Mark of Betrayal

Page 39

But I never felt safe. Not really. And the worst part was, until now, I didn't understand some of that feeling. It was never in the sense that I was afraid I’d be kidnapped or tortured, this was before all that; this was when I felt afraid of having nothing. I wondered how I would live if I didn't have a bed or food or my mum and dad, and now I've come to understand a new truth altogether; you don't need any of it. You don't need a bed or food or love, because, at the end of the day, even without all that, you're still alive. While you're missing the smell of roast chicken or crying because you can’t hold those you love, you are surely and definitely still alive. It’s the cruelty of the world, I suppose—to take everything we need, everything we thought we needed to survive, and show us our hearts will keep on beating; we will keep on breathing without it.
And that’s when you have to hope. That’s what hope is.
Nothing is final until you're dead.
I looked up at the clouds and closed my eyes as the warmth of the day made my skin feel yellow and bright all over.
Where there is life, there is hope. And I wasn’t a little girl anymore; I couldn’t lay in my bed, safe and warm with my dad down the hall—the one who always knew what to do; the one who always told me it would be okay. It was my job to be that now. And maybe I didn't feel like it would all be okay; maybe I was scared all the time, but I at least had to be the one who said it would be okay. I had to be the leader.
But I learned that too late.
I opened my eyes again and let out a long breath, then poked at the seeping gash on my arm; it was swollen and red, probably infected, since, out here, I no longer seemed to be Lilithian. I was more human than I’d ever been before. And it hurt and it sucked and I hated every breath of it. But this was it for me now. This would be my new life, and all I could do was find some food or some water and wander every tiny inch of this forest until, maybe one day, I might find the border again. Who knows? It wasn’t much, but it was…a hope.
And at least if I eventually did make it out, I could say that I’d done it on my own—that I may have failed my people, but I did not fail myself.
* * *
As the day wore on, I trudged up an endless hill; I could see the top, but as the sun moved to the west, that distance hadn’t changed, and when I looked back behind me into the mouth of the valley, it looked as though I’d only taken forty steps.
The sun glared down on my faded tattoos and sweat beaded across my brow, seeping into the swollen, yawning cuts all over my body. The muscles in my upper thigh were tight and burning from the constant uphill, and I was sure my mind had been turning the small shrubberies into sandwiches as I passed them—just to tease me.
By now, everyone would know I failed. David would be worried; he would’ve pinched his brow, probably even shook his head. Deep down inside, he knew I wasn’t capable of this—Mike knew, everyone knew. I was the only one who didn't. I was the only one who actually believed I might stand a chance.
I smiled then, thinking of another. Arthur. He believed in me, too. He always did. And I couldn’t understand why. I never gave him any real reason to believe. Everything clever I learned about ruling, I learned from him. But maybe that was the point. Maybe it wasn’t that I was dumb and young, but that I was capable of learning. Of all the people who would shake their heads in disappointment at this useless princess, Arthur would be the one man who would take me up in his arms, probably kiss my forehead and say he was glad to have me back. If I ever made it out of here.
As I distracted myself with his memory, I felt the unusual sensation of flat ground under me. I fell to my knees and locked my hands into the dirt, a snap decision away from kissing it, but I knew, with my luck, I’d end up with an ant biting my lip or dirt in my mouth which would just dry it out even more and send me into a coughing fit.
Not bothering too much to cover myself from Nature’s eye, I spun around disgracefully and sat on the ground, my gaze on the cavernous valley below. The grot around my fingernails stung, like the blood was tightening as it dried, peeling the delicate skin around my cuticles back. I didn't even have enough saliva to spit on them and wash some of it off. I blew on them instead, trying to rub the skin back the right way.
In the forest beside me, a beam of light broke the dimness, and fluttering along, ignorant to the agony I’d suffered, was a beautiful blue and black butterfly. It let the soft breeze carry it, landing right on the corner of my elbow.
“Hello,” I said, trying not to breathe on it. “What are you doing out here all by yourself?”
Without answering, it rose up into the air and fluttered to the border of the trees, where it sat on the ground for a second, shaking its wings. And something glinted under the soil, the sunlight beaming for a second. I struggled to my feet, gravity weighing me down, and wandered over, flopping onto my knees in the dirt.
The butterfly took flight, leaving me alone with this mysterious silver thing hiding in the earth. Each grain of dirt stuck to the dried blood, wriggling under the lifted skin around my nails as I burrowed my fingertips under the metal and dragged out a solid little key.
“How did you get all the way out here?” I said, wiping my thumb over the symbol on the top; it looked like a headless snake, winding and tangling around itself; no beginning; no end. A thin silver chain hung down from it, delicate and shimmering, like a spider’s web in the sunlight. The key was old, that much I was sure of, but it wasn’t rusted to decaying. It looked as though it belonged to something—to someone, once.
“Well,” I said, fastening the chain around my neck. “It belongs to me, now.” It rested neatly just below my collarbones, the chain slightly longer than the one my locket used to hang from—my own little treasure, the key to all my secrets.
I stood up again, dusting my knees off, brushing aside the silly idea that they key might be a metaphor—the key to hope. No way. That’s way too corny.
As I took a step, heading to who knows where, my ears pricked to attention. Somewhere in the distance, I was sure I heard voices. The newfound idea of hoping awakened my positive internal thinker and so, I farewelled the endless valley with one loathsome glimpse, and walked toward the ‘possible’ chatter.
But I only took two steps before my heart stopped and my feet froze, my eyes widening around the most magnificent sight I’d ever seen. People! My insides went on a frenzy. They’d found me.
“Mike?” I called, my dry throat amplifying the angst in my voice but drowning out the volume.
I looked inside myself for some strength. I hadn’t used my voice for so long now I could hardly remember how to say my own name. Swallowing, I moistened my throat with the last stratum of saliva and took a breath. “Mike!”
The sun was almost gone again, but darkness shouldn't affect his hearing. I trudged over the dry ground and stood right beside him, laughing.
“Mike.”
But he didn't hear me. He plain didn't hear me; he stared forward, focusing on something, as did every person in this small clearing with him. I looked at each face, studying each concerned gaze, and realised they were all watching one thing; my head turned slowly to the centre of the clearing and my heart washed away with a breath of pure shock.
The blood oath.
There, by the Stone of Truth, kneeling, eyes closed, bloodied wrist outstretched, was—me! I hadn’t left yet? I was still there.
“No!” I ran toward me. “What are you doing? We’ve done this! We’ve done this!” I yelled at her, but she didn't hear. “Please? I walked all night. Don’t you see?”
None of them saw, though; they all watched her as she cut herself open and bled on the Stone, her lips moving with the words of her promise.
I felt hollowed out, numb, walking backward until I found the welcome embrace of wiry branches, holding me up. “Please stop,” I whispered to myself. “Please don't say the oath.”
Her words trickled through me like a bad memory—one you wish you could forget, and without looking up, without taking a breath, she lifted the dagger and held it to her chest.
“No.” I reached out, buckling over with wide eyes bulging when a jagged, burning sear scorched the bones inside my chest. And with a tight-fisted grunt, drew back, hitting my head against the tree as the tip of her blade popped the surrounding pocket of fluid inside my heart, pausing its ragged beat momentarily.
Her breath stopped; my breath stopped, and time flattened out around me. She slowly scraped the dagger out; every inch like a slather of wood grating over teeth.
Sound came rushing back, the volume too loud, and I gasped a wild, shrieking breath, clutching my breast. My heart started back up again, pumping gushes of blood out over my fingers, staining the silver silk—soaking through and dribbling in a warm tickle down my stomach.
“What's happening?” I said, my breath barely a whisper; my eyes open, unblinking. “I don't understand.”
Mike and Emily watched as I bled my oath—the real me—or the imposter, I didn’t know, but I watched on too. She rose to her feet, and with her eyes closed, her lip stiff—trying in vain to hide her pain under the mask of deception—she walked toward Mike—toward the edge of the forest.
As she passed each subject, they read aloud the words that burned her skin—my skin—each sentence like spiky, acid spears of hot lava. Wasps, bees, bashing my knee on a step was nothing in comparison to this.
But she walked—her face perfect, her lips red with blood, her skin pale under the dark inks of her Markings. She was flawless and so beautiful, while I fought to breathe—a sticky, sweaty mess of my own tears and blood.
Mike reached for her as she passed him, and though it was a small movement, I saw her shake her head, keeping her eyes closed, as if she knew, as if she needn't see him reach out but knew he would. I wanted so badly for her to fall into his arms, have him make everything okay—just know that somewhere out there, one of us was safe. But she wouldn't. She had a path to walk—and she walked it blindly, not knowing the hell I’d been through—the hell we would go through all over again as soon as she set foot over that border.
Morgaine edged forward several times, hesitating before launching after Ara and wrapping a dark-purple cloak over her shoulders without disturbing even one step. I saw it wrap her, but felt the warmth on my own skin, and when I looked down, the silky velvet rested softly over my shoulders, hiding the silver dress. I touched my bloodied fingers to it, matting the velvet slightly.
“She looks so beautiful,” Morgaine said, covering her mouth.
Mike blinked a few times, practically biting his own fist. “I don't like this, Morg.”
Her fingers floated slowly up through the air and came to rest on Mike’s arm; he looked at her. “She’ll be okay, Mike.”
“I'm not so sure anymore, I... We gotta stop her.” He darted forward and everything disappeared in a cloud of whitewash as Ara placed her foot to the doorstep of this ever-holding prison.
“No!” I screamed at her, grasping the air where Mike’s hand had been. “What have you done!”
Each step she took forward, deeper and deeper into the Walk of Faith, saw the burn of our promise mark my skin once more. I held my arm out and watched it snake its way along—the words becoming clear to me once more; you will never escape. Leave the forest by dawn or be trapped in there for eternity.
I closed my eyes and listened to the ghostly whispers of the warning.
“Never step foot in the Forest of Enchantment—never step foot in there at dawn.”
Dawn.
The word echoed all around me in the haunting silence of eternally consequential mistakes. My failure would repeat itself over and over again for me to watch, to relive.
I rested the back of my head against the bark of the tree, but stumbled back, falling through nothing, seeing the world go white around me…
…My eyes flashed open. I looked down, standing where Ara had been only a second ago.
We merged. I became her, but with the memory of a treacherous night too fresh in my mind to stop the tears. I just wanted to go home—be normal, be with David. Nothing more, nothing less.
I sunk to the ground—a pitiless soul in an empty world—and hugged my knees to my chest, weeping into my arms. I was alone. Forgotten. A memory they would mourn, for sure, but evermore only that.
Trudging endlessly down an entirely different path, I shivered at the thought of the darkness to come.
My legs hurt, aching as if hands of reverberating sharpness were rubbing up and down my thighs, and my stomach felt like I swallowed a big, empty bowl of space. Even the grumbling hurt.
I rubbed the tops of my legs, letting my skirt rise higher than I would if there were others around. All over my skin, the Markings made me look like a favourite old Barbie doll someone’s little brother had gotten hold of and scribbled on with a permanent pen.
“This sucks!” I flopped down on my back, blowing my tantrum out with a hard pant. Overhead, my only friend shone down on me, lighting the sky pink as it had done on the last dusk, and beside that, my enemy crept in like purple shadows, disguising itself as clouds.
Hope was lost. It was my job to find it out here, but I failed. Now, I couldn’t even seem to find the beauty of the forest, either. It wasn’t pleasant like a national park or the forest by the lake. This was wild and untamed and open and no one knew where to find me. I wished the trees weren’t so high, so that maybe I could feel sheltered. I just felt so out in the open—like anyone, anything could be watching. But nothing ever showed. That rude crow hadn't even returned.
Though this world maintained it was dusk, I felt time passing again. I lay on the dirt, semi-conscious, singing to the sky, twirling the key around and around. Every now and then, I held it up to the light and moved it along so the pink sun made the silver sparkle. I wondered whose key it was—what it locked away, whether it was a good secret or maybe a bad one. And wondered if perhaps it was a secret of the heart, like the ones I held. Maybe whoever owned this key felt love for another man, even though she was married, or maybe, in truth, it opened the lock to her lies—perhaps lies she told herself because she didn’t want to know the secrets.