Quest for the Scorpion's Jewel Page 4

  Yes, I made it, but can I make it back?

  Jesse shook his head and limped into the trees. His father always told him never to worry about something until worrying would do any good.

  Kayne had trained him well. It didn’t take Jesse long to identify the knob willow tree. He peeled the bark off in strips. Not knowing how much would be enough, he took an armful, just to be safe.

  And how will I carry it across the river? Jesse knew he couldn’t swing from support to support with only one arm. He quickly took off his belt, looping it around the stack and cinching it tight. It would not do to have the bark slip and fall into the river. I can hold the strap between my teeth.

  No you can’t, the practical side of him realized. You won’t even be able to cross under the bridge again. You’re too tired!

  Lacking any other ideas, Jesse ignored his thoughts. He walked back to the bridge beside the road. Behind him, he could feel the shadow of the Suspicion Mountains looming into the dark. Everything was silent and calm, except for the rushing of the river. A nice change from the inn today.

  Without knowing why, Jesse looked up. There, in the clear night sky, were thousands of stars, pricks of silver light against the blackness. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered.

  He remembered stories his father had told him about the pictures that the stars formed, the heroes and villains of old whose mighty deeds were captured forever in the skies. Ever since his parents’ disappearance, Jesse had not even stepped out of the inn after curfew. Uncle Tristan strictly forbade it, worried that a Patrol member might see Jesse and close down his inn. It had been a long time since Jesse had seen the stars the stories were based on.

  Somehow, the starry sky made Jesse feel a little more confident. This is my chance to do something heroic.

  Those warm feelings disappeared instantly as he reached the edge of the forest by the river. There were no Patrol members around the bonfire on the other side.

  Where are they, then? Jesse ducked behind the nearest tree and peered out at the river. There they were, sitting beside the bank. One had his boots off and his legs in the water.

  Clearly, he could not go back the same way he came. Jesse gripped the bundle of bark tighter. I’ll have to cross on the bridge.

  Of course, the short distance between the trees and the bridge would be the most dangerous, since there was no place for him to hide if one of the Patrol members looked his way. After that, he could crawl across the bridge, using its stone sides to shield him from detection.

  But it would hurt, Jesse knew, putting full weight on his mangled leg as he crawled. There is no other way, he thought, gritting his teeth. I have to do it.

  With that parting thought, he crouched down on the ground and crawled toward the bridge, pausing only when he reached the cold stone.

  “What was that?” one Patrol member asked sharply. Jesse froze, his heart beating so fast he was sure they would hear it and discover the source of the sound.

  “You’re imagining things,” another said.

  Jesse eased his gaze over the stone wall of the bridge, hoping the darkness would hide him from sight. The largest Patrol member had stood, and was scanning the surrounding area for any further sign of movement.

  “No,” he said slowly. “I saw someone move.”

  “Could’ve been a bird.”

  “A bird the size of a human?”

  Jesse’s heart started to beat faster. “No,” the Patrol member said. “Someone’s there. I know it. And I’ve never been wrong.”

  Just when Jesse was considering diving over the stone wall of the bridge and into the river, an arrow cut through the air with a sharp sigh, landing among the Patrol members. They looked frantically around for the source of the threat, crossbows at the ready.

  One bent down to pick up the arrow, eyes still fixed on the darkness. “This isn’t a crude homemade arrow,” he said, a tinge of fear in his voice.

  Peasants, of course, were not permitted to own weapons. Swords, spears, and bows were reserved for the king, his guards and nobility, and Patrol members. It was the law. Still, Jesse knew that many created their own weapons for protection, or, in the case of the Rebellion, to fight against the king.

  The Patrol member fingered the feathers that formed the shaft. “Blood red,” he said ominously.

  “A saard,” his comrade breathed, glancing all around at the woods and stepping closer to the others.

  Saards, according to legend in Mir, were the souls of those who had been killed on false charges. Denied justice in life, they sought it in death, punishing those who were responsible for their death. Red was their color, the color of bloodshed.

  The fact that the Patrol member was afraid of the saard said much about his integrity. Jesse wondered how many bribes he had taken, how many innocent people he had knowingly condemned. It happened often, he knew, but the thought still made him sick.

  But Father said there’s no such being as a saard, Jesse remembered. Who shot that arrow, then?

  There. By the mill. Beside the great wooden wheel that moved slowly with the river were two shadowy forms.

  Silas and Rae. It has to be. They followed me here.

  Jesse knew it wouldn’t take long for the Patrol members to notice the same thing he had. He also knew that Silas would not kill any of the Patrol. The Youth Guard was sworn to protect the kingdom, not destroy its guards.

  I have to do something before they are discovered. Jesse knew that his size would hardly intimidate them. But if they believed he was a saard….

  Without giving himself time to think about it further, Jesse set down the willow bark on the bridge. Hands shaking with fear, he stood and faced the Patrol members, staring down at them from his position on the bridge.

  The one who had been so afraid of the saard arrow pointed at him, staggering backwards. “There he is,” Jesse heard him whisper. A strong, grown man afraid of a boy. Surely the man has something on his conscience.

  “What business do you have?” another questioned, his hand on his crossbow. Even he seemed to have lost the customary bluster of a Patrol member. Jesse thought for a second about how he must look to them. Pale, homemade clothing, loose on his small frame, blowing in the wind. Light brown hair, almost gray in the moonlight. Just like a saard.

  “I have come to find the ones who killed my parents,” he said calmly, his mind struggling to come up with a satisfactory story. He spoke clearly, but quietly, not a trace of the fear he felt showing in his voice. “After their passing, with no one to provide for me, I starved to death. It was not right.”

  “Many go without food in these hard times,” one shot back. “It was not our fault.”

  “Wasn’t it?” Jesse never looked away from them. “You are the Patrol. It is your job to protect, in the name of the king.”

  “Begone, foul creature,” one Patrol member said, raising his crossbow.

  Jesse tried to duck to the ground, but found that his feet would not obey his mind’s command. He was frozen to the bridge, unable to move.

  “No!” the other said quickly, shoving his friend’s arm down. “Would you add to our guilt? Besides, you know the saards cannot be killed.”

  “It was you who shot the arrow?” the man with the crossbow said suspiciously. Jesse nodded. “Prove it.”

  For a second, Jesse panicked. Then the solution came to him. Without daring a glance at the mill, he spoke confidently and loudly, “All I have to do is raise my arm, like this.”

  Sure enough, a split second later, a second arrow pierced the ground near the Patrol member’s foot. All three men stared in the direction of the mill.

  “My father,” Jesse said simply. “He does not wish to be seen, because of his disfigurement. My mother is there too. Both were killed by Patrol members.”

  For all Jesse knew, the story could be true. The thought brought
him a sharp twinge of pain, and he pushed it away.

  He pointed at the Patrol member in the middle, the one who had been so afraid of the saard arrow and had tried to shoot him with his crossbow. “Was it you, sir?”

  He did not answer, and Jesse wondered if perhaps this man did have blood on his hands. “I could raise my arm again,” Jesse said. The man’s face froze. “My father would not miss this time.”

  A pause. “But I choose not to,” Jesse finished, stepping back. Then, slowly, with effort, he climbed up on the stone wall of the bridge. A misstep would land him in the river, and he commanded his legs not to shake with fear.

  “I choose instead to show mercy.” Then, quieter, “Mercy that was not shown to me or my family.”

  The Patrol members looked up at him in terror. “Begone from here!” Jesse commanded. With that ringing shout, Jesse jumped off the bridge.

  For a moment, falling through the air, he thought he was wrong, that his memory had failed him after all these years. But then, there it was, cold and sharp: the jutting stone that he and Eli had often used to climb onto the bridge from the river. He held onto the stone with all of his strength.

  Jesse had only tried this trick once, six years before, trying to impress Eli, no doubt. He had leapt off the bridge, reaching out to catch the stone sticking out from the side so that he would jerk to a stop before hitting the water. He had missed, and Eli had laughed at him when he emerged, sputtering, from the river.

  This time, though, I did not miss. Jesse hung there for a few seconds, gripping the stone until his arms ached. Anyone on the far side of the bridge would see a foolish boy dangling from a ledge of the bridge. But to the guards on the other side, the pale saard boy had disappeared into thin air.

  Sure enough, he heard a shout of dismay, then running footsteps. Jesse clung to the rock for as long as he could, with every muscle in his body crying out in protest. Then he let go and fell into the river.

  As soon as he hit the cold water, he clawed frantically at the bank so the current wouldn’t drag him away. He tried to pull himself up, but the force of the river was too strong and his arms too weak. Panic swirled inside of him, faster and more furious than the river. I’m going to drown!

  Two brown boots flashed in front of Jesse’s eyes. “Take my hand,” a low voice said. Jesse reached up, gasping as he let go of the bank and felt the river begin to pull him away. Then he felt a large, warm hand clasp his, and his body was lifted into the air.

  Jesse sputtered, coughing up the water he had swallowed, and crawled to his knees. Silas looked down on him, and Rae stood off to the side, watching them.

  “Take the bark to Kayne,” Jesse said to her, pointing weakly to the bridge where he had left the bundle.

  Rae nodded. Jesse wasn’t sure, since it was dark, but he thought he might have seen a glimmer of approval on her face. With a graceful leap, she jumped over the bridge’s high stone wall and carried the bark through the sleeping streets of Mir, moving like a silent wisp of wind.

  “You did well,” Silas said, nodding at him. He handed Jesse his cloak, then turned toward the road, gesturing for him to follow.

  And even though Jesse was wet, sore, and shaking with cold and fear, he smiled as he looked up at the heroes in the stars.

  Chapter 5

  The first thing Kayne did when Jesse entered the shack was give him a sharp rap on the forehead.

  “What was that for?” Jesse demanded, jerking back and rubbing the sore area.

  “Making sure your skull isn’t hollow,” Kayne grumbled, stooping back down to the rug where Parvel was lying. “Seems it ain’t, which means you’re not brainless. Just stupid.”

  Jesse just grinned. The smile faded from his face as he glanced down at Parvel, whose eyes twitched slightly under his lids. “Are you going to give him the antidote?”

  “Already did,” Kayne said. “I had the water boiling and ready.”

  Jesse smiled to himself. That meant, no matter what Kayne said, he had believed Jesse would come back with the knob willow bark.

  “It’s not working,” Rae pronounced, staring at Parvel’s still form.

  “Not yet,” Silas countered. Jesse had soon realized that in addition to being a near-perfect aim with a longbow, Silas was by far the more patient of the two Youth Guard members.

  Rae just grunted and went back to pacing, covering the same ground she had ever since they entered Kayne’s shack.

  “It’ll work,” Kayne promised, nodding in satisfaction. “Faster than a lot of…. Confound it, girl, will you stop that pacing? This isn’t military school, you know.”

  To Jesse’s surprise, Rae actually stopped, choosing instead to tap her foot against the table leg as she waited.

  Looking at Parvel’s flushed, pained face, Jesse almost wished that he could pray to Parvel’s God. But even if He does exist, he thought bitterly, He certainly isn’t taking care of His own very well.

  Jesse turned to Silas and asked a question that had been on his mind since the bridge. “Why did you have arrows with red shafts? In Mir, that’s the mark of a saard. It’s their color.”

  “Parvel’s idea,” Silas said shortly. “We dyed them before leaving the capital. He’s from this district and is familiar with local legend.”

  “Care to tell me how that knowledge was useful?”

  Everyone jerked their heads down at the sound of Parvel’s weak voice. He opened his eyes, wincing as if even that small movement was painful, and blinked at the people staring at him.

  “We’ll explain later,” Jesse said. “Can we get you anything?”

  Parvel blinked at him. “Who are you? What’s your name?”

  “Jesse.”

  Parvel stared at him thoughtfully. “What’s wrong?” Jesse asked.

  “Nothing,” Parvel said. “It’s just that…you remind me of someone I once knew. The same green eyes….” Then he shook his head, wincing at the pain it caused him. “May I have some water?”

  Jesse dipped a metal cup into the bucket from the well and handed it to Parvel. He fumbled with it, spilling most of it on his sweat-soaked shirt, and downed the rest in one gulp. “Thank you. Now, tell me, what happened?”

  He doesn’t know, Jesse realized. All he knows is that he woke up here, lying on the ground, with a paste smeared on his arm.

  Kayne explained about the poisoned arrow and how Jesse had gotten the antidote. Jesse couldn’t help but feel a little proud at that part of the story.

  “Thank you,” Parvel said simply, nodding at him. “You probably saved my life.”

  Jesse coughed and looked down. “It was just lucky Rae and Silas came to the inn.”

  “I’m sure luck had nothing to do with it,” Parvel said, a small smile appearing on his face. Jesse remembered what Rae had said about Parvel believing in God.

  I don’t want to hear about it. The village priest said it was God’s will that his parents left. If that’s how God treats us, then I have no use for Him.

  “This poison,” Jesse said, turning to Kayne. “How long before it wears off? When will he recover?”

  Kayne shook his head. “No bothering about that, now. This boy needs his rest.” He started to pull Silas and Rae away from the sickbed.

  Silas didn’t move. “We need to know.”

  Something in his flat tone must have convinced Kayne. “This kind of poison is strange, that’s for sure,” Kayne said, refusing to look at Silas. “Antidote counters the poison, but it doesn’t get rid of it. Not all the way. Besides, I’ve never seen a case this bad. There’ll be more spells of fever as his body tries to get rid of the poison.”

  “For how long?” Parvel asked.

  “Best guess? A few weeks.”

  Weeks?

  Jesse was sure his expression mirrored the shock on Parvel’s face. “Very well, then,” he said heavily. “I
would like to speak with Rae and Silas alone, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “’Course,” Kayne said, standing with effort, his old bones creaking. “Always love bein’ thrown out of my own home by complete strangers.”

  “I’ll make more of the dispur poultice,” Jesse said, hurrying out to the kitchen. He reached for the cabinet, then paused. I wonder what they’re talking about. He could hear the rumble of low voices in the other room.

  Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to listen to a little. He edged the curtain open a crack and peered in. Silas and Rae leaned over Parvel as he eased himself up, leaning heavily on his good arm.

  “You cannot go on with two members,” Parvel reasoned. “Squads are supposed to have four.”

  “We’ll wait for you,” Silas insisted.

  “No,” Parvel said firmly.

  Silas was not about to give up. “Parvel, you are our squad captain. We will not leave you behind.”

  “And I’m telling you that someone knows we are here, and they clearly want us dead.”

  Jesse shivered at the calm way in which he spoke. “Once the man with the crossbow realizes you are alive, he will be back,” Parvel continued.

  “He won’t be back. Ever,” Silas countered simply. “I shot him.”

  Parvel thought about this for a moment. “Members of the Rebellion never work alone. There could be others, and they have ways of finding those they want to kill. I will not see our mission fail before it has begun.”

  There was silence for a moment. “He’s right,” Rae said at last. “We need to get away from here.” She stood and began to pace again, as if preparing for an attack. “As soon as possible.”

  “Listen to me.” Parvel leaned toward them. “I will not have you playing games with death. There is a good chance you will die on this mission. That is why I refuse to rush into danger without thinking about what happens after. And neither should you.”

  “Here he goes again,” Rae muttered.

  “I don’t think this is a game, if that’s what you mean,” Silas said, his voice flat. “I know the danger.”