Chasing the Prophecy

“Even my humor?”

“Almost everything. Don’t die.”

“It might help if you stop giving my eulogy. You don’t die either. I’ll miss you too. I have one last question.”

“What?”

“Are you going to bring your pack?”

Rachel started. She had left it back where she had been talking with Corinne.

“Never mind,” Jason said, looking over his shoulder. “Your acolyte worshippers are grabbing it for you. Do you have a pen? You should really sign some autographs for them.”

Rachel banged her forehead with the heel of her hand. “You know what I still have? My camera! I’ve been meaning all winter to get a group shot.”

She rushed over to the acolytes, retrieved the camera from her pack, and hurried back to Jason, who stood waiting.

“You really are an optimist,” Jason said. “You realize you’ll have to get back home before you can develop any photos?”

“At least I can do it myself,” Rachel said. “I’ve done it lots. If this camera were digital, I’d probably be out of batteries by now.”

Jason helped her round everyone up for a group shot on the temple steps. Rachel showed Ulani how to work the camera. Jason explained that the device would capture and preserve the image, along with their souls. Rachel explained that he was joking. Once Ulani had taken a couple of shots, Rachel let Tark have a turn as photographer with Ulani in the picture. Then Rachel snapped an extra one herself for good measure.

After stowing her camera, Rachel gave Jason a final hug good-bye. And then they left by separate trails into the muggy jungle.

CHAPTER 4

THE JOURNEY NORTH

Even with the expert guidance of the treefolk, Jason found jungle travel exhausting. In the gloom beneath the dense canopy the humid air stayed oppressively hot and still. Hidden by the ferny undergrowth, roots and creepers crisscrossed the uneven ground, ready to catch a toe or turn an ankle. At times the group would take to the trees, moving along massive limbs or traversing camouflaged bridges fashioned from vines.

The way proved challenging at its gentlest—without the guides the pathless journey would have been hopeless. The treefolk navigated around endless thickets of impenetrable vegetation without ever needing to pause or double back. They avoided numerous carnivorous plants: huge, quivering mouths on nimble stalks; squidlike, thorny tendrils that attacked from above; bulging bulbs poised to emit poisonous spores; and sticky mats ready to enfold the unwary. Dangerous snakes, centipedes, and spiders were identified and eluded. Twice, the treefolk waited silently with the group, high in a tree, while a jungle cat the size of a horse prowled down below, great bunches of muscle churning beneath a glossy pelt.

At times the abundant plant and animal life distracted Jason from the taxing terrain. With the mild winter waning, blossoms flourished throughout the jungle, from elaborate trombone-shaped flowers to glorious blooms on corkscrew vines to delicate orchids of infinite color and variety. Exotic birds with vibrant plumage and monkeys of all description populated the trees. After they happened across a large family of obese, blue-gray apes, the others had to drag Jason away. He would have contentedly watched the shaggy brutes toddle about on their stumpy legs for the rest of the afternoon.

The treefolk foraged most of the food for the group. Diverse fruit, rich nectar, savory mushrooms, peculiar nuts, and crunchy grubs made up the majority of their meals. Jason enjoyed the unusual diet and seldom craved hot food in spite of its absence.

One steamy morning Bahootsa, the thorn-encased leader of the eight treefolk escorts, announced that they were approaching the northern perimeter of the jungle, where imperial soldiers had been known to venture. When he suggested a break for the day to allow five of the treefolk to scout ahead, nobody complained.

They stopped beside a swift brook with banks of dense red clay. Trees and shrubs didn’t crowd the stream, which created a clearing of sorts—a rare sight in the heavily vegetated region.

Wandering along the brook away from the group, Jason drew the torivorian sword Galloran had given him. The elegant weapon felt lighter than it looked. He held the blade horizontally in front of his face, staring at the clear reflection of his eyes in the burnished metal, and saw Corinne approaching from behind. Jason turned.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Corinne asked.

Jason thought she was easily the most beautiful thing in sight. The realization made him embarrassed, so he looked around, trying to appreciate what she meant. Tall palm trees with broad fronds screened the morning sun. Bright birds flapped and perched overhead. The aroma of tropical blossoms filled his nostrils. “It’s like paradise.”

Corinne smiled. “I meant the sword.” Her hand rested on the hilt of her matching blade.

“Right.” Jason swished it through the air, trying to look heroic. “It feels so light.”

“Mine too,” Corinne said. “But don’t worry. The sword will feel plenty heavy to your enemies. Father explained that the blades contain more mass than the wielder feels.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Jason said, holding the sword vertically. “At the Last Inn, Galloran slashed through helmets and armor like they were made of paper.”

“You should practice with the sword,” Corinne urged. “Get used to how it differs from other weapons. The shock of impact feels dampened. The blade swings light but strikes heavy.” She drew her sword and stabbed it through the trunk of a palm tree with an easy thrust. The tree was nearly a foot thick, but the sword penetrated the wood effortlessly, the polished blade protruding from the far side. Corinne withdrew the sword.

Jason swung his sword back and forth a few times, then approached the same trunk Corinne had stabbed and hacked at it with the edge. He swung hard and expected the blade to bite deep, but he was surprised when the sword passed clean through the tree without too much resistance. Jason skipped aside as the palm tree toppled in his direction.

“Careful,” Corinne laughed after the tree had crashed down parallel to the brook.

“That’s what I call sharp,” Jason said, inspecting the blade with new respect. Passing through the trunk had left no stain on the reflective surface. “We should become lumberjacks.”

“Maybe someday,” Corinne said wistfully. “I’d rather chop trees than people.”

“Don’t get all serious on me,” Jason complained. “You’re as bad as Rachel.”

“You miss her.”