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

by Rebecca P. McCray

Kenrya stiffened noticeably at this question. She stared at the fire, but Eros could tell she was listening intently.

  Aston considered Tip’s question. “Yes, son, I met many a Gaela in my day. A noble species devoted to the Miyrans. When Lord Attol was killed and the Miyran weakened, the Gaelae stood steadfast in their support of Lady Anyamae. Their slaughter rests heavily on my thoughts to this day.”

  Tip ventured another question. “What was the city like before the Tyrnotts killed Lord Attol?”

  The Cloonus man piped up, “Lovely! Chimsey, you’se tell it better than the rest of us.”

  The one among the old men that had not yet spoken that evening, a Greot, glanced at the Cloonus. Then his eyes twinkled. Eros had not seen a Greot in a few years; the species had become more and more reclusive as the power of the Tyrnotts grew. Like the Gaelae, the Greots were strong supporters of Lady Anyamae. They possessed the ability to move matter with their minds and were perceived as a threat by the Tyrnotts, as they could attack from a distance. This Greot’s appearance differed from those Eros remembered from the marketplace, though he supposed that was likely due to age. The Greot never grew hair on their heads. Instead the skull elongated like a cone and spiraled to a point at the top. Their ears appeared no different from a Human’s, though they often had generous mouths and round eyes. This old Greot looked similar to those of Eros’s memory, except the spiral part of the head was drooping badly.

  Chimsey stared at the fire, which began to dance in front of them. “My parents arrived on Zolei with the Miyrans and everyone pitched in to build the city. The Skurk and Che’Tase arrived shortly thereafter and, given their expertise in infrastructure, the city began to develop at a fast pace. I was born not long after the planet was settled. We live nearly twice as long as many on Zolei, you see.”

  Eros noticed he looked at Tip as he explained this fact. Wise, given Tip’s propensity for questions.

  Chimsey smiled, eyes glistening in the firelight. “I spent my childhood and early years in the part of town southwest of the marketplace, the wealthy part of Caldot in my day. The quaint, cheerful dwellings were built close together, as we long believed in the unity of family and friends. The pristine streets bustled with activity and jovial faces. As the years passed, more species sought refuge on the planet and the communities grew. A Hurfen man pushed his cart of sweets through the street and an old Vatchan woman sold flowers on the corner. You may never have seen a Vatchan, as they arrived in Caldot few in number and were absorbed gradually into other communities. Their generosity and trusting nature remains unparalleled to this day. If you lacked coins, they always insisted you simply pay them the next day or, sometimes, not at all. The city was safe in those days. The worst happening was petty theft and even that generally earned sympathy as it only occurred in times of desperate need. Over time, transportation was developed and air transports ran frequently all over the city and to the outer provinces. The theaters and music halls did a brisk business and never failed to delight. In the center of it all, gleaming white and regal, was the Miyran palace. The Miyrans opened the doors for any to visit and a child, as easily as a man, could approach the palace with questions or concerns. Have you seen the palace?” he asked Tip.

  Tip shook his head, as did the others.

  Chimsey continued, “It was stunning, large and impressive, yet still welcoming. An open hall, of sorts, lines the outer wall of the main building and supports the upper level with massive columns. White stone Gaela statues sit atop the roof and watch silently over the city. The Tyrnotts tried to destroy those statues once, only to find themselves trapped in a maze of corridors leading instead to the outer ring of the city.” He chuckled at this memory. “Peace and prosperity thrived throughout the province. Each citizen contributed his or her part, and in return, was content. The Miyran warriors in those days numbered fewer than now and mostly served to assist the leaders of Caldot in governing the provinces, which was handled wisely and fairly. The number of warriors swelled shortly after the attack on Attol, but many were killed in the battles that followed. Anyamae retreated to the palace to live in solitude. The Tyrnotts have destroyed much during their reign. I hope one day you will witness the beauty of Caldot restored. All hope rests on the survival of the heir.” Chimsey grew silent as regret for days long past lingered on his face.

  No one broke the silence until Aston finally said, “The night is upon us. We have a long way to travel tomorrow across the wetlands. We hope you will join us.”

  One by one the men said goodnight. They changed their sleeping arrangements to allow the young ones a large tent that could sleep all five of them. Prizene, looking exhausted, bade the others goodnight and Tip joined her. Azetan, Eros, and Kenrya stayed by the fire a while longer.

  Once everyone quieted, Azetan asked softly, “Do you think we can trust them?”

  Eros shrugged. “They seem honest and they know these woods. With their knowledge of the terrain, we should be able to put more distance between us and the Graeliths. Plus, we have to cross the wetlands anyway. At least we can enjoy their stories and food. We’re lucky to have found them.”

  Azetan agreed and wished them both a good night. He stretched and joined Tip and Prizene in the tent for the night.

  Eros watched Kenrya. While she was never particularly chatty, she was unusually quiet tonight. “How are you feeling?”

  She looked away from the fire and across to the tent where they would sleep. She seemed very vulnerable. The river had washed some of the stench of the city off her. He felt his pulse quicken as he contemplated reaching out to comfort her. However, as this was likely to result in his being slapped or worse, he squelched those thoughts.

  After a while, she responded, “Tired, but all right. Definitely not cold anymore. Thank you.”

  Her clothes were dry and her appearance much healthier than before, but it was obvious something was still bothering her. He ventured, “Is something wrong?”

  She peered at him briefly and her eyes were filled with grief. She looked back to the fire and stayed quiet for a long time. Perhaps she wouldn’t answer. Finally she said, “The talk of the Gaelae yesterday and today reminded me of something that happened a long time ago.” She rubbed her hands across her face and through her hair. “I ... I had almost forgotten it.”

  “What was it?” Eros asked. He wanted to ease her pain and maybe if she shared the memory, she would feel relief.

  Again, Kenrya sat quietly for a while, then she looked at him and just shook her head. “Nothing. It was nothing.”

  Nothing? That’s not what the tremor in her voice told him. Without thinking, he reached across and placed his hand on hers. Kenrya jerked her hand away and the coldness he had come to know returned to her eyes.

  “Aren’t you on first watch?” she prodded.

  Eros berated himself for not being more careful. He had never met someone quite so complicated. She was intriguing and infuriating at the same time. He exhaled a long breath and gazed at the fire for a few moments. Then, he stood and walked to the loose branches leading to the brambles and leaned against a tree allowing him to both be a lookout and keep an eye on Kenrya. She placed her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands.

  *******

  A crowd gathered in the large square next to the marketplace. The sun shone brightly in a cloudless sky and the temperature was a little too warm, save for an occasional cool breeze. Kenrya pushed her way through the crowd to reach the front. She was only eight and a street child, so it was easy to maneuver around people to see. When she reached the front, she found a four-foot high platform with two Graeliths standing on it. Between the Graeliths stood a creature she had heard described many times, but never seen — a Gaela.

  The Gaela was magnificent, and her first glimpse nearly took her breath away. His silvery wings reflected the sun and appeared to be sparkling; each wing when stretched out must have been at least five feet. Could he be a royal Gaela? Perhaps not, given his wing span, but he was
still stunning. His dark hair framed a noble face, one that commanded respect and honor. His bound hands rested in front of him and the blood spattered across his shirt told Kenrya all she needed to know. The Graeliths captured this beautiful Gaela and would now punish him publicly for all to see. She balled her fists. How dare they hurt him! The Tyrnotts had convinced the people that the Gaelae were trouble. Arith taught her otherwise, but he wasn’t here and no one else would help her. What should she do?

  She started to leave until the Gaela stared down directly at her. The pain in his eyes pierced her soul. Her breathing quickened. She moved closer, willing him to fly away, wanting to help him. But what could she do? She would never find Arith in time.

  A Tyrnott standing nearby signaled the Graeliths and they ripped off the Gaela’s shirt. One Graelith moved behind the Gaela and held the wings, stretching them back behind the man. The second Graelith raised a mighty sword and sliced the wings off the Gaela’s back, one at a time. Kenrya gasped. The Gaela never screamed, though agony danced across his face. The Graeliths held the wings high as a trophy of victory over the rebellious Gaelae. How she hated them! They fastened the wings high in the air on a wooden post, as a message to those who tried to stand against Nord.

  The Gaela fell to his knees in pain. The Graeliths tied his bound hands to a nearby post, then joined the Tyrnott and left the marketplace, leaving the Gaela to die. One Graelith stayed to watch the crowd, in case anyone had any ideas about rescuing him from a slow, painful death.

  Kenrya turned to the faces in the crowd. Wouldn’t anyone help this man? The crowd witnessed the display in silence, then dispersed gradually afterwards, returning to their daily shopping at the marketplace. She turned back to the Gaela. The man smiled weakly, as though trying to comfort her. He mouthed the words Go home, but he didn’t know she had no home. She simply shook her head and stayed to watch over him.

  After a while, when the crowd thinned out to a negligible few, the Graelith finally abandoned his post and left the square. Dusk had fallen across the city and shoppers hurried home before the last bell signaling curfew sounded. Kenrya scanned the area and, not seeing anyone who seemed to pose a threat, carefully climbed onto the platform. Slowly and timidly, she approached the Gaela from behind. Her heart sank at the sight of the jagged, bleeding stumps on his back. She removed her coat and placed it against the man’s back, which made him take a sudden, quick breath. After freeing his hands from his bonds, she helped him lie on the ground to rest, while still trying to keep her jacket pressed against his back.

  “I know people that can help,” she said softly, trying to sound optimistic.

  The Gaela shifted to a position where he could see her face and placed his hand on her arm. “You’re a beautiful child and very brave. There’s nothing that can be done to help me.”

  “No,” she replied with tears misting in her eyes. “There must be something they can do.”

  He patted her knee. As a tear rolled down her cheek, a voice called softly, “Kenrya?”

  She looked over to see Arith walking toward her with a few of the other undergrounders and she waved at him to come quickly. He sprinted up the steps of the platform and examined the Gaela’s injuries. He spied the detached wings flying high over the marketplace and a deep sadness spread across his face.

  “The Gaelae will never be free until Nord is stopped,” Arith said quietly. “If any still survive.”

  Kenrya pleaded, “Can you help him?”

  “We can try, but his injuries are grave.”

  He signaled the others. They gathered the Gaela and carried him back to the underground. One of the men left the group to search for a medic and returned a short time later with a doctor who once served in the Miyran army. He administered drugs and oil to both treat any infection and stop the bleeding. Kenrya sat with the injured man the whole night and except for one moment when the man squeezed her hand, he slept. When morning arrived, the doctor checked his patient again, turned to Arith and simply shook his head. The beautiful Gaela had died during the night, too weak to recover from the barbaric attack.

  Arith and several undergrounders built a box and carried the dead man into the western forest. Kenrya insisted on going. They buried the man and returned late to the city.

  Every time Kenrya passed through the marketplace in the days that followed, her heart sunk at the sight of the amputated silvery wings flapping high above on the wooden post. By the fourth day, she could no longer stand the sight. She waited until shortly after dusk and set the post on fire. She watched until the fire crept up the post and reached the wings, then she sprinted for the safety of the underground. The next day when she returned to the marketplace, she found the post removed and only a blackened ring remained where it had once stood.

  *******

  As Eros watched, Kenrya had clutched at her hair and was now rocking ever so slightly as she stared at the dying embers of the fire. Finally, she rubbed her hands over her face and retreated to the tent for the night. What to do with her? With any luck, she would sleep soundly and be stronger tomorrow. He then positioned himself on the other side of the swinging vines, and turned his full attention to the task at hand. He hoped their luck would hold out and all would be quiet.

  Chapter 35

  Nord summoned Natal to his personal chambers. His aide approached warily, as Nord’s treatment of the girl was likely to have been quite harsh. Nord’s twisted fetish was shared by some of the Tyrnotts, but many found it as disgusting as Natal did. The mere thought of enjoying such a young girl repulsed him.

  He braced himself, as he knocked on Nord’s door. “Enter,” Nord called from within. Natal pushed open the door and found Nord looking quite relaxed and apparently pleased with himself, given the grand smile he wore. Nord confirmed he was done with the girl and she should be passed around to the men before being “suitably handled.” Natal nodded and closed the door behind him as he left Nord’s chambers.

  The girl, undoubtedly, would be held in one of the servant’s quarters, taken there by a maid on Nord’s orders. She would be terrified and physically hurt, but Natal never knew the extent of the pain any of them endured. “Suitably handled” was such a pleasant-sounding phrase when, in fact, this was merely Nord’s simple way of ordering the girl’s death. The one order Natal never obeyed was passing the girls to others.

  He stopped by the medic’s chambers and mixed a drink for the girl. Then, he sought out the lead maid and inquired as to the chamber holding her. With a grief-stricken look, the woman pointed to the third door on the left down the small, darkened corridor which served as the main passageway for all of the servants. Nord’s servants lived in conditions closer to slaves as they were never permitted to leave the grounds. If only Nord lacked his madness, such imprisonment wouldn’t be required.

  Natal selected a soft blanket from Nord’s personal belongings in the linen closet and entered the door to which he had been directed. The little girl sat shivering in a curled-up ball at one of end of the bed. The servant had washed her and given her a thin frock with pants, both with frayed edges and numerous holes. Cleaned, the girl’s face hinted at a beauty that, if only allowed to, would blossom as she aged. Even her red and puffy eyes failed to hide this fact. She eyed Natal with fresh terror and withdrew as far against the wall as possible as he approached. He placed the glass on the small corner table, opened the soft blanket he carried, and wrapped it around the girl. Then he sat on an edge of the bed away from her and began to speak soothingly to her.

  Natal had performed this dance many times. After a while, the girl grew less wary of him and eventually crawled into his open arms for comfort. Releasing the girl would bring a revolt against the Tyrnotts, as she would inevitably tell of her treatment at Nord’s hands. This was not acceptable. What was the alternative, then? Death, as ordered by Nord. Such a waste of a young life! Natal attempted to comfort her for as long as he dared before offering her the drink.

  He asked the girl if she were th
irsty, a question he had asked many times before, and as always, she confirmed she was. He passed her the sweet drink he had prepared; she drank it all quickly. Then he held her as the sedative allowed her to drop into a deep sleep. He wrapped her tightly in the blanket and carried her from the room to “suitably handle” her. Later that evening, he would have the gravediggers fill the hole they dug with fresh dirt and mark the grave with the day’s date. Nord enjoyed his walks in the cemetery and would be pleased with a fresh grave to visit. Natal’s stomach turned at the thought.

  Chapter 36

  Azetan woke early as was his custom. His daily routine began with morning meditation and given the circumstances, he needed to center his thoughts. He crept from the tent into the dim light shortly before the sun broke the horizon. He checked on Prizene, who took the last shift as lookout. She was staring intently into the forest on the far side of the bushes. He gazed at her for a few moments. His father was friends with a Krystic man and would frequently share with his son the man’s woes regarding his headstrong daughter. Azetan’s father insisted that he and the girl would be good companions, since they were the same age and apparently of the same temperament. They had never had the opportunity to be introduced, though. While he had met only a few Krystics over the years, the women struck him as generally docile. Perhaps Prizene was the headstrong one. He smirked at the thought. Wouldn’t that be ironic?

  He let the bush branches fall and turned toward the camp. Last night he had noticed a nearby rock with a flat, smooth surface and chose to start his day there. He stepped carefully around the campsite debris, climbed onto the rock, and sat facing the direction the sun would rise. With his eyes closed, he concentrated his thoughts on a single image and let the events of the last few days melt into the recesses of his mind. As he began to relax, he felt the warmth of the sun on his face and opened his eyes to watch the beautiful sunrise. His body was relaxed with his mind at peace.