The baker’s young daughter was giving away freshly baked desserts to families who passed. The basket sat next to her, nearly as big as she was. Her parents must have carried it to the street for her to participate in the celebration. The pastries looked oversized in her tiny hands, but she did her job enthusiastically, greeting us with a smile as we came close.

Happy Cleanse! she chirped, handing me and my brother the pastries.

Ash towered over me. He had hit a growth spurt recently and I wished I would hit mine soon too, or I would never beat him in racing again. It wasn’t fair he had such long legs now, and being twelve was frustrating enough. For whatever reason, he let me win the race from our wagon to the bell tower this morning. When I called him out on it, he just shrugged.

He took a large bite from his pastry.

Thank you, Ash said. He found some loose change in his pocket and tossed it to the girl. Her smile grew from ear to ear and she jumped up and down. Her father beamed at us from the gloriously smelling kitchen. Let’s go find mother and father.

I followed him closely, matching my footsteps to his with extra-wide strides. Sweet chocolate oozed out of my treat as I bit into it, and I licked it greedily off my hand before it could drip down. When do you think the king will arrive?

Probably soon. Everyone’s just about done placing their offerings on the platform. Ash sounded a bit down. That was odd since the sooner the formal ceremony was over, the sooner the celebration began.

Do you think it will hurt this year? I asked. I looked down at my left palm. I had been involved in other Cleanses and knew the pain always faded by the next day as if it never happened. It still made me nervous.

No. It will just feel like a pinch, Ash stated, and proceeded to demonstrate by pinching my right arm. I moved to smack him, but before I could land the blow, he had snatched my remaining dessert and squeezed through the wall of expectant villagers waiting at the side of the road for the procession to begin. I was about to take off after him when I heard the trumpets begin to play, marking the arrival of the king’s guard. Horses began clattering into the entrance to the village, and I panicked, not wanting to get trampled. Everyone was huddled so close, there was no room for me to get off the street. The horses were fast approaching.

An arm reached out and pulled me through a nonexistent gap. It was Ash, innocently finishing my snack in one large bite with a proud smile. He had just rescued me from the crowd, so I couldn’t exactly be angry.

We watched the guards’ procession down the street. Ash produced a second pastry from his pocket and handed it to me. I smiled my thanks at him and finished it quickly before he could change his mind. The crowd cheered with each stallion and mare that trotted by with its hero mounted on top. Soldiers gleamed in bright silver armor. They waved at us, accepting the admiration from their fans.

Our village was known as the last pure community. We had never had an Outlier among us, and the king always made sure to praise us for it. He said we were still protected and looked after by the Celestials. We prided ourselves in our purity so much that our festival lasted three days instead of one. Shop keepers would advertise huge sales and bakers would fill the streets with delicious smelling treats. Whidbey believed our good fortune was a result of how much we continued to praise the Celestials in their absence. No one spoke about the time before the Celestials vanished. Our village decided it was best to keep worshiping, even after the fallout.

Even with the excitement and joy permeating the air, my stomach churned at the thought of getting my palm prodded by a dagger.  It was comforting to know Ash would be there with me. The procession was in full swing. Another swarm of soldiers had passed, clinking and clanking down the cobblestones. These were the front-line soldiers. The ones that could be seen surveying the villages throughout the year, making sure they were protected.

Large white steeds came into view, carrying two guards clad in black leather cloaks, their red masks pulled tight around their mouths. These were the most prestigious positions. Even though there were only two of them, they were tasked with protecting the king at all costs. A boy around my age cheered loudly as they passed, stating that would be him one day. The king rode through the street to mind numbing cheers. He made his announcement, celebrating Whidbey in its purity, blessing our village with prayers to the Celestials. While everyone prayed, I wrung my fingers, twisting and pulling. I didn’t do well with pain. Ash noticed and pulled my hand to his side and squeezed it tightly.

As king Scipio finished, the crowd lined the streets, I nervously looked for my mother and father. They were somewhere with Angela who had a tantrum when we arrived earlier this afternoon. She was less than a year old, and while the long ride over from our farm lulled her into a deep sleep, the noise of the celebration woke her with a vengeance.  

I flinched as a hand rested on my shoulder. It was Ash. He was leaning down so we were at eye level. The yellow specks in his eyes shone against the blue.

It’s fine, Autumn. We’ll go up together. Stay close.

He led me to the center of the road to join the villagers lining up for the Cleanse, never letting go of my hand. It was bizarre, him being this nice. By now we usually were bickering about something stupid. He would tease me about my hair or some boy I looked at for a second too long. For some reason, he hadn’t said one mean thing to me all day.

What’s wrong? I asked, giving him a questioning look.

He glanced past the couple in front of us down the long line of villagers.

Nothing, he mumbled, gripping my hand tighter.

My foot traced the cobblestones as we waited for our turn. The line moved slowly. Families chatted around us, talking about which shops they planned to visit that day. Ash cleared his throat. His hand had begun to sweat and it felt uncomfortably hot against mine. I pulled away and wiped the wetness off my hand onto my pant leg.

It didn’t take long before we were next. Mother and Father stood off to the side of the road, holding a now calm Angela, waiting for Ash and I. Father held Angela against his chest. Her cheeks looked wet, but she giggled as father made faces at us in the line. She waved her hand at us, and I could see that it had been bandaged. They had passed.

Next! a guard called. My feet refused to move. Ash tugged at my arm and placed me in front of him.

Can’t you go first? I asked. He placed his hands on either side of my shoulders.

I’ll be right behind you. Everything will be alright – remember that, he whispered in my ear and gave me a little push forward.

The king was perched on his horse, smiling benignly down at me. I felt smaller than a mouse and my hands quickly started to fidget. Impatiently, the guard grabbed my hand, pulled it towards the bowl and, without hesitation, gently slid the tip of his dagger into my palm. It stung, but no worse than when Ash accidentally slashed my arm with a stick during one of our pretend sword fights.

My blood dripped and joined the crimson pool of our pure village. The second the guard released my hand, I dashed towards my mother, ignoring the soldier holding the bandage for my hand. Mother wrapped her arm around my shoulders. I put on a brave face and waited for my brother.

Ash glanced at us as he rolled up his sleeve and presented his palm to the guard. He always put on a strong show, like father, but his lips were pursed as if bracing for impact. The guard took his hand and laid the dagger onto his palm. Ash’s chest rose with a quick intake of breath, and sank as the drops entered the bowl. I waited for him to walk to us, but he stayed there, like a defiant statue. Instinctively, I took a step toward him, but my mother caught my arm.

Don’t move, she whispered. Her voice quivered and her grip tightened.

I glanced back and saw that her face was contorted in horror. Before I could ask what was wrong, a wave of heat consumed me.

Table of Contents

Prologue:

Chapter 1: The Cleanse

Chapter 2: Escape

Chapter 3: Fire

Chapter 4: A Path in the Water

Chapter 5: Origins

Chapter 6: The Calm before the Storm

Chapter 7: Memories

Chapter 8: Trial and Error

Chapter 9: Silent Treatment

Chapter 10: Ambush

Chapter 11: Resurrection

Chapter 12: Parchment

Chapter 13: The Village

Chapter 14: Setting Sail

Chapter 15: Ascent

Chapter 16: Old Kingdom

Chapter 17: The Rise

Chapter 18: Betrayal

Chapter 19: Decisions

Chapter 20: Commandeer

Chapter 21: Rescue

Chapter 22: Old Friends

Chapter 23: Negotiations

Chapter 24: Fight for Freedom

Chapter 25: A New Rule

Chapter 1: The Cleanse

Running was the closest thing I could ever get to flying, and I never let the opportunity to run escape me. It made the still air seem alive, as alive as the trees and blooming azaleas whipping past my vision.

The air lifted me higher with each bound. I tried to extend the moments when both feet were off the ground, holding my breath at times, trying to prolong that floating feeling. Unfortunately, gravity always dragged me back down towards the rocks.

The sun was creeping higher, burning away the pinks and purples of the sunrise. This was the most peaceful time – just before the day began, the work, the monotony.

My mother used to complain when I was younger.

You should be using your energy to help on the farm, not waste it sightseeing through the woods.

But running was the only thing that got me through the day. It was as if, with each exhale, the stress that had wound up so tightly in me would begin to loosen, and by the end of the run it had unraveled. It was a way to sort through the darkness and demons in my mind. Since the world went to chaos thirty years ago, life for the newer generations has become one of isolation and fear. One of loss. Of uncertainty. If you’re not constantly looking over your shoulder, you may just find yourself at the mercy of the Outliers. We’ve all lost ones we’ve cared about to those demons, whether that was family or friends. For me, it was my brother Ash. His memory plagued my mind at night and running helped burn away the resentment and tears that welled up five years later.

It was the end of summer which meant I needed my run more than ever. The king was coming for the annual Cleanse.

The Cleanse had only begun twenty-some years ago, when King Scipio took power after the castle erupted into a giant inferno, trapping the previous king and subjects inside, killing them all. Scipio found the Outlier responsible and brought him to justice, displaying his body to the surrounding villages and promising to rid our world of the demons that plagued it. Since then, he had saved multiple villages from Outliers who burned down homes, flooded entire villages, and even reduced a couple to rubble, all by a flick of their wrist. The villagers without question took him in as a savior and eagerly accepted all his decrees – the main one being the annual Cleanse in search of these Outliers. Word spread of the man who could defeat demons, which led to the villages unifying under his rule. Our kingdom of Bellemorough has obediently followed his rule since, offering him food, money, and a variety of goods, but most importantly, we offer him our allegiance. Hence, the Cleanse. Our annual proclamation to show support for King Scipio and to aid his search for Outliers hiding amongst the citizens.

The announcement for the Cleanse was made that morning, just after the bells. When I returned home, my father and sister were already running around frantically, preparing for the ceremony. The same ceremony five years ago where my brother Ash had been killed.

It was the same as always – prepare the food, cut the flowers, and dress the gifts. Everyone running around like the world was ending, which, with Ash gone, it sometimes felt like.

Mother was sitting inside our house at our half-broken kitchen table with her head in her hands, elbows perched between the crack that ran in a crescent shape from when my father slammed his fist down years ago. Father was outside finishing the harvesting since mother didn’t have the will to complete it. My mother had never recovered from my brother’s death. She had tried to write propaganda against the king, but when my father discovered it, he had ripped up the papers and threw them into our fireplace. That night, he had told me to take my sister outside and didn’t fetch us in until the birds had begun to stir in the predawn. I didn’t see my mother for two whole days, and when she finally emerged from her room, she never talked badly about the king again.

Looking out through our small kitchen window, I saw my little sister Angela, who was now five, running around collecting eggs and helping wherever she could. Her long brown hair bounced enthusiastically behind her as she carried the wicker basket around the coop. She worshiped Father and did whatever she could to help on the farm. Father always depended on her to help, since mother had lost most of her motivation along with Ash.

We have to help harvest, I said, reaching out and rubbing her back.

Mother didn’t react.

It’ll all be over in a few hours, I tried to reassure her.

We sat in silence for several minutes, her back trembling with a deep breath every now and then. The sun was shining through the open door, as if it was just any other pleasant day. Dust danced about as if there could still be joy in the room.

Mother inhaled slowly.

He was your age, you know. When he died.

My hand flinched away from her back and my jaw slacked.

He was seventeen. Practically a child. Her eyes were hollow. I’m going to lose you. I can’t lose you.

Her voice trailed off.

Mother, he was an Outlier. His blood turned black. There was nothing we could do. He nearly… I paused for a second to clear the lump in my throat. He nearly killed the entire village. They still haven’t rebuilt the…

She turned abruptly, looking straight at me. Her eyes glistened, the same eyes as Ash. Bright blue with specks of yellow, like small flames burning in a crystal lake. My stomach twisted and I turned away. Her gaze was still burning into the back of my head.

He was your brother.

It’s not like I don’t miss him. I loved him more than anyone! My anger rose as my patience with her dwindled. King Scipio deserves our respect for protecting us as much as he has. My words clearly stung her, and I felt instant regret. I tried to wrap my arms around her, but she burst through them and out into the light. How could I be so cruel to someone who was still mourning the loss of her only son? How could I ever justify what happened to him?

My breath came in short spurts as I followed her out into the yard, and I swallowed hard to push the pain in my throat down to my stomach. If I kept the pain there, it was easier to pretend it was something else.

Mother, I’m sorry, I called after her, but she was already approaching Angela by the chicken coup, a basket of eggs carefully pressed in the crook of her elbow. My father was only a few yards from the door, tying the horse to the wagon. It was filled with the recently harvested corn and large glass containers full of fresh milk.

Make yourself useful and clean the barn, he commanded me. It’ll be dark by the time we get back.

That’s Angela’s job, I retorted.

He looked up but didn’t meet my eyes. His face betrayed his exhaustion.

We’re in a bit of a hurry, Autumn. Your mother’s having a tough time and Angela’s already doing double duty. He glanced me up and down, and before turning his attention back to the horse, retorted, Plus you look like you’ve been mucking the stalls for hours anyway. Why are the bottom of your pants covered in mud? After you’re done with the stalls, make sure to wash up and change. I glanced down and saw the damage my morning run had done. Our summer issued clothing consisted of thin, tan cotton pants, thin enough to keep you cool in the heat but stop the sun from burning your skin, and a short sleeve tan tunic shirt. The laces in my deep V neckline dripped a little with sweat and hung heavier than usual, making the material droop. My pant legs were spackled and stiff with dark brown mud, a reminder of the brief rainfall from yesterday.

Father returned his full attention to the horse, patting its nose gently. He had rarely looked at me since Ash’s death. At first, I thought it was something physical, that maybe it was because I looked like my brother. But everything about Ash and me was opposite. Ash had mother’s golden hair and blue eyes, while I had father’s midnight hair, brown eyes, and tan skin. A female replica. Whatever it was, he kept it to himself. I did as I was told, choosing a white, loose fitting short sleeve tunic with brown pants. I slipped the same moleskin boots back on. They were a little tight and frayed at the edges from overuse.

Before long the four of us were on our way. One big happy family. We followed the river towards the village center, where the king’s welcome celebrations and Cleansing ceremony would take place. A ceremony to protect ourselves from the demons who lurked among us. The path was uneven with two worn dirt tracks that identified our wagon’s path. Our family lived the furthest out from Whidbey’s center. Most villagers lived more clustered together, but our farm needed the open space. We could see only a couple of other wagons that trudged on ahead of us from neighboring farms, their wagons filled with their own specialty of produce. As the trees began to thin, I rubbed my mother’s back while Angela chattered to father about the chicken’s antics this morning. He nodded along and gave the occasional, Really?

How much further, Harold? mother asked, cutting off Angela mid-sentence. Her face looked paler than the milk that clinked as the wagon rocked up and down.

Just another couple of minutes, Ellen, father said. Angela’s talking stopped when she realized mother’s discomfort, and her mood grew somber. We rolled along the path in silence. The sounds of birds were slowly replaced by the rushing water from the river. The rapids created a frothy foam on the banks, churning into puffy white clouds.

Is Redshore having their Cleanse today too? Angela asked, leaning into my shoulder, pressing her damp cheek against my new clean tunic. While the mornings stayed cool, indicating the start of fall, the midday sun was at its peak, giving us one last taste of summer. Her eyes strained to see through the distant trees in order to spot our neighboring village.

Probably not until tomorrow, I replied. Mother flinched, and my hand retreated from her back. I dropped my voice to a whisper, Just ours for today.

Angela picked up on the hint and whispered back, Why don’t we do ours together? It would save time, wouldn’t it? I’d love to see what it looks like.

I wrapped my arm around her, ignoring the stickiness. The villages became separated during the flood thirty years ago, before you and I were even born. King Scipio has ordered us to isolate ourselves from other villages to make it easier for Outliers to be spotted. Think about it. It would be much harder to tell who belonged and who didn’t if strangers wandered in and out all the time, right?

Angela nodded, but after a second, she furrowed her eyebrows. She looked a lot like father and me with dark hair and eyes, but she had mother’s pale skin which made her features stand out much more prominently. But Ash wasn’t a stranger, she mumbled. My arm stiffened at his name. It always took me by surprise when Angela said it. She wasn’t old enough to properly remember him, but she had heard plenty of stories. I glanced over my shoulder to see if mother had heard, but her eyes were on the cloudless sky. Before I could respond, father interjected.

Hold on, he said as the wagon gave a sudden jolt, indicating we were now on the cobblestone streets of Whidbey instead of the rural outskirts. The sound of voices began to grow louder, drowning out the rushing river. Horse hooves clattered on the stone and people rushed frantically in and out of the carts of gifts being brought to the Cleanse.

The streets of Whidbey were chaos. The Cleanse used to be a day of celebration and fun, but lately has been soured by the events five years ago. The stores were packed, faces here and there betraying panic. We got as close to the center as possible but had to stop when our cart could no longer navigate the throngs of villagers pushing to place their offerings on the platform for the king. They carried weapons, beautiful silk clothes, finely crafted cutlery, anything useful and of high value. They came with the best of their craft. Bright banners hung from the stone buildings lining the only major street, separated by the small alleyways which allowed the villagers to get to their homes. The banners advertised each business –blacksmith, apothecary, tailor – while also expressing gratitude for the Cleanse. The crest of our Kingdom of Bellmorough had changed since King Scipio took reign. Painted scorpions marked each banner, publicly displaying each shop’s allegiance to the new king. The strange procession led to a large wooden platform constructed against the stone clocktower, marking the center of Whidbey.

Seeing the construction made my stomach twist, and a rusty taste filled my mouth. A sharp pain made me realize I had bitten my tongue, drawing just a hint of blood. I glanced around me to check our baskets of produce. Angela and mother had gotten off the wagon while father led the horse to a nearby post to secure him. My sister was bouncing one of our light brown eggs in her hand while Mother finger-combed Angela’s hair, trying to pry apart the stubborn knots from our short journey. Mother seemed calmer grooming Angela, gladly distracting herself from the scene surrounding us.

I jumped off the wagon and grabbed a few baskets of corn. My mother reached for my arm, but I pulled away quickly and made my way through the crowded streets before I could hear whatever she planned to say to me. She wasn’t the only one having a hard time today, and the last thing I needed was for father to yell at me for not helping again. Mother needed Angela, so it was up to father and I to get the harvest onto the offering platform. Trying to push through to the village center, I accidentally nudged the baker with my basket, making her drop a handful of rolls.

I bent to pick them up, apologizing.

Don’t touch them.

Her blunt reply startled me. She looked nervously over her shoulder. Don’t touch anything of mine. You and your cursed family can just get out of here.

She gathered the rolls and pushed through the crowd, disappearing behind several other bodies swarming towards the platform. My family had rarely interacted with the other villagers since my brother’s incident. Father did most of our trading and kept the rest of us on the farm. He even began homeschooling me and Angela after Ash’s death, to make sure we didn’t follow Ash’s influence. Most legends say Outliers are weak humans overtaken by the demons that reside in our world, but the word weak would be the last word I would have used to describe Ash. Indignant. Pig-headed at times. But not weak. Either way, father made sure to keep a close eye on us after his death. I didn’t put up much of a fight over his decision. He seemed to need the company more than we needed to be ostracized by our peers at school. Other people’s hatred and suspicion always took me aback when I came to the village, but I held my tongue. The baker had every right to fear us. Sometimes, I had nightmares about Angela setting the house on fire while laughing from on top of the barn. I always woke up in a sweat, only to be confronted by Ash’s empty bed.

I kept my head down, trying not to make eye contact with anyone else. While the king made every effort to recover the village from Ash’s destruction, I could still see the singe-marks on the edges of the cobblestones, permanent shadows made by the demon who once resided here. The wooden buildings had been rebuilt with stone to protect from any future attacks.

By the time I reached the platform, my arms felt heavy, as did my heart. I swallowed the nightmare of Ash’s flames engulfing our village and fought back the tears that were threatening to spill out of my eyes. My family were already pariahs, I didn’t want to potentially draw attention to myself by crying now.

After waiting in line for the offering platform and receiving multiple nervous glances from those surrounding me, I tossed our corn onto the giant heap that threatened to spill over with the village’s precious goods at any moment. How anyone as rich and powerful as the king needed all of this from a village as poor as ours was beyond me, but after losing our last king to the Outliers and watching the castle burn to the ground, it became ingrained that Bellemorough’s citizens come together in order to rebuild and provide for those keeping us safe. That was before my time, but even the youth in Whidbey took the event seriously now that they had seen a real Outlier.

It felt odd to see so much wood again in Whidbey. The platform took up nearly half the town square. Scaffolding underneath raised the platform roughly four feet off the ground. Easy enough to place offerings but difficult to accidentally trample anything. I remember playing tag with Ash when we were little, weaving in and out of the wooden beams until father would threaten to give us away to the next couple who wanted a child.

Most villagers had brought either wooden crates or woven baskets to transport their goods. These offerings were stacked up into neat towers, almost growing as tall at the buildings. A young child climbed the crates like a monkey, placing his family’s offering at the top of the heap. He beamed down at his disgruntled mother.

Get down before you cause a scene! she hissed. She looked around, embarrassed, and when her eyes fell on me, she gulped. Her son was still climbing down when she seized him by the back of the shirt and pulled him down harshly. Somehow, she managed to tuck him under her arm and carry him away like a large loaf of bread.

Tribute paid, I made my way back from the platform and found a small patch of freshly swept curb to sit on in front of the silversmith’s. Finding my family would take too much time in this crowd, and a part of me wanted to be alone, to not have to put on a strong face for mother and Angela. The air smelled metallic. Knives hung on display above me, shimmering when they caught a glimpse of the sun, mesmerizing the bystanders. Seeing the sharp instruments dangling above me, I began reconsidering my choice of seat, when the sound of horns snatched everyone’s attention back to the clock tower. A hum of whispers announced the first sightings of the king’s retinue. People began rushing to fill the platform with offerings before clearing a path. I stood up to avoid being trampled as everyone pushed back as far as they could, until we were all squeezed, shoulder to shoulder, clearing as much of the narrow street as possible. A small girl was looking at me curiously, until a man grabbed her and pulled her in front of himself, giving me a wary look over his shoulder.

The procession was underway. Two soldiers walked stiffly in front holding King Scipio’s banner along with the trumpeter announcing their arrival. The black scorpion on the banner was poised, ready to attack anyone who threatened it. Next, the guards presented themselves one by one at a slow trot with a few foot soldiers in tow that looked miniature next to the massive steed and black figure mounted on top. Somehow, it felt as if it was taking longer than usual. When I counted the guard, my suspicions were confirmed. The king had found two more guardians to join in protecting the kingdom. Excited gossip began to spread about the expanding army underneath the trumpet’s blaring fanfare. The guards on the steeds wore black leather cloaks which reached down to their boots, even in this late summer heat. Their heads were covered by large black hoods, and crimson cloths covered the bottom halves of their faces. Even though they were a mystery to the villagers, we all knew one thing: they were deadly. Elevated above soldier status, they acted as King Scipio’s right hand, carrying out the Outlier executions.

The guards lined up in front of the platform and faced the crowd. Each sat still and erect on their horses like dark statues. The gossip quelled, and the village waited in silence for the king. He rode up on his black stallion, who whinnied when he pulled the reins to slow the horse down. Our ruler was dressed in a bright, white cloak, which, like his guards’, reached down to his black snake-leather boots. Unlike the guards however, his hood was down, and his crimson cloth hung loose around his neck, revealing his face as he beamed at the gathered crowd. His black wavy hair brushed the red cloth around his neck. His dark eyes were two black orbs against his pale skin. His features sometimes felt other worldly, almost sharp, as if they could pierce the skin. I felt my breath catch in my throat and my fists tighten. I tried to push the feelings down and remind myself that the resentment I felt was misplaced. He was our protector, and even though he hanged someone I loved, he did it to save the village. My