The Fallen Prince

don’t need you.”

“Bodog sees what is not there, knows places few will go. The one you need is not where you seek. Trust me.”

Trust. It’s something I have a difficult time doing. “And you know this because…”

“The dead never lie.”

At the mention of dead things, I scrunch my eyes shut and try not to groan in frustration. Even though the path is clear to me, Bodog sees it differently. Why does he always see it differently?

He tugs harder. “Come.”

I sigh and turn in the direction he’s pulling. He knows Teag and its inhabitants better than I ever will. And I have to admit, once he decides to help, he gets the job done. I consider his earnest yet gaunt face and bony too- big-for-his-body hands, and a flash of guilt heats my cheeks. “You know it’s going to get bad.”

He nods. “People will die. What has been will no longer be.”

“Well,” I say, sarcasm oozing, “that’s not at all ominous-sounding. Can’t wait.”

I lick my suddenly dry lips. Teag and its ever-present threat of death is starting to really annoy me.

Waiting For Trouble

Pulling information out of Bodog isn’t easy, but when I piece it all together, I know he’s taking me to the tainted, a breed of firsts who have some portion of human blood. For some reason he thinks they know where Kera is. If they’re the ones who were slaughtered in the fight to kill Navar, I wonder how willing they’ll be to help us. If I were them, not very.

Getting to the tainted isn’t easy. Bands of rogue firsts are everywhere. We manage to avoid them, and when we finally stop walking, I naturally think we’ve arrived.

I would be wrong.

For two long minutes Bodog stands, his arms hanging at his side, his head bowed.

I can’t wait any longer and ask, “Are we there?”

“No.”

“Are we lost?”

“No.”

He drops to the ground in an imitation of a pile of dirty laundry. And a smelly pile at that.

“What’s wrong?”

“Tired.” He sends me a pathetic look. “Hungry.”

It’s not like I’m a callous person, but flopping down in the middle of the forest doesn’t seem to be the smartest choice. “I don’t think we should stop here.”

He doesn’t listen. Big surprise. Slowly, he inches along the ground, his ears twitching like twin radars.

I know when I’m defeated. With just a thought, I produce a tart green apple and survey our immediate area. I’ve got to pee. The night air isn’t exactly cold, but I’m not thrilled about exposing my man parts to take a leak. In this place anything can jump out and bite you.

I stretch out on the ground, ticking away the minutes and shooting Bodog nasty looks he chooses to ignore. “When I’m done with this apple, we leave, okay?” He doesn’t even acknowledge that I’m here. I take a big bite. There’s no talking to Bodog when he gets an idea in his head.

I can’t believe I’m being held hostage by a diminutive garbage disposal. While I munch on my apple, he scours the area for all manner of creepy-crawly things he can shove into his mouth. Like popcorn. As he eats, he plumps around the edges until he’s more like the Bodog I know. Nothing is off-limits as a viable food choice, made clear when he sniffs out a dead rabbit hidden within the bushes and eats it though it’s been dead for God knows how many days and smells like chunky milk and farts.

I point at him. “That’s disgusting, dude. Don’t even think about coming near me.”

A burp ripples from his throat, soiling the air I breathe, and I toss my apple core at him. He eats that, too.

He stays an acceptable distance from me and begins to pull up chunks of grass and debris.

I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him. “Tell me again why we’re here? Sitting. Doing nothing.”

The little guy continues to dig, not giving me an answer.

“We can’t stay. Jason’s going to find us lollygagging around and turn all schoolyard bully on me again. I’m not interested in joining whatever payback game he’s playing. I mean, I’m happy he’s alive, but you tell me. Did he look happy to see me?”

Bodog finishes what I can only call a nest and burrows in until all I can see are the tips of his ears and a patch of thin hair. “Worry never solves problems,” he says and yawns.

“Did you read that in a book called Sayings That Are Complete Crap? Seriously, not helpful. Do you know what would be helpful? You getting up and—”

A snore rips into the air.

“Bodog?” Another explosive inhalation rocks the ground beneath me. He’s like a seismic event. Easily a 2.6 on the Richter scale.

I turn my back on him and curl into myself.

Don’t worry. Right. Easy for someone to say who doesn’t have a hulking wrestler out to rip his head from his body.

A little magic, and I have a leaf blanket. It’s not soft, but it’s something to ward off the chill. When I let my guard down, Kera’s cries for help rattle my head. I try to calm her, but it’s like she can’t hear me.

I don’t know how long I lie there imagining all sorts of horrible scenarios Kera could be going through. I debate whether or not I should contact her through my dreams, but sleeping isn’t really an option. Jason is still out there. Hunting.

I don’t know how he’s doing it, but he’s using magic and doing it well. Someone has to be helping him, and for some odd reason, he thinks killing me will make him stronger. He needs a serious reality check. Only the king of Teag can collect power that way…and me, but I don’t want to think about that disturbing perk to my new status.

It’s suddenly too quiet. I turn toward Bodog. He’s not snoring anymore. His ears are twitching like little radars. Suddenly, he spikes into a sitting position, his eyes huge.

I rocket upright. “What?” I whisper, instantly on edge.

From out of the darkness materializes a boy, a short dagger in hand. He waves it in my direction. “First or friend?”

Bodog stands and raises his big knobby hands. His ears twitch and his body turns glow-in-the-dark white. And why not? I’ve always believed nothing says nonthreatening like a vertically challenged, facially unattractive albino dude.

If ever I’ve met a kid who would stab me in my back while I slept, this boy is him. Messy hair, dirt- encrusted skin, ragged clothes, and a glower that could kill on contact if he had the magic to back it up, which I’m pretty sure he doesn’t. And I thought I had trust issues. I’m cartoon-character friendly compared to this kid.

“Why does it have to be one or the other?”

“I ain’t stupid. Drop your weapons.” The kid has balls, but his high-pitched command kind of ruins the scary effect.

“I don’t disarm for anyone. Besides, if I want you dead, I don’t need a weapon to do it. Trust me on that.”

I guess he does, because he doesn’t repeat his demand. “I’ve been following you for a while. You lost?”

“Not exactly. I think we’re looking for you and your friends.”

“I don’t have any friends.”

I believe him.

Bodog begins that obnoxious muttering as he leans heavily on his stick, and the boy’s frown deepens. “Who