Jamyria: The Entering (The Jamyria Series Book 1) (22 page)

“I have something for you,” she says, putting her dish aside. “Something I acquired many years ago.”

She crosses over to her wall of shelves and rummages through her things. She takes all of the bottles and herbs off one of the thicker shelves, placing them on the shelf below. Once completely cleared, she slowly slides the shelf itself off the wall with a horrible screeching sound. Hidden in the interior of the shelf is a box attached to the wall; the shelf is merely a shell.

Inside the fixed box, the Witch pulls out a curved, sheathed sword.

“For dee Marked One,” she says handing it Margo. “A sword worthy of a strong woman’s control.”

Margo reaches for the blade awkwardly. It’s lighter than expected, yet sturdy.

“Take it out,” she orders.

The arced blade glistens in the firelight as Margo slowly pulls it by its hilt. Long, lean, simple, and without any flaws — the blade is absolutely stunning. Nearly ten inches from the tip a short point juts out from the blade, angling downward.

“What’s this?” she asks, gesturing to the tiny point.

“It does more damage,” explains Cameron, “when you pull it back out.”

“Oh....” The gift suddenly feels heavy. Margo silently sheaths the sword with a frown.

“Dese are yours,” the Witch continues and withdraws two smaller, curved blades. She holds them out handle first for Ian to accept. “For dee swift and agile, for da boy with da strength of two. I gather you will find dem familiar.” She looks knowingly at him while he pulls them from her grip.

Though slightly apprehensive, Ian cannot help but to smile as he takes the dual blades.

“And to dee protector of ‘er heart,” she says. She pulls from the hidden shelf the longest of the four swords. This sword’s appearance is more medieval than the others. It has a bejeweled T-shaped guard and a leather-bound hilt which Cameron grasps valiantly. He stares at its pointed tip before giving it a swooping twirl and sheathing it.

“Daggers for you three, as well.” The Witch places three blades the length in Margo’s forearm on the small table.

“This is...very kind,” says Cameron. His face grows softer. “If I’ve ever offended you in the past, I am sorry.”

“Let dere be no worries,” the Witch simply says.

“I could question how you got these,” Ian gestures to the armory laid out before them. “But what I’m more curious about are those feathers. How is it you have three?”

“Ah! Dee feather of da clarxen,” she says gesturing to shimmering feather nestled in her hair. “Given to those who can handle power. Da clarxen select only dose who are worthy to carry a feather for protection. It is a rarity to be given one. Dese two,” she points to the smaller, less flamboyant feathers, “are from his underside. Less powerful but still dangerous, terribly dangerous. Da bigger feathers, like dis, are absolutely lethal.”

“I have one,” Margo says without thinking. The words fall from her lips before she grasps the Witch’s words.
Lethal
?

They all look anxiously to Margo.

“You never showed me that?” Cameron says at the same time Ian says, “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“Show us,” the Witch says more calmly.

“I — uh — well, it’s back at my home.” She can picture exactly where she left it: inside her work coat, tossed over the footboard of her bed.

The Witch’s eyes widen. Cameron and Ian exchanged a worried glance.

“You mean it was in the Real World?” Cameron asks Margo, though he looks to the Witch for an answer.

“Yeah, I found the feather before I even saw the globe. Then, it was the bird that led me to the globe later in the day.” She suddenly feels foolish having never shared the information before.

Nobody spoke a word, each consumed by their own thoughts.

“Dis could be disastrous,” the Witch finally says

“Yes,” agree the boys.

“If dat feather were to fall into dee wrong hands… If someone were to accidentally…” The Witch stops and shakes the thought away. “As you can see, I never leave mine lying around. Dey should not be taken lightly.”

“I didn’t know,” Margo cries.

“If it fell in da wrong hands…” the Witch repeats to herself, still shaking her head.

“What could happen?” Margo whispers.

“Depending on its size and da strength of dee bird it came from, it could do anything from take out a building to a city.” Her face remains serious.

“So they say…” Ian says unconvinced.

“You wish to find out?” the Witch warns. “You may not have a home to return to.”

A shiver breaks through Margo as she processes this.

The Witch walks out of her tiny home muttering, “It seems dis time dee clarxen have made a tremendous mistake.”

Chapter Eighteen: Under the Lighted Tree

The sun sets behind the southern trees, painting golden shimmers across the water’s surface. The man’s footsteps sink into the muddy bank. Kneeling down at the edge of the winding river, he runs his grimy fingers over the rocky shore; pebbles slip through them. Something is out of place here. Something different….

The river stones shuffles behind him as one of his men approaches. “What is it, Saul?”

“Something strange,” is his only reply.

Between two fingers, Saul grasps a flat, metallic rock. He studies it with care, flipping it over once or twice. Copper, he realizes, and a vicious grin spreads across his face.

He scans the grounds to find another copper round tucked away in the bed of rocks which leads to a spot further down the shore where a collection of them are scattered.

“So you’ve found him, Nick Thomas,” he nearly whispers. Saul reaches to scratch the back of his head, where a thin layer of dirty blonde hair covers the circular marking on his scalp.

“Sir…?” another one of his men asks in confusion.

He rises to his feet. “Gentlemen, I believe the Marked One is near.”

*

Somehow her heart kept beating. Like how a body can still function without its brain. Your body continues to work, but your soul moves on. Margo did not wish to move on.

Gravel digs into her thighs and blisters pucker her face, but she refuses to move away from the fire. Refuses to move on. How much easier everything would be if she could simply deny the one muscle from contracting: her heart. And as she watches the flames lick the inside of Kylie’s door, Margo knows she would stop it were she capable.

Of the three cars that collided, all but one person escaped. Margo screws up her face as the tears finally come.

Why Kylie?

Someone relocates Margo again; who it was, she’ll never know. And what feels like hours later, the flames are diminished leaving behind the skeletons of three smoldering cars.

Margo winces. She is shaken by her broken side. “Hey, kid!”

She finds the officer’s face. Something in her expression causes him to postpone his questioning. He calls over a nurse instead, leaving Margo to talk to the man who originally rescued her.

A slew of noises flood the street making it is nearly impossible to hear their conversation, but Margo strains her ears, hardly acknowledging the nurse who is prodding at her arm. Between the man’s stony face and the few words she picks up, Margo wishes she hadn’t listened.

“Already dead,” he says. “Couldn’t make it.”

The officer nods at him and places a kind hand on his shoulder. Margo leans over and vomits.

The nurse’s words do not reach her.

She is mildly aware of her mother’s unconscious form being carted off into the ambulance.

“I think your humerus is broken,” the nurse says. “And definitely your clavicle.” He presses lightly on Margo’s chest.

He misreads her vacant expression. “Your upper arm and collarbone, I should say,” he adds, turning to his things. “Hold still for a bit.”

The pain is excruciating, a hot knife under her skin, but Margo pulls herself to her feet and leaves the nurse behind, ignoring his protests.

She is not certain why she is walking over to him, why she is doing what she is about to do, but she has to see for herself. With a steadying breath, she taps the officer’s pudgy shoulder. The bulky sheet in the middle of the street screams for her to run away. But Margo owes it to her sister to be brave.

He turns back in surprise as the question burning inside Margo escapes her lips in the most surreal of moments.

“Are you sure about this?” he had asked her. “Are you sure…?”

*

Margo sits upright in a flash. Embers are all that remains of the fire. Nothing has changed — the four of them are still crowded within the Witch’s tiny hut, she on her narrow bed with Margo, Cameron, and Ian squeezed tight on the floor.

She slaps a hand on her clammy forehead.

“You always wake up,” says a voice that gives her a start.

She looks down at the boys to find Cameron staring up at her.

“There’s always something on my mind,” she whispers. Kylie’s chain feels as if it’s digging in the back of her neck.
She is thankful to have awoken before recalling the image of her corpse. The wishbone charm imprints on her thumb. The same charm she retrieved from Kylie’s blackened, shriveled wrist. It was the only surviving totem from her bracelet, the others no more than melted, indistinguishable lumps. Kylie used to call it her lucky day charm.

“So talk about it,” says Cameron. Careful not to disturb Ian, he sits up next to her.

She shakes her head, willing away her sister’s face.

“I sometimes forget that you’ve only been here a few days.”

“Six to be exact,” she reminds him.

He scrunches his face in concentration for a moment before saying, “How easily do you think you can sneak out of here?”

“Easily.” She grins.

Cameron lights a lantern once on the other side of the front door. “I was hoping to show you something since we’re so close. It’s better to see at night.” He holds out a hand for her to take. “I hope you don’t mind getting your feet wet.”

Margo accepts his hand, eying him suspiciously. “What, is this a date or something?” She imagines a Jamyrian date in the middle of the woods.

“Well, yeah…I guess it is,” he muses.

They make their way to the tiny creek that runs along the edge of the trees and step into the shallow waters. It flows no higher than their knees, but the water is shockingly cold. Margo shivers.

Cameron says, “Hold on,” and leaves Margo chattering in the water. He splashes back to the Witch’s field and runs out of sight. He is only gone for a moment, and when he returns he is holding the jacket Nick had given Margo before they left on their journey. She smiles appreciatively as he helps slip it on her arms.

On they walk through the dark, tree-lined waters. The faint glow of the lantern casts eerie golden shadows through the black forest. The scattering stars overhead reflect off the stream. Oddly beautiful as ever, nighttime in Jamyria is Margo’s favorite.

A burst of green color erupts in Margo’s pathway. She nearly falls into the icy water.

“Careful,” says Cameron, and when Margo sloshes away, adds, “It’s just a neonink.”

The form before her dances in the wind. It is transparent and nothing more than a collection of gas glowing in the night. A second comes to life, this one in brilliant orange. It swirls around the first.

“They’re completely harmless,” he continues. “More of a pain than anything. Careful not to touch — they cling to you for days if you walk into one by accident.”

They carry on for another sloshy mile, dodging neoninks every so often. The creatures seem attracted to their presence seeing as they light themselves as Cameron and Margo’s approach. They glow in every imaginable color, bringing new life to the night.

The leaves ahead glow in bright emeralds and their path is suddenly cut off by draping vines.

“We’re here,” says Cameron with a grin. He draws back the vines, allowing Margo to pass under.

They face a short, fat tree hidden under thousands of yellow lights. These lights are different from the neoninks; they are individual glowing beads rather than freeform spritz. They shimmer in dazzling movements.

“Oh, Cam, I love fireflies!” Margo breathes. “Just like when we used to sit at the pond. They’re beautiful!”

He pulls her from the stream and heads closer to the illuminated tree. Cameron leads her to a fallen tree covered in soft moss where they both sit, eyes not parting from the spectacle.

“When I entered,” he reminisces, “I ended up here.”

Margo looks into his clear eyes.

“Your run in with the Witch…?” she asks, beginning to put everything together.

He nods. “That’s right. She thought I was one of them — one of the Queen’s Crew. She came after me with a crossbow. I eventually convinced her, but she told me to leave her territory. That’s how I ended up in the Central City. Well, the gist of it anyway.”

Margo shivers again. The thought of someone trying to hurt Cameron gives her chills. She subconsciously scoots closer to him. He smiles and wraps his arm around Margo, pulling her in tighter.

“You want to know why I really brought you here?” he says in her ear.

Margo looks up nervously and shakes her head.

Bouncing to his feet, he extends his free arm, pulling Margo along with him as h
e moves closer to the lighted tree. A cluster of light falls down to him like illuminated dandelion seeds.

“Look,” he says holding out his glowing hand.

The trio twirls about in his palm, but when Margo looks even closer, she realizes they are not fireflies after all. Excitement flutters her stomach. They’re illuminated people — fairies.

“Oh my gosh! Those are fairies!” she shouts. “THERE ARE FAIRIES HERE?!”

“
Shhh
!” he says. Then he whispers, “Tiny ears.”

The ladies in his palm cover their ears with a clear look of pain on their miniature features.

Margo claps her hands over her mouth, a flush of heat filling her cheeks.

“I wanted you to see another good thing about Jamyria before we leave.”

One of the fairies flies up and hovers inches before Margo’s face. She is exquisitely beautiful to look at, not much bigger than the tip of her thumb. She doesn’t appear to be wearing any clothing, but her light is so intense the finer details of her bodies are unclear. Her frail wings are transparent with web-like delicateness.

“They’re beautiful,” she whispers.

The one examining Margo drifts back to Cameron’s hand with her sisters. They whisper among themselves moving in dance-like rhythms.

“You remember the girl I told you about?” Cameron says to the little ladies.

All three of their faces brighten.

“Margo?” one of them says in a voice quieter than a whisper.

“Yes,” Cameron breathes. “This is Margo.”

The excitement intensifies as Margo realizes these fairies recognize her not as the New Mark but as herself. Because Cameron must have spoken of her. Her spirit warms.

Suddenly, more fairies fall from the tree shimmering all around. Their whispers blend into a sound like wind between the reeds. Cameron’s hand frees as the fairies twirl up to join the others dancing in the air above.

Carefully, he brushes Margo’s hair from her eyes. His hand lingers on the back of her neck. The light from the stars and fairies reflects off his eyes in white and gold specks. His thumb traces the lines of her neck. The electrostatic power within charges at the touch of his smooth lips as they press against hers. Margo’s hands creep up his arms, feeling out each muscle, trying to memorize everything about him as if this dream might suddenly be snatched from her.

He smiles down at her oddly. “You’re braver than I gave you credit for.”

Margo blinks unsure she heard him right.

“You mean, you’re not going to argue about how I should stay and that I’m too weak for whatever lies ahead in this world?”

              He shakes his head in disbelief, though the smile does not leave his lips. “It’s true, I don’t want this for you. It’s dangerous and seeing you fight, even if it’s just for practice, scares me. You’re small and have the appearance of someone who needs protection. But that was never you, was it? No, you’ve always had a fighting spirit. You and Kylie both.” Margo fights back the urge to wince at her sister’s name. “It isn’t fair for them to expect this of you. But you can be stubborn enough that, well, you might be able to see this thing through to the end.”

“You’re afraid, aren’t you?” Margo asks in a quiet voice.

His lips slightly part at the words, but no sound come out. He simply stares off in space as a single fairy makes her way down from the others and floats in front of his face. “Yes, I’m afraid,” he eventually says.

Margo leans in so that her lips are next to his ear. “You have to be brave, too.”

His tone changes. “There’s more to it than bravery, love.”

Margo sits down next to him in the soft grass and points her finger out to the lone fairy. She lands on the tip of her index finger and stands gracefully, stretching her tiny arms above her head.

“I have you and Ian, you have me and Ian, and Ian has the two of us.” The fairy propels herself into the sky. “Let’s take it one day at a time, and promise to protect each other until the end.”

He does not speak.

“Call me ‘love’ again,” she whispers, crouching down in front of him.

“I’ll be with you through all of this, love.” His voice is soothing. “Until the end.”

The walk back to the Witch’s house seems much quicker. Margo wraps herself tightly in her coat. Her eyes grow heavy and she longs to slip back under her blanket and into a deep sleep. She was not prepared, however, to be greeted by the emblazoned bonfire.