Seeds of Rebellion

by Brandon Mull

  Tark scowled. “How could I forget?”

  “Your music summoned me from the Beyond. And once I entered your world, I tried to prevent you from going over the falls!”

  Tark sputtered, clutching his head with both hands. “Wait, hold on, you were the accursed interloper who tried to rescue us?”

  “I was.” Jason knew that Tark blamed the wannabe rescuer for ruining what was supposed to be a majestic sacrifice by the Giddy Nine.

  In the moonlight, Tark’s rugged countenance slowly became illuminated with comprehension. He spoke like a man beholding a vision. “Then we succeeded.” He thrust a finger at Jason. “You were the hero the oracle told Simeon he would summon. And our destruction was not a prerequisite to our success. Quite the contrary … you arrived before any of us had perished, and you tried to save us from our folly.”

  “I’m not sure I’m a hero.”

  Tark waved the comment away. “This is no occasion for false modesty. I believed that by surviving, I had spoiled the prophecy and hindered the arrival of the hero. But I didn’t.” He paused. “And they needn’t have died.” His jaw quivered, and then clenched tight. He swiped his forearm over his eyes.

  Jason laid a comforting hand on Tark’s sturdy shoulder.

  “Wait!” Tark whispered in alarm, slapping himself on the forehead. “I am a buffoon! Quick, onto the raft.”

  “Why—”

  “Hurry, my lord,” Tark hissed. “I’ll explain on the water.”

  Jason climbed aboard the small vessel, feeling it rock alarmingly beneath his weight. Tark shoved off, sloshing in the water before vaulting onto the raft, trousers soaked to the thighs.

  “What—”

  “Stay down,” Tark cautioned in a low, urgent tone. Jason crouched beside the sousalax. Tark sculled away from the bank, staring hastily about, narrowed eyes searching the night. “I can’t be sure I ever lost the being that has been stalking me.”

  “The lurker?” Jason whispered, the night seeming suddenly chillier.

  Tark glanced at Jason. “We don’t want to take any chances. It’s a dark, slippery creature. Last time I glimpsed it was yesterday evening. If I were its prey, the villain has had ample opportunities to fall upon me. Perhaps the fiend hoped I would lead it somewhere … or to somebody. To you, I suspect, seeing as you’ve escaped.”

  “What do you know about lurkers?”

  Tark shivered. When he continued, his whisper was barely audible. “They’re foul personages. Unnatural. Nobody really knows much. Drake advised us not to discuss them.”

  “If it might be after me, I need to know.”

  “I’m not sure myself. Folks say that if Death took a physical form, he would be a torivor. Whatever has followed me looks like a living shadow, best I can tell.”

  Jason furrowed his brow. “What should we do?”

  “We must separate. You can’t afford a lurker on your tail. They’re difficult to shake. Believe me, I’ve tried. Drake tried too, and that seedman has forgotten more about woodcraft than I’ll ever know. If we have any luck, the fiend may not yet realize you accompany me. I hesitate, but I think I’ll drop you on the far bank.”

  “Why do you hesitate?”

  Tark frowned. “Nobody goes into the forest north of the river. They say giants dwell there, and that few who enter ever return.”

  “So why send me that way?”

  “It’s the last place you would be expected to go. And the last place you would be followed. Aside from the shadowy presence, whatever it is, I have noticed soldiers paying unusual attention to me of late. For all I know, some may be trailing me now. I should have paid closer attention. I wasn’t overly concerned. I thought I was going to my death.”

  They were past the middle of the wide river. Jason studied the approaching bank, lined with trees and ferns and shadows. “What about the giants?”

  “I have ventured twice into those woods. Not overly far, mind you, but Simeon, our former leader, was curious. There was a man who relished exploration! Anyhow, we went in on two independent occasions for the better part of a day and saw no giants nor any sign of them. There are stories of the old hamlets near the forest being raided, but once the hamlets were abandoned, the stories ceased. Could be the giants moved on. Could be they never lived there.”

  They were nearing the far bank. Jason clenched his fists. How was he already in such trouble, not five minutes after returning to Lyrian? Then again, what exactly had he expected? With all of the potential danger, he was lucky to have found a friend so soon, even if they needed to part ways. Jason had an urgent message to share with Galloran, and Tark might be able to help ensure that the message would get delivered.

  “If this is our plan,” Jason whispered, “I need you to do something for me.”

  “Name it.”

  “Do you know where to find the Blind King?”

  “Certainly. Fortaim. Same place as ever.”

  “I’ve got to tell him something. The secret is so dangerous, I probably shouldn’t share it. But it’s incredibly important.”

  “Have no fear. I am your man.”

  “Only repeat this to the Blind King. Let him decide who else should know. Tell him Lord Jason got the entire Key Word. I used it on Maldor. It’s a fake, meant as a diversion. Also tell him I escaped from Felrook.”

  “You came before Maldor?” His voice was filled with grim wonder. “You used the Word?”

  “Yes. It failed. The Word is meant as a distraction. Can you remember the message?”

  “Absolutely. We’ll have to warn Rachel as well. I shared the syllable you relayed to me. She has the entire Word.”

  “Exactly. We have to find her. Hopefully, the Blind King can help us.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, why the Blind King? I mean, he gives good advice, but what do you really expect from him?”

  “Maybe he’ll tell you. It isn’t my place.”

  Tark tapped the side of his nose. “More to him than greets the eye, I take it. Have no fear, no matter who is hunting me, I’ll find a way to deliver your message.”

  The small craft ran aground. Jason and Tark both hopped out to crouch in the bushes near the shore. Jason eyed the dreary forest.

  “So where do I go?”

  Tark rubbed his chin. By the change in his expression, Jason saw an idea strike him. “I’ll send you to Aram. Set off to the northeast. Stay on that course until you reach the coast on the northern edge of the peninsula. Do you know the lay of the land north of here?”

  “I don’t. Except that we’re on a peninsula.”

  “Follow the seashore east toward the mainland until you reach the first big town. That will be Ithilum. Near the southwestern extremity of town, right on the wharf, you’ll find the Dockside Inn. Aram works nights there.”

  “Who’s Aram?”

  Tark snickered. “A huge fellow, toughest bruiser I’ve ever met. Used to do a lot of mercenary work. Now he keeps things quiet at the Dockside. Our group performed there regularly. We became good friends. He owes me a couple of favors. Tell him Tark sent you. If anybody can keep you safe, he’s the man.”

  “Okay.”

  Tark began rummaging through his pockets. He brought out two drawstring bags.

  “This has some money,” he said, giving one of them a little shake. He then opened the second bag. “And this has some keepsakes from Harthenham.”

  Jason peered inside. It was full of jewels.

  “Despite my recommendation, Aram may resist lending you aid. Though still strong as a bull and no older than I am, he considers himself retired. But every man has a price.”

  “So I offer him the jewels?”

  “Not all of them. A few should be plenty. Keep them hidden. Carrying that much wealth can be fatal, particularly in a town like Ithilum.”

  “What should I do after hiring Aram?”

  Tark scratched his cheek. “Have him escort you to a village called Potsug. It’s on the Telkron River, and has a couple of f
erries. After I deliver your message, I’ll either rejoin you there or send someone to meet you. I’ll only stay away if I still have enemies after me. The stableman Gurig is trustworthy. Mention my name to him, then await help in his home.”

  Jason repeated the names and instructions Tark had related.

  “That is right.” Tark heaved a sigh. “I’m overjoyed to see you, Lord Jason. Don’t dally in the woods. Now I must away. Safe journey.”

  “Let me shove you off.”

  Tark climbed in and Jason pushed him away from the shore. Tark remounted the sousalax on his shoulders and began playing while skillfully manipulating the long oar. Jason swept his eyes along the riverbank, looking for living shadows or hidden soldiers. All appeared still. After one last look at Tark, Jason crept away from the river, into the gloom of the trees.

  CHAPTER 2

  GIANTS

  As Jason marched away from the river, the tall leafy trees prevented most of the milky moonlight from reaching the ground. Through the dimness, he pressed between dark bushes with fuzzy foliage, occasionally altering his direction when he encountered thorny brambles and tangled thickets. The farther he waded through the vegetation, the more overgrown the forest floor became. Repeatedly he was corralled by spiny barricades.

  He paused several times, crouching beside shrubs or behind trees, listening and watching for enemies. No matter how long he waited, or how intently he strained his senses, he detected no sign of pursuers. Nor did he hear giants stomping around up ahead.

  Jason inhaled the scent of little bell-shaped flowers, drooping from a slender stalk. The smell was familiar. He was back in Lyrian, crouched in the darkness, foliage obscuring the moon. Despite the danger, or perhaps in part because of it, his situation felt natural. He could do this. As long as he remembered some of the precautions he had learned from Ferrin and Jasher, alone in the woods he should be very hard to find.

  After some time spent gradually climbing away from the river along a clumsily improvised route, Jason blundered onto a narrow footpath. He tried to use the moon to keep his bearings. As his hunger grew, he stopped a few times to get trail mix from his backpack.

  Not long after daybreak, with his inner thighs raw from rubbing against wet denim all night, Jason reached a clearing where the footpath vanished into the deep grass of a meadow. Following the perimeter of the meadow, Jason hopped a narrow stream, disturbing a lynx. The sinuous wildcat hissed and bristled, tufted ears quivering, making Jason recoil in surprise. Crouching, he grasped a stone, but the creature sped away, low across the ground, to disappear in the brush.

  Not far beyond his encounter with the lynx, Jason found a meager trail running to the northeast. He knelt down behind a thorny bush, just beyond the edge of the meadow, and gazed back across the clearing. After waiting patiently, he saw the lynx slink away into the trees, but otherwise viewed nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe he really had slipped away from the river unnoticed.

  Jason pawed through his backpack for a protein bar, which he ate while walking. The sun moved toward its zenith as Jason advanced along the faint trail. Despite his exhaustion, he wanted to keep moving, at least until nightfall. He hoped to leave behind the forest and the threat of giants as soon as possible.

  Some time after the sun passed its apex, Jason spotted a bubble-fruit tree not far off the path. Feeling like a veteran adventurer, he climbed the narrow trunk and plucked three pieces of the fruit. Back near the path, he sat with legs folded, enjoying the break and the bitter juiciness of the transparent bulbs. The taste, the surrounding trees, the solitude—it all seemed familiar to Jason and helped him feel firmly back in Lyrian.

  While he sat, Jason removed the hand from his backpack, still wrapped in the plastic sack. Ferrin had taught Jason to recognize bubblefruit trees. Might the displacer suspect he had returned to Lyrian? Could he somehow sense his hand more near? Would it be foolish for Jason to contact him? Ferrin had claimed that he was currently on the run from Maldor, which could mean the displacer and Jason were now on the same side.

  When Jason had first made contact, after Ferrin speedily mastered the sign language alphabet, the displacer had offered only terse, vague replies. Then one day Ferrin had related that his participation in Jason’s escape from Felrook had been discovered, and his messages became more elaborate. Still, because of past deceptions, Jason felt uncertain whether he could believe the information.

  Supposedly, after Jason departed from Lyrian, Ferrin had gone undercover to a prison camp to discover how the inmates kept killing guards without leaving a trace of evidence. According to Ferrin, before his work there was complete, a scarlet rider had arrived with a message summoning him back to Felrook.

  Ferrin had acted happy to comply, but quietly slipped away in the night, escaping into the western wilderness, eventually making his way to the port city of Weych. He later confirmed that as he had suspected, Maldor had discovered his involvement in Jason’s escape. Ferrin had remained in hiding ever since.

  Throughout their conversations, Jason never hid his wish to return to Lyrian, and Ferrin had pledged his aid should Jason ever succeed. But Jason had deep misgivings about relying on Ferrin. Everything the displacer had asserted could have been fabricated to gain his trust. For the present, confiding in Ferrin would be irresponsible.

  Invigorated by the snack, Jason stuffed the plastic sack with the hand into his backpack and trotted along the trail. He estimated that back home it was the middle of the night. His summer had been lazy so far, with plenty of sleep, so he didn’t expect an all-nighter to give him too much trouble. Besides, with the sun up, it felt earlier.

  After some time, Jason reduced his pace to a walk. The day was too hot. Despite the humidity, his jeans were almost dry.

  The little path he followed bent westward, then southwest. Jason continued, hoping the path would turn back to the north. The vegetation seemed closer and pricklier than ever.

  Just when Jason was preparing to double back, the path intersected a larger trail that cut straight to the north. He followed the northward track, surprised at how wide it was for a path out in the wild. He noticed several places where foliage appeared to have been roughly chopped away to keep it from crowding the trail.

  At one particularly mangled bush, Jason paused. Who was tending the trail? The maintenance was deliberate and relatively recent. Could it be giants? Or perhaps some industrious hermit?

  Jason studied his surroundings. Given the dense undergrowth, if he left the path, his progress would be slowed to a frustrating crawl. Examining the trail, he found no huge footprints, but spotted traces of animal tracks—deer, perhaps. He decided to hurry along the pathway but to remain attentive. If he heard anything suspicious, he could always duck into the undergrowth.

  With the heightened caution of a trespasser, Jason proceeded along the trail. The sun descended toward the treetops. Several times he paused at strange noises, and once he dove from the trail to roll under a scratchy shrub.

  Every disconcerting sound turned out to be a false alarm, so it came as quite a shock when the trail curved around a tall bush and he found himself confronted by a twelve-foot giant, clutching a spiked club.

  The huge man stood on the edge of the path, face twisted into a fierce grimace. Jason froze, deeply startled, then relaxed. The giant was a rough-hewn statue.

  As Jason was calming himself, a shrill voice cried, “State your business!”

  The order had come from somewhere before him, but Jason could not see the speaker.

  “Keep your hands visible. State your business immediately!”

  Jason held his empty hands forward. He still could not identify the speaker. The voice seemed to originate from the looming statue. “I’m just passing through these woods on my way up the coast.”

  “Dispose of your weapons.”

  “I have no weapons.” Jason held out his arms and slowly turned.

  A little man emerged from concealment within the bushes between the legs of the giant st
atue. He had curly auburn hair and was only slightly higher than Jason’s waist.

  Approaching with a bowlegged waddle, the small man held his hands palms outward. His tone became less demanding. “I am unarmed as well. If you intend to harm me, please end the suspense and do it now.”

  “I’m not going to do anything to you. All I want are directions, so I can get clear of these woods.”

  The little man approached cautiously. His simple clothing was a faded green that blended with the forest vegetation. “Pardon my candor, but if you plan to waylay me, I would prefer to have it done with.” He turned around. “There. My back is turned and my eyes are closed. I detest anticipation. If you harbor unwholesome intentions, please have the decency to accost me while I am braced for the worst.”

  “You can open your eyes,” Jason assured him. “I’m not here to bother anyone.”

  The little man cast a sly glance at Jason over his shoulder. “Well, your honor has saved your life.”

  Three other little people, two men and a woman, emerged from hiding nearby. They were clad similarly to the first little man, but they all carried bows.

  “You might be surprised how many strangers fail that test,” the little fellow said. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Matt Davidson.” The lie came smoothly. There was little chance these dwarfs hidden in the woods were in league with Maldor, but since Jason was a wanted fugitive, it did no harm to take precautions.

  “Greetings, Matt, son of David,” the little man said politely. “I am Peluthe, son of Rogon.” He gave a curt bow. “This is my brother, Saul; my wife, Retta; and my cousin, Ulrun.” The others nodded in turn. “Where do you hail from?”

  “I’m a wanderer, but this region is new to me. I have spent a lot of time near Trensicourt.”

  “Where are you going?” asked Retta.

  “Don’t be so inquisitive,” chastised Peluthe.

  “You keep asking questions,” she complained.

  “That’s my duty. I’m in charge.”