The Living Curse

Chapter Eight: The Great Mark





The light in the room was dark and the feeling dismal. The four stone walls surrounding them were a dull gray only broken up by the pale white door. The entire room had a thin film of grime from disuse. She could feel nervous energy pouring from Mira, who wore a look of courage. Max led them to the corner of the room, where she could now make out a shadowed figure, shrouded in cloth. He had told them that Mira could have been marked at the Vine, but first she would have to be vigorously trained and tested. They would not mark her until they were absolutely sure that she would survive. He knew of several Markbearers who had been fully trained, and would mark others off the record. It was more dangerous this way, he had told them, but they didn’t have the years it would take to be done the right way.

The figure pulled back the black hood, revealing an attractive, fine featured man who appeared to be in his late thirties or early forties. His short hair was a dark, ink black, and stood on end, mirroring the fierce dark eyes beneath it. He had an unexplained sense of intensity about him, which was probably why he had been able to complete training at such an unusually young age. The man did not speak; he knew there would only be one reason for someone to approach him here. Max had told them he waited here for one hour once a week, marking anyone who wished to be marked. His task was not to evaluate whether one should become a Markbearer or not, simply to mark.

The man moved slowly toward Mira, sensing that she was the only one of the three who did not yet bear a mark. He motioned for her to sit, and slowly, with wide eyes, she complied. Most people would have tried to offer comfort then, or ask one final time if she was sure she wanted to go through with it. Nameh did neither of these things; she knew Mira was sure, and she wasn’t one for spoken feelings. She simply gave her a small, reassuring nod. She tugged at the thick straps of her black boots, loosening them. When she had removed it and the sock beneath, Nameh remembered again how small and delicate her feet were. Since about a year after she and Mira had met, she had felt an extreme sense of protectiveness for her. She had never understood why, but she had always been more concerned for her well being than anyone before, and found herself making sure that no one hurt her. She felt her very soul cringe as she recalled the pain being marked brought; she would give anything at that moment to take it in her stead.

The man moved his hand over her foot, and dragged his finger across her heel. He drew in a curving pattern, swirling outward, turning corners, and repeating the motion. She remembered the searing pain that had increased with each circle: the first was little more than a tickle, and the last few were utterly excruciating. The paths drawn seemed to leave nothing permanent on the skin, but in fact, magic was sinking in before their eyes. Mira’s expression changed from quiet confidence to grimace as the man continued. She knew that each person needed a different amount of paths, depending on how well the magic takes to the receiver. Nameh had needed eight paths, but Mira was on her eighth already.

Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks, and she clenched her teeth to keep from screaming. The rest of her body was crumpled inward, as if to protect itself from the unseen attacker. After nine paths, the man finally stopped, seemingly satisfied; the average was around eleven or twelve. He held his hand carefully poised above her heel, which showed no signs of her pain. He seemed to pull something from the skin, trying to reach something that was deep inside. As he pulled with magic, the Shask became visible on her heel, as if he had put it within her, and then drawn it to the surface.

As the mark became more and more visible, her increasing pain could be seen painted across her face. She let out a small, final cry, and crumpled from her seated position. Nameh’s face must have been twisted into an expression of horror, but she didn’t notice; she was far away. Suddenly, she was sitting on a grassy hill, sunlight streaming down from the perfectly blue sky. She was surrounded by younger versions of the friends she had met when she first entered the Guardian Academy. The image was from a trip to Washington D.C., when they had visited the building where the original Guardian council had met hundreds of years ago. Across from her sat Mira, looking as young and innocent as they all had. She hadn’t known her for long, then, but they were beginning to become friends. The image grew and distorted before her, the light changing from the bright sunlight to a dimmer, warmer one. She sat in the loft of a small cabin, a soft sleeping bag pulled around her legs to ward off the crisp night time air. Opposite her sat a girl with hair so dark brown, it was almost black. Delicate glasses were perched on her nose, accenting her soft features. The girl was Deanna, an old friend of hers. Next to her sat Mira again, looking older; a year had passed. They had been in a small cabin on a summer trip to Canada, and they had never had as much fun as they did there. The image changed again, the light shifting into a final stage of darkness. The sound of water flowing past filled Nameh’s ears, and the smells of warmth and bread filled her nose. Now, she was in Paris, along the banks of the Seine River. The light from the sun was all but gone, and the only light remaining came from a nearby streetlight and a small candle beside the blanket they sat on. On the white blanket lay cheese, breads and fruits. She and Mira had traveled to France only a few months earlier, leaving quickly on a whim. They had spent hours wandering, and sitting on the window ledge outside their hotel room. The ledge had been narrow, and it was an altogether dangerous idea to try to climb out on it. Nameh had done it anyway, and had later convinced Mira to follow her. The sights, sounds, and smells had been so beautiful that they couldn’t bear to go inside, it being their last night in Paris. So, instead of doing the reasonable thing and sleeping, they had just sat and talked all night, feeling the cool air. She vividly recalled sunrise, just as the sky turned from black to the fading blue of dawn. In an instant, the smells that filled the air changed from the soft smell of a sleeping city, to that of a city waking up. In a single moment, the smells of baking bread and sweet pastries had wrapped around each building like a blanket, bringing the streets back to life. This was her fondest memory of the two of them together, and the thought nearly brought tears to her eyes. The dark light washed out into pure white, and the room came back into focus. The man was still poised over Mira, watching intently, while Max stood with his arms folded, looking concerned. She shouldn’t have allowed her to do this; she would never forgive herself.

Nameh was in a daze, the world seemed far away as she stared at the fading body of her best friend. She had never thought about what life without Mira would be like, and even now, she couldn’t imagine it. She had known there was a chance she wouldn’t make it, but she had believed so fully that her friend would that she hadn’t thought about it. She knew she was strong enough. She closed her eyes, trying to clear the fog and the worry from her mind, and she felt a hand on her shoulder. She realized that Max had taken the few steps that had separated them, and was now making an awkward attempt to comfort her. She turned her head to look at him; they were roughly at eye level. She gave him a small nod, taking the whirlwind of emotions that swelled inside her and carefully packing them away, to be dealt with later. Her face regained its usual stoic calm, but she allowed herself, for once, to be a little outwardly upset.

She carefully knelt beside Mira, and placed a trembling hand on her back. In a sensory experience that she thought must have been a fantasy; she thought she felt the pulsing of a beating heart, willing the body to live. She drew a quick breath and lowered her turned ear toward her fallen friend. The room was utterly silent, and the glorious sound of Mira’s beating heart, like a marching drum, was all that Nameh could hear, or wanted to hear. She rolled her friend gently to the side, onto her back, and looked at her face. Her cheeks, which had been flushed only a moment ago, were now drained of color, leaving her skin a papery white. Her lips stood out against the powder white as a rose-pink, a beautiful color that seemed almost unnatural. She recalled her own subtle transformation after receiving her mark: her hair had turned the startling silver white she was now known for, and her eyes had darkened from their previously caramel color, to a deep coffee brown that appeared nearly black in some lights.

Mira’s eyelids flickered as she regained consciousness, and Nameh felt her heart skip a beat, as if it recognized the near loss of a part of it. As she slowly pulled herself back up into a sitting position, Nameh had to fight the urge to throw her arms around her, an urge that felt strange and unnatural; she had never been one for displays of affection.

Now, Nameh noticed the full changes the Shask had brought Mira. Her lips had become a vivid pink, full of life, and her skin now had a pink luster. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she noticed what a vibrant green they had become, in contrast to the soft hazel they had been. She looked at her friend for a moment longer, before uttering a simple sentence that encompassed all of the relief and love that had come from hundreds of battles together.

“I knew you were strong enough.” She said simply.





The black pavement still felt warm against her bare feet from the midday sun’s captured heat. The wind blew a balmy breeze and tousled the hair that she had released from the knot. She closed her eyes and embraced the gentle lullaby of the night, thinking of the hours just passed. Mira was inside with the Marker and Max, regaining her strength after the trying experience. After she had made completely certain that she would be alright, she had to get out, to feel the night air against her cheeks. In the dark room, she hadn’t realized how much time had passed, or that it had become night.

She walked slowly down the alley with no purpose, watching the people in the distant street pass by the small window of view she had. Some walked hurriedly, while others walked seemingly just for the action of walking. Each person had a different story: where they were going and why, who they were going with or going to, how the steps she just witnessed could change their entire life. She imagined tracing the path of each passerby with her mind, seeing where they would end up because of their actions now. She imagined a young woman on her way to meet a lover, and saw the life they would build together, and the pain that would haunt her when he was gone. She imagined an older man, hurrying by in a flurry, hoping he could catch the train before his son left for good. They had a fight, and neither had been able to swallow their pride this time; the boy had left, and would never return if he wasn’t stopped now. She saw the man catching his son’s sleeve with a pleading look in his eyes, as the son pulled out of his father’s grasp, and rolled away on the train. The images she saw were so vivid that she wondered whether or not they were products of her imagination.

She turned back toward the building, and began to walk, still slowly. They would be wondering where she had went.

All of her fantasies, or realities, that involved love seemed to end in pain and heartache. She wondered, as she often did, why people even bothered; was it worth it? She opened the heavy door to reenter the building and the heavy darkness greeted her. She had long ago abandoned the girlish fairytale of charming princes and riding off into the sunset. She would rather believe that she could slow the passage of time, keep all of the moments she would miss alongside her always. Life flew past far too quickly for Nameh, at times, and she longed to slow its progress. She might be more successful trying to capture the moonbeams that fell across the cold floor through the door that lay ajar for a moment. She kicked at one with her toe as they laughed at her game, and its absurdity.