A World Without Heroes

by Brandon Mull

  Here he was again. Except here he wasn’t just the safety net, and there was no end in sight.

  “Help!” Jason cried. “Just so you know, I can’t stay awake much longer! Just so you all know!”

  He heard no response.

  With a shuddering sigh Jason sat down opposite the snake, back to the wall. After a moment the snake streaked toward him. Jason scrambled to his feet. The snake gave a long chase. Finally it quit.

  Jason sat again. Maybe he could teach the snake that even when he was sitting, it would never catch him. Maybe then he would have a chance it would leave him alone when he inevitably succumbed to his drowsiness.

  The second time he sat, the snake remained coiled up. Jason stared, tense, ready to hop to his feet. After a long while the snake attacked. He leaped to his feet and sprang away. The snake gave almost no chase.

  Jason sat against a wall again. He could feel himself slipping. He closed his eyes momentarily.

  And awoke when the snake struck his arm. He shrieked, rolling over. As he staggered to his feet, the snake struck him on the calf.

  Disoriented, Jason examined the two spots of blood above his wrist. He had quietly planned that once the snake struck him, he would fearlessly throttle it for some measure of revenge. Now he didn’t care. The persistent snake struck him again on the leg, but it felt distant. He swooned, extending his hands to catch himself as he collapsed to the rocky floor. Was that the door opening? Too late, guys! Consciousness retreated.

  Consciousness returned. Jason was secured to a table in a dazzlingly bright room. An old man with a narrow, creased face stood over him.

  “I’m dead,” Jason mumbled.

  “No, far from it,” the stranger replied calmly.

  Jason struggled feebly, testing the snug restraints. “I feel faint,” Jason said.

  “I’m sure you do. Is the light too bright?”

  “Yes.” Jason blinked several times. “I feel like I’m floating. Did I just start floating? How can I float when I’m strapped down?”

  “You aren’t floating. How is the light now?”

  “Better. Still bright.”

  “I can’t shield the candle any more or it will become impossible for me to see. Your eyes are currently extra sensitive. Squint if you must.”

  “You sure I’m not floating?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are we in a hot-air balloon?”

  “No. Do you remember where you are?”

  “In the dungeons of Felrook.”

  “And how do you feel about that?”

  Jason squinted thoughtfully. “Not too bad right now. I guess I should feel more upset. I didn’t want to be here. And that was a mean trick with the snake.”

  “But you’re trapped here, so why worry?”

  “Good point,” Jason agreed dreamily. “Very good point. That should be my motto.”

  “Just relax. The venom will help. I need to ask you some questions.”

  “What’s the matter with me? I feel . . . really good but kind of nauseated at the same time.”

  “You were struck by a rare serpent whose venom induces an altered state of consciousness. The potency is enhanced when the subject is exhausted.”

  “Yes,” Jason exclaimed. “I remember being asleep and hearing it coming—its scales against the stone, but I just couldn’t wake up. Then it bit me. I was too tired.”

  “The powers of your memory have been magnified. I need you to answer some questions.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Call me Damak.”

  “I read from a book by a guy named Damak once.”

  “Did you really?”

  “Yes. Subtleties of Manipulation. ‘Manipulation is a quiet tool of majestic power. Artfully manufacturing desires in others to suit one’s own needs can be accomplished on an individual basis, or on a worldwide scope. Clearly, a study of manipulation requires a profound understanding of the selfish motivators that drive men to action. Different motivators function depending on the nature of the minds one seeks to dominate. Manifold motivators are available, including fear, the desire for wealth or respect or power, lust, duty, obedience, love, even altruism. Endless combinations may be employed to reduce the staunchest will to a malleable plaything. Learning to discover the appropriate mix of motivators for—’”

  “Did you read the entire book?” Damak interrupted.

  “No. I could tell you more. I remember every word.”

  “So do I, more or less. I wrote it. You are feeling lucid?”

  “Yes. I feel very lucid. Good word for it. I can remember so many things. I can remember the colors of the animals that hung from the mobile over my cradle. I had forgotten all about them. They were puffy. A yellow and blue checkered elephant. A red and white checkered lion. A green and—”

  “Well done,” Damak said. “Very interesting. That is enough about the animals for now. Do you remember Galloran?”

  “How could I forget?”

  “Did he reveal any plans to you?”

  Jason pressed his lips together, concentrating. “No real plans. He just talked to me up in his tower. He helped me make plans.”

  “Did he manifest any desire to oppose Maldor?”

  “He said his only remaining purpose of any consequence was advising those who dare to challenge the emperor.”

  “How did he help you?” Damak inquired.

  “He gave me a poniard and dubbed me Lord of Caberton. By the way, fun fact, a poniard is a knife. He introduced me to Rachel, and gave her a crystal sphere with orantium inside. He gave me directions to the cave where Jugard dwells, but could not recall how Jugard would help me. He told me to use his name among those who oppose Maldor because it would open doors. And he told me that heroism means doing the right thing regardless of the consequences.”

  “Did he tell you about a syllable he wrote down?”

  “No, I learned about that elsewhere. He didn’t remember.”

  “Where was the syllable written?”

  “Tattooed beside Kimp’s shoulder blade. I got it at Harthenham. It was ‘rim.’”

  “Don’t tell me specifics about the Word,” Damak said hastily.

  “It doesn’t matter. The whole thing is a hoax.”

  Damak clapped his hand over Jason’s mouth. “Say no more regarding the Word.” He looked away fiercely. “Did you hear anything about the Word?”

  “Certainly not,” a nervous voice responded. Jason could not see the speaker, but he could hear the scratch of a quill on parchment.

  “Then you transcribed nothing of the sort,” Damak verified.

  “Certainly not.”

  Damak removed his hand. Jason stared with wide eyes. “Do not be alarmed,” Damak soothed. “I would simply rather not hear details about the Word. Another syllable was written down. Where?”

  “Inside the lorevault at Trensicourt. Strange, I remember that syllable too.”

  “Interesting. Tell me about Ferrin. Is he loyal to Maldor?”

  Jason scrunched his brow. “He said he has no great love for Maldor, and he helped me quite a lot before Rachel found him out, but that was all part of tricking us. He explained that as an observer he could help us at his discretion. I believe he is loyal to Maldor. In the end he betrayed us and refused to relent.”

  “Very well. Tell me about the girl, Rachel. She is a Beyonder as well?”

  “Yep. From Washington. She’s incredible. I mean, she can be a little pushy, and sometimes acts like a know-it-all, but she really is smart, and she isn’t all talk. You should have seen her at Whitelake! Have you ever met her?”

  “No.”

  “She’s really cute. I’ve never liked any girl as much as her. I’m really worried about her. I wish I could go to her and help her. Funny, I can’t think things without saying them. It’s like my mouth is tied to my brain. Bad for privacy. Good for you, though!”

  “Did you know her in the Beyond?” Damak asked.

  “Nope. I met her here.”


  “Did either of you come here on purpose?”

  “Nope. By accident.”

  “How much of the Word does she have?” Damak asked.

  “All of it. ‘Arimfexendrapuse.’”

  His expression horrified, Damak belatedly clamped his hand over Jason’s mouth. He looked over to the unseen scribe. “You heard nothing?”

  “Less than nothing. Must have been the wind.”

  “Do not say any of the Word,” Damak urged, taking his hand away.

  “Sorry. It just popped out. I couldn’t remember it before, no matter how hard I tried. Funny, I still remember it, even after saying it again. I guess the snake venom works really well.”

  “Let’s change the subject,” Damak suggested. “You escaped Harthenham with a member of the Amar Kabal. Tell me his name.”

  “Drake. He liked dangerous pies.”

  “Why did he join you?”

  “Who would eat pies that could take over your life? Why risk it?”

  “Focus. Why did he join you?”

  “Say no to death pies. Another good motto. I’m getting a headache.”

  “Why did he join you?” Damak repeated.

  “Tough to say. Maybe because his amar went bad. I think he wanted to die with some honor. You should have seen the dogs he chopped up.” Jason gave a soft whistle. “Poor doggies.”

  “And the runt who made off with Jasher’s seed was called Tark, the surviving member of the Giddy Nine.”

  “Correct. Your eyes are very close together.” Jason grinned sleepily.

  “Stay focused.”

  “How do you stay focused? You’re practically a cyclops.”

  “Stay with me. We need to discuss your fears. Of what are you most afraid?”

  “Getting killed by a puppet. Like a marionette or a ventriloquist’s dummy.”

  Someone in the room snickered. Damak looked in the direction of the snickering. “You getting this down?”

  “Yes, sir,” came the controlled response.

  “What else frightens you most?” Damak asked.

  “Enclosed spaces. You know, claustrophobia? Not every type of enclosed space. Some are worse than others. I heard a story about some prisoners of war who were squeezed into these confining boxes for a long time. I would hate that.” Jason shuddered.

  “What else? List some.”

  “Having body parts crushed or maimed. Finding out nobody has souls. My friends or family getting killed. Suffocating. Getting brain damage. Heights, if I’m not secure. Getting gangrene. Getting radiation poisoning. Titan crabs. Having my eyes poked out. Getting rabies. Having a toothache and no dentist, then trying to yank the tooth out, and having half my jaw break off. Getting cancer. Puking. Having my belly button come untied. The devil. Being tortured. Manglers. Leprechauns. Forgetting a class I signed up for and then remembering on the day of the final. Drinking rotten milk. Earaches. Catching on fire. Getting lost. Dying. Finding out—”

  Jason stopped speaking and began to lurch against the immobilizing straps. It felt like somebody had lit a string of firecrackers inside his head. His eyes rolled back, and he jerked and trembled while Damak steadied him.

  “What else do you fear?”

  Jason opened his mouth to speak, but only a tiny gasp came out. The spasms increased.

  “The venom is wearing off,” Damak said to someone.

  He uncorked a vial and waved it under Jason’s nose. The seizures subsided, and Jason sank into a dreamless sleep.

  Jason awoke in what looked like the same cell where the snake had bitten him. His muscles felt sore, as though he had spent the previous day strenuously lifting weights for the first time in months.

  He sat up and looked around. A new small loaf of dark bread sat close by.

  He picked at the scabs from the snakebites on his arm and legs. He could remember an old man asking him questions. The man had written the book about manipulation Jason had read in the Repository of Learning. What was his name? He could not recall. Yes he could: Damak.

  He remembered learning that the venom of the snake was a mind-altering substance. The conversation with the old man seemed like a vaguely pleasant dream. Had he been floating? Maybe it hadn’t really happened. Maybe it had all been in his head. He hoped so. He had spilled his guts about Galloran and a lot of his fears, but the specifics remained vague. He had remembered the Word, but he recalled none of it now.

  Jason crawled over to the puddle for a drink. Then he retrieved the bread. Even as hungry as he was, Jason crammed almost half the loaf into the hole in the wall to plug it up before devouring the rest.

  He felt tired after eating the bread, dimly realizing as he slumped to the floor that it must have been drugged.

  When Jason regained consciousness, he could barely move. Everything was black and smelled like metal. He was inside an iron container tailored to the contours of his body. He was lying on his back. He could wiggle his fingers and squirm a bit, but that was the extent of his capacity to move.

  He closed his eyes and tried to resist his rising panic. He hated tight spaces. He had told them that in his dream. It must not have been a dream. He began breathing faster. He tried to thrash against the container but could hardly twitch. Was this a sarcophagus? A coffin? Had he been buried alive? No, he could breathe. There were slits near his nostrils.

  He was hyperventilating and getting sweaty. He cried out, and his voice sounded close and muffled.

  Jason kept his eyes closed and concentrated on breathing more slowly and deeply. Nobody was going to free him, so he had to get used to this. He tried to go back to sleep but was unable.

  The silence was oppressive. He began singing songs. Songs from the radio. Television theme songs. He hummed themes from movies.

  He wiggled his body as much as he could. It was tough being encased in such a tight space. The only sounds came from his voice. The only smells were musty iron and his own sweat. The perfect darkness left nothing to look at.

  After a long time he heard a door open. He heard footsteps; then a hatch over his face opened. The torchlight was blinding until his eyes adjusted.

  A pliable hollow tube brushed against his lips. He could see a hand holding the tube. “Drink,” a male voice said.

  Jason sucked on the tube and eventually began swallowing water. He paused, then drank more. He had not realized how thirsty he was. The water tasted flat, but he could not get enough of it.

  The tube was removed. Dirty fingers began feeding him cold wads of stringy meat. It was not good. It was too salty and may have been raw, but Jason ate greedily. The fingers gave him stale bread, followed by another sip from the tube. Then the hatch closed, returning him to darkness.

  “Hey,” Jason complained. “I have to pee.”

  “Then do it.”

  “I’ll drown.”

  “It’ll drain.”

  “Wait, I have some questions—”

  He heard the door close.

  Time became Jason’s nemesis. He was trapped with virtually no sensory input. He tried to keep himself company. He recited quotes he remembered from movies. He prayed aloud. He sang. He flexed his muscles and wiggled. He slept as much as he could.

  Sometimes he thought about the people he had left behind—his parents, his brother, his sister, his baseball team, Matt and Tim. He wondered if his face was on milk cartons. He wondered if he had been on the news. By now there might even be a headstone in some cemetery with his name on it. Wherever they imagined he was, he doubted any of them would guess he was locked within a sarcophagus in the dungeon of an evil wizard.

  He thought back over his adventures, marveling how Maldor could have instituted and maintained such an elaborate fabrication. He wished he could get a message to Galloran that the Word was a fraud. He wondered if Tark and Rachel had completely escaped, and if they had planted Jasher’s seed. He wondered what Drake was doing.

  Nobody visited except to bring him food and water. After the few words on the first visit the man
who fed him would not speak.

  Jason did not know how many times a day he received food. He was losing all concept of time. He thought he was fed twice a day. But it might have been five times a day. Or once a week.

  The sixth time the cell door opened since he had been imprisoned in the iron container, Jason was dosing. He awoke at the noise. “I have to . . . um . . . do more than pee,” Jason groaned.

  There came no answer.

  “Don’t tell me it will drain.”

  There was a sound like a body falling to the ground.

  “Hello?” Jason called.

  The hatch opened. Jason squinted because of the light. As his eyes adjusted, he saw a familiar face peering down at him. Ferrin.

  “You look full of goma worms,” the displacer said.

  “Full of what?”

  “No time to explain.”

  CHAPTER 25

  DEEP PORTAL

  Ferrin? What are you doing here?”

  “I came to recite original poetry. You’re the perfect audience.” Jason coughed out a laugh. “You’re here to torture me?”

  “I bet you love it here. You can just sleep all day.” The displacer winked, then glanced to one side. “Listen, we need to make haste. I have received a new assignment from Maldor. Since I’m leaving, I thought I might bring you along.”

  “But how—”

  “Pay attention. I’ve done some snooping. I had to take some risks and use up some favors, but I now know of a way to return you to the Beyond. The portal is in a cave not far from Felrook. I am not supposed to know about it, but I figured it out. If you swear you will return directly to the Beyond, I’ll sneak you out of here.”

  “But I learned some very—”

  “No, no, no. There is no room for negotiation. I have committed some minor deviations against Maldor in the past. All right, some major ones. But never anything comparable to smuggling a prisoner out of Felrook. I need your word on this. If I smuggle you out, will you go directly back to the Beyond? Yes or no.”

  “Is this some kind of trick?” Jason asked. “I don’t get why you’re doing this.”