THE MARK Page 15

  Mudbeard was shaking. The teenager had slowly backed off while he’d been talking and was back with his family. Chris thought he’d been wise to do so. Mudbeard looked like he could have bent one of the knives in half with his bare hands. He wasn’t the only one getting agitated. Around her, Chris could hear the rumblings and outbursts of people on the brink. She didn’t know how much longer they were going to be able to hold it together. Walking had been a distraction, had provided them with the feeling they were going somewhere, that they were getting further and further away from the north. But now they had to wait.

  Chris looked at the dry ground. It was good that they had yet to be stranded out in the rain, but that also meant the creek wasn’t being replenished either. Their resources were running out, and as they did, so did everyone’s patience. She hoped the riders Mudbeard had sent returned soon—for all their sakes.

  * * *

  Chris walked back to tell Digs about the wall of knives, and when he saw it for himself he was awestruck. It must have been like working all your life panning for gold then seeing a nugget the size of a house just lying out in the open.

  “Unbelievable,” he said.

  Chris left him to admire the wall in peace and took Molly to stand in the shade. She gave the horse an extra-long rubdown for having to stand around in the sun all afternoon. The mare nuzzled Chris’s hand, her breath hot on her skin. Chris took the hint and led her into the forest in search of one of the scant patches of weeds that dotted the creek’s bank. They stayed there until she heard raised voices in the distance. Staying in the forest’s shade, Chris led Molly a little closer. When they stopped the mare took the opportunity to gnaw on the bark of a young tree. Chris tied her there to strip its flaky goodness at her leisure.

  “No. No!” Mudbeard was shaking his head, arms crossed in front of his chest.

  The man next to him, so alike in features that Chris had to assume it was his brother, took the saddle off his gray mount. The horse was slick with sweat, a pink-tinged foam dripping from its nose and mouth.

  “I’m sorry,” Mudbeard’s brother said.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for, Amir, because you’ve made a simple mistake. You just missed a spot, a passage, somewhere.” He sounded desperate.

  “I missed nothing,” Amir said. “We rode as far as we could. We had to turn around to get back to camp before sunset.” He laid a hand on Mudbeard’s shoulder. Even Chris could have told him that was a bad idea. Mudbeard flung it off, looking at Amir as if he’d hit him instead of trying to comfort him.

  “What are you saying?”

  Amir did a pretty good job staying calm, despite what had just happened. “I’m saying we’ll have to change directions, travel east, until we find a place to cross.”

  Chris couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Surely the wall wasn’t that large. But if it was, how in the world were they going to survive long enough to get around it?

  Without warning, the world around Chris did a version of those old TV flashback transitions, waving in front of her. She reached out a hand and grabbed the tree to keep herself from plunging headfirst into the dirt. The two brothers continued to argue, but their voices were deeper, almost demonic in their distortion.

  “Unacceptable!” Mudbeard said, sounding like a record playing in reverse.

  “We ride east, turn around, or see what the canyon holds.”

  Chris’s butt hit the ground. Maybe she need something to eat, or water? From the sound of things, she wasn’t going to get either any time soon. In the meantime, she had to remind herself to take deep, steady breaths. Breathe in. Breathe out. Those are your choices.

  “I’d rather take my chances with the canyon than get any closer to Karniv!” Mudbeard said. He was still yelling. She wished he would just stop. They were obviously at a stalemate.

  “You’re being unreasonable.”

  Tell ‘em, Amir.

  Breathe in. Breathe out.

  “Unreasonable?! Tell me you didn’t see the bear tracks on their tunics when they killed Arissa! Your wife was murdered by the north's king! And why?” Through the waves, Chris could see Mudbeard’s shape step dangerously close to Amir’s. “Why do you think Karniv did that?”

  Amir didn’t answer. Chris kept breathing.

  “Because he can, Amir,” Mudbeard answered for him. “He’s a murderer and a tyrant because people let him be a murderer and a tyrant. The more that live in the reach of his power the more he can use that power to control them. I am not giving him any more. He will not reign because I allowed him to. He won’t receive a fork more taxes off of me or my family. We will find a way south. We will because we must.”

  Sitting on the ground miles from civilization, dirty, and hungry, Chris found herself agreeing with Mudbeard. Someone or something was barring the way for a reason. There had to be a way to destroy it. They needed to find out how, and fast.

  CHAPTER 20

  The refugees tried everything they could think of to break the wall of knives. Some used their weapons to try to destroy it, banging steel and fists against the metal barrier. Others grouped up and performed magic, burning herbs and mumbling incantations, hoping their spells would somehow be strong enough, but they weren’t. The village healer even tried to bring it down by making a toxic paste that he smeared on a large section in hopes that it would fester and rot like human flesh. But even after all of this, the knives remained upright and strong, seemingly infinite.

  A small cluster of the caravan remained devoted to the idea that prayer was the only way to bring it down, even after everything that had been tried that day. They were convinced that if they only prayed long enough and hard enough, if they could find the right combination of words, it would yield. Their humming chants were white noise in the camp, the monotone of a hive of bees. Their voices competed with a chorus of crickets that ushered in the night. Chris had a feeling that no amount of chanting would get them to the other side. Her gut told her that the knives were both a barrier and a clue.

  “This is it,” Micah whispered. He was careful to hide the last bit of bread as he divided it and shared it among them.

  That really was it. The last of their food was now gone.

  They had to figure out how to break the wall. If they started traveling east there was a chance that everyone in the camp was going to die, whether from starvation, dehydration, or at the swords of Karniv’s soldiers. She hadn’t considered it before, but now she believed that the wall could very well span the globe. If so, if it did completely block their way south and they couldn’t find a way through it, none of them were going to make it.

  Chris and her friends were around a fire again with the same family they had been camping with since the line reformed. The mother’s name was Natalia and her infant son was Prassik. Once again, she was trying to nurse him, but like every night before he was putting up a terrible fight before finally relenting. He was being particularly fussy that night. Maybe he felt the tension that permeated the entire camp. Or maybe he was sick. When he cried Chris saw the way his whole face turned red, even in the dim firelight.

  Mudbeard glumly plucked a guitar’s strings just a couple of fires away. It was like he was trying to force the instrument into compliance, to make it play the melody he imagined even though he was hitting all the wrong notes.

  Prassik continued to cry. He was screaming and shaking now. The poor baby was so hungry, but all he could manage was to wail about it instead of taking the food his mother offered. Natalia was right there, but he was too upset to do what should have come naturally.

  Mudbeard twanged another note.

  Prassik cried louder.

  Finally, Chris couldn’t stand it anymore. Mudbeard wasn’t helping matters any. She walked over to where he sat cross-legged and alone at his fire and pretended to enjoy listening for a moment.

  “That’s a beautiful instrument,” she said as she sat. “What’s it called?”

  He stopped playing and gave her a quiz
zical look. “It’s a larood, of course.”

  “Right, right. I couldn’t really see it well. Do you mind if I give it a try?”

  He hesitated for a moment, and understandably so. That instrument may very well have been one of the few things left in the world that he loved.

  “I promise I won’t break it,” she said. “And I’ll give it right back.”

  He considered her a while before finally handing it over. “Make sure you don’t drop it,” he said.

  “Of course.”

  The instrument was lightweight and hollow with a neck just like a guitar on Earth. Essentially, it was the same thing except that the instrument seemed to have been shaped from the carcass of a swan—the neck was actually a neck. The bird’s innards had been scooped out and its body had been stretched and stiffened. It felt wrong, the way Chris had to hold it close to her own body to play. She tentatively strummed the strings, running her thumb down the swan’s stomach, its back pressed against her. There were brackets stapled into its neck, and she used them to find the spots for her fingertips to form chords. She tried not to think of the tendon-like strings she held beneath them. Instead, she tried to come up with a song to play. She was holding a dead bird so she thought maybe it should be sad.

  Chris strummed a few chords, soft at first. Then, when she was sure the bird she was playing wouldn’t break, she played at a normal volume. The longer she played the more she felt a warm, flowing energy that moved from the swan, up her arms, then through her body to the tips of her toes. Halfway through the first verse, Chris could feel the swan starting to thrum a low “whooshing” beat. Mudbeard didn’t seem to notice. Neither did the others that had gathered around them.

  The crescent moon on Chris’s wrist was getting warmer by the minute. The thrumming was getting louder, too. And while Chris played the second verse, she noticed that the knife wall that loomed over her had begun to radiate a blue light. The whole wall was vibrating, and the more it shook the brighter the light grew. This everyone noticed.

  Chris knew the two were connected somehow—the wall and the music—so she didn’t stop playing. Even when the mark on her wrist burned so hot she thought her dress would catch fire, she gritted her teeth and played on.

  She was almost through the last verse when the knives began to twist, turning toward each other, then away. At first everyone was awestruck, hypnotized by the contorting utensils in front of them. Then the entire wall of knives bent in half as if bowing to them. The low vibrato that had been emanating from the swan grew louder. The light the wall gave off got brighter. Then the knives were upright again, shaking fiercely, and the ground beneath the camp rumbled. Some people screamed. Others ran. Before Chris knew what was happening, Micah pulled on her hand, trying to get her to run with the rest, but she stood her ground. She wanted to watch, to take her part in history.

  The wall went silent for just a second. Even the crickets seemed to be holding their breath. Then, a deafening boom. White light streamed from the collection of knives. It veined out and spread, sending spidery lines across the entire expanse. Blue-green shards crashed to the ground with the sound of thousands of dishes breaking on a kitchen floor. It went on and on, that breaking, until the very last piece fell on top of the massive pile of debris with a clink.

  Gradually, everyone began to filter back to the campsite. They were hushed, tentative, probably wondering the same thing Chris was: Was it safe to cross?

  Mudbeard was the first to step forward. Amir tried to stop him by grabbing his arm, but Mudbeard wasn’t stopping for anybody. Chunks of the shattered knives crunched underfoot as he closed in on where the wall used to be. He stopped just before reaching the barrier and stretched out a hand. It crossed the plane without incident. The wall was gone. Chris couldn’t believe it.

  People were still celebrating when the gap-toothed woman, the woman who had told Chris the story of the southern castle, stepped up on the pile to face them and pointed into the southern sky. “Look!” she yelled. Her voice was surprisingly strong for her age. It cut through the din, and the cheers began to fizzle. “There is a new star low in the night.”

  The wall must have been hiding it, but there it was, suspended just above the horizon. A purple light shone like a flare sent out into space. The woman lowered her hand, turned to Chris and said, “See there, girl? Sometimes a story is more than just a story.”

  A new energy spread through the camp. Chris watched them in the firelight, the smiles that she hadn’t seen for so long. She pulled back her sleeve. The crescent moon had looked like a coffee colored birthmark before, but now it was black and charred, something more permanent.

  If the old woman was right, if the southern castle was there, then she hoped it really was a sanctuary. The oracle had told them they would find it in the south, and she desperately wanted to believe it, but she wondered what this mark meant for her. Was it giving away her location to mercenaries, calling out to them whenever she used magic? More and more she was worried about how her story on Kellet would end.

  CHAPTER 21

  Chris kept looking at her hands as she walked. It was the day after she had single-handedly brought down the knife wall, and she wasn’t exactly sure what she expected to see when she looked at her own palms. Maybe that they had grown? But they looked exactly the same as they always had. She still had the long slender fingers of a pianist and the small scar on her index finger from a fish hook. The only thing that was different was the mark on her wrist. Other than that, it seemed nothing had changed. But, of course, it had.

  She wasn’t the only one looking at her differently. Her friends didn’t seem as interested in the change of scenery as they were in her. They were trekking through increasingly dry land now. They had passed the last of the trees long ago, and even though the canyon they were following had finally begun to narrow there was still no end in sight.

  Chris could feel the constant pressure of Digs’ stare from where he sat on the horse. The silence between the entire group was uncomfortable. She could handle them asking her about what had happened or even them telling her she was a freak, but the way Digs was staring at her like she was about to do something supernatural was so much worse because she was waiting for exactly the same thing.

  It seemed like they had been walking forever. Who knew how many miles they had covered since they left The Middles. Chris kept wondering where Karniv’s Riders were, why they hadn’t come back to finish them off. Now she thought she knew why: they were going to let the desert do it for them.

  For hours, she’d been mechanically putting one foot in front of the other, not daring to stop to rest for fear of succumbing to the heat. She swore she could feel every layer of the dress she was wearing. It felt ridiculous to keep all these clothes on in the middle of a desert.

  Digs probably wasn’t aware that she could see him staring at her out of the corner of her eye. Megland did magic, too. Why didn’t he stare at her all the time? Chris tugged at her collar. The dress felt so tight. Sweat made the inner layers stick to her skin like plastic wrap. She wanted to take it all off or at least push up her long sleeves, but if she did that then everyone would see that she bore the mark. She didn’t doubt that they all knew magic was responsible for the wall’s destruction, but seeing the mark was a whole other thing.

  “Stop staring!” she snapped at Digs.

  “I wasn’t—”

  “I know what you were doing. You’ve been doing it for miles. Just stop.”

  God, this dress was driving her crazy.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  She didn’t say anything back. She didn’t want to say that Claire’s old boyfriend, Spence, used to stare at her all those times her father would have her play for everyone, or whenever he came over to see Claire, or whenever the two of them were in a room together. Back then, she was just a kid so at first she thought he was that friendly with everyone, that he paid that much attention to everybody. But she soon learned that wasn’t the case.

>   Chris had only been nine years old the night Claire called their dad, drunk and hysterical, from a friend’s house. Earlier that day, Claire had gone through the pictures on Spence’s cell phone and had seen way more pictures of Chris than of herself.

  Chris had heard the breakup, had heard Claire yelling so loud her voice cut through the solid oak door of her bedroom.

  “It’s been a year, Spence! We’ve been together for a year and this whole time you’ve been skeeving on my baby sister?!” Her voice cracked at the end, almost giving out completely.

  Frozen in place, Chris stood out in the hall. She’d been walking back to her room after getting a glass of water. Sure, it had seemed like Spence liked her but it was more like a little sister.

  When Claire threw her door open her mascara was running, sending tire treads of makeup down her cheeks. She saw Chris and stopped. For a moment, Chris thought Claire was going to hit her, and maybe she was thinking about doing just that, but instead she took a breath and said, “I’m going to Lana’s,” and brushed past Chris on her way out.

  “When should I tell mom and dad you’ll be back?” Chris asked.

  Pausing at the top of the stair, she turned back around and said, “They won’t care. Play them something and they’ll hardly notice I’m gone.”

  She didn’t give Chris the chance to say anything in return. No opportunity for a rebuttal or apology. She just ran down the stairs, grabbed her keys off the little table near the front door, and left. She couldn’t have known she would be so drunk she would need dad to come pick her up or that her vomiting on the passenger side floorboard would distract him in the middle of a sharp curve on the slick road. Claire had just known that her heart was broken, and Chris had everything to do with it, a freak with big hands capable of destroying so much.

  Omnipotent or not, it really did seem to all come back to her.