The Golden Symbol (Kilenya Series Book 6)

by Andrea Pearson

  The tree remained motionless, and Jacob pulled back from his vision. Akeno had slumped down, but this time, he was still conscious, though obviously struggling to stay that way.

  “Go,” Akeno said. “Give him the antidote.”

  Jacob nodded. He Keyed to the door nearest Het, realizing at the last minute that he’d be putting himself in the middle of the fighting. Nothing to be done about that.

  He hesitated before stepping over the threshold, watching a huge Molg fighting a man about Coren’s size. They were right next to the door. Jacob’s breath caught in his throat.

  Were the Shiengols absolutely, one-hundred-percent correct about the Golden Symbol? He didn’t want to run through the battle unless he was sure the symbol really would strengthen his abilities. Maybe the Shiengols were way off in their expectations, especially where his powers were concerned. Would it actually—

  Jacob jumped through the door, slamming it shut. The huge Molg’s mace sliced through the air. The weapon connected with the door frame in the spot where Jacob’s head had just been.

  “Whoa,” Jacob whispered, clutching his chest. The symbol worked. He couldn’t believe how quickly the Molg had dispatched the man, then turned on him. Not even his fast basketball skills would’ve been enough in this situation.

  The Molg growled, heaving its mace up again. Once more, Jacob saw the Molg’s intentions a split second in advance.

  He dropped and rolled away. The mace thudded into the ground. Jacob grinned, bouncing back to his feet. The Molg growled at him and stepped forward. But just then, another man from Jacob’s side interceded.

  “Go, Prince, go!” the man shouted.

  Jacob nodded and dashed toward the tree where the Lorkon was struggling.

  He should have figured that getting there wouldn’t be as simple as walking in a straight line. He nearly fell into one of the Makalo traps, and in sidestepping it, he almost got slashed through the heart by a friendly soldier. The guy was swinging his sword to hit an enemy. Jacob backed away, still staying clear of the hole. Then he rushed through the fighting people, no longer able to tell who was on his side and who wasn’t.

  The forest was teeming with life and not just in the shape of warriors. Squirrels dashed across branch limbs, trying to get higher, and birds squawked from the trees.

  Jacob leaped over fallen bodies and continued dodging swords, spears, and fists. He arrived at the tree and pulled the syringe from his pocket, uncapping it.

  The Lorkon had nearly freed himself—only a small section of bark was holding him to the tree now. He looked up and snarled as Jacob approached.

  “Come to save me from the forest, Jacob?”

  Jacob didn’t answer. He tried to control his erratic breathing while inspecting the Lorkon, wondering where to stab him. Neither the Fat Lady nor Aldo had mentioned this part of the process.

  “What’s that you’ve got in your hand?” Het asked.

  Jacob still ignored him. He’d have to act quickly and stab the guy in the largest section of skin visible—his neck.

  Realizing there was no easy way to do it, Jacob dashed forward, syringe ready.

  Using the extra strength from the symbol, he predicted Het’s swing and ducked on time. But he was too preoccupied with the first to notice the second attack.

  One moment, he was on his feet. The next, he was rolling across the pine-needle-covered ground, and the world was spinning around him. His face burned from a blow he hadn’t seen.

  He cradled his cheek, glaring up at Het. Het simply laughed at him, then continued biting, ripping, and working at the bark that covered his chest.

  Jacob got to his feet slowly, trying to ignore the pain as it dissipated. He dodged another fist, then sidestepped the Lorkon’s free leg. Finally, seeing an opportunity, he closed the gap between himself and Het and stabbed the Lorkon, pushing down the plunger.

  A whole ton of liquid ran down the Lorkon’s neck. Het froze, staring at Jacob, and Jacob backed off, waiting for the change to take place. Why had so much liquid escaped? It shouldn’t have.

  Jacob looked at the syringe. There wasn’t a needle there anymore. It had broken off.

  He looked back at the Lorkon. The antidote hadn’t even entered the jerk’s body! All of it had dribbled down his skin. Jacob tossed the syringe aside. He needed more antidote, and fast.

  He had to get to the Fat Lady’s cabin. He turned, ready to run back to the door, when a soldier called to him.

  “Your Highness! Behind you!”

  Jacob spun—the Lorkon was ripping off the last bit of bark. He’d freed himself. He glared at Jacob, snarling, and Jacob didn’t need the symbol to know that Het planned to destroy him. He’d finally get his chance to eliminate what he viewed to be competition—and with his father’s blessing this time.

  “Let’s make this easy for both of us, shall we?” Het said.

  The man who’d shouted dashed forward, sword in hand. “Run!”

  Jacob didn’t hesitate. He barely even breathed before obeying. He raced away, determined to get to the Fat Lady’s cabin before Het got past the man.

  Jacob raced through the forest and reached the door much faster this time—most of the fighting had moved to other areas, and all he had to dodge were bodies and trees.

  He shoved the Key into the lock and opened the link to the Fat Lady’s cabin. “I need more antidote!” he shouted, slamming the door behind him. It clicked oddly—hollowly. Jacob looked back to make sure the door was shut—it was—and then he ran into the living area.

  “Is anyone here? I need more—”

  “We heard,” the Fat Lady said, tossing him another syringe. Her eyes widened. “Behind you!”

  Jacob turned and ducked as a knife sailed through the air. It struck the wall behind him and bounced off, skidding across the floor. A human pulled out his sword and stopped at the entrance to the living room.

  He pointed the sword at Jacob. “You should really guard both sides of the door, boy.”

  But then he gasped. His knees buckled.

  Jacob looked around—neither the Fat Lady nor Aldo had done anything.

  The man slid against the wall to the floor, blood dripping down his face.

  Het stepped up behind him, sneering at Jacob.

  He lunged, and Jacob predicted it and dodged. But again, Jacob wasn’t expecting the second attack to come so quickly. He called out as Het picked him up and flung him. He slammed against the wall, barely noticing that Aldo and the Fat Lady had jumped into a frenzy, trying to protect the rest of the antidote by covering the syringes with papers and books.

  Het ignored them. He leaped across the room in one bound, landing on top of Jacob. The wind was knocked out of Jacob’s lungs and he struggled, trying to get the huge creature off him.

  “I’ll kill you now, boy!” Het shrieked, grasping at Jacob’s throat, trying to twist his neck.

  Jacob reached up to grab Het’s hands, but he lacked the strength to break the Lorkon’s grasp. Then he remembered he had a new syringe.

  Gasping for air, Jacob fumbled, trying to get the lid off. His eyesight was failing—not enough oxygen. He wouldn’t last much longer.

  An idea entered his mind and he obeyed instantly. He forced his body to go limp and his eyes to shut.

  Het laughed, releasing Jacob’s neck. Jacob peeked through his lashes. Het had turned to look at the Fat Lady and Aldo, who were shocked, hands over their mouths.

  “Your favorite boy is—”

  Jacob plunged the syringe into the Lorkon’s neck, forcing all of the antidote into the beast. This time, none of it dribbled away.

  Het shrieked, scrambling back. He froze, staring at Jacob.

  No one said anything.

  Then he began shaking violently, scratching, clawing at his skin. His eyes rolled back into his head and he fell to the ground, convulsing. His body shrank.

  The red in his skin lightened, the scabs falling away.

  The shaking stopped. Het didn’t move,
except for his chest as he breathed. Then, trembling, he raised his hands and stared at them.

  “No, no!” He glanced over at Jacob. “I’ll kill you!”

  Het lunged forward, reaching, straining for Jacob, who backed against the wall. But suddenly, blood started gushing from several wounds on Het’s body. He looked down and swayed. “Fish . . . Eachan.”

  With a gasp, Het fell to the floor, face-first on the dirty rug.

  Chapter Twenty: A Dead Son

  Jacob scrambled away from the man, shaking blood off his hands. He was covered in the stuff.

  “Is he dead?” the Fat Lady asked.

  Bile rose in the back of Jacob’s throat. He jumped to his feet and ran into the Fat Lady’s kitchen just in time for his stomach to empty itself in the sink. So much for his big breakfast.

  No one said anything as Jacob washed up, trying to get rid of the blood stains on his red robes and black armor.

  When he returned to Het’s body, he noticed that the Fat Lady was sobbing. Aldo patted her on the back, a huge smile on his face. It was odd to see her looking so upset and him so happy, especially when their emotion colors showed the same emotions—relief and excitement.

  “What’s wrong?” Jacob asked.

  “She checked the Lorkon’s pulse. He’s dead.”

  Jacob whooped, jumping into the air, and the Fat Lady laughed.

  She put her hands on her cheeks. “The first of the Lorkon dead! Oh, hallelujah.”

  Aldo left the Fat Lady’s side and knelt near Het. “This isn’t how it went with Ara Liese, was it?”

  Jacob shook his head. “No, but I think I know what happened. Eachan and Sanso were going to put Eetu fish water on one of the Lorkon. I bet they did it to him.”

  Aldo moved Het’s hand, examining the wounds on the dead man’s chest. “Well, that was an extreme stroke of luck.” He turned to the Fat Lady. “Should we give Jacob the rest of the antidote? I’d rather not get trapped here with another Lorkon.”

  The Fat Lady sniffled. “No, we can’t give him all of it, but more would be fine.”

  Jacob tilted his head. “How much did the recipe make?”

  “Eight syringes’ worth,” she said, handing three to Jacob, “including the one we used on Ara Liese. What happened to the one you had earlier?”

  He glanced down, shoving the syringes into his pocket, not wanting to meet her eye. “The needle snapped off.” He looked up. “The dang Lorkon kicked me away right when I was about to stab him. I didn’t know the thing broke until I squirted antidote all over him.”

  Aldo chuckled. “Good thing there are extras,” he said. “Two more here, in case something happens to the three you’ve got now.”

  Jacob nodded. “I’d better get back—Akeno might need my help, and there are still three Lorkon.” He had a sudden idea about where they could be hiding and checked, Time-Seeing. He was right. He pulled back. “They’re hiding in the tree in Taga Village.” He looked down at Het. “What are we going to do with the body?”

  “Give it back to Keitus, I say.” The Fat Lady’s eyes were dry now, her arms folded.

  Jacob Keyed to a door close to the meadow, and, with the help of the other two, rolled Het out of the Fat Lady’s cabin. It took them several minutes, but they finally got him to the grass of the meadow, ignoring the next rush of soldiers from the enemy’s army. The soldiers didn’t ignore them, however, and soon, Jacob and his two friends were surrounded. No one touched them, though.

  Jacob heard several snickers as he and the others grunted, continuing to push Het farther into the meadow.

  “Keep it up, keep it up!” someone called.

  “Look at those muscles—tsk tsk.”

  “Such a woman.”

  Jacob’s cheeks flushed and he couldn’t help checking out his arms—they were fine. Definition in the right places—he really worked on them a lot. So, the soldiers must’ve been referring to Aldo. Or the Fat Lady.

  Finally, when they were closer to the tree, Jacob straightened. He turned full circle, staring at the soldiers around them, glaring. He then pointed at Het’s body. “I’ve killed a Lorkon. This is Keitus’s oldest son.”

  He, Aldo, and the Fat Lady stepped back as several of the soldiers walked forward, inspecting Het’s body.

  “It really is him,” one man said, meeting eyes with another.

  The soldiers murmured, stepping away from Jacob and his friends.

  Jacob took advantage of their hesitation. “Keitus!” he yelled toward the tree. “Come see what I’ve brought you!”

  It didn’t take long for Keitus to open the door. What were they doing in there, anyway? Researching? Going through Aloren’s clothes?

  Keitus stepped outside, hunched over in his long, black cloak. One other Lorkon—Ferron—followed him. Where was Isan?

  From this far away, Jacob shouldn’t have been able to see the Lorkon’s emotions, but because of the symbols around his eyes, he could. Keitus was curious at first, then caught sight of his son.

  Curiosity quickly turned to anger.

  He screamed, throwing back his robe, taking a step in Jacob’s direction.

  Ferron grabbed him. “Keitus—”

  But Keitus shoved him away and stormed forward, reaching the outer ring of soldiers. “What have you done?”

  Jacob stood his ground, the Fat Lady and Aldo tall on either side of him. He opened his mouth to answer, but one of the soldiers spoke first, staring at the dead body.

  “He’s not a Lorkon anymore.” The man looked up at Keitus. “You’re not immortal? You said there was no reversing your strength! That victory would be unchallenged!”

  Several of the men shifted, murmuring, eyes flicking back and forth between Keitus and the body.

  “Of course he’s not immortal,” Jacob said. “And Keitus, it was I who turned him into a human and killed him!”

  He didn’t think it important to mention that an Eetu fish had helped.

  Keitus roared and rushed forward. Jacob and his friends spun, running away. Jacob prayed the distance between them and Keitus was great enough.

  It wasn’t difficult to get through the ring of enemies—they parted easily and quickly, not wanting to be near Jacob and the others. Their discomfort and unease were clearly visible, and despite Keitus’s anger, Jacob couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face.

  He glanced back long enough to see Keitus hesitate, probably trying to decide whether to go for revenge or to convince his men to continue fighting.

  The hesitation was long enough to allow Jacob and the others to disappear into the woods. They ran as fast as they could, dodging bodies, trees, and pits in the ground. Keitus shouted in the background—he’d soon motivate the men to fight again. The fact that he could kill them with one touch probably added an incentive.

  Jacob spotted a door and veered that way, wanting to get as far away from Keitus as possible and closer to his family and friends.

  Just as he was about to create the link, Aldo put his hand out, stopping him, panting. “Do you hear that?”

  Jacob shook his head—he only heard the sound of swords and shields. He strained, concentrating. “Hear what? Where’s it coming from?”

  Aldo pointed. “Over there. I heard someone call your name.” His eyebrows went up. “Oh! There it is again.”

  Jacob heard it too. “Sounds like—”

  “It’s Gallus,” the Fat Lady said, her eyes big.

  The three of them charged in the direction of Gallus’s voice—Aldo and Jacob quickly lost the Fat Lady. Jacob prayed she’d be okay. Then Aldo lagged behind too and Jacob put on a burst of energy.

  Gallus called once more, his voice cracking, much weaker this time. “Jacob! Dmitri! Anyone!”

  Jacob rounded a huge bush and nearly stumbled into the back of the missing Lorkon—Isan.

  He spun, saw Jacob, and glared. He held Gallus by the head, and judging by his quickly fading emotion colors, Gallus wasn’t far from death.

  Ja
cob whipped out his Shiengol pole. “Drop him. Drop him now!”

  “As you wish.” Isan tossed Gallus to the side. The man landed in a crumple, and Isan faced Jacob. “You want to fight me now, do you?” Isan laughed. “I’ve already . . . dispatched . . . many of your soldiers. So,” he beckoned with a finger, “come, then.”

  Jacob didn’t need to move or swish his robes to gather energy. The symbols around his eyes did it for him, and he felt the pressure there build up as his anger and frustration increased. He molded the air into a shield.

  Isan laughed, seeming to notice the pole for the first time. “Oh, no! Scary. A little stick and a see-through shield.” He clicked his tongue. “Not very intimidating, Jacob.”

  The smile left his face. He crouched, glaring.

  Then attacked.

  Jacob barely got his pole up in time to block Isan. The Lorkon was so fast! Even with the extra power, Jacob could barely discern what Isan’s next move would be.

  Jacob swung repeatedly, slicing his pole through the air. Isan laughed, easily knocking it down.

  “Come, boy. You’ve got to do better than that!”

  He was right. But Jacob didn’t know how. For several moments, doubt and uncertainty flooded his system, nearly rendering his brain useless. He fought through it—he had to stay in control! No giving in.

  Taking a breath, watching for Isan’s next move, Jacob decided to go for the over-exuberant type of fighting that Azuriah and Dad both hated—the flailing and dancing around—hoping it would distract Isan or at least wear him out.

  He spun into a flurry of action. He almost stabbed Isan several times with the spear on his pole. Isan growled, also lashing out. His sword caught Jacob’s robes, throwing him to the side. Jacob bounced back to his feet.

  He was surprised to find that the more energy he put into the fight, the more he got out of it. How was this possible? The symbols weren’t adding to his fighting power—of this he was sure. They couldn’t give him experience or talent he didn’t already naturally have. So what was going on?

  As they continued, it slowly dawned on him. As he already knew, the symbols allowed him to discern Isan’s desires just moments before they were carried out. And because Jacob was an athlete—because he’d spent so much time on the basketball court—he was nimble. He was fast. And he could make split-second decisions that greatly impacted the outcome. The symbols gave him power, which gave him confidence, which increased his energy and speed. Cool!