Jonathan Haymaker

by Sam Ferguson

  As the darkness of night settled in over them, Rourke broke the silence. “I think it best we talk about the strategies to stay alive in the swamp,” he said.

  Jonathan continued to stare blankly at the ground.

  Miranda nodded her head. “I have magic,” she said. “I can help us build fires and such, but we’ll need to use it sparingly. My father wrote in his letters that magic attracts the trolls.”

  “When was the last time you received a letter from your father?” Rourke asked.

  “Before they left Battlegrym,” Miranda replied. “He told me they were headed to The Warrens though. He said they were cutting south from Battlegrym for about one hundred and fifty miles, and then they would hook east to enter The Warrens from the west. He said they had previously made it in the farthest that way.”

  “Then we should follow that route,” Rourke said. “With any luck, we’ll find them along the way. Or, perhaps they will have thinned out the trolls along that route and at least we will have an easier time of it.”

  Miranda looked to Jonathan. “What about you?” she asked. “When did you last hear from your brother?”

  Jonathan sighed and folded his arms across his chest as he rubbed his shoulders. “The last letter I received from him was after he was assigned his fighting name with the Ghosts of the Quags. He told me Captain Ziegler gave him the name himself, and then he wished me farewell. I never heard from him again.”

  “When was that?” Rourke prodded.

  “A long time ago,” Jonathan admitted.

  Rourke put a hand out on Jonathan’s shoulder. “Don’t give up hope, we’ll find him.” Jonathan shrugged the man’s hand off and leaned back against the dirt wall. Rourke turned back to Miranda. “Let’s keep magic use to a bare minimum then, but go ahead and light a fire for tonight. We’ll need to dry out each night in order to keep healthy in the swamps. If we let our bodies get too wet, or too cold, we won’t make it very far. I can hunt, and I can look for troll tracks along our path. Jonathan is great with his bow, so as long as we see the trolls from a distance, and there aren’t too many, we should be fine.”

  Miranda nodded and went about creating a small fire. Then the group removed their boots and socks and set them out to dry near the fire. Afterward, Miranda went and sat next to Jonathan. “You asleep?” she asked.

  Jonathan shook his head.

  “Where are you from?” Miranda asked.

  “Holstead,” Jonathan replied.

  “Holstead,” Miranda repeated. “Where is that?”

  Jonathan looked to her as he let the fire warm and dry his feet. “It’s in the northeast part of the kingdom, near Tanglewood Forest.”

  Miranda’s eyes gleamed as she smiled and nodded her head. “I have long wished to see the forest of the elves,” she confided. “I have heard they have the most beautiful cities.”

  “I know what you’re doing,” Jonathan blurted out.

  Miranda’s smile faded and she looked at him with her green eyes with an expression that seemed to say she had no idea what he was talking about.

  Jonathan offered a hint of a smile. “Thank you,” he said.

  Miranda nodded. “I know what it’s like,” Miranda said softly. “My mother died last winter. She got really sick, and there was nothing we could do. I have been living on my own since then.” She sighed and shook her head with a thin-lipped smile. “I guess that’s why I want to find my father. I have to save one of them.”

  Jonathan nodded understandingly. He knew how she felt. “My parents are gone,” he told her. “It just my grandparents and Jason left. So, I know what you mean.”

  The two sat in silence, staring at the flames until sleep overtook them both.

  Chapter 13

  The trio walked for days, using Miranda’s magic only sparingly to light fires when they found shelter enough to hide in for the nights. They managed to find a cave a few nights later, so they could fully dry their belongings and thaw out a bit next to a large fire.

  With the help of Kigabané, the trio had avoided seven different patrols of trolls. They had never seen more than four trolls at a time, but they always opted to go around them rather than fight them. The three figured it was smarter to save fighting for their last resort. Once they had almost needed to, when the trolls had come dangerously close while Miranda cast a shielding spell to keep the rain from soaking the map while they looked at it, but after her spell was done, they seemed to lose interest and they walked away.

  By Rourke’s best estimate, they had managed to travel another sixty miles into the swamp from Battlegrym. The going was much tougher now than it had been before though, for now there were no human roads to use. Sure, there were trails, but most of them seemed to take the trio in circles. Instead, they had to forge their own way through the swamp, avoiding large bodies of water when possible, or using trees or logs to cross them when there seemed to be no way around.

  They passed by several large crocs, and had to deal with many snake along the way, but Kigabané was quick to point out the snakes. Jonathan discovered that he didn’t need to hold the bow in order to be alerted either. Whether he was growing more attuned to Kigabané’s magic, or the bow had always been able to signal to him, even with it resting on his back, he didn’t know. All he knew, was that without the bow, they would have been caught by trolls within miles of Battlegrym, and even if they had been able to evade the troll patrols, the snakes surely would have gotten them.

  Jonathan breathed out a long sigh and looked down to the end of the cave. It wasn’t very deep, only twenty feet or so, but that was enough to both shield them from the creatures outside, and protect them from anything that might have lurked in a longer tunnel.

  Rourke offered to take first watch, since the bow couldn’t detect anything that wasn’t a troll or a large snake. Miranda was quick to sit next to Jonathan and pull out a piece of dried meat.

  “Want some?” she asked.

  Jonathan shook his head. “His stomach was hungry, but his throat wouldn’t agree with the idea of eating right now. He was tired, wet, and worn out from the travel.

  “No thanks,” he said. “I’ll eat in the morning.”

  “Don’t let the swamp get to you,” Miranda said. “That’s what my father wrote in his last letter to me. He said, ‘never let the swamp pull you down.’ I guess he knew I would be following after him.”

  “Why do you say that?” Jonathan asked.

  Miranda shrugged as she shoved a piece of meat toward Jonathan’s face. “I don’t know, but why else would he write that?”

  Jonathan reluctantly took the food and turned it over as he looked at it. “Maybe because the swamp is expanding,” Jonathan said. “Maybe he thought it would swallow the other cities too, and he didn’t want you to worry about it.”

  Miranda shook her head and pulled out another piece of dried meat. “No, that isn’t like my father. He was never one to surrender.”

  “Sounds like my brother,” Jonathan said with a half laugh. “Jason is as stubborn as they come.” Jonathan smiled and tore a piece of meat off with his teeth and began to chew. It had a slight peppery flavor to it, but to be honest it was a bit like chewing leather. Jonathan’s throat swallowed slowly, as if protesting the horridly dry food and trying to stop it from going down. His eyes watered slightly as he stretched his neck out and forced the bite down.

  “Why don’t you two get some sleep?” Rourke called from the cave’s mouth. “I’ll wake you if anything comes.”

  “I’ll take second shift,” Jonathan offered.

  Rourke nodded and then turned back around to lean against the stone.

  Miranda stood up in the cave and reached for her staff. “I could dry us off with magic,” she offered.

  Rourke turned back around quickly. “No. We have a fire. We don’t need more magic right now. Let’s not give the trolls any more reason to come after us.”

  Miranda shrugged and laid her red cloak out near the fire and then laid down o
n top. She looked up to Jonathan with her emerald eyes and offered a soft smile.

  Jonathan returned the smile and then laid down where he was, with the fire between them. He watched as she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. He thought it funny then, how amidst all of the ugliness and misery that the swamp brought, there could be beauty to be found. He promised himself then that if he made it home, he would have to ask Miranda if he could call upon her. A sudden smirk flashed across his face as he laughed at himself. He knew that even if she liked him now, once she saw Jason, all of that would change.

  He turned over onto his back and closed his eyes. Wondering where Jason was, and what he might be doing. Was he off still fighting trolls? Had he found the central lair, or was he still looking for it? Did such a lair even exist? Maybe Jason was searching for something that could never be found. Maybe the trolls were like the mushrooms, just born of the swamps without rhyme or reason other than the fact that the Murkle Quags seemed to spawn death and misery.

  Another thought came then. An image of Jason lying face down in the brown waters of the swamp. Rain drops piercing the surface of the water around Jason and setting ripples that collided with his lifeless body. A troll’s arrow stuck out from Jason’s back. His corpse bobbed up and down with the ebbing water. Then, a ridged tail appeared in the water and a large crocodile swam up and dragged Jason’s body down into the dark depths.

  Jonathan squished his eyes shut tight and forced the image out of his mind. His brother was alive, even if only by the power of his own hope, he knew his brother was still alive. He thought of the games they played at home. How they attacked thistles with swords and pretended they were fighting side by side against a horde of trolls. He thought of the letters Jason had written before. He imagined himself and Jason walking up the dirt path to Pa and Memaw’s house once more. They would race each other, only this time they would reach the door at the same time, and then they would sit down at the table and eat Memaw’s fresh rolls with her homemade apple butter.

  Yes, that is how things would be. He had to believe it would end that way, otherwise why else should he risk the swamps?

  The next morning, Miranda woke Jonathan and Rourke. She had taken the final shift in the night, despite Jonathan’s insistence that he could take both shifts. The fire was dying down, but their clothes were dry and their spirits were up.

  “The rain has stopped,” Miranda said as the others began to stir.

  Rourke’s eyes shot open wide and he looked at her with an accusing glare. “Did you cast a weather spell?”

  Miranda shook her head. “No, the rain just stopped.”

  “It is still early spring,” Jonathan said. “The heaviest monsoons are still another month or two away.”

  Rourke nodded quietly and then rummaged through his pack. He pulled out a completely molded heel of bread and cast it to the ground. Then he found some dried meat and began to eat that. “We’ll need to hunt for food soon,” Rourke said.

  Jonathan nodded knowingly. “The next time we see a goose,” he promised.

  “A goose?” Rourke scoffed. “When was the last time you saw a goose?”

  Jonathan shrugged. “The fletching on the arrows is made from goose. Since the bow and arrows were made out here, I assume there are geese.”

  “Good luck with that,” Rourke said.

  “Don’t mind him,” Miranda said. “Grown men get grumpy without a lot of food. My father certainly did, anyway.”

  Jonathan offered her a smile and then he moved to pack up. He checked the map again and moved to the mouth of the cave. He spun around, trying to locate the sun through the trees. When he finally found it he smiled and pointed toward the east. “We’ll head straight eastward today,” he said.

  Miranda gathered her things and nodded. Rourke finished his food and then kicked some dirt into the fire.

  The three of them moved along a thick, muddy swath of ground that wound between the cypress trees. As they walked, the cypress began to yield its ground to thick mangroves that jutted out from the murky waters. They pressed along the ground, careful to avoid any body of water that might harbor a large croc or snake in its cloudy depths.

  After a while, Rourke called out to Jonathan. Jonathan and Miranda turned to see him pointing at a long, thin, green viper slithering along a branch ten yards off to the group’s right.

  “I thought your bow would tell you about snakes,” Rourke said.

  Jonathan whipped his bow around and held it in his hand and drew an arrow. Nothing happened. There was no tingling, and no heartbeat pounding in his head. Confused, Jonathan looked up to the snake and searched for the glowing heart. Nothing.

  “Don’t tell me you broke your bow,” Rourke chided.

  Jonathan shook his head. He dipped it into a nearby puddle and watched as the bow’s enchantment kept the weapon entirely dry. “No, it’s working fine.”

  “Then why didn’t you know about the snake?” Rourke asked.

  Jonathan shrugged. “They said it only works on troll-kin. Perhaps the other snakes we saw before, the really big ones I mean, are part of the Kigyo family. Maybe that’s why I could see them before. This little guy here is nothing like the Kigyo. He’s probably just a swamp viper.”

  “Excellent,” Rourke huffed. “So now I have to watch out for vipers because if the snake isn’t as long as a tree, then your bow doesn’t consider it dangerous.”

  “Could be worse,” Miranda said. “We could be swallowed up by a giant land-dwelling monkfish.”

  “A what?” Rourke asked.

  Miranda turned and gestured with her hands to show a large mound. “You know, a land-dwelling monkfish. You walk by them and then whoop! They open their mouth and suck you in whole. You die agonizingly slowly while they bury themselves in the mud and digest you.”

  “That’s not real,” Rourke replied. He shook a hand at her and then looked to Jonathan. “Tell her that’s not funny!”

  Jonathan looked to Miranda, who offered him a sly wink as she turned to continue along their chosen path. The young man had to work to hide his desire to laugh. “You aren’t afraid of a fish are you, Rourke?”

  Rourke’s mouth fell open and his head shot forward and tilted to the side a bit. “Well, if it can eat me whole I am, but that’s not real, is it?”

  Jonathan turned to follow Miranda. Neither of them answered him.

  “Oh come on, tell me the truth now,” Rourke said. After a few moments of silence the man looked around nervously at the ground around him, then he quick-stepped to catch up with the others.

  They forged on for several hours until they came to a large hill topped with a single cypress tree. Jonathan looked for a way around, not wanting to come out into such an open space and risk being seen by any patrols. The problem was that everywhere he looked seemed to be filled with that brown, murky water. He looked up to the trees, but the branches were not a feasible alternate route either.

  “Up over the hill?” Miranda asked Jonathan.

  “Either that or go through the water,” Rourke said.

  Jonathan saw the narrow neck of land that stretched forward up to the hill. It was flanked on both sides by the muddy water. He recalled how easily the large crocodile had jumped up at him at Battlegrym.

  “It’s pretty close to the water too,” Jonathan said as he gestured to the water flanking the land-bridge.

  Rourke moved to a sapling and seized it in his hands. He bent the sapling back and forward until it finally broke free from the ground and came popping up with the roots dangling and dripping with mud. Droplets of water fell from its taller branches and sprigs, but Rourke didn’t seem to mind.

  “What are you doing?” Jonathan asked.

  Rourke moved determinedly toward the water on the right of the land-bridge. “Checking the depth so we know if there are any crocs.”

  Jonathan froze. He wanted to tell Rourke not to do it, but all he could see was the flashing image of the snout filled with teeth that had leapt
out at him at Battlegrym.

  Miranda slapped Jonathan on the shoulder. “You alright?” she asked.

  Jonathan shook his head. “No, I…” he sighed and then pulled his bow out. “Yeah, I guess I am,” he said. He moved in a few yards behind Rourke. The scout began slowly extending the sapling, which was half again as tall as the man was, into the murky water. He didn’t insert the sapling far before it struck ground.

  “Three inches,” Rourke called out. He then moved away from the land bridge and tested a spot about a yard away. The sapling went in twice as far. “Six inches,” he called out. He repeated the process until he had tested the depth about ten feet away from the land-bridge. “I would say we are safe on the right side,” he said. “The deepest spot is less than a foot. No big croc could hide there. If they come from that side, we’ll see them.”

  Rourke then moved to the left side and tested the water. The sapling drove down much farther, almost a foot deep right next to the land-bridge. The sapling shook and Rourke jumped back yelling and shouting.

  Jonathan startled and reached for an arrow as Rourke ran away from the sapling. Jonathan drew his arrow back and waited, but nothing happened.

  Rourke bent over and slapped his hands together. “Oh you should have seen your faces!” he shouted. “That’s what you get for telling stories earlier. Never mess with a scout. We’ve seen it all, and we know how to get you back.”

  Jonathan eased his bowstring back into place and shook his head. “That wasn’t funny,” he said.

  Rourke shrugged and retrieved the sapling. “It’s only about four or five inches deep here. I just pressed it into the mud to make it look deeper. Come on, we can walk across.” Rourke tossed the sapling into the water on the left and then walked over the land bridge. Jonathan shook his head and started after him. Miranda mumbled something about burning Rourke’s boots so he’d have to finish the journey barefoot and then moved to catch up with Jonathan.

  Jonathan stopped in mid step as the cypress on top of the hill appeared to shake. “Rourke,” Jonathan called out. “Wait a second.”