Chasing the Prophecy (Beyonders) (15 page)

“Careful,” Corinne laughed after the tree had crashed down parallel to the brook.

“That’s what I call sharp,” Jason said, inspecting the blade
with new respect. Passing through the trunk had left no stain on the reflective surface. “We should become lumberjacks.”

“Maybe someday,” Corinne said wistfully. “I’d rather chop trees than people.”

“Don’t get all serious on me,” Jason complained. “You’re as bad as Rachel.”

“You miss her.”

Jason shrugged, looking away. “It was nice having her around. I worry about her. I try to remind myself that she’s in good company. I bet you miss the mental chats. With Galloran and Rachel gone, you’re the only telepathic person around.”

“I’m not sure I appreciated how much I relied on speaking in silence until the option was taken from me. I’ve tried several times to reach out to them over the great distance, but with no hint of success.”

“You guys never could make it work over more than a mile or so.”

“And only that far with considerable effort.”

“Well, it’ll be good exercise for your lips.”

“It’ll be good exercise for your lips,” Jason’s voice repeated from behind him. Jason whirled, sword ready, baffled by the perfect echo. He glanced over at Corinne. “Did you hear that?”

“Did you hear that?” replied a voice not far off in the jungle. Once again the speaker managed a perfect impersonation of Jason. Taking a few steps in the direction of the impostor, Jason found himself staring at a creamy parrot with a frill of orange feathers around its head.

Corinne stepped toward Jason, sword in hand.
“It sounded just like you.”

“It sounded just like you,” the bird repeated in Corinne’s voice. It flitted from the branch it occupied to a perch farther from the brook. “Did you hear that?” the parrot asked in Corinne’s voice. “It sounded just like you,” the bird replied as Jason.

“No way,” Jason said, pushing past ferns to get a closer look at the parrot.

“No way,” the bird responded in Corinne’s voice.

Something came charging recklessly through the shrubs from off to one side. Jason pivoted to see Bahootsa racing toward him, a knife in one hand, the other thorny arm flailing, waving Jason back toward the brook.

Jason looked from Bahootsa to the bird. Could it be dangerous? As he backed away uncertainly, the parrot took flight, and the shadows behind it came to life as a gargantuan jungle cat sprang out of the gloom. Bahootsa intercepted the monstrous feline mid-leap, tackling it sideways, altering the trajectory of the jump enough that the outstretched claws whooshed through the air beside Jason, narrowly missing their target.

The jungle cat shook off Bahootsa. Numerous gaping wounds opened as unforgiving thorns shredded its glossy hide. Bristling and falling back, the huge cat roared, a ferocious sound that sent dozens of the surrounding birds skyward. Jason stared numbly at its long white fangs, yellowed at the base, and held his sword ready. No lion or tiger was ever half the weight of this huge alpha predator.

Bahootsa was back on his feet, shuffling to position himself between Jason and the great cat, crimson blood dripping from his thorns. Sword held defensively, Jason backed out of the vegetation to the bare red clay of the stream’s bank. He sensed Corinne behind him and stopped retreating. No way would he let the jungle cat get to her. The thought made him braver. If his sword could cut through a tree, it could tear through an oversized cat skull. He would need to time it right.

As the jungle cat crouched low, wads of muscle bunching in
the shoulders, one of its green eyes vanished, a feathered shaft suddenly protruding. Yowling fiercely, the great cat whirled and darted away into the trees.

Swiveling, Jason saw that Farfalee had already set a second arrow to her bowstring and drawn the feathers to her cheek. She stood no less than thirty yards away. How she had threaded an arrow through all that foliage and into the eye of the cat was mind-blowing. She remained ready to release the second arrow as Bahootsa joined Jason and Corinne.

“We call the mimicking bird a sonalid,” Bahootsa said, the words coming out heavily accented. “They often hunt in tandem with a dagamond. The sonalid lures the prey into danger. While the cat eats, the sonalid picks parasites from its pelt.”

Heart thudding, Jason nodded woodenly. The shock had barely begun to fade. “Are you okay?”

Bahootsa grinned. “My thorns are harder than stone. I am not easy prey. Worse predators than dagamonds prowl the depths of the jungle.”

Jason had never fully appreciated how well the serpentine briars and abundant black thorns of the prickly treefolk functioned as armor. Bahootsa was walking around in his own portable shark cage.

“You saved my life,” Jason said as Farfalee, Jasher, and Drake approached.

“I pledged to see you safely to our borders,” Bahootsa replied. He gestured at the others. “We save your lives many times each day. This time was just a close call. It was a wily old dagamond. I did not sense it stalking us.” He faced Farfalee. “An expert shot.”

“I try to be useful,” she replied, the arrow no longer on her string but still in her hand. Her eyes studied the jungle.

“It is gone,” Bahootsa said. “The dagamond got more than it
bargained for. Plenty more. It prefers to surprise its victim, make an easy kill. It isn’t accustomed to a challenge. It has little experience with pain.”

“Are you all right?” Corinne asked, placing a hand on Jason’s arm.

“I’m fine,” Jason replied. “My heart rate might be a little high. For a second there I thought I was panther chow.” He sheathed his sword.

“Predators love stragglers,” Bahootsa said. “We should remain together.”

*  *  *

Over the next several days the jungle began to feel more sparse, the air less humid, and the nights chillier. Animal sightings became less frequent, and the need for the treefolk guides diminished.

Atop a low bluff, with grassland stretching out before them, Jason and his companions bid farewell to Bahootsa and the treefolk. The sun went down, and Aram expanded from puny to formidable. After their guides melted away into the twilight, the others sat in a loose circle. Jason appreciated the chance to rest. Without the treefolk the group felt small.

“We’ll miss those guides,” Drake commented, biting into a succulent piece of fruit. “Having them around almost made this a holiday.”

“The jungle is their domain,” Jasher replied. “They’re uncomfortable abroad. And with stealth our greatest need, their presence would prove a liability. Every pair of eyes would linger on them.”

“More treefolk should roam the kingdoms,” Drake groused. “At least in the south. If they left their jungle from time to time, they might not stand out so much in a crowd.”

Jason gazed ahead at the grassy expanse they would have to cross. Maldor would be hunting for them, and he saw no place to
hide. At least with the treefolk along they could have fought off greater numbers.

“Nia was going to provide horses?” Aram asked, his voice a low rumble.

“Ideally, yes,” Farfalee replied. She sat near Jasher, petting the eagle that perched on her forearm. “Her first priority is to recruit enough drinlings to man a ship. After that, if possible, she will endeavor to send horses and an escort to the woods north of a hamlet called Hilloby.”

“Let’s hope she succeeds,” Drake said. “It’s a considerable walk to the Inland Sea.”

“How far to Hilloby?” Corinne wondered.

Jasher squinted at the sky, then scanned the horizon. “Maybe three days on foot.”

“Not much cover out there,” Jason observed.

“We’ll travel at night,” Jasher said. “Hide during the day.”

“The comforts of life as a fugitive,” Drake sighed. “Stumbling about in the dark without mounts.”

“It beats capture and torture,” Farfalee said shortly.

“Granted,” Drake agreed. “No need to take offense.”

“No need to emphasize obvious discomforts,” she replied. The eagle spread its wings and gave a shriek.

“You’re upsetting the bird,” Drake accused.

“
I’m
upsetting . . . ,” Farfalee repeated in a huff. She compressed her lips, clearly making an effort to restrain her temper.

“They can sense bossiness,” Drake warned matter-of-factly.

Jason worked to keep his expression composed. He didn’t look toward Corinne, who also seemed to be resisting her amusement.

Jasher leaned close to Farfalee. “Don’t let him get to you,” he said gently, touching her elbow.

Farfalee shrugged away from her husband’s touch. With a
measured motion of her arm she sent the eagle into the sky. Many stars were now visible. The eagle soared away.

“I can’t believe it can find its way back to you,” Jason said, eyes skyward, hoping to change the subject.

“Eldrin was no amateur,” Farfalee said, her tone kinder. “He engineered this breed of eagles to be ideal messengers. Once they bond with a person, the eagles can find them no matter how separated they become.”

“The three we have are also bonded to Galloran?” Jason asked.

“And Tark, and Io, to be safe,” Farfalee said. “Once we learn what Darian has to tell us, I have but to command, and the eagles will carry the message to our friends.”

“And until you send a message, they keep returning to you,” Jason said.

“Correct. I have worked with messenger eagles for centuries. I spent many days at Mianamon’s aviary selecting the most reliable birds and prepping them. Until we need them, they should remain self-sufficient—hunt their own food, find their own shelter. They’ll return to me every couple of days.”

“An expert tracker might follow them to us,” Aram cautioned.

“Possibly,” Farfalee conceded. “But that’s a chance we have to take.”

“Jason has Ferrin’s ear,” Drake reminded everyone.

Farfalee glared at her brother. “Which is a welcome redundancy, even if the displacer might only be interested in spying on us.”

“He might be able to hear you,” Drake muttered.

“I hope he does,” Farfalee said. “I won’t trust that scoundrel until this is over and he’s done his part. And I don’t mind him hearing it.”

“He won’t hear much,” Jason said. “I keep the ear heavily bundled, deep in my bag.”

“Probably for the best,” Farfalee said.

Somewhere overhead, an eagle let out a piercing cry. Jason tilted his head back but couldn’t spot the bird in the darkening sky. He didn’t like the idea of enemies tracking them using the messenger eagles. Unfortunately, Farfalee was right—they couldn’t afford to place all their trust in Ferrin.

Drake stretched, fists extended, back arched. “What if some accident should befall you, dear sister? Would the eagles come to your seed? Are they bonded to any of the rest of us?”

“They’re also bonded to Jasher,” she replied. “They would also come to Corinne.”

“Jasher?” Drake challenged. “Jasher dies all the time! He has too many lives to spare. Why not Jason?”

“I’m allergic to eagles,” Jason joked, trying to keep out of it.

“Then why not Aram? He strikes me as a survivor.”

Aram grunted. “The survivor suggests that if we need darkness to travel, we take advantage while we have it.”

Drake extended a hand toward the half giant. “See? Forget bonding the bird to him. Why isn’t he the leader?”

“I’ve sampled that role,” Aram chuckled. “Too much responsibility. Too much accountability.”

Drake shook his head. “Mark my words, he’ll outlive us all.”

“Aram certainly has a point,” Jasher said. “We should get underway.”

“Are you the leader?” Drake asked with mock curiosity, eyes on Jasher, then glancing at Farfalee.

Jason noticed Corinne shift uncomfortably. She didn’t like conflict, and when Drake got in a mood to bother his sister, there was always plenty. At least Farfalee looked like she was trying to remain patient.

“Jasher is in charge of tactics,” Farfalee sighed. “Aram is the
muscle. Jason has the ear. Corinne has her sword. You’re the pest. And I’m the leader.”

“I can live with that,” Drake said. “Leaders draw a lot of attention. The pest sometimes survives.”

“We’re all going to survive,” Farfalee affirmed.

“Not according to the oracle,” Drake reminded her.

“Maybe the casualties will be with the other group,” Aram speculated.

“That’s the spirit!” Drake praised, clapping the big warrior on the back. “Friends, if we watch Aram, we might have a chance. Dodge when he dodges. Duck when he ducks.”

“I feel a headache coming on,” Farfalee deadpanned. “Drake, why don’t you scout ahead?”

Drake glanced at Aram. “What do you say? Will I survive the assignment?”

“I give you better odds than if you keep needling your sister.”

“Good enough for me,” Drake declared, rising. “Try to keep up.”

*  *  *

The next three nights were spent covering as much ground as possible, with the secondary mission of finding concealment before sunrise. Aram toted his heavy sword and armor as well as the two buckets of orantium. The first day they hid in the middle of some bushes. The second day was spent in a shallow ravine. During the third day they huddled against a steep hillside.

Not long after sunset on the fourth night, Jason and his companions came within sight of Hilloby. There were no more than twenty buildings in the humble hamlet, and not all of them had lit windows. Scattered farmhouses added somewhat to the community. The modest village represented the first evidence of other people Jason had seen since leaving the jungle.

“Who checks the woods north of town?” Drake asked.

“We could all go,” Jason said.

Farfalee shook her head. “We expect to find drinlings with horses, but the drinlings could have been followed. Anything could await us in those woods. We should send a pair to scout.”

“I’ll go,” Jasher said. “And Drake.”

Farfalee gave a nod, and the two seedmen departed.

Jason found a seat beside Corinne on a flat boulder. The night was cool but not cold. Half a moon hung in the sky. He had grown used to sleeping during the day, so he felt wide awake.

He still couldn’t converse with Corinne privately without feeling a flutter of nervous excitement. It wasn’t just because she was ridiculously pretty. She was also grounded and smart and sweet and . . . ridiculously pretty.