THE MARK Page 16

Chris hadn’t played for anyone back home since that night. She’d been asked to. Her mother even wanted her to play something at the funeral, but she refused. It felt like playing for other people would be like she was mocking Claire, like she was the center of attention all over again while Claire lay in the dark, silent.

  A drop of sweat rolled off Chris’s forehead and into her eye. She wiped her face with her sleeve and searched the sky for the purple star. It took a couple of seconds but she spotted it. Its glow was dim and hazy, but it was visible. After her eyes cleared she noticed a dark mass beneath it, at ground level, far on the horizon. She didn’t want to say anything at first, afraid she would jinx it, but it looked like it could be a building. It was too much to hope for. Ever since they had crossed the knife wall it had gotten hotter and hotter. The ground they walked on now was cracked and dry like an alligator’s hide. They were completely out of food and water, and they were all dirt-caked. The line reeked of body odor and death. The thought of food, water, and shelter was just too much to hope for.

  “Digs,” Megland said, her throat so dry she broke out into a wheezing cough. When she finally stopped, she said, “Do you see what I’m seeing?” It was the first time anyone had spoken all day, and the question made Chris so happy she could sing. Well, almost.

  “It’s true,” Digs said in wonder. “The southern castle exists.”

  They were a little closer now and could just make out the slow movement of a flag atop the structure rippling in the faint breeze. It seemed to beckon them like a mother waving, calling her children in for dinner after a long day. Chris wiped her filthy sleeve across her forehead again and picked up the pace. She hoped that whomever or whatever ran that castle was friendly. There may have been a man in the north named The Last Resort, but this, well this was the real thing.

  * * *

  The story-teller was wrong. There were no waterfalls, no great beauty like the bedtime stories claimed. There was a certain nostalgia Chris had associated with Karniv’s castle—Saturday afternoons spent watching old movies about knights and dragons. But the southern castle didn’t have all the flash of the north. There was no soundtrack complete with trumpets playing in Chris’s head because Camelot it was not.

  The southern castle was smaller than Polaris, and whereas Polaris had shone with light the building in front of Chris was comprised of black stones, so black they looked as though they had been charred by dragon fire. The tops of its many towers were sharply pointed, not squared off like its northern counterpart. But the most unwelcoming part of the southern castle was its eerie silence. Polaris had always been busy and in good repair. Here, the thatch-roofed dwellings that lay between the surrounding walls and the castle proper were deserted and damaged. Gaping holes in their roofs left them vulnerable to rain, but Chris doubted that had been a problem for quite a while. It looked like it hadn’t rained in years. The occasional tumbleweed blew across the parched ground, ricocheting off the houses like a game of pinball.

  Chris was starting to doubt there was anyone in the castle. The drawbridge was down, spanning a dry moat. The chain on the right side was broken and the wood was so warped that the whole thing tilted at a steep angle. When the caravan walked across they had to keep to the left side to keep from sliding off. Overhead, the flag Chris had seen at a distance flapped in the low breeze. Its colors were faded, the material in tatters, but Chris could still make out the purple star next to a crescent moon.

  The iron gate was so rusted it was stuck in place halfway down. Everyone simply ducked under it and crossed into a dusty courtyard. No one spoke, and other than the flapping flag, the only sounds were a random cough, the hooves of the horses that had survived the journey stomping on the hard-packed earth, and the rustling of tumbleweeds. They were all too tired to talk. Or maybe they were all thinking what Chris was, that there was no one there. That this place had been abandoned a long time ago, probably because of the drought. That even if someone was inside the keep they were probably a squatter, no more able to help any of them than they were able to help themselves.

  This is it. We’re all going to die.

  Chris had broken the barrier that led them to the southern castle, but in doing so she may very well have led them all to their deaths.

  Mudbeard was the one to step forward once they reached the keep. He grabbed the large iron door knocker and banged it against the wood. The boom it made echoed around the empty courtyard. The thudding reverberated off the ancient, blackened stones. Only when it stopped did the door to the keep issue a loud clang and begin to creak open.

  They all filed inside. It was almost unfathomable that they had started with hundreds when they had fled The Middles. Now they were down to a paltry forty or so. But they had made it. They had made it when all seemed lost.

  As Chris crossed the keep’s threshold she searched for whomever had opened the door. It took a minute for her eyes to adjust, to shift from the splotchy afterimages to being able to actually see the details of the dim interior, but when she was finally able to make everything out she couldn’t find anyone. It was as if the door had opened on its own.

  She was standing in a vast and empty room much like the hall at Polaris, except where Polaris had tables full of food centered in a space that was lavishly decorated, this hall was bare save a few cobweb-covered tables and chairs tossed into a pile on one side of the room. There were only three small windows high above them, and their narrow slits did little more than highlight the swirling dust motes.

  “Hello?” Mudbeard called out. When no one answered he said, “I know you’re here. I saw you when you opened the door. We’re seeking refuge, and water if you have any.”

  A woman’s voice seemed to issue from the very walls. “I would speak to the one who shattered the wall. She may come to my chamber to converse. Those wanting water will find it in the well in the courtyard.”

  “But the courtyard is empty,” Megland said, her voice hoarse.

  “Look again,” said the woman.

  Micah was at the back of the room. He opened the door and there it was, a well in the middle of the courtyard that hadn’t been there when they had crossed it. Everyone rushed toward it except for him. He looked like a lone salmon swimming against the current as he made his way toward Chris.

  “I’ll go with you,” he said. His black hair was covered in dust and his beard was caked with dry mud just like Mudbeard.

  “Go,” Chris said. “Drink some water. I’ll be fine.”

  He looked back at the only door on the far side of the wall as if unsure he should leave her.

  “She said I was the only one allowed. She just wants to talk. Go,” she said.

  He licked his cracked lips and looked guiltily at the well.

  “Go,” she said.

  “Fine. I’ll go. But yell if you need anything,” he said before walking away to join the others.

  When he crossed out into the courtyard the door in the back of the hall opened and a woman stepped into the main room. Her hair was a deep silver, shoulder-length, and a little disheveled. Worry lines creased her forehead, but her smile was warm when she beckoned Chris to follow her to the adjoining room. When Chris stepped inside she saw two plain wooden chairs facing each other in the middle of the small space. She settled on one after the woman who had invited her in sat opposite and folded her hands primly in her lap. Chris sat up a bit straighter and brushed dirt off her dress. The woman smiled at this and said, “My name is Morwenna, and I’m happy to give you and your companions shelter for as long as you would like.”

  Relief washed over Christina. “Thank you. I’m Christina. Chris.”

  “But first I’d like to talk about how you reached this castle.”

  “Sorry I broke your wall. I had no choice. We would’ve died otherwise.”

  Morwenna waved off Chris’s concerns with a hand, dismissing them. “I’m not angry about that. I’m grateful. I’ve been waiting for a very long time for someone to come along who was able to
destroy it. It doesn’t surprise me that it was one of my own kind.”

  Chris followed Morwenna’s gaze to where Chris’s sleeve had pulled back, exposing her crescent shaped mark. Then Morwenna pulled back her own sleeve to reveal her crescent moon. Next to it was a purple star like the one on the flag outside. “I’ve been using my gift for a long time now. By the looks of things, the single moon on your wrist, you’ve just started using yours.”

  Chris nodded and licked her dry lips. Morwenna held out her hand, a glass of water materialized, and she offered it to Chris.

  “The mark was there all along,” Morwenna said while Chris drank. “Of course it was there. I’m not entirely human, after all.” She talked as if Chris wasn’t in the room, as if she was used to having conversations with herself more than other people. “You know, one of my great-grandparents was from beyond the Swamplands.”

  “Like the mercenaries?” Chris asked. The glass she drank from kept automatically refilling itself and she took another sip before saying, “Like Karniv?”

  Morwenna nodded. “Just like Karniv and the mercenaries.”

  It was hard to believe that the woman in front of Chris was part…whatever those creatures from the far west were. She looked like a regular person, no scales or fur. Chris would have never known had Morwenna not told her.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Chris said.

  “Go ahead.”

  “How did you get here?”

  “I got here before the wall appeared. I had lived the northern kingdom until Karniv ordered a raid on my village. My husband, Blast, was killed. They found me afterward. I had two children and they took me from them. I’ll never forget their cries, how my daughter clung to me until I had to kick her away so they wouldn’t kill her.

  “The wagon I was in with two Marked was heading west when a slithaw struck the horse in the middle of the night—”

  “A slithaw?”

  Morwenna gave her a quizzical glance. “A slithaw,” she said. “A large serpent.”

  “Right. Sorry.” Chris said, embarrassed. She held her glass on her lap with both hands and told herself to keep her mouth shut.

  “Where was I? Oh, yes, the slithaw. It struck the horse in the night and the stallion screamed and reared and the wagon overturned, landing on the mercenary who was driving, killing him. We were able to escape. One of The Marked died shortly after the wagon overturned. He had hit his head on the bars and the injury proved fatal. Then the girl I was with died of rot after her wounds festered.”

  Gangrene, Chris thought. To survive a mercenary and then die of gangrene…

  “When I arrived at this place, Nightwell Hold, it was empty. The people who had once lived here left long ago. The magic here has always been strong, it being so very close to the Swamplands. I stayed a while, using my gift of conjuring to survive, until enough time had passed that I thought it was safe to return for my children. I was going to take them away from the north and start a new life here, away from the tyrant king who had ordered the destruction of my community, my family. But then there was an earthquake, a great disturbance that shook the castle for days. When I started my journey north that’s when I saw the wall, the knives that the tunnel collapse had pushed up out of the earth.

  “I had wanted to return to my children, to my home for so long, Christina. And now, on top of everything, there was a wall keeping me here.”

  “I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Chris said.

  Morwenna shook her head, once again dismissing her apology. “It’s in the past. And now that the wall is no more I can go home and see what’s become of my children.”

  Chris had the feeling as soon as she’d seen Morwenna that this was a possibility, that she could be the woman Megland had been trying to find for years. Still, it was hard to believe.

  “You’re Megland and Digs’ mom.”

  Morwenna studied Chris’s face. “You know them?”

  Chris smiled. Her bottom lip split open but she didn’t care. “I do. They helped me escape from King Karniv.” She stood. “Would you mind coming with me? There’s something I want to show you.”

  Morwenna looked skeptical but followed Chris back out into the main hall. Everyone was inside again having gotten their fill from the well and were spread out around the room, some standing but most sitting or lying down. When Chris’s friends spotted her they walked over. They looked a bit better after having gotten something to drink.

  Digs looked at Morwenna with mild curiosity but Megland and Morwenna recognized each other immediately.

  “Megland?” Morwenna said, stepping forward and taking her daughter’s head in her hands.

  Megland’s eyes were wide. Her lips moved but no sound came out other than a tiny squeak. Digs must have sensed the significance of what was happening because looked back and forth between the two. All at once, he seemed to understand that this was no mystery woman. This was his mother.

  Morwenna looked at him then. Chris had never seen someone look so completely happy and so entirely heartbroken at the same time. “Digger,” she said.

  Digs didn’t say anything. Maybe he couldn’t. He rushed to her, wrapping his arms around her. Megland did the same. Micah nudged Chris and smiled. The two of them stepped away, giving the family some space for their long-awaited reunion.

  CHAPTER 22

  In the days that followed their unexpected reunion, Morwenna and Digs were nearly inseparable. It was as if they were trying to make up for all those lost years in a matter of days. Chris had thought Megland would be the same way. She had been tirelessly searching for her mother for years, after all. But Chris noticed the way Megland looked at Morwenna and Digs when they were together and instead of looking happy or even contented, Megland looked jealous. It was strange to Chris that Megland would be jealous of her little brother, but maybe she’d never really gotten the chance to feel that way when she was younger. So instead of vying for attention, Megland threw herself into helping around the castle, helping Chris, Micah, and the other volunteers begin putting things right.

  They started with the small buildings’ thatched roofs. People had begun moving into the empty houses outside the keep. Everyone had to work quickly because rain had returned to the south. Chris sometimes saw Queen Morwenna—that’s what people had started to call her—out in the courtyard during a heavy downfall spread-armed and open-mouthed. After all the years of drought a little rain must have seemed like such a blessing.

  Vegetation had already begun to return and long dormant seeds that had lain beneath layers of dirt and dust began to sprout. In a matter of days, vegetables of all sorts were starting to grow. They would be ready to harvest in as little as a week. Meanwhile, Morwenna conjured food for everyone. Tables and chairs had been dusted and set up in the hall and all were welcome to dinner there each night.

  It was during one of these feasts that Chris, her friends, and Morwenna sat around the far end of the table eating a dinner of baked kinja—a pig-like animal found in the savannahs—beans, and mashed potatoes so delicious that Chris had a hard time not being emotional about it. By now Morwenna knew the truth about Chris and Micah, that they were from Earth and what they had to do to return home. Chris had even played Mudbeard’s larood for her. Afterward, Morwenna had pulled her to the side and told her, “Your gift can do more than bring down an old wall. It has the ability to heal hurts, to calm and soothe those around you. We could use something like that on Kellet, but I have a feeling that Earth could probably benefit from it, too.”

  That was when Chris knew her time at Nightwell was coming to an end. She looked around the room now. The torches were bright, illuminating even the hall’s furthest corners. All the cobwebs had been cleared, the furniture rearranged, the stone floors washed. Things were getting back to normal—well, normal for Kellet. A knot formed in Chris’s stomach and it wasn’t from the couple of pounds of mashed potatoes she had just eaten. She recognized the sensation for the cue it was. It was time.


  “Micah and I are so grateful for what you’ve done for us,” she said.

  Morwenna set her goblet on the table. “You are most welcome.” When Chris hesitated Morwenna nodded her encouragement.

  Chris wiped her hands on her dress and said, “But I think it’s time we finish what we started and continue west.”

  Megland, who sat across from her, placed her fork on her plate. “When do we leave?”

  Chris hadn’t expected Megland to want to come with them.

  “We could take a couple of horses to make the journey easier,” Digs said.

  She took a good long look at their faces and tried to decipher what she saw there: determination, acceptance, and perhaps a bit of sadness. It was the last that made up her mind.

  “It’ll just be me and Micah from here on out,” she said and instantly felt tears springing to her eyes.

  “But—” Digs started.

  “Chris is right,” Micah said, looking around the table. “We have people waiting for us back home. It’s time we did what we came all this way to do: kill Leroy and bury Hannah.”

  “Do you know how you’ll return to Earth?” Morwenna asked.

  “Not yet,” Chris said. “But we’ve got to go to the swamps anyway. And if there’s anything I’ve learned from my time on Kellet it’s that if you’re meant to know something you’ll eventually learn whatever it is when the time is right. We’ll find a way home, but first we’ve got to find Hannah. The oracle said we would find the girl and the man with her in the Swamplands so we start there.”

  “When are you leaving?” Digs asked, eyes cast down at his plate.

  “Tomorrow,” she said.

  He nodded, still not looking at her.

  “Are you sure I can’t come with you?” Megland asked. “It seems wrong to stay here and let you do this on your own.”

  “I’m sure,” Chris said. “Stay. Be with your family. If we manage to kill Leroy we’ll come back here to bury Hannah in the cemetery.”

  “And I’m sure we’ll be hungry, so, more of this, please,” Micah said awkwardly, trying and failing to lighten the mood. Chris doubted anything could have done that.