The creatures were merely annoying. What put Tom’s nerves on edge was the Djembe. Though the brush was too dense to make out anything more than shadowy shapes, there was no doubt they were being stalked.
There was no frontal attack to combat. No arrows launched or knives thrown. Just a shrill scream that echoed through the forest at odd intervals, an urgent aiy-aiy-aiy-aiy-aiy that sent goosebumps down Tom’s spine. The scream echoed around them like a bat’s electrolocation, some sort of radar used to pinpoint their exact location within the forest. It carried with it an unmistakable sense of forces gathering momentum and preparing for battle.
They stopped for water. Tom saw the strain he felt reflected on the faces of his friends. He looked at Porter. “What should we do?”
“Keep moving.”
Willa nodded in agreement. “How close are we?”
Tom withdrew the map and spread it out against a rock. The lake, a shimmering oasis of brilliant blue water, appeared less than a mile away. “According to this, we’re almost there. If we keep moving, maybe we can reach the lake, grab Hyster,”—a nearly impossible feat in itself—“and get out before there’s any trouble.”
“I think it’s too late for that,” Smudge said.
Tom looked up. Icy dread shot through his veins. Two Djembe warriors blocked the path in front of them. The pair was pale-eyed, tall and lean, their long white hair adorned with feathers and leaves. Thick streaks of green and brown dye coated their skin. Protecting their torsos was some sort of primitive armament, a flexible reed woven through a silvery mesh that glistened with the iridescence of a fish’s scales. Grass skirts draped their bodies from their waists to their thighs; their feet were bare.
Tom studied their faces and was surprised to see they looked to be close to his own age. Even more astonishing: the figure beside the first warrior was a girl.
“Hello,” Tom began hesitantly.
The warriors returned his greeting with a glare of dark hostility.
“We mean no harm.” Tom said. He raised his hands to show he was unarmed. “No harm. Do you understand me?”
The boy lifted his arm and pointed in the direction from which Tom, Porter, Willa, and Smudge had come. “Go.”
Willa nodded slowly. “We will. As soon as we can. But first we must find—”
“This is not your place. You are not welcome here.”
Tom touched the map. “There’s something we must find. Then we will leave.”
The two warriors exchanged a look. Moving as one, they stepped forward. “You have been warned. Leave now or we will kill you.”
Porter withdrew his knife from its sheath. Tucked Smudge behind him. Tom and Willa retrieved the bolas Willa had made that morning and swung them loosely at their sides.
For a long moment, no one moved. The warrior boy and girl took in their weapons, and then exchanged a look. Without another word they turned and slipped away, disappearing into the forest.
Tom blinked. He looked at Porter. “Uh . . . was that it?”
“I guess so.”
“Those are the Djembe, the brutal fighters everyone talks about?”
Porter watched the bushes for signs they were coming back. Seeing none, he slowly tucked his blade back into its sheath. “I guess we handled them.”
Tom shook his head. “Let’s keep moving. Faster.”
Picking up their pace, they moved deeper into the forest. Eerie silence surrounded them. There were no more calls of the Djembe. Even the nasty hissing rodents no longer darted out from underfoot. Somehow the silence was more menacing. Adrenaline flooded Tom, but had nowhere to go. With every crack of a branch, his nervousness spiked. The sun reached its zenith and began its descent, signaling the passing hours.
He finally drew to a halt. “Wait,” he said, breathing hard. “That’s the third time we’ve passed that rock. We’re going in circles.”
Willa shook her head. “No, that’s a different rock.”
Porter drummed his sides impatiently. “I don’t care about the stupid rocks. Where’s the lake? We should have been there by now.”
Tom removed the map and spread it out. “According to—”
“Look!” Smudge interrupted, pointing. “Up in that tree!”
Two birds perched within the boughs of a tall evergreen. They were as regal as peacocks, with graceful necks, swelling breasts, and long, extravagant tail feathers. But it was their coloring of their plumage that immediately struck Tom. One was stunning white, the other deep crimson. Just like the birds from the map.
The white bird tipped back its head and released a throaty, “Caw!” Moving in unison, the birds drew themselves up. They launched into the sky, hoisting themselves upward with considerable effort, their great wings beating slowly. Up into the sky they flew, almost disappearing from view, before they swooped back down, drifting on air currents like a pair of massive gliders. They swung back and forth in the sky as though engaged in a playful game of mid-air tag.
Then, suddenly, their tactics changed. The birds swooped low, wings tucked tightly against their bodies. They dove toward the ground, missing Tom’s head by mere inches, and then pulled up abruptly. The gust of wind left in their wake was so strong Tom stumbled backward. Smudge tripped and fell.
The birds dove toward them a second time, but this time, as they pulled away, the crimson bird turned and squawked over his shoulder, “Caw!” as if urging them to follow.
Tom didn’t miss its meaning. “Let’s go!”
Keeping their eyes on the birds soaring above them, they stumbled along through the forest, running as fast as they could to keep up. They raced uphill, thighs burning, and soon Tom spied a break in the tree line. The lake. They were almost there.
He glanced over at Porter as they ran. Unable to contain his glee, his brother gave a whoop! of victory. Willa flashed a beaming smile. Smudge stuck out his skinny arms and, weaving them like wings, mimicked the birds gliding through the forest. They raced together, laughing and shouting, ducking between trees and leaping over bushes, fueled by sheer joy. The birds were guiding them to the lake. They’d made it.
The forest ended abruptly. They spilled out into a large, open clearing and stumbled to a stop, laughing and breathing hard. Then their laughter slowly died.
There was no lake.
No water anywhere.
Tom stared in confusion. It couldn’t be. The map had been so clear. The birds had guided them. Everything had led them here.
But there was no lake. Instead, they stood at the edge of a dry, desolate clearing. Within the clearing stood a single structure—the ruins of what appeared to be an ancient temple. That was all.
Tom’s mind refused to comprehend it. He turned in a circle, convinced that if he just looked hard enough he’d find the lake. But it wasn’t there.
He cast Porter and Willa a bewildered glance, then moved toward the temple. He said, “Maybe we’ll be able to see something from the top.”
Together they climbed a badly deteriorating set of stone steps. The top third of the structure had been leveled off to support a stone platform. A set of tall columns, now in a state of crumbling decay, gave the platform the look and feel of some sort of altar. Centered within the columns was an enormous, circular wooden block. A sacrificial table of some sort, Tom thought with a chill, remembering the Djembe warriors.
He turned away and scanned the horizon. No shimmering lake anywhere in sight. No water at all. Not even the trickle of a stream snaking its way through the Miserable Forest.
He looked up and scanned the sky. His last hope—the birds—were gone. A wave of despair washed over him. They’d failed. This was it. The end of their journey.
“I don’t understand,” Smudge said softly.
“There must be some mistake,” Willa said. “It’s all right, there’s still time. We’ll—”
“All right?” Porter echoed. He gave an ugly laugh, rounding on her. “After everything we’ve been through, this is all right? What exactly w
ould you consider not all right? Being ripped apart by mad dogs, tumbling off the side of a cliff, or maybe just being threatened with death by brutal savages?”
“Knock it off,” Tom said.
Porter jerked toward him, his pale blue eyes brimming with barely contained rage. “The map,” he barked. “Give it to me.”
Tom gave him a hard look, then slowly handed it over. Porter stretched it out over the huge wooden block. He took his knife and drove it through the parchment, anchoring it to the wood.
“We were supposed to find the lake in the center of the Miserable Forest! Well, you can’t get more miserable than this forsaken place! Right here! The lake is supposed to be right here!”
Smudge edged forward and touched the map, his eyes transfixed on the parchment. “It has to be. We saw the dragon rise from the water,” he protested softly. “It was magic. Varrick’s magic. We saw it.”
Tom rested his hand lightly on the boy’s shoulder. “There may still be time.”
“Time?” Porter flung his arm out wide, gesturing toward the horizon. “Do you see that great orange object out there? That’s called the sun. It’s setting. We’re out of time. Unless the prophecy’s deadline was just one more thing the scribe invented.” He turned, glaring at Willa. “You were right. That’s all the prophecy ever was. Worthless ramblings.”
Willa shook her head, pain etched on her features. “Maybe my grandfather was right. Maybe the scribe simply wanted to give the world hope—”
“Hope? What use is hope? Will you fight a war with hope? Feed the starving with hope? Defeat Keegan and The Watch with hope?” He shook his head, breathing hard. “For years my father slaved over that map. Years he spent working in secret, in silence, so that Keegan and his kind could finally be destroyed. All for what? This?”
“Our father,” Tom shot back, unable to control the anger that surged inside him.
Porter wheeled around, his face a mixture of fury and confusion. “What?”
“Our father. He was my father too, you know.”
“Does that really matter now?”
“It’s the only thing that matters! At least you had time with him. With both of them. They chose you. You! The three of you had a life together.”
“They chose me?”
“They kept you. You were the one they wanted. Not me.”
Porter shook his head in disbelief. When he spoke, his voice was ragged.
“Do you know how many months—no, years—I spent trying to read the map without you? But I couldn’t. I couldn’t! Every day of my life was marked by what I couldn’t do. By what our world would have been like if you were with us. Our parents tried to hide it, but I knew. I was a failure by myself. A failure. I could see it in their eyes. Our purpose was to find Hyster together. Defeat Keegan together. I was worth nothing by myself. Nothing. Can you even begin to understand that?”
Tom opened his mouth to speak, not sure what he could possibly say, but Porter turned away. He stumbled against a broken column and in a fit of anger and frustration, shoved it over, knocking the column and its neighbor to the ground.
The columns slammed hard and rolled to a stop... at the feet of two Djembe warriors.
The boy and the girl had returned. This time they were armed with glistening spears. They stood on the opposite side of the temple ground, motionless, silently watching them.
Before Tom could fully absorb the shock of their presence, the boy slammed the bottom of his spear into the ground. “You were warned. You do not belong in our forest.”
Together the two warriors threw back their heads and released a shrill aiy-aiy-aiy-aiy-aiy. Instantly the air erupted with the pounding, pulsing rhythm of beating drums. The forest exploded. Ten, then twenty, then hundreds of warriors charged from the cover of trees, shrieking an ear-splitting cry. They surrounded the base of the temple, brandishing swords and spears, their chest armor flashing in the late afternoon sun like a great school of iridescent fish.
The warrior boy and girl lifted their spears. They pointed them at Tom and Porter. “You were warned,” the boy repeated. “Now you die.”
Chapter Nineteen
DRAGON QUAKE
The warrior tribe surged forward. They shrieked and howled, banging their spears and beating their drums, the noise growing louder and louder until it reached a crescendo. On some signal Tom couldn’t identify, the Djembe slammed down their lances, the reverberating din echoing all around them.
One enormous man stepped to the fore, his broad chest clad in the same silvery mesh-like armor worn by his people. He bellowed a long string of angry words. With an expression of fierce conviction, he drew his hand toward the four of them and made slashing motions in the air. Then he brought down his lance, slamming it hard against the ground.
Although Tom hadn’t understood his words, the meaning was clear. Trial, judgment, and sentencing. The warrior next to him echoed the motion, and then the next, and the next, until the air reverberated with the sound of lances striking the ground.
Tom’s heart pounded, his blood roared in his ears, his throat went dry. Willa shrank back against Smudge. Porter reached for his knife and pulled it from the wooden block. Tom braced himself to fight for his life, knowing even as he did the battle was lost.
Suddenly a cry of a different sort shot through the warrior mob. Fear and alarm rang through their midst. The warrior tribe shifted and turned, arms raised, fingers pointing toward the sky in great consternation.
Tom shot Porter a look, but read only confusion in his brother’s face. He twisted sideways, risking a glance over his shoulder.
The white and crimson birds were back. They soared through the sky, swooping and gliding, then stalling in mid-flight and plummeting beak-first toward the ground. Another second passed, and Tom realized the birds were changing right before his eyes. Growing larger somehow—no, not larger. Enormous. Their beaks elongated, their wings became leathery, their extravagant tail plumage transformed into scales.
Dragons.
There was no other word for the creatures. The dragons swooped toward each other as though resuming their game of tag, although this time it appeared their intent was to knock the other from the sky. Their harsh caw! became a deafening roar, the beat of their wings a hurricane force wind. They crashed in mid-flight with such jarring impact that the ground shook.
Tom and Smudge dove behind the shelter of a column. Willa and Porter did the same, while the warrior boy and girl crouched low behind the wooden block, their faces masked with terror. The dragon battle grew more and more violent.
Panic seized the Djembe. Several positioned their spears as though to fight the enormous beasts. A few warriors bowed before the dragons, others retreated into the forest, still others lay flat on the ground in a position of absolute surrender.
The crimson dragon knocked down an enormous column with a single beat of its wing. It careened into the adjoining column, then the next and the next, sending them all crashing to the ground like ancient stone dominoes. Willa and Porter jumped to avoid being pinned beneath the massive columns; Tom and Smudge did the same. The ground shook as though in the throes of a massive earthquake.
The map, no longer anchored to the wooden block by Porter’s knife, rolled off the table and fell to the ground. Tom lunged for it. He’d barely managed to grab the parchment and thrust it inside his sweatshirt when a bolt of lightning lit the air around them. The massive wooden block cracked down the center, splintering into charred, smoking pieces. The warrior boy and girl dove out from beneath the altar block and scrambled away.
The dragons gave a great roar and clawed the air. There was nothing left to destroy. Nothing but the temple base itself. They dove for it, hurling their enormous bodies against it until it collapsed completely.
The ground opened up beneath Tom, pitching him into a gaping chasm. The screams of Porter, Willa, and Smudge echoed around him, but he could do nothing to help them. He went into a free-fall, plummeting through blackness, nothing
to grab onto but air. Suddenly he felt a cold, stinging slap against his back.
Water.
He broke through the surface and was sucked under. The force of his fall and the weight of his backpack dragged him down. Deeper and deeper he sunk. Disoriented, he choked and gasped for air, only to draw water into his lungs.
He was drowning. Panic caused him to struggle more wildly. He forced himself to stop. Think. He needed to find the surface. He peered through the murky depths toward a faint glow of light. It was a subtle glow, but at least it told him which direction to move. He fought his way upward and broke through the surface.
His lungs burning, he drew in deep, ragged gulps of air. The sweetest air he’d ever tasted. A second later Porter’s head emerged, and then Willa’s. Tom scanned his new surroundings. An underground lake within a vast cave. He tread water, waiting. Only he, Porter, and Willa had surfaced.
“Smudge!” he called. Then louder: “Smudge!”
Finally Smudge’s head, small and sleek and seal-like, broke through the surface of the water. Smudge gasped for breath, paddling hard, then sank back under the surface. Alarmed, Tom swam toward him. He dove under, grabbed the boy and tugged him to the surface. “It’s all right. I’ve got you.”
Smudge pummeled him with his fists. “No! Let me go! Let me go!”
“Stop fighting against me!” Tom bit out as he dragged him, with Porter’s help, to the edge of the lake.
“They’re drowning! They’re too heavy, I can’t lift them!”
Tom froze, as did Porter. The warrior boy and the warrior girl. They’d been on the platform with them when the dragons struck. He dimly remembered seeing them fall, but he’d forgotten about them. He released Smudge and scanned the surface of the underground lake. The water churned in the center of the lake as though an epic underwater struggle was taking place.
Porter turned and dove back into the water, stroking furiously toward the center.
Tom looked at Willa. Just beyond where she stood, thick vines clung to the cave wall and curled on the floor like piles of seaweed.
Racing With Dragons: The Mapmaker's Sons, Book 1 Page 15
