Chasing the Prophecy (Beyonders)

by Brandon Mull

  The threesome ducked into the cover of some bushes. Farfalee joined them after a moment, an arrow nocked and ready. Aram pried the lid off one of the buckets of orantium.

  Eight horses with six riders trotted into view. Four of the riders were drinlings. “All clear,” Jasher called from astride his mount.

  Jason and the others emerged from hiding.

  “We made four new friends,” Drake said. “They’re well provisioned.”

  “I only count two spare mounts,” Farfalee observed.

  “Two of us will now make our way afoot,” said one of the newcomers, his words accented.

  “We’d hate to strand you,” Aram said.

  The drinling speaker smirked. “If we raced to Durna, the two of us on foot might beat you. Horses need rest. We don’t. A drinling can cover a lot of ground running at a full sprint day and night. All he needs is food.”

  “Helps when he can eat dirt,” Jason said. “Or grass, or squirrels, or pinecones.”

  “Sounds as though you know our ways,” the drinling said.

  “Nia never fails to amaze me with what she can eat,” Jason said.

  “She may amaze you again with the team she assembled,” the drinling replied. “Good people. We drinlings will get you on the water. We’ll defend you as best we can. The rest is up to you.”

  Jason glanced at Corinne. She looked relieved. Hard times might be coming. But maybe not tonight.

  CHAPTER 4

  THE JOURNEY NORTH

  Even with the expert guidance of the treefolk, Jason found jungle travel exhausting. In the gloom beneath the dense canopy the humid air stayed oppressively hot and still. Hidden by the ferny undergrowth, roots and creepers crisscrossed the uneven ground, ready to catch a toe or turn an ankle. At times the group would take to the trees, moving along massive limbs or traversing camouflaged bridges fashioned from vines.

  The way proved challenging at its gentlest—without the guides the pathless journey would have been hopeless. The treefolk navigated around endless thickets of impenetrable vegetation without ever needing to pause or double back. They avoided numerous carnivorous plants: huge, quivering mouths on nimble stalks; squidlike, thorny tendrils that attacked from above; bulging bulbs poised to emit poisonous spores; and sticky mats ready to enfold the unwary. Dangerous snakes, centipedes, and spiders were identified and eluded. Twice, the treefolk waited silently with the group, high in a tree, while a jungle cat the size of a horse prowled down below, great bunches of muscle churning beneath a glossy pelt.

  At times the abundant plant and animal life distracted Jason from the taxing terrain. With the mild winter waning, blossoms flourished throughout the jungle, from elaborate trombone-shaped flowers to glorious blooms on corkscrew vines to delicate orchids of infinite color and variety. Exotic birds with vibrant plumage and monkeys of all description populated the trees. After they happened across a large family of obese, blue-gray apes, the others had to drag Jason away. He would have contentedly watched the shaggy brutes toddle about on their stumpy legs for the rest of the afternoon.

  The treefolk foraged most of the food for the group. Diverse fruit, rich nectar, savory mushrooms, peculiar nuts, and crunchy grubs made up the majority of their meals. Jason enjoyed the unusual diet and seldom craved hot food in spite of its absence.

  One steamy morning Bahootsa, the thorn-encased leader of the eight treefolk escorts, announced that they were approaching the northern perimeter of the jungle, where imperial soldiers had been known to venture. When he suggested a break for the day to allow five of the treefolk to scout ahead, nobody complained.

  They stopped beside a swift brook with banks of dense red clay. Trees and shrubs didn’t crowd the stream, which created a clearing of sorts—a rare sight in the heavily vegetated region.

  Wandering along the brook away from the group, Jason drew the torivorian sword Galloran had given him. The elegant weapon felt lighter than it looked. He held the blade horizontally in front of his face, staring at the clear reflection of his eyes in the burnished metal, and saw Corinne approaching from behind. Jason turned.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” Corinne asked.

  Jason thought she was easily the most beautiful thing in sight. The realization made him embarrassed, so he looked around, trying to appreciate what she meant. Tall palm trees with broad fronds screened the morning sun. Bright birds flapped and perched overhead. The aroma of tropical blossoms filled his nostrils. “It’s like paradise.”

  Corinne smiled. “I meant the sword.” Her hand rested on the hilt of her matching blade.

  “Right.” Jason swished it through the air, trying to look heroic. “It feels so light.”

  “Mine too,” Corinne said. “But don’t worry. The sword will feel plenty heavy to your enemies. Father explained that the blades contain more mass than the wielder feels.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” Jason said, holding the sword vertically. “At the Last Inn, Galloran slashed through helmets and armor like they were made of paper.”

  “You should practice with the sword,” Corinne urged. “Get used to how it differs from other weapons. The shock of impact feels dampened. The blade swings light but strikes heavy.” She drew her sword and stabbed it through the trunk of a palm tree with an easy thrust. The tree was nearly a foot thick, but the sword penetrated the wood effortlessly, the polished blade protruding from the far side. Corinne withdrew the sword.

  Jason swung his sword back and forth a few times, then approached the same trunk Corinne had stabbed and hacked at it with the edge. He swung hard and expected the blade to bite deep, but he was surprised when the sword passed clean through the tree without too much resistance. Jason skipped aside as the palm tree toppled in his direction.

  “Careful,” Corinne laughed after the tree had crashed down parallel to the brook.

  “That’s what I call sharp,” Jason said, inspecting the blade with new respect. Passing through the trunk had left no stain on the reflective surface. “We should become lumberjacks.”

  “Maybe someday,” Corinne said wistfully. “I’d rather chop trees than people.”

  “Don’t get all serious on me,” Jason complained. “You’re as bad as Rachel.”

  “You miss her.”

  Jason shrugged, looking away. “It was nice having her around. I worry about her. I try to remind myself that she’s in good company. I bet you miss the mental chats. With Galloran and Rachel gone, you’re the only telepathic person around.”

  “I’m not sure I appreciated how much I relied on speaking in silence until the option was taken from me. I’ve tried several times to reach out to them over the great distance, but with no hint of success.”

  “You guys never could make it work over more than a mile or so.”

  “And only that far with considerable effort.”

  “Well, it’ll be good exercise for your lips.”

  “It’ll be good exercise for your lips,” Jason’s voice repeated from behind him. Jason whirled, sword ready, baffled by the perfect echo. He glanced over at Corinne. “Did you hear that?”

  “Did you hear that?” replied a voice not far off in the jungle. Once again the speaker managed a perfect impersonation of Jason. Taking a few steps in the direction of the impostor, Jason found himself staring at a creamy parrot with a frill of orange feathers around its head.

  Corinne stepped toward Jason, sword in hand. “It sounded just like you.”

  “It sounded just like you,” the bird repeated in Corinne’s voice. It flitted from the branch it occupied to a perch farther from the brook. “Did you hear that?” the parrot asked in Corinne’s voice. “It sounded just like you,” the bird replied as Jason.

  “No way,” Jason said, pushing past ferns to get a closer look at the parrot.

  “No way,” the bird responded in Corinne’s voice.

  Something came charging recklessly through the shrubs from off to one side. Jason pivoted to see Bahootsa racing toward him, a knife in one
hand, the other thorny arm flailing, waving Jason back toward the brook.

  Jason looked from Bahootsa to the bird. Could it be dangerous? As he backed away uncertainly, the parrot took flight, and the shadows behind it came to life as a gargantuan jungle cat sprang out of the gloom. Bahootsa intercepted the monstrous feline mid-leap, tackling it sideways, altering the trajectory of the jump enough that the outstretched claws whooshed through the air beside Jason, narrowly missing their target.

  The jungle cat shook off Bahootsa. Numerous gaping wounds opened as unforgiving thorns shredded its glossy hide. Bristling and falling back, the huge cat roared, a ferocious sound that sent dozens of the surrounding birds skyward. Jason stared numbly at its long white fangs, yellowed at the base, and held his sword ready. No lion or tiger was ever half the weight of this huge alpha predator.

  Bahootsa was back on his feet, shuffling to position himself between Jason and the great cat, crimson blood dripping from his thorns. Sword held defensively, Jason backed out of the vegetation to the bare red clay of the stream’s bank. He sensed Corinne behind him and stopped retreating. No way would he let the jungle cat get to her. The thought made him braver. If his sword could cut through a tree, it could tear through an oversized cat skull. He would need to time it right.

  As the jungle cat crouched low, wads of muscle bunching in the shoulders, one of its green eyes vanished, a feathered shaft suddenly protruding. Yowling fiercely, the great cat whirled and darted away into the trees.

  Swiveling, Jason saw that Farfalee had already set a second arrow to her bowstring and drawn the feathers to her cheek. She stood no less than thirty yards away. How she had threaded an arrow through all that foliage and into the eye of the cat was mind-blowing. She remained ready to release the second arrow as Bahootsa joined Jason and Corinne.

  “We call the mimicking bird a sonalid,” Bahootsa said, the words coming out heavily accented. “They often hunt in tandem with a dagamond. The sonalid lures the prey into danger. While the cat eats, the sonalid picks parasites from its pelt.”

  Heart thudding, Jason nodded woodenly. The shock had barely begun to fade. “Are you okay?”

  Bahootsa grinned. “My thorns are harder than stone. I am not easy prey. Worse predators than dagamonds prowl the depths of the jungle.”

  Jason had never fully appreciated how well the serpentine briars and abundant black thorns of the prickly treefolk functioned as armor. Bahootsa was walking around in his own portable shark cage.

  “You saved my life,” Jason said as Farfalee, Jasher, and Drake approached.

  “I pledged to see you safely to our borders,” Bahootsa replied. He gestured at the others. “We save your lives many times each day. This time was just a close call. It was a wily old dagamond. I did not sense it stalking us.” He faced Farfalee. “An expert shot.”

  “I try to be useful,” she replied, the arrow no longer on her string but still in her hand. Her eyes studied the jungle.

  “It is gone,” Bahootsa said. “The dagamond got more than it bargained for. Plenty more. It prefers to surprise its victim, make an easy kill. It isn’t accustomed to a challenge. It has little experience with pain.”

  “Are you all right?” Corinne asked, placing a hand on Jason’s arm.

  “I’m fine,” Jason replied. “My heart rate might be a little high. For a second there I thought I was panther chow.” He sheathed his sword.

  “Predators love stragglers,” Bahootsa said. “We should remain together.”

  * * *

  Over the next several days the jungle began to feel more sparse, the air less humid, and the nights chillier. Animal sightings became less frequent, and the need for the treefolk guides diminished.

  Atop a low bluff, with grassland stretching out before them, Jason and his companions bid farewell to Bahootsa and the treefolk. The sun went down, and Aram expanded from puny to formidable. After their guides melted away into the twilight, the others sat in a loose circle. Jason appreciated the chance to rest. Without the treefolk the group felt small.

  “We’ll miss those guides,” Drake commented, biting into a succulent piece of fruit. “Having them around almost made this a holiday.”

  “The jungle is their domain,” Jasher replied. “They’re uncomfortable abroad. And with stealth our greatest need, their presence would prove a liability. Every pair of eyes would linger on them.”

  “More treefolk should roam the kingdoms,” Drake groused. “At least in the south. If they left their jungle from time to time, they might not stand out so much in a crowd.”

  Jason gazed ahead at the grassy expanse they would have to cross. Maldor would be hunting for them, and he saw no place to hide. At least with the treefolk along they could have fought off greater numbers.

  “Nia was going to provide horses?” Aram asked, his voice a low rumble.

  “Ideally, yes,” Farfalee replied. She sat near Jasher, petting the eagle that perched on her forearm. “Her first priority is to recruit enough drinlings to man a ship. After that, if possible, she will endeavor to send horses and an escort to the woods north of a hamlet called Hilloby.”

  “Let’s hope she succeeds,” Drake said. “It’s a considerable walk to the Inland Sea.”

  “How far to Hilloby?” Corinne wondered.

  Jasher squinted at the sky, then scanned the horizon. “Maybe three days on foot.”

  “Not much cover out there,” Jason observed.

  “We’ll travel at night,” Jasher said. “Hide during the day.”

  “The comforts of life as a fugitive,” Drake sighed. “Stumbling about in the dark without mounts.”

  “It beats capture and torture,” Farfalee said shortly.

  “Granted,” Drake agreed. “No need to take offense.”

  “No need to emphasize obvious discomforts,” she replied. The eagle spread its wings and gave a shriek.

  “You’re upsetting the bird,” Drake accused.

  “I’m upsetting . . . ,” Farfalee repeated in a huff. She compressed her lips, clearly making an effort to restrain her temper.

  “They can sense bossiness,” Drake warned matter-of-factly.

  Jason worked to keep his expression composed. He didn’t look toward Corinne, who also seemed to be resisting her amusement.

  Jasher leaned close to Farfalee. “Don’t let him get to you,” he said gently, touching her elbow.

  Farfalee shrugged away from her husband’s touch. With a measured motion of her arm she sent the eagle into the sky. Many stars were now visible. The eagle soared away.

  “I can’t believe it can find its way back to you,” Jason said, eyes skyward, hoping to change the subject.

  “Eldrin was no amateur,” Farfalee said, her tone kinder. “He engineered this breed of eagles to be ideal messengers. Once they bond with a person, the eagles can find them no matter how separated they become.”

  “The three we have are also bonded to Galloran?” Jason asked.

  “And Tark, and Io, to be safe,” Farfalee said. “Once we learn what Darian has to tell us, I have but to command, and the eagles will carry the message to our friends.”

  “And until you send a message, they keep returning to you,” Jason said.

  “Correct. I have worked with messenger eagles for centuries. I spent many days at Mianamon’s aviary selecting the most reliable birds and prepping them. Until we need them, they should remain self-sufficient—hunt their own food, find their own shelter. They’ll return to me every couple of days.”

  “An expert tracker might follow them to us,” Aram cautioned.

  “Possibly,” Farfalee conceded. “But that’s a chance we have to take.”

  “Jason has Ferrin’s ear,” Drake reminded everyone.

  Farfalee glared at her brother. “Which is a welcome redundancy, even if the displacer might only be interested in spying on us.”

  “He might be able to hear you,” Drake muttered.

  “I hope he does,” Farfalee said. “I won’t tr
ust that scoundrel until this is over and he’s done his part. And I don’t mind him hearing it.”

  “He won’t hear much,” Jason said. “I keep the ear heavily bundled, deep in my bag.”

  “Probably for the best,” Farfalee said.

  Somewhere overhead, an eagle let out a piercing cry. Jason tilted his head back but couldn’t spot the bird in the darkening sky. He didn’t like the idea of enemies tracking them using the messenger eagles. Unfortunately, Farfalee was right—they couldn’t afford to place all their trust in Ferrin.

  Drake stretched, fists extended, back arched. “What if some accident should befall you, dear sister? Would the eagles come to your seed? Are they bonded to any of the rest of us?”

  “They’re also bonded to Jasher,” she replied. “They would also come to Corinne.”

  “Jasher?” Drake challenged. “Jasher dies all the time! He has too many lives to spare. Why not Jason?”

  “I’m allergic to eagles,” Jason joked, trying to keep out of it.

  “Then why not Aram? He strikes me as a survivor.”

  Aram grunted. “The survivor suggests that if we need darkness to travel, we take advantage while we have it.”

  Drake extended a hand toward the half giant. “See? Forget bonding the bird to him. Why isn’t he the leader?”

  “I’ve sampled that role,” Aram chuckled. “Too much responsibility. Too much accountability.”

  Drake shook his head. “Mark my words, he’ll outlive us all.”

  “Aram certainly has a point,” Jasher said. “We should get underway.”

  “Are you the leader?” Drake asked with mock curiosity, eyes on Jasher, then glancing at Farfalee.

  Jason noticed Corinne shift uncomfortably. She didn’t like conflict, and when Drake got in a mood to bother his sister, there was always plenty. At least Farfalee looked like she was trying to remain patient.

  “Jasher is in charge of tactics,” Farfalee sighed. “Aram is the muscle. Jason has the ear. Corinne has her sword. You’re the pest. And I’m the leader.”

  “I can live with that,” Drake said. “Leaders draw a lot of attention. The pest sometimes survives.”