Jamyria: The Entering (The Jamyria Series Book 1) (11 page)

She sighs, letting off a bit of steam. Though her face is still annoyed, she responds, “I trust you, Nick Thomas. Though I may not know what they are, I’m sure your reasons for doing this are genuine.”

She grabs her shawl and yanks it across her shoulders. Once her purse is over her arm, she, too, pulls the door knob.

The door is forced shut. Nick has placed all of his weight against it, staring at Janie with glistening eyes. “She’s so young…” His voice catches, as he repeats the very words Janie has said throughout the past two days.

A soft smile returns to her lips. The man staring back at her is once again the boy she’s known over the decades. The salt and pepper hair seems to vanish, along with the wrinkles and thick-rimmed spectacles, and she sees the Nick she’s spent the majority of her Jamyrian life with.

“She’s different, though,” Janie reminds him. “Almost as if she bears too many marks for just one person. And that boy… The fact they found each other is unique in itself. What a destiny this one has. It will be a joy to observe her growth.”

“That it will, Miss Saunders.” Nick cracks his youthful smile, eyes crinkling up in the corners. “Care for an escort home this evening?”

Her blush does not go unnoticed as she nods. They step out into the crisp air, arm in arm, and await the arrival of the stars overhead.

Chapter Nine: Past’s Farewell

The twilit sky is painted in purple and gold as they ride on the back of Margo’s gift to Cameron’s house. It is still too early for the stars to appear yet dark enough for the need of a lantern to guide their course, albeit the darkness could merely be a result of the eerie shadows cast upon them from the high cliffs. The shika’s silky hair reflects the purple of the sky, shimmering down her back like brushstrokes, and with every step she takes there is the soft sound of her hooves sinking into the silky sand.

It doesn’t take long to reach Cameron’s home which sits on the other side of the town. There are even fewer buildings here and more open land for farming. Since his arrival at the Central City, he has bred shika along with other small native animals, so the location is fitting.

The squat house is assembled, like many of the others, out of gray-colored logs. A narrow door is fitted between a pair of black shuttered windows, which he closes on the way in. He grabs an armful of firewood before holding the door open for Margo, an unnecessary, chivalrous gesture that she finds charming. She ducks through the tiny entryway.

“Home sweet home,” he says as he drops the wood at the hearth.

Once a few lanterns are alight, the cozy wooden walls and stone floors the color of sand warm the space. Though very different from how she traditionally spent time with him outside of this world, she can still spot pieces of his personality: the shoes he tosses in the corner of the room, shirts hung upon hooks, a handmade drum serving as a coffee table, dried fruits and peppers strung in the kitchen corner. She can already see herself staying here. Or maybe it is simply his presence that she takes comfort in.

“It’s not much, but it actually took a lot of work.” He laughs in a nervous manner. “So make yourself at home.”

“In that case, I’ll take a soda,” Margo teases.

He smirks and leaves her to go to the kitchen. For a moment, she thinks that by some miracle he really does have a soda — just like the surprise of running water at Nick’s. He pulls open a small, squeaky closet door full of an assortment of strange plants tied to its back wall and removes a golden brown fruit. It is long and bulbous resembling a plantain or squash with dry, hard skin. He lays it flat on the counter and smashes off the end of the stem. An intoxicatingly sweet fragrance fills the room as a milky yellow liquid flows from it. He holds the fruit upright just like bottle of soda to stop from wasting anymore. He twists the remaining bits of the flaky stem off, hands it to Margo, and says, “Cheers.”

“That smell! It’s like brown sugar…. What is it?”

“Cocoban juice.”

Margo cannot help but giggle at that name.

“Just try it.” He rolls his eyes and gently guides it to her lips. Margo concentrates on taking a long gulp, trying not to get distracted by his anxious eyes boring into hers.

The taste is nothing Margo would have imagined it to be. For a fruit so crusty on the outside, it is amazing that such a sweet liquid can come from it — like oranges, cream, and ginger mixed together.

“Wow,” she whispers.

“Sweet, huh?” Something about him seems different as he stares down at her. Softer, maybe. Margo is barely aware of her brows relaxing as she studies his face. Maybe she is growing softer, too.

“We’ll have to pack some for the trip.”

“I’m on it,” he says grinning. He turns eagerly to grab a few more of the fruits stuffing them into a sack. Their shells rattle in the bag like coconuts — perhaps that’s where the name came from.

Margo’s pinky traces a dent in the side of the fruit in hand, looking down at it. “You seem so much…older. You’re not the boy I knew.” Why is she frowning?

He turns back looking troubled.

“I mean,” she amends, “you’re still
you
, but you’re…different.”

He stares at the cloth sack in his hand for a moment before he answers. “I guess I was forced to grow up when I came here. They told me I could go into a foster home for a couple years or start up my own place. So I chose to do things on my own, become a man…”

She remains silent, understanding what it’s like to be forced to grow up.

“The Queen favors children… Because they’re easier to lure. Did you know most enterers are under ten?”

Margo shakes her head.

“Well, knowing that I was naïve enough to fall for her trap… It’s just…” He lowers his head with a thoughtful expression. His grip on the bag tightens, and Margo is afraid to ask what’s happened to him over the past year. Then, suddenly his mood lightens. “I’m glad you’re here, though. Because that means we’ll be out of here soon,” he says almost jokingly.

“How strange is this?” She wanders into the living area and takes a seat. The sofa is made of soft straw, and she sinks into its cushions. Cameron quietly follows. “That we’d both end up in this bizarre world...”

“It’s got to be some sort of record. I don’t know any others here who’ve known anyone from the outside. Unless they entered together, which can happen. Rare, but still possible. ‘Strange’ doesn’t even begin to describe it. I’d probably call it kismet or destiny.”

Margo’s face drops again at the sound of that word. “I wouldn’t say that…”

He looks down at her sour face. “It’s an honor, Margo. Not everyone is blessed with a destiny, but you truly are. Did you know that I’ve been in contact with Nick for nearly four months awaiting the next Mark so that I could be his guide? And when I finally meet the New Mark, it’s you. How can that
not
be destiny?”

Margo turns her head away and shrugs. Her hand encircles the wishbone charm around her neck.

Cameron must have caught the hint. He, of course, has no idea where her foul mood came from, and there isn’t a chance she’ll tell him. So instead of asking, he silently makes the fire. The woodsy aroma soon fills the room as the flames lick the logs, the crackling and popping of sap the only sound in the small room. Cameron plops down on the opposite end of the sofa. Margo keeps her gaze straight ahead, staring into the fire until all she can see is a blurring streak of orange light. She squeezes them tightly shut to make the blur go away.

“So, are you ready to talk about it?” Cameron asks in a soft voice. Margo cringes know this moment would eventually come. “Why did you turn me down?”

She turns to face him, pulling her knees into her chest. She wonders how that day she last saw him could feel like a million years ago and yesterday at the same time. How long had it actually been? Fourteen months? She would never forget his face that day. That sickened expression. At the time, Margo thought it best to not even acknowledge his request, so she simply redirected the conversation before he could ask her out. But the moment she did that, it was clear…she had broken his heart.

But why? Why had she made that decision to walk away? Did those ten and a half months they were to spend apart truly seem that long? Kylie was right… Something did happen between then and now. So how is she supposed to fix it?

“And don’t tell me that you didn’t love me because you said it yourself.”

“I said I might love you,” she snaps. “
Might.
”

“‘Might possibly,’” he corrects, holding up a finger. “So…why?”

“Because…” Margo intertwines her fingers over her chest with the wishbone charm still in their grip. “You were leaving,” she finally says. “It seemed…if you were gone… It would hurt more to be apart. I thought, deep down, that we could simply wait for the next summer. And then the summer after that, I would graduate, and…I don’t know… Maybe by then, I could move up to Nashville, and we could really try to make it work. Not just pretend to be a couple for those six weeks out of the year.”

Cameron is staring at the cushion on the sofa that separates them. He seems to have spaced out as if not truly grasping the things she is telling him.

“But then…” Margo’s voice cracks. “You weren’t there last summer, and that made me sad… I thought that maybe what I said…”
Or that everything else that had happened...

“I already told you that wasn’t the case.” She looks up to see him staring at her, and she cannot help but notice how beautiful he looks with the firelight bouncing off the hard angles of his face. Thankfully, the light is dim enough to hide the blush she can feel rising in her cheeks. She wonders when he closed the gap between them. He is suddenly so close to her. He takes her hands in his, pulling her arms to him, but as his lips near hers, Margo’s body tenses for some reason.

Cameron freezes, lips hovering millimeters away. “So, I’m guessing,” his voice is gravelly as he slowly backs away dropping her hands, “that you have conjured up a new excuse.”

She turns to stare at fire once again. How she wishes to lay face down in the flames. “We’re in a different world… I don’t exactly know what to make of everything going on.”

“That’s somewhat fair.” He sighs and rises to his feet but leans down toward Margo so that he can look straight into her eyes. He places his hands on her knees to support his weight. The sudden closeness alarms her once again. “But remember that there is always a chance that tomorrow may not come.” She closes her eyes as his lips brush against her hair. “Good night, Margo Grisby. Sorry again for the uncomfortableness of my couch.”

He makes his way toward one of the two doors inside the house. “Good night, Cam,” she says quietly.

He turns to give Margo a half-smile before shutting the door behind him and leaving her alone in the living area with a huge pile of guilt.

Sleep proves to be a difficult task. Margo tosses around on his couch, which is just as uncomfortable as he had described, hoping that she would eventually drift off. Somehow she ends up staring into the fire again, watching the flames sway like seaweed in a current. In time, the flames shrink until they turn to embers leaving next to no light in the small room. And as the dark room grows even darker, she feels even more alone. Alone with nothing but her thoughts, all of which are all on the boy sleeping on the other side of the wall. She isn’t even certain why she reacted the way she did when he tried kissing her. After all, she has thought of Cameron every day since their last moment together. But the changes happening around her are too great and much too fast. It hardly seems the time for new love.

But this isn’t
new
love. It’s familiar, warm, kind….

After another immeasurable amount of tossing, she decides that it can’t hurt to check on him. The stone floor is cool beneath Margo’s feet as she tiptoes over to his door. Poking her head into the room, she whispers, “Cameron.” She hesitates. “Cam?”

All is silent.

She slips into his room and feels her way over to his bed. Moonlight softly filters through the tiny cracks between his shutters, twinkling like fairy dust. There must be a tree outside the window whose leaves filter in dancing shadows. Margo can barely make out the shape of his quietly sleeping body. But his expression looks exhausted and restless.

Margo must not be thinking straight — it is late, and she is very tired — when she pulls back the covers and slides into the bed. His body is warm; she automatically relaxes once she is with him. Her eyelids grow heavy.

An arm gently wraps around her neck, pulling Margo even closer to him, and together they drift off into a soundless sleep.

*

“You’ve been sulking for the past month,” complains Kylie. She turns back in her seat to face Margo. “You made your choice, didn’t you? So don’t you think it’s time to let it go?”

The long country roads wrap through the black scenery, the moon shining overhead. The car makes its lulling descent down a small hill.

“What are you two bickering about?” asks their mom. It’s rare for her to pry, but for some reason she seems interested tonight, fitting in an intrusive question here and there.

“Oh, nothing, Mom. Just something between us.” Kylie winks back at her sister.

Margo turns away from the burning eyes: her mom’s in the rearview mirror and Kylie’s greens on full force. Instead, she stares into the passing dark trees on this clear night. The indigo sky breaks through the small gaps between the dark pines’ silhouettes. The stars are more prominent now that they are outside of the city glow. She searches out the Little Dipper — anything to distract.

“Don’t be so down all the time.” Kylie is still turned around in her seat and apparently isn’t as finished with the conversation as Margo had hoped.

“You really don’t have it as bad as you think you do,” Kylie continues. “Of course, the smart thing would’ve been to listen to me and tell him how you really felt.”

Eyes widening in embarrassment, Margo cannot form a clear sentence.

“What’s that, Margo?” her mom asks curiously. “This about a boy?”

“Gah! Kylie, learn to keep your mouth shut!” shouts Margo.

Kylie snorts. “I don’t understand you!”

“Kylie, don’t start —”

“Start
what
? Trying to help my sister?” She, too, is suddenly shouting. “You’ve sat around for months feeling sorry for yourself, like things are so bad for you —”

“You don’t know what it’s like!” Margo yells back. “Being compared to you in everything!”