Quest for the Scorpion's Jewel

by Amy Green

  Silas moved toward the door, but Rae remained firmly where she was, making Silas jerk to a sudden halt. “How do we know this isn’t a trap?” she demanded.

  “Excellent point,” Jesse said calmly, knocking on the door. “You should probably stay here in the forest until Parvel dies and the two of you get ripped apart by wild beasts.”

  No one came to the door. Jesse tried again.

  This time, a loud, raspy voice from inside the shack hollered, loud enough to call in any Patrol within several miles, “Go away! Don’t you know it’s past curfew?”

  “Kayne, it’s Jesse.”

  Another pause, and then the familiar sound of Kayne’s shuffling footsteps. The door eased open on shaky hinges, and Kayne, holding a candle, peered out. “What is it?” he demanded, his wrinkled, mottled face squinting in annoyance.

  “There’s been a terrible accident,” Jesse said, not sure how else to explain. He gestured to Parvel. “He’s badly hurt.”

  For a moment, Kayne’s old eyes studied the three strangers with a surprising sharpness. Then he opened the door wider and turned to go inside. “Always bringing trouble to me, aren’t you, Jesse?” he muttered. “Wish you could just stay at that hovel of an inn and be peaceable like everyone else in this rotten town.”

  Jesse didn’t let Kayne’s words bother him. It was just his way. Everyone else in Mir called him a crazy old hermit, since he rarely ventured out of his old cabin. “An outcast by choice,” Kayne always said.

  Maybe that’s why I get along with him so well.

  The inside of Kayne’s shack was as clean and orderly as the outside was dilapidated. What’s more, each piece of furniture, though simple, showed the elegant construction of a master carpenter.

  Rae and Silas, however, didn’t appear to be studying Kayne’s benches or tables. Instead, they laid Parvel down on a rug in the middle of the floor. The impact made him jerk about, kicking Rae’s leg with enough force to make her wince.

  Kayne was already going to the hand-carved cabinet that held his medical supplies. He was not an official doctor—outside of the main cities, there were very few—but he knew more about healing herbs than anyone else in Mir. “That’s the only reason those fools don’t run me out of town,” he always said.

  “Get more candles,” Kayne ordered Jesse. “I’ll need some light.”

  Jesse scrambled through the kitchen and Kayne’s small bedchamber, taking all that he could find. When he returned, Kayne was kneeling beside Parvel.

  “What kind of accident?” he barked.

  Jesse thought about Parvel’s strange behavior as he fumbled to light the candles. “We’re…we’re not sure.”

  Kayne just grunted, as if that was the response he expected. “This young fellow is burning up with fever.”

  Jesse stepped closer. In the flickering light of the candles, he could see that Parvel’s face was red and shiny with sweat, tightening every few seconds in spasms of pain.

  Kayne laid a gnarled hand on Parvel’s forehead, listened to his heart rate, and pried open his eyes to examine them.

  At this last intrusion, Parvel jerked violently. “Don’t want to need a forever after once had! What happened? No finding what living best in guards.”

  Kayne stiffened visibly at the outburst, then raised his head. “You,” he said, pointing to Silas, “bring a bucket of cool water from the well outside the kitchen. He needs a wet cloth.”

  Silas hadn’t even waited to hear the rest of the instructions. The front door slammed shut as he ran outside.

  “Jesse, get the dispur leaves I use for poultices,” he continued. “As many as I have. And a rag.”

  Jesse yanked aside the curtain that separated the kitchen from the rest of the shack and limped over to the hand-carved cabinet. The leaves were in a canister on the top shelf. Next to it were the stone mortar and pestle Kayne used to grind up the herbs and roots. There was a neat stack of clean rags in the left drawer. For all of the disorganization of the kitchen—dirty dishes were scattered everywhere—Kayne had enough common sense to keep his medical supplies organized.

  “Here,” Jesse called, bursting back into the room and setting the objects on the hard-packed dirt floor. The arrow was gone from Parvel’s arm, and some blood had soaked into the rug. Jesse looked away.

  Now Kayne turned to Rae, who was standing uncomfortably to the side, looking anxious. “You going to tell me what happened to this boy?”

  Rae started to speak, then stopped.

  Kayne sighed loudly, tearing up the dispur leaves and pounding them rhythmically. “From the looks of things, it ain’t a complicated story. Might as well get it out, or there’s not much I can do.”

  “He was shot,” Rae said, gesturing to the wound in Parvel’s arm. “With a crossbow. I’m sure you can see that.”

  “Don’t be rude,” Jesse snapped. “He’s just trying to help.”

  “Well,” Kayne said, hands still moving busily, “who was this mysterious archer and why was he shooting at you?”

  “We don’t know,” Rae said. “The Rebellion, maybe. Is Parvel going to be all right?”

  “Can’t make any promises, ’cept one: I’ll do what I can.”

  Silas rushed in, sloshing water from the bucket on the floor. Kayne soaked the rag with water. After wringing it, he placed the cloth on Parvel’s feverish forehead, then went back to pounding the dispur leaves.

  It was a frightening thing, staring at Parvel in the dim torchlight. He was curled up like a small child, pain tightening his face and sending him into occasional spasms.

  “He’s a good person,” Rae said quietly, almost to herself. “Always smiling, even during the hardest days of training. He was always talking about God, always looking out for others. I laughed at him for it.”

  She paused, and Jesse couldn’t think of anything to say. “The man with the crossbow was aiming for me, but Parvel knocked me away.”

  “Oh,” Jesse said lamely, looking down. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” she snapped, turning away, as if realizing she had sounded like a human being for a few moments.

  Kayne scooped out the dispur leaves, now a thick, dark, poultice, and smeared it on Parvel’s arm by the wound. Parvel jerked, eyes still tightly closed.

  “That should help bring the fever down,” he said grimly, “but I’ve seen enough to know that we’re dealing with something more…complicated, you might say.”

  “What?” Silas asked, kneeling beside Parvel.

  “No,” Parvel moaned again. “Can’t be justice only have brother in.”

  “The symptoms look an awful lot like a deadly poison, extracted from the tarroot plant. Hunters in the Black Woods—”

  “— tip their arrows with it,” Rae finished, her voice devoid of any expression. “Only to shoot wolves and other predators, of course. It’s too deadly to use on game that humans would eat later. I should have guessed.”

  For a moment, Kayne looked at Rae quizzically. “That’s where you’re from, then?” he asked. “The Black Woods in District Three.”

  Rae just nodded, not offering any more information.

  “The person who shot your friend,” Kayne continued, staring at the gash in Parvel’s arm. “Why would he want to poison him?”

  “Are you a doctor or a Patrol member?” Rae shot back.

  “Neither,” Kayne said, meeting her hostile gaze, “but I am a law-abiding man, and I want to know if I’m harboring criminals or fugitives.”

  “Neither of those,” Jesse said at last. “Youth Guard members.”

  Rae gave him a cutting glare, but Silas never looked away from Kayne. “It’s true,” he admitted. “We came from the Festival just this morning, to begin our mission. That’s why it’s so important that Parvel recovers.”

  “Guard members, eh?” Kayne mused, leaning back again
st the wall. “Huh. Ought to have gotten out the fine china.”

  “He won’t tell anyone,” Jesse promised Silas and Rae. Of everyone he knew, Kayne was the best at keeping secrets.

  “I’m no scholar,” Kayne said, eyes still fixed on Silas and Rae. “Jesse here does all of my readin’ and writin’ for me, but I know how to count. There’s three of you. Don’t Youth Guard squads have four?”

  “Yes,” Silas said, eyebrows locked into two hard, straight lines. “Our fourth member—a girl named Aleiah—died during the training. One night, she didn’t come back from our runs. They found her dead of exhaustion along the route.”

  Jesse said nothing, because there was nothing to say. If the Youth Guard training is so harsh, what are the missions like?

  “For almost until justice,” Parvel babbled. “Only red.” The strings of nonsense were less anguished now, and Jesse hoped that meant his pain was lessening.

  Or maybe it means he’s slowly dying.

  “Will he live?” Rae asked bluntly.

  “Maybe,” Kayne said. “So long as we can keep the fever at bay until morning. Then I can go into the woods by the mountain, get some knob willow bark. Far as I know, that’s the only antidote.”

  “Don’t you keep any here?” Rae demanded.

  “This isn’t District Two,” Jesse said, defending Kayne. “There are no tarroot plants here, and no need to keep the antidote in stock.”

  Silas nodded. “Then we’ll just have to wait.”

  “No,” Jesse said quietly. All of them looked up. “No,” he said, louder this time. “We need to do something now!”

  “Don’t you move, boy,” Kayne commanded, standing slowly. “No one’s goin’ anywhere. It’s after curfew, and you know the law as well as I do.”

  “The law was made to protect us from thieves and murderers,” Jesse said, “not to keep us from helping someone in need.”

  Even as he said it, Jesse wondered if it was true. His father and even his uncle had complained many times that the curfew wasn’t meant to protect the people; it was meant to be one more way to control them. But surely even the king wouldn’t want one of his Youth Guard members to die.

  Rae shook her head impatiently. “There are bound to be Patrol members wandering the streets, even in this small village. The night after the Festival is a good time for thieves. They will attack first and ask questions later.” She glanced down at Jesse’s leg. “And I don’t think you can outrun them.”

  “But…” Jesse protested.

  “No,” Kayne said, cutting him off. “Don’t like riskin’ more than one life at a time.” He nodded at Parvel. “And since he got here first, you’re just gonna have to wait in line.”

  “Parvel is strong. He’ll be fine,” Silas said in a calming voice.

  Jesse pretended to listen to him and nodded. “You’re right.” The words sounded forced and hollow, even to him. “I suppose there’s nothing more we can do.”

  But there was something he could do, and Jesse knew it. He bent down and touched the cloth on Parvel’s forehead. “Warm already. I’ll draw some fresh water.”

  Picking up the bucket—still half full—Jesse hurried out the front door. No one called out after him, so he set the bucket down beside the cabin wall. They would discover where he had gone soon enough, when he didn’t return.

  It was a crazy idea, Jesse knew—risking his life for a complete stranger. But every time he looked at Parvel’s helpless body, he remembered his parents. Whatever had happened to them, someone could have stopped it. But they chose not to.

  I will not let an innocent person die, Jesse vowed, hurrying through the dark woods. Not if I can do something about it.

  Chapter 4

  Jesse pressed himself against the stone wall of the grain mill, trying not to move. He had run—or, at least, limped quickly—all the way across the village. Now his breath came in short, tired bursts, and he knew he had to wait until his aching lungs had time to recover before he went farther.

  Just beyond the mill was a bonfire where three large Patrol members stood, talking and laughing in low tones. Just beyond them was a stone bridge, spanning the dark waters of the Dell River. And just beyond the river was a grove of trees that fringed the cliffs of the Suspicion Mountains.

  The trees that contained the power to save Parvel.

  I have to get over there, Jesse knew. But how?

  His first thought was that he should step out and declare his reason for being out after curfew. Surely they wouldn’t let an innocent man die.

  A second later, the problems with this solution flooded his mind. Patrol members were not known for their compassion, or even their intelligence. They were valued for their brute strength and blind loyalty, sworn to enforce the commands of the king. Jesse could not count on their help, no matter what the circumstances.

  And they probably wouldn’t believe me anyway. In these hard times it was not uncommon for young boys to steal what they could not afford to buy. Surely these thieves, when caught, made wild excuses.

  No, he would have to think of a different plan.

  He looked at the river. It was not at flood stage yet, but the water moved by quickly, and Jesse knew it would at least be up to his chest in the middle. I can’t wade across. It would make too much noise.

  A quick glance back at the bridge showed him that while the road was securely blocked, he could reach the bridge itself without being seen. The bonfire was a distance away from the bridge, and if he was careful to be quiet, he could sneak over without any of them noticing. But if one of the guards turns his head and sees me walking across…. On the bridge, silhouetted starkly against the moonlight, there would be no place to hide.

  Then Jesse remembered all the times he and Eli had played by the river when they were young. He grinned to himself. Maybe I don’t need to go over the bridge after all.

  The spongy moss on the riverbank muffled Jesse’s movements as he crept toward the bridge, ready at any moment to drop and flatten himself to the ground if one of the Patrol members looked his way.

  They were huddled around the large bonfire. Their voices rose and fell; once he reached the bridge Jesse was close enough to hear every word of the exaggerated stories they told each other.

  He did not take the time to listen, though. Instead, he studied the underside of the Dell River bridge. Huge, thick pillars supported its weight, and between these, nearly touching the stone underside of the bridge, wooden supports ran from one side of the bridge to the other, further strengthening the structure.

  Jesse knew the supports would hold him. They were solid enough to bear the weight of a caravan of merchants on horseback with carts and wagons. For a hundred years they had stood guard under the bridge, solidly doing their duty without a moment’s rest. No, there was no question about the beams’ strength.

  It was his own that worried him.

  Ever since the accident had left him crippled in one leg, Jesse had not run about as in the old days. He knew he was much weaker than the young boy who had once played Sea Serpent in the river.

  Pretend that’s what you’re doing now, Jesse thought, forcing himself to breathe deeper. He closed his eyes and tried to picture himself as a nine-year-old again. There he was, his brown hair poking out in all directions, looking up at the beams with a determined expression on his face. There was no darkness. There were no Patrol members who would fire crossbows at him if they heard the slightest splash. There was only the bridge and a game to be played.

  “No fear,” Jesse whispered, refusing to look at the swirling waters. That was what he and Eli always said when they played their games.

  With that, he jumped up and grabbed the first beam with both hands, nearly slamming his head against the underside of the bridge in the process. I guess I don’t have to jump as high as I did when I was nine.

  Jesse stretched
out his hand to the second beam, swinging silently to it. That was another advantage the years had given him. When he was younger, he had to swing back and forth to get enough momentum, then launch into the air, hoping that he would be able to reach the next beam. If he did not, Eli, the Sea Serpent, would be waiting to get him in the river below. Jesse could almost picture him now, green scum coating his black hair as he laughed and splashed, trying to get Jesse to fall.

  But I will not fall. Another rung. This time, Jesse had to pause for a moment before moving on. His arms held his full weight, dangling him inches from the water. I can’t rest, he thought desperately. I can’t hold on long enough for that.

  Hand over hand, beam over beam. Each time, Jesse’s hand got farther away from the next beam. On the eighth, he had to use what little energy he had to swing back and gain momentum. Somewhere in the back of his memory, he knew there were twelve beams.

  He lunged forward again, giving a short gasp. Surely the sound of the river will cover the noise. Evidently none of the Patrol had heard his heavy breathing, because no one came to investigate.

  Jesse kept going, ignoring the pain. Clinging to the eleventh beam, he reached out his hand and grabbed nothing but air. For a second, he felt his lungs tighten in panic. Trapped! Then he looked closer. No, it’s still there. I just didn’t reach far enough.

  Come on, just like with Eli.

  The exhausted part of Jesse’s mind mocked this idea. No more games! It was never this hard in those days. You know you can’t reach it.

  No! With every bit of energy his tired arms could force, Jesse swung back and let go with both hands, trusting they would find the twelfth beam.

  They did, barely. Jesse had to claw the beam before he had enough of a grip to hold his weight. Then, with one last jump, Jesse collapsed on the bank.

  Panting, he poked his head from beneath the bridge. The Patrol members were still by the bonfire. One of them was singing some loud, senseless tune that made the others roar with laughter.

  Jesse limped into the forest, still glancing over his shoulder to make sure none of them would see him and begin pursuit. Only among the trees did he finally kneel to rest. He had made it. Eli would be proud of him.