Mark of Betrayal

Page 38

One thing was for sure, though; at any minute, that sun could disappear and this would all get a lot worse. The sheer vastness of the trees and the waning warmth of day made me feel very small and very out in the open.
All around me, the cold turned from a brush against my cheeks and ears to a lake of chill, lapping the tops of my thighs and knees. I ran my tongue over my bottom lip, licking away a few strings of dried skin, then pressed them together to keep the moisture there. But only two breaths later, the dryness returned, travelling down my throat, stopping in my belly where I was sure my stomach had eaten itself. But that was the least of my worries. In fact, there were too many terrible things to think about or be afraid of.
In my mind, I went off on a little wander, taking myself through the past, through hopes for the future, and came upon a memory of Mike and I as children—playing hide and seek in the bushes back home. It was almost as if it came alive then—as if my hands showed youth, my feet, even the baby soft hair falling over my shoulder. I let myself imagine it—let myself see this as a place where children played.
“Ready or not,” I said, so quiet my bare feet made more sound over the dry leaves. “Here I come.”
The imaginary version of Mike laughed, running behind a tree. I saw him—saw which one he hid behind. He was so silly. He always made it too easy.
“I saw you, Mike,” I said, smiling for real as I came upon the tree. “I always see yo—” But he was gone. I looked over my shoulder and saw the little boy, hair of gold, run behind another tree, laughing.
My sneaking feet balanced over the bark and twigs carefully; I had to be quiet if I was going to surprise him. But a twig snapped, its crack echoing all around me like an artificial sound.
I stopped dead and looked down at my feet; there was no twig there—not under my foot, anyway.
“Found you!” the little boy said, stopping just in front of me. He was small, wearing black shorts and a stripy shirt, his face dirty, his cheeks plump, but it wasn’t Mike.
“Who are you?” I said.
He looked behind him, then took off in a run, giggling.
I ran after him, pushing wiry branches aside as they struck my cheeks, my brow, my forearms, and as I flew into the clearing where the little boy went, stopped dead. It was empty. No one was there. I could see all the way up the slope, all the way to the darkest part of the forest on all sides, but there was no child.
“Where did you go?” I called.
He didn't answer.
The fog closed in around me, fingering my legs, my arms and shoulders until it blotted out the trees and even the ground just below my feet. That furl of panic returned. I exhaled into the air, feeling my breath brush back on my own lips. “Hello?” I said, pushing my arms out to my sides slowly to make sure I hadn't fallen into a small hole or woken up buried in a coffin. As I reached into the empty space, a small hand appeared around my wrist.
I gasped, yanking back, falling to the ground with my arm raised to protect my face.
But nothing happened.
Very slowly, I slid my hand down from my eyes and peeked out past my wrist, dropping it completely when the empty, clear lines of the forest stared back.
The fog was gone. The hand, gone.
The gravity of loneliness opened the world around me then, as if I could pan out to a view above everything and see myself, so small, so alone, out here in the forest with no one but myself to protect me. That was just a recipe for disaster.
I looked up to the weaving branches, blending in with the black of night as the last clouds ate the sun. Darkness fell, descending like a velvet cloak, ingesting the treetops, the branches and, finally, the trunks, until all I could see was my own hands if I held them right up to my nose.
I was alone. Burning. Starving. Weak. Hopeless.
Inevitability surrounded me on all four sides; the shadowed density of night that circled the trees would be the path I’d walk until dawn. The timer had started. My mission had begun. I had only hours now to get out of here.
But I didn't want to walk. I didn't want to go deeper into a landscape I couldn’t see. How was I to know if I’d fall off a cliff or hit a tree? How could I possibly walk through what I couldn’t actually see?
And despite that, I felt myself get up, protest screaming within me, and start walking. If I sat there all night, I might not get hit by branches or feel the itch of hairs raising on the back of my neck from things I couldn't see, but one thing was guaranteed; if I didn't get up, get walking and find my way, all hope would be lost, and I would not only fail my people, but never make it home again.
Chapter Nine
I felt around for a tree trunk, pressing my forehead into the dry, scratchy bark when I found it. My body swayed, too worn to stand straight. Rushes of cold then hot kept making me want to flop down and rest. Just rest—just five minutes and I might have the strength to go on.
I slid my hands down the tree and felt for the ground. There was no grass, like I hoped, only dry dirt. But it was cool—soothing against the hot Markings. I laid on my back, pressure rising in my nose, cheekbones and brow, making my headache throb, and brushed my limbs through the dirt, forming mounds under my elbows and shins.
The night felt longer than it should be. I’d been convinced at least twice that the sun should be showing on the distant horizon, but it never came. I’d walk and stumble and feel pointy branches scrape and pinch my skin, not focusing too much on time, until I walked so long I had to stop and catch my breath, realising only then that day hadn't come any closer. That time vortex had hold of me again, and I wasn't so sure this darkness had an end. But if I could sleep, maybe just fall asleep for a little while, the sun might be there when I opened my eyes.
The skin around my elbow pulled, the dried wounds cracking when I folded my arms in and rested my hands on my belly. Just five minutes. Just close my eyes for a little while, I said to myself. Just a little while….
“Ara.”
My eyes snapped open and I sat up, darkness all around me, the ring of that whisper warm in my ear. I think I even dreamed a face to go with it—saw the grey skin, the red lips, the dark hair.
I shook my head, dislodging it, and scuffled back on my hands until I felt the trunk of the tree on my spine. Clearly, I hadn't slept long enough to bring day or to make myself feel any better.
The burn in my skin retreated for the chills again. I hugged my arms across my chest and tucked my knees up, making myself small, but there was nowhere to hide, no way to escape the cold. The trees were all thin and bare, and the only warmth I found all night was the five minute intervals where my skin burned before it grew cold again, making me shake. Every muscle in my body ached like the flu; my lower back, legs, the ones around my neck and shoulder blades, even my bones ached.
I pressed the back of my wrist to my forehead; it felt muggy, sweaty, but underneath that, really hot—hot enough to warm my throat just by breathing near it. Even my tongue felt hot.
“How can they expect me to do this?” I murmured to myself, or maybe to that One Entity. “I'm sick. I just need to go home to bed.”
But it didn't matter. No one had installed the red button of panic out here. I couldn’t just call Mike and beg him to come pick me up. I had to finish this. I had no choice but to either find a way out of here or be lost in the black purgatory for a time longer than I could comprehend.
Around the changing temperature of my body, the night air suddenly became cooler, settling over my toes, the very tips of my fingers and nose in an icy layer. I held my hand out to the emptiness, half expecting to feel snow, when I heard something—a scuffle, a purposeful brush of a form against a tree branch. Singular. Lone. No other sound to follow it or around it. It wasn’t wind, because there was no wind. It wasn’t the crow, because he was rude and noisy. It had to be something else.
“Ara.” A whisper slipped along my neckline.
I spun around to the tree—just a tree, nothing else.
“Ara.” The voice came at me again, creeping down my spine in a tepid breath.
“Who’s there?” I whirled around, the thump of my heart using more energy than I had spare. I felt weaker, so weak I knew I couldn’t run if there really was a person there. “Who…who are you?” I said carefully, not really wanting an answer.
But the sound that came next left me with nothing but confusion; it started as a winding sound, like a cog or a crank, and grew into a soft, chilling lullaby.
I rolled onto my knees, digging my hands into the earth to steady myself.
Music. It was music. Like the box David gave me before our wedding.
“Hello?” I called again, sitting very still, waiting to hear a sound.
“Ara?” It whispered right by my face—I felt it, felt its dry skin by my wrist; I snatched my hand into my chest and sprung back from the voice, white shock blackening my mind as my heart caught hold of itself.
“Who are you?”
“Who are you?” It said, talking faster than I had.
I wiped a hand across the ground, grabbing the first stick I felt, then aimed it into the darkness, waving it around blindly. “I…I have a stick,” I stuttered. “And I will use it.”
“Will use it,” the voice said.
I frowned. “She sells seashells by the sea shore.”
“By the sea shore,” It whispered back, a breathy, speedy echo of myself. I think.
Panting heavily in gusty breaths of cold, I pressed my hand to my forehead again; the fever was burning, clearly making me hallucinate.
I got up, ready to move on from this spot, and snapped the tip of the twig with my thumb. But a cold wash of fresh fear straightened my spine when an identical snap echoed from behind me. My shoulders lifted into stiffness as I turned slowly, deathly afraid of the form I might find. “Who’s there?”
“Who’s there?” A hot breath moistened my ear.
I dropped the stick and ran, fast as I could but slow as a human—wishing my legs would work properly. Each step hit the ground under me with a crunch of dry leaves, and the stranger mimicked. I pushed harder, faster, closing my fist, tilting my head for fear of hitting a tree and gouging my eyes out on its razor claws. “Leave me alone,” I screeched, panicked sobs choking my breath.
The sound of the stranger’s footfalls thumped faster, doubling mine as we sped through the black, until my heel slipped, skidding out on a rock that sent me onto my side, dragging my leg, my ribs and my head along the sloped ground after it. I stopped on my tangled shins at the base of a tree and covered my face. “Please, don't hurt me.”
But nothing grabbed me.
Nothing touched me or poked me or whispered in my ear.
Several beats of my heart passed, and the exhaustion forced a wave of calm through my limbs. Slowly, I slid my hands down from my face and blinked against a glare. Daylight!
A hysterical giggle jolted the pit of my empty stomach, though it refused to break through my lips. I looked up at the changing sky, looked at my hands, my dirty feet, my stained dress and all the gashes along my arms, legs and hands. It was a dream. The thing. Just a dream.
Feeling a little silly, I pushed up to stand, holding the trunk of a tree to keep my balance. The soles of my feet burned like walking on hot asphalt in the summer—they even felt sticky as if it had melted there, too. I curled my toes to keep them from touching the hard ground.
All around me crickets sounded the song of dawn, and the trees, with their tall, reaching branches, stretched out to the heavens, warming their leaves in the golden glow of the sun, while a fresh, moist breeze brought a dewy, sugared taste to each breath I took.
But the colour of dawn drained the blood from my face. I slid down the bark of the tree and covered my mouth, tears blurring the yellow beginning of day.
I failed them. I failed the Walk of Faith.
Morning had broken, and I hadn’t found the black dress, the border of the forest or hope.
My eyes traced the skin all the way along my wrists and down the backs of my hands; the tattoos were gone—faded away to a silvery memory under my skin. They were supposed to disappear as the crown touched my head, clearly not because it was a mystical crown, but because it took a night for my soul to absorb the promise—a promise I no longer had any right to wear.
I traced the absent Markings with a fingertip, scratching the skin as if I could make it come back. But I couldn’t.
They were right. All of them. I am just a baby. The all-powerful pure blood, and yet, I couldn’t even finish the Walk of Faith.
In my mind, I could see them all by the edge of the forest, waiting for me. They’d all be standing there right now, their eyes hopeful, their smiles starting to slip as each second of sunrise passed. Mike would lower his head, Emily would cover her mouth, and everyone would turn away slowly and go home. And that would be that. It was over before it even begun.
But I would be here. I would be lost in this forest for the rest of eternity, and still, that wasn’t what scared me. What scared me most was what would happen to those people without me. My bite turned Mike, my existence made others change their allegiance, and now, Drake would come back and kill them all for it. And it was, without any doubt in my heart, my fault.
I stood up and turned on my heel, indifferent to the beauty of the day, wandering aimlessly forward, with nowhere really left to be. A weary princess wearing a broken promise.
Throughout the hours that passed me, I thought about my dad a lot. I wondered if Mike would tell him the truth about why I disappeared for eternity. And a part of me smiled because, somewhere inside, I felt like Dad would come out here to find me. If anyone would, it’d be my dad. Of all the people I needed in my life, he was always the one who was there—through everything. He came to me when I lost my mum; he wrapped his arms around me and told me it would be all right. And he made it all right. He gave me a home and a bed and he hugged me every day. And maybe I was hurting inside, and it was a hurt he couldn't heal, but I knew he wanted to. I knew he would give up everything and anything to make me safe.