A World Without Heroes - Brandon Mull [61]
“That’s—it’s awful,” Jason said. He opened his mouth to form some further expression of sympathy, but he couldn’t speak through the knot in his stomach. Could he possibly be the hero these musicians had summoned? Galloran had made it sound like anyone, even some kid from the suburbs, could become a hero. Hearing in detail the sacrifice these nine people had made just to bring a hero to Lyrian was overwhelming. It filled Jason with a sudden, intense desire to actually be the hero they needed. But was he capable of that?
“I wish I could find the lowlife who shot that arrow,” Tark grated, fists clenched. “He’s the one who ruined our sacrifice. Without his interference I would have remained true to our cause. Paying him back is my sole remaining purpose.”
Rachel and Jason exchanged an uncomfortable glance.
“What does he look like?” Jason asked.
Tark eyed him. “By the description I got, he looks a bit like you. Tall. Sandy hair.”
Tark snorted, finished his chowder, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Until the day I die I’ll be watching for him.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t target the poor guy who shot the arrow,” Rachel blurted out.
“Why not?” Tark barked.
“He was probably just trying to help,” Rachel said weakly.
Jason bowed his head. “I think we all know who the real villain is,” he muttered.
Tark eyed Jason narrowly. “Maldor,” he mouthed, considering the idea.
“If you want to lose your life doing something useful, go after him,” Jason said, keeping his voice low. “That would be the best way to honor the sacrifice your friends made. Who knows? Maybe you are the hero they were trying to summon.”
Tark sat up straighter, eyes clearing. “I think you’re onto something. What could be more fitting?” He pulled a heavy, saw-toothed knife from his waistband and stuck it fiercely into the tabletop.
Jason stared at the imposing blade in silence.
Tark stood up, stroking his chin. “Mark my words: I may not have died, but my life ended on those falls, so I have nothing to fear. Like a ghost I will stalk Maldor and his minions.” He furtively glanced to see if anyone had overheard him. “Keep this conversation between the three of us. We never met. Good luck to you, friend Jason.” He slapped Jason on the shoulder. “You have revived me.”
Tark sheathed his knife and marched to the door. He tumbled out with help from the square-faced man.
Jason and Rachel each picked up another puckerly. As Jason sipped the squirming flesh, he thought about the heavy knife. Up until a minute ago it had been destined to slit his throat. He hoped Tark’s resolve held. Although he was haunted by Tark’s story of those final moments at the waterfall, he wasn’t ready to die to make amends.
Jason finished his share of the puckerlies, and Rachel did likewise. They grew on him more with each he ate. After his last swallow he leaned back, satisfied, relishing the filmy residue lining his mouth. A truly delightful aftertaste.
The barmaid came back.
“What do I owe?” Jason inquired.
“Four drooma.”
Jason pulled a bronze pellet from his pouch. “What’s this worth?”
“Five,” she said, as if she suspected he was teasing her.
“Here you go. Keep the change.”
She stared at him.
“What?” Jason asked.
A smile spread across her face. “Thank you very much.” She sounded so sincere, Jason decided that people in Hippoland must be lousy tippers. Immediately she went over to Kerny, talking excitedly and glancing toward Jason.
“Hey, big spender,” Rachel hissed. “You still with me?”
“I was just tipping. Twenty percent is pretty standard where we’re from.”
“For the record you tipped twenty-five,” Rachel said. “It doesn’t matter. We should probably get going.”
Jason turned to face the door. “Did we just send Tark to his death?” he