The Journey of the Marked (The Miyran Heir Book 1) (2 page)

Tip slouched against the hard-backed
chair in the corner of his room in his family’s home. They lived in Kentish, an
outbound community a four-and-a-half-day walk from the southern walls of Caldot.
He watched day breaking through the window on the opposite wall. Today he
turned sixteen. He walked over to the small mirror on the wall and sighed as he
stared at his reflection. His six-inch long, fluffy brown hair framed a soft
face and showed tips of green today, though tomorrow they could be purple or
red, changing each day randomly. His build was slight. His mind was his
strength. If he could fight with his mind, he would be undefeatable. He was a
Liput; there was no way to hide that fact. He took a long, slow breath.

The Liput were farmers, known
throughout the region for their excellent-quality produce. Mechanical ingenuity
separated Kentish from other farming towns. Naturally, most machines in town
focused on improving the town’s farming capability. However, the people of
Kentish made weak warriors. Most lacked the skill to wield a weapon with deadly
force and tended to settle their disputes through compromise. To compensate, an
electronic barrier designed by the Liput protected the city and prevented any
unwelcome visitors from entering. While electric weaponry protected the town, a
Liput boy of sixteen remained an easy target when away from home.

The power struggle for control of
their world between the Miyrans, founders of Caldot, and the Tyrnotts, the
current renegade rulers, was of little consequence to the Liput community as a
whole. Though they favored the Miyrans, the distance between Kentish and Caldot
allowed them the luxury of ignoring the outside world. The only necessary
contact involved selling their crops each fall in the Caldot marketplace, or
when traders from the city visited Kentish to sell their wares. Unfortunately,
the struggle for Caldot was of utmost importance to Tip’s family.

Tip was only nine when his brother
Trul turned sixteen. He remembered it well. Tip had been repairing a small,
broken engine in his room, waiting for the rest of the family to awaken, when
Trul screamed for his parents. Tip opened his bedroom door and saw his mother
and father rush into Trul’s room. As his other brother, Sri, who was thirteen
at the time, stumbled groggily from his room, Tip slipped down the hallway to
peer into Trul’s half-opened door. He witnessed his father staring, mouth
agape, at the mark behind Trul’s left ear. His mother held her hand over her
mouth and had tears in her eyes; to this day, the horrified look on her face
remained a vivid memory.

Once dressed, the family silently
filed down the narrow staircase to the small but tidy kitchen below. Tip
gathered around the table with his parents and brothers, not understanding that
this was their last meal together. His mother had managed to calm down and both
his parents encouraged Trul by explaining how the mark meant he was destined
for greatness among the Miyran warriors, though their eyes, dim and frightened,
failed to reflect their words of hope.

As Tip learned that day, on each
child’s sixteenth birthday, the town council inspected the child and, not
finding a mark, declared him or her not a threat to the townspeople. The law
had been enacted around the time of Tip’s birth when Graeliths destroyed two
communities to the east of Caldot for hiding marked teenagers. While the
council took the task seriously, they had never been forced to invoke their
right to expel a child. A Liput had never before been marked. Trul was the
first.

Shortly after the morning meal, the
council of six dutifully arrived to inspect Trul. The eldest of the council,
nearly ninety in age, looked behind Trul’s ear. At seeing the mark, the old man
gasped. The other councilmen each in turn examined the place behind Trul’s ear
and each gasped. They huddled in a corner of the room and spoke only briefly
among themselves, then ruled unanimously that Trul must leave the town
immediately for the townspeople were no longer safe from the Graeliths
otherwise. To harbor a marked one surely meant death for all.

The council then waited outside the
home while Trul prepared for his departure. Their mother began sobbing and her
wails were easily heard by neighbors and passersby. Tears welled in their
father’s eyes, but he quickly steadied himself and put his hand on Trul’s
shoulder to lead him upstairs. Of course, all Liput children learn tales of the
marked ones, but as none had ever existed before in Kentish, Tip failed to
fully understand the importance of his brother’s fate. Trul and their father
returned shortly to the kitchen with a small, though fully packed, knapsack. Their
mother gathered food in a satchel and attached this to the knapsack. Their
father walked to the locked case hanging on the far wall beside the family
portrait. He withdrew a silver key from his pocket, opened the case, and
removed from it the family’s only carving knife. His tears had returned when he
turned back and handed the knife to Trul, yet he hurried the boy toward the
door, nonetheless.

The family walked through the front
door where the council waited. The council elder looked Trul up and down and
nodded, as if to confirm their decision was correct, though he brushed a single
tear from his eye. Then the family and the council began a slow march down the
path toward the edge of town. At each house they passed, the neighbors stood at
the front steps. While Kentish was known for its slow way of life, gossip
traveled quickly. The neighbors’ faces betrayed their pity and fear.

As the party neared the edge of
town, Trul’s footsteps slowed and he turned to run. Two of the younger
councilmen grabbed him under the arms and carried him to the electric barrier
that protected the city. The eldest councilman signaled to the gatekeeper and
an opening appeared in the barrier — a sliver resembling a doorway in the
normally hazy shield. The two councilmen holding Trul pushed him through the
opening, which quickly resealed under the gatekeeper’s control. Their mother
broke down completely and stumbled toward the barrier until stopped by their
father. Trul appeared close to tears, then drew in a deep breath. Tip waved to
his brother who nodded in return. Trul turned and walked slowly down the path
and out of sight.

Tip had assumed his brother would
return later that day, as all Liputs returned home before darkness fell. Yet
his brother failed to return home that day or the next. Two days later, two
Miyran warriors, passing themselves as traders, arrived at the town with a
large, hastily constructed wooden box carried by wagon. As the warriors were
also hunted by Graeliths, particularly outside Caldot’s walls, they often
disguised themselves. They reported finding Trul not far down the valley where
the hills met the raging river waters that divided the neighboring town of
Stipol. Then Tip witnessed a sight he would never forget, one that still turned
his stomach to this day. They lifted the box from the wagon to the ground and
opened the box to reveal Trul’s ravaged, lifeless body, his face frozen in
pain.

Unusual though it was to have a
marked one in the town, his second brother’s sixteenth birthday brought sheer
despair to their lives, as Sri, too, woke with the mark burning brightly behind
his ear. The morning’s events unfolded much as they had on Trul’s birthday,
except Sri acted as if he didn’t care whether or not the mark existed. He
walked boldly from the town with his head held high and courage in his heart.

Sri left four years ago and they
had heard nothing of him since.

The day before Tip’s birthday, wary
looks from others in town drove him to spend the day wandering through the
fields outside the barrier and resting alone on the highest hill far from town.
After his brothers’ markings, Tip and his father had ventured each day outside
the barrier to secluded areas to work on fighting techniques. His father also
hired carefully selected traders that he believed supported the Miyrans to
teach them both to fight, since his father’s skills were basic at best. Because
the markings of Tip’s brothers created fear among the townspeople, Tip and his
father kept these activities private, not even daring to mention it to Tip’s
mother. Tip possessed not great skill, but a good eye for his opponent’s
weaknesses. Luckily, a few of the traders had coached him on what to do if he
was marked. A training camp existed for the marked. Though the traders didn’t
know its location, they told him the best chance of reaching it was to seek
assistance from the Miyran warriors. Apparently, the warriors guarded the
palace in the center of Caldot; the palace was the home of Lady Anyamae, the
last surviving Miyran heir. Since Anyamae was the source of the markings, he
wasn’t certain why the Tyrnotts allowed the palace to remain unharmed, but as
long as the palace meant safety, then that was his destination.

Last night, as Tip ate with his
parents, the tension surrounding his approaching sixteenth birthday had been
heavy. He had considered leaving town then, but shouldn’t he say goodbye? He
expelled a shaky breath as he stared at his reflection. He pulled the thick
hair back from his left ear to see the mark that had appeared during the night.
A bright red, winged beast with sharp talons nearly glowed in the morning light.
The wings swept forward, as though the creature was about to land. He loosened
his hair and rubbed his hands over his face. Survival would be difficult, his
journey risky. Yet, he felt prepared. He glanced at the fully packed knapsack
resting against his chair. In it, he carried a small bag with enough coins to
purchase a seat on the morning air transport, coins saved carefully over the
last four years. Luckily, he was familiar with the layout of the nearest
station at Stipol. Certain families in Kentish had expertise in farming, some
in harvesting, others transporting the crop, and others, like Tip’s, in
designing machines. The division of labor allowed each his place among the
community, but also meant Tip’s family traveled to Caldot by air transport,
rather than by wagon. Buying a ticket and finding the right platform would be
easy.

Tip wrung his hands at the thought of
leaving, though he knew he must. Bearing the mark of the Miyran made him a
target of the Graeliths and Tyrnotts, species he had only seen at a safe
distance. Would he even be able to recognize them? He looked at a small picture
of his family resting on the dresser and winced, remembering his mother’s
anguish when his brothers were expelled from town. Surely sparing her such a
painful moment was more honorable. Grabbing his knapsack, he quietly crept to
the kitchen below. He wrote a short note and was about to leave when he noticed
a fully packed satchel on the chopping table. His mother knew him well. He
longed to give her a farewell hug. He glanced toward the staircase and smiled
wistfully, then drew in a deep breath as he tied the satchel to his knapsack
and left the only home he had ever known.

The path through town was peaceful
and quiet at such an early hour. Tip heard a single chirping bird busying
itself with morning tasks. He soaked in the beauty of Kentish, guessing that he
wouldn’t see the town again. The two-story, boxlike homes, each a different
color of the rainbow, had long been a comfort to him. They lifted his spirits
as he walked steadily through the dirt lane toward the edge of town.

He reached the main guard gate only
to discover his mother’s brother working that morning. Upon seeing Tip, his
uncle sighed heavily and simply shook his head. “Will you open the barrier?”
Tip asked tentatively as he adjusted the bag on his back.

His uncle shook his head again. “You
won’t ease your mother’s pain by not saying goodbye.”

“Perhaps not, but I can’t hope to
survive with such despair in my heart.”

His uncle sighed again and nodded. “I
have something for you. After each of your brothers was marked, I hoped you
would be spared, but thought best to be prepared. Made certain I was on shift
this morning, just in case.” He winked, stood, and walked over to the far
corner of the little guard hut. He lifted the floorboard and pulled from under
the floorboards something wrapped in a cloth. He turned toward Tip with a
mischievous grin. As he walked back across the room, he slowly removed the
wrapping. Tip’s jaw dropped at the sight of a laser gun. His uncle boasted, “I
bought this off one of the traders. The gun was broken, but easy enough for any
skilled mechanic to fix.”

Throughout Tip’s life, laser guns
had been banned. If someone was found with one, the law demanded death. However,
as the mark was already the equivalent of a signed death warrant, carrying a
laser gun made no difference. On the contrary, it increased Tip’s chances of
survival. He beamed at his uncle and picked up the weapon. He gauged its weight
as he examined it.

“This here,” his uncle explained,
“is the blocker. When you push this lever toward the front, the gun doesn’t
shoot. When you move the lever back,” he said as he shoved the lever toward the
handle, “the gun can be fired.” He pointed to the little circle under the
barrel of the gun, “and this circular button is for firing. Push it down to
shoot.” He pushed the blocker to the forward position and showed Tip how to aim
the gun, cautioning him against firing unless he was sure of his target and
surroundings. The gun would last two weeks with moderate use without charging.

Tip threw his arms around his uncle
and thanked him. He stowed the weapon in the inside pocket of his coat, its
weight tugging the fabric unevenly. He asked his uncle to watch over his
parents. Tip then backed out of the little hut and waited at the electric
barrier, which opened at his uncle’s hand. Waving to his uncle, Tip passed
through the barrier opening without a backwards glance. He patted the gun in
his coat, hiked the knapsack a little higher on his back, and strode down the
path toward the transit station.