The Journey of the Marked (The Miyran Heir Book 1)

by Rebecca P. McCray

  As the party neared the edge of town, Trul’s footsteps slowed and he turned to run. Two of the younger councilmen grabbed him under the arms and carried him to the electric barrier that protected the city. The eldest councilman signaled to the gatekeeper and an opening appeared in the barrier — a sliver resembling a doorway in the normally hazy shield. The two councilmen holding Trul pushed him through the opening, which quickly resealed under the gatekeeper’s control. Their mother broke down completely and stumbled toward the barrier until stopped by their father. Trul appeared close to tears, then drew in a deep breath. Tip waved to his brother who nodded in return. Trul turned and walked slowly down the path and out of sight.

  Tip had assumed his brother would return later that day, as all Liputs returned home before darkness fell. Yet his brother failed to return home that day or the next. Two days later, two Miyran warriors, passing themselves as traders, arrived at the town with a large, hastily constructed wooden box carried by wagon. As the warriors were also hunted by Graeliths, particularly outside Caldot’s walls, they often disguised themselves. They reported finding Trul not far down the valley where the hills met the raging river waters that divided the neighboring town of Stipol. Then Tip witnessed a sight he would never forget, one that still turned his stomach to this day. They lifted the box from the wagon to the ground and opened the box to reveal Trul’s ravaged, lifeless body, his face frozen in pain.

  Unusual though it was to have a marked one in the town, his second brother’s sixteenth birthday brought sheer despair to their lives, as Sri, too, woke with the mark burning brightly behind his ear. The morning’s events unfolded much as they had on Trul’s birthday, except Sri acted as if he didn’t care whether or not the mark existed. He walked boldly from the town with his head held high and courage in his heart.

  Sri left four years ago and they had heard nothing of him since.

  The day before Tip’s birthday, wary looks from others in town drove him to spend the day wandering through the fields outside the barrier and resting alone on the highest hill far from town. After his brothers’ markings, Tip and his father had ventured each day outside the barrier to secluded areas to work on fighting techniques. His father also hired carefully selected traders that he believed supported the Miyrans to teach them both to fight, since his father’s skills were basic at best. Because the markings of Tip’s brothers created fear among the townspeople, Tip and his father kept these activities private, not even daring to mention it to Tip’s mother. Tip possessed not great skill, but a good eye for his opponent’s weaknesses. Luckily, a few of the traders had coached him on what to do if he was marked. A training camp existed for the marked. Though the traders didn’t know its location, they told him the best chance of reaching it was to seek assistance from the Miyran warriors. Apparently, the warriors guarded the palace in the center of Caldot; the palace was the home of Lady Anyamae, the last surviving Miyran heir. Since Anyamae was the source of the markings, he wasn’t certain why the Tyrnotts allowed the palace to remain unharmed, but as long as the palace meant safety, then that was his destination.

  Last night, as Tip ate with his parents, the tension surrounding his approaching sixteenth birthday had been heavy. He had considered leaving town then, but shouldn’t he say goodbye? He expelled a shaky breath as he stared at his reflection. He pulled the thick hair back from his left ear to see the mark that had appeared during the night. A bright red, winged beast with sharp talons nearly glowed in the morning light. The wings swept forward, as though the creature was about to land. He loosened his hair and rubbed his hands over his face. Survival would be difficult, his journey risky. Yet, he felt prepared. He glanced at the fully packed knapsack resting against his chair. In it, he carried a small bag with enough coins to purchase a seat on the morning air transport, coins saved carefully over the last four years. Luckily, he was familiar with the layout of the nearest station at Stipol. Certain families in Kentish had expertise in farming, some in harvesting, others transporting the crop, and others, like Tip’s, in designing machines. The division of labor allowed each his place among the community, but also meant Tip’s family traveled to Caldot by air transport, rather than by wagon. Buying a ticket and finding the right platform would be easy.

  Tip wrung his hands at the thought of leaving, though he knew he must. Bearing the mark of the Miyran made him a target of the Graeliths and Tyrnotts, species he had only seen at a safe distance. Would he even be able to recognize them? He looked at a small picture of his family resting on the dresser and winced, remembering his mother’s anguish when his brothers were expelled from town. Surely sparing her such a painful moment was more honorable. Grabbing his knapsack, he quietly crept to the kitchen below. He wrote a short note and was about to leave when he noticed a fully packed satchel on the chopping table. His mother knew him well. He longed to give her a farewell hug. He glanced toward the staircase and smiled wistfully, then drew in a deep breath as he tied the satchel to his knapsack and left the only home he had ever known.

  The path through town was peaceful and quiet at such an early hour. Tip heard a single chirping bird busying itself with morning tasks. He soaked in the beauty of Kentish, guessing that he wouldn’t see the town again. The two-story, boxlike homes, each a different color of the rainbow, had long been a comfort to him. They lifted his spirits as he walked steadily through the dirt lane toward the edge of town.

  He reached the main guard gate only to discover his mother’s brother working that morning. Upon seeing Tip, his uncle sighed heavily and simply shook his head. “Will you open the barrier?” Tip asked tentatively as he adjusted the bag on his back.

  His uncle shook his head again. “You won’t ease your mother’s pain by not saying goodbye.”

  “Perhaps not, but I can’t hope to survive with such despair in my heart.”

  His uncle sighed again and nodded. “I have something for you. After each of your brothers was marked, I hoped you would be spared, but thought best to be prepared. Made certain I was on shift this morning, just in case.” He winked, stood, and walked over to the far corner of the little guard hut. He lifted the floorboard and pulled from under the floorboards something wrapped in a cloth. He turned toward Tip with a mischievous grin. As he walked back across the room, he slowly removed the wrapping. Tip’s jaw dropped at the sight of a laser gun. His uncle boasted, “I bought this off one of the traders. The gun was broken, but easy enough for any skilled mechanic to fix.”

  Throughout Tip’s life, laser guns had been banned. If someone was found with one, the law demanded death. However, as the mark was already the equivalent of a signed death warrant, carrying a laser gun made no difference. On the contrary, it increased Tip’s chances of survival. He beamed at his uncle and picked up the weapon. He gauged its weight as he examined it.

  “This here,” his uncle explained, “is the blocker. When you push this lever toward the front, the gun doesn’t shoot. When you move the lever back,” he said as he shoved the lever toward the handle, “the gun can be fired.” He pointed to the little circle under the barrel of the gun, “and this circular button is for firing. Push it down to shoot.” He pushed the blocker to the forward position and showed Tip how to aim the gun, cautioning him against firing unless he was sure of his target and surroundings. The gun would last two weeks with moderate use without charging.

  Tip threw his arms around his uncle and thanked him. He stowed the weapon in the inside pocket of his coat, its weight tugging the fabric unevenly. He asked his uncle to watch over his parents. Tip then backed out of the little hut and waited at the electric barrier, which opened at his uncle’s hand. Waving to his uncle, Tip passed through the barrier opening without a backwards glance. He patted the gun in his coat, hiked the knapsack a little higher on his back, and strode down the path toward the transit station.

  Chapter 3

  Jurf balanced the pretty little redhead’s order carefully as he edged across the crowded diner. He worked almost every
day and was certain she had never eaten here before. Surely he would have remembered her. He hoped his nervousness wasn’t as obvious to her as it was to him.

  She smiled up at him as he placed the food on the table. “Thank you.”

  “No problem, ma’am ... well, miss ... uh ... ma’am,” he stammered and moved quickly from the table. As he backed away, he couldn’t stop staring at the little redhead. She stared back, her blue eyes glistening in the dim light of the diner. She wore snug tan pants and a flowing, bright blue top that matched her eyes. He backed into the neighboring table, mumbling, “Excuse me, sorry,” though the customers seemed as awed by the redhead as he.

  “Jurf!” his boss exclaimed. “Get over here and leave the lady alone.”

  “Yes, yes sir!” Jurf practically jumped behind the counter, sighing with relief that his boss had drawn his attention away from the redhead, though he found himself sneaking glances every chance he could.

  “Don’t recognize her species, do you?” his boss asked quietly.

  Jurf wrinkled his brow. “Not at all.”

  He flicked his eyes toward his portly boss. The man was a Jirlt, a disagreeable species in Jurf’s experience, though his boss was more tolerable than most. Jurf never understood how the man heard anything, given his ears consisted of a dozen two-inch tubes that fanned out from a single point on both sides of his head toward the top and back. Yet, the man’s hearing was superb. Now he leaned closer to Jurf, stretching his thin lips across his rounded, slightly protruding mouth, in what must have been an attempt at a smile. The Jirlts rarely smiled.

  “The little redhead is a Krystic. They live in the foothills of the northern part of Caldot. Notice the fancy golden design on her forehead?” Jurf glanced at the intricate loops that curved up from her well-defined eyebrows in loops, dancing up to her hairline like a lattice. He turned to his boss and nodded in response. His boss continued, “All the Krystic women have them.”

  Jurf had heard of the Krystics that lived in that part of the city, the foothills that lead to the massive mountain peaks farther north. He had never seen one before, though, as they rarely ventured into the southern part of the city where the shabby little diner served equally shabby customers. He peeked at the redhead again. She radiated beauty and an odd sort of light. She was stunning, almost glowing. Looking across the dark and dingy diner, she seemed to be surrounded by a surreal light. He looked back at his boss, who simply shook his head.

  “Look at them too long, boy, and you won’t be able to look away. Beauty like none other across the far lands, and a mesmerizing song that ensnares the strongest of men. They can even tame a Graelith, so I’ve heard.” His boss shook his head again. “Be careful, my boy. Be careful.” He crossed to the counter to tend to another customer.

  Jurf stole another glance at the redhead. She was gracefully sipping her broth and staring out the clouded glass of the diner entrance. She seemed to be watching for someone, yet hardly seemed to focus on the travelers passing by outside. Why was she here in this grim diner?

  He shook his head harshly, as if to dismiss her image from his mind, and turned to assist another customer.

  Chapter 4

  Tip walked at a brisk pace down the dirt road leading from Kentish to Stipol, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face and the fresh breeze blowing the scent of the wildflowers that grew on the roadside. What a relief that his uncle had arranged to be in the guardhouse on the morning of Tip’s birthday and had the foresight to obtain a laser gun in case Tip was marked! Of course, he wished he could have stayed in Kentish, but at least his family cared about him and hoped that he would succeed.

  While he walked, lost in thought, the rolling fields of Kentish fell away and the grounds surrounding the dirt road became more barren and exposed. Something swift and small zipped by Tip’s head, jarring him from his deep thoughts. He jerked his head toward the motion, spying a small, purple bird rising into the air and circling. It flew in a wide arc, then tucked its wings and dove at an alarming speed directly toward Tip’s head. He ducked just in time, as the little bird flew by and started rising into the air again and circling.

  This time, the bird flew in a larger circle and farther down the path before dipping low and coming directly toward Tip. At that moment Tip saw something else in the distance. He strained for a clearer view of what appeared to be two very large shapes, traveling slowly along the path from Stipol in his direction. Tip would have failed to notice them until they were much closer if the bird hadn’t drawn his attention to them. Meeting two strangers in such an isolated place could be dangerous. His palms began to sweat and his stomach tightened. He dropped to his hands and knees. His eyes darted to either side of the path, as he needed the protection of the tall, dried stalks remaining after last year’s harvest. The stalks lined the road closer to Kentish, but grew farther away from the road here. He crawled slowly into the tall grass and worked his way toward the stalks, which would provide cover for the rest of his journey to Stipol.

  Once he reached the field, Tip continued deep enough into the dried vegetation to be hidden from view, then stood, brushing the dirt from his pants. He surveyed the road, noticing the two figures were closer now and of an unfamiliar species. They were hairy, beast-like creatures, with snouts and claws. Graeliths, perhaps, though he wasn’t certain.

  The little, purple bird landed on a stalk near Tip and gazed in the same direction. Tip looked at the little bird, which looked at him in return. Tip nodded in gratitude, more from habit than the expectation that the bird really understood. After all, this bird was something of a lucky charm since it had alerted him to the potential danger on the road. He then turned and wended his way slowly through the crops to avoid drawing attention to any movement. Behind him, the little bird watched his progress for a few moments, then nodded in return and flew away across the fields.

  After several hours, Tip reached the edge of the fields. He paused to scan the area, cautious after his close encounter earlier that morning. No other creatures were within view and the transport station was a short walk away on the edge of the village of Stipol. Luckily, he would be able to reach it without having to cross the bridge over the river, leaving him further exposed. As he would no longer benefit from the protection of the fields, he returned to the dirt road and walked swiftly toward the station.

  Once at the station, Tip bought a ticket from the woman at the ticket counter and climbed the stairs to the platform. As he reached the top of the stairs, he hesitated and scanned the area for anyone unusual. He wasn’t exactly certain what might constitute “unusual,” but he trusted his instincts to keep him safe. The platform consisted of a long expanse of wood planks, stretching approximately thirty yards, and was raised several feet off the ground. About a dozen Raptans, the species inhabiting Stipol, milled about the platform, but there were no other species. The Raptans strongly supported the Miyrans. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  The transports arriving on the western side of the platform headed to Caldot; while those on the eastern side ran farther outbound to the last stop, which provided access to the city for other communities, as well as a few small communes even farther away. He had never visited the communes, but they apparently consisted of vagabonds from Caldot that had abandoned the city to live in the spaceship remnants far to the south, remnants left by those arriving on the planet years ago from distant worlds.

  Tip picked an unobtrusive spot on the western side of the platform, some distance from the nearest Raptan and on the end of the platform where he could board the back of the transport. Most citizens preferred to ride in the front, which made the back a better choice. He turned to discover that a Raptan was watching him. Tip swallowed hard, but didn’t divert his eyes. The Raptan was tall and willowy, with long arms and fingers. He had dark hair pulled back from his face, a high forehead, and a beak-like nose — all traits common to the Raptans. The Raptan’s eyes softened. He bowed his head, turned, and walked farther down the platform. Tip watche
d him for a moment, then shifted his eyes to the direction from which the transport would arrive. The Raptan must know he was marked. He grasped the edges of his coat, his hand close to the laser gun. What should he do? What could he do? Relax, Tip reminded himself and took a deep breath. After all, the Raptans were friends with the Liput and supported the Miyrans. Hopefully the bow was a sign of respect, even support, and meant nothing more. He gnawed on his lip. Besides, what else could he do … walk? Traveling by foot was too risky and the distance too far. He would stick with his plan and travel by transport.

  The five-car transport headed to Caldot arrived shortly, hovering a few feet above the ground. Scratched and aging metal encased the transport’s bottom half, while a dirty, tinted glass dome covered the top half. Tip carefully stepped onboard the last car. The transport held rows of seats with two seats on each side, all facing the direction the transport traveled. An opening linked the last car to one directly in front of it. No one else sat in this car. Tip found a seat in the back and hugged his bag to his chest. Just before the doors closed, the Raptan from the platform climbed aboard, along with two young Raptan males. They each nodded at Tip, then sat in seats scattered between Tip and the opening to the next car. As the transport doors closed, the older Raptan turned to Tip and said softly, “We can’t accompany you once we arrive in the city, but we can ensure you have no trouble between here and there.” He gave a quick nod and turned to face front.

  Tip stared at the back of the Raptan’s head for a few moments. One of the young Raptans turned and winked. Tip smiled, profoundly moved by their kindness, and he felt his shoulders relax a little. As the transport started its journey, he watched the countryside pass by. He recognized the village of Stipol and the herds of klen being shepherded by the Raptans outside the city. The klen were a primary source of meat for Kentish, as well as Caldot. They multiplied quickly and were stocky creatures with six legs and thousands of little scales covering their bodies. The scales reflected the sunlight, cooling the animals, as well as serving a number of other uses for the population. A klen scale necklace was quite beautiful and could fetch a handsome price. Because they also served a variety of useful purposes in machinery, Tip carried a bag of scales with him at all times.