believe it—or had a striking resemblance to Lucas
Denon, one of the greatest poets and rock musicians in American history. Nick shook
his head, trying to clear it.
The man may have passed for Denon, but the world still mourned
Denon's tragic death in a car accident almost fifteen years ago. Nick thought for
a brief second; Denon saving his life from some bizarre knight showed how unhinged
he'd become. This all had to be an insane delusion.
Denon, or whoever he was, had said Nick's name clear as a bell.
Didn't that make what Nick saw a delusion? How else would Denon know Nick's name?
His temples pounded again. Regardless of the man's identity, he'd saved Nick's life.
Even if he weren't real, Denon had shown Nick the way to go.
Shaking his head once more, he stumbled after his Good Samaritan.
Nick shuffled along, but he lost his sense of direction. By this
point, he didn't care. His exhaustion had doubled, and he welcomed death. The fog
had an eerie odor and even a creepy flavor to it. The more he inhaled this thick
air, the further he became disheartened.
A morbid depression subdued him. He trudged, contemplating why
he didn't just ball up and allow whatever followed him to complete its task. He
pushed on, despondent and spiritless.
Wait. Maybe I've already died. The ghost of Lucas Denon
had appeared to him. Perhaps he should go back and find Denon's spirit—if Nick were
dead, why couldn't Denon be here, too? He stopped and laughed hysterically, raising
his arms to the sky. He dropped to his knees, rubbed his face, and then rustled
his hair.
He always tapped an inner strength, which seemed to materialize
when he needed it. Nick never reflected much on it. As dangerous as the action was,
he hadn't thought twice back in the van about saving Emily.
Weary with confusion, his inner strength now rose, and the madcap
laughter ended.
Whatever lay ahead, he would deal with it. He strode forward.
Throg guided the boat downriver.
Zach, his stomach full, nodded off into a deep and much needed
sleep. With the problems he faced at home, he rarely slept. A long while had passed
since his eyes felt as heavy as they did the seconds before they shut.
Hours later, he awoke revitalized. He'd had no dreams or nightmares
this time. The glow of the sun warmed the deck of the ship. He smiled and stood,
but a piercing pain erupted in his head and he doubled over.
"Stay calm. Let the communication happen," Throg said.
A face took shape when he closed his eyes: a man, someone he
thought looked familiar. Smooth skin, dark hair, and glimmering eyes were all Zach
could make out. The image tried to speak to him, but like a car radio under a bridge,
the message broke up.
"We... m-morning... v-valley," the man murmured.
He disappeared as abruptly as turning a television off.
Zach's vision dissolved, and then focused as his head captured
the experience.
"Wha-what just happened? I saw s-someone."
"Your link to the Assembly contacted you. He is trying to
send a message. Did he say anything?" Throg asked, as if such correspondence
was commonplace.
Zach rubbed his temples because a slight throbbing remained.
"I couldn't make out most of the words. He did say something about a valley."
Throg patted his back. "The irritation will pass, and the
next connection will be easier. Valley, eh? I hope it's not Tomb Valley. We must
hike through the Cark to get there—a death trap."
"You mean the Cark Forest with all those creepy little men?"
"Aye, the Bogmen. We can't go there alone, though; too dangerous.
Besides, he may not have meant Tomb Valley. We need to trek down the river a bit
more. I passed a large encampment of Meridian soldiers on the way upriver. With
any luck, they're still camping there."
Zach decided to lie back down and gaze at the sky as the boat
chugged along. The blue heavens offered occasional spurts of marshmallow clouds.
He drew in a deep breath of clean air. The aroma was of the river, fishy, warm,
and sweet from the
Denon, one of the greatest poets and rock musicians in American history. Nick shook
his head, trying to clear it.
The man may have passed for Denon, but the world still mourned
Denon's tragic death in a car accident almost fifteen years ago. Nick thought for
a brief second; Denon saving his life from some bizarre knight showed how unhinged
he'd become. This all had to be an insane delusion.
Denon, or whoever he was, had said Nick's name clear as a bell.
Didn't that make what Nick saw a delusion? How else would Denon know Nick's name?
His temples pounded again. Regardless of the man's identity, he'd saved Nick's life.
Even if he weren't real, Denon had shown Nick the way to go.
Shaking his head once more, he stumbled after his Good Samaritan.
Nick shuffled along, but he lost his sense of direction. By this
point, he didn't care. His exhaustion had doubled, and he welcomed death. The fog
had an eerie odor and even a creepy flavor to it. The more he inhaled this thick
air, the further he became disheartened.
A morbid depression subdued him. He trudged, contemplating why
he didn't just ball up and allow whatever followed him to complete its task. He
pushed on, despondent and spiritless.
Wait. Maybe I've already died. The ghost of Lucas Denon
had appeared to him. Perhaps he should go back and find Denon's spirit—if Nick were
dead, why couldn't Denon be here, too? He stopped and laughed hysterically, raising
his arms to the sky. He dropped to his knees, rubbed his face, and then rustled
his hair.
He always tapped an inner strength, which seemed to materialize
when he needed it. Nick never reflected much on it. As dangerous as the action was,
he hadn't thought twice back in the van about saving Emily.
Weary with confusion, his inner strength now rose, and the madcap
laughter ended.
Whatever lay ahead, he would deal with it. He strode forward.
Throg guided the boat downriver.
Zach, his stomach full, nodded off into a deep and much needed
sleep. With the problems he faced at home, he rarely slept. A long while had passed
since his eyes felt as heavy as they did the seconds before they shut.
Hours later, he awoke revitalized. He'd had no dreams or nightmares
this time. The glow of the sun warmed the deck of the ship. He smiled and stood,
but a piercing pain erupted in his head and he doubled over.
"Stay calm. Let the communication happen," Throg said.
A face took shape when he closed his eyes: a man, someone he
thought looked familiar. Smooth skin, dark hair, and glimmering eyes were all Zach
could make out. The image tried to speak to him, but like a car radio under a bridge,
the message broke up.
"We... m-morning... v-valley," the man murmured.
He disappeared as abruptly as turning a television off.
Zach's vision dissolved, and then focused as his head captured
the experience.
"Wha-what just happened? I saw s-someone."
"Your link to the Assembly contacted you. He is trying to
send a message. Did he say anything?" Throg asked, as if such correspondence
was commonplace.
Zach rubbed his temples because a slight throbbing remained.
"I couldn't make out most of the words. He did say something about a valley."
Throg patted his back. "The irritation will pass, and the
next connection will be easier. Valley, eh? I hope it's not Tomb Valley. We must
hike through the Cark to get there—a death trap."
"You mean the Cark Forest with all those creepy little men?"
"Aye, the Bogmen. We can't go there alone, though; too dangerous.
Besides, he may not have meant Tomb Valley. We need to trek down the river a bit
more. I passed a large encampment of Meridian soldiers on the way upriver. With
any luck, they're still camping there."
Zach decided to lie back down and gaze at the sky as the boat
chugged along. The blue heavens offered occasional spurts of marshmallow clouds.
He drew in a deep breath of clean air. The aroma was of the river, fishy, warm,
and sweet from the
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