The Journey of the Marked (The Miyran Heir Book 1) (23 page)

There was something new in Kenrya’s
voice, a compassion he dared not acknowledge, given her prior reaction to any recognition
of her emotions. Instead, he merely stared into the darkness and let the
silence linger between them.

Then he asked, “When you helped me
in the alleyway, you used a weapon that made a zapping sound. What was that?”

“The long metal wand among my
belongings? It’s my pulsar. It emits an electric shock. If applied to limbs, it
numbs them. If applied to a creature’s spine, it renders them temporarily
paralyzed. It was particularly useful in the city when I could jump out of the
shadows and surprise someone — not so useful in hand-to-hand battles.”

“I’ve never seen one before, though
I had heard of them. Where did you find it?”

She shrugged. “I really don’t
remember, Eros.”

Again, the silence stretched
between them. Kenrya continued, “What do you think our chances are of reaching the
training camp?”

He shifted his position, hanging
his legs over the side of the cave opening, “Good. For now we’re ahead of the Graeliths
and well supplied. We just have to keep moving.”

“There may come a time when we have
to make a difficult decision about our group.”

“What do you mean?” he asked
hesitantly.
Where is she going with this or do I even want to know?
His
muscles tensed in irritation at her implied threat. She bore compassion when it
suited her and indifference when it didn’t.

“Some of the others are weak. They
may become a liability to us. There may come a time when we must decide whether
to sacrifice a few or sacrifice us all. Will you be able to make that decision,
should the time come?”

Eros shook his head fiercely. “We
must stay together. Each member of this group possesses different strengths. We’re
weaker without all of its members.”

“Perhaps now, but that may not
always be the case.”

“And tomorrow you could break your
leg,” Eros retorted sharply. “Are we to leave you for the Graeliths and save
ourselves?” He muttered and shook his head, then added, “Perhaps I should carry
the pendant.”

Kenrya glared back at Eros. She
removed the pendant from her neck and dropped it on the cave floor next to him.
She quickly returned to the back of the cave for the night.

Eros walked into the cave and found
a piece of cloth. He returned to the opening and wrapped the pendant inside the
cloth, allowing him to pick it up without triggering the light, then slipped it
in a secure pocket inside his coat. He was on edge; he recognized it. Glancing
toward Kenrya, he sighed, as he now regretted his sharp words. She remained the
most unpredictable member of their group, and that concerned him. He stared
into the darkness in the direction they had traveled. The Graeliths were close,
but surely he would hear them if they were moving. Perhaps they had settled in
for the night. He strained to listen for noise of any kind. Should he wake the
others, continuing their journey and forgoing sleep that night? Could they stay
ahead of the Graeliths? Eros settled onto the cold rock. What would tomorrow
bring?

Mirna walked slowly through
Kentish. She longed for Tren’s return and news of her son — either son. Several
times during the day she varied her path to allow her to walk near the town
barrier. This was foolish given that Tren had left only that morning, but being
near the barrier allowed her to feel closer to Tren, to Tip, and even to Sri. The
barrier was a necessary part of their lives, but now she wondered (and not for
the first time) whether it served more to isolate Liputs than to keep others
out. It gave the town a secluded feel. She paused briefly once she reached the
barrier to stare at the world beyond. However, knowing her neighbor would be
working the gate today, she stayed only a moment before moving on to her
friend’s restaurant.

Lictia had befriended Mirna in her
early school days. They excelled in their classes and spent many an afternoon
studying together. As they grew older and Mirna’s hair developed its striking
two-colored tips, their friendship became strained given the attention the boys
paid to Mirna and not Lictia. After each married, they renewed their
friendship. Lictia had proved to be a source of strength for Mirna throughout
the marking of her sons. Certainly she would have something delicious cooking
at the restaurant, and with Tren gone on such an important task, Mirna needed
to maintain her strength.

While she wanted desperately to see
her sons, the possibility of this was slim. The council would never allow them
to return to Kentish, given the mark each bore. She failed to understand the
wisdom of casting out children rather than protecting them. Her only hope was
to learn that at least one of them had survived.

She rounded a corner and could see
Lictia’s restaurant a short distance ahead, a bright green house with lovely
little red flowers in the window boxes. What would she have for dinner tonight?
And did she really want to sit there and eat it all by herself? Would the other
diners pity her? Perhaps visiting Lictia was a bad idea. She hesitated outside
the restaurant door.
Perhaps I should just eat at home.
As she was about
to return home, the door swung open and there stood Lictia with her arms
outstretched.

“Mirna, my dear! So glad you
decided to join us for dinner. Your brother and his wife are here, as well as
our old friend, Glia. I’ve closed the restaurant to other diners, so no one
will disturb us.” As she hugged Mirna and ushered her through the door, she
said, “Chin up, girl. Those boys of yours are the toughest Liputs I know. Do
you remember the time Tip blew up old man Mipin’s engine?”

Lictia’s laughter was contagious,
and immediately Mirna was glad her friend had dragged her inside the
restaurant. They ate a full dinner and spent the evening entertaining each
other with stories from the past.

As the meal ended, Lictia leaned
over to Mirna. “Big favor. My assistant fell ill recently and I need some help
in the kitchen. Any chance you could pitch in for a while?”

Mirna reached for her water glass
and took a slow sip to give her a moment to think. While she’d like to help
Lictia, the cooking was a lot of work. What was the alternative — sit at home
and wait for news? She looked at the sly grin on her friend’s face and felt
herself chuckle. Lictia always did have something up her sleeve. Even if the
request for help was just a ploy to keep her occupied, she did enjoy Lictia’s
company. She took a deep breath and smiled. “When do I start?”

Azetan had taken the last shift,
which allowed him to meditate with the sunrise. He had been patrolling the
ground below the cave while the others slept peacefully. As the sun was
beginning to rise, he climbed the tree, sat at the edge of rock ledge, and
tried to relax. Then he heard what sounded like voices coming from the
direction they had traveled the night before. He glanced behind him, confirming
the others were still asleep. Straining to hear, he listened again and heard
nothing. Still, the Graeliths would find the opening in the rock eventually and
he wanted to be certain that what he heard was only the wind.

He roused Prizene and quietly
explained the situation. She joined him at the entrance to the cave and
listened intently. At first she heard nothing and shook her head. But just as Azetan
was about to speak, she raised her hand to stop him. She closed her eyes to
concentrate. The look on her face confirmed that Azetan had been correct. Her
breathing quickened and she looked at him with fear in her eyes. The Graeliths
had found their path. She told him they were far enough to give the group a
safe lead and that the voices remained the same volume, indicating the Graeliths
weren’t on the move, not yet; they must have camped for the night and were just
starting to stir.

Azetan and Prizene quickly woke the
others. Calmly and quietly, packs were pulled onto their backs and each climbed
down the tree. They were careful not to dislodge any branches, leaving any
trace of their having been there. Prizene had fully recovered from the quasm
attack during the night and traveled unaided, with Spike safely nestled in her
pocket.

Tren woke early, excited about the
news he might learn that day. He sat quietly in their tent and watched Jurf,
who was still sleeping soundly. He decided the best course of action was to
identify a job away from town to which they could contribute, allowing him to
question Jurf more closely. Maybe his imagination was playing tricks on him,
but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Jurf knew something he wasn’t telling
him. In the meantime, while Jurf slept, Tren could check out the café the
Plinte had told him about last night. Or perhaps he should first try to arrange
their task for the day, then find the café. He dressed cautiously so as not to
wake Jurf and crept out of the tent to find someone in charge of the day’s
activities.

A slight mist drifted across the
rolling hills, giving an eerie quality to the dome-shaped homes sprinkling the
landscape to the south of the tent village. Tren walked carefully past other
tents until he stood facing the village of Banston. The gray color of the homes
was monotonous in comparison with the rainbow colors of Kentish. The area was
largely devoid of vegetation or flowers, though there was fertile ground a
little farther north where he had heard the Plintes planted crops. Still, the
landscape here was very stark, almost barren. He wondered why it appealed to
the Plintes.

He strolled along the edge of the
tent village toward the place where the coordinator had worked the night
before. It must be too early, for there were no Plintes in sight. He turned
toward the village, hoping to find someone else up and about at such an early
hour.

Tren wandered through the streets,
studying the homes. They varied in size, though not in shape and color. Windows
stuck out along the sides and top, resting even with the building on the
bottom. This allowed the windows to rest perpendicular to the ground and, he
assumed, were easier to install since the windows were not curved in the shape
of the dome. The doorways were constructed in a similar fashion. While drab
gray was the predominant color of each home, he began to notice accents of
color in the form of curtains and doorways. He also encountered many doors with
intricately painted designs depicting battles, mythical creatures, and pastoral
landscapes. He paused at each such door, studying the design and appreciating
the skill required to paint such vivid pictures. Perhaps his original
assessment of the town had been wrong. The beauty here was less obvious from a
distance, yet he definitely saw it in the details.

He reached the center of town and
found a small café, just as the old man had suggested. A Plinte man was
preparing for the day’s business. He approached the man. “Good morning. I’m
Tren. Is this the only café in the center of town?”

The Plinte looked up from his task.
“The only one right in the center, yes. I’m Lifston. This is my café. I run it
with my daughter, Ynelza. How can I help you?”

“I met a man last night who
suggested I stop by the café in the center of town. Maybe I can help you?”

“We are well known for our tea.” Lifston
smiled, welcomed him warmly with a handshake, and handed him a wet towel. He
showed Tren how to clean the tables for the morning rush of customers. While
Tren certainly hadn’t expected to be put to work this early, he tackled his
assigned task energetically, all the while listening to Lifston as he hummed a
lively tune. With the tables clean, they went inside and worked together to
prepare the kitchen. The man’s daughter, Ynelza, put Tren to work stacking
dishes that had been washed the night before.

“What brings you to Banston?” she
asked as she ground a brown leafy substance in a bowl.

“I came to pay my respects to the
family of the girl that was killed.” Speaking of the marked among the Plintes
was generally safe. He hesitated with those from Caldot, given the high level
of distaste for the marked in the city, but the Plintes were strong supporters
of Anyamae, as were the Liputs. “And to possibly discover news of my son.”

“Your son?” Both Ynelza and Lifston
stopped working to listen more closely.

Tren swallowed hard, as the
reaction was stronger than he expected. There was no turning back now. He
explained about Tip’s marking six days before and his hope that his son was
still alive.

Lifston and Ynelza looked at each
other and smiled. Lifston slapped Tren on the back. “Relax, you’re among
friends in Banston. But don’t trust the city dwellers.” Lifston began sweeping
the floor.

Ynelza returned to work, but began
talking rapidly. “My twin brother, Azetan, was marked the day after Tip. He’s
an extremely strong fighter, but we haven’t heard a thing. I just know he’s
either reached the camp or is on his way.” She paused and placed her hand on
Tren’s hand. “Still, it would be nice to know for certain.”

He squeezed her hand and nodded. “If
I learn anything about either boy, I’ll let you know.”

“Same here.”

As they finished, Tren inquired
about the assignment of tasks for the day and learned a central station between
the town and tent village would be open by the time Tren finished at the café. He
gratefully accepted the pastries and flask of the “famous” tea offered by
Lifston and headed to the task station.

As Tren left the café, the sun was
peeking over the horizon and the dim light from earlier was replaced by a
splash of gold. The bright light bounced off the elaborate doorways Tren had
admired before, creating a depth in the design not evident in the early morning
mist. The door paintings came alive. He stared at one door with a mighty
warrior and watched as the sword appeared to be moving toward a hideous,
snarling beast with two heads. At the next door, he found a bright orange
creature with eight legs and watched in awe as the massive turquoise wings
stretched high above it as though it was about to take flight. “Amazing” was
the only word to describe it. Every door faced the same direction, allowing
them to maximize the impact of the sunlight. His appreciation for Banston grew
with every step he took.

Arriving at the station, he found
several Plintes discussing the day’s tasks. He learned the party bearing the
deceased would arrive the next day and there was much to be accomplished before
the sun set. The Plintes offered a variety of tasks for which Tren was suited
and he volunteered both Jurf and himself to assist in clearing the large field
southeast of town. Each of the four nights of the funeral, a huge celebration
would be held in the field with music, dancing, and food. The workers collected
much of the debris the day before, but another day was needed to remove rocks,
limbs, and, most importantly, weapon debris. The field was the practice ground
for their fighters.

Tren returned to the tent village
and, after only a little confusion, found his tent. Jurf, now awake and
dressed, gratefully accepted the food and drink Tren had brought back from the
café. They sat together in the entrance to the tent and enjoyed a leisurely
breakfast, while discussing their task for the day.