Adventures of Jacko the Conjurer, Jamie Ott [great novels to read .txt] 📗

their camp.

“Have you ever seen anything like it?” Uncle Bally half asked and half said, from behind him.

“Yes, and it’s not good. The weather is getting worse, which means the fighting must be getting nastier.”

The ice burned out on the ground, leaving black splotches behind.

“Look at that.”

He pointed across Jacko’s face.

Over in the eastern part of the sky, a blotch of red had colored the sky.

That night, both Jacko and Bally didn’t sleep much. Instead they watch the blotch of red slowly spread across the sky.

By morning, the grey was completely gone.

Uncle Bally got up.

“Well,” he said, pulling a cigarette from his pack. “I guess this is what hell looks like?”

“Yes, it is.”

His uncle set about morning details as usual.

“I think we should leave as soon as possible. The red sky is a sign that the gods are losing. That means the Earth will be crawling with demons, and if we’re here, it’s gonna be bad. We need to get to the summit, quick.”

For the rest of the day, they set to packing up as many essentials as possible. Jacko fashioned an ankle brace and a walking stick out of soft vine.

By the night, they were exhausted.

“I have to admit,” said Uncle Bally, taking a swig of whiskey, “I’m a little afraid.”

“You are?”

“Yeah, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but you’re not afraid of anything.”

“Boy, don’t be stupid. Of course I feel fear. I’m human; it’s what you do in the face of fear that counts. In our case, we put one foot in front of the other. But I think we should leave in the morning. It’s already dark, which won’t be good. We won’t be able to see good places to camp.”

Jacko concurred. So for one last night, they lay on their cots.

They weren’t down long before a white flash zoomed into their camp, blowing out the ceiling, and leaving a huge hole in the ground where the fire was.

“There here!” shouted Uncle Bally.

Jacko grabbed his packs – as did Uncle Bally, his bow and arrow.

“Take my hand!” he shouted as he ran over to him.

They disappeared into the air right as a black horned demon with red eyes rode into their camp, wailing and shot a beam of antimatter at them.

Garden of Hera

Chapter 8

The crisp air shot daggers in their eyes, through their clothes, and touched every bit of their skin.

Oganat was right: he could feel the summit emanate from somewhere. Almost like it breathed on his skin, but he couldn’t see it.

Uncle Bally was hyperventilating.

“Breathe, uncle, breathe.”

Just as Oganat said, the summit seemed to evade him. Below was a mountain that called to him, yet he was lost as to where, specifically, they should land.

Wanting to get as close to the mount as possible, he continued flying in circles until Uncle Bally started to retch.

Upon touching down, he felt the summit, like it had a heart that beat into him.

“How far is it?”

His uncle, on all fours, breathed hard.

“I’m not sure.”

“Which way do we go?”

He turned around in a circle and said, “That way, toward that peak.”

All around was flat land, but in the distance a mountain loomed all the way up into the cloud layer.

“Oh, Jacko, that’s gotta be a hundred miles. Getting there could take a week, or longer with my ankle. We don’t’ have enough supplies for that, and I’m not counting climbing the actual mountain, either.”

“I can try to get us closer.”

He reached out for his uncle’s arm.

“No.” He yanked his arm away. “I think I’d rather walk, but can we rest first?”

Uncle Bally slowly lowered himself to the ground, where he laid back against a tree trunk.

“We didn’t get any sleep, and it’s still night, might I remind you.”

Jacko made a fire and sat next to him. Together, they looked at the sky which was a burgundy wine color, at the moment. It was strange the way the moon and stars gleamed white against it.

“In a strange way, it’s kind of pretty,” said Uncle Bally.

By morning, the sky turned bright red, like a cherry. After a bit of coffee, they began their trek.

As they made their way through a mile of short, crisp leaved bushes, Jacko noticed an herb like fragrance came from them, almost like basil except fresher and with a bit mint. He’d never smelled nor seen bushes like them before.

Another mile and they approached a small orchard of trees from which the crispest green apples hung. He and Uncle Bally stopped and packed as many as they could.

Like biting into a carrot, a loud crunch noise sounded when he took a bite. Juice that had a light lemon-like tang rushed over his tongue. One thing he knew was apples didn’t taste like that; not where they were from – even the air smelled different, cleaner.

He looked around and wondered aloud, “Where do you suppose we are?”

“Well, if the stories told the truth, isn’t Mount Olympus the summit of the gods? And if so, that means we’re in Greece. Even I know that, Jacko.” He leaned on his staff and pointed at the land to both sides of the mountain. “The highest peak in Greece supposedly borders what used to be Macedonia and Thessaly. Kind of interesting how, here, it’s pure bush, and there, it’s mostly flatlands.”

“Oh, uncle,” he sighed. “I have no idea how we’re gonna get up that mountain. Oganat said to follow the trail, but look at that incline.”

“Don’t worry. I have some knowledge of making rope pulleys. We’ll figure something out. We’ll need to forage and hunt, so we’ll need to break before we actually climb anyway. If we’re forced to climb, we’ll be too tired to hunt along the way.”

The atmosphere, even where they stood was thinner than in California. The temperature was extremely chilly, which actually made the conditions ideal for Uncle Bally’s ankle.

Another strange thing Jacko and his uncle noticed about the forest was that it was too quiet. They neither heard birds nor the random cracking of brush limbs; no patter of animals running away as they approached, followed by the shaking of tree and shrub limbs.

In short, there was no sign of other life, and nothing to hunt.

“That’s impossible, Jacko. There’s got to be something here. We just don’t know how to find it is all.”

“I hope you’re right. We can’t live on apples. They’ll dehydrate us, and if we can’t find water, we’re screwed.”

Uncle Bally, who was determined not to be slowed down by his ankle, kept up rather well. Jacko cleared all pathways for him, holding back branches and moving rocks or tree trunks out of the way, when he could.

Finally, it was late afternoon, and they were, both, hot and thirsty.

They nestled in along the ridge of an enormous boulder that jutted out of the ground.

“How does your ankle feel?”

“Surprisingly good, though I regret holding you back.”

“Uncle, you’re doing great,” he said as he got a fire started. “Much better than I thought you would.”

“Yes, well, I’m afraid we haven’t even walked more than a few miles. At this rate, it could take longer than I estimated just to get the base of the mountain.”

“That’s alright. I’m happy taking our time. If you think I really want to go to the mount, you’re crazy! I’m sick of this whole god business.”

“It’s more than a boy, your age, should have to handle.”

He pulled out their sleeping bags and food.

That evening, they fed on reheated smoked fish, which Jacko liked very much. Even the fatty skin was too tasty to toss.

The next day was more of the same. They walked and walked, but only covered half a dozen miles before Uncle Bally needed to elevate his ankle. But at about noon, they heard something.

They stopped.

A throaty whistle, like a mating call, came from their left.

“What was that?”

“It sounded like a bird call,” said his uncle.

“Should we check it out?”

“No, we’re making terrible time as it is.”

So they continued on for another mile when they stopped at the sound of a branch breaking and a crackling sound.

They followed the noise to just beyond the brush to their left. Before a small fire, they found a teen boy, no more than fourteen, skinning a black and reddish bird.

He was skinny with blond hair and blue eyes. When he looked up at Jacko, he was struck with a nostalgia so powerful that his knees almost buckled.

A name burned the end of his tongue, yet wouldn’t pass through his lips, though he tried to force it out.

“You frightened me,” the boy said. “Are you good people, or do we fight?”

He stood and raised his bloodied knife to an en guard position.

“We won’t hurt you. I’m Jacko, and this is my uncle, Bally.”

“I don’t have extra food, so if you’re here to beg…”

“We have our own supplies,” Jacko interrupted.

“Have we met before?”

“Maybe.”

The way the kid looked at him, Jacko knew he was just as struck. And in the last few weeks, he’d learned that nothing was coincidence in this godly time of war. So although he’d never met the kid before, he knew it was possible they’d spent time together - in some other life.

“I’m Julius.”

“No, that’s not your name,” Jacko said a little more accusatory than he meant.

“Oh and Jacko is yours?” he asked sarcastically.

They looked at each other a moment.

“Translation?” said Uncle Bally, looking at Jacko.

“Huh?”

“What’s going on? What’re you guys talking about?”

“It’s okay; I speak English, too,” said the boy.

Suddenly, comprehension dawned on Jacko. Ever since Lucem possessed him, he’d left behind a strange knowledge of languages. As before, and at that moment, he didn’t realize he was speaking Greek, he just did it.

“This is Julius.”

“Please, why don’t you sit?”

He gestured to the ground.

Jacko helped Uncle Bally with his bags, and then they sat opposite Julius, in front of the fire.

“Now, what is your real name?”

“I told you, it’s Jacko.”

“Maybe it is; maybe it isn’t,” he said, his eyes glistening with determination.

“If anyone shouldn’t trust someone, we shouldn’t trust you,” Uncle Bally said. “A young boy out here, all alone. Seems suspicious to me.”

“I’ve been alone for a while, now.”

“How long?” asked Jacko.

“It’s been over six months. I came when the skies turned gray.”

“Why did you come here?”

“The people in the cities were going crazy, and I knew I’d be safer in the forest. It’s loaded with fowl and other resources, and there’s plenty of water.”

As Julius talked about the state of civilization, Jacko expanded his fire and put on a pot of tea.

Julius finished gutted his duck and was slicing it into chunks.

Noticing the scent, he asked, “What is that?”

“Pine needle tea: it’s loaded with vitamin c. Helps our immune system, and especially in this cold and dreary, sunless weather. Helps us not get worn down, peps us up.”

“Yes, and what is that?”

He pointed to the green cylinder in his hand.

“It’s a bamboo shoot.”

“Where? They’re not here?” he said in broken English. “Where-you from?”

“California.”

His mouth opened and his eyes got wide.

“Have you been stuck here, in Europe, a long time? It must be hard not knowing if your family is well.”

Uncle Bally and Jacko looked at each other.

“May I see?”

Jacko handed it to him.

“It’s hard as a rock.”

He gave Jacko back the bamboo. Then he watched the pine needles hop about the boiling water, which turned light brown.

“May I try? I’ve been sniffling, lately,” he asked, holding out a little silver cup.

“Sure.”

Jacko trickled the water into his cup and watched him sip.

His eyes widened.

“That is good. I never thought of that. Wait, I have an idea.”

He went up to a green leafy tree, right behind him, and came back.

“Maple,” said Uncle Bally, spotting the mold of brown sap in his hand.

He dropped it in the pot and gave it a stir for a bit.

When Julius had done, he served them.

“That is very nice!” said Jacko, licking sap from his lips.

“Listen, you wouldn’t mind showing us a few things, around here, would ya?” asked Uncle Bally. “We can’t seem to find food, yet here