The Crystal Mark

By Siri Mutalik Desai

When the world woke up on that vibrant spring day, no one knew about the imminent danger threatening their existence. No one knew they had only one day left. And no one knew the fate of the world rested in the hands of five children who had no idea what they were getting into.

On the morning of Zoe Marshall's thirteenth birthday, everything goes horribly wrong. She wakes up late, gets yelled at by the principal, and ends up in detention for something she didn't do.

But all that changes when two bizarre individuals with perplexing backstories show up at her school, claiming that she and her best friend are part of an elite group of Elementals.

Zoe is dumped through a black hole into a magical land, where she must complete a Quest that entails fighting ferocious demons, earning a prophecy from a talking elf, and not dying. (She considers the last part to be kind of important.)

When betrayal is in the air, and riddles are the new tools to save the world, can Zoe and her friends save the world from its horrendous fate of death by asphyxiation? Or will they be too late?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Siri Publishing House
• Release date: Jan 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393768081

Siri Mutalik Desai

Siri Mutalik Desai is a middle-grader in the Evergreen State of Washington. She has been an avid reader since the age of six and also pursues hobbies such as dancing, sketching and music. Juggling between remote learning and class assignments, Siri used the downtime during the pandemic year to bring to life her debut novel, "The Crystal Mark". This story combines her knowledge of mythology, science, and astronomy with imaginary characters from a parallel universe.

Book preview

Prologue

If someone told me that I would spend my thirteenth birthday saving the world from complete and total annihilation, I’d have laughed in their face. But that was three hours ago. Three hours ago, I was still Zoe Marshall: the kid who tried to be invisible, the kid whose family moved every other month, and the kid who got horrible grades, but somehow managed to ace P.E.

It’s been three hours since I’ve become the new me. Three hours since I’ve stepped foot in the third dimension. Three hours since I’ve come in contact with magic. 

And by magic, I don’t mean the whole Yer a wizard, ‘Arry! routine. I didn’t go to a magical school of witchcraft and wizardry, I didn’t eat a feast fit for a king, and I didn’t play Quidditch with my friends. But what I did do was battle against a dark lord. And while he may not have been as terrifying as Voldemort, he was just as evil. 

Who am I? 

A daughter. A sister. An Elemental.

I don’t look like one. No, at first glance, I look normal. Chestnut brown hair, green eyes, slightly tanned skin . . . I don’t see anything unusual when I look in the mirror. But look deeper than that, and there are small things that make me who I am. What I am.

A high threshold for pain, an ability to run like the wind . . . they were the signs. I didn’t notice them. Of course I didn’t. Magic was supposed to be the things you read in fantasy novels, purely fictional.

People didn’t go around using their special abilities or cast spells on others walking down the streets. Demons didn’t eat people, nor did they try to fight their prey. They weren’t supposed to. 

They did, though. They did because they weren’t normal. 

But then again, since when did I associate myself with anyone normal?

My best friend is definitely not. From the outside, Brie Dubois is a shy, intelligent, half African American and half French girl. In truth, Brie’s nothing like people think she is. Brie’s intelligent, I’ll give her that. But when she’s around me—when she’s herself—she’s outgoing, witty, sarcastic, and the tiniest bit cuckoo.

My sister, Roxanne, used to be like her—used to be my best friend. That was when she was thirteen, though—that was five years ago. Before she’d turned thirteen, birthdays were the biggest tradition in the Marshall family. We’d have the grandest cakes and best wardrobes to celebrate, inviting everyone we knew to our house. But then her birthday rolled around. She started distancing herself from me, and along with her, so did my parents. My mom and dad had rather demanding jobs—it was why we would move so often. They’d disappear for days at a time on business trips, and not long after, we’d find ourselves in a different country, in a different state.  On my twelfth birthday—when Roxanne was seventeen and more distant than ever—we moved again, this time to Redmond, Washington. The LLE—the company my parents worked for—had them relocate again.

My parents never said what LLE stood for, though. Just said they worked for them.

Time passed. Things changed. I met Brie, and we became inseparable. We played pranks on the Novaks, our next-door neighbors, almost every day, and had sleepovers every night.

The Marshalls still look like the perfect family from the outside, but they’re not. Because if there’s anything, anything at all, I’ve learned from my visit to the third dimension, it’s that things aren’t always as they seem.

Don’t let deceptions deceive you. Don’t judge a book by its cover. Never do. Because life’s full of surprises. You’ll never know what will happen next. You can guess, but you might not be right. You can warn someone, but they might not listen to you. I could’ve seen the signs—the warnings—earlier, but I didn’t. And you know what? I think it’s better that way. 

Nothing can prepare you for being an Elemental. You could read the fantasies in the library, you could study the Periodic Table down to the last atom, you could scour the internet for all the chemistry jokes in existence, but it wouldn’t work.

Because telling people jokes about the Periodic Table doesn’t prepare you for being an Elemental. 

And I never realized just how hard it would be until my thirteenth birthday.

I’m A What Now?

The minute the sun’s rays shone through the thin curtain in my room, I should have known something was off. My parents weren’t rambling about the weather, my sister hadn’t locked herself in the bathroom for her daily make-up routine, and—oh yeah—it was Friday the thirteenth. My birthday. 

I groaned. Since my eighth birthday, I’d come to hate this time of year. My parents and sister would act even more unusual than they normally were, which was saying something.

I rolled off the bed and looked outside the window. The sky was clear, the sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and the grass glistened with the remains of last night’s thunderstorm. Just a normal spring day. Of course, if I had looked much closer, I would have noticed a purple haze surrounding the city of Redmond, Washington. But I didn’t.

I walked down the stairs and into the kitchen. A note peeked out from the corner of the Froot Loops box:  

Happy thirteenth birthday, Zoe!  

I’m sorry, honey, but Dad and I won’t be able to make it home tonight. The LLE’s requested another meeting—I know, again. Roxanne will be home at seven, so you can invite Brie and make it a girl’s night out! Well, in, really.

Love,

Mom.

Again. They’d miss my birthday again. I suppressed a sigh, pouring the milk and cereal into a bowl. 

A loud ringing knocked me back to reality. My phone blared on the breakfast table, the time dancing on the screen: 8:15 a.m.

It took me a minute to register the numbers.

Shoot! I realized. I’ll be late for school!

I scarfed down the rest of my cereal and jumped out of my seat. I sprinted outside, my feet bouncing off the sidewalk. I felt a rush of power as the cold air hit my face; pure adrenaline coursed through my veins. This feeling wasn’t new, of course—I felt this every time I ran. But now, I felt stronger as my legs pumped, and the school drew nearer. This was a short-lived experience as I noticed a large fat mass in the shape of our principal, Mr. Rachman, pop up in front of me. Get out of the way! I wanted to scream, but the wind took my breath away. I was going too fast to slow down. Before I knew it, I lay sprawled across Mr. Rachman’s mountainous belly. And then the bell rang.

Well, well, well! Mr. Rachman sneered from below me. I see our little track star has finally been retired. Get off me, midget! Detention for you! Library, three o’clock sharp.

Wh-why, Mr. Rachman? I stuttered, not wanting detention on my birthday.

For trampling and flattening the school’s principal, young lady!

Flattened? I thought, glancing at his massive midsection, but I bit back my reply. 

"Why are you just standing there? he yelled. Go to homeroom!"

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Woodrow Novak slink into the area. He smirked, and I recognized that smirk. It was the one that he gave when he was proud of something; the one that he gave to the cheerleaders after scoring a touchdown. It was the one that he gave when he was getting back at someone.

He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from his leather jacket and made a move to drop it onto the floor. 

Shoot. My eyes widened when I realized what he’d done. Mr. Rachman had just started walking away, and I prayed he wouldn’t turn around. Shoot, shoot, shoot!

Note to self: Never prank Woodrow again.

Litter has been our principal’s worst enemy since he slipped on a banana peel and ended up on crutches for three months. Mr. Rachman hates it. No joke. 

Please don’t notice it, please don’t notice it, please don’t notice it, my mind chanted.

But, of course, Mr. Rachman turned around last minute, his gaze homing in on the piece of paper lying on the ground. If he had laser vision, Mr. Rachman’s glower could have burned holes into the floor.

Mr. Novak! he exclaimed, trying to stay calm. "Did you just litter?"

Woodrow turned around, his face wearing an expression that read: Who? Me? Preposterous!

His expression won Mr. Rachman over. No, not you! He smiled at Woodrow’s retreating figure and directed his attention toward me. Miss Marshall, please report to detention after school.

"But I already have detention, sir!" I protested.

"‘But I already have detention, sir!’ he mocked. Now, you have double detention. And guess what? His face turned ugly. You can bring that Brie Dubois with you too! That’s an order!"

I scowled as I walked toward homeroom. Fate must have felt sorry for me that morning, so I was given a little—okay, a lot—of entertainment. What I didn’t know, was that I was the one causing it.

In first period math class with Mr. P., a sudden and strong wind rushed inside the classroom. Harmless, right? Wrong. The wind blew his toupee off! Needless to say, he postponed the pop-quiz, and the class had an early dismissal. 

In fourth period science, another gust blasted the chalkboard Ms. Ana Tomi was writing on. The chalk dust coated her clothes, making her deathly pale from head-to-toe. 

But then sixth period came. Gym was the only class I had with Brie, meaning it was the only time I had to break the news of detention to her. That wasn’t as much of entertainment as it was torture. Never in anyone’s life should they hold witness to a Brie-kout—Brie’s freak-outs could cause trauma for life.

So, of course, I held it out till last minute—waited just until the bell rang to tell my friend.

On the verge of hysterics, Brie was practically hyperventilating. I’ve never been to detention before! she exclaimed. "My parents will be so mad at me! What are they going to say? Oh no! What if they make a phone call? Aaaagghhh! I need my inhaler!"

Brie, relax, I told her, grabbing her by the shoulders. It’s just detention—how bad can it be?

Very bad. Detention could be very bad. Brie and I learned that when Mr. Rachman handed us our tools and told us to start scraping gum off the bottom of the desks in the library.

Ew! Brie cried, crawling out from underneath a desk and gagging. This one has a tooth in it!

I was about to laugh at her theatrics when I heard a dark voice hiss something inaudible. The sound was ominous and creepy. It was like the ones in horror movies. It was like the ones you hear before everything goes wrong. 

An ear-piercing shriek stabbed through my thoughts. Miss Marshall! shouted Mr. Rachman. Have you forgotten it goes against rule number four-twenty-one to get distracted from a punishment? Or is our little Marun Olympiad champion too good for that?

The tips of my ears went red, and my cheeks heated up. I saw Brie go pink and duck her head down from the corner of my eye. Just last week, Brie and I had placed first in the Marun Olympiads. It was the biggest competition in our town, and it took place every year. Whether you were a child aged twelve (the minimum age you must be to participate), or a senior at age eighty, everyone took great pride in winning the Olympiads. 

A competition that combined both brains and brawn, the Marun Olympiads comprised two sections: solving a math paper that should take an average adult an hour to finish, followed by a two-mile race to the judges’ table with the solved paper. Brie had finished the test in under thirty minutes. She had passed over the paper like a baton, and I’d sprinted to the judges. We won, because we got there first, and Brie had gotten every single answer correct. Ever since, the local news anchors have been crowding at our doorstep.

Until last week, the Rachman Family had been the reigning champions, and Mr. Rachman wasn’t happy that their streak had ended. His daughter, Miranda Rachman, was his partner. Miranda was basically Mr. Rachman two-point-oh; they both hated losing and always got revenge. This detention was probably their idea of getting even. 

Mr. Rachman smiled, confirming my suspicions. He motioned for me to join him up front. I believe you know the consequences of not following the rules, he said. 

Detention, stage-whispered the other delinquents. 

No! Brie argued. I quirked an eyebrow. Brie wasn’t one to argue with authority—at least, not in public. Still, I shot her a thankful glance as she continued, "You can’t get detention while you’re in detention!"

Would you like one too? Mr. Rachman asked, holding up his hand. When Brie huffed, he added, I should think not. That’s triple detention for you, Miss Marshall!

Two seconds later, I heard another whisper—another hoarse voice, like the one that made me stop working in the first place.

Bathroom, it hissed. When I swiveled in the voice’s direction, I saw something scurry away, like a mouse.

Weird. But now, I would take anything that got me out of this punishment.

Mr. Rachman? I asked my detention-happy principal. May I go to the bathroom?

Yeah, yeah, he said, motioning for me to shoo. 

I walked toward the bathroom as Brie mouthed, Did you hear that?

I nodded in response. Just as