The Journey of the Marked (The Miyran Heir Book 1) (12 page)

After reaching the last rooftop at
the city’s edge by daybreak, the marked ones had taken turns sleeping and
keeping watch throughout the day. They waited until dusk fell, when the patrols
became less frequent and it was safer to continue their journey. As Tip’s
strength had returned, he removed Eros’s smaller pack from the larger one
provided by the undergrounders and handed it to Eros. Tip placed his own
smaller bag in the larger one, which he would carry. To even out the weight,
Eros took a turn with the coils of rope and attached them to his smaller pack. Packs
in place, they climbed down the building’s outside ladder and jogged the last
few turns to the edge of the city. As they rounded the last turn, they found
themselves staring at a massive glowing gate that stretched across the large
opening in the wall.

“This wasn’t here before.” Jurf
said in surprise, pointing at the rays. “They must have built it to keep
attackers out.”

“Or to keep marked ones in,” Kenrya
replied. She threw a handful of street trash at the gate, only to see it
disintegrate as soon as it touched the glowing rays.

Prizene turned to Jurf. “You have
to go. If they find you, they’ll kill you since you helped us. We’ll find a way
out of the city.”

Jurf hesitated and looked at the
others. Kenrya added, “She’s right. You should go. We’ll travel along the wall
until we find an opening. Remember, a cold air vent will hide you from a
Graelith at night, but not a Tyrnott.”

“I didn’t know that.” Jurf gave a
quick nod. Then, he gazed at Prizene like a love-struck pup, but slowly backed
away.

“Thank you and good luck.” She blew
him a kiss.

He smiled bashfully and disappeared
down the alleyway.

The group turned back to the
glowing gate to find Tip searching for something. Azetan asked, “Did you lose
something?”

“Just looking for the control box.”
Tip put his hands on his hips. “The mechanism must be here somewhere. Maybe I
can disable it.”

“Over here,” Eros called. He
pointed toward a black box next to wall where they had exited the last alleyway.
“Is this it? I noticed it as we came out of the alley.”

“Yes!” Tip exclaimed. He darted
over to it and tried opening the box, but it was locked. Azetan removed his
sword and told Tip to back away from the box. Then he smashed the hilt against
the lock, which after two blows fell to the ground. Tip opened the box and
studied the components inside.

“Well?” Kenrya prodded. “Can you
disable it?”

“Give me a minute,” Tip replied
absent-mindedly, staring at the mechanism with concentration in the flickering
light of a nearby lamppost. The others dispersed to give him space and to look
for other options.

Eros spotted the Graeliths first
and alerted the others. They appeared at the wall a few blocks away where one
of the main streets connected to the outside ring of the city. The Graeliths
reacted quickly, moving toward the marked ones at a determined pace. Azetan
still held his sword; the others readied their weapons in preparation for
battle.

Suddenly, an explosion behind them
blew bits of debris in a wide radius, startling them. They turned in unison to
find Tip holding his laser gun, staring at the remnants of the control box,
which was zapping sporadically. He pushed a lever on the gun and returned it to
his inside pocket. He looked sheepishly at their shocked faces and shrugged. “I
disabled it.” Indeed, he succeeded, as the glowing gate had disappeared.

Kenrya shook her head, smiled, and
actually looked at Tip with a little respect when she said, “Impressive
mechanical skills, Fluffy.”

Tip grinned and ran his hands
through his mass of hair. His strength had indeed returned with the day’s rest
and doses of medicine as prescribed by the medic. He turned and sprinted toward
the opening in the wall. The others followed with the Graeliths not far behind.

“Look what we have here,” the
Tyrnott sneered, grabbing the Hurfen teenager around the neck and pulling him
to his feet. He pushed the boy hard against the stone wall and glared into his
frightened eyes.

“What an ugly species,” Nord
commented. “What is it?”

“A Hurfen,” Natal answered.

“And does it know anything about
the marked ones? About the Krystic?”

“N-n-no!” the boy stammered. “I’m
just traveling home from a medic. I haven’t seen anyone else wandering the
streets.”

The Tyrnott gripping the boy’s neck
now moved his face closer. “He’s lying,” the man said, though he lacked the
skill to sense feelings. Still, it was a believable claim. After all, the boy
was breaking curfew and the tracker had spotted a Hurfen assisting the marked
ones earlier, so he could easily claim that this boy was the culprit.

“Most unfortunate,” Nord responded
and started walking away as if the boy was hardly worth his time. “His life is
worthless if he has no valuable information.”

“Pa-pa-please, sir! I just want to
go home,” the boy begged.

Nord glared at him with cold eyes
and said in a harsh voice, “Tell me where I can find the red-headed Krystic and
I might let you go.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a
Krystic,” he explained, eyes wide with fear.

Nord appeared to be considering
this.

 “Very well,” Nord said and the
boy’s shoulders relaxed. Nord started walking away. In a quieter voice, he
said, “Kill him.”

As Natal followed Nord, the Tyrnott
holding the boy pulled out a sword and ran it swiftly through the boy’s stomach.
The boy dropped to the ground and moaned in pain.

A clanging noise came from a nearby
alleyway. Natal turned toward the sound, drawing his sword, and walked to the
alley to investigate. Standing at the mouth of the alley, he lightly kicked a
small can which appeared to have been knocked over. He scanned the alley for
movement, but saw no one. Windows lined the alley, though no light was visible.
The Tyrnotts long ago trained the population to close their curtains at night
and ignore unusual noises. After all, the city was safe and relatively free of
crime. He continued to scan the area, finding an outside building ladder. He
followed the length of it with his eyes to the roof, finding nothing. He was
about to climb the ladder, when a small animal scurried out from the darkness,
twitched its nose at Natal, and then darted into the can.

Natal returned to the others and
shook his head to indicate nothing was found. He observed the Hurfen boy
doubled over on his knees, holding his hands to his bleeding stomach, and
scolded the other Tyrnott. “He’s not dead. What purpose will this serve?”

The other Tyrnott replied in a
haughty tone, “He’ll die, but not without suffering.”

Natal observed the cruel sneer on
the other’s face for a few moments and then turned to the pathetic form of the
Hurfen boy shaking on the ground, knowing the boy wouldn’t live. He placed his
hand on the boy’s cheek and sensed he had told the truth earlier. While most
Tyrnotts could only sense emotion at the moment it occurred, Natal’s ability
was strong enough, even stronger than Nord’s, that he could still extract that
information after some period of time. This was not the boy that helped the
marked. Such treatment for breaking curfew was unwarranted. In one smooth
motion, Natal sliced through the boy’s neck. The boy slumped to the ground
motionless. Natal wiped his sword on the lifeless body and sheathed it by his
side. He looked at the other Tyrnott and shook his head in disgust. Then he
resumed his place by Nord’s side.

*******

Jurf watched all this while peering
over the roof wall. As the Tyrnotts left the scene, he was finally able to
breathe easier. He wiped his sweaty hands on his pants and tried to stop
trembling. He had to be more careful. Accidentally kicking that can nearly gave
him away! Should he retrieve the poor boy’s body? He recognized him as a
neighbor. Then he noticed movement off to the side as a Graelith turned the
corner. He must have been called to watch in case the marked ones came for the
body or to remove the body before the neighborhood residents discovered it. Jurf
edged away from the roof wall and jumped quietly across the rooftops toward
home. His spirits lightened the more distance he put behind him. Soon he would
begin his journey to Banston … and welcome the start of a new future.

Tren watched Mirna sitting
listlessly in her chair and sighed. Dark circles rimmed her tired eyes and her
face looked gaunt, her skin pale. True, her youth had faded years ago, but her
familiar smile and lively eyes had always been a comfort to him. Her thick
braid hung down her back with tips of both red and purple today. How rare it
was to have tips in two colors! He always felt privileged that she had chosen
him to marry. Liput men outnumbered the women, meaning marriage at all was
special, but being married to Mirna was a rare and wonderful thing. Yet today,
she looked like a mere ghost of the woman he once knew.

Tip’s birthday passed less than a
week ago, but her anguish appeared absolute. Granted, his cooking lacked some
of her flair, but she ate little and slept less. When Trul and Sri left to join
the warriors, it was inevitable that Mirna would focus all her attention on Tip.
This seemed to allow her to continue living while she quietly grieved the
absence of her two other sons, and the eldest one’s death. And now she had no
children at home. At least word had spread to the village that a Liput boy in
the city was wanted for murder. Granted, the news may have referred to Sri, but
even if it was Sri and not Tip, at least one of their sons was still alive. Tren
believed Sri joined the warriors and remained in the city to protect Lady
Anyamae, which prevented him from returning home. Therefore, he believed the
Liput boy wanted for murder was Tip. Granted, murder was not a pleasant accusation,
but they raised Tip to be a good boy; surely if the accusations were true, they
were the result of self-defense.

A knock on the door rousted Tren
from these thoughts. Perhaps another neighbor was bringing more unwanted
sympathy or food that would go uneaten. It was best to tell them Mirna was ill
and send them away. She wasn’t strong enough for another visit.

He arose from his chair and
answered the door. Instead of a neighbor on his doorstep, he found Karlan, one
of the Raptans that frequented the village. The Raptans lived in Stipol, the
neighboring town; they were frequent guests to Kentish, as were the Liputs to
Stipol. Tren socialized with Karlan from time to time. He bore the common
physical traits of the Raptan species, though his psychic abilities were
stronger than most. He stood at least six and a half feet tall and was lean and
willowy. The most prominent feature of any Raptan was the beak-like nose, and
in this regard Karlan did not disappoint. He also had the characteristic high
forehead and slicked back hair.

Tren invited Karlan into the house
and led him toward the kitchen, away from Mirna. Once Tren poured drinks, they
sat at the table and drank in silence for a moment. Tren watched Karlan’s bony
hands as they wrapped around the glass. He always wondered how such delicate
hands could be extremely deadly, with or without a weapon. The Raptans were
indeed renowned for their fighting artistry.

Tren desperately hoped Karlan
brought news of Tip. When he could wait no longer, he asked, “Any news of Tip? Or
Sri, for that matter? I guess I’ve given up on news of Sri.” His laugh sounded
strained, even to him.

“No news, no. Thoughts. Visions
only.”

Tren leaned across the table and
spat out, “You saw one of my boys?”

Karlan closed his eyes and spoke erratically
and slowly, as he often did when relaying a vision. “Recently marked boy. Liput.
Bleeding heavily. Healed. Deep in the forest. Surrounded by enemies and
friends.”

“Friends?” Tren pulled back, as his
mouth dropped open. He never knew Tip to have friends. The boy kept to himself
after his brothers were marked.

“Traveling companions. Four. Danger
at his heels. The forest grows dark.”

Karlan opened his eyes and shook
his head. He took a long drink and let the silence rest between them.

Tren absorbed this fragmented
information. “So, he travels with four friends in the deep forest west of the
city, with enemies chasing them?”

Karlan nodded. “Yes, that is my
conclusion as well.”

“But why would he travel into the
deep forest? I thought all marked ones went to the city.”

Karlan shrugged. “I can’t answer
that, unless danger drove them there.”

Tren gnawed on his bottom lip as he
again considered this information. “Did you sense he was headed the wrong way?”

Karlan shook his head. The two men
stared at each other for a while. As Tren emptied his glass and rose to pour
another one, his hands were shaking. This was the news they were hoping to
receive. He offered another drink to Karlan, but the offer was refused.

“I must return to Stipol,” Karlan
explained. “The flight of these marked ones has angered Nord. Concern abounds
for our safety.”

Thankfully Kentish was protected by
the electronic barrier. Tren breathed a sigh of relief. “Stay here, dear friend.
The barrier will protect you.”

Karlan smiled. “The offer is
appreciated, but I must protect my family.”

Tren reached up, placed his hand on
his friend’s shoulder, and walked Karlan to the front door, thanking him for
the information. He closed the door and stood for a moment, debating whether to
share this news with Mirna. Surely the information would cheer her, but he
feared a deeper slide into depression if they misread the visions. Still, the
honorable choice was to share Karlan’s information. He braced himself for her
reaction and returned to her side in the sitting room to share the news that
their son was still alive.