The Mapmaker's Sons (18 page)

“Lost,” Tom supplied. “Mortimer Lost.” His head spun. Mortimer Lost was the scribe who'd found Marrick's prophecy?
He'd lived in both worlds, watched Tom grow up, and he'd never told him
anything?

His gaze darted to the small leather journal that rested beside him. “Lost's journal.”

Porter, Willa, and Mudge leaned forward, instantly curious. Porter snatched it up and began flipping through the pages. “Lost's prophecy is in here somewhere, right?”

“I guess so.” Tom regarded him in surprise. “I thought you already knew it.” According to Willa and Mudge, the prophecy of the Hero Twins had been whispered from town to town, reaching the ears of nearly everyone within the Five Kingdoms.

“I do,” Porter said, “but I want to hear it exactly the way Lost wrote it. A word might have been twisted or added in the telling, changing Marrick's true meaning.” Porter flicked through the pages, then stopped. “Here it is,” he said, and he began reading aloud:

“Before the full moon marks their fourteenth year

Sons light and dark shall again appear

A map shall guide them without fail

Through battle, blood, and betrayal

Gregor's lost knights will be found

When shimmering water replaces ground

Salamaine's true heir will claim the throne

Once Marrick's sword unites the stones.”

Willa looked at Porter. “Is anything different from what you'd heard?”

He gave a brief shake of his head. “No.”

“Me, neither.”

“Wait a minute,” Tom said, looking from Porter to Willa. “Wait a minute.
That's
the prophecy?”

“Of course,” Porter said. “Why?”

Why? Before the full moon marks their fourteenth year.
Tomorrow was their birthday. They had until midnight tonight. Umbrey had mentioned they had until Friday the thirty-first
to find the sword, but his words hadn't meant anything at the time. Now they did.

Tom took a deep breath and slowly released it. “Okay. And how exactly are we supposed to find Salamaine's true heir, recover the sword, and claim the stones—which, by the way, are in Keegan's possession—
by midnight tonight?
Doesn't that strike you as a little bit impossible?”

Willa stood. “Marrick wouldn't have said it if it wasn't possible. There'd be no prophecy at all. So there must be a way.”

Mudge gave a sleepy yawn. “Maybe your friend Umbrey can build an army or find a king while we look for the sword.”

Tom froze. At the mention of Umbrey's name, a memory of the splinter that had pierced his palm when he had woken returned. The map had been trying to tell him something. It was a caution of some sort, alerting him to a hidden threat, but its meaning remained just outside his reach.

“There's something else,” Porter said, looking at Tom. “Salamaine's sword was the greatest weapon ever known. Greater than any man could make. Keegan's men found a way through to your world to find you. If he gains the sword, he won't be satisfied ruling only this world. He'll send The Watch back into yours as well. If we fail, the world you knew will no longer exist.”

Tom shook his head. “Great. At least there's no pressure.”

“Does that mean you're ready?” Porter asked.

Tom nodded. He stood, slipped on his pack, and slung the map across his chest. “You?”

“Me? I've been waiting years for you to show up.”

The sun rose, burning away the last of the morning mist. They put away their breakfast, grabbed their packs and supplies, and headed into the forest. It was time to get the sword.

T
he Miserable Forest was aptly named. No hiking trails or scenic vistas—not that Tom had been expecting any—just rocks and roots to stumble over, thorny bushes that cut through his pants and scraped his ankles and shins, low branches that slapped his face as he passed. Although they'd been hiking for hours, he'd seen just one species of animal: an ugly, mole-like creature the size of a cat, armed with sharp claws and a pointy snout. The creatures seemed to make a game of darting out at them from the base of trees, hissing and baring their teeth, then darting away to hide beneath the cover of bushes.

The creatures were merely annoying. What put Tom's nerves on edge was the Djembe. Though the brush was too dense to make out anything more than shadowy shapes, there was no doubt in his mind that they were being stalked.

There was no frontal attack to combat. No arrows launched or knives thrown. Just a shrill scream that echoed through the forest at odd intervals, an urgent
aiy-aiy-aiy-aiy-aiy
that sent goose bumps down Tom's spine. The scream echoed around them like a bat's echolocation, some sort of radar used to pinpoint their exact location within the forest. It carried with it an unmistakable sense of forces gathering momentum and preparing for battle.

They stopped for water. Tom saw the strain he felt reflected on the faces of his friends. He looked at Porter. “What should we do?”

“Keep moving.”

Willa nodded in agreement. “How close are we?”

Tom withdrew the map and spread it out against a rock. “According to this, we're almost there. If we keep moving, maybe we can reach the lake, grab the sword, and get out before there's any trouble.”

Mudge shook his head. “I think it's too late for that.”

Tom looked up. Icy dread shot through his veins.

Two Djembe warriors blocked the path in front of them. Both were tall and lean, their long hair adorned with feathers and leaves. Thick streaks of green and brown dye coated their skin. Protecting their torsos was some sort of primitive armament, a flexible reed woven through a silvery mesh that glistened with the iridescence of a fish's scales. Grass skirts draped their bodies from their waists to their thighs; their feet were bare.

Tom studied their faces, surprised to see that they looked to be close to his own age. The figure beside the first warrior was slightly smaller, and Tom was even more surprised to recognize that she was a girl.

“Hey,” Tom began hesitantly. “Do you understand me?”

The warriors returned his greeting with a glare of naked hostility. The boy lifted his arm, pointing in the direction from which Tom, Porter, Willa, and Mudge had come. “Go.”

Willa nodded slowly. “We will. As soon as we can. But first we must find—”

“This is not your place. You are not welcome here.”

Tom touched the map. “There's something we must find. Then we will leave.”

The two warriors exchanged a look. Moving as one, they stepped forward. “You have been warned. Leave now or we will kill you.”

Porter withdrew his knife from its sheath. Tom scanned the ground near his feet. For once, there was a weapon at hand.
He lifted a heavy branch, wielding it like a sword. Adrenaline poured through him. He crouched low, his knees bent, ready to lunge. Willa drew her blade and nudged Mudge protectively behind her.

For a long moment, no one moved. The warrior boy and girl took in their weapons and exchanged a look. Without another word, they turned and slipped away, disappearing into the forest.

Tom blinked. He looked at Porter. “Uh … was that it?”

“I guess so.”

“Those are the Djembe, the brutal fighters everyone talks about?”

Porter watched the bushes for signs that they were coming back. Seeing none, he slowly tucked his blade back into its sheath. “I guess we handled them.”

Tom wasn't so sure. “Let's keep moving.”

Anxious to be gone, they picked up their pace, moving deeper into the forest. Eerie silence surrounded them. There were no more calls of the Djembe. Even the nasty hissing rodents no longer darted out from underfoot. Somehow the silence was more menacing, playing on Tom's nerves. The sun reached its zenith and began its descent, signaling the passing hours.

He finally drew to a halt. “Wait,” he said, breathing hard. “That's the third time we've passed that rock. We're going in circles.”

Willa shook her head. “No, that's a different rock.”

Porter drummed his sides impatiently. “I don't care about the stupid rocks. Where's the lake? We should have been there by now.”

Tom removed the map and spread it out. “According to—”

“Look!” Mudge interrupted, pointing. “Up in that tree!”

Two enormous birds perched within the boughs of a tall evergreen. They were as regal as peacocks, with graceful necks, swelling breasts, and long, extravagant tail feathers. But it was the coloring of their plumage that immediately struck Tom. One was startlingly white; the other, deep crimson. Just like the birds from the map.

The white bird tipped back its head and released a throaty
“Caw!”
Moving in unison, the birds drew themselves up. They launched into the sky, hoisting themselves upward with considerable effort, their great wings beating slowly. Up into the sky they flew, almost disappearing from view, before they swooped back down, drifting on air currents like a pair of massive gliders. They swung back and forth in the sky as though engaged in a playful game of midair tag.

Then, suddenly, their tactics changed. The birds swooped low, wings tucked tightly against their bodies. They dove toward the ground, missing Tom's head by mere inches, and then pulled up abruptly. The gust of wind left in their wake was so strong Tom stumbled backward. Mudge tripped and fell.

The birds dove toward them a second time, but this time, as they pulled away, the crimson bird turned and squawked over its shoulder, “Caw!” as if urging them to follow.

Tom didn't miss its meaning. “Let's go!”

Keeping their eyes on the birds soaring above them, they stumbled along through the forest, running as fast as they could to keep up. They raced uphill, thighs burning, and soon Tom spied a break in the tree line. The lake. They were almost there.

He glanced over at Porter as they ran. Unable to contain his glee, his brother gave a whoop of victory. Willa flashed a beaming smile. Mudge stuck out his skinny arms and, waving them like wings, mimicked the birds gliding through the forest. They raced together, laughing and shouting, ducking between trees and leaping over bushes, fueled by sheer joy. The birds were guiding them to the lake. They'd made it.

The forest ended abruptly. They spilled out into a large, open clearing and stumbled to a stop, laughing and breathing hard.

There was no lake. No water anywhere.

Tom stared in confusion. It couldn't be. The map had been so clear.
Everything
had led them here.

But there was no lake. Instead, they stood at the edge of a dry, desolate clearing. Within the clearing stood a single structure—the ruins of an ancient pyramid-shaped temple.
That was all. Tom's mind refused to comprehend it. He turned in a circle, convinced that if he just looked hard enough he'd find the lake. But it wasn't there.

He cast Porter and Willa a bewildered glance, then moved toward the pyramid. “Maybe we'll be able to see something from the top,” he said.

It wasn't that he had any hope of actually seeing the lake. He just didn't know what else to suggest. Neither did anyone else.

Together they climbed a badly deteriorating set of stone steps. The top third of the pyramid had been leveled off to make a platform. A set of tall columns, now in a state of crumbling decay, gave the platform the look and feel of some sort of altar. Centered within the columns was an enormous, circular wooden block. A sacrificial table of some sort, Tom thought with a chill, remembering the Djembe warriors.

He turned away and scanned the horizon. No shimmering lake anywhere in sight. No water at all. Not even the trickle of a stream snaking its way through the Miserable Forest.

He looked up and scanned the sky. The birds—his last hope—were gone. A wave of despair washed over him. They'd failed. This was it. The end of their journey.