Leading with his sword, Randall followed the scent. As he plunged deeper into the forest, he stopped occasionally and used the point of his sword to etch directional marks into the bark of trees along the paths he chose. With the trees undressing so quickly, by the time he tried to return, they wouldn’t look the same, and it wouldn’t hurt to give Tibalt some direction, too, in case he returned soon.
The scent grew stronger and stronger, coaxing him onward. Maybe an escaped slave had breathed his last nearby. Finding the corpse and providing a decent burial would make the search worth the effort. If vultures lurked, they wouldn’t get a meal of human flesh, not if Randall had his way.
Finally, he came upon a circular stand of tall trees, their trunks growing close together. Halting, Randall stared at the bizarre formation. They appeared to encompass something, maybe a glade, and the branches all grew inward and to the sides, leaving the trunks with only bare bark on their outward faces.
He let his gaze follow the trunks upward. As they narrowed, the gaps between them widened, though limbs and branches filled the gaps with woody arms and fingers. It seemed that the entire network of tree projections had been designed to protect something within the ring, or perhaps prevent something within from escaping. Only birds, small animals, and maybe a human could penetrate the web.
As he walked around the ring of trees, he searched for a wider opening, but the trees grew with little variance. After about a hundred paces, he reached the one-quarter point of the ring where a marsh stretched out to the west as far as the eye could see. Moss dangled from tree branches, nearly reaching the water, which was too calm and dark to determine its depth. Algae floated on the surface, and bugs skittered between pads that looked like the eyes of dragons—dark on the edges with hints of red at the center.
Randall shook his head. No doubt an escapee, perhaps burned or otherwise wounded, had reached the marsh and collapsed, despairing at the sight, and now his rotting corpse filled the air with its stench.
He sniffed the air again. Although the marsh emitted a moldy odor, the earlier fetid smell held sway. It definitely originated from within the ring of trees.
Again leading with the sword, he pushed between two trunks. Light from a big gap in the trunks on the opposite side illuminated a circular plot, and the sound of bubbling water filled the glade. Broken branches lay in tall piles here and there. Above, gaps marred the canopy, but not nearly enough to explain the plethora of wooden debris. The leaves seemed healthy, apparently immune to the change of seasons affecting the leaves outside the ring.
Randall walked slowly forward, weaving around the piles. As he closed in, the dirt changed to mud, then his boots splashed in shallow water, maybe an inch or two deep. At the center of the glade, air erupted from underneath in bubbling pulses that propelled the water over the ground before soaking in quickly.
On the opposite side of the depression, a humanlike form lay on its side. This had to be the source of the smell.
As Randall drew closer, it seemed that a thin white shell encased a man, keeping him motionless. Randall prodded the man’s shoulder with a finger, breaking through the cold coating. The shell snapped like thin ice. Beneath, the man’s skin seemed pliable, unfrozen. Maybe he hadn’t been in this state for very long, but the odor told a different story.
Randall leaned closer and sniffed again. No. It seemed that the odor came from the spring, probably the erupting gas. After turning the man to his back, he brushed ice away and pressed his ear against his chest. A heartbeat pattered within, weak and erratic, and his breaths came in short, halting gasps.
Randall sheathed his sword, hoisted the man over his shoulder, and carried him to the big gap, again dodging the broken branches. A foot-high stump stood at the middle of the opening. About twenty feet above, the rest of the severed trunk dangled from the network of branches.
When he reached the outside, Randall laid the man down and brushed more ice away—from his torso, arms, and bearded face. He looked familiar, like an older version of Jason. Apparently, he had found Frederick Masters at long last.
After Randall brushed the ice away, he rubbed Frederick’s chest briskly. Since his clothes were dry, it seemed that the coating of ice had protected him from the water, somehow acting as a freezing agent and an insulator at the same time.
“Come on, Frederick,” Randall said out loud. “Wake up. Whatever put you in ice might come back.”
After nearly a minute of constant rubbing, Frederick’s eyes opened. He blinked rapidly, and his teeth began chattering, interrupting his words. “Randall … Prescott … the governor’s son?”
“Yep.” Randall grasped Frederick’s wrist. “Let’s see if you can walk. You need to warm up.”
He hoisted Frederick to his feet and helped him pace in a tight circle. “Thank you,” Frederick said, his teeth still chattering. “I thought … I was a goner.”
“Save your thanks. I’m carrying a disease that’ll do you in if we can’t find a cure. I just guessed that it was better to thaw you out and hope for the best.”
Frederick halted, shivering. “Good choice. I have to … warn everyone … about the dragons … who did this to me.”
“Dragons coated you with ice?” Randall let out a whistle. “That’s new.”
“They are the B — Benefile. Some call them … the Bloodless…. They’re white dragons that breathe ice … instead of fire.”
“Ah! Fellina told me about them. I didn’t know about their color or the temperature of their breath, but I do know that they’re in the dragon village now. They’re planning to kill all the slaves so —”
“Kill the slaves! Why?”
“Something about irony. They want a human army to punish those who enslaved humans, so they have to get rid of the disease first. We have soldiers marching here from our world, so it looks like the Benefile want to use them.”
“Bring justice to humans by killing some and using others as a hammer.” Frederick shook his head. “Madness!”
“Definitely, but what can we do about it? What are they?”
As Frederick marched in place, his chattering and shivering eased. “I get the impression that they’re law enforcers of some kind. They were set free when a curse was lifted.”
Randall nodded. “Magnar’s curse, I’ll bet. He wasn’t allowed to pass his region’s barrier wall. I’m guessing he went through the portal from Major Four to the Northlands.”
“Magnar was on Major Four?” Frederick rubbed his biceps briskly. “There’s a lot going on I don’t know about.”
“Well, I’ll try to fill you in on what I know.”
“Like the disease?”
“Right. Fellina’s taking a friend of mine to your refuge, and they’re hoping to warn them about the disease from the air.”
“So if you’re contagious, then I might have it, too. I can’t risk going back.”
“Right again.” Randall patted Frederick’s shoulder. “Let’s go to the place Fellina left me. We’ll get each other up to date on the way.”
Eight
With dawn illuminating their campsite, Jason rose from his makeshift bed of leaves and walked across the ashes of their overnight fire. Since the river to his right made enough noise to mask his approach, Elyssa, who slept on a leafy bed of her own, didn’t stir.
When he knelt next to her, her eyelids twitched, maybe a sign that her probing sensors warned of his approach, but exhaustion kept her in sleep’s embrace. They had jogged or marched well into the night, passing the waterfall and following the southbound stream until they couldn’t travel another step. With Koren’s plight torturing their minds, it seemed like betrayal to rest, but they had no choice but to give in to reality.
Jason laid a hand on her shoulder. “We’d better get going.”
She woke with a start. After blinking at him with wide eyes, she let out a sigh. “Oh, good. It was just a dream.”
“What did you dream about?”
“Wolves.” She rose to
a sitting position and pushed a hand through her hair. “They had dragon wings and chittered like squirrels, and one of them forced a flaming torch down your throat.”
Jason rubbed his throat. “Thanks for the vivid imagery.”
“You asked.”
He helped Elyssa to her feet, gathered their supply bags, and nodded toward the river. “If you want to refresh yourself, I’ll pull out some snacks we can eat along the way, then I’ll take a turn.”
“Sounds good,” Elyssa said, “but let’s hurry. I don’t want to waste another second.”
After only a few minutes, they finished preparations and started northward again with a relatively slow stride. Soon their legs loosened, allowing a quicker pace that eventually broke into a rapid jog. Following the river upstream, they dodged roots, ducked under low-hanging branches, and waded in shallow water to avoid prickly brambles.
About two hours passed with the same scenery drifting by — thick forest to the left and flower-filled meadows to the right. Although no dragons had come into view since Koren’s kidnapper took her away, it still seemed prudent to stay under cover. It was easy to scan the sky as well as the meadow for any allies that might show up.
Finally, something new appeared in a clearing up ahead. Jason halted, blocked Elyssa with an arm, and set the supply bags on the ground. Both gasping for breath, they stared at the sight. Dead wolves littered an open space next to the stream; at least eight, maybe ten.
Walking on the balls of his feet, Jason edged closer. He prodded one of the carcasses with the point of his sword. The hide bent easily. “Pretty fresh. Whoever did this isn’t far ahead.”
“Adrian?” Elyssa asked, her panting now slower.
“Most likely. I haven’t seen one of his marks for a while, but the tracks keep showing up.” Jason pointed at a long rut in the mud. “That’s probably from the cart, and there’s quite a bit of blood around.”
“Wolf blood or human blood?”
Jason shrugged. “Maybe both.”
Elyssa dipped her finger into a red pool next to the rut and rubbed the tacky paste against her thumb. “Human. Fresh.”
“So at least one of them is hurt, but it looks like the wolves got the worst of it.”
Elyssa followed the rut to the stream where it abruptly disappeared about three paces away from the water. A raft constructed with saplings and vines sat halfway beached on the bank. The gently flowing stream lapped against its back edge, shifting it slightly every few seconds. As she washed her fingers in the water, she looked back at Jason. “It looks like they pushed the cart into the river.”
“I see that.” Jason drew closer, flapping his tunic to dry the sweat. The grass near the riverbank bent over, indicating a possible flood, which explained the missing few feet of wheel marks. Yet, the grass bent northward, upstream. “It looks like the river flowed backwards. That doesn’t make sense at all.”
“You told me you and Koren and Uriel rode a stream backwards,” Elyssa said.
“Cassabrie made that happen, and the real Koren wasn’t on the raft. She was just an image she created while the wolves dragged her away.”
“I remember.” Elyssa nudged the raft with her toe. “Could this be the same raft?”
Jason lifted the front and pulled it fully on shore. The way the vines bound the saplings definitely reflected Adrian’s handiwork, though some connections had broken, leaving gaps. “It looks the same.”
“Interesting.” Elyssa pinched some sand from the narrow flood area and rubbed it between her fingers. “It’s still cool and wet. If Adrian and the others rode this raft upstream, it probably wasn’t long ago.”
“Long enough for the stream to return to normal and push the raft back here.” Jason studied the current as it swept around a slight curve in the bank. “I suppose it beaches itself here because of the bend in the stream. Adrian found it here just like we did, but we don’t have a Starlighter to give us a push. If Cassabrie was around earlier, she’s probably long gone by now.”
Elyssa’s shoulders drooped. “Another ride on a raft would’ve helped a lot.”
“That’s for sure.” Jason looked Elyssa over. A sheen of perspiration made her face glow, returning her stardrop-enhanced shine. Moisture dappled her clothes, from her red vest and white sleeves down to her rust-colored trousers. Her ability to keep up in spite of her malnourishment while in the dungeon was amazing.
“Maybe we can still give the raft a try,” he said.
“You mean—”
“I mean, you told me you have some Starlighter gifts.” He stooped and began retying the raft’s broken vines. “You said you could distribute Starlight’s energy. Isn’t that how you healed me?”
“True, but the process drains me, and I’m already tired.”
“It’s up to you. I can’t judge how you feel. I’m fine with walking.”
Her gaze wandered up the river. “I suppose I could try, but I have no idea how to reverse a river.”
“If you can’t, then we’ll just rest a while.” After finishing his repair work, he found a branch void of stems and leaves and snatched it up. “This would make a good steering pole.”
“You really think I can do this, don’t you?”
“You raised Petra from the dead.” Jason grinned. “This should be easy.” He picked up the supply bags, helped her sit down on the raft, and shoved it into the flow. When he climbed aboard, he set the bags near the front and stopped the downstream momentum with the pole. “Now just relax and see where your mind wants to go.”
Closing her eyes, Elyssa took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her pendant dangled in front of her chest, bobbing with the raft’s gentle bounces. As the seconds passed, her brow knitted. Her glow brightened. The pendant altered from beige to orange, then to bright red.
The pressure on the steering pole eased. At the raft’s sides, the current slowed, then stopped, changing the stream to a placid pool. Her head swaying, Elyssa let out a quiet groan. Her eyelids clenched together, and her brow tightened further. The pendant trembled, now almost too bright to look at.
Jason stared at the water. Although there was no breeze, ripples formed on the surface. Then the raft shifted northward, slowly at first, but after a few seconds, it sailed along at a brisk marching pace. Elyssa’s face turned red, nearly matching the pendant’s hue and glow. Ahead, the water rolled northward in a head-high wave.
Holding his breath, Jason dared not say a word. How long could she last? Fighting the current had to be a huge battle.
He laid the pole over his lap. The feeling of helplessness gnawed at his gut. Elyssa had wanted him to be the heroic warrior, frequently urging him to lead the way, but now he had to sit and watch her toil.
The patch of skin covering his pectoral stung. He pulled his tunic’s collar down and touched the pulsing bulge made by the litmus finger—Cassabrie’s finger. When he and Elyssa worked together to heal Petra, the finger pulsed then as well, and the power seemed to combine with Elyssa’s to allow her to see tales within Petra’s mind. Could Cassabrie somehow be lending help?
After another minute, Elyssa’s face relaxed. The pendant dimmed to orange, more like glowing embers than a blazing fire. She opened her eyes and gazed at him, a look of peace in her eyes. “I think I have it under control.”
Jason shifted his tunic back in place. “You never cease to amaze me.”
She offered a tired smile. “Thank you. I feel the same way about you.”
Jason let his gaze linger. As her aura dimmed to a more natural light, her face never looked more beautiful. Even the sinking lines of malnourishment painted a portrait of sacrifice, the loving gift of a true heroine. Her passion for the slaves had cost her freedom and health as well as blood and sweat. Yes, she was a Diviner, a gifted young woman with extraordinary power, but most important, she was Elyssa Cantor, a peasant girl who loved helpless souls bound in chains and sought no reward for her sacrifice on their behalf.
Sliding forward, he reac
hed out a hand. As she wrapped hers around it, her smile grew. “We’ll find Koren,” she said. “Don’t worry.”
He returned the smile. “I wasn’t thinking about Koren.”
“You weren’t?” She tilted her head. “You looked so contemplative. What were you thinking about?”
He covered the clasp with his free hand. “You.”
Elyssa bit her lip. As the raft raced northward, she tightened her grip on Jason’s hand and said nothing more.
During the passing minutes, they quietly ate from their provisions and drank water from the river. Lines dug deeper and deeper into Elyssa’s brow, and her respiration grew increasingly labored. As if tied to her waning strength, the raft’s speed diminished. Finally, after about a half hour, it slowed to a near standstill.
“I can’t hold it much longer.” Elyssa closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. “The force against me is too strong.”
Jason glanced ahead. Not far away, the water had piled up into a mountain, running up the near side like a powerful geyser. At the top, white foam looked like a snowy cap. If Elyssa gave in to the pressure, the mountain of water would crash over them in a mammoth wave.
“Hang on! Don’t give up yet!” Jason grabbed the pole and steered the raft to the eastern bank. As soon as it struck bottom, he jumped out and pulled it to shore. Elyssa rose, her face twisting as if she were carrying a dragon on her shoulders.
“How much longer can you hold it?”
Gasping for breath, she nodded. “I’m okay. Another minute, I think.”
“Then head for the meadow as fast as you can. I’ll be right behind you.”
As soon as Elyssa ran into the eastern field, Jason grabbed one of the loose vines and sprinted, dragging the raft and supply bags along. Seconds later, the sound of crashing water erupted. Droplets pelted his head and spray filled the air. A wave surged into his legs and swept him off his feet. He tumbled in the churning flow, seeing flashes of Elyssa splashing his way as he spun in headlong somersaults.
A hand grasped his wrist and pulled him upright. Now standing in waist-deep water, he gasped for breath, Elyssa holding his arm. As the water receded toward the river, she mopped back his hair. “Are you all right?”