Read Online We Are Not Eaten by Yaks by C. Alexander London - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: C. Alexander London
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useful for getting from place to place. It showed the deep valleys and high mountains of Tibet, but it also showed other dimensions, realms of gods and devils, ghosts and saints. There was no north or south or east or west. It was a map of the unseen and the unseeable.
Sir Edmund was pointing to an area that showed a hill with a collection of small round huts. In the center of the huts burned a fire. Wide-eyed ghosts with many heads and many clawing arms scrambled from the flames, tiny versions of the giant statue behind the monks.
Dorjee Drakden looked at the strange map, then yelled and hissed, and with a roar, he tossed his sword at Sir Edmund. The blade spun through the air end over end. Sir Edmund did not move. The blade missed him by centimeters and slammed into the map.
âTheir path will lead them to this place, but I will do no more!â he declared.
âGood,â Sir Edmund said.
âExcept for this,â the spirit continued. Sir Edmund rolled his eyes. âI am the Great Oracle and this I prophesy: The greatest explorers shall be the least. The old ways shall come to nothing, while new visions reveal everything. All that is known will be unknown and what was lost will be found.ʺ
He finished with a long hiss into Sir Edmundâs face, and, with the sound of a gong, the spirit left the monkâs body, and he collapsed to the floor. Young monks rushed to him, untying the armor and the helmet, which weighed enough to crush the little monk now that the god no longer filled his body. The monk would be exhausted for days and sleep the soundest sleep of his life, with no memory of the things he said or the dark predictions he made. He would wake up in a prison cell.
The scrolls on which the spiritâs words had been written were quickly tied closed and rushed from the room to be copied and hidden in the depths of the monastery, where thousands of years of prophecies were stored.
âWe will deal with the Navels first,â Sir Edmund said. âThis oracle has given me great cause for hope. âWhat was lost will be found.â Most excellent for us. The foolish explorer and his dull children have no idea what theyâre in for. I knew they would do exactly what we wanted. We just have to find them again.â He smiled and hopped down from the throne. The other monks looked at each other with worry in their eyes.
âStop being such cowards,â said Sir Edmund. âDorjee Drakden will do as we ask. What choice does the old god have? Heâs our prisoner, after all. The Poison Witches will take care of the rest. Trust me. The Lost Library is as good as mine.â
âYou mean ours, donât you?â an old monk asked.
âYes, ours. Whatever,â sneered Sir Edmund.
10
WE ARENâT EVEN AT THE WORST PART
THERE WAS A ROAR, a sickening spinning feeling, and a blinding light. For a moment, it felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the childrenâs lungs by a cruel vacuum cleaner. The air was thin that high up, but luckily, they were falling fast toward better air. Unluckily, they were falling fast toward the ground too. From thirty-eight thousand feet even falling into water was like landing on cement. And they were falling toward an icy mountain.
Oliver prayed their do-it-yourself parachute would work. If he and his sister died, he would never get to see what happened in the final season of Agent Zero , which was about a teenage superspy living a complicated double life. Who would turn out to be Agent Zeroâs real father? Who had planted the bomb in his algebra textbook? Why was Principal Drake talking to the president?
âI need to know the answers if Iâm going to have any peace in the afterlife,â he thought.
After a moment of screaming and spinning and thinking about missing Agent Zero , it didnât feel like they were falling at all. It felt more like they were being pushed up from below, though they were still
Sir Edmund was pointing to an area that showed a hill with a collection of small round huts. In the center of the huts burned a fire. Wide-eyed ghosts with many heads and many clawing arms scrambled from the flames, tiny versions of the giant statue behind the monks.
Dorjee Drakden looked at the strange map, then yelled and hissed, and with a roar, he tossed his sword at Sir Edmund. The blade spun through the air end over end. Sir Edmund did not move. The blade missed him by centimeters and slammed into the map.
âTheir path will lead them to this place, but I will do no more!â he declared.
âGood,â Sir Edmund said.
âExcept for this,â the spirit continued. Sir Edmund rolled his eyes. âI am the Great Oracle and this I prophesy: The greatest explorers shall be the least. The old ways shall come to nothing, while new visions reveal everything. All that is known will be unknown and what was lost will be found.ʺ
He finished with a long hiss into Sir Edmundâs face, and, with the sound of a gong, the spirit left the monkâs body, and he collapsed to the floor. Young monks rushed to him, untying the armor and the helmet, which weighed enough to crush the little monk now that the god no longer filled his body. The monk would be exhausted for days and sleep the soundest sleep of his life, with no memory of the things he said or the dark predictions he made. He would wake up in a prison cell.
The scrolls on which the spiritâs words had been written were quickly tied closed and rushed from the room to be copied and hidden in the depths of the monastery, where thousands of years of prophecies were stored.
âWe will deal with the Navels first,â Sir Edmund said. âThis oracle has given me great cause for hope. âWhat was lost will be found.â Most excellent for us. The foolish explorer and his dull children have no idea what theyâre in for. I knew they would do exactly what we wanted. We just have to find them again.â He smiled and hopped down from the throne. The other monks looked at each other with worry in their eyes.
âStop being such cowards,â said Sir Edmund. âDorjee Drakden will do as we ask. What choice does the old god have? Heâs our prisoner, after all. The Poison Witches will take care of the rest. Trust me. The Lost Library is as good as mine.â
âYou mean ours, donât you?â an old monk asked.
âYes, ours. Whatever,â sneered Sir Edmund.
10
WE ARENâT EVEN AT THE WORST PART
THERE WAS A ROAR, a sickening spinning feeling, and a blinding light. For a moment, it felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the childrenâs lungs by a cruel vacuum cleaner. The air was thin that high up, but luckily, they were falling fast toward better air. Unluckily, they were falling fast toward the ground too. From thirty-eight thousand feet even falling into water was like landing on cement. And they were falling toward an icy mountain.
Oliver prayed their do-it-yourself parachute would work. If he and his sister died, he would never get to see what happened in the final season of Agent Zero , which was about a teenage superspy living a complicated double life. Who would turn out to be Agent Zeroâs real father? Who had planted the bomb in his algebra textbook? Why was Principal Drake talking to the president?
âI need to know the answers if Iâm going to have any peace in the afterlife,â he thought.
After a moment of screaming and spinning and thinking about missing Agent Zero , it didnât feel like they were falling at all. It felt more like they were being pushed up from below, though they were still
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