Jamyria: The Entering (The Jamyria Series Book 1) (6 page)

“I thought I was going crazy, too. One minute I was in my house, the next I was in this wintry forest. I wandered, searching for any type of shelter — the ice was harsh, as you know. That’s when I saw a tower of smoke in the mountains, so I headed that direction. When I grew closer, a man cut off my path. I was so relieved to find someone else that I didn’t even think to fear him. But before I could ask him for help, he struck me to the ground. I surrendered hoping that he would either kill me quickly or at least bring me to warmth — you’re willing to do almost anything in a moment so desperate.”

Margo shivers remembering the icicle in her hand, the hot blood spilling down her hand.

“But I was lucky. I was brought to the pillar of smoke which was coming from the Queen’s house.” He pauses, watching for Margo’s reaction. “He took me into a grand white room lined with scarlet drapes. And directly in front of me she sat there watching me with a cold grin on her face, but she still managed to come across as beautiful. Her smoky-grey eyes…somehow they drew you in, making you almost believe she was good.”

“But,” Margo says interrupting for the first time, “she’s not, is she?”

“No.”

Margo guesses she should have realized this, but from the way he describes this queen, she almost believes differently.

“Does she do anything besides just take people in?”

“Far worse,” he replies somberly. That is the only answer Margo will receive for now. “When I met the Queen, I was not afraid — not of her at least. She greeted me politely and introduced me to Jamyria, much like Janie just did for you. She also explained that there was no way possible for me to go back and that I would have to get used to life here.

“I became her servant in the beginning, helping her with whatever task or assignment she had for me. I watched her bring in more people, too. Some of them she became more attached to and hired to work for her as protection rather than as mere servants — her Crew, as she calls them. So we servants, along with some of her Crewmen, were ordered to build the castle. It took us many years, but once it was finished, the Queen had no further purpose for most of us. She released us into the jungle.

“It was a relief to be free from the life I had been forced into, but as Janie said earlier, we are only free to a certain extent. We are still extremely limited. I, for example, was never allowed to return to the castle without the Queen’s request. And returning to the Real World is impossible. The only chance of that happening occurs every fifty years.” They both stare at Margo again. “Are you making the connection, Margo?”

But Janie speaks first. “She’s just a girl, Nick. She isn’t ready for this.”

“Fate certainly thinks she is,” he says. “About a year before the Queen released me,” he continues. “Rumors began to spread of a prophecy stating that every fifty years the New Marked One would enter. That one of these New Marks would free all of the people of Jamyria.”

And now it all makes sense. The click in Margo’s mind as she makes this connection is nearly audible. “So you think I’m this ‘New Mark?’” Margo cannot help but to burst into hysterics at that.

“You
are
the New Mark, Margo. The question is: are you the one who will save this world?”

Margo gives this a generous thought of about thirty seconds before she replies, “No thank you,” and scoots her chair out to leave.

But before she can rise to her feet Janie reaches out for her hand. “Wait. Please, just consider it.”

“Consider what?” she snaps. “I’ve barely been in this place a day, and you’ve already got my life mapped out. I don’t even know who you people are!”

“We’ll help you as much as we can —”

“Why didn’t
you
free everyone?” she shouts at Nick. “And if it’s every fifty years, isn’t there another one out there somewhere?”

Nick’s face slightly drops. “I was injured,” he says, quietly glancing down at his hand.

Margo is suddenly ashamed of her reaction. Of course he would have tried. He’s been in this world — she will have to get used to saying that — for over a hundred years.

“I still have some power left, but I’m no longer a match against the Queen,” he adds ruefully. “As for the previous Marked One, they found him not long after he discovered his marks. He was executed immediately.”

Margo cringes. So that means that if this Queen were to find her, she will be put to death? Perfect.

“There’s nothing to worry about, though. I have reason to believe that you will be the one to fulfill the mission. There’s just so much about you that’s different than us previous Marks. Yes, I have much faith in you.”

Janie’s sweet face is still lit up in excitement or awe. Tears well up in her eyes.

“Well,” Margo breathes. “That’s an interesting story.”

“Ha!” Nick bellows. “Story? Sorry to be so forward about this, but it’s no story. It’s reality. And you’re the center of this reality. Do you realize how many people are waiting for you? Depending on you?”

She grits her teeth. There is obviously no way around them. “Let me think about it.”

“Excellent,” Nick says.

Janie squeals.

“No, no!” Margo says firmly. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I just agreed to consider it. Nothing more.”

“Fair enough,” he says getting to his feet. “I think we’ve put enough on you for one night. Janie, do you mind if she stays over at your place tonight?”

“It’s pretty late, Nick,” she says still smiling. “She could just stay with you. I mean, we don’t want anyone to notice her, right?”

“Sure, of course. As long as you’re okay with that, Margo.”

“Yes, it’s fine.” Margo agrees, though she would have preferred to go with Janie.

He leads Margo into the tiny spare guest room, which is more of an art studio than a bedroom. He clears off all the sketches and bits of charcoal on the bed allowing enough room to sleep and offers to get anything Margo needs. She assures him she is fine and only needs a little peace after such a long day.

He shuts the door on his way out, and Margo prepares herself for the most tears she’s shed in a quite some time.

Chapter Six: Margo’s Choice

The eruption of voices and shouts fill the room, as the ocean would roar against the sands of the shore. Cheers echo throughout the auditorium directed toward the twirling girl in the center of the stage. With blond curls bouncing off her shoulders and lavender tulle fluttering with her movement, Kylie demands all attention. It has been years since Margo has sat in the crowd watching her sister dance upon a stage, yet every twinge of jealousy has suddenly rushed back. Margo’s heart sinks as she watches her sister enjoy every moment. She shrinks down in her chair hoping to block out the sound of applause but finds herself sinking between the cracks of her seat until she grows so small she is nothing more than a weightless being shriveling into darkness.

Margo does not want to be taken from her sister; she loves her dearly. She is even proud that this moment belongs to her. She despises this feeling of jealousy. But it is too late. Margo has already escaped that room landing into a pool of darkness. In the distance a dark figure is slowly growing visible. The person is standing several yards away with their back to Margo. She steps forward and reaches out to touch the boy just as he turns to reveal himself.

She welcomes his familiar face. He smiles as Margo stretches her hand out for him, longing to uncover the thoughts behind those clear, blue eyes — has he missed her as well? But the closer Margo’s fingers come to his face, the further he drifts away.

She screams, hating this. The two people she needs, gone. Taken from her. Gone.

Her voice drones on until her throat burns, and suddenly a light forms around her. The flight through the brightness is quicker than she remembers this time, melting into a spread of beautiful colors, more beautiful than imaginable. The world around her is too perfect, too vivid.

Margo notices something cold is in her hand. Clenched in her fist, she finds a magical feather encased in ice. That moment she knows she must have fallen into something even stranger: a land engrossed in power.

And smiling cruelly at the top of a tower is a woman with haunting grey eyes.

Margo’s eyes snap open and her body shoots upright. The ledge over the bed meets her head, a blinding pain splits her forehead in two, and she’s showered with Nick’s sketches. Without a care, she pushes them to the ground along with the others and lies back down, her head throbbing. Surely the downpour of tears should have stopped by now. She allowed herself one night to be weak, one night to give into the crying. But now as sunlight beams through the grainy glass of the window, Margo still has to fight to keep her eyes dry.

They threw a lot at her last night, and she deserves a moment of vulnerability; though, it is not in her character. There is much for her to consider.

Stepping only on the gaps of wood peeking through the scattered artwork like flagstones, she cracks the door, surprised to see that Janie is already sitting with Nick on the honey-stained bench and sipping drinks from steaming mugs. She turns her head in Margo’s direction with her radiant smile already in place and gestures for her to join them.

But Margo passes through the living room and ducks into the bathroom before speaking a word to either of them. The bathroom is small, more of an outhouse than anything, but to her surprise has a working faucet. She immediately crumples over the sink and splashes cold water on her face. Holding perfectly still, Margo tries to relax her muscles letting the water drip back into the bowl.

At least now she understands why everyone reacted the way they did when they first saw her scars — or marks, as they call them. They are overwhelmed with excitement, hopeful for a better future. Or they may have been afraid of being associated with Margo. After hearing this queen executes anyone bearing a New Mark, Margo decides she wouldn’t want to be caught with herself either.

The natural fibers of the towel scratch her face as she pats it dry. She catches her reflection in the tiny mirror above the sink expecting to look much older than she had the prior day, but strangely she finds the same minuscule sixteen-year-old girl. Still, she feels as if she has gained ten years. The lives of all of Jamyria depend on her. Margo forces this to sink in; surely that cannot be accurate….

The swirling pool of water in the sink is tinted pink. Margo gasps hoping not to find anymore of the strange cuts, but the source comes from her hair and the memory of lying in the cat’s blood yesterday comes rushing back. She gives her hair a thorough rinse and winces when her fingers run over her first cut after entering. Her scalp is still sore from the gash she received from falling after landing in the snow. It is still raw, unlike the markings that have completely healed. She towel dries her hair around the tender spot as best she can.

Then, Margo sees them again: her marks. Tears are already spilling over, breaking her one night rule. Angling herself in the mirror, she is able to see the third mark running down her neck. Three more rows of tiny symbols are etched along the back of her neck, the middle extending slightly further down than the outer two creating a point. This group is slightly different than the ones on her arms, more rounded and swirly.

Margo suddenly realizes that it looks like she has tattoos.
Ah, my mom is gonna kill me! Maybe if I hold my arms like this
, Margo thinks pulling her elbows into her sides,
maybe no one would notice them.
She practices waving to her reflection, careful to only move her forearms, but the similarities she has with a tyrannosaurus rex are uncanny.

She lets her arms fall limp opting to settle for the yelling from her mom — Margo’s stomach churns at the thought — if she is to ever get out of here. She’d take a hundred yellings and a year’s worth of grounding if it means she could leave this place. Or even just to know that one day she can return home. But Nick made it very clear that that is never going to happen. Unless, of course, Margo is the one to find the way.

She is faced with two choices now.

One, she can sit back and tell them she simply won’t do it. That would be the easiest thing to do. She’ll try to make life as meaningful as possible in this world until someone else comes along who can do the job she is too afraid to do. This plan’s only flaw is that, according to what Nick said, it will be another fifty years until that chance comes. Janie had mentioned ‘temporary immortality’ meaning when Margo gets out she will be the same age and can continue life at home where she left off. The downside is that her mom will have aged well into her eighties by then. If she is still alive…

The second option is to just suck up her fears and find the way out. What scares her the most about this path is that she has absolutely no idea what it entails. She doesn’t know what’s expected of her, but if this really is her purpose, it should all fall into place...theoretically.

And if she fails? She suddenly is reminded of when Janie had knocked on Nick’s door yesterday, and he shouted at the door. Do the people of the town still hold a grudge against him? Margo already knows the answer to that. But would failure for her result in a lifetime of ridicule? Or would it mean death?

There is a small part of her that subconsciously knew what her choice would be from the beginning. No matter how high the negatives are stacked against her, nothing could ever stop her from trying to return home.

After one last glance at the new girl staring back in the mirror, she heads back into the living room.

*

Eighteen Hours Earlier

The winds are ferocious, ripping through the highest tower like whistling blades on a battlefield. Two men clad in black stand at attention taking nature’s beating in stride. One faces north, the other south. They are lean and structured. They are void of emotion. They are cunning. They are the Queen of Jamyria’s Guard.

The majority of the Jamyrian commoners struggle to adapt to the world’s extreme weather shifts, but the elite members of the Crew must face these challenges head on without so much as a word. Those who show any sign of cowardice, any weakness at all, are discarded. Those are considered nothing more than trash to the Queen. To survive among her Guard means to live and breathe the essence of fear. They must face death willingly.

There has been a new enterer in Jamyria, and a new enterer means a potential new threat. Although the alleged threat only enters at a fixed time, the Queen finds it necessary to tighten security upon the entrance of each of the world’s new occupants. A precautionary measure.

In the highest tower upon Mount Jeidone, the two guards take watch over the land, searching out any irregularities. The weather is so harsh they can hardly see several mere feet before them let alone survey the expanse of land that lies beneath the ocean of fog and ice. Nonetheless, they remain poised at attention without question.

An enterer after Day Seven is always a bother to those within the world. The rain lingers. And when there is rain there is only more ice, which means these two must suffer through biting sleet.

“Luka,” calls one of the Crewmen. His eyes narrow against the wind, trying to make out something he spots in the distance.

“Got something?”

“Yeah…”

Luka leaves his post to scan the southern half of Jamyria with his partner, Evan. It is so far off the two of them struggle to see the beam of light through the thick air, but they are certain there is a ray forming from the sky.

“I thought the sun always came out at once, spreading across the land and melting the ice in one sweep.” Evan crumples his face in confusion. It is the first time he has ever noticed even the slightest change in the weather sequences.

“That’s what usually happens,” replies Luka, equally confused.

“Could be a glitch in the sun?”

Luka focuses harder on the light as the snow picks up. “I don’t think so….”

The light intensifies until it no longer appears to be a ray but a ball floating above the trees glowing an effulgent white. It is such a powerful force, the cloudy skies around it tremble. Suddenly it explodes, showering sparks in its wake. It ripples outward, casting out the snowy clouds. Both Evan and Luka cringe as the light passes over the tower in a gush of warmth. It takes no more than a few seconds and the world in its entirety is rid of the cold.

Evan’s mouth hangs open. “No one will know,” he finally says. “This is wrong. Something wasn’t right about that, and nobody will know.”

“It was similar to the usual sunrise,” agrees Luka. “But different, indeed.”

They stare across the vivid land deliberating. “You don’t think…”

“Can’t be,” barks Luka as if it is obvious. “It’s not near time for that yet.”

The two return to silence, the images of the strange exploding light flashing through their heads.

Suddenly, Luka curses aloud realizing his partner’s idea could possibly hold some truth. “Do not lose sight of it,” he orders just before he turns to the center of the tower and steps off into the void. He drops into the circle that has been cut out of the floor, falling the height of the tower and landing in a crouch at its base.

The room is made entirely of white stone. The only color comes from the red curtains hung along the walls every few feet which give off an eerie effect as if the walls are bleeding. A lush pathway of tiger-skin leads to the grand throne. She sits with her legs crossed, chin in her palm as if she is somewhat bored on this particular afternoon. Her gown puddles in indigo silk with pleats that give the illusion that her gown ripples. Hair black as ink is piled atop her head in complicated twists. Her full lips are mauve and striking against ivory skin. A woman so fair is worthy of the title Queen.

The Guardsman is nearly out of breath upon his arrival. He does not stop running until he approaches her throne.

“Your majesty,” calls Luka, bowing his head momentarily. “I have come to report an irregularity in the land.”

“Oh?” The Queen sounds curious, although she does not yet look in his direction.

“Rather than the sun rising as it usually does, a light formed in the sky. The light then exploded and melted the snow.” Luka broadens his shoulders, a nervous act to hide his uncertainties. “It is possible that this is just a misunderstanding, but I thought I ought to report it just in case.”

“Shomari.” The Queen’s voice is light and mockingly playful, but the power behind the single word is enough to tremble her Crew.

The distortion of black slowly molds into shape as the man pulls himself out of the shadows of a tall, draping black curtain which takes up nearly the back wall of the Queen’s throne room, a stark backdrop against the white stone walls. He circles the silver throne before him and steps down the three short steps of her dais. The man drops to a knee using his fist to balance his bow. Even kneeling he is close to five feet tall and has twice the muscles of the other Guardsmen lining the perimeter of the room. Skin like caramel. Face nearly hidden behind his hood with every inch of him clothed in black fabric. He is in a different class among her Crew. He is Noble.

“Your Majesty,” he says in a rough voice.

“Shomari.” The second time she speaks his name somehow holds even more severity than the first. “How long has it been?"

“It…cannot possibly have been that long….”