*
Eighteen Hours Earlier
The winds are ferocious, ripping through the highest tower like whistling blades on a battlefield. Two men clad in black stand at attention taking nature’s beating in stride. One faces north, the other south. They are lean and structured. They are void of emotion. They are cunning. They are the Queen of Jamyria’s Guard.
The majority of the Jamyrian commoners struggle to adapt to the world’s extreme weather shifts, but the elite members of the Crew must face these challenges head on without so much as a word. Those who show any sign of cowardice, any weakness at all, are discarded. Those are considered nothing more than trash to the Queen. To survive among her Guard means to live and breathe the essence of fear. They must face death willingly.
There has been a new enterer in Jamyria, and a new enterer means a potential new threat. Although the alleged threat only enters at a fixed time, the Queen finds it necessary to tighten security upon the entrance of each of the world’s new occupants. A precautionary measure.
In the highest tower upon Mount Jeidone, the two guards take watch over the land, searching out any irregularities. The weather is so harsh they can hardly see several mere feet before them let alone survey the expanse of land that lies beneath the ocean of fog and ice. Nonetheless, they remain poised at attention without question.
An enterer after Day Seven is always a bother to those within the world. The rain lingers. And when there is rain there is only more ice, which means these two must suffer through biting sleet.
“Luka,” calls one of the Crewmen. His eyes narrow against the wind, trying to make out something he spots in the distance.
“Got something?”
“Yeah…”
Luka leaves his post to scan the southern half of Jamyria with his partner, Evan. It is so far off the two of them struggle to see the beam of light through the thick air, but they are certain there is a ray forming from the sky.
“I thought the sun always came out at once, spreading across the land and melting the ice in one sweep.” Evan crumples his face in confusion. It is the first time he has ever noticed even the slightest change in the weather sequences.
“That’s what usually happens,” replies Luka, equally confused.
“Could be a glitch in the sun?”
Luka focuses harder on the light as the snow picks up. “I don’t think so….”
The light intensifies until it no longer appears to be a ray but a ball floating above the trees glowing an effulgent white. It is such a powerful force, the cloudy skies around it tremble. Suddenly it explodes, showering sparks in its wake. It ripples outward, casting out the snowy clouds. Both Evan and Luka cringe as the light passes over the tower in a gush of warmth. It takes no more than a few seconds and the world in its entirety is rid of the cold.
Evan’s mouth hangs open. “No one will know,” he finally says. “This is wrong. Something wasn’t right about that, and nobody will know.”
“It was similar to the usual sunrise,” agrees Luka. “But different, indeed.”
They stare across the vivid land deliberating. “You don’t think…”
“Can’t be,” barks Luka as if it is obvious. “It’s not near time for that yet.”
The two return to silence, the images of the strange exploding light flashing through their heads.
Suddenly, Luka curses aloud realizing his partner’s idea could possibly hold some truth. “Do not lose sight of it,” he orders just before he turns to the center of the tower and steps off into the void. He drops into the circle that has been cut out of the floor, falling the height of the tower and landing in a crouch at its base.
The room is made entirely of white stone. The only color comes from the red curtains hung along the walls every few feet which give off an eerie effect as if the walls are bleeding. A lush pathway of tiger-skin leads to the grand throne. She sits with her legs crossed, chin in her palm as if she is somewhat bored on this particular afternoon. Her gown puddles in indigo silk with pleats that give the illusion that her gown ripples. Hair black as ink is piled atop her head in complicated twists. Her full lips are mauve and striking against ivory skin. A woman so fair is worthy of the title Queen.
The Guardsman is nearly out of breath upon his arrival. He does not stop running until he approaches her throne.
“Your majesty,” calls Luka, bowing his head momentarily. “I have come to report an irregularity in the land.”
“Oh?” The Queen sounds curious, although she does not yet look in his direction.
“Rather than the sun rising as it usually does, a light formed in the sky. The light then exploded and melted the snow.” Luka broadens his shoulders, a nervous act to hide his uncertainties. “It is possible that this is just a misunderstanding, but I thought I ought to report it just in case.”
“Shomari.” The Queen’s voice is light and mockingly playful, but the power behind the single word is enough to tremble her Crew.
The distortion of black slowly molds into shape as the man pulls himself out of the shadows of a tall, draping black curtain which takes up nearly the back wall of the Queen’s throne room, a stark backdrop against the white stone walls. He circles the silver throne before him and steps down the three short steps of her dais. The man drops to a knee using his fist to balance his bow. Even kneeling he is close to five feet tall and has twice the muscles of the other Guardsmen lining the perimeter of the room. Skin like caramel. Face nearly hidden behind his hood with every inch of him clothed in black fabric. He is in a different class among her Crew. He is Noble.
“Your Majesty,” he says in a rough voice.
“Shomari.” The second time she speaks his name somehow holds even more severity than the first. “How long has it been?"
“It…cannot possibly have been that long….”
“How many years, Shomari?!” she wails, growing impatient.
His face scrunches up as he tallies up the years. A low growl escapes through his set jaw. “It must have been fifty,” he says shaking his head in disbelief.
The Queen rises from her throne, her hands tense and in fists. “Fifty?” she repeats much harsher than he had said it. “Shomari, what is the one threat to this world?”
He pauses only because he hates being spoken to as mother would her child. “The New Mark.”
“So wouldn’t you find it appropriate to pay attention to the years considering there is only a New Mark every fifty years?”
“It’s the immortality…. It is almost as if time doesn’t matter. Or even exist —”
“Enough!”
The word echoes through the room. Shomari follows her order and remains silent, clenching the fist he has buried in the fluff of the tiger skin. The Queen walks the width of her corridor and paces before her throne, her grand dress coiling behind her. She ignores the nervous faces of her Crew. Her mind turns faster than her pacing.
Something has to be done, surely. The last Mark nearly led her prized Nobles to disaster, and her lower ranks are no match to one freshly created; they have the potential to be dangerous and unpredictable. But if the Mark were to end up in the wrong hands…
“Guards,” she speaks abruptly. “Send out a small team to locate the New Mark. Be discrete. We don’t want anyone knowing we are hunting him yet. And we can assume he does not know what is going on yet. That is, unless he somehow makes contact with someone who will inform him of who he is; though, that is doubtful. Send word to our insiders. You,” she points to Luka. “Give them the coordinates of where you saw the light. That’s where they will begin.
“And when you find the Marked One, bring his body to me.”
Jamyria: The Entering (Sample) Page 11
