Curse of the Forbidden Book (16 page)

Only moments before, the palace gate had seemed very close. Now, the two hundred paces seemed to be a huge, gaping distance.
It's amazing how a pursuer can change your perspective
.

Jesse glanced back and immediately wished he hadn't. Roland was gaining on them. He was shouting something, but they were still too far away to hear the words.
That might be a good thing.

“We'll have to slow down,” Silas called, as they approached the gate. “The Patrol will be suspicious.”

But Jesse already had an idea—a crazy idea.
But then, haven't all of our ideas been crazy?
“Keep going,” he said, rushing determinedly for the gate and the drawbridge. “Follow my lead.”

There were four Patrol members clustered near the gate, and Jesse knew that at least another two were in the guard tower on the palace wall.
So Roland wasn't lying about doubling the guard.

Despite Jesse's words, Parvel and Silas began to slow as they came within hailing distance of the guards. Jesse limped ahead of them. The Patrol guards were now only a few paces away.

All of a sudden, he burst into laughter, something that was hard to do since he was already starting to pant for breath. “Are you two going to let a cripple beat you home?”

There was silence for a brief moment. Then Parvel picked up speed and passed him. “Not a chance,” he crowed, making a face at Jesse. “Last one back has to milk the cow!”

Now Silas took the lead. “I don't know why you even try,” he bragged, bursting into a sprint that took him past the Patrol members and across the drawbridge.

“See you tomorrow!” Jesse hollered, waving at the confused Patrol members as he ran past, his staff tapping out a wild beat on the wood.

To his relief, they showed no signs of pursuit. One of them was even laughing, as if saying that he was like that when he was their age.

The wood of the drawbridge turned into the stone of the main bridge that spanned the deep moat. During an attack, of course, the drawbridge would be lifted and the enemy would be trapped on the stone bridge, unable to reach the palace.

Now Jesse slowed down, breathing heavily. “Well, it worked!” he proclaimed. “Although, Parvel, a
cow
? I'm willing to bet that most peasants in the capital city don't own a cow.”

“I grew up as the son of a courtier,” Parvel pointed out. “How would I know?”

Silas just shook his head. “Instead of arguing about livestock, I would suggest….” He turned to face them, and his voice trailed off. Then he began running even faster toward the end of the bridge.

Jesse made the mistake of looking back too. There, running through the gate, was Roland, moving toward them at an incredible speed for someone of his size. “You there!” he demanded. “Halt!”

Jesse did no such thing. But as Silas and Parvel got farther and farther ahead of them, he began to panic.
I won't make it
, he thought.
I can't outrun him
.

He was almost to the end of the bridge when he felt Roland's thick, sweaty hand clamp down on his shoulder. In the next instant, his entire body was jerked backward and his head smacked against the stone railing of the bridge.

Dimly, he heard Roland shout, “Back here! Both of you! Or I kill him.”

With everything in him, Jesse fought against the blackness that started to steal over his vision.
Not now. They need me. I have to do something—think of something
.

He blinked a few times, tried to breathe deeply. Slowly, his vision came back and he realized that he was slumped on the ground, leaning against the bridge, his staff fallen on the stone beside him.

Then he noticed the blade at his throat.

Jesse looked up slowly, carefully, trying not to move suddenly. Silas and Parvel were coming back.
No!
he wanted to shout.
Run! He'll kill you too. He'll kill all of us!

But they wouldn't leave him, just like they wouldn't leave Rae. Roland had counted on that.
It was my fault. It was my fault for being slow and crippled and weak
.

“Reach for that bow, scum,” Roland growled at Silas, “and I'll kill him. I swear I will.”

Silas knew as well as Jesse did that he meant it. Slowly, he lowered the hand that had been reaching to the arrows at his back.

“Stand up,” Roland ordered, and Jesse obeyed, slowly so that the dizziness wouldn't come over him again.

Jesse knew that feeling sorry for himself wouldn't save them. Neither would blaming himself or his crippled leg. He had to think, a difficult task with a blade wedged against his unprotected skin.

“Is this a habit for members of the Rebellion?” Jesse asked, trying to sound collected like Silas and Parvel always did. He also tried not to move, which made his words sound strangled instead of bold like he meant them to. “I remember this happening to us several times before, back in Riddler's Pass.”

Roland glanced around to make sure no one was watching. There was no sign of anyone else on the bridge, and if the Patrol members had seen anything, they clearly had decided not to get involved. “There was no Riddler's Pass,” he hissed sharply. “Do you understand me?”

“Call those guards over, and there will be a Riddler's Pass,” Jesse said boldly. “We'll tell them everything.”

Roland sneered at him, and Jesse wondered if the threat had any effect at all. “Now, you will do exactly as I say.”

“Prince Corin will hear of this,” Silas said, but the claim sounded weak even to Jesse.

Roland just snorted. “He can't protect you anymore. You didn't think you'd get away with it, did you? Humiliating me, first in front of the Council of Nine, and then here at the governor's tournament? I'll kill you all!”

“That doesn't give us very much motivation to do as you say, does it?” Jesse pointed out.

Roland ignored him. “I would have done it at the archery tournament, but this fool,” Roland indicated Parvel with a jerk of his head, “threatened to expose me in front of the entire court. I couldn't take any chances, although the governor wouldn't listen to a mere slave”

“Maybe the governor wouldn't listen to a slave,” Jesse interrupted. “But what about his own daughter?”

The frozen look on Roland's face gave Jesse hope that the gamble would work. “Yes,” he said, “we told her that you belonged to the Rebellion.”

“She wouldn't believe you,” Roland sneered, his cockiness back. “Slaves lie and spread rumors all the time.”

“Rae told her the same,” Jesse said. It was a guess, but even if it wasn't true, Roland might think it was. “Her trusted handmaiden.”

Now Parvel chimed in. “And even if she doesn't believe us right away, how much investigating would it take to cast some doubt on your loyalty? How many well-placed questions before she discovers something that might look suspicious?” He raised an eyebrow. “How careful have you been, Roland?”

Small beads of sweat began to appear on Roland's round, red face. Jesse kept pressing, trying to ignore the throbbing in his head and the blade at his throat. “You're the one who should be running, Roland—away from the governor's court, away from this district even.”

For a moment, Roland's shoulders slumped, and the blade pulled away from Jesse's throat. Immediately, Jesse edged away a few steps, forcing Roland to turn his back on Silas and Parvel.

He kept talking, trying to distract Roland, trying to make him feel threatened enough to surrender. The dizziness had returned, and he struggled to make his mouth form words that made sense. “The governor is a prideful man. He will be outraged when he finds that a member of his own court belongs to the Rebellion. He won't rest until he finds you.”

The fear in Roland's eyes faded, replaced with pure rage. “So cocky,” he muttered, stepping toward Jesse. “I should have killed you in Riddler's Pass. I won't miss now!”

With one giant hand, Roland lunged forward and grabbed Jesse, lifting him in the air like he weighed no more than a sack of potatoes. The railing of the bridge was below him, and Roland's leering face in front of him. Dimly, Jesse heard Roland scream over the pounding of his own heart, although all of his senses seemed to slow down. Roland raised the dagger to strike.

Then, a strangled gasp, and Roland's eyes turned glassy. That was the last thing Jesse saw before he realized something else: he was falling.

Released of Roland's grip, he had tumbled over the bridge railing. Jesse had barely processed that revelation before the cold, dark water of the moat slapped him in the face. The impact took his breath away.

When he finally gasped for air, trying to fill his emptied lungs, there was nothing, nothing but water around him. He was swallowing, choking.

He had been able to swim before the accident. Even then, though, he had played with Eli in the shallow part of the Dell River, where they could always touch the bottom.

Here there was no bottom, and no surface either, not that Jesse could find. There was only darkness and cold and the pain in his head and in his lungs, growing sharper and sharper.

He began to panic, his arms forgetting the measured strokes of childhood. He thrashed about frantically, willing his crippled leg to do something, anything, to help him.

Then there was light and air for a second, and Jesse gasped once before he sank again. It was enough to dull the ache in his lungs.

Dimly, he felt movement near him, the cold water splashing in bursts around him, but that wasn't important. Not as important as the surface and the light.

The light. The Light of the World
. Although his tired mind couldn't remember the words to say, he prayed, crying out to Jesus, who had calmed the storm and taken his place and conquered death.

And he stopped thrashing.

Then Jesse felt strong arms around him. He was moving—aching, burning, choking, but moving. Someone was pulling him up to the surface. Toward the light.

Or maybe he was being pulled down, because suddenly the light began to dim, and all Jesse could see was blackness.

When Jesse opened his eyes, he was lying on a dirt floor. There was a candle burning somewhere. Silas was sitting beside him, staring at him with a stony expression resembling concern.

Then, wincing, Jesse remembered why. Roland. The water. The arms that had lifted him up.

“I lost some of our supplies again,” Jesse said, and found that even saying these few words took effort.

Silas jerked in surprise, then smiled dryly. “In a few days, I might care about that. Not now.” He turned his head away and called, “He's awake!”

Immediately, Jesse heard footsteps. Parvel came into his range of vision first, kneeling down beside him.

Jesse groaned. “What?” Parvel demanded instantly. “What hurts?”

“Not that,” Jesse said. “You just have that doctor look on your face. The one you had when you ordered Prince Corin around like a slavedriver.”

“Well,” Rae's voice said, “considering that he saved your life, I suppose he has a right to do a bit of ordering.”

“Rae!” Jesse exclaimed, trying to sit up so he could see her. Parvel shoved him down, gently but firmly, and Jesse started to understand Prince Corin's frustration with him. “You made it out of the palace!” Then he paused and turned back to Parvel. “You saved my life?”

“I jumped in after you,” Parvel said. “Although, for a minute there, I thought it was hopeless. I could hardly get near you when you were kicking about. It was a good thing you stopped, or you would have sunk like a stone. The pack was too heavy to allow you to float to the surface.”

“Where am I?” Jesse asked, trying to look around.

“Roddy's,” Silas answered.

“Are you sure that's a good idea?” Jesse asked, remembering the Patrol members and the slave sellers.

“It's just for the night,” Rae said. “We move on in the morning.”

Jesse attempted to sit up again. “I'm fine,” he protested, when it looked like Parvel would stop him. “My head hurts and I'm hungry, but I….”

His voice trailed off as he stared at Rae. “Well,” he said, his mouth gaping open. “Well.”

“You've made our friend Jesse speechless,” Parvel said to Rae. “Quite a feat, if you ask me.”

But Jesse could hardly believe that Rae was still Rae. She was wearing one of Lady Taralyn's gowns, studded along the neckline with tiny jewels. Although Jesse couldn't see her face clearly because of the half veil that hid it, Rae's neck and arms were pale white, although when Jesse looked closer, he could see the grain of the powder. Still, the transformation was nearly perfect.

Right down to the thick red braid that curled gently from the cap at the top of the veil. “Lady Taralyn,” Jesse said in mock respect, “how kind of you to grace us with your presence.”

“Stop it,” she growled, “before I punch you in the face.”

It's still Rae, all right
.

She yanked the veil off, and the long braid came with it. Her normal dark hair fell down from the tight cap that had kept it in place. “I'm going to wash this ridiculous powder off, if you don't mind.”

Jesse forced himself not to laugh as she flounced away, nearly tripping over the unaccustomed train.

“Don't let her fool you,” Parvel said, smiling. “She could have removed the disguise earlier, but she kept it on to show you. She was quite proud of the idea.” He handed Jesse some food.

He took it and shoved a big bite into his mouth. It seemed to be some kind of dry, crispy cake.
Not much taste, but not bad
. “I take it she got away without any trouble, then?” he mumbled through his full mouth.

Silas nodded. “You know Rae. The Patrol members tried to stop her, but she went off on a tirade about her rank and how she would report them to her father, and how dare they even address her without bowing.”

Now Jesse did laugh. “I pity those guards.” Two bites later, he thought of something else. “And Roland?”

“Dead,” was all Silas said, but Jesse could tell from the victorious expression on his face that he thought it was a fate Roland well deserved.

“‘For the Rebellion,'” Parvel said, shaking his head sadly. “That was the last thing Roland ever said. He didn't understand, even at the end, that we are not the enemy. Yet I had to kill him to save you, Jesse.”

Parvel delivered the death blow?
For some reason, Jesse had assumed it was Silas. “Then it was my fault he died.”

“No,” Parvel said, placing a firm hand on Jesse's shoulder. “He chose to live by the sword, and by the sword he died. His fate falls on his own shoulders.” His face became serious. “And perhaps mine as well.”

“What?” Silas scoffed. “Do you think your God would object to killing in self-defense? Does He expect His followers to be slaughtered helplessly, like sheep?”

Instead of immediately contradicting Silas like Jesse expected him to, Parvel kept that far-off, thoughtful look on his face. “I don't believe so,” he finally said. “Or I wouldn't have acted as I did. But I could be wrong, of course.”

Jesse groaned silently. Parvel, who had such strong faith, could be wrong about something involving God?
How will I ever know anything for certain, then?

“I only know,” Parvel continued, “that it is a very serious thing to take a life. We would do well not to forget that.” He was looking especially at Silas as he spoke, but Silas didn't meet his gaze.

By the time Jesse had eaten three of the island sand-cakes, as he called them, Rae was back and clean from all trappings of her disguise except the billowing gown. She looked very out of place in the dingy tavern, but she didn't appear to notice.

“So,” she said, flopping very ungracefully to the ground, “you have the book?”

Silas nodded, pulling it out of the leather pouch.

“Can I see it?” Rae asked. Silas handed it to her, and she pulled the candle closer and turned to the pages near the end. “Here I am.”

Jesse crawled closer, and Silas and Parvel leaned in too. There, in clear, accurate pen strokes, was a picture of Rae's face that took up most of a page, along with a description of her, written at the bottom.

“We stood for portraits at the beginning of training,” Rae said, sounding disgusted. “‘To honor the heroes,' they told us.”

“An excellent likeness,” Parvel teased, to lighten the mood, Jesse guessed.

“I suppose,” Rae said, tracing the outline of the drawing. Then she looked up at them suddenly. “They'll know we were here, won't they?”

“Perhaps,” Parvel said, shrugging.

“Chancellor Doran will,” Jesse said firmly. “We need to leave at dawn tomorrow.”

“Are you sure you're strong enough?” Parvel said doubtfully.

Jesse stood and jumped once or twice, ignoring the slight throbbing in his head from where Roland had thrown it against the stone. “I'm fine,” he repeated. “See?” Then he realized that something was missing. “Where's my staff? You didn't leave it on the bridge, did you?”

“Of course not,” Silas said, picking it up from the floor and handing it to him. “It seems that, next to the Forbidden Book, it is the most important possession we own, to be guarded at all costs.”

Jesse ignored his sarcasm and held the familiar stick of wood tightly. Silas might bluster, but he cared enough to remember the staff. That was enough for Jesse.

“Well, at least you're not in here, Jesse,” Rae said, still staring at the pages. She flipped a few pages in the book. “Hmm. That's strange.”

“What?” Jesse asked.

She looked up, but she was looking at Parvel, not Jesse. “Aleiah isn't here either.”

Something in Parvel seemed to recoil in pain, and without a word, he took the book from Rae.

For a moment, Jesse couldn't think of who Aleiah was. Then he remembered. She was the squad's fourth member who had died in training.

“They must only record Youth Guard members who begin the missions,” Silas said brusquely, as usual, showing no emotion.

For a moment, they all sat in silence while Rae paged through the book. “Well, I never thought it would be possible,” Rae said finally, looking up, “but several squads have members who are all still alive. According to the book, that is.”

“I know,” Silas said. “It was the first thing I looked at.”

“Where are they?” Jesse asked, looking over her shoulder.

Rae marked three sections with her fingers and flipped from one to another. “Rigel's squad is on the warfront at the Northern Waste,” she said, pointing to the last line of one of the pages. “The Guard Riders haven't killed them yet because they actually want them to try to accomplish their mission. Let the enemy kill them instead.”

Jesse shuddered. The blunt way that Rae said it made it seem worse somehow.

“That's Eli's squad,” Parvel told him quietly.

Now Jesse was even more concerned. He fought the urge to declare that they should leave right away for District Three to save his friend.

More pages. “Mariah's squad was sold to pirates in the Great Sea,” Rae continued. “Part of a deal between them and the king, it says. Every Guard commissioning, they get four new slaves.”

“But that was nearly a month ago,” Silas pointed out. “Who knows if they're still alive now?”

Rae acknowledged that with a nod, then moved on to the next section. “Nero and his squad are somewhere in the swamps of eastern District Two. As of four days ago, they had still managed to evade the group of Guard Riders trying to capture them.”

“Four days ago?” Silas asked in disbelief. “How could Chancellor Doran possibly have such a recent report? The swamps are nearly a week's travel from Davior.”

“Well, Captain Demetri reported our deaths to Chancellor Doran only a few days ago,” Silas said, shrugging. “Maybe an assassin assigned to this group sent back a messenger.”

“What do we do?” Rae said, turning more pages in the book. “There are three squads still alive, all trying to complete dangerous missions. None of them know that the king is trying to kill them. How do we choose who to save first?”

Apparently no one knew how to answer that, because no one said anything. Jesse suddenly felt helpless. It was like deciding who would live and who would die.

No,
he realized.
That's not up to us
.

“We should start with Nero's squad,” Silas said at last. “They're closest, and they seem to be in the most danger. The king wants Anton's squad alive for now. Mariah's squad may not survive life at sea, but no one is actively hunting them.”

His logic made sense, but Jesse hated it, because it meant waiting to save Eli. Even though he knew that he should care equally about all of the squads, Eli was his friend.
Just protect him,
he prayed.
Protect all of them until we get there.

“We have much to do before dawn,” Parvel said, standing. “Including charting our course.” He turned to Silas. “I assume you know where these swamps are?”

“Vaguely,” Silas said, “but they stretch for miles through dangerous territory. Finding the squad without getting killed by the Patrol may prove to be near to impossible.”

“Of course,” Jesse said, smiling grimly. “That seems to be normal for us.”

“First order of business,” Rae said, picking up her skirt and making a face. “Getting a new set of clothes for all of us. I can't stand this ridiculous thing.”

Parvel laughed. “We'll get you a proper outfit at the nearest clothesline. I'm sure some peasant family could do with a simple trade.”

“Especially since those are probably real jewels sewn into the neckline,” Silas pointed out. He headed for the door. “I'll go up on the roof. No Patrol will see me from there, and I'll be able to see if any neighbors have the laundry out.”

“I'll go with him,” Jesse said to Rae and Parvel. “I don't like it when one of us goes off alone.”

“Don't even think about climbing,” Parvel warned.

“I'll stay on the ground,” Jesse promised. He knew that he would be of little use as a protector with only his walking stick, but looking through the Forbidden Book had reminded Jesse about his unanswered question.

Silas was already up on the porch railing when Jesse shut the door behind him. “Silas, why were the pages for Parvel's brother missing?” he asked outright.

Silas stopped, then jumped down from the porch. From the look on Silas' face, Jesse could guess the answer. “You took them out, didn't you?”

He nodded. “With Prince Corin's knife.”

Jesse asked the obvious question. “Why?”

“Parvel cannot—must not— see that entry,” Silas said, “or all of our lives will be in danger.” He kept walking.

This time, though, Jesse wanted a real answer. “What does that mean?” he asked.

“It means that Justis was not the heroic older brother Parvel thinks he was,” Silas said, never stopping.

“Was?” Jesse pressed. “Does that mean that his brother is dead?”

“In a way.”

Jesse realized that it was after curfew and his voice was getting louder, but he almost didn't care. “Would you stop being cryptic and tell me?”

At first, Silas just glared at him. Then he sighed. “Maybe it's better if you know.” He paused. “Jesse, Parvel's brother betrayed his squad. It was all in the book. They all died because of him. He escaped as part of a deal he made with the king's men.”

“But he's still alive,” Jesse said. Silas grunted his agreement. That, at least was good. “I don't understand—how does that endanger all of us?”

“Because Parvel's brother is still alive,” Silas repeated. “And if Parvel knows it, he will stop at nothing to find him and reach out to him—no matter what. Believe me, I know him.”