Seeds of Rebellion (9 page)

When Jason reached the parking lot, he turned to look back. The great wave was almost to the shore, curling up so high that the top disappeared into the overcast sky. The water before it had receded dramatically, turning the coastline into a sloping desert of moist sand.

“Not the best way to go,” said a gravelly voice at his side.

Glancing over, Jason found Tark beside him, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and sandals. Otherwise he looked exactly as Jason would have expected.

“How’d you get here?” Jason asked, panic giving way to curiosity.

Tark shrugged, staring up at the looming wall of water. “Serves us right, you know. This is what happens when you bite off more than you can chew.”

“We can run,” Jason said. “We can try.”

Tark grasped his arm, his hand so cold, it burned. “Better to accept the inevitable.”

Jason tugged and pulled, but couldn’t break his grip. For the first time Jason recognized that Tark’s eyes were entirely black.

“Wait a minute,” Jason said, the realization hitting him hard. “This is a dream. You’re not really Tark. I’m not really here.”

Tark grinned darkly. “Tell that to the wave.”

Looking up, Jason saw the wave curling over him—over the entire coast—the wave to end all waves, falling forward, stretching so far beyond Jason and the little parking lot that he could hardly imagine a place beyond its reach.

The sound was like being at ground zero during an atomic blast, so loud that Jason knew he would never hear again. Then he was tumbling helplessly through turbulent water that surged with unfathomable power. He immediately lost all sense of direction and found it impossible to keep the salt water from painfully invading his nose and mouth.

Jason woke up screaming, eyes squeezed shut, drenched in sweat, his body curled into a defensive ball. He opened his eyes and found himself staring at a faceless black head, inches beyond his nose, and screamed again, recoiling as best he could. The dark figure that had crouched beside him stood upright, took a step back, and held still.

Jason rolled away from it, deeply shaken, grateful that predawn light had begun to illuminate the forest. “I knew it was a dream,” he panted, trying to let go of the terror that had owned him. He was on dry ground. He could breathe. “It was horrible and realistic, but I called it. I knew it was you. I couldn’t stop it, but I knew what was up.”

The shadowy figure remained still. Jason found it infuriating to think that this voiceless, motionless creature was getting inside his head and manipulating his dreams. He despised the thought of it following him sedately all day, only to attack him mentally when he was at his most vulnerable.

Seething, Jason lurched to his feet. The creature did not twitch, but Jason reminded himself how quickly it could move when attacked. If he tried anything physical, he would only get hurt.

Jason stalked over to the figure and stood close, glaring at its blank face. “You’re a coward!” he yelled. “Stay out of my dreams! If you’re going to kill me, let’s get it over with. I’m serious. What’s your point? Why are you here? To make nightmares? Or is that just extra credit?”

The figure withstood the tirade without flinching.

“Are you trying to make me doubt my friends? To make me sorry I came back to Lyrian? Are you trying to provoke me into attacking you? Are you a spy? All of the above?”

The figure gave no acknowledgment of Jason’s presence.

Disgusted, Jason turned away. Why was he wasting his breath? It was like complaining to a mannequin.

Torn by worry and frustration, Jason kicked a small rock into the bushes. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to do,” he murmured bitterly, “but I think it’s working.”

CHAPTER
4

R
achel sat on a stone, the stub of a candle in one hand. She muttered a quick Edomic phrase. Staring intently at the wick, she willed it to be the focal point referenced in the phrase, and the candle flamed to life.

She blew out the tiny light. A thread of smoke curled upward.

Rachel repeated the phrase, exerted her will, and the little flame flared back into existence. She held her hand above it, feeling the warmth. She had now performed this trick hundreds of times, but she still experienced a fresh thrill each time the candle ignited.

She blew out the flame, then reignited it.

The effort used to tire her. Now it was easier than striking a match.

She blew out the flame.

Brought it back.

Blew it out.

Brought it back.

“You’re getting too good at that,” a voice said dryly. Startled, Rachel dropped the candle and turned to find Drake standing over her, his dark hair tied back in a ponytail, his flat features impassive.
“You’d better slow down, or soon you’ll be instructing me.”

The candle had gone out when she dropped it. She picked it up. “You should let me light the next campfire.”

“I expect you could by now,” Drake agreed. “But we have to keep moving.”

“You found more marks?”

“Fresh ones. We’ve almost caught up to her.”

Rachel stashed the candle in her bag. She and Drake had been roaming these hills for more than a week, looking for the charm woman. Drake had insisted she represented their best chance of getting the lurker off their trail.

After splitting with Tark, Drake had led Rachel deep into the wilderness. The seedman had reasoned that since the lurker seemed to be tracking them for their enemies, the farther they got from civilization, the safer they would be. He had further hoped that perhaps the lurker would abandon them to follow Tark or else give up after participating in a fruitless chase with no end in sight.

The strategy had succeeded in avoiding interference from other imperial servants. But even after weeks on the run in the wild, Drake continued to catch glimpses of the torivor tracking them. Rachel had even seen it once—a humanoid silhouette crouched on a high ledge, backlit by the moon.

Drake had been able to provide whatever they needed as they roamed secluded mountain valleys and uninhabited forests—fish, fowl, venison, nuts, berries, mushrooms, and bubblefruit all combined to nourish them. The horses also found plenty of opportunities to graze and drink.

As the days passed, and the lurker neither attacked nor went away, Drake had remembered a woman who had once helped him save a friend from a flesh-eating disease. At the time Drake had asked the charm woman how she managed to use Edomic
without drawing the notice of the emperor. She had replied that the emperor was well aware of her, but that she had a way of avoiding even his torivors, which allowed her to practice her craft in peace.

Based on that memory, and the hope that the charm woman still resided in the same vicinity where he had found her years ago, Drake had led Rachel south, into the wooded hills west of a sizable body of water called Jepson Lake. He had explained that the charm woman moved around a lot, but left coded markings to enable those who needed her services to locate her.

After a few futile days of wandering, Drake had recognized her marks on a boulder, and although the trail was cold, over the past several days he had maintained that the marks kept getting fresher. Each collection of marks looked like nonsense to Rachel, but Drake had explained that while most of the marks were meaningless distractions, a few left clear instructions once you knew how to read them. When she asked the secret, he said the charm woman would have to tell her, because he had vowed never to reveal how to decode the marks.

During the past weeks, Rachel had tried her best not to fixate on the negative. She tried not to count how many days it had been since she had slept in a bed. She attempted to downplay how many times she had felt too hot, too cold, too sore, or too dirty. She strove to ignore how regularly she had been forced to ride, run, swim, or climb long after exhaustion would have normally demanded that she rest. She pushed away thoughts of her parents. She endeavored to forget about the endless conveniences of modern America that she had once taken for granted.

And she especially tried to not think about Jason.

Whenever her thoughts turned to him, it was like pressing an infected wound, increasing the pain without any realistic hope of
making it better. Yet often she couldn’t resist. In moments of fear or discomfort, she wondered how much worse he had it, rotting in some filthy cell in the dungeons of Felrook. She pictured him cold, hungry, alone. She imagined him enduring ruthless torture. And she prayed that he was still alive.

Rachel climbed onto her horse and Drake mounted his. He led the way up a forested hillside and down into the valley beyond. He reined in his stallion near a cluster of boulders. She drew up beside him.

“See the grove on the far side of the valley?” Drake asked.

Rachel nodded. “Are the next markings so close?”

“No. Unless I’m mistaken, we should find our charm woman there.”

“Really?”

He flicked the reins, and his horse charged forward. Rachel followed, urging her mare to a gallop. The valley floor blurred by beneath her. She had been a competent horsewoman before coming to Lyrian, but after weeks on the run, most often on horseback, riding had become second nature.

It felt good to let her horse race at top speed, even if she had no hope of keeping up with Drake. He had not brought Mandibar to a full gallop for weeks, and Rachel had almost forgotten how truly fast the stallion could move.

Drake slowed his mount to a walk as he reached the edge of the grove. Rachel slowed as she caught up.

“What was that about?” Rachel asked.

He gave her a crooked smile. “Maybe I wanted to remind you who has the fastest horse.”

“Maybe you’re just in a good mood.”

He shrugged. “There’s a first time for everything.” He patted the stallion. “He’s not even tired. I’ve never ridden his equal. I may
not have particularly liked Kimp, but I owe him for his fine taste in steeds.”

“May he rest in pieces,” Rachel said solemnly.

Drake chuckled, covering his grin with one hand. “It’s bad luck to malign the dead.”

She had made the same joke a few times before, and only kept repeating it because it always made Drake smile. “Don’t be a sissy. He tried to feed you to his dogs. He had it coming.” She had also noticed how it amused him when she talked tough. Deep down, beneath the banter, she remained haunted by the sight of Jasher and Kimp being blown apart when an orantium sphere had accidentally detonated in a grassy field near Harthenham.

Drake dismounted and gathered Mandibar’s reins. “Let’s lead them well into the trees before tethering them. I don’t like how near we’re getting to settlements.”

Rachel climbed down and led her horse into the grove. “How do we get this charm woman to help us?”

“We ask,” Drake replied. “On the only other occasion I’ve visited her, when she healed my friend Kaleb, she would accept no payment. I take it she’ll either aid us or she won’t. I expect she will if she can.”

They tethered the horses, and Rachel followed Drake deeper into the grove. He kept a hand on his sword. The trees were not very tall, but they had thick trunks with deeply grooved bark. Heavy, twisting limbs tangled overhead. She imagined that after nightfall the place would look haunted.

The undergrowth remained sparse enough to proceed without a trail. At length, Drake waved Rachel to a halt. He pointed up ahead, and she saw a long string of colorful beads looped around the knob of a fat tree. Three feathered hoops hung at the bottom of the strand.