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

by Rebecca P. McCray

  After the moment of silence, a low hum of voices cascaded across the field. Ampal wrapped his arm around his mother’s shoulders and gave her a tight squeeze. He and Arith climbed over the bench seats and walked to the food tables. Ampal had offered to bring his mother dinner and picked up two plates to fill with food. The vast amount and variety that stretched before him seemed endless and daunting. Not in many years had he seen such a large quantity of food. Given the sheer number of people the village was attempting to feed, it was likely to be eaten.

  Ampal filled his mother’s plate with her favorite dishes, hoping her appetite was healthier this evening than his father had said it had been the last week. Typically, he would have tried a little bit of everything on the table, but his taste for food was significantly depleted. He placed small portions on his plate, then he and Arith wound their way back to the head table and sat down to eat.

  As he ate, Ampal watched as a continuous though respectful stream of visitors approached the casket. They analyzed the carvings, sometimes commenting on stories they already knew and other times deciphering the images of tales they had not yet heard. Each worked his way around the casket, stopping at the head table to offer a kind word on the beauty of Ishta’s life.

  Ampal appreciated the attempts of other species to respect their customs. A large Skurk rounded the end of the casket and stood by the table for a few moments before clearing his throat. “Errr ... great drawings,” he said, nodding toward the Raptan. “Errr ... bless your daughter.” Then he awkwardly crossed his arms, stood still for another second or two, then turned and walked quickly away. Ampal’s mother turned toward her son with a slight smile, the first he had seen since he arrived. She gave him a quick wink, then returned to eating her dinner.

  Ampal ate his meal slowly, watching each face of the crowd as they viewed the casket. He noticed Arith remained alert, as well. They spoke earlier that evening regarding the unusual species in attendance. Arith believed they were brought together by Anyamae’s marking of Kenrya’s group. Ampal lacked confidence that this was the case. While the group of marked ones was indeed unique, he thought it highly unlikely their families would converge on Banston to organize themselves for any other purpose. He thought it far more likely they attended solely to lend their support. Liputs and Krystics were rarely marked and the parents may simply feel the funeral would connect them to their children.

  Now the Liput and Hurfen he had seen earlier walked hesitantly toward the casket. They mimicked the actions of the other visitors and he enjoyed the stories the Hurfen boy created. Ampal had encountered Hurfens throughout the city, though he knew very few well. He considered them simple at best. As the boy shared wilder and wilder tales of Ishta’s life with the Liput, Ampal began to realize his assumptions of the Hurfens may not be valid. The boy’s imagination was incredible. The Liput approached the table first and unlike the other visitors who only spoke to the group seated at the table, he actually placed a hand on the shoulder of Ampal’s mother. He said nothing, though the grief in his eyes communicated a great deal. She placed her hand on his and gave a quick nod of thanks. Ampal rubbed his chin. The man must be Tip’s relative. A glance at Arith told him Arith arrived at the same conclusion. He turned back to see the Hurfen boy standing awkwardly at the end of the table, fidgeting with his hands. Ampal’s mother simply reached over and patted the boy reassuringly on the arm. He smiled at her tentatively, then practically ran from the table. Who was the Hurfen and why was he here?

  After a while, the trail of viewers came to an end. Ampal’s father stood and the crowd grew silent. He walked to the casket and ran his fingers across a single carving. His voice was quiet at first, though quickly rose in volume. His father shared the first tale of the funeral, Ishta’s third birthday. Ampal suspected he picked this tale, a humorous one, to brighten the mood. His father spun a story of an impish little girl who decided to help her mother cut the birthday cake — with her brother’s sword. Their table still bore the battle scars from that occasion and the wall had several slashes, as little Ishta had struggled to lift the sword’s considerable weight. The cake splattered across the room, even reaching the windows. However, the humiliation his middle child faced when his sister wielded his sword better than he did might never be remedied. The crowd laughed and Ampal playfully punched his little brother in the arm.

  Over the next hour, family and friends approached the casket one by one and told similar tales of Ishta’s life. Certain tales were displayed on the casket, while others were not. As the night grew late and the little ones drifted to sleep in their parents’ arms, Ampal stood and walked to the casket.

  Silence drifted across the crowd like a sudden wind, as they watched and listened. Ampal studied every carving on the casket individually, taking his time, seemingly oblivious to the crowd around him. Once he returned to the side facing the crowd, he leaned over and placed his forehead on the top of the box. He closed his eyes and pictured Ishta as he last saw her, hair wild and free, begging him to take her to the city to join the undergrounders.

  At last, he turned and spoke to the crowd. “My sister dreamed of being a warrior. It was her destiny, her essence. Any of you who knew her know she began fighting before she learned to speak. What you may not know is that she loved pettias and other flowers with vibrant colors. Every day on her way home from school, she picked flowers to share with the family as a centerpiece for our evening meal.” He pulled a pettia from his pocket that he had picked earlier that day. The flower was small, yet intricate, its petals layered one upon another, creating a mound. This one was a vivid, deep orange, one of Ishta’s favorite colors. He placed it on top of the casket. “A flower for you, Ishta,” he said softly. Then in silence, he gathered his mother from the table and escorted her and the family back to their home.

  Chapter 67

  The marked ones traveled through the night. Unfamiliarity with the terrain and the mist-clouded darkness slowed their progress. Eros relied heavily on the compass the old woman had given him to ensure they continued in the right direction. The fanes tracked them through the night. The haunting call of the birds created anxiety among some of the group, but for Eros, the sound only prodded him to move faster. They were close. He sensed something pulling him onward — a brightness he perceived in the distance. Hope coursed through his veins as they continued.

  The dull light in the distance gradually increased and the mist started to dissipate, making travel easier. They needed a break. Without rest, they would need nourishment and water to sustain them throughout the day. Eros verified that Prizene heard no Graeliths before suggesting they stop briefly to eat. As the others pulled minimal supplies from the bags, Eros wandered a short distance away in search of an opening to the sky, but the forest canopy blocked all direct sunlight. He spied a sliver of light bouncing off a high branch, but was unable to determine the time of day based on the one beam alone. He returned to the others.

  The marked ones ate quickly. Eros watched as the others jerked their eyes to the sky with each shriek of a fane. Focus — he must keep them focused.

  “Should be a short journey today,” he said with what he hoped was a casual smile. He grabbed his belongings and threw his pack on his back. “As long as the canopy blocks the fanes, the trip should be easy.”

  Tip looked to the sky. “If the canopy thins out a bit, I can always shoot them down with my laser gun.” He grabbed his bag and packed the supplies.

  “That’s the spirit!” Eros exclaimed.

  Prizene pulled her pack onto her back. “I won’t miss carrying this every day.”

  Eros nodded. “I think everyone here agrees. My shoulders have been sore for days.” He stretched them as much as he could while bearing the pack on his back.

  Kenrya turned to Eros. “You said you recognized this part of the forest from a trip with your mother?”

  “Yes, she brought me here a long time ago when I was very young. Some of the surroundings look different, though for the most p
art, it’s just as I remember it. I wasn’t sure when it was dark, but there’s enough light now to be sure.”

  “Did she take you anywhere in particular?”

  Smart. Kenrya may have her flaws, but lack of intelligence was not among them. Apparently she had already concluded that as part of preparing Eros to join the warriors, his mother had showed him the way to the camp. She smelled a little better today. His mother would like Kenrya when he introduced them.

  “Eros?”

  Kenrya was speaking to him again. What had she asked him? Was he just staring at her? He diverted his eyes to the ground and felt his cheeks flush. Focus, he needed to focus. He concentrated on the path. “Yes, my mother did take me to a specific part of the forest,” Eros confirmed, nodding at her.

  She grinned and clapped her hands together. “I thought so.”

  “This way,” he added and walked swiftly on the path heading southwest.

  They walked for an hour or more without incident, accompanied by the occasional screech of the fanes.

  “How can they track us?” Tip asked. “I’ve yet to even see one.”

  “They can’t see us, but they may glimpse movement within the forest.” Azetan explained, looking up at the canopy. “Their vision allows them to track prey in even the most daunting environments. They track with their hearing, as well. Even if we’re not talking, we’re making noise.”

  They traveled a short distance farther before Prizene stopped and the rest with her. She held up her hand to prevent them from speaking. Then she grimaced in frustration. “The Graeliths. I hear them. I don’t know how far back they are, but they’re following us.”

  “Not surprising,” Kenrya said. “With the fanes tracking us overhead, pinpointing our location would be simple.”

  Without another word, Eros spun on his heels and picked up the pace to a level he hoped they could maintain long enough to reach the camp. Tip passed him to take the lead. Good. Maybe Tip would scout the path for any obstacles.

  A patch of sunlight danced ahead, indicating a break in the treetops. Eros saw Tip arrive at the open area first and then he quickly dove to the ground as a large bird swooped down in his direction. Its black feathers glistened in the sunlight, as though covered in oil. The wingspan stretched to five feet and the creature’s beak and claws looked capable of ripping the flesh from any living being. Tip tried to move back toward the forest. Every time he tried to stand, another bird chased him back to the ground.

  Eros grabbed a rock from the ground and yelled, “Tip, now, move back to the path!”

  Tip jumped to his feet and swiftly dashed for the path as a rock soared by his head. The rock hit the fane with a thud and the bird released an ear-piercing screech. Eros turned his eyes to the sky. Several of the winged beasts were circling the open area.

  Tip arrived at his side, surveying the scene with him, as the others reached their position one by one.

  “What do we do?” Tip asked Eros. “They’ll rip us apart if we try to cross the open area.”

  “They would love nothing more,” Azetan replied grimly. “Alternatively, they trap us here until the Graeliths arrive.”

  “Great! We go back, Graeliths attack. We go forward, fanes attack. There must be another way.” Kenrya turned toward Eros. “Can we circle through the forest, Eros, to reach the other side of the open area?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Eros scanned the area, which looked very familiar to him. He closed his eyes a moment to remember the trip he once took with his mother. When he opened them, he knew at once which path to take. He pointed not directly across the open area, but to the right side. “Do you see the opening there? Both trees lean to the right and the single red flower grows to the left of the opening.”

  The others answered affirmatively. Eros continued, “That is the path we take. The flower marks the way. I remember it.”

  “The flower?” Prizene looked at Eros skeptically. “Eros, flowers don’t live that long. That must be a different one.”

  Eros studied the scene again. What Prizene said made sense, yet the opening and the flower were just as he remembered. “Maybe Anyamae placed it there. That might explain it. Or the flower died and bloomed again. It’s the same color and type as when I was child.”

  “All right. How do we cross then?” Prizene asked, as she glanced toward the sky. “Spike helped us before, but not this time. The fanes would kill him before he grew.”

  “Keep Spike safe for now.” Kenrya motioned with her hand toward Prizene’s pocket. “Unfortunately, heavy undergrowth blocks our way in both directions. If we try to go around the open area, we’ll lose time.” She turned to Tip. “What about your gun?”

  Tip shook his head. “The clearing isn’t that large and they’re fast. I don’t think I can hit them.”

  Kenrya stated, “We need another plan, then.”

  Azetan smile mischievously. “No, what we need is a diversion.” As he finished the sentence, he looked at Tip.

  Tip started shaking his head. “No, no, no. You must be joking.” The others were staring at him, too. He looked back at the birds and grabbed his hair in frustration.

  “Let me help you with your pack,” Azetan offered in soothing tones as Tip backed away.

  “How am I supposed to ‘divert’ them? The opening isn’t that large.”

  Eros placed his hand on Tip’s shoulder. “He’s right. We already asked him to run into the dark forest. We shouldn’t ask him to risk his life again. I’ll do it.” Eros removed his pack and handed it to Azetan. “I’ll draw their attention to the other side of the clearing, then two of you run at a time to the exit by the red flower.”

  Eros crouched down ready to run, when Tip stamped his foot and held his hands up, palms facing Eros. “No. I’m the ‘fastest thing on two legs,’ remember? And I’m more agile than you.” He shrugged off his pack and handed it to Eros as he mumbled, “I can’t believe I just said that.”

  Tip stretched only once this time, then bolted into the center of the open area. He zigzagged across the ground like an athlete preparing for a difficult obstacle course. His efforts worked, as the birds attempted to catch him, only to grab claws full of dirt when Tip switched direction at the last second. When the birds were fully distracted, Azetan and Prizene hurried toward the opening marked with the red flower. The birds momentarily stopped chasing Tip and dove for Azetan and Prizene, but they weren’t fast enough. When they missed their targets, they shrieked in rage. Then Tip zigzagged under the clear space again, drawing the fanes back to him while Eros and Kenrya next raced across the path safely. Azetan and Prizene held several rocks each and passed a few to Eros and Kenrya. They spread across the edge of the forest.

  Eros called, “Tip, we made it across! You can stop playing with the birds now.”

  Tip darted several times in different directions, then sprinted for the opening. The others hurled rocks at the fanes as they tried to catch Tip.

  Tip entered the forest safely with the others and packs were returned to their owners. He turned to Eros and said with exasperation, “‘Stop playing with the birds’? Are you crazy?”

  The others laughed, joined by Tip when he finally calmed down. Then they continued through the forest, as quickly as they could.

  Chapter 68

  Arith woke long before sunrise. He had learned from Ampal that Azetan’s father owned a café in the center of town and worked there with his daughter Ynelza. As it opened early, he assumed they would start their day long before others. Arith was staying with Ampal’s family and crept out of the house quietly to avoid waking them. He first walked by the open field with Ishta’s casket. He had picked a handful of pettias the night before and planned to leave them atop the casket. Four Plintes stood guard and would continue to guard the casket throughout the long ceremony. No mischief was anticipated; the guards simply stood there as a show of honor and respect. As Arith approached the casket, a smile lit his face. During the night, dozens of brightly colored flowers, inc
luding a large quantity of pettias, had been placed on the casket, the wooden stand, the ground around the stand, and whimsically, on the guards’ outfits. He caught the eye of one of the guards who gave a brief nod and wink. Arith placed his pettias on the top of the casket, then continued to the center of town. He found a tree stump in the shadows across the street from the café and settled in for what he hoped would be a short wait. No one else stirred at that hour, allowing him to enjoy a moment of peace.

  A short time later, Lifston and a young woman that was likely Ynelza strolled into view. They approached the café as they probably did each day. Yet before they entered, they scanned the surrounding area, presumably looking for trouble. Arith watched Ynelza with keen interest as her eyes worked their way methodically, analyzing everything within view. When she reached him, her eyes stopped. He had thought the shadow was enough to obscure him from view, though now he was certain she had spotted him. She tugged at her father’s sleeve and motioned in Arith’s direction. If the Krystic was indeed Prizene’s father, Lifston had good reason to be on edge. The Tyrnotts had probably sent spies to the funeral. Thus, caution was warranted.

  Lifston was by no means a small man. Despite Arith’s skill with a weapon, the outcome of a fight with Lifston would not be in Arith’s favor. Hopefully Lifston would listen before acting too rashly. Lifston popped into the café momentarily and emerged moments later, striding toward Arith with a club in his hand. Arith stood, moved out of the shadows, and held his hands up to indicate he meant no harm.

  Lifston hesitated, then stopped. He unclenched the club, letting it swing loosely in his hand. “You accompanied Ampal when he arrived with Ishta yesterday?”