The Mark of Wolves - Red Rising fic
All my people sing of are memories. And so I will remember this death. It will burden me as it does not burden my fellow students—I must not let that change. I must not become like them. I’ll remember that every sin, every death, every sacrifice, is for freedom.
But Darrow forgets. He forgets everything. Red, Gold, the mines, the Sons of Ares, his mission, his family, his purpose, his dreams, his past. Eo.
So what does Darrow become?
He tells me his name is Cassius. Cassius au Bellona.
“Cassius,” I repeat, hoping that at least the taste of his name would bring me some familiarity. It doesn’t.
I study him—his golden curls, his shining eyes, the cleft in his chin. He’s a boy on the cusp of adulthood, a young man of infinite beauty. He’s not someone you can easily forget. And yet, the sight of him sparks nothing. “Should I?”
He flinches. I didn’t mean to hurt him. You shouldn’t hurt young, beautiful things. He waves away my hesitant apology and calls me Darrow. Darrow au Andromedus. It leaves me indifferent.
I sit cross-legged with my back against the wall. Cassius mirrors my position across from me, and next to him is a slight long-haired boy who’s kept silent until now. He leans forward. “I’m Roque au Fabii,” he says and when that, too, gets nothing from my side, he asks, “What about your family? Your parents? Your home?”
I frown in concentration.
Cassius perks up. “You’re from Yorkton. Your mother’s name was Lexus, I believe.”
"And your father... Your father's name, I mean..." Trailing off, he turns to Roque for help, but all Roque does is shake his head. It’s clear none here knows me all that well.
Roque sighs, “It seems you’ve lost your memories.”
I woke up surrounded by forgotten faces and with no idea who I am or who I’m supposed to be. Questions tumble through my brain, the next one louder than the one before.
They try to explain the situation succinctly.
It’s our third day at the Institute on Mars,
So, I’m trapped in the savage wilderness, where society has been reduced to young Golds giving in to their primal instincts, and I don't even know what Gold is supposed to mean.
“I do wonder sometimes,” Roque begins after Cassius has recovered, “as to the purpose of all this. How can this be the most efficient method of testing our merit, of making us into beings who can rule the Society?”
“And do you ever come to a conclusion?” Cassius asks.
“They have us here because this valley was humanity before Gold ruled. Fractured. Disunited even in our very own tribe. They want us to go through the process that our forefathers went through. Step by step, this game will evolve to teach us new lessons. Hierarchies within the game will develop. We’ll have Reds, Golds, Coppers.”
“Pinks?” Cassius asks hopefully.
“I … don’t know about Pinks,” Roque says. The idea of a Gold being a Pink offends him. I don’t know enough to form an opinion. “But … the rest is simple. This is a microcosm of the Solar System.”
Roque notices my blank look. “Darrow… do you know what the Society is? The colors?”
I shake my head. “What’s a Pink?”
Cassius buries his face in his hands.
Roque is finishing his summary of the Red class when he’s interrupted by two pairs of voices and pounding feet. The girls have returned.
“Has he woken up?” is the first question the shorter girl asks as she steps through the doorway.
The lean, long-limbed girl that follows closely behind her, whistles. “Wow, that looks gorydamn nasty!”
She means the wound on the side of my head—a horizontal, freshly stitched and swollen scar. Nine stitches. Cassius is in the middle of cleaning it with salt water.
I stare at them, suddenly conscious of the fact that I’m wearing nothing but my underwear under the light blanket. Cassius said they’d washed them and hung them to dry in the sun outside.
"What?" asks the lean girl.
Cassius lifts his eyes to heaven. "Great ancestors, spare me."
"He doesn't remember you, Quinn. Or anyone, for that matter." Roque clears his throat. “We believe he suffers from amnesia.”
“Believe?” Cassius gives a harsh laugh. “He doesn’t recall his mother from Jove. It’s a fact, my goodman.”
"Not a gorydamn truth," Cassius says. I admire how his hands stay steady and gentle despite his heated tone. "We just had to explain to him what the Society is."
The short-haired girl brings me a cup of water. “Little sips,” she advises, smiling kindly. She introduces herself as Lea.
“We were deciding who was right to lead us. The discussion quickly devolved into . Titus waited until we had our backs turned.” He nearly growls. “The coward.”
“What happened exactly,” I ask him, “Cassius?” But he remains tight-lipped, the anger obvious in the way he works his jaw. He finishes putting the bandages in place, squeezes the back of my neck and leaves the room.
Lea shakes her head. “You should eat your berries, Darrow. You need the energy.”
After some hesitation, I fall upon them. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.
Quinn takes over. “We were leaving. Titus grabbed the standard and attacked. Caught you—” she points at my temple, the wet spot underneath the bandages, “Right there.”
“I saw it all happen. Titus was aiming for Cassius,” sweet-featured Lea adds, “You saved him, Darrow. You pushed him out of the way, left yourself open. That’s how Titus got you.” She shivers. “Your blood splattered all over us. It was everywhere. We thought you’d died.”
“It was chaos,” Quinn agrees, her gaze faraway. “We fought like hell. Cassius threw himself at Titus with a roar. I grabbed a chair and started swinging at anyone who came close. Got Vixu-something in the chest. He was down for the count after that. Lea did the maddest thing. She hit and bit Titus’s hand until he dropped the banner.” She laughs when Lea blushes. “By then, you’d recovered enough for us to retreat. Roque knew a shortcut through the empty stables. Cassius’d left Titus’s face a gory mess and we covered our retreat.”
“I can’t believe I forgot the standard,” Lea groans, hiding her face in her hands.
“At least you remembered to grab us some grub instead. I carried that chair out of the gorydamn castle!”
They devolve into giggles.
Roque finishes quietly. “You passed out after a mile. Cassius carried you the rest of the way here. You were unconscious for twenty-seven hours. The rest is history.”
It’s strange how that sentence is true, especially for me. My history boils down to the past hours spent in their company. Anything before that is an empty void.
Cassius walks back in and throws a pile of damp black and gold fatigues on my lap. He seems in an even worse mood than before, although none of his ire is directed at us. “Darrow, get ready, my goodman. Proctor Mars wants a word with you.”
