Curse of the Forbidden Book

by Amy Lynn Green

  “Well?” he asked. “Where’s Rae?”

  Parvel explained as quickly as he could, tying the last few knots on the bundles as he spoke. “She’s ahead of us by now, provided she got out of the palace safely,” he finished.

  “She did,” Jesse said, more confidently than he felt. “She’d swim the moat if she had to.”

  Silas didn’t move. “It doesn’t make sense,” he said, shaking his head. “She gave it all up for a servant girl.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about her, Silas,” Jesse said, shrugging. “Her hair will grow back. And I think she learned a lesson about vanity.”

  “You don’t understand,” Silas snapped. “In District Two, noblewomen are forbidden to cut their hair. It is a symbol of their status. Cutting it off is the highest act of rebellion a woman can commit.”

  “Oh,” was all Jesse said. Prince Corin shook his head in admiration.

  But Silas wasn’t finished. “Besides shaming herself in front of the entire noble court, she risks being disinherited by her father, not to mention ruining her chances of marriage. No man would want to marry a woman considered dishonorable.”

  Suddenly, Lady Taralyn’s sacrifice became much more clear. Jesse felt foolish for making it seem so trivial.

  “Well,” Parvel said, hefting the largest of the bags of supplies onto his shoulders, “we can’t let her sacrifice go to waste. We have less than an hour until curfew.”

  Jesse picked up his bundle right away, knowing that as soon as the sun went down, the drawbridge would close for the night, and no one would be able to get in or out of the palace grounds.

  “I will carry this,” Silas said, picking up the leather bag that held the Forbidden Book. He slung the strap over his back, next to the quiver of arrows. From the way he clutched Prince Corin’s bow, Jesse knew that no one who tried to take the book from him would escape alive.

  “Won’t they stop you when they see the bow?” Jesse pointed out.

  Silas shrugged. “I could be one of the governor’s hunters. Or they might recognize me from the tournament. I’m tired of fleeing unarmed.”

  “It’s a risk we’ll have to take,” Parvel agreed.

  It was time to leave, but Jesse couldn’t think of a way to thank Prince Corin for all he had done. “We are grateful,” Parvel finally said. “You saved our lives in many ways.”

  “You saved mine,” he said simply. “Besides, I wanted adventure, did I not?” He tried to laugh. It didn’t work. “If you are ever near the Great Sea, I would be offended if you did not visit.”

  “And if we do,” Parvel said, “we’ll bring even more adventure to you.”

  Now Prince Corin did laugh, although a wince of pain soon followed. “No doubt.”

  They turned to leave, and Jesse started to say, “Well, Prince Corin—”

  “In Dagen, we do not say goodbye,” he interrupted. “We say, ‘Go with God.’”

  “All right, then,” Jesse said, trying to imitate Prince Corin’s jerky bow. “Go with God, Prince Corin.”

  “The same to you.”

  Then it was back to hurrying, with Jesse limping behind Parvel and Silas on the path that led to the main gate. The palace grounds were large, but they would easily make it to the gate before sundown without hurrying.

  He wanted to say this to Parvel and Silas, but he doubted they would listen. Besides, they still had to make it to Roddy’s Haunt where, hopefully, Rae was waiting.

  There were very few people on the road, although one procession in front of them signaled a suitor’s return to his homeland. “Many of the young men working in the palace—the servants, not the slaves—live in the main part of Davior,” Silas explained. “They work during the day and go home at night to their families. That is what we are doing. Understand?”

  Parvel nodded. “And if they ask for our papers?”

  “We pretend to be foolish young people who don’t bother to carry them with us,” Silas said. “And if that doesn’t work, we bribe them with Prince Corin’s silver.”

  “That always seems to be the right answer,” Jesse said dryly.

  Silas shrugged. “That’s because it works.”

  “Are you saying that from experience?” Parvel teased.

  From the frown on his face, Silas was clearly not amused. “Yes,” he said shortly. “That’s how I found out Rebellion members killed my father. I bribed one of the Patrol members who was there.”

  “I’m sorry, Silas,” Parvel said. He was quiet for a minute as they kept walking. “Did he believe?”

  “He was a priest,” Silas snapped. “You know that.”

  “Not all who call themselves followers of God believe in Him,” Parvel said gently. “You’ve said so yourself.”

  For a minute, Silas glared at Parvel. Then he just turned away, shaking his head. “He believed. And he still died. Which is why I do not believe in God or His Son or rising from the dead or any of the other crazy nonsense that you’ve been preaching to Jesse.”

  Jesse started to say something in Parvel’s defense, but Silas cut him off. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, his voice calm again. “We need to hurry.”

  And so Jesse went back to looking at the scenery. That seemed to be safer than talking, at least when Silas was in one of his moods.

  As they walked along the path leading away from the suitor’s tent, Jesse turned back to see Prince Corin’s strange, woven tent on the palace lawn, and beyond that, Lady Taralyn’s tower inside the palace walls. Prince Corin saved our lives and Lady Taralyn saved Rae’s. I can’t ever repay either of them.

  Then he saw something else, moving quickly toward the path. It was a lone figure, and as he broke away from the camp, Jesse knew with frightening certainty that the hulking, red-clad man was Roland.

  Jesse began to run, passing Parvel and Silas.

  “Slow down, Jesse,” Parvel said, chuckling good-naturedly. “We’re supposed to be innocent servants, not fugitives.”

  Jesse didn’t take his advice. He knew he’d need a lead on the faster, stronger Youth Guard members. “You can try the innocent servant act on our friend Roland,” he shot back, “but somehow I doubt he’ll believe it.”

  Now Silas and Parvel looked back. “I see your point,” Parvel said grimly as he began to run.

  Chapter 18

  Only moments before, the palace gate had seemed very close. Now, the two hundred paces seemed to be a huge, gaping distance. It’s amazing how a pursuer can change your perspective.

  Jesse glanced back and immediately wished he hadn’t. Roland was gaining on them. He was shouting something, but they were still too far away to hear the words. That might be a good thing.

  “We’ll have to slow down,” Silas called, as they approached the gate. “The Patrol will be suspicious.”

  But Jesse already had an idea—a crazy idea. But then, haven’t all of our ideas been crazy? “Keep going,” he said, rushing determinedly for the gate and the drawbridge. “Follow my lead.”

  There were four Patrol members clustered near the gate, and Jesse knew that at least another two were in the guard tower on the palace wall. So Roland wasn’t lying about doubling the guard.

  Despite Jesse’s words, Parvel and Silas began to slow as they came within hailing distance of the guards. Jesse limped ahead of them. The Patrol guards were now only a few paces away.

  All of a sudden, he burst into laughter, something that was hard to do since he was already starting to pant for breath. “Are you two going to let a cripple beat you home?”

  There was silence for a brief moment. Then Parvel picked up speed and passed him. “Not a chance,” he crowed, making a face at Jesse. “Last one back has to milk the cow!”

  Now Silas took the lead. “I don’t know why you even try,” he bragged, bursting into a sprint that took him past the Patrol members and
across the drawbridge.

  “See you tomorrow!” Jesse hollered, waving at the confused Patrol members as he ran past, his staff tapping out a wild beat on the wood.

  To his relief, they showed no signs of pursuit. One of them was even laughing, as if saying that he was like that when he was their age.

  The wood of the drawbridge turned into the stone of the main bridge that spanned the deep moat. During an attack, of course, the drawbridge would be lifted and the enemy would be trapped on the stone bridge, unable to reach the palace.

  Now Jesse slowed down, breathing heavily. “Well, it worked!” he proclaimed. “Although, Parvel, a cow? I’m willing to bet that most peasants in the capital city don’t own a cow.”

  “I grew up as the son of a courtier,” Parvel pointed out. “How would I know?”

  Silas just shook his head. “Instead of arguing about livestock, I would suggest….” He turned to face them, and his voice trailed off. Then he began running even faster toward the end of the bridge.

  Jesse made the mistake of looking back too. There, running through the gate, was Roland, moving toward them at an incredible speed for someone of his size. “You there!” he demanded. “Halt!”

  Jesse did no such thing. But as Silas and Parvel got farther and farther ahead of them, he began to panic. I won’t make it, he thought. I can’t outrun him.

  He was almost to the end of the bridge when he felt Roland’s thick, sweaty hand clamp down on his shoulder. In the next instant, his entire body was jerked backward and his head smacked against the stone railing of the bridge.

  Dimly, he heard Roland shout, “Back here! Both of you! Or I kill him.”

  With everything in him, Jesse fought against the blackness that started to steal over his vision. Not now. They need me. I have to do something—think of something.

  He blinked a few times, tried to breathe deeply. Slowly, his vision came back and he realized that he was slumped on the ground, leaning against the bridge, his staff fallen on the stone beside him.

  Then he noticed the blade at his throat.

  Jesse looked up slowly, carefully, trying not to move suddenly. Silas and Parvel were coming back. No! he wanted to shout. Run! He’ll kill you too. He’ll kill all of us!

  But they wouldn’t leave him, just like they wouldn’t leave Rae. Roland had counted on that. It was my fault. It was my fault for being slow and crippled and weak.

  “Reach for that bow, scum,” Roland growled at Silas, “and I’ll kill him. I swear I will.”

  Silas knew as well as Jesse did that he meant it. Slowly, he lowered the hand that had been reaching to the arrows at his back.

  “Stand up,” Roland ordered, and Jesse obeyed, slowly so that the dizziness wouldn’t come over him again.

  Jesse knew that feeling sorry for himself wouldn’t save them. Neither would blaming himself or his crippled leg. He had to think, a difficult task with a blade wedged against his unprotected skin.

  “Is this a habit for members of the Rebellion?” Jesse asked, trying to sound collected like Silas and Parvel always did. He also tried not to move, which made his words sound strangled instead of bold like he meant them to. “I remember this happening to us several times before, back in Riddler’s Pass.”

  Roland glanced around to make sure no one was watching. There was no sign of anyone else on the bridge, and if the Patrol members had seen anything, they clearly had decided not to get involved. “There was no Riddler’s Pass,” he hissed sharply. “Do you understand me?”

  “Call those guards over, and there will be a Riddler’s Pass,” Jesse said boldly. “We’ll tell them everything.”

  Roland sneered at him, and Jesse wondered if the threat had any effect at all. “Now, you will do exactly as I say.”

  “Prince Corin will hear of this,” Silas said, but the claim sounded weak even to Jesse.

  Roland just snorted. “He can’t protect you anymore. You didn’t think you’d get away with it, did you? Humiliating me, first in front of the Council of Nine, and then here at the governor’s tournament? I’ll kill you all!”

  “That doesn’t give us very much motivation to do as you say, does it?” Jesse pointed out.

  Roland ignored him. “I would have done it at the archery tournament, but this fool,” Roland indicated Parvel with a jerk of his head, “threatened to expose me in front of the entire court. I couldn’t take any chances, although the governor wouldn’t listen to a mere slave”

  “Maybe the governor wouldn’t listen to a slave,” Jesse interrupted. “But what about his own daughter?”

  The frozen look on Roland’s face gave Jesse hope that the gamble would work. “Yes,” he said, “we told her that you belonged to the Rebellion.”

  “She wouldn’t believe you,” Roland sneered, his cockiness back. “Slaves lie and spread rumors all the time.”

  “Rae told her the same,” Jesse said. It was a guess, but even if it wasn’t true, Roland might think it was. “Her trusted handmaiden.”

  Now Parvel chimed in. “And even if she doesn’t believe us right away, how much investigating would it take to cast some doubt on your loyalty? How many well-placed questions before she discovers something that might look suspicious?” He raised an eyebrow. “How careful have you been, Roland?”

  Small beads of sweat began to appear on Roland’s round, red face. Jesse kept pressing, trying to ignore the throbbing in his head and the blade at his throat. “You’re the one who should be running, Roland—away from the governor’s court, away from this district even.”

  For a moment, Roland’s shoulders slumped, and the blade pulled away from Jesse’s throat. Immediately, Jesse edged away a few steps, forcing Roland to turn his back on Silas and Parvel.

  He kept talking, trying to distract Roland, trying to make him feel threatened enough to surrender. The dizziness had returned, and he struggled to make his mouth form words that made sense. “The governor is a prideful man. He will be outraged when he finds that a member of his own court belongs to the Rebellion. He won’t rest until he finds you.”

  The fear in Roland’s eyes faded, replaced with pure rage. “So cocky,” he muttered, stepping toward Jesse. “I should have killed you in Riddler’s Pass. I won’t miss now!”

  With one giant hand, Roland lunged forward and grabbed Jesse, lifting him in the air like he weighed no more than a sack of potatoes. The railing of the bridge was below him, and Roland’s leering face in front of him. Dimly, Jesse heard Roland scream over the pounding of his own heart, although all of his senses seemed to slow down. Roland raised the dagger to strike.

  Then, a strangled gasp, and Roland’s eyes turned glassy. That was the last thing Jesse saw before he realized something else: he was falling.

  Released of Roland’s grip, he had tumbled over the bridge railing. Jesse had barely processed that revelation before the cold, dark water of the moat slapped him in the face. The impact took his breath away.

  When he finally gasped for air, trying to fill his emptied lungs, there was nothing, nothing but water around him. He was swallowing, choking.

  He had been able to swim before the accident. Even then, though, he had played with Eli in the shallow part of the Dell River, where they could always touch the bottom.

  Here there was no bottom, and no surface either, not that Jesse could find. There was only darkness and cold and the pain in his head and in his lungs, growing sharper and sharper.

  He began to panic, his arms forgetting the measured strokes of childhood. He thrashed about frantically, willing his crippled leg to do something, anything, to help him.

  Then there was light and air for a second, and Jesse gasped once before he sank again. It was enough to dull the ache in his lungs.

  Dimly, he felt movement near him, the cold water splashing in bursts around him, but that wasn’t important. Not as important as the surfa
ce and the light.

  The light. The Light of the World. Although his tired mind couldn’t remember the words to say, he prayed, crying out to Jesus, who had calmed the storm and taken his place and conquered death.

  And he stopped thrashing.

  Then Jesse felt strong arms around him. He was moving—aching, burning, choking, but moving. Someone was pulling him up to the surface. Toward the light.

  Or maybe he was being pulled down, because suddenly the light began to dim, and all Jesse could see was blackness.

  Chapter 19

  When Jesse opened his eyes, he was lying on a dirt floor. There was a candle burning somewhere. Silas was sitting beside him, staring at him with a stony expression resembling concern.

  Then, wincing, Jesse remembered why. Roland. The water. The arms that had lifted him up.

  “I lost some of our supplies again,” Jesse said, and found that even saying these few words took effort.

  Silas jerked in surprise, then smiled dryly. “In a few days, I might care about that. Not now.” He turned his head away and called, “He’s awake!”

  Immediately, Jesse heard footsteps. Parvel came into his range of vision first, kneeling down beside him.

  Jesse groaned. “What?” Parvel demanded instantly. “What hurts?”

  “Not that,” Jesse said. “You just have that doctor look on your face. The one you had when you ordered Prince Corin around like a slavedriver.”

  “Well,” Rae’s voice said, “considering that he saved your life, I suppose he has a right to do a bit of ordering.”

  “Rae!” Jesse exclaimed, trying to sit up so he could see her. Parvel shoved him down, gently but firmly, and Jesse started to understand Prince Corin’s frustration with him. “You made it out of the palace!” Then he paused and turned back to Parvel. “You saved my life?”

  “I jumped in after you,” Parvel said. “Although, for a minute there, I thought it was hopeless. I could hardly get near you when you were kicking about. It was a good thing you stopped, or you would have sunk like a stone. The pack was too heavy to allow you to float to the surface.”