Chasing the Prophecy

“And Rachel has the good camera,” Jason sighed. “Anything after the Scalding Caverns? Maybe the Flaming Hot Ocean of Misery?”

“The Narrow Way,” Farfalee said. “And finally our destination.”

Jason could see the first landmark poking above a distant ridgeline. The conical mount was shaped just like a volcano that a child would draw, its coloring the same yellow and white as a lemon meringue pie.

During the long ride north they had not been spied by their adversaries, though as he scouted, Jasher had occasionally glimpsed enemy riders from a distance. The seedman had led their group on a lengthy ride inland before veering northward. The strategy had added at least a day to the trek, but it made the task very difficult for any soldiers who sailed north in order to cut them off or pick up their trail.

Two of Farfalee’s messenger eagles had returned to her after she had set them loose the night they had abandoned the Valiant. She did not dare let them fly for fear of revealing their location. Instead, she kept them tethered to Aram’s saddle, feeding the large birds from the group’s rations.

Jason flicked his reins and followed Jasher down the rugged hillside. The seedman weaved along the slope, inventing the trail as he went. Aram pointed out a black scorpion the size of a lobster. Jasher warned that the smaller, orange scorpions had a deadlier sting. Jason didn’t crave an encounter with either variety.

They saw no new geysers for more than an hour, but by sunset Jason had counted eleven. They made camp in a cove of red rock. In addition to their regular rations, everyone but Jasher and Farfalee sampled part of the five-foot pit snake Del had killed. The cooked meat was chewy and almost sweet.

The next day the Great Yellow Cone grew gradually nearer. Jason had a hard time gauging its size. It was certainly nothing to rival the mountains on the horizon, but it was a good deal taller than the surrounding mesas, drawing the eye more than any other feature.

As the day wore on, they more frequently passed steaming vents. Some were jagged cracks no wider than a pencil, others yawning holes large enough to swallow a motor home. They also came across bubbling pools of muck—some red, some black, some white, most a silvery gray. The mud varied in thickness from viscous sludge to watery syrup. Some pools coughed up an occasional slow bubble; others simmered vigorously. Most of them reeked of sulfur.

Throughout the ride Jason missed Drake. He missed his teasing comments, his reliable advice, and even his cynical predictions. He missed the steady competence of his presence. They were less safe without him. More than once Jason had caught himself wondering when Drake would return from scouting, only to remember that his friend would never be back. From time to time he rode with his head bowed to hide the tears.

They stopped for the night near a black pool with a churning disturbance near the center. After making camp, Jason went to stare at the pool while twilight faded. The constant disruption heaved dark fluid eight feet into the air, like a small, permanent geyser. The central churning kept the rest of the surface rippling vigorously. Jasher called the murky pool a cauldron, which Jason considered an apt description

As more stars emerged in the darkening sky, Corinne joined Jason beside the pool. For a long moment she watched with him in silence. Eventually he noticed that her attention had shifted from the pool to him. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“I’m good,” Jason said, uncertain how else to respond.

“You’ve seemed extra quiet lately.”

“Have you heard? We’re being hunted.”

“I’m serious.”

Jason turned his attention back to the pool. “I don’t know. It’s been harder since we lost Drake. And then we lost so many people at Gulba. I guess it’s getting to me.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Corinne said.

Jason looked at her sharply. “You’re heartless.”

“No,” she apologized. “I mean, I’m glad because I feel the same way. I feel . . . drained, sad . . . you know.”

“I know. It’s rough. I guess we try to look on the bright side. We’re getting close. Maybe some of us will actually make it.”

“All the rest of us,” she said.

“I hope so.” He glanced her way. “You were amazing against that lurker. I couldn’t believe it.”

“Neither could I,” Corinne said. “I was so scared. But I could feel its mind, and I knew I had a chance. I also knew it would lead soldiers to us. It might have made escape impossible. It had no weapon. I felt like I had to try.”

“I honestly thought you were dead,” Jason said. “That might have been it for me.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Corinne scolded. “Of all of us, you need to hold true to the end.”

Jason looked down at his hands. Why him? Why did it matter so much for him to find Darian’s home? He wasn’t the best fighter. If anything, he was the worst. But the oracle had named him first. As a result, Drake had died to save him. Guilt twisted deep inside.

Corinne put a hand on his. Her hand was not soft. She had calluses from practicing with her sword. He squeezed her hand. She squeezed back.

Maybe Darian was alive. Maybe Darian would only share secrets with Beyonders. Maybe there would be a riddle that only Jason could answer. Maybe only his fingerprint could open the secret vault.

“We’ll make it,” Jason said. He tried to mean it. He mostly did. It seemed like she needed him to say it. “We’ll find the message from Darian.”

“I believe that,” Corinne said. “Don’t lose hope.”

“I won’t.” She was sitting close.

Corinne patted his hand and rose. “You shouldn’t sit here all night.”

“Just a little longer.”

She walked away. Jason stared at the churning sludge, feeling alone. Drake had died specifically for him. A big part of Jason wished that he hadn’t. But it couldn’t be undone. So now the responsibility was on his shoulders to make that mean something.

* * *

The next morning, not long after they began riding, the Great Yellow Cone erupted. Water and steam jetted upward for the better part of two hours, infinite droplets glittering in the morning light. By the end the entire conical mount glistened wetly.

Soon after the Great Yellow Cone went dry, Nia spotted the third messenger eagle returning. Jasher and Aram instantly became alert. As the eagle circled down to Farfalee, Jasher pointed at a distant figure atop a pink ridge, little more than a speck to the naked eye.