Jamyria: The Entering (The Jamyria Series Book 1) (24 page)

A tear rolls down her cheek. She tries to wriggle herself free again, but he digs his knee harder into her thigh. She lets out another scream.

“MARGO, WAIT!” It is Ian’s voice who screams out for her. He seems to be holding his own against the pair he is up against.

“Impatient, are we?” Saul laughs. He releases her face from his grip and finds Kylie’s charm. “I might take that as a souvenir.”

His smile is irksome. He drops the charm, its weight pounding against Margo’s chest, and slips his hand down to the button of her jeans. She looks away. Tears flood over as she realizes this is it: he would do what he wishes and leave her to die. His fingers slip behind the button, rough on her soft skin.

“And to think,” he purrs, his lips closing in on hers, “all because you got entangled with the Marked One.”

As his lips hover she realizes he doesn’t know who she is. He assumes one of the boys is the New Mark. He grips the top of her jeans and pulls her to him forcing his lips on hers.

Something inside her snaps, a flood of fiery hot liquid rushes through her. His head is suddenly flying toward an adjacent tree —
BAM
! He collides with the trunk.

“What the hell?!” He rises to a standing position, gripping the side of his face that gushes blood.

The words are not her own, but they flee from Margo’s lips faster than she can recount them. “The one you seek is me. I am the New Mark.”

“But you’re —”

“Female. Yes, that’s right.”

He stares at her for a brief moment, the energy within her violently swirling. It is not its usual tingling, but a vibration beating her from within, on the cusp of exploding. Longing to be released, longing to kill this man before her. Blood, more of his blood must be spilled. Paint the land with it, for he is deserving of death.

“The New Mark is here! The girl!” he yells, petering away from her. “Kill her!”

“Oho!” the voice within Margo speaks. “Afraid of facing the consequences of your actions? Coward!” The energy boils under her skin, her vision red with bloodlust. “Afraid you will meet your fate?”

Her eyes scan the forest in less than a second. Three with Ian, Cameron against one, two more closing in on Margo. Including Saul there is a total of seven Crewmen. Her sword hisses as it unsheathes.

“That sword,” whispers Saul. “Where did you get it?”

But he does not wait for an answer. He conjures his own blade, creating it from thin air, whipping it over his head. He strikes down on Margo; she raises her sword to block.

“WHOOOO! YEAH!” Ian shouts at the sight of her.

She bounces away from Saul. Her Mark must be glowing wildly. She yanks off her bag and jacket, tossing them aside. She stares down upon her markings but finds the same brown scar tissue as always. Touching the back of her neck, she feels warmth.

Why are they the only ones lit up?

A sword slashes through the air. She barely dodges, suffering only a small nick on her throat. It stings, the blood trickling down her neck. She regains her grip on her sword, stepping lithely and twirling between the two crewmen. Saul retreats into the safety of the trees allowing the others to do the messy job of killing his victim. He no longer wears the lustful smile, but a scowl, his upper lip trembling with rage.

Cameron is nearby. She sees him gaining momentum against his Crewman, who creates bounds of chain which Cameron strikes away before any of them can enclose him. He is only facing one opponent, but this man uses his power more than any of the others they fight.

A scream propels one of Margo’s foes: he charges at her, sword low to the ground to strike upward. But before he can raise his blade, Margo’s power overtakes her. With invisible speed, she steps onto his sword, cutting it so far into the ground he lurches back. She kicks off of the hilt, kneeing him across the jaw. He staggers away before crumpling to the ground with a crunch.

In the middle of the stream stands Ian, three men surrounding him. A jet of water whips out from around his back, and strikes one of them, pulling him underwater before the Crewman can react. His other opponents warily fall back a step.

Suddenly a collection of water rises out of the stream. Ian holds his hand out controlling the suspended orb, which holds the Crewman trapped within. The man pushes his palms against the inside edges of the water. The surface fluctuates against his touch but does not give. Light pulsates from his palms in a desperate attempt to break through the surface.

It will not work,
Margo thinks, recalling the Water Forest.
The interior is impenetrable.

Realizing this, he ceases and, instead, buries his face in his hands.

“Smart move,” says Ian from the ankle-deep water below, “becoming one of us. Not a desirable creature of this world, but you choose life over glamour. How resourceful.”

The other two Crewmen raise their swords as a dozen jets of water erupt from behind Ian’s back and turn on them.

An unfamiliar smile plays at Margo’s lips. Her back curls before launching herself toward the boulder on which stands her second opponent who has backed away after watching her demolish his comrade. Instead of raising his sword, he outstretches a hand. A swirl of light gathers before his palm like a spinning miniature Milky Way and then —

BOOM
!

It explodes in a stream of energy, aiming for Margo’s heart.

She doesn’t think, just reacts. Her free hand reaches out as if to catch the light; she swirls her hand over her head, redirecting the blast of power in its wake. It bends four times at sharp angles before striking its creator through the chest. He splutters and gurgles before dropping to his knees. The light diminishes, revealing a gaping hole in his chest. His body folds in half.

A streak of red liquid catches the morning light in the distance and falls like crimson rain. It hits the earth before Cameron does, his head bending away from his body in an unnatural way. The rocks beneath him crunch, his bloodied face bouncing off the ground.

Margo’s step falters, and she is suddenly losing her grip, losing the pulsating energy, the inexplicable strength. The Crewman approaches Cameron, having finally succumbed, with a cold smirk on his lips. He flicks the short blade in his grip, shaking it clean.

Margo takes a shaky step toward him, her blade suddenly trembling.

A rough hand clenches her shoulder and her gut rips open. Saul’s sword pierces through her abdomen carving through her insides until it wrenches out her back. He glares down at her with a look of disappointment.

“I told you, Margo.” His voice fades in and out. “It didn’t have to be this….”

Her vision blurs, hearing dulls, and her back bends in half. The blade pulls out from her stomach just as sharply as going in. Her body hits the boulder with a painful jolt.

She lies on the stone ground, incarnadine and cold, as the remaining bits of life escape her. Her body numbs and an unnatural chill fills her being. Death, she finds, is not so difficult after all.

The bluish gray light of the morning washes over Saul’s silhouette as he steps over Margo. His sword dangles precariously above her nose, her own blood dotting her face as it drops from its tip.

“Just tell me one thing.... You claim to be the New Mark. Is it true? Are you actually the original?”

Margo glances at Ian who faces his last enemy with new rage. By denying her identity she might be able to swindle her way out of death even if barely just. But there is little she can do to guarantee Ian’s survival after tonight. So she says, “I am.”

“Such a shame, such a waste.” He rears back his blade to strike.

Darkness overtakes her, though she is certain she sees a figure jump over her as the last bit of light fades and her mind escapes her.

Chapter Twenty: The After

Her eyes crack. The blur of a figure lurks over her. Pale skin with white-blond hair cut bluntly at her shoulders. White walls. Everything a frosty haze of white.

Frightened, Margo squeezes her eyes tight. A dream. It must be a dream. But it feels like reality.

She opens her eyes again. Kylie is kneeling over her, the white surroundings gone. She is still in the middle of the forest where she and the boys fought. It is now eerily empty and all is still: the leaves that rustled, the light breeze, the glittering stream — all of it frozen.

“Hey, sis,” Kylie says with a sad smile. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Margo kicks to a sitting position and scrambles away from the imposter.

The pseudo-Kylie closes her eyes, a familiar crease forming between her brows in annoyance. “Why did you let him do that to you? You were on the verge of winning. Why’d you have to get yourself —”

Kylie forces her lips together, peridot eyes hard and locked on Margo’s.

“Who…? Who are you?” says Margo in a panic. “You aren’t my sister! You can’t be! My sister’s —”

“Dead.” The word rings.

Margo rises to a standing position, tripping over her feet as she shuffles further away from the fake Kylie.

“Are you Saul?” she cries. “Are you playing another trick on my eyes?”

The girl before her moans. “Arrrgh, Margo, I’m your sister!” She moves closer. “I played Titania in
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
. I stopped Michael Peters from making fun of you more times than I can count. You told me you loved that boy out there who’s dying a month before I was killed —” Margo cringes. “I drove the Hederman’s insane and stole enough apples to start my own pie factory. I’m your sister!”

“So you’re a ghost, then?” Margo barks.

“No — I’m not a ghost, I’m just….” She pauses. “I’m here, and I want to help you. But you have to stop being your stubborn self and listen me.”

Margo stares at her angrily. This surely is, if not her sister, a good imitator; she has her hot-temper down. Then her words hit Margo: if Kylie is not a ghost, then Margo must, too, be dead. She inhales a deep, shaky breath as this sinks in.

“You were just starting to understand your mark,” she says unexpectedly. “So you can’t give up so easily. Those people out there — Cameron, even Ian — they all need their New Mark. They all need you.”

“How do you even know any of this?”

Kylie shakes her head hard. “None of that matters. Listen, you have to go back there and save them.”

“You said I ‘gave up.’ But that’s not true — I was injured bad, and I don’t think I made it, Kylie.” Tears suddenly spill down her cheeks.

Her sister places her hand on Margo’s shoulders. “You are not so far lost, sis. Use your mark to pull yourself back.”

“Were you sad?” Her voice is but a shaky whisper. “When you died?”

Taken aback, Kylie turns her gaze to the stream and shuffles her feet. “Yes and no,” she eventually says. “It was my time, in a sense….”

“No! It wasn’t! You were sixteen — my age! We’re both kids, and this shouldn’t happen to us. Life shouldn’t be taken away so easily!”

Kylie’s smile warms. “You’re right. That’s why I need you to take yours back. Please.”

Though a part of Margo wishes to lose herself in her sister’s arms and follow her into the afterlife, there is another part of her that is terrified of doing so and wants to listen to Kylie’s orders. She does not wish to die, not yet.

“I’ll miss you, though,” Margo sniffs. “You have no idea.”

The hand on Margo’s shoulder slips to her neck in a warm embrace. “This will not be easy, little sis. I will always be there for you. I’m closer than you realize; remember that when you think of me. Now, find the pain within you. Do not continue to block it out or ignore it. Let it intensify and wash over you. It will overtake you, and you’ll disappear into it.”

With all the energy Margo can muster, she lets the pain in her stomach flood her. It is fiery hot and rips through her abdomen like a white-hot poker.

Splotches of light bleed over her vision as the pressure squeezes her into oblivion, but the last words Margo hears are enough to take away all the pain:

“Just know that I love you….”

*

Shomari paces vehemently behind the globe at which the Queen stares without breaking her focus. The Queen pays him no mind. It is the image of the battle inside the globe that worries her, though she cannot yet see the one she fears…. But once the Marked One ceases to exist his corpse will appear on the battlefield.

“Saul,” huffs Shomari from behind his hood. “Why did you send, of all people,
Saul
?”

“You
are
aware of what happened the last time I sent you to kill a Mark?” she murmurs.

Shomari’s pacing misses a beat. He resumes as if he hadn’t faltered.

Approaching the Queen’s right hand, Belitza — with her bare head concealed in the hood of her cloak — offers a flute of champagne and says, “I think it appropriate to proceed with the celebrations. I’ve no doubt Saul will be able to dispose of the New Mark.”

A cruel smile plays at her Majesty’s lips but quickly vanishes.

Hello, child
, a voice from within whispers.

The Queen splutters and coughs out her drink. Belitza ignores this, her eyes cutting across to the battlefield on the globe, which Saul has just disappeared on having approached the Marked One.
The brawl overall is hard to keep up with since original marks are naturally cloaked on her Majesty’s globe.

Cheh-heh-heh-heh!
The voice laughs mockingly.
You feebly try to suppress me when you should simply admit that you are, child, on the brink of insanity.

I am not insane.
The Queen replies indignantly.
You are a mere hindrance when you make these sudden appearances. Enjoy your voice while you can, for you will be silenced in due time.

Ohh, such sudden confidence. But I assure you, a voice inside your mind does not bode well for the sane. You are fooling yourself, child.
The whisperer cackles again.

The Queen ignores him.

“And how can we be sure Saul is capable of finishing the task?” she asks aloud.

“There is much at stake for him,” Belitza replies. “He has ill-advised hopes of replacing the third noble.”

“Ill-advised, indeed,” huffs the Queen, offended at the idea of demoting her favorite subordinate. “No matter. We shall see what’s to become of him after he has slaughtered the Mark.”

A silent, melodramatic sigh.
You are in many ways just like me,
the voice within her says viciously.

I am nothing that you are,
she spits back.
Nor do I seek to be.

All within the room — Shomari, Belitza, the dozens of Crewmen lining the walls — are oblivious to her internal conversation.

You are willing to go to any length to obtain what you desire. Willing to bid unnecessary killings. Willing to sever your soul to claim your prize.
That
is why you are like me, Zelly.

“DO NOT CALL ME THAT!” The Queen’s outburst causes her to slosh champagne over her dress and suddenly the attention of every nervous Crewman in her throne room is on her. She turns back to the globe as if nothing occurred.

“Er, it is all thanks to that anonymous Waterperson,” Belitza continues. “Otherwise it would have taken weeks to locate him.”

“Y-yes,” replies the Queen, recalling the tip they received about a bubble travelling beneath the surface of the Water Forest.

Look how they see you. As a fool! Manic! They do not respect you. They do not put trust in you. The day will come, child, when they turn on you. Mark my word — Ohh, look who’s joined us….

A faint image grows in the center of the forest. The men fighting around what must be the Mark grow visible. Two of the Marked One’s followers stand in front of the still-blurry corpse, valiantly fighting off the remaining Crewmen. The New Mark’s body gradually solidifies in the center of the globe.

“This is it….” the Queen says more to herself. “Now perish!”

Shomari joins her side. Belitza further straightens her already rigid posture. There isn’t a soul in the room without muscles tense, breath held. All is silent as they await the face of their most recent threat.

Ah… That is him? Quite young from the looks of it. A gruesome killing, fitting of the crime.

The body rests, bloodied and crumpled, in a heap on the ground, and as it grows more pronounced, so do the prominent curves. A mass of light brown hair fans out around the soft, heart-shaped face.

Female? But that — that cannot be! She’s an abomination, she is!

“It’s a…woman….” breathes Shomari.

The rustling and whispers within the throne room intensify as everyone mulls this over. Never did they expect to look for a marked woman…. How unnatural….

The Queen rests her glass on her shoulder, a stream of bubbles trickling to the champagne’s surface. Her eyes narrow as she takes in the female form. The face defines itself as her life slips away.

“No. It’s a
girl
,” says the Queen in astonishment.

Do NOT ignore me when I speak to you, Zelly. No matter what sort of state I am in, do not —

The voice within is suddenly silenced as the girl in the globe, once again, disappears.