Jamyria: The Entering (The Jamyria Series Book 1)

by Madeline Meekins

  For some reason, Cameron obeys, and they follow her in silence.

  Margo wanders off the path, traveling in no particular direction. Neither of the boys oppose, allowing her work through whatever sort of episode she is having. The longer she trudges through the forest in silence, the worse she feels.

  I see death caused by you…

  Those wretched words ring in Margo’s head. Her cheeks darken in rage.

  On the other hand, she worries that the loved one who dies will be Cameron. And if that’s the case, how can she continue to allow him to be around her? How will she be able to ditch him if she needs to? She cannot live through that torment again.

  How did she know about my light, about Kylie? Margo’s expression turns black.

  They approach an opening, one she recognizes. The bubbling brook spills into the swimming hole they swam yesterday. Her feet sink into the ground, leaving muddy footprints behind. She follows the shore in the direction away from the Witch. The further they travel, the hillier the grounds become — small bluffs form along the stream, which Margo clambers atop, the boys still in tow.

  Her steps slow as she focuses her attention on the dark water below. Though the stars have hidden themselves as morning nears, the sun has yet to rise. Without its synthetic light, the forest almost shares the hues of the Real World.

  The Real World. Margo blinks back hot tears. How could the Witch accuse her of not wanting to return? It’s true, there are things she would rather not face that haunt her still, but that doesn’t mean she’s hiding from them...does it?

  “What’s going on, Margo?” Cameron seems to have taken advantage of her slowing down. “Why are you running away, saying you want to quit?”

  Margo resumes her pace and treks down the bluff’s slope. “I’m not running away….”

  “Well, what do you call this?!” says Cameron. She hears him slide down behind her as she hikes up the next hill. “You’re not really hiding anything, are you?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Hey — STOP!”

  Margo freezes on the peak of the hilltop. For the first time since she ran off, she acknowledges Cameron and looks down at him. His face is red, eyes puffy as if suppressing tears.

  “You — you make me feel so stupid!” He grinds his teeth together. “This whole time…. I’ve asked you over and over if you were alright, because something has been off about you. Something’s different. I thought it was this place, but it’s not, is it? So tell me…. What is it really? What are you keeping from me?”

  Her lips part. She catches Ian’s neutral gaze from behind Cameron.

  “So much has happened since your last visit,” she whispers, and she can no longer face him. “Something bad happened, Cam.”

  She turns to hike on, descending down the other side of the slope. The words are so close now; she knows they will flow from her easily as long as she doesn’t look at him. “Everything sort of fell apart after you left.”

  Margo freezes mid-step.

  He blended in so well with the scenery that Margo hadn’t at first noticed the man she faces who looks down upon her. He is tall and lanky, yet muscular, with a low buzz cut. Crew Member. He licks his lips as he eyes Margo.

  She lets out a raw scream and stumbles backwards, slipping in the mud. His eyes rake over her.

  She hears them rushing in, Cameron and Ian, but she cannot tear her eyes from this man. His skin is tan, blending beautifully with his muddy brown eyes and sandy blond hair that she wishes to run her hands in. She longs to touch him, to take in his every detail. His angular cheekbones and full lips, his taut muscles….

  Margo blinks hard, casting away the faux desire. Is this a sick trick from the mark that is surely on the back of his head? She forces herself awake, just as she had when the globe drew her in.

  More men suddenly emerge from behind trees; they approach Cameron and Ian as the first man grasps Margo by wrists. She struggles against his pull and he belts out a twisted laugh. “Find all the men of the group. Kill them,” he yells as he pulls Margo into the trees.

  She jerks her arms to try and hit him but cannot break his grip. She aims her knee for his groin instead, but he predicts her move and stomps on her other foot. Margo screams in pain which only sets him off more. He shoves her up against a tree, the bark digging into her jacket.

  “You go straight for a low blow,” he growls and presses his knee into her inner thigh to pin her to the tree. He grabs her cheeks and squeezes so tightly her eyes water. His rough tongue licks the side of her face. Then he shakes her head so hard her brain rattles.

  “Look at them,” he says gruffly in her ear, forcing her gaze upon the boys. “Desperately trying to survive. It’s futile.” He breathes in her scent. “What’s your name? Come on, don’t be shy….”

  She catches a glimpse of Cameron struggling against a Crewman. “M-Margo.”

  “Good. That wasn’t so hard, now, was it? My name is Saul. We’re going to get well acquainted, you and me.” His breath tickles her ear. She cringes. “Hold still. I don’t want to kill you; it doesn’t have to be that way. You just do as you’re told, cooperate. Your fate will be decided once I’m through with you.”

  A tear rolls down her cheek. She tries to wriggle herself free again, but he digs his knee harder into her thigh. She lets out another scream.

  “MARGO, WAIT!” It is Ian’s voice who screams out for her. He seems to be holding his own against the pair he is up against.

  “Impatient, are we?” Saul laughs. He releases her face from his grip and finds Kylie’s charm. “I might take that as a souvenir.”

  His smile is irksome. He drops the charm, its weight pounding against Margo’s chest, and slips his hand down to the button of her jeans. She looks away. Tears flood over as she realizes this is it: he would do what he wishes and leave her to die. His fingers slip behind the button, rough on her soft skin.

  “And to think,” he purrs, his lips closing in on hers, “all because you got entangled with the Marked One.”

  As his lips hover she realizes he doesn’t know who she is. He assumes one of the boys is the New Mark. He grips the top of her jeans and pulls her to him forcing his lips on hers.

  Something inside her snaps, a flood of fiery hot liquid rushes through her. His head is suddenly flying toward an adjacent tree — BAM! He collides with the trunk.

  “What the hell?!” He rises to a standing position, gripping the side of his face that gushes blood.

  The words are not her own, but they flee from Margo’s lips faster than she can recount them. “The one you seek is me. I am the New Mark.”

  “But you’re —”

  “Female. Yes, that’s right.”

  He stares at her for a brief moment, the energy within her violently swirling. It is not its usual tingling, but a vibration beating her from within, on the cusp of exploding. Longing to be released, longing to kill this man before her. Blood, more of his blood must be spilled. Paint the land with it, for he is deserving of death.

  “The New Mark is here! The girl!” he yells, petering away from her. “Kill her!”

  “Oho!” the voice within Margo speaks. “Afraid of facing the consequences of your actions? Coward!” The energy boils under her skin, her vision red with bloodlust. “Afraid you will meet your fate?”

  Her eyes scan the forest in less than a second. Three with Ian, Cameron against one, two more closing in on Margo. Including Saul there is a total of seven Crewmen. Her sword hisses as it unsheathes.

  “That sword,” whispers Saul. “Where did you get it?”

  But he does not wait for an answer. He conjures his own blade, creating it from thin air, whipping it over his head. He strikes down on Margo; she raises her sword to block.

  “WHOOOO! YEAH!” Ian shouts at the sight of her.

  She bounces away from Saul. Her Mark must be glowing wildly. She yanks off her bag and jacket, tossing them aside. She stares down upon her markings but finds the same brown scar
tissue as always. Touching the back of her neck, she feels warmth.

  Why are they the only ones lit up?

  A sword slashes through the air. She barely dodges, suffering only a small nick on her throat. It stings, the blood trickling down her neck. She regains her grip on her sword, stepping lithely and twirling between the two crewmen. Saul retreats into the safety of the trees allowing the others to do the messy job of killing his victim. He no longer wears the lustful smile, but a scowl, his upper lip trembling with rage.

  Cameron is nearby. She sees him gaining momentum against his Crewman, who creates bounds of chain which Cameron strikes away before any of them can enclose him. He is only facing one opponent, but this man uses his power more than any of the others they fight.

  A scream propels one of Margo’s foes: he charges at her, sword low to the ground to strike upward. But before he can raise his blade, Margo’s power overtakes her. With invisible speed, she steps onto his sword, cutting it so far into the ground he lurches back. She kicks off of the hilt, kneeing him across the jaw. He staggers away before crumpling to the ground with a crunch.

  In the middle of the stream stands Ian, three men surrounding him. A jet of water whips out from around his back, and strikes one of them, pulling him underwater before the Crewman can react. His other opponents warily fall back a step.

  Suddenly a collection of water rises out of the stream. Ian holds his hand out controlling the suspended orb, which holds the Crewman trapped within. The man pushes his palms against the inside edges of the water. The surface fluctuates against his touch but does not give. Light pulsates from his palms in a desperate attempt to break through the surface.

  It will not work, Margo thinks, recalling the Water Forest. The interior is impenetrable.

  Realizing this, he ceases and, instead, buries his face in his hands.

  “Smart move,” says Ian from the ankle-deep water below, “becoming one of us. Not a desirable creature of this world, but you choose life over glamour. How resourceful.”

  The other two Crewmen raise their swords as a dozen jets of water erupt from behind Ian’s back and turn on them.

  An unfamiliar smile plays at Margo’s lips. Her back curls before launching herself toward the boulder on which stands her second opponent who has backed away after watching her demolish his comrade. Instead of raising his sword, he outstretches a hand. A swirl of light gathers before his palm like a spinning miniature Milky Way and then —

  BOOM!

  It explodes in a stream of energy, aiming for Margo’s heart.

  She doesn’t think, just reacts. Her free hand reaches out as if to catch the light; she swirls her hand over her head, redirecting the blast of power in its wake. It bends four times at sharp angles before striking its creator through the chest. He splutters and gurgles before dropping to his knees. The light diminishes, revealing a gaping hole in his chest. His body folds in half.

  A streak of red liquid catches the morning light in the distance and falls like crimson rain. It hits the earth before Cameron does, his head bending away from his body in an unnatural way. The rocks beneath him crunch, his bloodied face bouncing off the ground.

  Margo’s step falters, and she is suddenly losing her grip, losing the pulsating energy, the inexplicable strength. The Crewman approaches Cameron, having finally succumbed, with a cold smirk on his lips. He flicks the short blade in his grip, shaking it clean.

  Margo takes a shaky step toward him, her blade suddenly trembling.

  A rough hand clenches her shoulder and her gut rips open. Saul’s sword pierces through her abdomen carving through her insides until it wrenches out her back. He glares down at her with a look of disappointment.

  “I told you, Margo.” His voice fades in and out. “It didn’t have to be this….”

  Her vision blurs, hearing dulls, and her back bends in half. The blade pulls out from her stomach just as sharply as going in. Her body hits the boulder with a painful jolt.

  She lies on the stone ground, incarnadine and cold, as the remaining bits of life escape her. Her body numbs and an unnatural chill fills her being. Death, she finds, is not so difficult after all.

  The bluish gray light of the morning washes over Saul’s silhouette as he steps over Margo. His sword dangles precariously above her nose, her own blood dotting her face as it drops from its tip.

  “Just tell me one thing.... You claim to be the New Mark. Is it true? Are you actually the original?”

  Margo glances at Ian who faces his last enemy with new rage. By denying her identity she might be able to swindle her way out of death even if barely just. But there is little she can do to guarantee Ian’s survival after tonight. So she says, “I am.”

  “Such a shame, such a waste.” He rears back his blade to strike.

  Darkness overtakes her, though she is certain she sees a figure jump over her as the last bit of light fades and her mind escapes her.

  Chapter Twenty: The After

  Her eyes crack. The blur of a figure lurks over her. Pale skin with white-blond hair cut bluntly at her shoulders. White walls. Everything a frosty haze of white.

  Frightened, Margo squeezes her eyes tight. A dream. It must be a dream. But it feels like reality.

  She opens her eyes again. Kylie is kneeling over her, the white surroundings gone. She is still in the middle of the forest where she and the boys fought. It is now eerily empty and all is still: the leaves that rustled, the light breeze, the glittering stream — all of it frozen.

  “Hey, sis,” Kylie says with a sad smile. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  Margo kicks to a sitting position and scrambles away from the imposter.

  The pseudo-Kylie closes her eyes, a familiar crease forming between her brows in annoyance. “Why did you let him do that to you? You were on the verge of winning. Why’d you have to get yourself —”

  Kylie forces her lips together, peridot eyes hard and locked on Margo’s.

  “Who…? Who are you?” says Margo in a panic. “You aren’t my sister! You can’t be! My sister’s —”

  “Dead.” The word rings.

  Margo rises to a standing position, tripping over her feet as she shuffles further away from the fake Kylie.

  “Are you Saul?” she cries. “Are you playing another trick on my eyes?”

  The girl before her moans. “Arrrgh, Margo, I’m your sister!” She moves closer. “I played Titania in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I stopped Michael Peters from making fun of you more times than I can count. You told me you loved that boy out there who’s dying a month before I was killed —” Margo cringes. “I drove the Hederman’s insane and stole enough apples to start my own pie factory. I’m your sister!”

  “So you’re a ghost, then?” Margo barks.

  “No — I’m not a ghost, I’m just….” She pauses. “I’m here, and I want to help you. But you have to stop being your stubborn self and listen me.”

  Margo stares at her angrily. This surely is, if not her sister, a good imitator; she has her hot-temper down. Then her words hit Margo: if Kylie is not a ghost, then Margo must, too, be dead. She inhales a deep, shaky breath as this sinks in.

  “You were just starting to understand your mark,” she says unexpectedly. “So you can’t give up so easily. Those people out there — Cameron, even Ian — they all need their New Mark. They all need you.”

  “How do you even know any of this?”

  Kylie shakes her head hard. “None of that matters. Listen, you have to go back there and save them.”

  “You said I ‘gave up.’ But that’s not true — I was injured bad, and I don’t think I made it, Kylie.” Tears suddenly spill down her cheeks.

  Her sister places her hand on Margo’s shoulders. “You are not so far lost, sis. Use your mark to pull yourself back.”

  “Were you sad?” Her voice is but a shaky whisper. “When you died?”

  Taken aback, Kylie turns her gaze to the stream and shuffles her feet. “Yes and no,” she even
tually says. “It was my time, in a sense….”

  “No! It wasn’t! You were sixteen — my age! We’re both kids, and this shouldn’t happen to us. Life shouldn’t be taken away so easily!”

  Kylie’s smile warms. “You’re right. That’s why I need you to take yours back. Please.”

  Though a part of Margo wishes to lose herself in her sister’s arms and follow her into the afterlife, there is another part of her that is terrified of doing so and wants to listen to Kylie’s orders. She does not wish to die, not yet.

  “I’ll miss you, though,” Margo sniffs. “You have no idea.”

  The hand on Margo’s shoulder slips to her neck in a warm embrace. “This will not be easy, little sis. I will always be there for you. I’m closer than you realize; remember that when you think of me. Now, find the pain within you. Do not continue to block it out or ignore it. Let it intensify and wash over you. It will overtake you, and you’ll disappear into it.”

  With all the energy Margo can muster, she lets the pain in her stomach flood her. It is fiery hot and rips through her abdomen like a white-hot poker.

  Splotches of light bleed over her vision as the pressure squeezes her into oblivion, but the last words Margo hears are enough to take away all the pain:

  “Just know that I love you….”

  *

  Shomari paces vehemently behind the globe at which the Queen stares without breaking her focus. The Queen pays him no mind. It is the image of the battle inside the globe that worries her, though she cannot yet see the one she fears…. But once the Marked One ceases to exist his corpse will appear on the battlefield.

  “Saul,” huffs Shomari from behind his hood. “Why did you send, of all people, Saul?”

  “You are aware of what happened the last time I sent you to kill a Mark?” she murmurs.

  Shomari’s pacing misses a beat. He resumes as if he hadn’t faltered.

  Approaching the Queen’s right hand, Belitza — with her bare head concealed in the hood of her cloak — offers a flute of champagne and says, “I think it appropriate to proceed with the celebrations. I’ve no doubt Saul will be able to dispose of the New Mark.”