The Journey of the Marked (The Miyran Heir Book 1) (16 page)

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.

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
thirsty, 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.

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.

After a while, he heard someone
moving around the campsite. He ignored the noises and concentrated even harder
on the sunrise. Shortly thereafter, someone sat beside him.

“Early start,” Aston commented.

Azetan glanced at Aston out of the
corner of his eye and said, “Old habit.” Despite agreeing to travel with the
men, he still didn’t trust them completely, regardless of the fact that two
were Plinte.

Aston smiled and turned to watch
the sunrise with Azetan. After a while he asked, “How did you find the others?”

The question seemed harmless enough.
“They, along with the undergrounders, saved my life. Dozens of Graeliths
swarmed the streets the night I arrived in the city. I tried to lose or kill
them, but more found me. Three trapped me in a small square. I defended myself
well enough, but when three others joined the fight, I had little hope I would
survive. Curfew had passed and no others were on the streets to help, or so I
thought. Then five fighters jumped over the wall with swords drawn and evened
the battle. A few of Anyamae’s warriors joined, as well. Together we defeated
the Graeliths.”

“You were very lucky! Will you
travel with them?”

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“Individually, the others are less
likely to survive. Together, they are an impressive mix of species. I wondered
if you recognized that.”

“I never considered it, but you’re
right; each possesses unique skills. We’ve already helped each other in many
ways, it almost seems it was our destiny to find each other.”

Aston nodded. “They will lean on
you for strength and protection. They will also offer assistance to you, each
in his or her own way. Yes, together, you’re stronger. Together, you may
survive.”

“Of course we will,” Azetan balked.
“Why do you doubt us?”

“I do not doubt, but I worry. From
all that you have told us, Nord knows of your group. He’ll try to stop you.”

“Let him try. We won’t die easily.”
Azetan jumped off the rock and marched back to the campsite where the others
were beginning to stir.

Aston looked after him and smiled. Anyamae
chose well this band of marked ones. Though her purpose remained a mystery to
him, one thing was certain: They were marked at the same time and brought
together for a reason. He hoped they lived long enough to fulfill that destiny.