A World Without Heroes - Brandon Mull [166]
“Very well. Tell me about the girl, Rachel. She is a Beyonder as well?”
“Yep. From Washington. She’s incredible. I mean, she can be a little pushy, and sometimes acts like a know-it-all, but she really is smart, and she isn’t all talk. You should have seen her at Whitelake! Have you ever met her?”
“No.”
“She’s really cute. I’ve never liked any girl as much as her. I’m really worried about her. I wish I could go to her and help her. Funny, I can’t think things without saying them. It’s like my mouth is tied to my brain. Bad for privacy. Good for you, though!”
“Did you know her in the Beyond?” Damak asked.
“Nope. I met her here.”
“Did either of you come here on purpose?”
“Nope. By accident.”
“How much of the Word does she have?” Damak asked.
“All of it. ‘Arimfexendrapuse.’”
His expression horrified, Damak belatedly clamped his hand over Jason’s mouth. He looked over to the unseen scribe. “You heard nothing?”
“Less than nothing. Must have been the wind.”
“Do not say any of the Word,” Damak urged, taking his hand away.
“Sorry. It just popped out. I couldn’t remember it before, no matter how hard I tried. Funny, I still remember it, even after saying it again. I guess the snake venom works really well.”
“Let’s change the subject,” Damak suggested. “You escaped Harthenham with a member of the Amar Kabal. Tell me his name.”
“Drake. He liked dangerous pies.”
“Why did he join you?”
“Who would eat pies that could take over your life? Why risk it?”
“Focus. Why did he join you?”
“Say no to death pies. Another good motto. I’m getting a headache.”
“Why did he join you?” Damak repeated.
“Tough to say. Maybe because his amar went bad. I think he wanted to die with some honor. You should have seen the dogs he chopped up.” Jason gave a soft whistle. “Poor doggies.”
“And the runt who made off with Jasher’s seed was called Tark, the surviving member of the Giddy Nine.”
“Correct. Your eyes are very close together.” Jason grinned sleepily.
“Stay focused.”
“How do you stay focused? You’re practically a cyclops.”
“Stay with me. We need to discuss your fears. Of what are you most afraid?”
“Getting killed by a puppet. Like a marionette or a ventriloquist’s dummy.”
Someone in the room snickered. Damak looked in the direction of the snickering. “You getting this down?”
“Yes, sir,” came the controlled response.
“What else frightens you most?” Damak asked.
“Enclosed spaces. You know, claustrophobia? Not every type of enclosed space. Some are worse than others. I heard a story about some prisoners of war who were squeezed into these confining boxes for a long time. I would hate that.” Jason shuddered.
“What else? List some.”
“Having body parts crushed or maimed. Finding out nobody has souls. My friends or family getting killed. Suffocating. Getting brain damage. Heights, if I’m not secure. Getting gangrene. Getting radiation poisoning. Titan crabs. Having my eyes poked out. Getting rabies. Having a toothache and no dentist, then trying to yank the tooth out, and having half my jaw break off. Getting cancer. Puking. Having my belly button come untied. The devil. Being tortured. Manglers. Leprechauns. Forgetting a class I signed up for and then remembering on the day of the final. Drinking rotten milk. Earaches. Catching on fire. Getting lost. Dying. Finding out—”
Jason stopped speaking and began to lurch against the immobilizing straps. It felt like somebody had lit a string of firecrackers inside his head. His eyes rolled back, and he jerked and trembled while Damak steadied him.
“What else do you fear?”
Jason opened his mouth to speak, but only a tiny gasp came out. The spasms increased.
“The venom is wearing off,” Damak said to someone.
He uncorked a vial and waved it under Jason’s nose. The seizures subsided, and Jason sank into a dreamless sleep.
Jason