“Does this mean we can talk?” Jason asked. “I’d love to know what’s really going on. Why are you following me?”

“I obey,” the fake Drake said.

“You obey Maldor?”

“You must be taken.”

Jason brushed snow off his parka. “Why do you even care?”

“I am indifferent.”

Jason stared at the phony Drake. “Are you his slave, Lurky? Do you mind if I call you Lurky?”

“Come. Attack me. You want to hurt me.”

Jason almost grinned. “Is that what you’re after? No way. I’ve seen what you do to people who attack you.” Jason sat down on the snow.

Drake remained standing. “You should not have returned.”

“To Lyrian? You’re like a robot. Do you have any of your own thoughts?”

“I am more than you can imagine.”

“What I imagine is a shadowy guy who sneaks along behind me on the beach. Then he comes, disguised as my friends, and talks to me while I’m sleeping. At first he’s scary, then he just gets annoying.”

Drake stared down at him, face impassive. Jason stared back. The flat black eyes betrayed no emotion. Jason winked.

“YOU! WILL! DIE!” Drake shouted, each word exploding with supernatural volume. Jason could hear a second avalanche coming.

Jason narrowed his eyes at Drake. “Not yet. I bet I’ll just wake up.”

The snow hit Jason like a freight train. Even though he knew it was an illusion, he panicked as his body tumbled amid the crushing force of the freezing onslaught. He tried to cry out, but icy snow filled his nostrils and mouth.

But before too long he awoke.

He was lying on cool sand beneath a gleaming moon. He could hear the waves crashing against the shore. The lurker stood beside him.

Jason felt less rattled than he had after the previous dreams. He stood up and stared at the lurker. Just like in the dream, Jason sensed that disinterest would be his best weapon. “That was actually kind of fun. I’ve always wondered what an avalanche would feel like. You really shouldn’t have hurt that guy. It made all the rest of this less scary. I’ve got this figured out, Lurky. Seriously, if you take requests, let’s do the roller coaster next time.”

The lurker showed no evidence of comprehension.

Jason sprawled out on the sand, then went back to sleep.

CHAPTER 6

ARAM

Late in the afternoon on the following day, while picking his way along some craggy cliffs, Jason viewed a sizable town up ahead. The cliffs descended to a flat plain of solid rock nearly level with the ocean, pitted with tidal pools. Beyond the plain, on higher ground, the city began. Many tall ships were moored to piers projecting into the water, shielded from breakers by a long brown reef. Some of the biggest vessels were painted a menacing black. Out at sea, a ship with three high masts approached the port, a huge whale secured to its side.

The town itself extended away from the waterfront, reaching a good distance inland. The buildings were covered in stucco and roofed with ceramic tile. Dark cobblestones paved the roads. A lofty bell tower stood close to the docks, its yellowed plaster peeling. A thick crenellated wall enclosed every part of the city except the wharf.

Jason descended the diminishing cliffs. Below, on the rocky plain preceding the town, workers gathered shellfish from tidal pools.

Once the cliffs had almost merged with the flatness of the rocky field, the lurker stopped following. Jason walked on, glancing back every few steps. The shadowy figure stood immobile, flanked by jagged boulders. Between two glances, the lurker vanished.

Jason strode out onto the plain. The entire expanse had the twisted hardness stone acquires after long erosion by the sea. A pair of women, one older than the other, worked in a nearby pool, loading shellfish into sacks, hair bound in rags.

“Hi there,” Jason said.

“Good day,” the younger one replied, looking up.

“What are you doing?”

She smiled as if the question were silly. “Harvesting abalones.” She held up a shell that appeared to be full of living pudding.

“Good luck to you,” Jason said before moving along.

Across the wide plain, other workers harvested different sea life. Jason crouched at a shallow pool, marveling at the bizarre creatures inside. He saw a black thorny starfish, conical mollusks topped with bright tufts of grasping tendrils, and fat, chocolate-colored slugs dotted with tiny yellow bumps. Part of him wished he could just sit and study all of the interesting species.

A loud wave drew his attention back to the ocean. The flatness of the plain must allow the water to encroach hundreds of yards during high tide, which explained the abundant tidal pools so distant from where the waves currently expired.

Jason looked back the way he had come. The lurker remained out of sight. He could hardly believe that he had finally ditched the creature, at least temporarily.

“You there! I need to see your permit.” Jason turned. A soldier was drawing near, walking briskly. He wore the same armor as the men who had apprehended Jason after he fled from the Eternal Feast at Harthenham.

Resisting the reflex to run, Jason watched the man approach.

“Your permit,” the man repeated officiously. He had a crooked nose and stood half a head shorter than Jason.

“I don’t have one. I’m not bothering anything.”

“Be that as it may,” the man replied importantly, “nobody sets foot on the floodplain without the proper documentation. Everyone knows that.”

“I didn’t.”

“Then we have a problem.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve never been here before. I’m just coming up from the south, looking for work. Is this Ithilum?”

“Of course it is.” The soldier stroked his chin, sizing up Jason, his stance becoming a bit more casual. “You wear strange apparel.”

Jason used a planned response. “My uncle was a tailor. He liked to experiment.”

The soldier gave a nod. “Times are hard. Tell you what. Trespassing on the floodplain carries a hefty fine, but if you would rather hire me to escort you across for a fraction of the fee, I might oblige you.”

“How much?”

The man regarded him shrewdly. “The fines can reach upward of a hundred drooma.”

“How about twenty?”

By the soldier’s expression, Jason knew he had offered more than expected. “A man who offers twenty can often afford thirty.”

Jason produced one of the small drawstring bags Tark had given him.