Adventures of Jacko the Conjurer by Jamie Ott (love books to read txt) 📕

He motioned that Jacko should take the lead, following the trail; telling Bally where he thought they should go.

By lunch, Jacko had his own deer to skin. As he worked on it, he wondered if the demons would skin him, if they got their their blackened claws on him.

No, he said to himself, they’d likely just take his head and put it on a totem, like an Amazonian.

All nobility and wars aside, Jacko found that he liked being an outdoors man. The simple nature of working with his hands was instantly gratifying. Everyday, he had a job to do, and when he’d accomplished his goals, his conscience was rewarded with just the simple knowledge that he was capable.

Unlike life at school or with his father in which problems always persisted, and at the end of the days, he’d lie in bed, worrying, out there, when the day was done so were his worries. As such, he never slept so peacefully, not ever as long as he could remember.

Even mealtimes were different. Food sustained his soul as well as his body. It made him wonder if the life he lived, at the moment, was the way it was supposed to be for mankind.

As usual, they were up at the crack of dawn the next day.

Jacko sat on the couch eating an apple while Bally stocked up an igloo with ice and animal guts. He went into the kitchen where he filled two thermoses with coffee.

He handed one to Jacko and said, “Get them fishing poles, boy. I’ll carry the chest and a rifle.”

Twenty minutes later, they trekked up the hill to the lake. Fog from the mountain tried to weigh them down, chilling them to the bone, and making it appear as if it were eleven ‘o’ clock at night, instead of six in the morning.

When the ground leveled off, they walked on for another ten miles before they reached the lake. Tethered to the dock were a couple boats.

His uncle got in the largest one and said, “Hand me the stuff and get in carefully.”

Jacko did as he said, and then clambered into the shaking boat.

Looking down into the water was quite eerie. It mirrored the sky, only it looked nearly black. Fog hugged the surface, making it hard to see around them. He just hoped the boat didn’t accidentally tip. Something about the idea of falling in and not being able to see the surface of the water as he swam up was frightening.

Uncle Bally immediately got to work, showing Jacko how to line and bait the hooks.

Showing Jacko how to bait was the most exciting part of fishing. After that, they sat, motionless and speechless, for the next couple of hours. Finally, the coffee half way finished, and the sky having lightened a bit, Bally said, “Let’s try another spot”

They reeled in their lines and then Bally paddled the boat to other side of the lake.

Several hours passed in stone cold, quiet. Several times, Bally smacked or shook him. “Hey, you’re gonna scare all the fish away with snoring.”

Jacko slept a couple hours with his chin on his chest. Then about noon, the line tugged. Bally reached over him and grabbed the pole from his hand.

Jacko jumped. “Sorry, but you were sleeping. You almost lost the pole.”

He rotated the lever a few dozen times, and pulled up a large perch.

“Not bad. The perch might be headed in this direction.” He handed the pole back to him. “Try to stay awake, now.”

Uncle Bally was right. Over the next couple of hours, they managed to fish a dozen perch out. Then just as they were about to call it a day, they wrangled out a twelve pound catfish.

Things went on like this for a few weeks. Jacko thoroughly enjoyed his time. Time and time again, he did think about his family who were stuck on the summit of the gods, and that they might want to go home, but he just didn’t know what to do. That was the thing about the gods. They kept telling him he needed to end the war but never told him how. Either way, they were safe on the summit. Until Jacko found out what his part was to be, he felt better knowing that his family was tucked out of harm’s way.

But a few weeks later, as Jacko and Uncle Bally sat watching the news and eating their slow cooked squirrels and rice, he got worried. The news lady talked about the increase of storm patterns, and heaps of sulfur rains. As he sat there, fork frozen mid air, he realized that, sooner rather than later, he was gonna have to leave the comfort of his uncle’s fortress.

It pained him to think about leaving, for he’d become fond of even the dank cigarette smoke that hung in the air, the soggy, back breaking but warmth of his bed; the moldy but hot heat from the generator. It was comfort he’d never known. He was snuggled in his own little world.

A blanket of guilt fell over him as the anchor spoke of a new wave of deaths in northern Europe. Towards the circle poles, people witnessed a strange phenomenon that Jacko knew too well about: fiery snow the size of baseballs, pummeling the ground and buildings, catching fire to all they touched, and burning out in the snow, leaving blackened ashes behind. Scientists suggested it was bits of asteroid, raining down from space.

Jacko knew better; it was the gods warring and smiting with their rods, spears and tridents. They were just as powerful as the elements, as they fired lightning bolts, laser beams and antimatter, obliterating whatever they came into contact with.

He sighed.

Can’t Hide Forever

Chapter 4

The next morning, Bally proposed they’d get more work done if they separated.

Jacko didn’t mind because he, sometimes, got tired of working with him. He could talk nonstop for hours.

By noon, he’d managed to track another deer.

After a bit of lunch and a cup of coffee, he put on the thick boots his uncle lent him, as his shoes were no good when hiking the more strenuous trails. He looked for wild edible plants he could dig up and take back to his uncle’s green house.

For miles, he went into a particularly thick part of the forest when, up in the tree, he saw several squirrels running with nuts in their mouths.

He was thinking he should have brought his rifle. Then something fast and dark whizzed past both sides of his head.

Jacko spun around thinking they couldn’t have been wasps or June bugs; they were too fast. When he didn’t see anything, he turned his attention back to the trail.

Onward, he went until he spotted a weakened wild patch of strawberries. Puny and nearly dead in the nasty cold, hard soil, its shriveled fruit hung low to the ground.

As he stooped to carefully examine the roots, something whizzed past both sides of his head again. The air whooshed through his hair and ears, which he swatted with both hands.

He stood up.

“Show yourselves, now!”

He walked in the direction the black things seemed to fly. It didn’t take long to spot them. There, with wings beating fast, keeping them suspended in the air, were two bat babies.

They were so dark that, if not for the whites of their eyes, he wouldn’t have been able to see their large irises, as black as their shiny skin, staring down at him. And if not for the green of the leaves against the charcoal gray sky, their shapes would have been impossible to distinguish.

Little gleaming fangs poked out of their thin lipped mouths.

Normally, the bat babies lived in the red lands.

“What are you doing here?”

They didn’t answer.

Although they were relatively harmless, they were still on the sides of his enemies. He couldn’t let them go and risk their telling others his location.

With that thought, he pulled his backpack off and said, “Get in.” When they wouldn’t, he bound them with his magic and stuffed them inside.

Then he went back to the patch and, with the mini shovel, got to digging up the strawberry plant. When he’d carefully collected all the roots, he pulled out a plastic bag, carefully put the plant in, and filled it with the dirt. Then he poured in some water and left the forest.

When he got back to the house, it was to find that his uncle was, thankfully, still out. He wasn’t ready to tell his uncle everything. Besides, he wouldn’t believe him anyway.

He stowed away to his room, where he pulled the two bat babies out of his bag and placed them on the closet floor.

“Stay quiet,” he said, and then closed the door.

Overnight, the bat babies were rather well behaved. In the morning, Jacko gave them pork sandwiches. They threw the bread to the floor, ate the meat and drank down the cups of water.

“Why are you here?”

They tried to respond but Jacko just didn’t understand the pigeon vibrato they uttered. He didn’t speak demon, and they didn’t speak English.

“Stay.”

He closed the door and went about his day.

Out in the forest, he immediately spotted a tree with a broken branch. Judging by the color of the exposed wood, it was damaged recently. Below the branch, the dirt was recently trampled.

“Whoa,” he said to himself, kneeling to get a closer look.

From end to end, the track was two feet width of tossed dirt.

He couldn’t quite make out the shape of the foot print, but it measured, maybe, six inches, he guessed. It kind of reminded him of a dog but way bigger.

His heart pounded and he grinned, thinking, Bally is going to be so proud of me.

He picked up his pace. Obviously, whatever the animal was, it was huge. If he could conquer it, maybe it was a sign that he was ready to face his demons.

Right now, in the red lands, a demon that was picked to battle Jacko was taking a sojourn, too. It was their custom that they should go into the forest and live by the land, proving their battle worthiness. The coincidence that he should be with Uncle Bally, doing similar things, didn’t escape him. In fact, it gave him hope that maybe, despite his fear, he was battle worthy, too.

The sky lightened by several shades. He looked at his watch. An hour passed and he still hadn’t found the animal.

He stopped a moment and took a sip of water.

A low groaning sound came from beyond a tree several yards to his right.

Jacko put the lid back on his water, stuffed it in his bag, and got his rifle to the ready.

He lightly walked to where the sound came from. Standing close to the tree, obscuring his body from full view, he looked through tall grass. Less than a hundred feet away, the biggest bear he’d ever seen was ripping out the belly of a pig.

Although he couldn’t see its face, the size and shape of its head and body was way too big for a brown or black bear. As this thought occurred to him, sweat broke out all over his face and neck. He should have known the moment he saw the size of the tracks.

Stepping backward slowly, his eyes never leaving the bear, he accidentally tripped on a large fallen branch. He accidentally squeezed the trigger; it shot up in the air.

Quickly, he jumped to