THE MARK Page 12

  CHAPTER 16

  Chris sat up front with the driver, whose name was Narento, while her friends rode in the back. Her second wagon ride was much different from the first. Narento was the opposite of The Last Resort in just about every way. He was what you would call “a talker.” As they rode along he told them about his wife, Erah, who was waiting for him at home. They had both grown up in Laetus, the village with the wormding festival, but one day, when they were in their teens and very much in love, they had attended an underground lecture where the speaker condemned the Marked trade.

  “It was a strong woman that gave that talk,” he said. “Even Erah, whose father was a magistrate and had taught her the evils of The Marked all her life, was thoroughly convinced. We knew we couldn’t stay there anymore. We had to leave. In Laetus people can sniff out a sympathizer faster than a bear can sniff out honey. It would only have been a matter of time before something happened. And The Middles are better. Dangerous, sure, but better.”

  They bounced along the uneven ground, the wagon’s springs attempting to cushion the impact when they ran over large bumps, and failing. Chris thought that if there was a talking contest somewhere on Kellet that Narento should enter it. He seemed to take in air while talking so there was hardly ever a need for a break. She turned to share a grin or eye roll with Micah but he was fast asleep, as were Megland and Digs. Chris did a quick check while she was at it, scanning the horizon to make sure no one was following them. It looked like they were the only people for miles, and the only evidence of their crossing were the wheel tracks cutting through the grass.

  She turned back around and waited for a break in Narento’s talking for her to interject. It finally appeared.

  “Aren’t you afraid of telling us all of this?” she asked. “I mean, what about the law?”

  He flicked the reins once. “I haven’t broken any laws. I just think that there’s a difference between what is accepted and what is right. Anyone trying to arrest me would have to do it knowing full well I was innocent. And don’t let anybody tell you otherwise. You have a right to what’s in your mind. No law can control what you think.” He added a side wink for emphasis.

  The sun began to lower. Chris was more than ready for a pit stop, but Narento insisted that the village was very close and that getting there after nightfall wasn’t an option so she held it. The wagon was being jostled more by the minute. The grass was much shorter. They were riding over a coarse green vegetation that hugged the ever-growing boulders pocking the landscape. Narento wasn’t talking as much anymore. He had to focus on navigating around the rocks that threatened to dislodge a wheel.

  There was little light left in the sky. The reddened crescent of sun in the west peeked just above the edge of land, reminding Chris of an upturned eyelid. She tried to shake the ghoulish image as they approached The Middles’ gate.

  The wall around the village was made up of upright logs that had been sharpened on the top like pencils. Narento crossed the threshold right before the gate, pointed at the top and bottom, was lowered.

  As soon as they entered the town Chris was reminded of The Great Gray Wood. In fact, she thought at first that perhaps the village was a similar place, colorless and possibly enchanted. She glanced down at her dress but it was still a deep blue. Still, everything around her was muted, like someone was holding down a piano’s dampening pedal. Their horse walked down the dirt street, its hooves making a dull thud each time they landed. Villagers glanced up from their various tasks as they rode by, paying particular attention to Megland and Digs.

  “You’ll need to keep an eye on them,” Narento said quietly. “Some people may be more accepting of certain things here, but you’ll never find a place that doesn’t have its own prejudices.”

  “And what is that in The Middles?”

  He pulled on the reins to avoid running over a young boy who darted across the street.

  “Moles,” he said.

  Chris sighed. Why couldn’t they get to a place where none of them was considered the bad guy?

  Narento flicked the reins and the horse pulled the wagon up a slight incline. A carved sign dangled above one of the buildings’ doorways: Inn The Middles. Clever. Narento slowed the wagon and finally stopped. Chris expected to hear laughter, shouting, the sounds of flagons of brew crashing together, but the place was like the rest of the village, quiet.

  Narento leaned over. His breath smelled like warm bread. “I mean what I said about your friends back there keeping out of sight,” he said. “There’s been fighting nearby. It’s getting closer all the time. Everybody’s on edge.”

  “What’s the fighting about?” She turned to check on her friends. They were awake and talking quietly. From the looks on their faces, they had noticed the stares and felt the tension, too.

  “What is it about? What it’s always about: money. Moles claim to have exclusive rights to everything underground, all the gems here and to the north, all the metal that gets made into coins. A lot of Toppers think that the rights should be shared, and I can understand why. Most people around here are poor, but they’re living on top of riches that would put even Karniv to shame. But they can’t find work. They’re desperate.”

  A man on stilts walked by carrying a long metal rod with a small hook at its end. He stopped near them. Chris nodded a greeting. He looked right at her but didn’t respond. Instead, he took a lightning bug out of his pocket. He pinched it between his thumb and forefinger, smashing it until its guts burst out its rear. Then, after he smeared the viscera on the end of the rod he was carrying, the hook erupted into a small, but somehow violent, flame. The man extended the pole above their heads to the lamp above them and lit its wick. Wordlessly, he ambled his way down the street and Narento chuckled.

  “I’ve always thought carrying lighting in your pocket like that was asking for trouble. One day his pants are going to catch on fire. That’d be one heck of a show,” he said.

  His deep laughter reverberated and Chris realized how long it had been since she’d heard anything like it.

  “Would you like to join Erah and me for supper? The inn’s food isn’t the best, and I have the feeling if we ask nicely she could whip up her famous shepherd’s pie.”

  Micah suddenly appeared between the two of them, leaning forward. “We’d love to. Thanks,” he said.

  Chris smiled. There was the Micah she knew.

  “What about you guys?” she asked Megland and Digs. “How about a home-cooked meal?”

  “Yes, please,” Megland said. She kept her voice down. Chris thought Megland probably would have agreed to go just about anywhere at that moment. Both she and Digs looked like they wanted nothing more than to get inside, away from all the angry stares.

  “Alright, Narento,” Chris said. “Let’s have some shepherd’s pie.”

  * * *

  The heat of the iron stove easily warmed the small kitchen. They were in luck. Erah had already cooked supper in anticipation of Narento’s return and it just so happened to be her infamous shepherd’s pie. It sat on top of the stove cooling while Megland helped Erah set the table. Narento’s wife was short and petite. Her white hair was piled on her head in a loose bun like Megland’s. She shuffled around the kitchen in her simple house dress with a smile on her face. The rest of them remained standing, stretching their legs after their long ride.

  “I always make too much, don’t I, Narento?” Erah said.

  “It’s true,” he said. When he picked up an apple off the counter she lightly smacked his hand and he put it back down.

  “It’s true,” she echoed. “I always make too much. But, you know, we had ten children and you get used to it, cooking for twelve people. It’s hard to get out of the habit.”

  “We usually have to give some of it away,” Narento said, taking a seat at the table as Erah brought the shepherd’s pie over. It was way too much for two people, a large casserole dish full of mashed potatoes, vegetables, and meat. Chris felt less guilty for barging i
n on their dinner.

  They all took a seat then and when Erah bowed her head they all waited politely.

  “Thank you for this food, for bringing Narento safely home, and for these wonderful guests. In your name, blessings,” Erah said.

  “Blessings,” Narento repeated.

  Erah scooped mounds of food onto each of their plates. Chris’s stomach growled, and Micah jabbed her with his elbow, his cheeks already puffing out with a mouthful of mashed potatoes. It was the happiest she’d seen him in a while.

  “So,” Erah said, “where do you all hail from?”

  “They’re from the north,” Narento said.

  “Let them speak,” she chastised him.

  “We’re from the northern kingdom,” Megland said, wiping the corner of her mouth with her napkin.

  “I see. Are you visiting someone in The Middles?”

  “We’re just passing through,” Chris said.

  “May I ask where you’re going?”

  Narento placed a hand on Erah’s. “Maybe we shouldn’t ask too many questions.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t think I was. Am I being rude? I didn’t think I was being rude.”

  Ever the diplomat, Megland said, “Of course you’re not being rude. We’re happy to talk and so very grateful for your hospitality.”

  “See?” Erah said to Narento. “I didn’t think I was asking too much.” Then to the rest of them, “We had ten children, you know. One can’t help but be motherly after ten children.”

  “Of course,” Megland said.

  “What villages are south of here?” Digs asked. He picked up a dropped pea from the table and ate it.

  “Why would you want to go any further south?” Erah asked, scooping more food onto Micah’s plate.

  “Erah,” Narento said.

  “Alright, alright,” she said. “I think it’s just wilderness really.”

  “So maybe this is it,” Digs said to Megland.

  “Maybe this is what?” Erah asked.

  Megland gave Digs a kick under the table. “Oh, someone told us that we would find a good place in the south to rest. We would know it when we found it. I wouldn’t have guessed it, but it appears to be The Middles.”

  Erah started to say something, but Narento jumped in. Chris could see that he had to seize the opportunity to get a word in just like she had on the ride to the village. “Sure, you can stay at the inn tonight, but I wouldn’t stay any longer than that if I were you. I’m sorry to say it, but you two,” he nodded his head, indicating Megland and Digs, “are going to draw too much attention.”

  “He’s right,” Erah said. “Karniv has been raiding smaller villages around us. More and more people have been speaking out against the Marked trade and he’s doing everything in his power to silence them. People in The Middles fear he’ll come for us next. I think their anger toward Moles is a distraction. They’re looking for someone they can take their frustration out on. It would be best if you got out of town as soon as the gates open in the morning.”

  They had polished off the entire casserole before they retired to the parlor. It was simply furnished, like the kitchen. There were just a few chairs, one a rocker with some yarn on the floor beside it. Erah was knitting a blanket. A wood stove sat against one wall and to Chris’s surprise, a small upright piano sat against another. She walked up to it and pressed one of the keys. The instrument emitted a clear, but tinny sound like an old player piano in a western.

  Narento walked over to her. “I traded a horse for that.”

  “What?” Erah said. “Oh, that. We got that, when was it, around thirty years ago.”

  “Do you play?” Chris asked.

  “Me?” Erah said, laying her hand on her chest. “I wish I could. I don’t have the ear for it. We don’t play, but Stantia and Biron both have the gift.”

  “What about you?” Narento asked.

  “Chris is an amazing pianist,” Micah said as he sat in one of the chairs.

  “Really?” Erah asked, her interest piqued.

  Chris felt her face flush. “I’m alright.”

  “What do you mean, ‘alright?’” Micah said. “Chris can play just about any instrument she wants, but she is hands down the best piano player I’ve ever heard.”

  “Would you play us something?” Erah asked.

  “I don’t know,” Chris said.

  “Please.”

  Chris suddenly felt like she was that kid again, at one of her recitals, a big bow on her back. She pulled out the little wooden bench from beneath the piano and sat down, playing some chords and practice runs, getting a feel for the instrument. Erah picked up her pile of yarn and started knitting, rocking in her chair. Narento took a seat. All of that was background noise to Chris. She was intent on understanding the instrument in front of her. The keyboard was shorter, but similar. Once she felt like she had a basic understanding of Kellet’s version of the piano, she started to play.

  It was the same song she had played in her father’s study before she and Micah had been transported to Kellet. The sharp sound coming out of the instrument was much different, though. The low notes that had reverberated back home warbled instead on Kellet. All the chords had a thin, wavy quality that somehow made the whole song sound… off. It wasn’t off-key but the song had a haunted feel to it. When Chris played the final chord, she was glad it was over.

  Everyone was silent for a moment as the final notes faded away. Then Erah said, “I’ve never heard anything like it in my life.” Her blanket lay forgotten on her lap.

  Chris’s whole body shook. A line of sweat ran down her temple. “I need some water,” she said.

  Erah put her yarn on the floor. “I’ll get it.”

  “No, that’s okay,” Chris said, standing. Specks of light danced in her of her, and she steadied herself against the piano.

  “You alright?” Micah asked, standing to help her.

  She smiled. “I’m fine. Just stood up too fast. I’ll be right back.”

  Chris walked to the kitchen and leaned against the rough wooden countertop, ladling water out of a metal bucket into a cup. When she returned the ladle the sleeve of her dress pulled back. At first she thought she had mud on the inside of her wrist and tried to rub it off with her other hand. It didn’t go away. She tried applying some water and scrubbing it, but it remained. Chris walked over to the oil lamp and held her wrist up to its light just as Micah walked into the room. He stood beside her.

  “You sure you’re okay? You don’t look so great.” He saw her wrist in the lamplight, the little brown crescent moon on it that looked like a birthmark. “Oh no,” he said.

  “Yeah, I don’t think I’m okay.”

  * * *

  The mood in the parlor had changed somehow, a bit darker, feeling more like it had when they had arrived at the village. Erah thanked them all for coming but said that she and Narento needed to turn in.

  “We old folks have early nights,” she said. Chris was the last to walk out the door, but before she did Erah pulled her to the side. “I said my children have the gift, being able to play. But you really have the gift. You need to be careful.”

  “Because I can play the piano?”

  Erah looked at her in disbelief. “Do you not know?”

  “Know what?”

  “You’re one of The Marked, Chris. Magic.”

  Chris pulled her sleeves further down to cover her wrists. “I can’t be. There isn’t any magic where I’m from.”

  “I knew you weren’t from the north the second I laid eyes on you,” Erah said. “But it doesn’t matter where you’re from. There’s magic everywhere.”

  “But—”

  “Everywhere. Even where you’re from. It may look different, but it’s still there.”

  Chris thought about the last time she played in her father’s study, how she had entertained the idea of her music being magical. Maybe she had touched on the truth and hadn’t known it. Maybe that’s what Leroy had sensed an
d what had brought him to her in the first place.

  “We don’t have all night,” Narento called from the wagon’s driver’s seat.

  Erah smiled at Chris. It was full of sadness. “Take care of your gift,” she said, giving her a hug. “And yourself.”

  “Erah!” Narento called. “Quit talking her ear off and let me take them to then inn so they can get some sleep.”

  Chris smiled at Erah, said thanks, and climbed into the wagon, wishing they could stay the night there instead.

  * * *

  It began with a spark, a flicker in the night that shone through the window like a burst of lightning. Then came the heat. Once again, Chris was in a dream world with Leroy. He was standing next to the bed this time, grinning. His mouth opened. Pop Rocks fizzed on his tongue, crackling and jumping like the beads of blood that had danced on that razor blade all those nights ago. His breath heated them, making them sizzle, and it was only when he started laughing a high-pitched shriek that Chris jolted awake. The heat was real. The popping came from the curtains that burned and flared in the open window. The shrieking came from the street outside.

  Chris shook Megland. “Fire,” she said.

  “Hm. What?” Megland said groggily.

  “Fire!” Chris said, finding her voice.

  Megland opened her eyes and saw the flames. “Digs!” She shook her brother, waking him. Chris did the same to Micah. The fire was spreading fast, fueled by the dry log walls. They quickly gathered what little they had and ran outside to join everyone else from the inn. Their building wasn’t the only one burning. Most of the village was in flames. Everyone—God, she hoped everyone—was pouring out into the street, some fully dressed, others in nightclothes, one or two nearly naked. The innkeeper, a portly man with a handlebar mustache, stood watching his business burn to the ground.

  “Is there anything we can do?” she asked him. His face was bright red from the heat.

  “Someone cut the ropes,” he said.

  “What rope?”

  “At the wells,” he said, never taking his eyes off the inn. “The ropes to the buckets. They’re gone.”