The Journey of the Marked (The Miyran Heir Book 1) (30 page)

Ampal clasped his mother’s hand as
the gathering of people quieted for a moment of silence. He passed his eyes
over the crowd. Thousands were in attendance on the first night of Ishta’s
funeral, and more were likely to arrive as the days passed. He sat with his
parents, grandparents, younger brother, one aunt, her husband and three
children, the Raptan carver, and Arith. The organizers had positioned the table
approximately ten feet from the casket and at a perpendicular angle to allow
those on either side of the table an unobstructed view of the casket, which
rested several feet off the ground on a wooden platform. The Graelith’s severed
hand had been attached to a stick at one corner of the casket, as proof of
Ishta’s strength.  On the third night, they would remove the swords, pile wood
around the platform, and release Ishta’s spirit into the clouds by setting the
platform ablaze. Other tables were scattered across the field for the elderly
and disabled, but most of the visitors sat on the ground.

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.

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 part, 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.