Page 8 of Marked

Everything in her head yelled that there was a threat but she consoled herself. There was no screaming like that day in the square; there was no blood spilled on the floor, especially not her blood. In what seemed like a small eternity, she was finally able to close her eyes and rest.

The next morning, she awoke to a headache and vowed not to drink any more of Fin’s experiments.

She rolled out of bed and looked in the mirror, taking notice of the dark circles that seemed to form under her eyes.

Although she slept reasonably well the night before, she tossed and turned from the memories of what she saw.

Rubbing her eyes, she couldn't decide if her visions from the night before were real or if things had been exaggerated by the alcohol in her system.

Either way, she would have to figure it out or forget what she saw.

As she readied for the day, her movements were slow and deliberate.

Her body seemed heavy from the previous night of drinking.

She found clothes, tossed her hair up in a messy bun, and grabbed a bag, slinging it over her shoulder as she stepped into the morning sunlight.

Tomorrow, she was back in her classroom, which gave her one day to try to find any answers about what was going on.

Squinting her eyes, she battled her headache and silently swore again at Flynn.

As her eyesight adjusted and the shops came into view, she passed store after store until she reached her destination.

A swinging sign branded with the words "Inked and Bound" shone like a beacon.

She repositioned the bag on her shoulder and pushed open the door, hearing a small bell chime alerting the bookstore owner.

A curly mess of blonde hair sauntered into the lobby; a giant smile plastered on her face.

"Hello! Welcome to,.. oh!"

As recognition hit her, the woman swept Blair into a hug and squeezed tightly. "Hey, honey, you weren't due back until next week! Finish your books?!" she asked, squeezing one more time for good measure before pulling away.

“Hey Penny," Blair said with a wince, jarred from the sudden movement. "Not exactly. I'd like to pick up one more, maybe. If you're okay with it?" she questioned with a sweet smile.

"Ohh, I have just the thing! A new romance was printed! It's about a masked wizard who knows how to use his wand,” Penny paused, wiggling her eyebrows and winking before continuing ,” if you know what I mean ."

"NO! No,.." Blair cleared her throat, imagining what those pages could be filled with, "I, um,..was hoping to maybe find some old legends? The kids have been begging for scary stories, and I kind of wanted to surprise them."

Penny sighed, her disappointed face dropping as she motioned to the aisles of books.

"I was really hoping you would read it with me, but I get it.” A small smile lit up her face.

“You've always put those kids first, they are lucky to have you.

" The smile grew as she shrugged, and she pointed to the back two rows.

"Those books would have anything and everything you’re looking for.

I have water at my desk if you get thirsty.

Just call me over if you need anything else. "

Blair nodded at the hospitality of her friend and walked toward the back.

Penny hadn't been wrong, as Blair skimmed the titles, she came across various ghost stories, old tales of haunted houses and a few obituaries that had been dramatized. She glanced over each volume before returning them to the shelf. Continuing to brush her fingers along the numerous spines, she stopped on one that caught her eye; one that didn’t belong.

A small black leather-bound journal was in her hand.

The surface was cracked and weathered with a single brass clasp holding it shut. No title. No markings.

Blair hesitated, then undid the clasp. The hinges gave a soft whine.

Inside the journal were pages of tight, looped handwritten notes.

Turning the page, she found every page was full of musings and symbols she didn’t recognize.

Carefully fanning through the journal, she came across a nestled piece of parchment in the center of the book.

Opening the book fully, she carefully unfolded the paper.

It was a map..and it looked familiar.

There were mountains, streams, and a hot spring. Along different parts of the region, ridges curved into forests. Cities formed in the same paths as the ones she learned about when she first came to this town. But there was no “SilverDawn,” on the map. No gorges. No Pines. No Opelysk.

Instead, at the center of the map in faded ink was the name Myrth .

Blair blinked and turned the map. The ink shimmered faintly, like it had been rewritten again and again over something else.

Around Myrth were other towns but none she recognized.

Stopping on each mysterious name, she read them aloud, “Dunlap, Klamer, Crescentine..” Each name stranger than the last.

Blair’s brain kept retracing the borders between the towns, along with the rivers, the roads, and the mountain ridges. Everything was so unmistakably familiar.

This was Opelysk.

But it wasn’t.

She traced the lines again, slower. Nothing else made sense. Only the outlines. The bones of the land.

There were markings on the page around the land. Tiny symbols inked in the margins. Some looked like strange lines, others like runes or glyphs. At the edge of the page, someone had drawn a small diamond.

A cold shiver rolled down her spine. She glanced around as the blood rushed to her head. The shop was quiet except for the hum of Penny somewhere in the bookstore.

Blair turned back to the journal, her pulse quickening with each second.

She had lived in SilverDawn long enough to know the structure of the land. She had studied Epolysk and the sections that made the land what it was.

With fingers shaking, she closed the map and cautiously set it back in between two pages. Slowly moving her hand through the next few pages, she froze when her eyes settled on the word "shadows." Her eyes skimmed the paragraphs until she came across another sentence that spoke of "marked ones."

She snapped the book shut as a fresh wave of adrenaline hit her.

Her nose flared as her breathing intensified, and she stood, willing her heart to slow.

Once she could move her feet, she slipped the book into her bag and grabbed an orange one next to it titled "Campfire Stories to Tell in the Dark.

" She quickly walked to the desk, ignoring the sweat that had started to cling to her forehead and her jaw that was clenched shut.

"Hey Penny, it was a quick find, I'm gonna take it to school tomorrow, and I'll return it the next day!"

Penny barely looked up, her face buried in the new romance she had told Blair about. She waved her hand, giving her a thumbs up, and went back to reading.

Blair briskly walked back to her house, the book burning a hole in her bag.

Closing her door, she immediately bolted it and walked to her kitchen.

Reaching for the curtains, she drew them closed.

After lighting a candle on her table, she sat down and placed the book in front of her.

Not understanding why her heart was beating so fast, she flipped to the section she had seen earlier.

Her fingers shook as she found the passage she was looking for. A page half-torn, ink smudged but still legible. The heading was at the top written in tight, angular script: The Marked ones of Myrth. Below it, there was a Diamond, like the one that was on the map. Beneath that, there was writing.

“Always four. Not kings. Not prophets. But leaders drawn from necessity. They bore the Marks of Myrth, not by choice but by burden. One bore the Mark of Fate. One bore the Mark of Night. One bore the Mark of Veil. And the last bore a Mark of Void. Together they..”

Blair’s eyes strained as she tried to read the rest, the words fading into nothing.

This book was old but this page in particular was ripped in multiple spots.

She flipped forward, realizing it had been the last page that was filled out.

The rest of the journal was blank, no words, not even symbols. Hands trembling, she set the book down.

Movement outside her curtain made her freeze.

Glancing in the direction of the flicker, she watched a shape walk past her window.

Blinking a few times, trying to figure out if it was just her brain playing tricks on her, she decided to shut the book.

She felt like she had been collecting puzzle pieces to something and now she had this.

What could it mean?

Her head started to pound as her anxiety spiked. She placed the book in the middle of her table and leaned down. Where could she go from here?

Breathing deeply, she pulled over a tote.

Maybe if thought about something else for a little bit, she could figure out the next steps.

Lifting her teaching journal, she opened it for tomorrow and reviewed her lessons for the day.

By the time she had identified key vocabulary words and figured out the length of her lesson, her mind was screaming to read the journal again.

After battling herself for fifteen minutes, she grabbed her journal and the book and walked to her bedroom. Opening the drawer of her nightstand, she placed the leather journal inside and closed it. Dropping her work on her bed, she lay on her stomach and finished planning.

With the book out of sight, she was able to focus for a little while.

Falling into a false sense of security, she let her mind drift away from the mystery that was unfolding in front of her.

Instead, she focused on her students and her classroom.

Soon, her eyes became heavy, and she drifted to sleep.

The next day seemed to start on a lighter note.

She readied herself, made sure the book was securely hidden, and walked to her Schoolhouse to teach.

Although she appeared calm and normal, her mind had been racing in a thousand different directions.

The only saving grace was that her lessons were short due to the dwindling number of students.

Three more children had not returned to school.

After closing down her classroom for the day, she held onto the knob and took a deep breath.

She had asked for help from Damien 48 hours ago, and she had felt like in that small time, so much had happened.

First, she felt like her sanity was starting to slip.

Second, the internal war within herself about what she saw, what she thought she saw, and what she read .

Throughout the day, she had decided that maybe what she saw had been real. At one point, she had convinced herself it was best to let The Hunters know of the suspicious information. She had made it three feet before turning around.

Damien had been in this town for nearly five years, and although he kept to himself and wasn't particularly social with those around him, he was never rude or disrespectful.

She had combed over every memory involving him and never once assumed he would bring harm to anyone.

That was the one reason she hadn't turned him in.

That and the fact that she may have imagined the whole thing .