A World Without Heroes (10 page)

The surface of the pedestal was slanted, so the book rested propped at an angle. He slid a finger beneath a corner of the cover and flipped it open to a title page written in extravagant calligraphy. The ink was a dark maroon.

The Book of Salzared,
bound in his hide, scribbled in his blood.

He turned the page.

Be cautioned, Reader. Some knowledge can never be unlearned. Such is the secret contained herein. Proceed only in defiance of this gravest warning, for the dire words that follow will set You in opposition to Maldor evermore.

Jason read the words with mouth agape. What information could be so volatile? How could Maldor possibly know whether he had read this book?

The loremaster had insisted that discussing how to travel to the Beyond was forbidden by Maldor. Jason chewed on his knuckle. What if this book contained the knowledge he needed to return home? This could be it! The next page could hold his passport back to reality.

He turned the page. The writing continued in the same fancy script, almost too ostentatious to read, despite the over-large characters.

I, Salzared, Chief Scribe of Maldor, in a desperate act of betrayal, hereby impart knowledge pertaining to the only vulnerability of my Lord and Master, and do bind these words in my mortal flesh that they might be preserved against those many hands which would otherwise destroy them.

Behold, Maldor reigns in fearless might, and rightly so, for none may cause him harm, except by a single Word whose existence is His most closely protected secret.

The Word, spoken in His presence, will unmake Him entirely.

None, myself included, know all syllables of the Key Word. However, fragments of the Word are known to my fellow conspirators, who stand upon protected ground, awaiting one of sufficient courage to puzzle the syllables together.

Speak the Word aloud but once, in the presence of Maldor and at
no other time, for its utterance will erase all memory of its existence. Writing down the entire Word would provoke a similar consequence.

By reading these words You have nominated Yourself to recover the Key Word, the only hope of deposing my Lord and Tyrant. Move swiftly. The knowledge You now possess marks You for prompt execution.

The first syllable is “a.”

Now depart! Let not my sacrifice be in vain. Away!

Salzared

Thumbing through the remainder of the yellowed pages, Jason found them all blank. He closed the tome.

The covering of the book had broken out in gooseflesh. So had Jason.

Could the admonitions he had read be real? Surely the book was of no great importance if it lay up here in this dusty attic. Behind the most intricately locked door he had ever seen. In a library hidden in the middle of a forest. Oh, crud.

Suddenly a flap of skin lifted on the center of the cover, revealing a glaring eye. A human eye.

Jason shrieked, dropping the candle and plunging the room into immediate darkness. Involuntary screams soared from his throat as he cowered on the ground, grasping for the fallen candle. He pressed his hand against scorching wax and cried out even louder.

With deliberate effort Jason clamped his jaw shut, swallowing the remaining screams. He rubbed his burned palm against the sleeve of his coveralls. That eye had looked right at him, slightly bloodshot with a dark iris, pupil adjusting to the candlelight. He shuddered.

Panic threatened to smother him. The oppressive blackness
made him feel alone in the universe except for the texture of the carpet beneath him. Blood pulsed in his throat. What was he going to do now?

Then he heard a faint jingling. It grew rapidly closer.

He groped for his laser pointer key chain. The tiny beam made a little red dot across the room. Until that moment he had not appreciated how inferior a laser pointer was to a candle for purposes of illumination. At least it was something.

The red dot proved sufficient to see Feracles come bounding out of a gap in the bookshelves. Jason pocketed the key chain and clung to the dog as he would to a life preserver. Refusing to hold still, Feracles kept nudging him to stand. Jason rose, maintaining a hand on the dog’s furry back, and trotted blindly to keep up as he wound along an unseen route.

Soon he glimpsed light up ahead. They reached the open doorway and passed through to the head of the stairway. The loremaster stood there waiting, a half-shuttered lantern in one hand.

“You could not resist.”

“Am I in trouble?”

The loremaster sputtered. “What sort of question is that?”

“I might have made a big mistake.”

The old man nodded, eyes narrow. “Have you any idea what the enmity of Maldor means?”

“I’m guessing it’s a bad thing?”

The loremaster shook his head sadly. “Perhaps you truly are a Beyonder. May Providence help you. Come.”

The loremaster led Jason down the stairs and through the library. Moving at a brisk pace, Jason began to notice how exhausted he felt.

“Most every soul in Lyrian seeks to avoid Maldor’s attention. You have just done the opposite.”

“I just read—”

The loremaster raised a hand, turning his head away. “Say nothing of what you learned. The burden is yours to bear. Do not inflict the information upon others who willfully chose to stop at the title page.”

“Then you know about the book! The one covered in real skin?”

“Of course, my boy.” He tapped his temple. “The fact that I have not read that particular tome explains why I am still alive. Were you seen?”

“What do you—”

“You know what I mean.”

Jason swallowed dryly. “Yes.”

“You must depart at once.”

“Actually, that’s what the b—”

“Never speak of what you read! You may as well behead me.”

“You’re going to send me off into the dark?”

“The night is nearly spent. You will find your way. Follow the dawn for a day or two. Seek the Blind King. Perchance he can advise you.”

At the front desk the loremaster gave Jason a brown traveling cloak, a blanket roll, and a small sack filled with mushrooms. Hermie awaited beside the main door, regarding Jason with morbid fascination.

“Consume these berries now,” the loremaster said, handing him a palmful. “They will help overcome your fatigue. You’ll find more in the bag.”

“I don’t understand what’s happening.”

“You possess the secret the brave travel here to claim.”

“I didn’t want it.”

The loremaster frowned. “You hinted as though you did, and responded to the clues I offered in return.”

Jason felt sick. “It was a mistake! I hoped the book would tell
me how to get home. Suddenly I’m public enemy number one. I didn’t understand!”

“I regret if that is true. It cannot be undone. You must flee.” The loremaster directed Jason to the door. “Take heart. Mighty men have failed to examine the words you read, have quailed at the responsibility and departed as cowards. You leave heroically. Go now. I bid you safe journey.” The loremaster hurried him out the door.

“Thank you,” Jason said, exiting in a confused stumble.

Feracles barked once as Hermie yanked the door shut.

He was alone.

Gray predawn light glowed at one end of the sky.

Jason took a deep breath, glancing back at the closed door. No doubts lingered that this was real. He was in terrible danger. As a friendless stranger in a foreign land, he had made himself the enemy of a mighty emperor. For the first time Jason fully accepted that he might never get home.

CHAPTER
4
THE BLIND KING

A
s Jason hiked away from the Repository of Learning, he soon realized that the loremaster was right about at least one thing—those berries had really replenished his energy. He felt like doing karate or acrobatics or a decathlon. All drowsiness gone, he strode toward the rising sun, wrapped against the chill in his cloak, wondering how long it would take to leave the woods behind.

All day he marched, traversing a rolling succession of forested hills, breaking only to snack on mushrooms. There was no denying anymore that somehow he really had been transported into an alternate reality. He could very well live out his life here without discovering a way back. There might not even be a way home. He had to focus on following the one lead the loremaster had offered, and pray the Blind King could help him get home.

Eventually Jason’s thirst became irresistible. He stooped beside one of the cleaner-looking streams he had encountered and took a drink, trying to ignore the slimy moss coating the rocks and the bugs gliding across the surface where the water pooled. The cool water tasted good. He figured if he was going
to get sick drinking from a stream, he might as well do it in style, so he drank until he was full.

The sun sank behind him, casting a golden glow over the woods. The force of gravity seemed gradually to increase as Jason’s berry-induced vigor wore thin. When he crested a final hilltop and found more hills beyond, he spread out his blanket beside a tree and slept instantly.

The following afternoon, with the trees thinning and the hills flattening, Jason found the parallel ruts of a cart track. The weedy track headed generally eastward, so he followed it until it evolved into a narrow lane.

Glancing back at the last of the wooded hills, he froze, certain he had seen a form dive into the shadows a good distance up the slope. He stared at the spot where the half-glimpsed figure seemed to have landed. Leaves whiffled in the breeze. He saw no other movement. Finally he continued along the lane, occasionally stealing quick glances behind, but noticed nothing else out of the ordinary.

After a time a strange cottage came into view, obnoxiously painted in many bright shades, with no length of trim or windowsill matched in color. Sequined curtains shimmered behind octagonal windows. Smoke twisted up from a chimney composed of yellow and blue bricks. A low green fence painted with innumerable flowers enclosed a spacious yard.

“Pssst, hey, you, longshanks, step over here.”