Chasing the Prophecy (Beyonders) (66 page)

“It knows you,” Corinne said. “It’s trying to reach you.”

Jason gave a nod. The charm necklace would prevent mental contact. His psychic inability might also block communication.

“It shared dreams with you,” Corinne murmured, rubbing her elbows as if she felt a chill.

“Lurky?” Jason asked. Was this the same lurker he had met shortly after his return to Lyrian?

The air remained still, the sea quiet.

Jason resolved that if the lurker insisted on a duel, he would try his best. Whether a lucky victory was possible or not, he would feel better if he went down swinging. Maybe it would help distract him from the pain of the fatal blow.

The torivor extended one of the swords, the blade pointed directly at Jason. The dark being turned the weapon upright and tossed it to him, the sword traveling at the perfect angle for Jason to catch the weapon by the hilt.

As Jason reached out his hand, Drake stepped in front of him and intercepted it.

The lurker rushed forward, forcing Drake to deflect a flurry of swings. The blades chimed musically, each ringing collision reverberating over the water. Drake circled to his right, and the lurker stayed with him, pressing the attack. The seedman barely parried blow after blow.

Jason watched in a daze. The weight of his impending death had settled so firmly in his heart and mind that he felt astonished by the interruption. Drake was trying to save him. Jason felt a wrenching mix of gratitude and horror. Could the seedman possibly win?

Jasher stole the sword from Jason’s sheath and joined the fight, attacking the lurker from behind. With preternatural grace, the torivor engaged the two seedmen at once, not only protecting
itself but still actively attacking. Blood sprayed from Jasher’s arm. Before the droplets had landed on the deck, Drake received a quick stab in the thigh.

A drinling up on the mast hurled a knife at the torivor. Without disrupting its attacks on Drake and Jasher, the lurker swiped the knife with its sword, like a batter connecting for a homerun. After the clang of contact, the knife streaked through the air into the chest of the man who had thrown it. He tumbled from the mast to the deck, landing loosely.

A scratch on Jasher’s cheek. A shallow slash across Drake’s side. Both seedmen were scarcely stalling death. They doggedly resisted the inevitable with all of their skill, but they could not possibly win.

Corinne drew her sword, and Farfalee was immediately at her side to restrain her. “No,” the seedwoman demanded.

“But maybe—” Corinne protested.

“No,” Farfalee repeated with finality.

Galloran had drilled all of the best swordsmen on how to fight torivors, not necessarily because he thought they could learn to defeat them, but rather to elevate their overall skills. Jasher had received the expert training, as had Drake, Corinne, Ferrin, and Aram. Galloran had shown them patterns the torivors preferred and how to defend against them. Jason had watched some of the sessions. It had been intense. Jason suspected that as skilled and experienced as Jasher and Drake were, without that training, they would have already fallen.

The chiming swords moved in a frantic blur. With flawless precision the lurker continued to alternate blows, in front and behind, striking ruthlessly, leaving no openings. Jasher was stabbed in the eye. Drake lost his free hand just above the wrist. Both seedmen kept fighting.

Jason realized that when the seedmen died, he would still have to take up his sword and fight his duel. They shouldn’t have intervened! He was more grateful for their sacrifices than he could have ever expressed, but now three of them would die instead of one!

“Get ready!” Drake yelled. “Don’t miss this!”

Whipping his sword fiercely, Drake charged forward. The lurker stabbed him through the chest, the blade piercing his titan-crab breastplate as if it were cardboard. Dropping his sword, legs churning to keep his momentum, Drake wrapped both arms around the lurker, hoisting it off the ground. The legs flailed. A dark fist pounded Drake on the shoulder. For an instant the lurker hung in the air immobilized.

And Jasher stabbed it through the back.

The torivor vanished with a blinding flash.

Jasher pulled the tip of his sword out of Drake and caught him as he slumped forward. Farfalee darted to them and helped her husband lay her brother on the deck. Jason and Corinne drew near.

Drake coughed wetly. One shoulder was misshapen, buckled where bones had snapped. As he rested on his side, the hilt of the torivor’s sword protruded from his chest, the sleek blade from his back. Blood drained from his many wounds.

“We need a tourniquet on that arm!” Farfalee instructed.

“Failie,” Drake chided softly, “I’ve . . . done this before. I’m past . . . the reach of medicine.” He coughed again. His eyes shifted to Jasher. “We got it.”

“Yes,” Jasher said. “That was the bravest act I’ve ever seen.”

“Always wanted to . . . go out with style.”

“Drake,” Farfalee managed, her face rigid. “Drake, I . . .” Her fragile composure shattered into sobs.

“Don’t,” Drake said. “I know. I love you too.” His eyes shifted
back to Jasher. “You killed a torivor!” The statement was powered by a moist chuckle. “First Galloran . . . now two can claim it.”

“Three of us,” Jasher corrected. “You more than I.”

Drake closed his eyes tightly and clenched his jaw. He was having trouble breathing.

Jason couldn’t hold back any longer. He knelt beside his friend. The words came in a rush. “Thank you, Drake. You saved my life. I wish you hadn’t. I’m so sorry.”

Drake grabbed Jason’s forearm with his remaining hand. The grip was strong. Jason tried to ignore the leaking injuries. “No, Jason. No apologies. You saved
me
.” He coughed several times. “I was . . . already dead. No amar. Squandered it. I could have ended . . . alone . . . a failure. Hating myself. This is better. Much better . . . than I deserve.”

Jason felt vaguely aware of Corinne’s hand on the back of his neck. He could not restrain his tears.

Drake released Jason and became lost in a fit of coughing and gasping. Jason wanted to turn away. Drake would die any second. But he could not turn his back on his friend, just in case those eyes opened again.

They did. “Take it out,” Drake murmured.

Jasher crouched, bracing one hand against Drake, and withdrew the torivor’s sword, the blade scraping against the cracked breastplate as it came free. No gore clung to the sleek weapon. Jasher cast it aside.

Rolling flat onto his back, Drake shuddered. Then he inhaled deeply. He stared up at the night sky. “We’re going to win,” he said, his voice calmer, less strained. “This is nothing. Keep going. They can’t stop us. Jason, give Rachel the necklace. Tell her . . . tell her I’m sorry. Tell her . . . I wanted . . . to show her . . . my little valley. Tell her I tried.”

His voice was growing weak. Farfalee smoothed a hand over his brow. “Shhh,” she whispered. “Be still, Drake. You can rest now. You did it. Rest. We’ll take it from here.”

“Failie,” he whispered, his hand twitching toward the back of his neck with little jerks. “Where’s my seed?” His head tipped sideways. The breath went out of him.

Farfalee went stiff, her expression impassive, damp eyes sparking in the moonlight. Jasher placed his hands on her shoulders to still her trembling. She looked over her shoulder. “You’re hurt!”

Jason looked at Jasher. Blood seeped from one eye. His upper arm bled. Jason had been so focused on Drake that he had almost forgotten about the other injuries.

“Nothing fatal,” Jasher said. “I’ll survive. The eye is shallow. Barely reached me. I might not even lose it.”

Heg took Jasher by the elbow. “Come,” he said. “Let me see to your wounds.”

Jasher nodded, releasing Farfalee. She stood straight, struggling to hide her grief. Corinne hugged Jason. He hugged her back. She felt too slender. She had lost weight while seasick. The effort to comfort him seemed distant and insufficient, but he appreciated the attempt. Despite her presence, despite everyone aboard the ship, Jason had never felt more alone. The profound sense of loss left him empty, but not numb. Drake was gone. He tried not to look at the body.

“Where is our wind?” Jasher cried as Heg led him belowdecks. “Aram, more wind!”

“I’ll see what I can do,” the half giant growled.

CHAPTER
18

N
obody had come to wake Jason yet, but the commotion could not be ignored. Heavy footsteps outside his cabin combined with shouted exchanges on deck had him rolling out of bed and tugging on his boots. He recognized panic and dismay in some of the exclamations. Jason strapped on his sword, picked up his shield, and bolted from the room.

Outside his cabin Jason nearly collided with Corinne, who was still buckling her sword belt. “What is it?” she asked.

“Not sure,” Jason answered.

Drake appeared beside them. He looked grim. “Good, you’re up. We have an unwelcome visitor.”

“Who?” Jason asked.

“Come see.”

Corinne and Jason followed Drake up to the deck. The sails hung limp. The
Valiant
had been stuck in a calm since yesterday morning, with only the sweeps and the faint currents to nudge the ship along.

The upside was that the same calm would be hampering their pursuers. Three days ago they had made a clean escape from
Windbreak Island, and they had not sighted an enemy ship since.

Except right now everyone was crowded to the starboard side of the deck, staring out at the water. Jason moved into position for a look. Corinne stayed beside him. She had not vomited since leaving Windbreak Island.

The night was still, the water nearly flat. A bright moon diminished the stars around it and left a gleaming trail on the tame ripples of the dark sea. Backlit by the moon, a tenebrous personage walked on the water toward the ship, holding a pair of swords upright, the silvery blades glinting in the moonlight.

“Oh no,” Jason whispered, his insides constricting as chills of terror tingled across his shoulders. Two swords meant it was here to duel somebody. What would they do? They needed Galloran for this.

“A lurker,” Corinne gasped.

The black figure did not hurry. Each measured footfall caused almost imperceptible ripples on the water, as if the sea were nothing more than a wide, shallow puddle.

Unable to look away, Jason stared in terror. The lurker was here to kill someone, and there was nobody to stop it. Anyone who intervened would die as well. Who had it come to kill? He tried to deny the awful certainty, but he knew. It had come to kill the person who needed to reach Darian. It had come for him. He was going to die.

Jason turned to Drake. “What do we do?” he asked quietly.

“We can’t outrun it,” Drake replied. “Probably not even if we had wind. You’ve seen how they can move when they choose. Unless we attack it, a torivor bearing swords can only duel one of us. Our only option might be to play its game.”

“I can feel its mind,” Corinne said. “It isn’t being clear about who it wants.”

Jason fingered the charm necklace Rachel had given him. Was there a way out of this? “What if we all hit it at once?”

Drake shook his head. “Then we open the door for it to kill us all. We can’t take that chance. Our errand is too crucial.”

As the torivor drew near to the ship, most of the drinlings fell back. Jason, Corinne, and Drake retreated to the far side of the deck, losing their view of the ominous visitor.

“Did you know they could walk on water?” Jason asked.

“I did not,” Drake replied. “Almost seems like cheating.”

“The lurker that followed me seemed to avoid water,” Jason remembered.

“It might have been trying to conceal the ability,” Drake guessed. “Running water?”

“Yeah, streams,” Jason said. “Think that makes a difference?”

Drake shrugged. “Perhaps. It’s having no trouble here.”

Jasher approached Corinne. “Can you discern who it wants?” he asked urgently.

She shook her head. “I’m trying. It keeps repeating that we’re going to fail. I can’t sense anything else.”

“Most likely targets?” Jasher asked generally.