Jamyria: The Entering (The Jamyria Series Book 1) (19 page)

“Nick said I was doing well. But… Oh, what would a mermaid know about it anyway?” she mutters much too silent for a human to hear, and it is too dark for lips to be read.

But Ian is no mere human.

“Stick your hand out and see,” he challenges.

Margo’s embarrassment hides any reason to hold back. She places her hand out as if to create another penny-like structure unsure if she’s humoring him or truly handing her trust over to him and his knowledge.

“Now,” he continues. “You understand the flow of its energy more than anything, am I right?”

She nods, surprised he can pick up so quickly.

“Focus on that alone. Not any pennies. Not an object at all. Let the energy flow.” It only takes her a moment now to pull the source to her fingertips, and Ian somehow recognizes this. “Good, now gently release it.”

A ball of light breaks through the pores of her skin, hovering above her palm. It quivers and bends like a floating, glowing amoeba emitting its blue light.

“Wow,” she sighs. “How did you know to…? Ian, this is amazing.”

The blue light on Ian’s smug face casts eerie shadows, a menacing grin. But Margo is too excited to notice.

“Is this my…power?” she asks slowly reaching her left fingertips to the ball of energy. A violent spark ignites, the crack of a cannon bellows. The hand she uses to touch the light flails away. The surge shudders down her left arm and through her body, an electric current rushing her veins. The light disperses above the campfire in a whirlwind of power, showering them with what seems to be more of the electric sparks, but wind up harmless as they bounce off of the three of their sheltered heads as softly as feathers.

The light pulsates around them a few times until it burns out, dissipating into the night. The glow of the embers is once again the only light and acts as if undisturbed by the incident.

“What. Did. You. Do?” Cameron shouts at Ian, having awakened to this wild burst of power.

“That girl….” Ian sounds near astonished, pointing at shivering Margo. “Her mark is unreal! I mean, obviously she needs to learn how to control it, but
wow
! It’s really something.”

Margo stares into the embers clutching her ribs, hurled over and slightly rocking.
What just happened?
That tiny bit of power magnified into a blazing beast. She’s certain the boys couldn’t tell what truly happened when her fingers met the source. Her arm was sent backward, repelled really.
Is that my ‘talent’? Shocking the mess out of people, including myself?

*

              “Dear Nick,” she reads aloud. “We’ve come across a snag in our journey and are no longer able to keep Faux with us. We’re sending her back to you hoping she makes it there without harm. Sorry this is brief. I know you’ll understand. Take care, M and C.”

She folds up the simple letter and pins it to the leather of Faux’s reign who looks back in understanding. It’s impossible for her to continue travel considering how skittish she is around the Water Forest.

“She’ll be fine,” Cameron assures her. “They’re smart animals.” He pats Faux gently on the nose and says, “Okay, girl. Go on. Back to the Central City, back to Nick.”

She whines, but still obeys, turning and slowly heading back through the trees. The white beauty disappears into the neon forest.

“I wish we could have told Nick more,” says Margo.

“He’ll understand. Better to be brief than to risk any word getting to the wrong person.” Cameron frowns down at her. He seems to be keeping an even closer eye on Margo since her power lost control the night before.

“Ready?” asks Ian.

They make their way back to the edge of the water which ripples before them like turquoise silk. The sky above them is clearer than the prior day, causing the water to glow even more vividly.

“This will take all of my concentration,” Ian warns them, the water’s filtered light bouncing off his cheek. “It’ll be both physically and mentally tiring on my behalf. Imagine, Margo, using the same concentration it takes to create a penny for the entirety of a day, only far greater.”

She nods in silence.

“Alright!” Ian says as if pumping himself up. “Here we go!”

Stepping right up to the water’s edge, Ian holds his hand inches from its surface, his reflection mimicking his every move. Cameron scoots Margo forward so they are standing only a few feet behind. Ian’s palm emits a white glow, and the surface of the water ripples and bubbles as if it is boiling. The moving water illuminates, growing a brighter blue until it’s almost as white as the glow of his hand.

In a grand movement, he circles his working hand over his head, pulling an immense wave of water with it and creating a small cove into the Water Forest. The water hovers several feet overhead completely in his control other than a few escaping droplets and a whirl of mist.

“Come on,” he says in a strained voice.

They scurry into the cove. The ground beneath is of a different texture than that outside the water. It is mushy, slick, and covered in algae. Seaweed now lays prostrate and blackened tree trunks are exposed to warm air.

Realizing it will be some time before seeing sunlight again, Margo turns back and swears she catches sight of Faux watching as they disappear into the water. Ian drops his hand and a wave of water crashes down, sealing off their entryway. The forest shimmers behind the clear drape. Before the water above can flood their opening, Ian pushes his other hand in front to stabilize the bubble. Mist gathers on Margo’s face from the sea spray which she tries blinking away. The only light comes from Ian’s working hands, interrupting the black sea ahead.

“Now what?” Margo asks over the rushing sound of water.

“We walk,” says Cameron dragging Margo closer to Ian once more. Without warning, Ian pushes his hands in a circular pattern causing the underwater bubble to shift in accord. A wave of water swirls overhead once more before spilling behind. It takes Ian the next half hour to find his rhythm in the circular, fluid motion of his power, and in little time they find the path they had been travelling on from the Central City. They scurry down at a grueling speed. Clams retreat into their shells and fish flop about desperately as Ian exposes them, though no sea creature suffers as much as he. His dark hair is plastered to his face and neck, whether due to mist or sweat.

“Is he going to make it?” she whispers.

“A little more trust would be appreciated,” Ian snaps.

Cameron frowns down at her.

Being under the Water Forest reminds Margo of yesterday’s mishap. How scary it had been being taken by that creature. How frightening to think the panic in Cameron’s face might have been her last memory of him. How the burn in her nose as she gave into the water still lingers….

Margo looks down upon her arm. She told Cameron it was nothing, but the piercings and scratches running down her forearm are just another reminder of how very close she was to losing her life yesterday. Another reminder of the seriousness of who she is in this world. There is a light to the story, though: Ian, Derek. Without them, she would have died. She can only hope that Cameron might see that someday.

The glowing foam of waves covers all access to the world above, making it impossible to view. She may never know what happened to him, where the other boy who helped save her ended up….

*

Yesterday

He’s three hours late. Three hours past his usual overtime, if that’s where he truly is.

Pacing is nearly impossible in the tiny room, but she manages all the same, fluttering back and forth while creating a miniature cyclone behind her every turn. It is times such as these when she feels the claustrophobia of living inside the dark metal box she’s grown to call home. The walls are near black, the only light from the overhanging lanterns, which filters down in a greenish tint.

The noises from neighbors in the adjacent homes are hardly enough of a distraction on this worrisome night. She can imagine what they must think of the racket she creates. In every ‘pace,’ the current whirls the articles hanging above — lanterns, the market’s catch, shells, and other trinkets her promised mate has collected over the years — creating a wind chime effect.

It’s possible, she considers, that he’s working a double shift and not just overtime. That isn’t unheard of after the coming of a new enterer. It was only a few days ago when the sea’s surface froze. The Queen is always overly cautious upon a new arrival.

There is a clanging knock against the metal of her door.

Her teal-colored tail automatically whips her in the direction of the sound, sending her across the room in seconds. She stops abruptly at the door, letting the deep red locks of her hair continue to spread in all directions around her pale face. She is considered one of the more privileged Waterpeople having gone through the full transformation into a mermaid.

The door grinds heavily as she pulls it open, a lovely sound after the hours of waiting for his return, but she’s surprised to face three other Guards of the Water Forest whom she does not recognize — two of them mermen, one an unfinished Waterperson.

“What’s…going on? Where’s my mate?” she asks nervously and in fear of something horrible having happened to him. However, they show no signs of remorse. On the contrary, the faces of the mermen are unemotional, the other eager and leering greedily.

“The Queen would like a word,” says the unfinished one. “Men.”

Upon this simple command, the two mermen draw their spears and in seconds have the blades pressed against her neck. Her heartbeat quickens, but she remains silent. She understands how these men operate — her mate
is
one of these men. Any sign of weakness and they will belittle her.

“I suggest you keep up,” orders the unfinished one. Clearly he’s the ringleader of the charade.

This is bad
, she thinks. The Queen has never called her down to the castle before. The only people she’s known who were called had in some way betrayed her Majesty, and those usually never return to their homes….

They swim through the city. Metal homes stacked upon one another nearly to the surface create rounded buildings like underwater skyscrapers. The dotted white lights from within windows light their way between the buildings. The eyes of the other merpeople and waterfolk follow her through their lighted windows as she is escorted away from the city and into the short stretch of woods which leads to the foot of Mountain Jeidone. She knows the way well; there is no reason for them to lead her in such a cruel manner. She wishes they would ease their blades up a little, at least give her more than three inches of leeway.

They follow the narrow tunnel carved through the side of the mountain. The cave is lit by waterproof torches. Finally, they enter the underbelly of the castle’s dungeons. The lighted stone room overhead comes into view.
They escort her to the surface, and lower their blades only upon breaking through the water. The cool air hits her face, a feeling she has not experienced in a long time.

“Been gettin’ into trouble, have yeh?” asks a man with a raspy voice from behind her. She turns to see two of the Queen’s Crew, apparently awaiting her arrival.

She bites her lip, still not understanding what’s happening.

“We’ll take her from here.” Two men reach down and pull her from the water by her elbows. She turns back to the others who hover below the surface, glaring.

The land guards don’t seem to understand the urgency of having a Waterperson out in open air. Water trickles down her tail, each drop painful to lose. The air against her skin as he carries her through the stone halls feels as though it will crack her scales and split her tail in two.

After several minutes’ walk, they enter a barren room but for a narrow glass-covered tub in its center and a tall machine in the corner. It is a boxy machine much like a complex photo booth covered with wires and mechanisms. The Crewman who isn’t carrying her cranks a set of gears on the side of the tub to loosen its glass top. She’s dropped in without a word and soaks up the much needed saturation of the water. They silently tighten the glass back in place and leave the room. She feels the vibration of the door slamming shut and knows she is alone.

“Are you ready to talk?” says a smooth voice so magnificent the mermaid cannot help but think it a lovely dream. It’s been several hours since she was taken in. She stretches her face up to the glass to see what she can from the limitation of the tub.
Not a dream,
she thinks as the person speaking comes into view,
a
nightmare
.

A Crew Member steps up to unlock the glass top. He pulls her out and drops her onto the stone floor without bothering to be gentle.

Standing in front of the mermaid is the Queen of Jamyria, more graceful than any other being she’s ever laid eyes on. She wears her usual silk dress — today a deep scarlet — with matching garnets and onyx garnishing her neck and fingers. She moves in a fluid motion as she steps forward.

“Don’t be rude,” she says to the Crew Member.