Jamyria: The Entering (The Jamyria Series Book 1) (14 page)

“They’re together, aren’t they? Nick and Janie.”

“Maybe,” Cameron says.

“Don’t you think she’s a bit young for him?"

“Hardly! She entered less than a decade after him. Only he lost his immortality, and she didn’t.”

“How did...? I know they mentioned the people here are ‘temporarily immortal.’ That whole concept just doesn’t make sense. Not yet, at least.” She tacks the last part on in hopes that her effort to learn is noticed.

“It’s hard to understand anything about this world when you’re new. In Nick’s situation, the Queen lifted his seal of immortality after she discovered he was the New Mark of that time.”

“So he’s going to die?”

“Not a chance. That happened long before you and I were even born. He’s had enough time to create his own seal.”

“So, if I’m following, he and Janie are about the same age, only he looks closer to…” Margo didn’t want to risk guessing the wrong age.

“Fifty.”

“And Janie looks just as she did all those years ago when she entered.” Could that woman actually be over a century old? Her skin is flawless, her hair as smooth as silk. Margo whispers, “It’s fascinating,” as her head drops to Cameron’s shoulder again, thinking over all their conversations. She must be dreaming because she’s remembering things they’ve not only talked about today, but moments they’ve lived in the past. Sitting high in swaying Ferris wheel cars. Ice cream sandwiches by the moon-kissed pond. She dreams of people traveling through darkness and a beautiful girl with mix-matched eyes. And pennies, many tries and just as many failures. Thoughts of craters and cities within, and turrets on mountaintops with a Queen whose grey eyes haunt. And blood — her own blood — spilled over the land…

Margo’s eyes pop open as she jumps.

“You alright?” he asks.

She shakes away the tiredness to see she is still in the forest with Cameron. But is this the same forest as before? Margo must have been out for a while, without a clue of how long they have been traveling. The changes around her make no sense because they aren’t in a forest at all.

They are in a jungle.

Chapter Twelve: The Jamyrian Jungle

“Cameron, where are we?”

There are no longer warm-toned tree trunks but moss and plant adorned ones. Frilly, tentacle-like vines cascade from the canopy above with hibiscus-like flowers dangling precariously. Everything is mushy, moist, and bright.

“You want an exact location?” he laughs.

“Is this the
same
forest?”

The dense vegetation is unfamiliar and full of unknown squeaks and hoots. Margo almost expects a tropical parrot to swoop down or a monkey to swing past on a vine.

“The forest changes the deeper in you get,” he answers.

The shika passes a branch of purple flowers, each blossom a cluster of glowing needle-like petals. There are hundreds of shades of green around them and not one fit for a tree. She tightens her eyes again.

“It’s too bright,” Margo complains.

“It’ll get better,” he says. “When we get deeper, there’ll at least be more flowers to break up the colors.”

“Sounds even brighter.”

“Like I said, you’ll get used to it,” he assures her. He pauses. “The forest isn’t the only thing bothering you, is it?”

Margo’s hold on him tenses. He always manages to see beyond her façade. There is a part of her that longs to indulge him, but sharing all that’s happened since their last meeting is far too painful to consider. Speaking the words aloud only validates them. Nothing will change that fact that Kylie is eternally gone. She was a warm glow in Margo’s heart like a lamp filling her spirit with light. Losing her was like losing that light. It took only a second for everything to change, just a second to engulf her world in darkness. Now Margo is left blind and clawing for walls that are not there only to fall deeper within the shadows of her pain.

Her death was over a year ago, and Margo is far from healed. She doubts she will ever be the same. She is grieving, and what’s worse than grieving is accepting pity from others
, so she lies.
“I’m fine. Just adapting to this world, I guess.”

He smiles back. “I promise everything’s going to be fine.”

But it won’t. It will never be fine again.

*

“I don’t want your meaningless excuses,” she says in an innocent voice, though no witness is fooled. Behind the eyes of a doe lay venomous teeth. “I want to hear of results.” The Queens dress dances at the waist, sending shudders to its hem as she steps down from her dais. Hands delicately clasped behind her back, she leans in towards the Crewman and breathes, “Should it be this difficult? He is only one man. Such a job should be considered child’s play for my Crew, should it not?”

“Yes, your majesty,” he shivers at each of her breaths that roll across his face. “We are genuinely putting forth our best efforts. He’s certainly somewhere within —”

“Of
course
he’s somewhere!” the Queen spits. Though she is fuming up at him, the Crewman suddenly feels ten inches tall. “Your job is to find him and bring me his head.” She takes a deep breath to steady herself. “That will be all.” She waves a gloved hand and starts toward the only object other than herself worthy of taking a person’s breath away. Resting in three clawed prongs to the right of her dais is a grand globe. It stands nearly as tall as she, comprised of solid gold and a fine crystal sphere. “Show me the Marked One,” she orders it. She curses when it does nothing but give off its usual luminous glow, though it is the same result it has given her all day. “Show me my Crew.”

This time the globe fills with bits of sand that stir in the wind. The spiral of specks shift into different colors and collect in the center of the globe. Color washes over the image, and a perfect three-dimensional replica of her selected Crew appears. The Queen smiles at the only amount of progress made in finding the New Mark.

“I should be out there with them,” growls the man lurking in the shadows. He cannot be seen but for each passing into a faint beam of light as he paces and disappears into darkness once more. His dark face remains hidden under his hood.

“You stay with me,” she orders.

“I’m the best you’ve got!” says Shomari stepping completely out of the shadows, the muscles under his coat tense. “Send me, and I’ll have the Marked One destroyed.”

“Remember what happened the last time I sent you to kill a Mark?”

He snarls at her. “That won’t happen again.” Shaking his head, he drops his eyes. “Never again….”

The pair of doors to the throne room suddenly burst open with a clatter. Belitza, Head Guardsman and Noble, stalks in with her emerald cloak rippling grandly behind her small and narrow frame. She stops in front of the throne, flanking Shomari off, and in a swift movement whips down her hood to reveal the circular mark covering the back of her bare head. Her mouth is twisted up in a cruel but pleased expression.

“She’s ready,” she announces.

The Queen cracks a glorious smile. “Perfect. Have there yet to be any sightings?”

“No, your majesty.”

“And our insider? Have we made contact?”

Belitza shakes her head. “We hope to in the next few days. A Crewman is waiting for a safe time to discuss the facts, but as you know, your highness, there can be setbacks and delays when trying to remain inconspicuous.”

“Very well,” the Queen says. Shomari growls quietly from behind Belitza. “And the Beast…?”

“Has been pushed further from her usual regions to hunt the New Mark. And as soon as we hear of a sighting, she will be moved to the appropriate region.” Belitza holds her smooth head high, chin in the air.

“Excellent,” says the Queen proudly.

“The Guard is also preparing to move out —”

“No, not yet. I will not risk my finest soldiers knowing this Mark is fresh and could potentially be dangerous. I will not allow disaster to come to my strongest protection. For now, send only a few.”

“As you wish,” Belitza obeys with a bow. “I will send Saul and his troop. Do you wish for me to accompany them?”

The Queen thinks this over. “Yes, but from a distance. I am ordering you to not interfere no matter the circumstance. If after three days you have yet to find him, report back to me.”

“Hold it!” Shomari bursts. “You’ll send her but not me? I’m your most powerful Guard. You know I could do more than sit around here all day!”

The Queen rises. She glides down the few steps leading to her throne and is suddenly so close to Shomari her face is nearly under his hood with him. She lowers her voice so that only he can hear what she has to say.

“You know what your job in Jamyria is, Shomari. And you will do it, or I will silence you myself. Understand?”

His chest rises and falls repeatedly in fury, but he can do nothing about the anger locked inside of him. He drifts back to the comfort of the shadows, blocking out the cold tinkling of Belitza’s laughter.

*

The setting sun washes a bluish tint over the trees making the green of their surroundings much more tolerable. The Jamyrian night animals begin to come out as Cameron and Margo’s first day of travel comes to a close. The trees are filled with all kinds of strange chirps and buzzes now, still none recognizable.

They decide to stop upon the arrival of a small clearing. Faux welcomes the rest, shaking out the drenched fur of her neck. Cameron kicks his leg over, sliding easily to the ground before grabbing Margo by the waist to gently help her down.

“Go cool off, girl,” he tells Faux, nudging her away. She slinks into the forest and curls up in the safety of the trees.

Together, they unload a pair of mats and blankets, unfurling them onto the damp grass. Settling into their camp, Margo passes Cameron a cracked cocoban while he shares a pouch of tough, dried fruits with her. The meal, though tasty, leaves an empty feeling in Margo’s stomach.

“Oh!” Margo gasps suddenly when she notices Cameron’s face shimmering in the night — like a hundred reflections of a disco ball or the pulsating lights of a strobe dancing across his face. Margo’s eyes search out the shimmer’s source, and she finds herself, head fallen back, looking into the sky.

With night fully fallen, the indigo sky has been interrupted by the millions of stars above. But they are no ordinary stars that merely twinkle; they
move
. Every few seconds, they flutter by like shooting stars zipping through the night, but instead of a single star, they all shoot at once. They rest in place, and then, as if commanded by the lead bird in a flock, they move in a synchronized direction and stop in place again. The light greatly intensifies with every movement, lighting up the sky like heat lightning.

“The stars,” Cameron says softly, “are different.”

With her eyes locked on the beauty above, Margo forgets everything around her except for the boy she’s with on this most perfect of nights.

“Everything is different,” she agrees. She watches them scatter and move back into place about a hundred times without pulling her eyes away.

Chapter Thirteen: Into the Depths

A dozen spotlights emblazon Margo’s skin. She stands before a hundred waiting eyes without a clue what to say. For some reason this feels like a pivotal moment in her life, so she steps forward to recite her lines, but there are no lines. Her brain is fuzzy and full of white noise. Bile rises in her throat. This stage, these lights, are not meant for Margo but her sister.

She steps closer to the microphone as if that will trigger something in her mind. The pressure builds. The sea of eyes is fixed on her face. They wait for a performance which she cannot deliver.

Margo clamps her eyelids shut to focus. A wave of vertigo threatens to overtake her, but it’s nothing a few deep breaths can’t conquer.

She opens her eyes again and everything becomes clearer. The eyes aren’t excited and waiting for a performance. They’re nervous, anxious, shocked. The microphone dissolves from in front of her leaving her standing alone on this concrete stage, and she realizes then that she has no memory of how she got here, as if her body dragged her to that spot. People turn and run away, some screaming. Some stand around watching with mouths wide. And the lights are not spotlights above her. They are at her waistline. Headlights.

One person doesn’t run from Margo in a panic. A man in a faded red t-shirt runs into view under the streetlamp. “Hey, are you okay?” he asks as soon as he reaches her. He leans down to see her eye to eye and places his hand on her head, but seeing his face suddenly so close to hers only makes Margo dizzier.

She gulps, fighting back the vomit again, but he’s able to catch her by the arm just before she can topple over. The heavy scent of smoke and gasoline is in the air. A combination for the worst. A massive heat radiates from behind her. Three cars are crumpled together in a deathly crash. Deathly for the car in the middle which is curled around the other two cars that had crashed into it on either side.

“We need to get you out of here,” says the man.

The driver of a black SUV staggers away from the scene, heading toward the adjacent field. His hand is on the back of his head. That SUV seems familiar, though. Margo has seen it before.

“K-Kylie?” she stutters. She cringes from the pain of speaking for the first time. Her left arm is numb, and her chest has an awful pinch. Her eyes drop to see her arm deformed and broken, likely out of socket.

“Are you hurt? Beside your arm…. Your head?” he asks, laying his hand on her forehead for the second time.

“Kylie!” Margo flinches. More images fill her head. Her sister. The black SUV was behind her sister, lights beaming into the car until her sister was nothing but a ghostly shadow. The last thing Margo remembers was seeing her smile, and then her body folding in half. The memory sends a jolt through her. It isn’t likely to be true that over the sound of the crash Margo could hear the snapping of Kylie’s bones, but she can remember it all too clearly. Her eyes frantically search the crowds for her sister. She has to be okay.
She
has
to
. The image surfaces again. Her smile, the unnatural folding, the snapping of bones.

No Kylie in the crowd.

“Kylie — my sister!”

“You’re not the driver?” he asks, a lump forming in the back of his throat.

Smile, fold, snap. Margo winces.

“No, my mom — my sister!”

He jerks her by her bad arm and cradles her in his arms. Running Margo to the edge of the street, he plops her down on the curb.

“Stay there,” he orders pointing at her, his voice shaky.

Margo sits there alone and helpless as he runs back toward the burning cars.

*

Her eyelids pop open, breaths heavy and necklace in her fist. Margo forces herself to relax. Another dream…

“Morning,” Cameron says a little too nonchalantly. He’s sitting casually with his elbows propped on his knees, not yet looking in Margo’s direction. The fuchsia-skinned fruit he’s sinking his teeth into demands his whole attention.

Squinting her eyes against the Jamyrian sun, Margo pushes herself up. “Been up for a while?”

Without answering, he holds out a branch with several of the odd fruits hanging from them. Margo takes one reluctantly. “Thanks.”

“Citrosea,” Cameron says informatively handing her a knife. “These fruits are everywhere this deep in the forest. Eat up.”

Without further introduction, Margo slices it in half. Its thick, bumpy skin bleeds a blue liquid and a sweet fragrance fills her nostrils. Its insides are vivid turquoise as bright as the Jamyrian skies with citrus juice pockets.

He grins at her evaluation. “Try it.”

Taking a bite, the soft beads of juice erupt on her tongue. After the cocoban, she expects an unusual taste like strawberries and peaches combined or chocolate or root beer, but is somewhat disappointed to find it tastes like a normal citrus plant. She takes another bite wishing for something more substantial on the remainder of their journey. Nevertheless, she is thankful for fresh food and helps herself to seconds.

The afternoon is upon them. The path narrows, and the jungle that was already a tight squeeze grows thicker.

“Just a couple more hours or so. Then we’ll break,” Cameron says.

“Great.” Margo’s enthusiasm has faded over the past hour. He’s been updating her since about noon.

“And not much longer after that till we get to the Witch,” he adds.

The farther they travel, the more nervous Margo grows about their upcoming acquaintance. “So is she really a witch?”

“Yeah, she’s pretty crazy. They say she can see the future. I also heard she cooks anyone who trespasses on her land, but I’m not sure about that part.”

Margo shivers. “She can really see the future?”

“From what I’ve heard.”

“So she could see whether I make it or not? Whether I die —”

“You’ll be fine.”

The firmness of his statement is meant to end the conversation, but Margo ignores him. “Do you think she’ll be able to find anything out from my marks?”

“Don’t know. That’s the idea, though. Otherwise, this would be a waste of time.”

“You’re really worried about bringing me there, aren’t you?”

“This world is something I’ve been trying to wrap my head around since I entered,” he says. “I was always told that a person, a marked person, would come to save us, but their attempt would most likely end in their demise. That they would make an ultimate sacrifice in order to try to free us. ‘But don’t get your hopes too high up,’ people told me. ‘Because that will probably be many Marks from now.’” He pauses to stare at Faux’s reins in his hands. “So why did it have to be you?”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Margo mumbles because she isn’t sure what else to say.

“Yes, I’m worried. I’ve imagined the Marked One time and time again. I’ve thought of fighting. I’ve thought of war…. Of power, and of death. But the Mark always felt so distant, like an ultimate unknown being. Guess I put them on a pedestal. Should have known they’re real people, too.” He shakes his head hard. “Just know that I won’t let anything happen to you. Ever. I’ll always be there to protect you, no matter what.”

Deep down, Margo knows there’s no way he can promise that, but she isn’t going to make that argument again. She also hadn’t realized how many people are betting against her and treating her death like an inevitability. She wonders about the Queen, too. Is she already aware the New Mark is in Jamyria? There’s no way to be sure they aren’t already being tracked.

“Do you think those guys — the, uh, Queen’s Crew — were looking specifically for me?”

Cameron shrugs. “Possibly. They make routine rounds now and again. Either way, it’s a good thing we left when we did.”

“They were scary. I understand why this Queen is so feared. Her Crew looks…ruthless.”

Faux’s pace quickens, snaking through the web of trees like a slinky fox.

“Those men aren’t the ones to worry about,” says Cameron. “Technically, they’re part of her Crew, but they’re just Intimidators
.
They’re trained to look tough, but not nearly as scary as her Guard. You see,” he says as they duck under a low-hanging vine. “The Crew is broken up into four categories. There are the Servants, who are basically bottom feeders given a mere hint of the Queen’s mark. Next are the Intimidators, like the ones you saw yesterday. They are still low-ranked Crewmen who look tough but are pretty much useless. In other words, they only put up a good front. Then, there are her Guards, the fighters. Trust me when I tell you, don’t ever find yourself in a situation with the Queen’s Guards. You’ll wind up dead.”

“Fighters…” she repeats. The word reminds her of Cameron’s promise to Nick and realizes these are the men Janie is worried she’ll face. “And the fourth category? Is there someone worse than that?”

“Yeah, the remaining two Nobles.” They’re suddenly interrupted by a noise in the distance: the gentle caress of waves. “Did you hear that?”

“Yes, is it coming from ahead?”

He doesn’t answer at first. “I don’t remember any water around here. There’s a stream along the way, but we’re nowhere near that yet.”

Margo doesn’t understand his worried tone. Personally, she couldn’t care less where the water came from. She just wants to take a dip; her entire body is plastered in filth, a combination of sweat and grime.

A sudden jolt nearly causes them to topple over as Faux stops in her tracks. She suddenly rears up on her hind legs. Margo’s arms tighten around Cameron who struggles to stay on himself. Faux drops her front feet down and howls, whipping her long neck back and forth.

“Whoa, Faux!” Cameron shouts. “Calm down, girl, calm down.” He pulls on her reins guiding her backwards on the trail.

“Is she alright?” The animal’s chest quivers underneath them.

He ignores Margo’s question. “No, no,
no
! We couldn’t have gotten that far off course!” He kicks his leg over, drops to the ground, and leaves Margo alone. He runs ahead on the trail, still muttering to himself.

“Off course?”

He doesn’t look back as he stomps through the underbrush, leaving Margo with the shika, and disappears into the dark woods ahead. She quickly slides down Faux as best she can without his help. “Stay, girl,” she says patting her nose before taking off behind Cameron.

Further into the forest, the ambiance changes from the limes and bright colors into dark, eldritch shades, as if the woods have grown seasick. The plants have grown thicker and somehow wilder; she has to peel apart the layers to pass through. The sound of water is stronger, and she spots Cameron standing in the dark woods with his back to Margo staring at something ahead. The forest is dark and casting a bluish hue over them.

“I know this land…” He shakes his head, hardly acknowledging her presence. “How could I make a mistake that big?”

“Cameron,” she says gently, not wanting to upset him. She inches her way closer to him. “What is it? Can I come?”

“It’s not going to make much difference,” he snorts.

She walks through an arc of shrubbery, trying to decipher whatever it is he’s staring at. It’s impossible to see anything in this ever-changing forest. Even though it has grown darker, the woods are still quite vivid and teeming with life. They’re surrounded in jewel tones — emerald trees with sapphire shadows bouncing around them. More like the evening of Jamyria. But what stopped both Cameron and Faux in their tracks?

The answer suddenly slaps Margo in the face. It blends so perfectly into the trees; she hadn’t recognized what looks like a sheet of turquoise silk billowing in the wind between the trees. But after a moment, she sees it is something more: a wall stretching as far as she can see in either direction made entirely of water. Not a wall holding back water, a wall
comprised
of water. It moves in the wind as if they’re looking at the surface of a lake, but it somehow holds itself above the ground.

“The Water Forest,” Cameron sighs.

Eyes wide and wonder-filled, Margo steps closer to have a better look at it. Filtered light dances around them. Once she looks past their reflections, she can see through the edge of the water and realizes that it is a forest. The same trees of the woods grow inside as if the water was placed here, interrupting the forest’s natural setting. Plants grow on the muddy ground, algae and seaweeds rather than the shrubs and vines growing on the outside. Trees are covered in black slime. It’s also much deeper than she realized. She can only see about thirty feet in until the trees inside it disappeared into darkness. The odd Jamyrian lighting affects the water as well. Even though it’s dark and casting unearthly shadows, the water nearest them is a brilliant sea green.

Speechless, Margo can only stare, not believing what’s before them. It challenges all of the basic laws of nature: gravity should be pulling this down and liquids cannot hold their own form. It simply cannot exist.

“The way,” Cameron says rubbing his temple with one hand. “Is through there.” The frustration is building up, Margo can tell. He’s going to break. “This isn’t supposed to be here! It’s not right!” He kicks a tree stump, his face growing red.