Racing With Dragons: The Mapmaker's Sons, Book 1

by V. L. Burgess

  Chapter Seventeen

  PROPHECY

  Tom woke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest. His hand had rested on top of the curled map as he slept. Suddenly aware of a sharp, stinging sensation, he pulled his hand back to find a large splinter lodged in the center of his palm. He pulled the splinter free, half-convinced the map was trying to tell him something. Something about wood. Unfortunately the meaning remained just outside his reach.

  He nudged Porter, who slept on the ground beside him. “Hey.”

  “Hmpfh?” Porter grumbled.

  “Umbrey. Do you think he’s okay?”

  Porter rubbed his eyes. “What? Umbrey? Why?”

  “I don’t know. I think something’s wrong with Umbrey.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. But the map, I think it’s trying to send me a warning about wood. Like something bad’s happening that’s connected to wood. Like maybe Umbrey’s wooden leg—”

  “Idiot. We’re in the middle of the most dangerous forest in the world. Of course the map would warn you about wood. Believe me, Umbrey can take care of himself.” With that he rolled over, presenting his back to Tom. “Go back to sleep.”

  Sleep? Not likely. Tom sighed and stared up into the sky. The stars had faded. He had no idea what time it was, but the faint pink quality of the light suggested daybreak. The air stank. Great clouds of fog rose from the swamp and drifted across the open ground like ghostly tumbleweeds.

  His gaze fell on Willa. She sat by the small fire they’d built last night, absently poking it with a stick. Something about her stance told him she’d been awake for a while. Tom rolled to his feet and moved quietly to the fire, taking a seat across from her.

  Their eyes met. She had twisted her hair into a loose braid; pale violet circles showed beneath her eyes. “Get any rest?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Not after the drumming started.”

  Late last night—or perhaps at some early hour that morning—the four of them had awakened to the sound of drumming coming from deep within the forest. The drumming had gone on for hours, as strong and steady as a heartbeat. Or the pulse of some great, sleeping giant.

  “Me neither,” he said. “Not much.” He shifted and Professor Lost’s journal pressed against his ribs. It had been poking him all night—a large part of the reason he hadn’t been able to get comfortable. He removed it and tossed it on the ground.

  “What is that?”

  “Homework.” At her puzzled look, he continued, “A means of torturing children where I come from.” She opened her mouth as though to ask, but he waved the question away. “Never mind.”

  She shrugged and reached for her pack. “Hungry?”

  Tom nodded and she cut two thick slices from a loaf of dark bread. Using these as plates, she topped each slice with bits of gamey-tasting roasted fowl, a handful of gooey figs, and flaky wedges of dry, brick-like cheese. They washed it down with a bottle of sweet red liquid, the juice of a fruit he didn’t know, but whose sharp tang reminded him of pomegranate. It was the same meal they’d had last night, but Tom wasn’t complaining. It tasted good.

  “I’m glad you hung on to the food,” he said after a minute. “If I’d been carrying it, I probably would have chucked it at the dogs for them to fight over.”

  “That would have been clever. I was too terrified to think of anything but getting away.”

  “You thought of the pepper powder.”

  She frowned. “It’s worthless unless you’re at close range,” she said. She withdrew a small pouch of the stuff and tossed it to Tom.

  “I thought you said you didn’t have any more.”

  She tilted her head toward a low bush at the edge of their camp. Waxy pods the color of fire bloomed within the plant. “I ran out, so I crushed some more.”

  “Good idea. Thanks.” He tucked it in his pocket.

  “I made these, too. Just in case.”

  She lifted two sets of what Tom recognized as bolas. A projectile weapon made of rope, with sturdy rocks weighting the ends. She passed one set to him

  He nodded and asked, “How long have you been awake?”

  “A while. Making those gave me something to do. Hopefully we won’t need them.” She shrugged and gave the fire an impatient poke. “About before—I shouldn’t have frozen on the cliff like that. It was stupid.”

  “Heights bother a lot of people.”

  “It wasn’t just that. It was the dogs. I was shaking so badly I was certain I’d fall. The dogs were right there, right below me. I could smell them. I thought—” she broke off abruptly. Her body seemed to be humming with an energy she couldn’t contain, her words trapped inside her.

  “Everyone was scared,” Tom said.

  She looked at him, then looked away. Her eyes locked on the fire’s twisting blue flames. “When I was young, very young, a group of hunters came to our door late at night. The harvest had been good, but most of it had been taken by The Watch. People were hungry. Desperate. The hunters decided to try their luck looking for game in the swamp. For a day or two, they were safe. But then the dogs found them. These were large men, skilled with their weapons. Together they were able to fight the dogs off. But not all of them escaped. The dogs dragged one man away. . . .

  She paused to draw in a breath. “My father had inherited my grandfather’s skills. He was known for his healing remedies. But it was far too late to do anything for the hunter. The dogs had ripped his clothing apart, torn open his flesh. The man’s moans… It took him hours to die. It would have been more merciful had one of his friends slit his throat when they found him.”

  Tom looked at her, stunned. “You saw what the dogs would do if they caught you, but you agreed to take us into the swamp?”

  “I’d never ventured that far into the swamp before yesterday. Never actually seen the dogs.”

  “Still. You’re brave. Braver than I would have been.”

  A rueful smile touched her lips. “No. I just pretend I am.”

  “Maybe pretending is enough. It got us through the swamp.”

  She turned away, rubbing her hands over her arms as though warding off a chill. “The swamp was once part of the royal forest. It’s said that Tyran bred the beasts to guard against poachers.”

  “Where I come from, those are definitely not dogs.”

  Willa cocked her head slightly, studying him intently. “Where do you come from?”

  “I’ve been wondering that myself,” Tom admitted. “Obviously I didn’t grow up here in The Beyond, or in any of the Five Kingdoms. I mean, I know where I grew up, but I don’t know how it’s connected to where I am now.”

  “My father called it the Other Side,” Porter answered from behind him.

  Tom turned to see his brother and Smudge coming to join them. Our father, Tom silently corrected, watching as Porter helped himself to a generous serving of food, assembling the bread plate the same way Willa had. He passed it to Smudge, then made one for himself. Though Porter looked alert and ready to go, Smudge was almost comically unkempt. His clothing was rumpled, his eyes half-shut, his hair standing on end. He accepted the food with a yawn and plopped down to eat.

  “You won’t find the Other Side on any map,” Porter said. “my father rarely spoke of it. He certainly wouldn’t have drawn it on a map that might be found. In some ways he protected its location even more than he protected the location of Hyster.”

  Willa looked at him. “What exactly is the Other Side?” she asked.

  “According to my father,” Porter replied, "the Other Side is a land created by exiles. People fled there during the Dark Days. They sealed the passage after them so no one, good or bad, could get through. They were done with dragons, battles, magic. They wanted to shut the past out completely. Build a new world. It was supposed to be . . . safe.”

  “What was it like to live there?” Smudge asked, studying Tom with rapt fascination.

  Tom hesitated, comparing what he'd seen of their
world to his own. He struggled to put his impression into words. Some things were obviously different. No cars, planes, cable TV, cell phones, internet. Lacking magic, he'd grown up in a world that relied heavily on science and technology. But that wasn't the only difference. He thought of Professor Lost and his structure and order. The rigidity of his rules.

  Granted, he’d been safe there—temporarily, at least. But he hadn’t felt anywhere near as alive. Everything felt more intense here. Everything looked more intense here. Even the way things smelled and tasted was different. Stronger. As if all of his senses were cranked up a notch.

  Yes, there was cruelty here. But wild beauty as well. Adventure and excitement. As though the world in which he’d lived was just a watered-down version of what life really was. According to Porter, he’d grown up in a land populated by exiles, a place where physical safety trumped everything else. A world where ancient maps and legends were nothing but myths. A world where magic didn’t exist.

  Certainly not the world Tom would have chosen, had he been given a choice. He remembered climbing the rooftops and scanning the sky, wondering if there wasn’t more to life out there somewhere.

  Realizing they were waiting for an answer, he told them about his friends back home, about school, about snowboarding. He was in the middle of describing his favorite video game when something struck him.

  He looked at Porter. “You said the passage was supposed to be sealed, but people found a way to get between worlds. How does that work?”

  Porter shook his head. “Father never told me. Only he and a few others, men he trusted completely, knew how to move from our world to yours.”

  “Yet The Watch found a way through,” Tom mused. “Somebody must have shown them where the passage is, how it works.” He looked at his brother. “Who else knew about it besides our father?”

  “I’m not sure. Umbrey, naturally. He and father were always close. And the scribe who discovered the prophecy, of course.”

  “Why ‘of course’?”

  “He’s the one father entrusted to raise you on the Other Side. Very intelligent man, apparently. Someone with a strong moral compass, as well. Which was the highest compliment father could give a person.” Porter hesitated, thinking. “He had an odd name. Martin Looking . . . Mordred Loose . . .”

  “Lost?” Tom supplied, reeling in shock. “Mortimer Lost?”

  “Yes. That’s the man. Lost.”

  Tom shook his head, as though hoping the action would shake his jumbled thoughts in order. Mortimer Lost was the scribe who’d found the prophecy? He’d lived in both worlds, watched Tom grow up, and he’d never told him anything?

  And what was worse, he was the man his parents had entrusted to raise him? Mortimer Lost? A man who was as much fun as an algebra quiz. As sucking on lemons. As being scratched by a cat. Wasn’t there anyone else who—

  His thoughts were arrested by the sight of the small leather journal which lay beside him. So it wasn’t homework, after all. He said, “Lost’s journal.”

  Porter, Willa, and Smudge leaned forward, instantly curious. Porter snatched it up and began flipping through the pages. “The prophecy is in here somewhere, right?”

  “I guess so.” Tom regarded him in surprise. “I thought you already knew it.”

  “I do, but I want to hear it exactly the way the scribe wrote it. A word might have been added or lost in the telling, changing the meaning.” Porter flicked through the pages, then stopped. “Here it is,” he said, and began reading aloud,

  “Before the full moon marks their thirteenth year

  Sons light and dark shall again appear

  A map shall guide them without fail

  Through battle, blood, and betrayal.

  Gregor’s lost knights will be found

  When shimmering water replaces ground.

  As Hyster’s fury is awakened

  Tryan’s bitter rule will be shaken.

  Once Varrick’s sword unites the stones

  Salamaine’s true heir will claim the throne.”

  Willa looked at Porter. “Is anything different from what you’d heard?”

  He gave a brief shake of his head. “No.”

  “Me, neither.”

  “Wait a minute,” Tom said, looking from Porter to Willa. “Wait a minute. That’s the prophecy?”

  “Of course,” Porter said. “Why?”

  “Because it’s wrong. Keegan already has the sword. And the stones. Salamaine’s true heir hasn’t exactly shown up yet, has he?”

  “That’s not possible,” Porter snapped. “I would have heard it by now if that were true.”

  “He has it,” Tom insisted. “Umbrey said so. In fact, that was what convinced Lost to send me back to this world.”

  “Maybe he was lying,” Smudge offered.

  Tom shook him off. Unlikely. He thought back to Professor Lost’s office. How Lost—Lost, who was as prone to hysterics as a dead fish—had nearly collapsed when he’d heard the news. Though Tom hadn’t understood the meaning at the time, it had felt real. Then a dark thought occurred to him. He looked at Porter. “Wait a minute. You really didn’t know that?”

  “Of course not,” Porter said. “Keegan wouldn’t exactly shout it out, would he? Not until he had Hyster under his control.”

  “Then how did Umbrey find out? If it’s not public knowledge, then how would Umbrey know Keegan has the sword?”

  Silence settled over the group as they contemplated that. Though none of them said it aloud, Tom sensed their thoughts were all traveling back to the same passage in the prophecy: Through battle, blood, and betrayal.

  Finally Smudge ventured, “Maybe your Umbrey is closer to Keegan than you thought.”

  “Ridiculous,” Porter said. “I’d trust Umbrey with my life.”

  “And ours as well?” asked Willa.

  Porter stood and paced a bit before turning back to face the others. “Look, maybe Keegan does have the sword. I’m sure Umbrey must have had his reasons for not telling me. Maybe he just didn’t have time. Did you think about that? As you’ll recall, we left in a bit of a hurry.”

  A reminder that it was Tom’s fault they’d barely escaped Divino with their lives. There certainly hadn’t been time for extensive planning, a group hug, and high-fives all around before they took off.

  Porter continued, “Besides, the prophecy says that once the sword and the stones are together again, Salamaine’s true heir will claim the throne. That means we’re one step closer than we thought. So that’s good news, right?”

  Willa chewed her bottom lip. “Are you certain of that?”

  “Of course I am. Why?”

  “My grandfather spent nearly every waking moment searching for clues that might lead him to Salamaine’s heir. He found nothing. Nothing. In addition, no one has ever come forward claiming to be Salamaine’s ancestor.”

  “How could he?” Porter countered. “Any man making such a claim would have been publicly executed by Keegan.”

  Willa lifted her chin. “Or woman. The prophecy says nothing about Salamaine’s heir being a man.”

  “True,” Porter acknowledged.

  “Either way, there would have been some way to mark the true ruler,” Willa persisted. “Some clue. Gregor, if he lived, would have found some way to mark his descendents as destined for the throne. Some way to identify who they were.”

  “What if the prophecy is some kind of trap?” Tom said, giving voice to the worries that had been building in him since they’d entered the forest. “What if we’re just delivering Hyster straight into Keegan’s hands?”

  Porter filled a tin cup with water, rinsed his mouth and spat. Wiped his chin and turned back to Tom.

  “We can’t think that way.”

  “But—”

  “Right now there are tiny bands of people who are resisting Keegan. Fighting back against his rule, against The Watch. People like Carter and his family, and the villagers who helped them. It’s happening not just in Divino, but
all over our world. Because of this prophecy, people finally have hope. If we fail, if we allow fear to keep us from finding the dragon, or allow The Watch to find her first, our only chance of defeating Keegan will be lost. The tide will turn against us. History will mark this moment as the beginning of the end.”

  “He’s right,” Willa said softly.

  “Maybe all we need to do is find Hyster,” Smudge suggested. “Then we wait and see what happens. Maybe then the true heir will show up, grab the sword from Keegan, lead this awesome battle and everything. Isn’t that what the prophecy says?”

  “Exactly right.” Porter mussed Smudge’s hair. “Glad you agree, Simon Tasty Hippobutt.” He swung around to look at Tom. “It’s settled, then. Ready your things. We leave shortly.”

  Porter and Willa went off to find fresh water. Tom and Smudge tidied up camp, packing away their provisions. A few minutes later, Willa and Porter returned.

  Porter pulled him aside. “There’s something else you should know,” he said. “Keegan’s men found a way through to your world to find you. They shouldn’t have been able to, but they did. If he gains control of Hyster, he won’t be satisfied ruling only this world. He’ll send The Watch into yours as well. If we fail, the world you knew will no longer exist.”

  Tom let out a breath. “Great. At least there’s no pressure.”

  “Does that mean you’re ready?”

  Tom stood and slipped on his pack, slung the map across his chest. “You?”

  “Are you kidding? I’ve been waiting almost thirteen years for you to show up.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  THE WARRIOR’S WARNING

  The Miserable Forest was aptly named. No hiking trails or scenic vistas—not that Tom had been expecting any—just rocks to slip on, roots to stumble over, thorny bushes that cut through his skin, branches that slapped his face. A mean, miserable place. Although they’d been hiking for hours, he’d seen just one species of animal: an ugly, mole-like creature the size of a cat, armed with sharp claws and a pointy snout. The creatures seemed to make a game of darting out at them from the base of trees, hissing and baring their teeth, then darting away to hide beneath the cover of bushes.