by Brian Farrey
It was a wonder the tavern was even open. Times were so hard that the only beverages came from two bottles on the back counter filled with more water than ashwine. As we walked in, Gandrick, the par-Goblin tavern owner, was arguing with Beard and Bald.
“Credit?” Gandrick shrieked. “I don’t give anyone credit. Cash only.”
“Reward come soon,” Beard said in a low, slow voice. “Drinks now.”
Gandrick frowned. “Reward? What reward? Look, you pay now or no drinks.”
“Everything okay, Gandrick?” I asked. Seeing me, Beard and Bald quickly turned to face the other way. I got the idea they thought that if they couldn’t see me, I couldn’t see them.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” the par-Goblin said before returning to watering down the ashwine.
“Hey,” I said, “you two seen Uncle Garax?”
They didn’t say a word. They just pulled their arms in tighter to their bodies, like they were trying to make themselves smaller.
“Look, he’s not in trouble. We just want to ask him if we can use—”
I stopped. Reward. They’d said they were going to pay for the drinks once their reward came. Suddenly, I knew where Uncle Garax had gone.
I ran from the tavern. Outside, Aubrin flashed me a quizzical look.
“Jaxter, what’s—?”
I snatched her by the wrist and pulled her with me as we ran home. Inside, we found Da chopping vegetables in the kitchen, preparing for dinner.
“There you are,” Da said. “I’m making grubslush casserole. Go grab the Dowager and Callie and we’ll—”
“We have to go!” I said. “Uncle Garax sold us out. He’s telling the Palatinate where we are for the reward.”
Da looked up sharply. “What?”
“His goons are out spending money they don’t have yet,” I said. “They said they’re expecting a reward. We don’t have much time.”
We didn’t have any time. Just then, we heard the familiar crack of a quickjump spell. I peeked outside and saw two bloodreavers descend from the glowing circle above the town square. Next, two figures floated gently down onto the scaffolding below. The first was Uncle Garax, head bowed humbly. The second was a tall, lean Sentinel. His masked face scanned the village as those nearby cowered. The Sentinel raised his hand, holding a glowing spellsphere, and got right to the point.
“Bring me the Grimjinxes!”
23
Danger in the Swamp
“An ugly nose breathes just the same.”
—Ancient par-Goblin proverb
Da didn’t think twice. He dropped his knife and opened a cupboard. From within, he pulled two of the emergency packs he kept in case we needed to make a fast getaway. Before I could utter a word, he thrust the packs into my hands.
“Take your sister,” he said, pointing to the back door.
“What about you?” Aubrin asked.
“I have to get the Dowager and Callie,” Da said. “But you need to leave now. Go north. Wait at the far edge of the swamp near the valley. If we haven’t joined you in one hour—”
“—we’ll head to Cindervale to find Nanni,” I finished.
Da nodded, then ducked outside, hiding behind the row of mud huts on his way to the Dowager’s house.
I grabbed a map. “I just hope Nanni hasn’t left Cindervale yet,” I said.
“No,” Aubrin said, “we need to find the assassin-monks.” Before I could protest, she added, “They’re the only ones who can tell us what the message means. And we’ll never know if they work for the Palatinate unless we try. Trust me.”
I didn’t have much choice. For all I knew, the arrival of the Sentinel was one more sign that my death was imminent. The sooner we got that message translated and delivered to Eaj, the better.
I gripped Tree Bag tightly and ushered Aubrin through the back door. We could hear people turning out into the streets as the Sentinel summoned all Slagbog to the square. Unfortunately, the square stood between us and the way out of town. Holding hands, we crouched behind an empty wagon, waiting for our chance to bolt.
“You are harboring fugitives,” the Sentinel’s deep voice boomed. “You will immediately turn the Grimjinx family over to me.”
A murmur rippled through the assembled villagers. People looked around, as if expecting to see someone wearing a sign around their neck saying “I am a Grimjinx.” Oberax pushed her way to the front of the crowd. “I’m very careful about the people I let live in Slagbog. If the Grimjinxes were here, I’d know about it.”
A bolt of lightning shot from the spellsphere, splitting a nearby everember tree.
“You will all be arrested if the Grimjinx family isn’t brought to me . . . now!” The Sentinel’s masked face scanned the crowd. He nudged Uncle Garax. “Where are they?”
“They were here this morning, your most powerful magicalness,” Garax said. “I can take you to their house.”
But before Uncle Garax could move, one of the bloodreavers threw back its head and bellowed in that all-too-familiar screech. The second bloodreaver mirrored the first and soon both were growling and thrashing about. Finally, the eyes of both bloodreavers rested on the wagon where Aubrin and I were hiding.
Aubrin gripped my arm. “Jaxter, did you drink your tea today?”
Oh, zoc.
“It’s too late for me,” I told her. “They’ve got my scent. Get to the valley. Da will be waiting there.”
I stepped from our hiding place, arms raised in the air, and walked slowly toward the square.
“Oya!” I called out. “Looking for a Grimjinx?”
Slagbog issued a collective gasp. Uncle Garax looked relieved. “Yep. That’s one of ’em. Want me to nab him for you?”
“Good luck with that,” I muttered to myself. Head down, I ran through Slagbog toward the swamp.
Pop! Behind me, I heard the bloodreavers vanish. A second later, they appeared in a cloud of smoke on the roof of an adjacent mud hut. I dashed side to side, trying to throw them off. The bloodreavers kept pace, leaping from roof to roof in pursuit. Chunks of thatch rained down as their claws dug in for purchase.
Ahead, the village opened up into the thick swamp beyond. If I could make it there, I had a chance of losing them in the scumpits. I also had a chance of being swallowed by the scumpits, but I couldn’t worry about that. I had to evade them just long enough for Aubrin to get away.
But the bloodreavers were even faster than I remembered. No matter how hard I ran or changed directions, they were closing in. I charged past the last mud hut on the village’s border. The ground beneath my feet became marsh. Swamp water filled my boots.
True to form, that’s when my foot snagged a tree root.
I fell face-first into the muck, just as one of the bloodreavers jumped. The beast overshot and got tangled in the slimy vines that hung between the swamp trees.
I grabbed at the tree to pull myself up. Pain shot through my hand. Wiping the mud from my eyes, I found pinpricks of blood all over my palm. I’d wrapped my hand around a thatch of vexbriar. My head spun. The poison from the vexbriar’s thorns was already going to work. I’d be unconscious within minutes. Depending on how much poison I’d absorbed, I could be dead shortly thereafter.
The second bloodreaver, seeing me struggle to move, leaped in the air and came down on top of me.
But the instant we made contact, the bloodreaver vanished. There was a puff of black smoke as multicolored sparks fell into the swamp water and sizzled away.
I craned my neck. I knew bloodreavers could disappear in one place and reappear close by to surprise their prey. But why do that when it had me? And why wasn’t it reappearing?
I hauled myself out of the mud, stumbled forward on wobbly legs, and hid behind an everember tree. If I could find a bit of lorris—a fungus that was fairly plentiful in the swamp—it would counteract the poison. I just needed time.
Which I didn’t have.
The first bloodreaver finally freed itself from the mossy
vines and stalked about loudly. I held my breath, waiting for the scent of my blood to betray me.
“Over here!”
Aubrin’s squeaky voice carried on a gentle breeze. I peeked out and saw her in the distance, waving at the bloodreaver. The creature looked her way, raised each of its four arms, and screeched. Aubrin turned and ran, the bloodreaver quickly following.
I jumped up and nearly fell over, dizzy from the poison. But I couldn’t let the bloodreaver get her. “It’s me you want!” I yelled, stepping out.
The bloodreaver stopped. I held up my bloody hand. “Yeah, you can smell me, right? I’m the one.”
“Jaxter—”
“Go!” I yelled as the bloodreaver made up its mind and charged me. “Find the assassin-monks!” She hesitated, then ran. I turned and headed for my last hope: the scumpits.
But I’d underestimated how much the poison was slowing me down. I could barely move and, in seconds, the bloodreaver was on me. I felt its talons grip my arm and—poof! Black smoke and rainbow-colored sparks rained down.
My ears filled with my own heaving breaths and pounding blood. What was going on? The bloodreavers had me. Why would they pounce and then vanish?
The vexbriar’s poison coursed through my veins. My breath grew short. I stumbled feverishly, searching for lorris.
When my legs finally gave out, I fell against a mound of rocks, not far from the swamp’s edge. I looked down into the valley just beyond. Sitting there, among the mokka trees, was a tall, octagon-shaped tower of white stone. It had never been there before.
I drew a feeble breath. Delirious, I thought I saw several shadowy figures running up the side of the valley toward me. I heard what I thought was Aubrin’s voice but when I turned to look, I saw the blurry outline of someone tall. Did this person have horns?
I thought I heard Aubrin say, “We’re here, Jaxter.”
There were a lot of things I thought I saw and heard. Hard to say which were real and which were imagined. Darkness took me just then.
24
Blackvesper Abbey
“The greedy eye starves as the itchy palm feasts.”
—The Lymmaris Creed
The first thing I noticed was the soothing aroma of starkholly. Eyes closed, I inhaled deeply and allowed the herb’s healing properties to fill my lungs. I felt myself cocooned in a warm, heavy blanket. Wherever I was lying was soft and comfortable. As memories of being attacked in the swamp reappeared, I tried to go back to sleep. Surely I’d earned a little rest.
But then I remembered Aubrin. Rest would have to wait.
I sat up. The cot on which I was lying ran the length of the small, square room. A black candle, little more than a mound of melted wax and a stubborn wick, burned on a rickety table next to the dish of smoldering starkholly. My possessions—pouches, vallix skin gloves, and Tree Bag—hung from the bedpost. Sitting up, I found a cup and metal pitcher, filled with water, near the foot of the bed.
It was official. I’d been kidnapped by gracious innkeepers.
I reached for the water pitcher and found the hand with which I’d grabbed the vexbriar thorns neatly bandaged. I peeked under the cloth. My wounds were covered in an oily green salve that smelled of amberberries. Between the starkholly incense and the lotion, whoever lived here clearly knew something about healing.
After downing several cups of water, I tried the door. Locked. Should have guessed, really.
“Hello?” I called. “I’m awake. Not to presume anything but I’m kinda hungry and could use some food. Hello?”
Silence. So much for the gracious innkeepers.
Some time later, keys rattled in the lock. A tall boy with smooth, dark skin, carrying a glass tray, gently pushed the door open with his foot. He looked about my age. The extra fabric of his ill-fitting brown robes pooled near his ankles. The very model of confidence, he stepped over the threshold, tripped on his robes, and fell flat on his face.
The tray shattered, sending slices of cheese and bits of fruit flying. As I knelt down to help, the boy sat up quickly, driving the top of his head into my chin. With a grunt, I fell back against the cot. The boy, holding his head, tried to get to his feet . . . but slipped on the cheese and ended up flat on his back. We both lay there, rubbing our injuries. There was something very familiar about this.
It was like I’d met my long-lost twin.
“You know how to make an entrance,” I joked. But he wouldn’t look me in the eye. Slowly, we both got down on all fours and gathered the spilled food.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I wasn’t that hungry.” It was a lie but he seemed so ashamed, I had to say something to make him feel better. “Not quite the welcome I was expecting at Blackvesper Abbey.”
The boy stopped gathering food and eyed me sharply. “How could you know this is Blackvesper Abbey?”
I glanced slyly at his robes. “Bit of white powder near your collar, smells of ground yarmick seeds. I caught a whiff when I bent over to help you. It’s often used in holy rituals. Your ink-stained fingers suggest you spend a lot of time gripping a quill. There are three religious orders in the Provinces where extensive writing exercises are mandatory. The Brotherhood of the Glistening Aura don’t wear robes—they don’t wear any clothes at all, in fact—so that’s one down. You have to be at least sixty years old to join the Order of the Withering Days Monastery. That leaves Blackvesper Abbey.”
The boy sat slack-jawed at my deduction. Then, all traces of embarrassment bled away. He looked as confident as when he first opened the door. He offered his hand. “I’m Bennock. Pleased to meet you, Jaxter Grimjinx.”
We shook. “You know who I am?”
“Your roots are brown. You dyed your hair blond, probably to hide. These days, people only hide from the Palatinate. There are currently ten children being hunted by the Lordcourt. Four of them are girls. Two of the boys are par-Goblins, two are older than you, and one of the boys lives here in the Abbey. That leaves one boy: you. Jaxter Grimjinx.”
I can honestly say I’d never been more impressed or excited to meet someone in my entire life.
“Also, your sister told me.”
“Ah.”
“But I had you going.”
“Yes, you did.”
We stared at each other, neither willing to budge, each wearing the same knowing smile. It really was like meeting another version of me. Very exciting.
Bennock cleared his throat. “Well, so much for my vow of silence. Made it a whole twenty-two days this time.”
Now it was my turn to feel ashamed. “Sorry I made you break your vow. I’ve heard it’s important to your order.”
“All acolytes must remain silent for an entire year.”
“Then you become an assassin-monk?”
“Then the monks decide if I’m worthy.”
His stare told me that meant a lot. “Listen,” I said, “I won’t tell anyone you spoke to me. You can just wake up tomorrow and let it be day twenty-three of silence.”
His dark eyes narrowed. “I’d know,” he said softly. “No, once I drop you off with the abbot, it’s back to Day Zero for me.”
Pity. He was clumsy, good at verbal sparring. . . . Here I thought we were going to be best friends. But he was a bit too honest for me. Well, no one’s perfect.
“I’m sorry, what was that? The abbot?”
Bennock stood and opened the door. “I’ll escort you to him,” he said. “And I’ll, um, see if I can round up some more food for you.”
I stood my ground. “I want to see my sister.”
“The abbot will explain everything. Don’t worry. He’s fair and wise.”
I wasn’t sure what to think. It was Aubrin who’d suggested we seek out the monks to help translate the message in her journal. I should have been grateful they were this easy to find. But it felt just a little convenient that they’d found us just as the Palatinate had tracked us down. I had a feeling that the rumors of the monks’ allegiance to the Lordcourt were about to be
proven true.
With no other choice, I gathered my things and followed Bennock out into a long stone corridor lit with green-blue torches. Ascending a spiral staircase, I could hear the distant sound of chanting, melodious and hypnotic. We passed monks—both men and women—on the stairs. Unlike Bennock’s robes—loose fitting and voluminous—the black robes of the monks were custom-made, clinging to their lithe bodies. They wore soft-soled boots that made no sound as they moved. Cowls covered the tops of their heads, while their faces were hidden behind black porcelain masks that cut off just below the nose.
Bennock led me into a dark niche just off the staircase to a door made of weathered gray wood. He bowed deeply and muttered what sounded like a prayer before opening the door and ushering me in.
The abbot’s chamber was only slightly larger than the room I’d woken in. A similar cot sat against one wall. A square table, covered in maps of each Province, took up the center of the room. A modest desk pointed to an alcove through which I could see an outdoor balcony and what looked to be the first rays of sunlight on the horizon just beyond.
Seated at the desk was the abbot. His attention was directed down at a large open book on the desktop. He wore clothes identical to the other monks, but unlike theirs, his mask was dotted with tiny red jewels along the edges.
“Very good, Bennock. Please leave us.”
The abbot’s voice was deep and scratchy. I waited for him to look up but he continued to read from the book.
“Abbot,” Bennock said, eyes lowered, “I spoke. I broke my vow. Again.”
As he stared at his book, the abbot folded his index fingers into a steeple and brought them to his lips. He considered for several moments. Then he said, “The vow of silence is a tradition as old as the halls of this Abbey. Followers of the order undertake the task as a way to remind themselves that not all words are spoken. That, often, gestures are far more powerful.
“But you, acolyte, I feel you were born with this knowledge. Every day, your gestures of kindness inspire every monk in the order. There is much you could teach others, but I feel you’ve little else to learn from the lesson of silence. Therefore, I release you from the vow. You may speak freely from now on.”