Jonathan Rogers - The Secret of the Swamp King

He looked again at the hunting knife in his hand. The glint of the sun on its surface made little prisms through his tears. Then with a sudden, lurching movement he flung the knife into the deep blackness of the swamp. They watched the circles expand from the spot where the knife splashed down.

“Do you feel a little better now?” asked Dobro.

“Yeah,” Benno answered. “A little better.” A little smile softened his sorrow-crumpled face.

Aidan reached out to touch Benno’s shoulder. “You’re almost home now, Benno.”

At Scoggin Mound, Benno left Dobro and Aidan to pole east toward Bug Neck. After a short visit with Aunt Seku and her grandchildren-which involved a snack of frog-egg jelly, much marveling over the frog orchid, and the happy return of Aidan’s cold-shiny hunting knife-Aidan and Dobro poled on toward the scrub swamp at the northern edge of the Feechiefen. The travelers parted ways where the scrubby tanglewood lifted itself out of the black water. They bid one another good-bye with promises to meet again at the second full moon where the Bear Trail meets the River Trail, the spot where Dobro joined Aidan and Steren’s boar hunt.

The scrub swamp was a challenge. Tree walking required two free hands, and one of Aidan’s hands was occupied with the frog orchid. He managed at last to push through to the pine flats beyond. He didn’t, however, find his backpack and civilizer clothes and so he had to cross the pine flats bare-chested, wearing his snakeskin kilt and turtle helmet. The pine forest, he was happy to find, was recovering nicely from the brushfire he and Hyko had started. In the two weeks since the fire, wire grass had already sprouted tender and green among the charred remains of its parent grass. All over the fire site, gopher tortoises munched on the fresh shoots.

When Aidan arrived at last at the broad river, he stood on the high bank and shouted toward Last Camp on the other side: “Massey! Floyd! Isom! Burl! Cooky!” Someone came to the bank on the civilizer side of the river. It was Isom, Aidan thought, but it was hard to tell so far away. Whoever it was, he didn’t recognize Aidan, who jumped, waved, and yelled like a wild man. “It’s me!” Aidan shouted. “Can you bring a boat?”

The river breeze carried Aidan’s words downstream. All the hunter heard on the other side was incoherent hollering from what appeared to be a savage in a skirt and helmet. The hunter disappeared, and a dejected Aidan began preparing to swim one-handed across the wide, alligator-infested water.

But soon the hunter was back at the far bank, and he had several hunters with him. Aidan jumped around and wheeled his arms in a broad come-here gesture, but the men only stood in a knot, talking, obviously discussing what to do about the wild man on the other side of the river.

They were still talking when another man-tall and white-haired in a dusty tan robe-pushed past them and leaped into the nearest rowboat. When two goats jumped in after him, Aidan knew Bayard the Truthspeaker was pulling across the river to him.

“Bayard!” Aidan shouted when the old man nosed the rowboat into the root tangle at the river’s edge. “What are you doing at Last Camp?”

“I heard about your fool’s errand,” the old prophet answered, “and I was headed into the Feechiefen to see if you needed rescuing. I was to leave Last Camp tomorrow morning.”

Bayard looked at Aidan’s outfit and laughed. “I’m not sure those boots go with that skirt,” he remarked as he helped the young hero into the boat. Aidan situated the frog orchid at the boat’s prow, where Bayard’s goats would have to get past him to get to it. The poor flower was wilted and already brown around the edges, but it wasn’t dead yet.

“So you found the frog orchid,” the old man observed as he rowed the boat out of the eddy and into the open river.

“It found me, is more like it,” said Aidan.

Bayard smiled. “Maybe. But I don’t think the frog orchid could have found you, say, in Tambluff Castle or at your father’s house or even at Last Camp.” The prophet rowed in silence for a few pulls, then recited from the Frog Orchid Chant: And in the orchid’s essence pure Is melancholy’s surest cure.

Aidan looked at the sickly flower. “I don’t know if the royal chemists will even be able to extract the essence out of this half-dead thing.” He held the orchid out for Bayard to inspect. “Do you think they’ll be able to, Bayard?”

Bayard didn’t look at the plant. He looked into Aidan’s eyes. “No, Aidan, they won’t be able to. No chemist can extract the essence of a flower.” He rowed a couple of pulls. “But you’ve experienced the frog orchid’s essence.”

Aidan smiled at the memory of Round Pond-that moment of peace that redeemed the turmoil of Bearhouse. Now he quoted the Frog Orchid Chant: On oaken limb around a pond As black as night, as round as sun.

“That’s right,” said Bayard. “How does a chemist extract that? The frog orchid does its healing work only on the adventurous soul who goes to it. Its essence can’t be bottled and taken to one who will not make the journey.”

Aidan fingered the drooping ribbons, which no longer looked like a frog’s legs. “Aidan,” Bayard said softly, “no chemist’s art can heal what ails King Darrow.”

Aidan fought back tears-tears of sadness and of anger too. “My king sent me to fetch him a frog orchid.” He raised the broken oak limb from which the orchid sprouted. “I have fetched him a frog orchid, through many dangers and hardships.” He wept openly now. “And I will bring it to Darrow’s throne room. He is my king.”

“That’s right, Aidan,” the prophet said soothingly. “That’s right.”

They were halfway across the river by now, and Little Haze, whose eyes were the sharpest among the hunters, recognized Aidan in the boat with Bayard. When the boat landed, the hunters of Last Camp lifted Aidan from the boat and carried him around the camp on their shoulders. Aidan still held the orchid in his hands to protect it from the goats.

Cooky was already roasting a wild boar on a spit. The hunters were having a special supper that night; it had been a whole week since the last nighttime attack on the camp, and they were celebrating.

But Aidan couldn’t stay. He was too eager to get to Tambluff. A dead orchid wouldn’t be a suitable offering for his king. He bathed in the river while the hunters gathered a new backpack for him and the few supplies he would need for the three-day hike up the Overland Trail and the River Road to Tambluff. Little Haze gave him a set of civilizer clothes, and Aidan and Bayard were off again.

The Overland Trail was like a pleasure stroll compared to the traveling Aidan had grown accustomed to. And being with the Truthspeaker sweetened the journey even more. “How did you learn of my quest for the frog orchid?” Aidan asked, fending off one of Bayard’s goats, which was nibbling at the hem of his tunic.

“Your father told me.” Bayard laughed at the look of surprise on Aidan’s face. “He suspected you were heading into the Feechiefen. Then, about a week after you left, news trickled into Longleaf about the hunt feast and the way King Darrow sent you on your ridiculous mission.”

“Was he worried? Father?”

“He took it surprisingly well,” the old prophet answered. But Bayard grew pensive. “Your father’s never been the same since Maynard died.”

“Maynard’s not dead.” Aidan’s words made the Truthspeaker stagger back a step, as if he had been struck a blow. Aidan told the story of the false Wilderking, from Maynard’s encounter with Dobro and Benno in the bottom pasture to the Battle of Bearhouse and his poling away to the South Swamp. It is no easy thing to astonish a prophet, but Aidan astonished Bayard that day.