Page 12 of Ruby & Onyx

A whistle pulls me from that daydream and strikes a bolt of adrenaline-fueled lightning through my veins. A shot of terror nearly makes me scream when I see two, maybe three, men standing dangerously close to the border just past the first line of trees. Close enough for me to see the dirt caked onto their skin.

One of them takes a slow, careful step forward, straining his eyes as he looks right at me. They remind me of the first man that I saw in the woods – equally haggard and emaciated. I can feel them watching me, studying me.

I spring to my feet and pull my cloak tighter around myself as if I might somehow be able to disappear unnoticed.

Two of the men halt.

The third continues to step closer, tilting his head to the side like he’s evaluating just how close he can get without the barrier swallowing him whole. If that is the case, then they must have borne witness to their predecessor’s previous attempt at crossing. They know better now. They learned, and now they’re taking precautions. Coming back smarter and more prepared.

My shoulders stiffen.

The man in the back yells to the first, “Amin! You’re getting too close!” Something about that voice stirs something inside of me that I don’t understand. It calls to me, nestling in the deepest parts of my being and urging me forward.

I won’t listen to it. I can’t.

“We need to know,” he replies with his eyes still fixed on me. He bends over to grab a fallen stick and tosses it through the barrier. It twirls its way through like no obstacle exists and lands with a thud right next to my feet.

So close. So very close.

Was that a test to see if objects could pass through the barrier unharmed?

I should run. I know that, but a faint voice, soft and barely there in the cracks of my mind, whispers, don’t run. Stay. Listen. The voice is a part of me and yet wholly separate. It’s chilling, convincing. And so, I listen to the voice that might lead to my downfall, no matter how ill-advised that might be.

“Who are you?” I demand an answer this time.

The man in the back looks like he’s concentrating on something so deeply that his mind no longer exists in this realm.

“The better question, girl, is who are you?” The front man’s white teeth become visible as his lips pull into a crooked smile. He’s older than the other, I think. His hair is flecked with gray and the well-worn lines of his face are deeper. But I don’t see any sage wisdom or gentleness behind these marks of age, only violence.

I am a fool for staying here, for engaging in this madness. But I can’t seem to run, no matter how firmly every logical bone in my body demands it. Standing still as stone, I eke out the words, “My name is Radya.” I inhale a steadying breath, and my toes flex into the dirt as if anchoring me there. “Now it’s my turn for a question. What are you doing here?”

The front man inches closer, scoping out the barrier’s limits and tempting fate with every breath, while the others pull back into the shadows. Twigs and dried leaves crunch beneath their feet. It is a fool’s game they’re playing. The forest looms behind them like towering prey, hoping to see the barrier claim its next victims and their souls fed back into the land.

I have to stop him.

If not for fear that they might somehow succeed in passing through, then for my own self-preservation. I couldn’t bear to witness another person lose their life to this menacing magic. I shout with the commanding force of a toddler to an adult, “Don’t come closer. If you step too close to the barrier, the magic will take your life.”

“Yes, I saw what your magic did to Perry,” the man with the crooked smile spits. Perry must have been the first man that I saw. The image of the barrier zapping like lightning flashes behind my eyes, carrying with it the smell of charred flesh and smoke.

“My magic? This is no magic of mine,” I assure him.

“You live in this village, do you not?” The man closest to me asks, though the answer to that question should be obvious.

“This magic is as much a cage for me as it is a barrier to you,” I say defensively. Do they not know that this magic traps all of us here?

The men exchange a look, the meaning of which I do not understand. “So, we cannot pass through to your side, nor can you cross to our side,” the front man confirms.

I nod and, in doing so, my hood shakes free. I go to grab it, to pull it closer around my head, even though I know it is of no use. It serves no better protection than a passing puff of air. In doing so, his gaze catches on my left hand, where my barely visible birthmark peeks out from beneath my sleeve. A smile curls on his lips. “What is that on your hand?”

“Why do you ask?” The other man, Perry, asked a similar question. Their shared interest in my birthmark makes me even more uneasy.

“Do you know what that symbol means?”

I shake my head in a small but definite no. Is it even a symbol?

“Have you had it since birth?”

“Yes. I don’t understand your fascination with it.” My mother told me that I was blessed to have such a beautiful birthmark. My special, special daughter with her special, special mark. She was trying to ease my shame over the object of many teasing jokes. Tana, in particular, liked to lead those taunts when we were young.

---