A World Without Heroes - Brandon Mull [127]
Jasher grinned. “Trust me. To venture into the swamp without a means of repelling the insects is not merely inconvenient. It borders on suicide. Some of the pests are poisonous; others carry diseases. This time of year the stink should suffice to keep the insects away.”
“And the bears,” Jason said. “And the skunks. And the girls.”
Jasher laughed, slapping his thigh. He reached up a hand, and Jason hoisted him to his feet. “Take this as a consolation. In the deep swamp there are insects as dangerous as any snake. Be glad you will not make their acquaintance. As for women, I suspect none of us will mind if the Pythoness keeps her distance.”
“I wish I could avoid myself,” Rachel mumbled.
The rising sun dispersed the mists. Rachel and Jason followed Jasher along a meandering route.
At length, with the sun high overhead, Jasher stopped and announced, “Here we are.”
Jason had been focusing on the ground, watching for snakes. He had spotted nine so far. Two were pretty big.
Raising his gaze, he beheld the coast of a black lake, full of tall trees with spreading branches, huge arboreal umbrellas that blocked out most of the sunlight. Leafy vines hung in haphazard loops. Long beards of moss and glossy coats of slime added texture to the dark trunks. Out in the water, islands of filthy mulch and half-drowned logs showed that not all the swamp was submerged, though Jason had no trouble seeing why they would need a boat.
“You know where we are?” Jason asked.
“I think I know where our skiff should be,” Jasher replied.
To reach the water’s edge they weaved around a few reedy pools where cattails protruded like hot dogs on sticks. At one point the sludge became so deep it was almost over the top of Jason’s boots, sucking and slurping with every step.
After reaching the brink of the gloomy swamp, they skirted the murky water for more than a hundred yards. Then Jasher began tearing decayed leaves and creepers off of a low mound by the waterside.
“Here we go,” Jasher said, after stripping off enough vegetable matter to expose the wooden hull of the small vessel. “Help me uncover it.”
Before long they removed the vegetation. Working together, they flipped the skiff right side up. An eight-foot snake uncurled from under the vessel and whipped away into the water, moving in a black blur.
“That was a dangerous one,” Jasher said, staring at the ripples where the snake was lashing across the surface. “Did you notice the red dots behind the head?”
“I barely saw the snake,” Jason said. “That thing was fast!”
“Mud viper. Big one. Be glad we were on land. They’ll attack almost anything in the water. One bite causes paralysis. A few more bring death.”
Jason shuddered.
“Snakes never really freaked me out before,” Rachel said numbly.
“Don’t worry,” Jason said. “Your smell should keep them away.”
“If your smell doesn’t kill them first,” she fired back.
Jasher inspected the skiff from bow to stern. “Looks watertight. Only one way to be sure.”
They pushed it over the muddy bank into the water. “Get in,” Jasher said.
Jason and Rachel stepped over the stern of the broad, shallow vessel.
“Move to the bow and sit down.”
They complied, and Jasher sprang into the skiff, the force of his landing propelling the little craft away from the shore.
The skiff rode low with the three passengers, the gunwale scarcely six inches above the water. Jasher fitted the single long oar into the oarlock at the stern and began deftly sculling the vessel deeper into the swamp.
“Need any help?” Jason asked.
“No. I can do this all day. Better if you two stay in the bow. There is a species of predatory slime that drifts on the surface of the water. It will digest flesh down to the bone. Keep a sharp lookout so I can keep it from attaching to the skiff. It’s yellow-green in color and floats listlessly until it senses prey.”
Jason sat taller, scanning the water ahead. Off to one side he spotted a fat frog squatting on a floating log. Bigger than a rabbit, the frog bulged with warty bumps.
“Big frog,” Jason