by Brandon Mull
“This is Jasher and Rachel,” Jason explained. “I’m Lord Jason of Caberton. At least that’s what they told me outside. We were wondering if we could stay the night in here, since it’s getting dark out and the swamp is very dangerous at night.”
Jasher stood staring back and forth between Corinne and Jason, blinking and rubbing his temples, eyes dazed. “You say my name is Jasher?” he asked Jason in a bewildered voice. “That doesn’t feel right.”
Rachel folded her arms, a line appearing between her eyebrows. “Rachel. Rachel. Doesn’t ring a bell. What’s the matter with me? What stinks?”
“We stink,” Jason said.
“You are welcome to stay the night,” Corinne said, after which she patiently explained to Jasher and Rachel why they could remember nothing. While she explained, she gathered cheese from the wall and two cups of sap. Jason declined more food but accepted a cup of water. Corinne knelt on the floor beside the two rockers and nibbled on some cheese.
“Since we have no memories, tell us about yourself,” Jasher suggested. He seemed relaxed and happy.
Corinne looked shyly into her lap. “There is little to tell. I have lived in this tree for most of my life. The only people I have ever seen besides my mother are Galloran and the three of you. Since my mother died, I have lived here alone, protecting the syllable she believed was so important. I love to read. You don’t have any books, do you? I have read all of mine so many times.”
Jason and Jasher patted at their clothes and then shook their heads. Rachel checked her satchel. No books.
“What was your mother like?” Jason asked.
Corinne cocked her head slightly and stared blankly, as if gazing at her mother in her imagination. “She was always kind to me, and very patient. I grew taller than her before she passed away. In her youth she enjoyed much luxury, growing up in a noble house. She possessed a gift for perceiving future events, and some people despised her for it. They called her Pythoness because they believed she communed with unclean spirits. But her gift did not work that way.
“Mother was not old when she came here, entrusted with a portion of the Word that can unmake Maldor. Because of the puffballs the memories of her past came from her journal. Sometimes we would have discussions or do lessons outside the tree, but naturally, I can’t remember any of that. She took the responsibility to guard the Word very seriously. She told me that before I was born, more people came here. But Galloran was her favorite. She cared for Galloran very much. She expected him to return for us someday, with news that Maldor had fallen. I’ve kept hoping for the same thing. Mother said she saw him leading me away through the swamp in a vision, and her visions were usually accurate. If he is now blind, that may never happen. The future is never certain.”
“You poor girl,” Rachel said.
Corinne gave a faint, sad smile. “The worst part was losing Mother. One day she fell to the floor, clutching her breast, gasping for breath. She reached for me and tried to speak, but I could not understand her. I never knew what she was trying to tell me. She was old when I was born. Quite old when she died. I did not know how to save her, so she perished in my arms.”
Corinne spoke these final words as if in a trance. Now she stopped, regarding her visitors with her green-eyed stare.
“Would you like to get some sleep?” she asked.
“You read my mind,” Rachel said. “I’m exhausted.” She stood up, slapping Jason on the shoulder. “We must have had a long day.”
Corinne led Jason and Jasher to a thin mattress big enough for two. “Sleep here. Rachel, you can sleep on the rug using your blanket roll. I sleep just fine in the rocking chair.”
Lying down on the soft mattress, Jason suspected he had not slept well lately. He fell asleep quickly.
A gentle hand was shaking Jason’s shoulder. He opened his eyes to look up into a lovely face framed by long thick hair the color of honey.
“It’s daybreak,” Corinne whispered.
Jason elbowed Jasher, who sat up with a start. “Time to go,” Jason said.
They arose from the mattress and ate some cheese. Rachel bundled up her blankets. Jasher wore a water skin, which Corinne insisted upon filling with fresh water.
“Would you like to join us?” Jasher asked as they prepared to leave.
“I must remain to protect the Word,” Corinne replied. “If you succeed in stopping Maldor, perhaps you could send someone to notify me.”
“We will,” Rachel promised. “Thanks for your hospitality.”
“Sorry we can’t remember ourselves,” Jason said. “I hope we would be more interesting with our personalities intact.”
“I had a fine time with all of you,” Corinne assured them. “You cannot imagine how lonely I get. Safe journey.”
Jasher led the way out. By the time they had exited the tree, they were staring at one another in befuddlement.
“Did we go in?” Jasher asked.
“I think so,” Jason said.
“This could be early morning or late evening,” Rachel observed.
“The light is in the east,” Jasher said. “I feel rested, and my throat feels better.”
“So it’s morning,” Jason said.
“Do you remember anything?” Rachel asked.
Jasher squinted. “Not a thing. Do you feel dizzy?”
“A little woozy,” Jason agreed. “Let’s get back to the boat.”
They walked around the tree and along the narrow length of the island toward the far tip where the boat lay. Jasher stopped short, raising a hand to halt the other two. A large, amorphous shape shifted ahead in the dimness.
They stood motionless, breathing softly, Jasher’s hand on the hilt of his sword, Jason reaching for his knife. Up ahead something else moved. “Frogs,” Jasher whispered. “A small army.”
They held still, letting their eyes adjust. Soon Jason could make out at least a dozen gigantic frogs surrounding the skiff. Their skin blended with the mud. A few were bigger than any they had yet encountered: huge muddy boulders, almost elephantine in size. “They know we need the boat,” Jasher murmured in disbelief.
“At least they didn’t think to sink it,” Rachel whispered.
“Don’t give them any ideas,” Jason worried.
“The puffballs probably saved the skiff,” Jasher guessed. “Although the frogs surround it, none are too close. Looks like the frogs I slew yesterday are gone.”
“Cannibals,” Jason muttered. “What now?”
Jasher motioned for them to lean in closer. “All else failing, we retreat to the tree. I have one more orantium globe. A good blast should destroy a frog or two and might disperse the others. There is no chance we will overpower them by the might of our blades alone.”
“Especially since mine is hardly big enough to lance their warts,” Jason said.
“I’ll want a little more light before we move,” Jasher said.
They stood in silence. The frogs made no noise and no aggressive movements. Occasionally one or two would shift position. The nearest stared at them unblinkingly. The light increased. Jasher got out his orantium globe.
“Wait,” Rachel whispered. “Why don’t we try throwing mushrooms? If the puffballs kept them out of the boat, they might drive them away.”
Jasher grinned. “At least one of us is thinking. Back to the tree. No sudden movements.”
Slowly and quietly they returned to the tree and collected several puffballs each, taking care not to squeeze them. Once within throwing distance of the congregation of immense frogs, they began lobbing puffballs into their midst. The mushrooms soared in high trajectories before landing in faint bursts of yellow-brown dust.
As the first three landed, the frogs sprang for the water, colliding with one another in their panicked haste. Only six puffballs were thrown before Jason and his companions stopped to watch the last of the monstrous amphibians scrambling and splashing into the murky water.
Still bearing several puffballs each, Jason, Rachel, and Jasher rac
ed to the skiff. Near the small craft Jason felt hazy. He remembered Corinne, and he realized that the puffballs had masked his memories again. Jasher and Rachel appeared confused.
“Move the mushrooms to the front of the boat,” Jason advised. “It doesn’t really matter whether Rachel and I have our memories. Jasher, try covering your nose and mouth.”
They moved the mushrooms. Jasher took a sash from his robes and wound it around the bottom half of his face.
“I’m back,” Jasher said. “I take it the mushrooms were flummoxing us.”
“We’ll keep them at the front of the boat,” Jason said.
The three of them shoved the skiff into the water. After Rachel and Jason climbed to the front, Jasher launched them.
“Keep watch,” Jasher said, his voice muffled by his sash. “I intend to make use of these mushrooms. We’re going to sacrifice stealth for speed. I want out of this swamp before nightfall.”
“We’ll keep watch,” Rachel assured him.
“Anything specific we’re looking for?” Jason asked.
Jasher told them about the slime. “I forget that you two don’t have your memories.”
“Not many, at least,” Jason replied. “Which reminds me: Corinne asked us to let her know if we succeed and destroy Maldor, but without the mushrooms we might not remember.”
Jasher held up a finger. “If you overthrow the emperor, I promise to personally inform all of the custodians of the Word.”
“We’re not going to overthrow anyone if we don’t get moving,” Rachel said, staring around uneasily.
Jasher began sculling aggressively, the long oar sloshing loudly in the water, throwing big ripples across the otherwise calm surface. Jason sat attentively in the bow, occasionally giving a puffballs a gentle squeeze, hoping to keep creepy animals away.
The day was hot and humid. Jason enjoyed the strange and exotic sights of the swamp. He wondered whether he had appreciated the scenery as much on the way in. He doubted it. After all, this time the sights were among his first memories. The animals he glimpsed stayed a good distance from the skiff. Only the floating masses of slime seemed indifferent to the cargo of puffballs.
* * *
The light was dimming when they finally saw the muddy bank marking the end of the swamp and the beginning of the marshlands. Jason noticed an unusual, fat frog sitting on a log.
“Look,” he told Jasher, pointing. “That one has a third eye.”
Jasher instantly fell flat. “Get down. A human eye?”
Jason and Rachel huddled low in the vessel. “Maybe. It’s on the chest.”
“Blast!” Jasher jerked a small knife from his boot. In one motion he rose to his knees and flung the little weapon.
Jason peeked over the gunwale and saw the knife pierce the frog just above the foreign eye, sending the amphibian backward off the log. Grimacing, Jasher speedily guided the skiff to the bank. “Somewhere, a displacer has learned where we are and that I travel with you. Someone must have stumbled across our trail. There must be quite a manhunt underway. We should move swiftly.”
He and Jason dragged the boat out of the water and overturned it. In the waning light they hurriedly concealed the vessel. Jason noticed that Jasher’s hands were raw and covered with dried blood and the flattened remains of burst blisters.
Night fell as they marched away from the edge of the swamp. Unseen clouds blotted out many of the stars. Well after dark they found a fairly dry spot to bed down. Rachel had kept many of the puffballs from the boat, and she arranged them around their little campsite. The presence of the mushrooms let Jason rest easier.
The next morning, before any evidence of sunrise had colored the sky, Jasher awakened Jason and Rachel. They set off immediately, munching on the last of the gutplug while they walked.
“We must clarify our next move,” Jasher said.
“Okay,” Jason agreed. “Who is this guy Kimp?”
Jasher smiled. “That was the best news we took from the swamp. Finding the Temple of Mianamon would have been a daunting journey. Now locating the second syllable will be simpler, though perhaps equally perilous.”
“At least it’s still perilous,” Jason said with mock relief.
Rachel elbowed him. “This is serious.”
“Kimp serves Maldor,” Jasher said. “Not long before Galloran was taken, he captured Kimp. That must be when he placed the tattoo. You must understand, Kimp collects tattoos. Most all the surface of his body is marked in green and black ink. Assuming the mark left by Galloran remains, all you must do is read it off his shoulder blade.”
“Do you know where this guy is?” Rachel asked.
“That is the best part. I do. I spend a lot of my time monitoring Maldor and his chief henchmen, searching for opportunities to strike. Kimp currently dwells in Harthenham Castle, where the Eternal Feast is held.”
“I have an invitation to the Eternal Feast,” Jason reminded everyone.
“It has been on my mind,” Jasher said.
“Will they still accept it?” Jason wondered.
“Have you formally rejected the invitation?” Jasher asked.
“No.”
“This is your first invitation?”
“Yes.”
“There was no expiration listed?”
“No.”
“Then it remains in force.”
“Did it go in the water with you?” Rachel wondered.
“No,” Jason said. “I had it in my bag in the skiff. It should be fine.”
“Where is the castle?” Rachel asked as they pushed through a stand of thick reeds.
“Several days east of here,” Jasher said. “Assuming our horses remain where we left them. On foot the journey could take weeks. We’ll have to approach our mounts carefully. If our pursuers found them, it would be an ideal location for an ambush.”
“What can you tell me about the Eternal Feast?” Jason asked.
“Maldor invites his most dangerous adversaries to the Eternal Feast at Harthenham Castle. Duke Conrad presides over the festivities. None who have answered the invitation have ever returned.”
“Is it a trick?” Jason asked. “Are they killed?”
“Supposedly not. At first guests typically send correspondence explaining that they intend to prolong their stay. Inevitably word comes that they have chosen to remain indefinitely.”
“Must be good food,” Jason said.
“I’m sure they don’t make leaving easy,” Jasher said. “Getting in should require little effort. Getting away will be the challenge.”
“Have you been invited?” Rachel asked Jasher.
“Three times.”
“But you never went.”
“I never considered accepting. Nor did Galloran. But now Jason must. Traveling to Mianamon would take months, and it would lead us into the most dangerous and unexplored terrain on the continent.”
“Could you and Rachel come with me?” Jason asked.
“I would if I could,” Jasher said. “My opportunity to accept has passed. The third invitation issued an ultimatum. It was dated, and I let the date lapse. I am the only man I know of against whom Maldor has issued a standing death warrant. He no longer cares to beguile me. I am to be killed at any opportunity. If I joined you, I would be slain on sight.”
“What about your seed?” Rachel asked.
“If he could destroy my amar in secret, Maldor would not hesitate. Otherwise I suppose it would be locked away where it could never be planted.”
Jason rubbed his chin. “So we need to separate,” he said reluctantly.
“What about me?” Rachel asked. “Why can’t I get invited?”
“That could happen,” Jasher said. “It would take time. Jason’s high-profile maneuvers in Trensicourt brought the invitation more swiftly than usual.”
“I know five syllables of the Word,” Rachel said.
“Maldor can’t imagine you know more than four,” Jasher replied. “The clue in the lorevault is somet
hing Galloran did on the sly, since the fourth syllable required a voyage to a distant island. The syllables you get in secret, like the one at Harthenham, give you a huge advantage. If Maldor thinks you only have four syllables, he may feel sufficient confidence to enter your presence, giving you the chance we’ve been waiting for.”
“It all depends on getting this last syllable from Kimp,” Jason said.
“We need to act quickly,” Jasher said. “This opportunity could dissolve.”
“I get it,” Rachel said. “There isn’t time to build my reputation enough to get me invited.”
“Hopefully, our separation will be brief,” Jasher said. “Rachel will remain with me. We’ll await you, Jason, outside of the castle. We’ll be there to help, horses ready, when you make your escape. You must keep foremost in your mind the understanding that you are not there for the feast. Forgo all pleasures and diversions. Accept as little hospitality from your hosts as you can. Beware gifts from Maldor. He gives gifts to people much as fishermen offer worms to trout.”
* * *
Five days later, from the cover of a wooded hillside, Jasher, Jason, and Rachel watched a rider clad in scarlet galloping in the distance, his bright cloak flapping like a flag. With Jasher as their guide they had recovered their horses and made their way across the wilderness without incident.
“The Scarlet Riders are Maldor’s couriers,” Jasher explained. “This is one of their regular routes. They carry no arms, and therefore we in the resistance do not harm them.”
“I just flag him down?” Jason asked.
Jasher nodded. “It would be the quickest way to redeem your invitation and access Harthenham Castle. Rachel and I will never stray far from you. But if they ask about me or Rachel, we parted ways three days ago. I’ll keep us hidden.”
Jason nodded. It was now or never. He nudged his mount with his heels and flicked the reins. The responsive steed charged down the hillside. Within moments Jason rode out of the trees and waved his arms at the distant rider. The rider reined in his horse and watched as Jason approached. At length the rider spurred his mount toward Jason.
A few minutes later the rider pulled up beside him. The chestnut horse was the biggest Jason had ever seen, making his own large steed appear average.