Jamyria: The Entering (The Jamyria Series Book 1)

by Madeline Meekins

  “Why are you in such a rush all of the sudden, anyway?” asks Ian.

  She flicks away a winged bug that landed on her knee. Ian cringes away from it. The man who takes on three Crewmen, afraid of bugs.

  “Because I’m done hiding.”

  She has no watch and no alarm, but Margo is certain they slept for more than one hour. Worst of all, she is the last awake and a smear of sickly sweet mud clings to the side of her face.

  By midafternoon, the forest has grown into darker shades. The further west they ride, the more normal the trees are: leaves of hunter green with a faint bluish hue sprout from thin, dark trunks. Foothills grow into verdant mountains that soar into the turquoise sky.

  They come upon a line of tall grass, stretching on in either direction, dotted with purple flowers whose petals are so iridescent they glow in the sunlight. Wrapping up and over the mountain and deep into the valley, the row of grass quivers in the breeze. It stands no taller than Margo’s knees.

  “We’re not far from the castle,” Ian tells them. “Keep your eyes open. This marks her territory.”

  “How do you know so much about this land?” Margo asks, hardly masking her suspicion.

  Cameron eyes Ian carefully.

  “I’ve been here much longer than you,” he replies. “I practically grew up in Jamyria, remember?”

  She frowns and tries imagining what it would be like spending your childhood in a false reality. Never smelling the fresh air of the Real World. Unable to grasp the advancements of humankind after a lifetime without such luxuries. Not knowing your parents….

  “I’m sorry….”

  “Don’t be.” Ian flicks his reins lightly. “It’s all I remember. But from what I hear, life is better on the other side.”

  Margo smiles. “I’m glad I called for you to come back.”

  Ian looks back to her.

  “When you caught that deer… After you saved me from the water. I’m glad you stayed with us.”

  Staring at his hands, his grip tightens on the reins without a word. He quickens his pace seemingly as anxious as Margo.

  Though no castle is visible, it’s clear they are heading toward the highest mountain. It looms over the other hilltops. And at long last, the forest breaks. Lying ahead is a stretch of flat, rocky surface. There is a crunch under Margo’s feet as she drops to the ground from her shika. She stands up on her toes to give the animal a nuzzle behind its pointed ear.

  “You were great. Go now, back home.” Cameron pats his golden shika on the nose before sending it away. He has a deeper connection with the animals, having tended to them during his stay.

  His stay.

  She has thus far half-heartedly sought for an escape, and it is the first time Margo thought of this world as temporary. If everything goes as smoothly as planned, they will reach the globe, drive her blade into it, and be back in the Real World by nightfall.

  “Let’s get this over with.” Ian inches his way to the edge of the forest.

  Margo feels very exposed after having been under the canopy of the over-sized forest. Ian leads the way toward the mountain whose foot rests at the opposite end of the stone floor. But there is still no sign of the castle.

  “Ian,” Margo whispers, because whispering now seems appropriate. “Where is it?”

  “This is it,” Cameron answers. “It’s daytime, so it’s not as obvious.”

  Her hand finds the handle of her sword. “Shouldn’t it be more visible during the day?”

  “Look.” Ian’s arm is extended and pointing to a peak slightly to the left. A single black tower juts out above the mountain.

  “That’s it?” Margo expected something grander. Not such a slender spectacle. “The Queen lives in there?”

  “No, that’s the lookout tower. The castle is in there.” This time Ian points ahead.

  “The mountain?”

  “It’s hollowed out. As Cameron said, it’s more obvious at night because there are windows carved in its sides, and the lanterns light up the night sky. Still, it’s camouflaged pretty well.”

  “Have you been in there before?” Margo asks, her nerves suddenly jittering beneath her skin.

  Ian hesitates. “No…. But I’ve seen pictures. Hmm…. I’m trying to remember the layout. I know the globe is in the throne room.”

  She looks to Cameron.

  “It’s true,” he says. “There are dozens of sketches out there of the castle’s insides.”

  “Won’t they see us coming if we keep walking in broad daylight like this?” Margo asks. She recalls Janie’s story of Nick entering the castle.

  A short laugh. “Cocky attitudes pay the price,” says Ian, spreading his arms wide and adding more swagger to his gait.

  “Will you take it down a notch and follow your own advice?” She scowls.

  “Just focus on finding an entrance and let’s get moving,” says Cameron.

  Margo understands his words, though. The mountain is gargantuan and their bland clothing blends in, so it would be hard to spot them. It takes twenty minutes to reach the base of the mountain, where they find slight protection behind boulders strewn alongside the slope.

  “How far?” she whispers.

  “‘Bout a mile hike up. Then, it starts shaping out more like walls. We won’t be able to climb it, so we’ll sneak into a window.”

  Cameron nods in agreement, though there is a coldness to his gaze.

  The rocks slide beneath their feet threatening to claim them; it would be a long, jagged fall if they were to. They ascend silently, but for the click-clacks of the shuffling stones.

  The walls of the castle are made of stone much like the wall surrounding the Central City, though it is covered in moss and other green growths to camouflage it in the distance. Pressing her hand on its rough surface, Margo is surprised to see how thorough the Queen’s design is. She fooled her, at least.

  They skim the wall in search of a window — which is nothing more than a hole carved into the wall leading into a hallway. The interior gleams in the unexpected luxury of a five-star hotel. Ian is the first to drop inside. With a quick glance both directions, he signals for the other two to follow suit.

  The most dangerous part of Jamyria is surprisingly lux.

  Nodding toward the left, Cameron takes the lead. The carpet beneath their feet is a striking red after being surrounded by the stretch of gray outside. The outer wall is the same gray stone while the inner is bedecked in gold wallpaper decorated with unlit lanterns made of scrolling iron.

  A short hallway on their right. They peek around the corner to find it deserted before turning and continuing on.

  “The throne room isn’t far,” Cameron says.

  “Wait,” Margo whispers, at the sudden discovery. “If we’re going to the throne room that means….”

  “The Queen will be there, yes.” Ian’s eyes narrow.

  “Perfect,” she mutters. Fear thickens like honey. It is just as the Witch told her: Always at her side. So why is it such a shock?

  “We can hide out until the Queen leaves,” Cameron says, but Ian is shaking his head.

  “She practically lives in there. Besides, in the off-chance she decides to leave, someone will stay behind, meaning it’ll never be completely deserted. And what if, in the meantime, someone finds us? I doubt there are any decent hiding places along these halls.”

  Cameron and Margo exchange a nervous look, and she knows exactly what he is thinking: Ian knows too much about this castle.

  “Maybe this is a bad idea,” she says, planting her feet. “This seems to be happening so fast.”

  “Are you serious?” Cameron whispers. “After all that? We’re here, Margo, we can’t just back out!”

  “Sure we can!” She takes a step back. “Let’s think up a new plan and come back in the morning —”

  But before she can finish her thought, a flash of orange light shoots between the two of them forcing them apart. A man, tall as Saul and twice as thick, swirls h
is arm over his head, conjuring a second burst.

  Cameron grabs her by the arm and shouts, “Come on!”

  The second blast ignites, aiming to hit Margo square in the back. Ian steps, with milliseconds to spare, between her and the flare, his hands outstretched to deflect it. She screams knowing he will be disintegrated, knowing his hands will surely be gone.

  Staggering away, somehow still alive, he yells. “Do something!”

  It takes a moment for her to realize he’s talking to her. The Mark. The one with power.

  A third light sparks.

  What had she done when Saul threatened her? She tries to understand where that strength came from. There isn’t a way for her to do it. She can’t remember! But —

  She holds out both palms, breathes deeply. Focus on her energy, just like Ian taught her around the fire. Let’s it hover in front of her palm.

  The orange flash approaches, but it is nothing compared to the energy that erupts from her palm: hot, feral, and uncontrollable. It scorches the room with a jet of white, hitting the Crewman dead on. He collapses to the ground. Cameron and Ian both ricochet against the hallway, which is now stripped of its gold paper.

  “S-sorry!”

  “Never mind!” Cameron shouts as he gets to his feet. “He’s down! Let’s go.”

  Ian’s face contorts. He eyes Margo for longer than they can afford after the ruckus she caused. He lets out a long breath. “You need to follow me. Now.”

  Three doors down, he pushes through. A stone spiral staircase winds both up and down — they hurry down to the floor below. The doors above burst open just as Cameron shoves her through the doors leading into a corridor.

  “Where are we going?” she shouts, no longer trying to hide their appearance.

  “Throne room,” says Ian breathlessly. There is a new kind of fear in his dark eyes, which causes her to hiccup and doubt everything they are doing.

  The mountain is more labyrinth than castle. Ian leads them down countless turns, confusing Margo’s senses. The sounds of Crewmen grow in the distance behind them. They will not be able to outrun them for long!

  The hallway opens into a circular foyer, and they are faced with a set of golden doors. Wildly they swing open, crashing into the walls and sending a thunderous echo throughout the room. Every inch before her is made entirely of white stone, smoothed to a glossy finish with touches of soft gray veins in its surface. The walls are lined with crimson drapes puddling to the floor and staggered with curling iron sconces, each alight with brilliant white flames. A spherical piece of glass glints in a corner. A striking tiger skin parts the room at its center leading straight to a half a dozen Jamyrian Guards who surround a short set of black stairs.

  Atop the stairs, sitting in a silver filigree throne, is the most breathtaking woman Margo has ever seen. With piles of dark curls spilling down her shoulders and skin of ivory, the woman is the epitome of perfection. Wrapped in lavender silk which falls to her feet like a purple waterfall. Hair adorned with a crown made of raw amethyst crystals jutting up through tendrils like stalactites. Her lips are blush. Her eyes are haunting.

  They consume Margo’s soul.

  Words escape her. She cannot disconnect her eyes from this woman. She cannot speak. Cannot move. Cannot fight. This woman before her… She simply stares at Margo and renders her useless.

  A whimper escapes her lips.

  Cameron shuffles his feet. Ian draws his weapons to fight, but Margo knows it is too late. Too late. She has brought them to their deaths. Where has her level head gone? She is always the one to think things through. Always the one to be cautious. This idea is so… So Kylie.

  “Your name, child?” The voice is as sharp as glass, an echo of hatred in the cold room.

  But Margo cannot, nor does she want to, respond. Her knees simply shake as she holds tight to her sword.

  How could she have ever thought the Queen could possibly be good? That she brought people in to share her magnificent land rather than to imprison them?

  “Shaken to the point she can no longer recall her own name.” The Queen belts a laugh. It is awful sounding, cruel and spiteful. “Well since you can no longer remember who you are, I suppose I must continue addressing you as ‘child.’ You are, I must admit, an interesting Mark. There is no doubt about that.” She rises to her feet. Her guards shift their weight, awaiting her orders. “But a Mark, nonetheless. And Marks must be dealt with.”

  She takes a step down the staircase. Margo trembles.

  “Easy there,” whispers Ian.

  Cameron simply gulps, as if in the same sort of trance.

  The Queen’s laugh returns, though a softer maniacal version. “It’s a pity, really. You are but a child who has been cast a sour fate. But you,” she points a labradorite-adorned finger at Margo, “are a threat to everything I have created. Everything I am. And you will not ruin everything that is mine.” She takes a breath, which fails to calm herself. “Did you assume that because you outsmarted a few of my weaker guards you can prance in here unannounced as if you rule this world? You have fooled yourself, child. I am the God of this world. You are a fool for coming here. And a fool for this delusion that possessed you into believing you can defeat me.” The Queen outstretches her right palm, which Margo can now see is littered with the same markings as the guards they fought the day before — over twice as many as are etched into their scalps. They stretch beyond her palm to the tips of her fingers and halfway up her forearm. But there is no time to study them. They soon glow more vivid than Margo has ever witnessed a mark to glow. Greater than Nick’s. Even greater than her own explosive tendencies. She braces herself for an impact that is sure to come.

  There is a disturbance behind the Queen. A towering man pulls his way out from the dark curtain behind the throne, clothed in black and standing a good three heads taller than Margo. His skin is dark and warm with eyes lined in black as if missing sleep. His wears a twisted expression.

  “Your Majesty,” he says in a rough yet soothing voice. It almost sounds like he is reminding her of something. He places a thick hand on hers.

  She turns to him, and though she looks as if she wishes to slash open his face, she orders, “Destroy the Mark. Capture the boys.”

  Margo’s stomach wrenches as the dark man leaps from atop the stairs, his thick body dropping down as hard as lead, the whole room trembling. He reaches inside the shadows of his coat to retrieve his weapon.

  Cameron comes to. “The mission, Margo. All that matters now is the mission.”

  Bile rises in her throat. She understands. They cannot possibly win this battle. They cannot win, unless she can fulfill the Witch’s order. Her eyes skirt to the corner of the room.

  “Do not think you are suddenly privileged, Shomari.” The Queen’s voice splits the room again. “Your post.”

  The dark man, Shomari, straightens up with a growl. His hand falls to his side, clenched in a fist. But suddenly, Margo can no longer see his face as the other guards have made their move.

  “Figure out something,” says Ian. “Fast.”

  She is the first to unsheathe her sword, readying it on point. The Queen smirks smugly in response and settles into her seat with hands in claws over the arms of her throne.

  Metal slides against her blade — she has blocked his hit at a bad angle. Swoosh! Her grip doesn’t falter as she slings her sword behind her, the Crewman barely losing his stride. Cameron’s foot collides with his face.

  A glint of light in the corner: a reflection.

  White flashes across her vision, pain throbs behind her ear. She falls to the ground painfully as something hit her head. A man cackles down at her from above. Her eyes crack and in the direction of the spherical shape she sees the gold base.

  Rolling over onto her back, she lays spread eagle. Wrapped in fabric from his throat to his palms, the man sneers. Doubling her energy, she separates it from both palms in an explosion. But the Crewman dives out of the way in time. The room rattles a
nd a defiant scream sounds from the dais.

  Scrambling to her feet, Margo runs past Cameron, who plunges his sword into the forearm of a writhing foe, to the alcove where the globe rests.

  A second blast from her palms as another approaches. She doesn’t falter.

  The doors fling open behind them, more Crewmen spilling in. At least a dozen. It has to be now, or it’s over!

  A wicked smile spreads across the Queen’s face.

  She runs straight to it, charging her power. And releases it at the globe —

  The room crackles like heat lightning. The Queen’s face contorts into fear. The globe gathers the energy forming an electric current around it, but instead of breaking, the power reflects off of the glass. The room surges. Vibrations hit Margo.

  The arm of the man who hit her earlier flies by; she barely dodges in time. He howls in excitement, the rush of the fight fueling him. Another blow to the head. This time she doesn’t fall, but can feel the blood rushing down from her scalp to her cheek. In the seconds it took for her to shake off the impact, his hands are binding hers.

  He rams her into something hard holding her there, and suddenly he is Saul and she is in the woods against the tree. Her eyes squeeze tight. Energy pulses through her — she must mimic the power before. Even if it means losing herself to her mark. Cameron. Ian. They couldn’t die because of her rash decision to confront the Queen.

  Energy rushes out, glowing so brightly it burns through her eyelids. Scrambling against his binding arms, Margo tries to break free. But for some reason neither one of them can separate from the other.

  Then his screams overpower everything else.

  It is a torturous scream, wild and out of control. An instant later and the pain hits her, too. Like flames licking at her body, burning her to the core. It comes on so strongly that Margo cannot help but to writhe against it.

  What’s happening? She understands there are many things this power is capable of, though she is master of no such things. Especially not torture. It seems her latest trick has backfired upon herself.

  He trembles, grip tightening on her wrist and waist. Margo’s nails dig into his skin. Neither fight each other, but rather try to stay alive.