The skin under Ian’s eyes has grayed, and his lighted hands gradually fade over the afternoon. The whirling mist plasters his hair to his forehead and neck.
“Look!” Margo shouts, her voice echoing in the chamber.
The water before them is no longer the ink black they have grown accustomed to but a deep indigo. The end of the dark chasm nears.
At this sight, Ian’s circular motion grows fiercer. The glow of his palms returns to its fullest, and Margo and Cameron’s pace quickens in order to keep up.
Sunlight filters through the upcoming water twinkling the surface, and at last they reach the edge. Ian delicately raises the fine liquid sheet creating a suspended archway to allow their exit. He drapes the curtain of water behind them, smoothing it away as if the surface was never disturbed.
Passing the boys, Margo leans her head back to face the heat of the sun upon her skin. The sweet Jamyrian air creates a warm ambiance which she welcomes after their cold, dark descent.
Ian staggers away from the water, nearly falling to the ground. Margo barely catches him in time. She steadies him in a droopy standing position, his eyes unfocused and cheeks turning faint green.
“Cam, your pack,” Margo says urgently. “Get him something to eat.”
“Water,” Ian breaths in a scratchy voice.
Cameron fumbles through his bag just as Ian falls to the ground, pulling Margo down with him. She holds him upright in a sitting position as best as she can where Cameron rushes over with a canteen. In less than a minute, Ian had drained it in its entirety.
“Some food,” she says. “He must be starving after —”
“No, we have to…move away from here,” Ian pants. “Too close. The bubble…it might attract attention. We have to keep going.”
“Come on,” says Cameron pulling Ian by his other arm. Together they lift him to his feet. “He’s right. It’s not safe here.”
Though his feet drag behind him, Ian attempts to walk between the two of them. Margo selfishly misses Faux for such occasions. It is difficult travelling uphill whilst supporting a boy of solid muscle, especially through the ever-thickening pathway.
No more than half a mile later, Margo turns back to find the Water Forest completely obscured by trees. She suggests they set up camp, and both boys agree they are fairly safe within the confines of the forest, though they tread several hundred feet off the path just to be safe.
Together, they prop Ian up against a tree covered in wart-like knots. Margo wastes no time distributing rations of venison and citrosea. “Eat,” she tells Ian and shoves his portion in his hands. “You look awful.”
He needs no further instructions and devours his food in minutes. He helps himself to seconds. Margo spares Ian worried glances between chews.
“To be honest,” says Ian once he has the energy. “I didn’t think I’d make there for a second.”
Margo’s brows stretch wide; Cameron makes a sort of grimace. They both think the same thing: they weren’t sure he’d make it either.
“Ah, don’t give me that look! We made it, didn’t we?”
The three burst into laughter and delve into reimagined stories of their journey, told with bounds of hyperbole. Soon the day grows darker until the sky fills with scattering stars. The subtle light shimmers through the trees, and the fire crackles with sparks that dance into the air.
“You two know a lot about each other considering you just entered the other day,” says Ian after Cameron recalls the night he and Margo drove the Hederman’s four wheeler into the creek.
“Actually,” Margo says between laughs. “We knew each other before we entered.”
Ian’s face darkens, the shadows casting eerily across his cheeks.
“Yeah,” says Cameron, oblivious to any change in Ian’s behavior.
“Peculiar” is his only response, and on they carry tales of the present world and the real one they left behind — common treasures from home they no longer take for granted, sharing thoughts of escape, and plans to cherish life once they return home, for it can easily be stolen in an instant — until eventually they fade away into dreamless sleep.
The ever-clear sky paints a turquoise background beyond the lime treetops, not a wisp of a cloud in sight. It is Margo’s sixth day in Jamyria and not a raindrop has presented itself in the midst of the jungle in which they travel. Much like the rainforests of the Real World, she imagines vast amounts of water are needed in order to sustain it. But this is an alternate world, one that defies nature.
Their journey has led them around the foot of Mount Myriam and on a steady descent. The trees thin and in their place are interwoven shrubs which Margo stomps through, taking the lead on the hike. Cameron swings his machete when trudging through the now non-existent path. Ian — who is more attentive having had a good night’s rest and more than his share of venison — keeps close to their heels.
“Do you hear that?” Ian suddenly says.
Cameron halts mid-swing, and Margo freezes. She strains her ears to no avail.
“Come on,” he shouts in excitement. “Let’s go for a swim!” And with that he marches through the weeds ahead of them, pulling his shirt over his head.
“Where is he off to?” Margo asks, her brow wrinkling up in confusion.
“Probably heard the river. It should be coming up.” Cameron beams, delighted their hike is nearing its end.
“I don’t hear anything….”
“That’s ‘cause you’re not a Waterperson,” says Cameron with a bit of edge in his voice. He draws back a cluster of branches to allow Margo to pass. “A swim does sound nice.”
Another several minutes pass before Margo and Cameron hear the bubbling of the stream. The river is nestled cozily between the overhanging trees and a bluff of rough, rust-colored rock. A deep water hole darkens a part of the river into a murky teal.
Ian dangles from a tree’s overhanging branches and plummets into the water. The wave he creates showers Cameron and Margo; Ian finds this amusing.
In a swift movement, Cameron pulls his shirt over his head and kicks off his shoes. “Coming?” He smirks and dives head first into the water hole.
Desperate to escape the sticky clinginess of her jeans, Margo wastes no time undressing to her tee shirt and underwear. The sun burns her skin but she welcomes the cool breeze. She ties her hair back in a knot.
“More marks?” Ian is staring at the back of her neck from the middle of the stream.
Margo nods, too hot to take on another conversation about her marks. She glides into the river, the cool water sloshing up to her waist, and wades over to where Cameron stands.
The shock of cold water on Margo’s back startles her as Ian falls from above into a cannonball. Annoyed and hair now soaked through, she turns to tell him off in time to see him disappear beneath the surface. She worries for a split second when he doesn’t resurface, but then remembers his ability as a Waterperson.
Suddenly she remembers something.
Margo slips under the water so quickly it startles Cameron. And she’s right: she, too, can still breathe underwater. Her vision is also crisper, even though the creek is murkier than the Water Forest had been. Her lungs no longer require air, which she finds means she doesn’t float back to the surface as she had before.
Ian catches her eye several yards across the gritty water hole. He smiles letting a stream of bubbles escape his lips.
Something grabs her by the shoulder pulling her backwards into the water. Panic overtakes her, the memory of the orange-headed girl flickers. Pulling her deep into the water, leaving her for dead or enslavement….
She breaks through the surface of the water to find herself in Cameron’s arms. “MARGO! Are you alright?!” he shouts urgently.
“Calm down,” Ian says, emerging from the water.
“I’m fine,” she says. “I just remembered that I could still breathe underwater. Wanted to test it out.”
The worried look on his face fades. “Oh…right.�
��
“I guess this means I’m a Waterperson, too,” she says smugly.
“I suppose it does,” Ian says. “But you’re still an amateur. I mean, you can breathe and hear underwater, but those are about the only water senses you have. Of course, these gifts are irrelevant for a New Mark who can do practically anything….”
Margo isn’t sure how to respond to this. What more could she possibly need from the marks she bears? Cameron merely squeezes her hand. “Well, excuse me for being a lady, but I’m going to go wash up.”
Dropping Cameron’s hand, she wades away from the boys and attempts to relax a bit on the slope of the river. She rubs handfuls of sandy gravel on her skin to loosen up the dirt and grime and lets the current wash it away. She does the same to her scalp; though, washing the smaller pebbles out of her hair proves more difficult.
She scrubs her inner arms harder than necessary, as if her marks will somehow fade away. To her disappointment, they stand out as contrasting against her skin as ever. What scares her most is the desire she can sense building within since her fall down the side of the Water Forest. Ian awakened a monster within her that craves to grow its strength. She wonders absentmindedly if this is how the Queen became the woman she is today, if this — she holds out her hand — is how she came to the point of sacrificing lives to consume more energy.
Liquid energy pulls from her markings, dragging itself to the center of her palm. It flows quite easily. She remembers Ian’s instructions to release the energy in her palm; she can feel it hover inches above her skin. Picturing the details of the penny, she imagines reshaping the ball of energy into what she desires. A smooth, flat circle of copper appears in her palm.
“Yes!” she whispers to herself. She does not wish for the boys to know what she is up to just yet. She glances up to find them taking turns jumping from the edge of the cliff, her eyes lingering on Cameron’s glistening skin.
The second shape she creates is perfectly round but lacks the features that make up a penny, though it does show faint etching on one of its sides.
Margo concentrates harder and tries again. Then again. And again. She tosses each piece of copper on the shore — which begins to collect quite a shimmering pile of mistakes — when finally, she holds between her index finger and thumb an exact replica of Abraham Lincoln’s face.
“YES!” she cries so loudly that Cameron starts.
“What?” they say in unison, Cameron on the other side’s shore and Ian hurtling himself over the bluff.
“I made a penny!”
“Excellent!” Cameron says as he rushes to her side to observe. He takes it from her hand. “This is really close. It’s missing the date and part of the back but, really, it’s impressive!”
“Not bad for a newbie,” Ian simply states.
Margo blushes at their praise.
“Pretty soon,” Ian continues, “you’ll even be able to do this!”
With the wave of a hand, a thick stream of water spirals over his head and wraps around like cyclones. Amazed, Margo drops the penny on the shore. The water suddenly parts exposing the rocky riverbed below, and with a twist of the wrist, Ian manipulates the suspended liquid into sheer panels creating a dancing maze of water. They weave in and out of Ian’s display as he carefully manipulates it at will, Margo’s trilling laugh echoing off the bluff.
Cameron takes Margo by the arm, pulling her close to him. She bounces off his chest and the warmth within her returns. The water around them slows, wrapping a circle around the two. He moves in carefully, his lips barely parted. And when they press against hers, Margo cannot hide her excitement. A thousand thoughts rush through her and just as quickly disappear as Cameron holds her face close to his, gently guiding her lips with his. Kissing Cameron is so natural that Margo wonders how it could have ever made her nervous. His skin is slick against hers. She stretches up on her toes in order to wrap her arms around his neck.
The water falls slow like rain pelting to the ground, its soft trickling the only sound as the riverbed refills. They pull apart to stare at each other, standing waist deep in the now still river.
Ian sits upon the edge of the shore now fully clothed.
Chapter Seventeen: The Feather of a Clarxen
“I’m growing rather tired of these visits. The dungeon floor soils the hems of my dresses. Dreadful, simply dreadful...” says the Queen whilst shaking her billowing hair. “All you have to do — all you have to say — is where your mate has swum off to.”
“You might as well just kill me,” Seora repeats. Her face is inches beneath the surface of the water, her dark tail curled up against her chest. The water is tainted in blood.
“Sit up!” the Queen orders jerking Seora upright by her hair. “Do you know what this is?” She gestures to the machine in the corner of the room that resembles a photo booth.
Seora bites her lower lip, fearing to speak the lie aloud. Instead she simply shakes her head.
“This machine is powered by my mark. Hook her up,” she orders the Crew Member. She smiles her darkly beautiful smile. “Set it at ten.”
Seora works at keeping her face impassive. Whatever it is about to do, ten sounds like a high level. The Crewman shuffles around her basin clamping a set of clips on the metal parts of the tub.
“Every ten minutes that passes without the answers I desire, an electric pulse with shock your tub. It will be...unbearable.” Gliding up to the tub, the Queen places her lace-covered hands on the edge and leans in toward Seora. “Now, you have the option of enduring the pain and dying a slow, excruciating death, or you may tell me where Derek is. If you fail to divulge, I will set it for every five minutes, and then one. I can only hope you will not disappoint me any more than you already have.”
Seora glares back at her muttering, “This will never work,” but the Queen has already flipped the stiff breaker on. The Crew Member secures the glass lid over the tub.
Ten minutes until the torture begins.
“I knew you’d be difficult from the day you fell into the water,” says the Queen. “But rest assured, I will break you of your Northern tendencies.”
“I didn’t want to be in the water.” Seora’s voice catches. “I didn’t want to become one of these creatures.”
“But you did. And you will always be one of them. Might I remind you that it was your choice to enter the Water Forest.” In a grand sweep the Queen spins away on her heel, kicking the train of her dress behind her. “Farewell, Seora. Until we meet again….”
The tinkling of her Majesty’s footsteps is broken by the deafening sound of Seora’s screams as the machine comes to life. The Queen’s scowl rearranges into a cold grin as she glides down the corridors.
The sound of the mermaid’s torture echoes through the stone chambers, down the darkest dungeon where it meets the water’s edge. It pulsates through the sea and extends deep into the waters. Her scream passes the underwater city’s occupants one by one. Each Waterperson whose sensitive ears it touches turns in response, though none are certain where it comes from. Some faces hold shock or fear, others anger, as they already have heard the rumors of the underwater traitor.
The sound travels past the small city, beyond the outer trees, to a black and murky alcove where not even the darkest of fish swim. The only light glints off a lone merman’s eyes as he starts to ascend from the bushes.
His dark skin melts back into the shadows knowing he cannot attend to his promised mate’s plea.
*
Ian swings the machete vigorously with a grunt, slicing clean through thick brush. His mood turned foul since their swim. Margo recounts their afternoon trying to clue in on what could have caused this shift in attitude but she can hardly recall anything with the thoughts of her first kiss with Cameron so fresh on her mind. The image keeps popping up in her head as sharp as it had been in the moment. She finds herself blushing often and giggling at his forced chivalry.
Cameron either doesn’t recognize Ian’s sudden anger or re
fuses to acknowledge it. He is so wrapped up in Margo he doesn’t offer much assistance on path-clearing duty other than holding Margo’s hand while climbing over rocks or pulling back branches for her to duck under. Every once in a while, he accidentally brushes his hand against her back or walks so close she can feel his breath on her skin. She finds that she likes having a part of him always near her.
Ian stops his wild swinging suddenly to wipe away a sheen of sweat on his forehead.
“We’re almost there,” he says. “You smell that?”
“Smoke,” Margo states. The aroma of a nearby fire saturates the wind. “A chimney?”
“Let’s hope,” says Ian. He resumes slashing the greenery.
A colorful flock of birds flutter overhead. Margo has heard many sounds in the forest but until now has yet to see any of the hidden creatures. They light the sky with a rainbow of colors but fly with urgency as if fleeing from something.
Light trickles through the upcoming vines. Splotches of color dance on the forest floor reminding Margo of her last moments in the Real World when she found that brilliant bird. Something screams inside her to warn Ian to stop just as he cuts through the final shrubs and steps through the opening into an open field.
Cameron’s excited words are lost as he pulls Margo into the sun. Ian’s hand flies out in warning. It is not the Witch they have found.
The petite girl stands several yards ahead of them. She is almost identical to Margo’s miniscule size, yet she is quite terrifying. Dark hair frames her perfect, porcelain face, brushing to her waist. Eyes vivid blue. Skin darkened from the sun. As beautiful as she is, there is something slightly off-putting about her.
Cameron’s grip tightens on Margo’s hand.
The girl’s face is wild and slightly inhumane. Her eyes dance shiftily between the three of them as if attempting to determine which is the biggest threat.
Jamyria: The Entering (The Jamyria Series Book 1) Page 20