The slick mud made for slow-going, but soon the rain eased, and the moon peered through the thinner clouds. With gusts still bending the treetops, the forest looked alive—branches shaking, leaves and needles flying around, and droplets sparkling in the moonlight. Running through the gaps felt like a dash through a gauntlet. Flashes of lightning in the distance added to the effect, providing split-second glimpses of grabbing fingers and spinning debris.
When they finally reached the creek, Jason stopped at the edge and looked around. With the moon now fully exposed, various landmarks came into view—a familiar boulder in the creek bed, a gall on a tree trunk, a fallen log covered with moss. Their location was clear. The Elbon River flowed only a few hundred paces downstream.
Dogs bayed somewhere in the darkness, maybe twice that distance in the opposite direction. Jason pulled Randall and waded into the creek. Although it was swollen well above normal and running swiftly past his feet, they would have to do something drastic to outrun the dogs.
“Can you swim?” Jason asked.
“Normally, yes.” Randall flexed his back and grimaced. “But I haven’t done much swimming with an arrowhead in my back.”
“We can ride the current. When we get near the Elbon, I’ll try to signal you. We have to get to the bank on the left, or we’ll get swallowed alive. The Elbon will be wild after this storm, and if we get swept into it, we won’t stand a chance.”
“I understand.”
“It’s tough swimming with boots on.” Jason pulled off his boots and tossed them into the woods. Maybe that would delay the dogs a few extra seconds. Besides, tying them to his belt would make them too much of an anchor.
As soon as Randall shed his boots, Jason waded in up to his waist. The water was freezing. It knifed into his rigid muscles. When Randall joined him, Jason turned to float on his back with his feet pointing downstream and let the current pull him along.
Within moments he and Randall were hurtling downstream side by side. Water splashed over Jason’s face, sometimes covering his mouth and nose, but, waving his arms for balance and sucking in air whenever he could, he managed to stay afloat. Randall flailed at times, but he kept his face above the surface.
Looking ahead every few seconds, Jason caught glimpses of the countryside—mostly rolling hills with forested tops. The old hangman’s tree would be the best place to start moving to the bank. Since it was at least two hundred paces from the Elbon, they would have plenty of time before reaching the river, and if the rope was still attached, he might be able to grab it and use it to swing toward the bank.
Soon the long branch of a gnarled tree came into view, hanging over the creek with the old rope dangling near the end. Jason held his breath. Could he grab Randall and the rope at the same time?
He grasped Randall’s wrist and lunged for the rope, but as he wrapped his fingers around the wet line, Randall slipped away and continued hurtling toward the Elbon. Ahead, the creek turned into a raging torrent, and Randall disappeared beneath the white-capped water.
“Randall!” Jason jumped back into the flow and swam with all his might. Surging waves pummeled his body and shoved him from side to side, but, fighting both the current and his own stiffness, he pressed on. Again, his muscles responded to the call, an unnatural explosion of energy.
He soon bumped into something and grabbed hold. It was a body, cold and limp. Jason wrapped his arms around Randall’s chest and stretched his stiff legs downward. Nothing but water—the creek bottom was out of reach. Time to swim for it.
Holding Randall as high as he could, Jason thrashed his free arm against the current, thrusting his body toward the bank with all his might. Finally, his toe touched bottom. Digging in with both feet, he trudged ahead, lugging Randall through the torrent. When he slogged up to the muddy shore, he laid Randall on his side, dropped to his knees, and pressed his fingers against Randall’s neck, feeling for signs of life.
Rapid thumps throbbed against Jason’s fingertips. A pulse! He’s alive!
Randall shivered hard. He opened his eyes and choked out, “I hear the dogs!”
“Let’s move!” Jason helped Randall to his feet and pulled him away from the raging stream. “We have to get into the woods. They probably can’t swim across, but we’re in arrow range.”
Stiff-legged, they lumbered across a grassy expanse and into a forested area. Although the trees were relatively sparse, a thick trunk would likely shield them from Bristol.
Jason chose a hefty tree and helped Randall lean sideways against the trunk. “How’s the arrow wound?”
Randall took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Pretty numb right now. I think cold might kill me before that arrow will.”
“It’s freezing.” Jason peered around the tree. Although there was no sign of Bristol, the baying of hounds drew closer. “I know a place where we can get warm, but I have to be sure you believe me, that you’re on my side.”
Randall shivered harder than ever. “I know you didn’t kill my father. The arrow in my back is proof enough.”
“There’s more to it than that.” Jason looked into Randall’s eyes. He was in a lot of pain, both physically and emotionally. Only a couple of hours ago, he lost his father to a cowardly murderer, and now he was running for his life. Although he wasn’t a friend or even a great guy to be around, it didn’t make sense to hide the truth from him. He needed to know why his father was killed.
Taking a deep breath to ward off his own chill, Jason whispered, “Do you believe in the Underground Gateway?”
“That old fairy tale?” Wrinkling his brow, Randall shook his head. “Of course not.”
“I know what you mean,” Jason said, laughing under his breath. “I didn’t believe it for a long time.”
Randall squinted at him. “Didn’t believe it?”
“Right.” As the hounds drew closer, Jason pulled open his shirt, revealing the patch of skin, now glowing orange. “Bristol cut this out of your father’s chest.”
Randall’s eyes shot open. “What?”
Glancing back and forth between Randall and the flooded creek, Jason related the story in rapid-fire fashion, trying to include enough to make Randall believe him without dragging out every detail. They had to hurry to the cabin and find Elyssa.
As Jason finished, Bristol came into view on the opposite bank. The dogs howled and strained at the leash, but he held them in check as he surveyed the churning water.
Jason crouched and lowered his voice to a whisper. “He’s here, but I don’t think he’s going to cross. Are you with me or not?”
“If you’ll get me someplace warm, I’ll believe anything.”
Jason helped him up. “Slowly and quietly.” Staying low, he tiptoed deeper into the forest, but when he looked back, Randall was standing at the tree looking at his photo gun.
Jason hustled back to him. “Don’t be an idiot. Just put it away and we’ll worry about it later. We have to—”
An arrow whizzed by Jason’s chin. He jerked Randall’s cloak. “Let’s go!” Pulling Randall along, he hurried into the woods as fast as his frozen legs would carry him. He veered right. The other stream had to be in that direction. It was normally shallow and calm, but what would it look like after this storm?
With the moon giving them plenty of light, he followed a narrow deer path. Sounds of running water coming from various directions competed for his attention. The loudest sound was likely the Elbon, so that provided a point of reference. Just stay to the left of that rush and follow the quieter one that seems to be coming from somewhere straight ahead.
He looked back. Randall followed, quiet as a whisper. They had both been trained in stealthy travel, but this was the first time either had put that instruction to use in real life. Failing this exam might be deadly.
After breaking out of the forest again, Jason stopped at the creek. Although it flowed much faster than usual, it seemed shallow enough. He gestured for Randall to follow and charged across. The water ro
se to his knees, as frigid as Nelson’s, but tolerable.
When both splashed up to the creek bank, Jason cupped a hand around his ear. The dogs howled, but they were now far away. “There’s a cabin somewhere nearby. If I know Elyssa, she’s already started a fire.”
“Won’t that signal Bristol?” Randall asked.
“Eventually. I doubt he can cross. He’ll be back when the water ebbs, but we should have time to get warm and dry before we get going again.” Jason sniffed the breeze. A hint of wood smoke flavored the air. “We’re still downstream. Not far, though.”
After a few minutes, the cabin came into view, a one-story log structure with a steeply angled tin roof. Smoke curled from a brick chimney, and lantern light glowed from a single window.
As Jason approached, a pair of shadows moved within. An old wooden door creaked open, and Elyssa appeared in the gap. She leaned out and stared into the darkness. “Who’s out there?”
“It’s me. Jason.”
“Jason!” She ran out and embraced him. “I thought you might have been caught!”
“Careful,” Jason said, pulling away. “I’m soaked.”
Elyssa shook water from her hands. “I see that.”
“And Randall’s here, too,” Jason said, nodding toward the darkness behind him.
Randall emerged from a shadow and smoothed out his wrinkled, wet clothes. “Hello, Elyssa.”
“Oh!” Elyssa averted her eyes. “Well…I…I assume Jason has convinced you of the truth.”
“I know he didn’t murder my father, if that’s what you mean.”
She looked at Jason. “What have you told him?”
“Pretty much everything.”
A flash lit up the sky, and thunder rumbled loud and long. Elyssa lifted a hand and rubbed her thumb and fingers together. “More rain. Maybe a lot of it.”
Jason set a hand on Elyssa’s back and guided her through the doorway. “Give us a chance to get dry, and I’ll tell you what’s going on. If another storm’s coming, I don’t think Bristol will be able to find us anytime soon. We also have to get an arrowhead out of Randall’s back. It’s not a deep wound, but it needs care.”
Inside, the logger’s cabin was warm and well lit. Tibalt knelt close to a blazing fireplace, poking the flames with a long stick. With his eyes wide and his mouth open, he seemed hypnotized.
Knotty shelves lined the log walls and held a variety of basic supplies—bags of potatoes, dried fruit, two old axes, ropes hanging on hooks, bandages, soap and towels, and several lanterns with vibrant flickering wicks. A gray towel hung from a hook, and bubbles coated a bar of white soap.
Jason looked at Elyssa. Her face and hair were clean, as were her clothes. She wore an oversized lumberjack shirt with dark blue squares outlined in black, and men’s black work trousers tied at her undersized waist with a rope.
Since there were no chairs in the single-room cabin, Jason knelt next to Tibalt. He, too, was much cleaner. Even his shoulder-length gray hair was brushed back neatly, revealing a bald spot on top of his head.
“We have shirts and boots,” Elyssa said. “I’ll get them for each of you. And I found a manna tree. Tibalt and I have already eaten some bark, so our bodies have settled down.”
Jason felt his chest. His heart still raced, thumping erratically. “I think the extane helped me escape, but I don’t think my heart can stand much more.”
Randall stood close to the fire and warmed his hands while Tibalt muttered, again using his singsong cadence as he watched the flames.
“A storm beyond the norm, a flood of mud, a flood of blood, the traitors swarm. To flee the tide, see the guide, find the gate and fly inside. The storm transforms, the key is thee, depart this land and set them free.”
When Tibalt’s murmurings faded, Jason touched his arm, now covered with the sleeve of a dark green shirt. “What were you chanting?”
Tibalt looked at him, his face and eyes somber. “A prophecy. My pappy’s words.”
“What storm? The rain we’re getting now?”
“Oh, no, not that. The rain brought back the memory. It is a storm of oppression, I think. Elyssa told me the story, and what a story! The governor’s murder is just the beginning. You’ll see, I tell you. You’ll see. His killers don’t want to end Prescott’s folly—his control of the people and his lust for money. They mean to usurp his seat of madness and extend his reach. Oh, yes, that they do. They will tighten the talons around the throats of the citizens and deepen the pit of despair.”
Jason glanced at Randall. His jaw tightened, but he kept his stare on the flames and his voice silent. What might the governor’s son be thinking now? Did he know deep down that his father was a tyrant?
“What can we do to help?” Jason asked.
Tibalt’s familiar grin returned, missing teeth and all. “Tibber knows only the songs, not the solutions. My pappy made puzzles, and the pieces are scattered.”
Elyssa tossed a shirt and a pair of boots each to Jason and Randall. Jason set his on the floor while unbuttoning. When he peeled off the wet material, the glow of the litmus finger was obvious over his pectoral as it pulsed reddish-orange.
“Ah!” Tibalt said. “You have completed a heroic act. You will soon feel the litmus finger’s guidance.”
Elyssa stared at Jason but said nothing. He threw on the dry shirt and quickly buttoned it. “Guidance is good,” he said softly. “I’ll be watching for it.”
“I think I saw a medical bag somewhere,” Elyssa said. “We should get that arrow out right away.”
Elyssa used a carving knife to open Randall’s wound just enough to withdraw the arrowhead. He bled, but not dangerously so. Although he grunted and tightened his fists throughout the procedure, he stayed calm. Obviously his warrior training had paid off. Elyssa placed a towel over the wound to soak up the blood, wrapped a long bandage around his chest, and tied it in place.
Once all four had settled on the plank floor near the fire, Jason munched on manna bark while relating their escape story, including what he knew of Drexel’s scheme to kill Prescott. When he finished, he looked at Randall, who had listened quietly.
“So,” Jason said, “what do you think Drexel is planning?”
Randall stared at the floor, his face tense. “He’s such a smooth talker, I had no idea he was involved. He took me to my father’s body and showed me the bloody knife. He said, ‘Jason cut a holy relic out of your father’s chest, something that will lead him to the Underground Gateway. We have to catch him and bring him to justice before he escapes to the dragon world.’
“With all the blood around and with my mother crying her heart out, I was enraged, so I didn’t think to ask him to prove it. I just thought about the trick you pulled in the tournament and that you’d do anything to get what you wanted.”
Jason fidgeted. “Yeah, well, about that trick—”
“Let me finish.” Randall’s voice took on a hardened edge. “I didn’t hear much of Drexel’s speech after that, but Bristol spilled more information later. He kept mumbling about following Elyssa, so after what you told me, I think he and Drexel were using me to kill you and chase Elyssa to the gateway. Once they found it, they planned to kill us both.”
“But why kill you? You believed them.”
Randall looked straight at Jason. “According to the law, because of my father’s death, I would become governor when I reach eighteen. Counselor Orion would rule as a steward until that time.”
“Aha!” Tibalt said. “They waited until Orion’s invocation night to do the deed. I should have guessed that old fox was behind the scheme.”
Elyssa shook her head. “I don’t believe it. Orion’s a crusader, not a politician.”
“She’s right,” Randall said. “It’s Drexel’s plan. If you had been there listening to him, you would know. He’s definitely the mastermind.”
“How could he benefit?” Jason asked. “He’s not in any line of succession.”
Tibalt raised a finger. �
�Power. Influence. Stature. He is a believer in the portal, and Jason and Elyssa were his tracking hounds. If Drexel could rescue the Lost Ones, he would be the hero of heroes. And you know what happens to the law when a crowd gets worked up to a fevered pitch.”
Jason gestured with his thumb. “They pitch the law out. Then Drexel would humbly and reluctantly accept leadership.”
“And Orion wouldn’t fight it,” Elyssa said, pointing at herself. “He’s in this to get me. Drexel knew where he and Prescott were hiding me, so he relied on Orion’s obsessions and set up this deal. Once Drexel returned with the Lost Ones, Orion would step down and give Drexel the office.”
Jason nodded. “And Orion watches you burn at the stake while you rave about a portal to the dragon world. Almost everyone will believe you’re bewitched, and Drexel and Orion both get exactly what they want.”
As a new downpour pelted the tin roof, the group fell silent. It seemed that a dark blanket had smothered their souls. They were animals being tracked, yet they couldn’t run. Rain, wind, and darkness would be deadlier enemies than Bristol’s dogs and arrows.
After a while, they doused the fire and the lanterns, leaving the glow of dying embers as the only light in the room. Using towels as pillows, the four lay close to each other for warmth and tried to sleep. Jason woke at every unusual sound—a branch falling on the roof, an ember popping in the fireplace, and Tibalt’s occasional snore or indecipherable chanting. With each awakening he clutched the hilt of his sword, still at his hip, and opened his shirt slightly to try to pierce the darkness with the finger’s glow. Fortunately, the pattering on the tin above drowned out the lesser noises.
The constant din of rain felt like a blanket of protection. As long as the creeks ran high, Bristol would be unable to find the cabin. Of course, he could travel on horseback to the bridge at the Tersot commune and double back upstream. But then he wouldn’t be able to bring the dogs, unless he used the covered buggy and walked after crossing the bridge, but that would take him all night.
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