by Brandon Mull
Something slick and muscular and somewhat elastic snaked around his arm and yanked him toward a gaping, razor-toothed mouth. Black liquid sprayed from the wounded tongue. As abruptly as it had seized Jason, the tongue released him, dropping him prone into the sludge on the shore with his legs still in the water.
Looking up, Jason saw Jasher carving wildly into the back of the frog with his sword. The great amphibian turned to confront the assault. A mighty sweep of Jasher’s sword cleaved its horned head. Then he buried the blade to the hilt in the frog’s throat, wrenching it free to open a gaping wound as the creature lurched spasmodically backward to lie in the mud, its powerful legs twitching.
“Rachel,” Jason panted, rising.
The little boat drifted away from the shore, rotating slowly. Rachel grabbed the oar and began sculling it back toward the shore.
Jason and Jasher hauled the skiff well away from the water. Jason submerged himself at the edge of the water to rinse the majority of the grime from his sodden clothes.
“I’ve never seen a frog with teeth before,” Rachel whispered.
“Nor I,” Jasher replied softly. “Our adventure in the swamp is half done. Inside that tree you should find the Pythoness. You may want to consider entering one at a time. Galloran once cautioned that the tree plays tricks on the mind.”
“My turn,” Jason told Rachel.
“You’re not coming?” Rachel asked Jasher.
“I will stand guard, protect the skiff. Without it we’re doomed. You are the ones collecting syllables. Go swiftly.”
“Is the Pythoness dangerous?” Jason asked.
“The question is how dangerous,” Jasher replied. “I’m not certain. But she holds the syllable, and she should help you if you can convince her of your sincerity.”
The long, narrow island widened around the tree. As Jason trudged closer to the towering tree, he observed several black mud vipers lying on the shore to his left. Rachel took his hand, her grip cutting off the circulation to his fingers. They watched the snakes carefully until they’d passed well beyond them.
At the base of the gargantuan tree Jason noticed clusters of spherical fungi, each with a small perforation in the top. Up close he marveled at the sheer girth of the trunk. He estimated it would take thirty men joining hands to encircle it. Maybe more.
They did not see an opening to the tree yet, so they began walking around to the far side. The damp ground was firmer here than anyplace else he had seen in the swamp.
Jason rubbed at his eyes. They felt itchy and drowsy all of a sudden. For a moment he paused. What was he doing? Oh, yes, looking for a way into the tree. He kept walking around and on the far side located a narrow gap tall enough for him to enter without crouching.
“You wait here,” Jason whispered to Rachel. “I’ll call if I need you.”
“If snakes or frogs show up, I’m not waiting,” she whispered back. “Be careful.”
She backed away a few steps from the yawning gap.
Jason hesitated. Anything could await inside. He took his poniard from his sodden cloak. Why was his cloak so wet? He couldn’t recall. He knew he needed to get inside the tree though. Why? For shelter? No. He needed more of the Word. He slapped his cheek and shook his head.
Cautiously he edged into the gap, continuing forward as the woody passage curved deeper into the colossal tree.
CHAPTER 19
PYTHONESS
By the time Jason emerged from the long gap into the sizable hollow inside the tree, he felt utterly baffled. A lovely young girl in her teens sat staring at him in astonishment from a wooden rocking chair. A colorful throw rug lay on the ground, and two bookshelves loaded with literature stood against one wall. Light shone from a small crystal resting on a shelf.
Jason looked up. The hollow reached high, disappearing in shadow. Why was he inside a tree? And why was he holding a knife? Hurriedly he put it away.
“Who are you, visitor?” she asked, rising, her kind voice containing an undercurrent of apprehension.
“I . . . I’m . . . not sure.”
She smiled. Her clothes were simple, but her fresh young beauty was entirely disarming. She was tall, with a slender build and a beautifully sculpted face. Her blond eyebrows arched delicately over striking eyes of the deepest green. Her skin was unblemished and fair. “You do not remember,” she said.
Jason scowled, rubbing his forehead. He had a persistent suspicion that he was somebody. The answer felt barely out of reach. He looked at his muddy boots, wondering if they held some clue. His clothes were wet. Something stank like rancid dung. Some investigative sniffing revealed it was himself. He tried to picture his own face but failed. “I really don’t.”
“No matter,” the young woman said lightly. “I am Corinne.”
“Sorry about my smell. I don’t know why I reek like this.”
“No need to apologize.”
“Where am I?”
“Inside a tree,” she said.
Jason gazed at the beauty of his hostess, trying to restrain his eyes from lingering impolitely. “Why am I here?”
“Judging by the knife you hid, you are probably seeking the Word. I recognize the emblem on the hilt.”
Jason pulled out his knife and showed it to her. “Sorry about that. I’m not sure what I was thinking. What word are you talking about?”
“A word that can destroy an evil person. You probably can’t remember.”
Jason pinched his lower lip, squinting at the ground, trying to will memories to surface. What was his problem?
“You look distressed,” she said.
Jason looked up. “It’s frustrating. I’m almost positive that I’m somebody. But I can’t remember a thing. Do I have amnesia? Should I know you?”
“We’ve never met.” Corinne took his hand and led him to sit in a second rocking chair beside hers. “Are you hungry?” she asked.
Jason thought about this. “Yes.”
She walked to a section of the wall covered with crumbly white cheese, broke off a handful, set it on a wooden plate, and handed the food to Jason. Then she went to a wooden spigot protruding from a different portion of the wall and turned it to fill a crude wooden cup. She brought the cup to Jason. It held dark brown syrup.
Jason found that the cheese had a powerful taste, sharp and persistent. The sap tasted semisweet and very rich.
“Thank you,” Jason said.
“My pleasure,” Corinne replied. “I rarely entertain company.”
“But you’re so pretty,” he said, surprising himself with his candor. He fleetingly wondered if he had brain damage.
She averted her eyes. “Do you think so?”
“Definitely.”
“Thank you.” Some color came into her cheeks. “Let me fetch you a drink.”
She dipped another wooden cup into a deep basin set against the wall and brought it back full of water. Jason drained it. He looked around. Clusters of spherical fungi clung to the walls of the tree, each with a tiny hole in the top. They grew thicker higher up, out of reach, ranging in size from golf balls to softballs. He also observed a big ironbound chest in one corner of the room.
“I need to conduct a test,” Corinne told him. “It should help you remember why you came here. Would you mind if I slip this over your head?” She produced a handful of black, gauzy material.
“It won’t hurt me?” Jason checked.
“No,” she said. “It might help you remember.”
“Sure, I guess.”
She pulled the fine black mesh over his head. The material fit snugly and made him work harder to breathe. He could see almost nothing. His thoughts returned to his mysterious identity. And suddenly he remembered. “I’m Jason!” he exclaimed.
“Why have you come here?” a female voice asked from behind him. He felt a knife at his throat. “Don’t move; just answer.”
Jason felt bewildered. Why was he in a chair? What was over his head? His last memory was entering the tree. O
ne instant he had been stepping through the entrance, the next he was sitting in a chair with his head covered and a knife at his throat. “I’m looking for information about the Word that can destroy Maldor.” He hoped this was what the knife wielder wanted to hear.
“Who sent you?”
“Galloran,” he replied.
“Why didn’t Galloran come himself?” the voice asked.
“He’s blind,” Jason said. He heard a quick gasp. “He failed in his quest and passed the mission along to me.”
“Fair enough,” the voice said, tugging the mesh hood off his head.
Jason looked up, blinking, perplexed, at a beautiful young woman. Suddenly he recognized her. Of course, it was Corinne. “Why’d you take it off so quickly?” he asked.
“I’m satisfied that you deserve to be here,” Corinne responded.
Jason thought about that. The hood had only covered his head for an instant. No words had been exchanged. He still had no recollection of who he was, or why he had come here. “Have you lived here long?” Jason asked.
“All of my life.”
“You were born here?”
She shrugged. “My early childhood is blurred. I grew up here.” She sat down in the other rocker.
“Is this a village of trees?” Jason wondered.
“No. This tree is encompassed by a deadly swamp. But we’re safe in here.”
“Why?”
“Do you see the puffballs growing on the walls?”
“Sure.”
“They create an atmosphere that keeps all creatures away. Except people. The atmosphere here blocks the memory of any who enter, while unveiling another portion of the mind.”
“So when I leave I’ll recall who I am,” Jason said, relieved and intrigued.
“And forget all that happened here. Were I to leave, I would lose my identity as you lost yours upon entering.” She sounded sad.
“Are you a prisoner here?”
“In a sense. If I leave, I surrender most of my memories of my mother and her mission. I would hardly know myself. I must stay to preserve what I know of the Word. It is the only way to stop a very evil man.”
“Do many people come seeking your information?” Jason asked.
“One man visited a few times when I was younger. Galloran. You know him, but you can’t remember. His mark is on your knife.”
“Where is your mother?”
“She died some time ago. It happened very suddenly.”
Jason glanced around, not seeing any remains. He decided not to ask. “Tell me about this Word.”
“I know only the sixth syllable, ‘puse.’ But I preserve another important piece of information. Galloran told Mother that the second syllable is the hardest to find. So, against the possibility that he would fail, he cheated to aid future seekers of the Word. The second syllable is tattooed just inside the shoulder blade of a man called Kimp. The letters are tiny, stacked one atop the other. Apparently, his body bears many tattoos.”
Jason stared at Corinne. “All you know is one syllable of some word and information about another syllable?”
“It’s a magic word,” she said defensively. “You will remember its importance when you leave. Trust me. I am certain you came here seeking this information, though it clearly seems absurd to you at present.”
Jason could see she was upset. This Word and her mission to preserve the sixth syllable obviously meant a lot to her. “I’m sure you’re right. Wait, once I leave, I’ll forget what you told me.”
She nodded.
“Then maybe you should write it down.”
“I’m not supposed to write any of this. Nor are you. It constitutes a heinous crime.”
Jason furrowed his brow. “But you said Galloran wrote a syllable.”
“And took a great risk. What he has done cannot be undone. If his action became known, all would be lost.”
“I’m sorry, this just doesn’t make any sense right now. What should I do?”
“Take a couple of puffballs with you. Their excretions will permit you to recollect our conversation. If all else fails, I’m sure you’ll return shortly. We’ll figure out a way to make this work. You’re the first visitor I’ve welcomed on my own. My mother was called the Pythoness, but that will mean nothing to you at present.”
“Okay,” Jason said, struggling to grasp the situation. “If I get outside and can’t figure out what to do, I’ll be back.”
Corinne plucked a pair of puffballs from a corner of the hollow. “Safe journey,” she said, handing them to Jason. He liked it when their hands touched.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” he asked hopefully.
Sudden tears shimmered on the surface of her green eyes. “I must remain.”
Jason felt sorry for her. “Good-bye, Corinne.”
On his way out through the gap he sensed his mind becoming muddled. He shook his head sharply. Surely he would not forget Corinne. He could overpower the mind-numbing effects of a bunch of mushrooms. He focused intently. Corinne. Puse. Second syllable tattooed on Kimp. Corinne. Puse. Second syllable tattooed on Kimp. He was almost through the gap. Corinne. Who was Corinne? Did he know her from school? Oh yes, he went to Kennedy! What a breakthrough! His name was Jason Walker!
He was outside the tree now. He was supposed to remember something, wasn’t he? Yes, he had been swallowed by a hippo and was now in a swamp with an amazing swordsman named Jasher. Everything returned in a rush. Why did he have these puffball mushrooms in his hands? His last memory was sitting hooded in a chair while a woman asked questions.
“How did it go?” Rachel asked.
“I have no idea,” Jason replied. “How long was I in there?”
“Pretty long,” Rachel said. “Like half an hour.”
He turned around, studying the gap in the tree. He could remember going inside. Then his memory skipped to sitting in a chair. The swamp was darker now. Had he fainted? Had he met the Pythoness? He had a foggy memory of a beautiful woman. He could not tell whether the beautiful face had been real or dreamed. Had the Pythoness cast a spell on him? His mind felt unclear.
“What’s with the mushrooms?” Rachel asked.
“I don’t know,” Jason said. “Are they a clue?”
“You have two,” Rachel noted. “Are we supposed to eat them?”
“I’m not sure,” Jason replied, sniffing one of the mushrooms. He felt unsteady. Strange, he didn’t recall actually exiting the tree, but now he stood outside, facing a strange girl. She was shorter than Corinne, and not bad-looking. What were these pretty girls doing in a swamp? “Who are you?”
“Are you kidding?” Rachel asked.
“I remember talking to Corinne inside the tree,” Jason said, sniffing the mushrooms again. He squeezed one gently, and dusty spores the color of brown mustard smoked out of the hole in a little cloud. “These mushrooms let me remember her, but they block out everything else. Apparently we’re searching for a word?”
“Yes,” Rachel said eagerly.
“The sixth syllable is ‘puse.’ Does that make sense?”
“Absolutely. Anything else?”
He explained about the second syllable being tattooed on Kimp’s back.
“Do you know where we can find this man?” Rachel asked.
“Corinne didn’t explain,” he said. “Should I ask her?”
“In a minute,” Rachel said. “Tell me more about how these mushrooms work.”
Jason explained the ability of the mushrooms to suppress memories and keep swamp animals away from the tree.
“Useful information,” Rachel said. “Think Corinne would let us sleep in her tree tonight? It would be much safer than out in the swamp. This place is horrible at night.”
“Can’t hurt to ask,” Jason said. “She seemed nice. Can you tell me what we’re doing while I’m using the mushrooms? That way I’ll be able to better explain our situation to Corinne.”
Rachel rehearsed all sorts of information
to Jason. He came from a state called Colorado in another world. He was on a quest with Rachel and Jasher. She related details about other syllables of the Word, warning him not to pronounce any of the syllables together. She went on and on. Nothing felt familiar, but the story was amazing.
“We should go talk to Jasher,” Rachel suggested after concluding the recap.
“Okay,” Jason replied, looking around. “Where is he?”
“On the other side of the tree. Watch out for snakes.”
They hurried around the tree.
“Jasher, come quick,” Rachel called in a hushed voice.
Jasher approached from the far side of the island, taking long strides, sword in hand. Behind him lay the corpses of three gigantic frogs in inky pools of blood.
Without repeating the sixth syllable, Rachel hastily explained what Jason had learned inside of the tree. She relayed their intention to remain inside the tree overnight.
“I know of the man you mentioned, Kimp,” Jasher said. “You say the animals of the swamp will not approach the mushrooms?”
“That’s what Corinne told me,” Jason explained. “She would know.”
“We should place some of those mushrooms in the skiff,” Jasher said. “Hopefully they will protect it overnight and provide us with a safer journey out of the swamp.”
“Great idea,” Rachel agreed.
They gathered several of the puffballs from the outside of the tree and stashed them in the skiff. Then Jason set his mushrooms in the skiff as well. Away from the mushrooms he swooned, dropping to one knee. Since he’d forgotten Corinne again, Rachel and Jasher explained the plan to him. In the end Rachel leaned close and whispered the sixth syllable.
With daylight waning, they gathered before the gap in the mighty trunk. Jason led the way in. Soon his only memories were his recent conversation with Jasher and Rachel and his discussion with Corinne.
Corinne rose as they entered. “Back so soon? You brought friends!”