The Journey of the Marked (The Miyran Heir Book 1)

by Rebecca P. McCray

  “By orders of Nord, transit tickets must be refused to any marked. Selling a ticket to a marked one is now a criminal offence. Quick, show me behind your left ear.”

  Jurf turned his left side toward the man and lifted his hair.

  The man sighed in relief. “How old are you, son?”

  “Seventeen,” Jurf replied. “I’m too old to be marked.”

  The man wiped his forehead. “So you are, so you are,” he replied. “I never refused a ticket to anyone before. My daughter is just fifteen and I worry every day as her birthday grows near. I wish there was a way to stop it. I’d rather have a disabled child than a marked one.”

  Jurf nodded his head in agreement and understanding. Again, his thoughts turned to Prizene and the others.

  “Still,” the man continued, “many tickets have been purchased for Banston the last few days. The funeral of that poor, young girl will be a grand affair. I heard she was in some sort of accident. Is that why you are going to Banston?”

  “Yes,” Jurf answered slowly. He fiddled with his hands to buy himself a little time. He was confused by the man’s story, as Prizene had told him the girl was killed because she was marked, not due to an accident. Perhaps others didn’t know the real story. He would keep that information to himself, then. To help put the man at ease, he recited the story that he had prepared in case he was asked: “My uncle believes witnessing the funeral will ‘help make me a man,’” he quoted comically. “I think he’s mistaken, but as I’ve never traveled to Banston, I thought the trip would be a new adventure. Besides, we need new tools for repairs in our neighborhood. I’ve been asked to negotiate for those while I’m there.”

  The man smiled and nodded. “I think your uncle may be more clever than you think. The trip will be good for you, son. Just keep the hair pulled back from your left ear, so no one mistakes you for a marked one. You could easily pass as sixteen.”

  Jurf thanked the man for the advice and paid for the ticket. As he had never ridden a transport before, the man explained how they worked and to which platform he needed to go. Unfortunately, Jurf would need to wait a couple of hours for the transport. The man gave him a small pot of water for free, apparently feeling sympathy for him. Jurf thanked him again and took the steps up to the platform. As he reached the top of the stairs, two Graeliths blocked his path.

  “Excuse me,” Jurf said dipping his head politely. “I need access to the platform for my journey to Banston.” He tried to smile casually, but his heart started pounding.

  The Graelith on the right snarled nastily and demanded, “Show us the left side of your head, and be quick about it!”

  Jurf turned his head, allowing them to see the left side and, using a shaky hand, pulled his hair back. The Graeliths verified no mark was present and grunted for Jurf to pass. He thanked them politely, then walked as casually as he could toward the correct platform, feeling their eyes burning a hole in his back. He found a seat out of their view and waited.

  Once his transport arrived, he boarded it and scanned the aisles for an empty seat. The ticket seller’s information regarding the number of travelers to Banston had not been exaggerated, as few seats were empty. Jurf spotted one beside a man probably of the same species as Tip. The man was soft in appearance with full, fluffy brown hair ending in yellow tips. Yes, he definitely reminded Jurf of Tip. The other available seat was next to a large, female Skurk with a scowl on her face and, as Jurf drew closer, penetrating body odor. She flashed Jurf an inviting smile, unnerving him completely. He walked quickly past her toward the other empty seat by the man with the yellow-tipped hair. The man kept staring out the window, never acknowledging Jurf’s presence. Keeping his backpack in his lap, Jurf braced his hand on the seat in front of him as the transport started, and then took a deep breath to steady himself for his first journey outside the city limits.

  Chapter 41

  “Stupid girl,” the man sneered, and gave Kenrya a backhanded slap across the face. She had spilled a tiny amount of tea when nervously pouring him his morning drink, which the man believed deserved punishment. “Give me the pot,” he demanded.

  She hesitated a second, but knowing that hesitation would only anger him further, she picked up the kettle and passed it to him. Then he turned her over his knee and pressed the scalding kettle to the back of her left thigh. Her skin screamed in pain, though she dared not make a sound. Once a thorough burn was imprinted on her already scarred legs, he instructed her to crawl into the kitchen cupboard. The cupboard was, in fact, an alcove in the stone wall with a rough, wooden door. Not wanting to further anger the man, she scurried inside the alcove, her thigh throbbing painfully. She fit in the alcove, sitting on her bottom with her legs pulled up to her chin. He slammed the door and latched it from the outside. The cold from the stone seeped into her, which at least lessened the pain in her thigh a little bit. She hated him. If only she were bigger, she would hurt him back! The neighbors never helped her — surely they knew. She was all alone. One day, she vowed, she would find a way to escape. She brushed her feelings and tears aside and laid her head against the wall. She never knew how long he would leave her in the alcove, but never was it long enough to find peace.

  *******

  Kenrya woke early the morning after their encounter with the rizon. Perhaps, battling the rizon had brought her childhood abuse into her dreams, though little encouragement was ever necessary. Her legs still sported the scars inflicted years ago by the man. She rubbed them, then rubbed her hands over her face. The one blessing was that he never burned her face, arms, or hands. Of course, that was probably only because he didn’t want the neighbors to see his brutal handiwork. She crept cautiously from the tent, trying not to wake the others.

  The campsite remained quiet, as only Azetan was awake and standing guard. She offered to relieve him to allow him time for his morning meditation, for which thanked her. To keep from disturbing him, she walked toward the wetlands, stopping once she reached the edge of the water. She found a flat rock by the water’s edge and there she sat and rested, watching the sunrise reflecting off the water’s surface. As she watched, several small black heads surfaced near the safe path. The rizons’ persistence impressed her, though certainly not their lack of intelligence. The watery ground of the safe path had already concealed their tracks from the day before. Unless the Graeliths knew the path existed, this might serve to slow their progress.

  She gathered a few small sticks from the ground and absent-mindedly rolled them between her fingers, flicking one every now and then toward a small hole in the ground a few feet from where she sat. She pushed the fresh memories of her nightmares into the farthest recesses of her mind and focused on recent days. How careless she had been to fall into the river two days ago! To their credit, the others never reminded her of it, but how stupid could she have been? The Liput had stopped at the edge of the cliff, but she had kept walking.

  Tip irritated her. Despite her falling-off-the-cliff blunder, he was their greatest weakness, just as she had predicted back in the underground. Prizene impressed her more than she had expected, and outside of using her looks to her advantage the day before, she seemed almost unaware of her beauty. Kenrya admired that. And what was it about Eros that stuck with her? Granted, he treated her as an equal, both as a fighter and companion, but the others did as well. Her stomach rolled. Maybe she was hungrier than she had thought.

  Slowly, her dependence on Eros and the others grew. Kenrya’s muscles tensed as fear crept into her thoughts. Every day they traveled together, she found she relied on them more than the day before. Such reliance achieved nothing, especially when those on whom she relied, like Tip, were such weaklings. She decided to speak with Eros about the group. Leaving the others behind might be the only way to reach the camp. After all, surely a few reaching the camp outweighed the strong possibility of none of them reaching it.

  In the distance, across the wetlands, a light caught her eye. She strained for a clearer view, unable to dete
rmine what it was. She retraced her steps to the camp and found the magnifier packed in the back of the wagon. Taking it back to the flat rock on the water’s edge, she scanned the other side of the wetlands for a clearer view. At first, she saw nothing of interest, then she spied them, the Graeliths. A band of several Graeliths had hacked their way through the bristly bushes and were camping on the edge of the wetlands, farther away from the safe path. Kenrya frowned. They must have found the marked ones’ path through the underbrush and followed it to the water’s edge. As she watched, one Graelith spoke into a communicator while another peered along the wetlands in the opposite direction from the safe path. They seemed to be waiting for others, which meant it was only a matter of time before they discovered the path that would lead them safely across the wetlands.

  She waited until something distracted the Graeliths, then crept carefully away from the edge of the wetlands and back to camp. She shared her discovery with Azetan and together, they roused the others quietly and quickly. The campsite was not visible from the wetlands, yet the group still prepared cautiously.

  Once ready, they commenced the day’s journey. Based on Aston’s description of the plan, they would travel for another day together, then the marked ones would continue on alone into the deep forest.

  Chapter 42

  As they journeyed farther from the wetlands, the ground grew firmer, scattered with rocks and trees. The trees grew taller here and the branches were thick and full. Still, they stood some distance apart, such that sunlight could penetrate the ground, though less than in the area surrounding the wetlands. Since the sun peeked sparsely through the trees, the ground foliage was less thick. The marked ones took turns either tailing the party to watch for Graeliths, leading the party in search of a smooth path, or hurrying the old men along. While the old men seemed to understand the urgency of the pace, age had hampered their ability to keep a brisk, steady walking rate. The marked ones could make better time on their own.

  Azetan approached Eros with furrowed brows. He whispered, “Maybe we should leave them and make our way alone.”

  Eros had been expecting one of them to raise this suggestion. He shook his head and replied, “They’ve helped us this far. They took the same risk and understand the danger we face. We should trust them. Plus, I’m concerned what the Graeliths would do to them if they’re found near our path. If we wait until the old men veer in another direction, then the Graeliths will follow us and not them.”

  Azetan sighed, “Eros, we must protect ourselves.” He motioned toward his chest. “I know these old men have helped us, but how do we even know they support the Lady? Perhaps they delay us intentionally to allow the Graeliths to find us before we reach the forest.”

  Eros shook his head firmly, “No. They honor Lady Anyamae. I feel their respect when they speak of the Miyrans and their tales of battle. Our safety increases by staying with them.”

  Azetan narrowed his eyes, obviously not convinced. “I’m going to talk with the others and gather their thoughts.”

  Eros watched as Azetan walked among the other marked ones. He set his jaw. They should remain with the old men until their paths parted naturally. No other answer made sense. As was common, he struggled to sort out his feelings. If the others chose to break away from the group, then he would bid them farewell and remain with the old men. Kenrya walked a short distance behind the group, watching for the Graeliths. As Azetan left her side, Eros walked back to take a turn in that position.

  “Did Azetan speak with you?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “You think we should stay with the old men.”

  He nodded again.

  “Why?”

  Eros considered his response and could offer no explanation. “I can’t explain why I feel as strongly as I do, but I firmly believe we should stay with the old men until our paths separate.”

  “They were once warriors, Eros. I’m certain of this from all they have told us. They protect themselves well and wouldn’t question our decision to proceed on our own from here.”

  “I know that to be true, but we should not leave their company!” he said with such determination that Kenrya snapped her eyes toward him and paused momentarily. He softened his voice and added, “You probably think I feel sorry for them, but that’s not true.” He stopped to face her and shook his head. “If you and the others want to go, then go. I’ll stay with the old men and try to catch up with you later.”

  Kenrya hesitated a moment, then walked quickly to join the main body of the group for drink and food. Should she side with Eros? Ordinarily, she would dismiss such sentiments, but Eros was different. He dreamed real events and sensed things others did not. While he was far too sentimental and overprotective for his own good, she trusted his instincts, which told him to stay with the old men. Plus, she still needed to speak with him. Azetan wouldn’t part willingly from her and Eros’s company with the other two, thus as long as she stood firmly with Eros, the decision would be final. When Azetan approached her again, she told him she agreed with Eros. Azetan scowled with displeasure, but appeared to resign himself to the decision.

  The old men seemed oblivious to these discussions, until Aston joined Kenrya as she walked. “Have you decided to stay with us or depart on your own?”

  Kenrya laughed. “We should have known you would be too clever not to find us out. We could travel faster without you, but Eros’s instincts are telling him to stay with you.” She shrugged as she added, “So far, his instincts have proven to be right.”

  Aston appeared to accept this. “He’s a Human boy, is he not?”

  Kenrya glanced back at Eros and shrugged. “Perhaps not entirely. His mother is Human, his father unknown. He dreamed about the attack on Azetan, which allowed us to find him. He also dreamed of the actual death of another marked one. He possesses unusual abilities.”

  “Then your trust in him is warranted.” Aston nodded once and made a sweeping motion with his right arm. “While this path may seem safe, many obstacles and spiteful creatures lurk at every turn, waiting for the innocent. We may slow your progress, but we can protect and teach you as we travel.”

  As they continued walking, Aston pointed out plants and creatures of the forest, indicating the dangerous ones and those of particular interest. Kenrya listened and learned as much as she could until she switched places with Eros again. She overheard Aston continuing his instruction with Eros, and smiled to herself.

  Chapter 43

  Isabelle woke early, ate a quick breakfast, and started out on a long run. As she jogged, tension slowly eased from her shoulders and back. Five days ago, Anthony had dropped Eros at the edge of the city and for five days, no news had reached her. She maintained contact with friends within the royal army, and word would certainly have reached her if Eros had made it as far as the training camp in the western woods. Of course, word would also likely have reached her if Eros had been stopped by the Graeliths. For the moment, she took some comfort in not hearing any news.

  The evening before, she and Anthony agreed they would travel to Banston for the funeral of a sixteen-year-old girl killed on the very night Eros left. Anthony arranged a room for them for a number of days, as the funeral would be a long, elaborate affair with many from across Caldot and the surrounding communities attending. Isabelle hoped they would receive some news of Eros. At the very least, she wanted to pay her respects to the grieving parents.

  She finally reached the edge of town and veered toward the steep hill on her left. At the top of this hill, she could see far to the south, but not far enough to view the marshes. The forests of Kullac extended for a good distance, and after that the landscape became almost tropical. The forest canopy thickened as the forest continued, and on hot days, steam rose from fissures in the rock. She dreamed of traveling to the marshes one day.

  The hill grew steeper and she wiped sweat from her brow as she worked harder to keep up her quick pace. A small, purple bird swooped down from a nearby tree and
began flying next to her. The bird chirped and twittered brightly, as though in deep conversation with her. She watched his little wings beat steadily and wondered if this little bird lived here alone. The bird frequently looked in her direction and continued his conversation.

  When she neared the top of the hill, Isabelle slowed and climbed the last dozen steps with elongated strides to better navigate the rocks strewn across the hilltop. She found the shadow of a deep green, bushy tree and waited for her heartbeat to slow down. The little bird fluttered to a nearby branch of the bushy tree and landed softly. It chirped while shaking its head at her and then stopped, watching her. She glanced toward the south again, though her attention was drawn back to the little bird.

  “Well, you are very chatty today,” she said to the bird. “What do you think of this beautiful countryside?” She indicated with a sweep of her arm.

  The bird peered to the south then flicked its head. It turned its eyes back to Isabelle and chirped again, this time more intensely.

  Isabelle believed firmly in signs. Was this bird actually trying to warn her of something? She stepped closer to the bush; if it was indeed a bird, her closeness would surely startle it into flight. She placed her hands on her hips and moved her head closer to the little bird, eyes staring into eyes. “Maybe you are a mystical warning,” she pondered aloud.

  “A what?” the bird replied in a shrill chirp.

  Maybe the run had affected her senses. Had the bird just spoken to her? Birds didn’t usually speak, though arguably Zolei was home to many unusual species. She pulled the water container from the pouch strapped to her side and took a long drink. Then she poured some into her hand and wiped the back of her neck to cool herself. She returned the bottle to her side, stretched, and walked around in a circle.

  During this, the bird continued to watch her. She returned to her place by the tree and leaned close to the bird as she said, “Are you a bird?”