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THE REAL ADVENTURES OF JONNY QUEST

Synopsis: The heroes ready for the final confrontation.

"THE INNER LIGHT" chapter 9

by Eric R. Umali

"Preparation"

The heroes made camp a league from the borders of the wizard's land. In a clearing amongst the tall trees, stood a modest tent near a fire. Bandit and Iris were nearby, grazing contentedly. On a log near the fire sat Jessamyn, a stone in her hand, sharpening one of her long daggers. Suddenly, she spun around, hurling the dagger into the trees.

Jonathor plucked the blade from the air. "Most impressive. Very few could have detected my approach, and your defense was excellent."

She stood and dusted herself off. "I didn't spend _all_ my study time learning magic."

"So I've noticed."

He sat next to her and joined her in preparation, which is how they spent the remainder of the daylight. Blades were sharpened to a razor's edge and polished until gleaming. Leather was oiled and straps tightened. Bow and crossbow were bent and strung, their arrows and bolts checked over and placed carefully into quivers. Handles and grips were strapped and tested. Everything had to be ready.

Late in the afternoon, when they had finished preparing their weapons, they set to preparing themselves. Jessamyn remained at the campsite, where she sat, legs crossed atop each other, deep in meditation. She whispered her incantations in long-dead languages as a golden glow surrounded her. Jessamyn tapped into the ley lines of energy beneath her, storing strength for the upcoming battle. The eldritch energy warmed her inside and out, and she continued chanting, feeling the power flow into through her veins, permeating her being, ready to be called upon. After hours of stillness, she rose and began to exercise her body, preparing for the physical tasks of both battle and spellcasting.

Jonathor had found a smaller clearing nearby and had taken only his soulsword and his staff. The sword in its scabbard lay against a tree. The six foot staff spun and whirled, as did the man who wielded it. He wove in and out of the trees, striking the heavy trunks with staff and foot and fist. Every move was precise, practiced, and at every moment Jonathor was busily predicting reactions and counters, his mind ablaze. To anyone watching, his movements would seem a blindingly fast and stunningly graceful dance.

Late in the day, Jessamyn returned from the river, where she had bathed, to find Jonathor kneeling by the fire, meditating. He held his soulsword before him. Warrior and weapon glowed with magic light which faded a few moments later. He rose and went down to the river himself, and it was nearly dusk by the time he came back. Jessamyn had prepared their dinner that night, and they ate heartily.

With the sun setting and turning the sky a breathtaking blaze of oranges and reds, they put out the fire and retired into the tent. They each laid out their bedrolls on the sides of the tent. Jonathor and Jessamyn lay in the stillness for a few minutes, the fading sunset giving the interior a dim golden light.

"Are you afraid, Jonathor?"

"Aye, I am. Less so because I know you are there to watch my back, but most definitely afraid."

"No less so knowing we are prophesied to be victorious?"

"We do not know the manner of this victory. This is enough talk of fear, Jessamyn."

"I did not think you afraid of anything. I thought you more courageous than that."

"We were both taught that true courage is shown in the face of fear, not in its absence."

She reached her hand out and took his, squeezing it tightly.

"I am glad you will be beside me. Together, I know we will win."

"Together we will," he assured her, "together we will."

***********

Night came and went. At dawn, they rose. Bandit and Iris were saddled, and their arms were fastened and strapped and sheathed securely to the harnesses, all within fast reach. Jonathor and Jessamyn helped each other with the light armor they had begun to wear in battle, now gleaming in the early light. They mounted and rode away.

The swordsman, Jonathor, and the sorceress, Jessamyn, atop their valiant mounts, looked down into the dark valley. Below them lay the land of the evil wizard Surd, a terrible, desolate place of cracked, dry earth in one direction, and awful stagnant bogs teeming with dangerous life in the other. In the wizard's land, the sun did not shine, its light obscured or swallowed by the ever-present low hanging charcoal colored clouds. The heroes looked down at the place from a high cliff.

Jessamyn made a sound of disgust. "A lovely place he has here, really. It reminds me of..."

"Tartaros," Jonathor commented, "the land of the damned."

"Aye, that's it. Would that be Tantalos there, under the tree?" She was baiting him, and he knew it.

"Aye, near Sisyphos and his rock and Ixion and his wheel. I do not see the Danaides, though."**

"Most impressive, warrior," she said smiling. "I admit I had not expected you to have such a thorough education."

"A warrior ignorant of anything but war is simply ignorant."

There was a final check of their weapons, and of their courage.

"Are you ready, Jessamyn?"

"I am."

Jonathor nodded, and they started down the steep, rocky path into the dark valley. Two heroes, descending straight into Hell, to face the devil himself.

TO BE CONTINUED...

NEXT: "TARTAROS"

**Author's notes: For those not fortunate enough to have been exposed to classical Greek mythology, a quick explanation to the names mentioned --

Tartaros: land of the damned dead. Those imprisoned there were punished as befitted their crimes.

Tantalos: Despatched to Tartaros by Zeus for his cruelty to his own son, Tantalos was punished by having a terrible thirst and gnawing hunger. He was submerged in water that receded when he tried to drink, and was beneath a tree whose fruits would pull away when he tried to pluck them. Basis for the word "tantalizing."

Sisyphos: For several affronts to both Zeus and Hades, he was sentenced to push a giant boulder up a steep hill. Once at the top, it would roll over him and back down, over and over through eternity.

Ixion: Mortal who dared have an affair with Hera, queen of the gods (resulting in the race of centaurs). Zeus had him chained to an eternally spinning wheel.

The Danaides: The forty-nine daughters of King Danaos of Argos who murdered their husbands on the wedding night. Their punishment was to try to fill a well with water from a faraway river, using urns with holes in their bottoms. (Danaos had fifty daughters, but Hypermnestra refused to kill her husband, eventually taking the throne of Argos herself.)