by Brandon Mull
“They’ll catch you,” the girl warned, her eyes wide. “They’re fast and strong. You should come with me.”
Cole folded his arms across his chest. She might be right. Then again, she was probably scared and wanted company. The kidnappers had seemed confident of escape. They had a ton of kids! They had Dalton! They had Jenna! “I’ll be careful. I’ll follow at a distance. I won’t get too close.”
The girl shrugged. “Up to you.”
Cole looked around the room. There were a couple of windows on one side. “Don’t go up the stairs. Use the windows. Break the glass if you have to, and run.”
“Good idea,” she agreed. “In case those other guys haven’t left yet.”
“What’s your name?” Cole asked.
“I’m Delaney.”
“I’m Cole Randolph. Tell the police where I went. Tell them they have to hurry.”
She nodded and ran over to one of the windows. Cole started down the hole. If he stepped lightly, the metal rungs were reasonably quiet. Of course, for anybody staring up from the bottom he was probably silhouetted against the light above. But the kidnappers hadn’t seemed like they intended to wait around. Besides, they had brought lanterns down with them. If they were still within view, he would see their lights below instead of the darkness.
Cole heard nothing as he descended. The space around him grew black. He looked up at the circle of light above him.
Suddenly his foot couldn’t find the next rung. He looked down and kicked around. There was nothing. The rungs simply stopped.
The kidnappers had told everyone to jump from the last rung. They had all come down here. The drop had to be relatively safe. How far would he fall? He could only see shapeless blackness below.
Cole peered up at the circle of light again. It wasn’t too late to head back up. But what if he saw something that could save everybody? The license plate of a truck, or the tunnel the kidnappers took. If they had lights and he was in darkness, they would be easy to follow and he would be hard to see. He had to try. He couldn’t desert his best friend and the prettiest girl he knew.
He tried not to imagine Jenna hugging him and calling him her hero. The thought embarrassed him, but it also helped confirm his decision.
Leaning away from the rungs, Cole dropped into the darkness.
CHAPTER
3
RESCUE
Cole was braced to land within a few feet, but instead he kept falling through darkness, picking up speed. Air whistled past him. With growing alarm he tried to prepare for a serious impact. Intuition suggested he might want to keep his body loose. Had the others who climbed down here all died? Was he about to join a pile of corpses? Could there be water at the bottom? With water he might fare better if he kept his body rigid and entered straight.
His speed kept increasing. He tucked his arms against his chest. At this velocity, simply clipping the wall would cause major injuries. Could there be an airbag at the bottom? If so, he should probably land on his back. He could hardly believe how far he was falling! He was going to die! Even if water waited at the bottom, nobody could survive a drop like this.
Glancing up he saw only darkness. Same when he looked down. His speed was no longer increasing. Only the air rushing by confirmed he remained in motion. Then the air stopped rushing, as if he were falling through nothing.
For a moment he became so violently nauseated that he lost all awareness of his other senses. It felt like his stomach was being folded inside out. He clenched his teeth to avoid releasing a stream of vomit.
The nausea departed as quickly as it had arrived. He felt dizzy. A severe ache blossomed behind the midpoint of his forehead.
It took a moment for Cole to realize that he was no longer falling. He was seated on the ground. When had he landed? Dimly realizing that his eyes were closed, he opened them.
He was seated on scorched dirt, encircled by a symmetrical ring of twelve stone pillars. Sparse brush grew here and there, as if the land lacked the fertility to support abundant weeds. Uneven brown plains extended in all directions. Near and far, lonely trees grew at random, like the haphazard survivors of a plague-ravaged forest. The sun had set, bathing the lonely prairie in soft twilight.
The kidnappers were not far off, backlit by the glowing horizon, loading the kids into horse-drawn cages. In the foreground, between two of the pillars, a hooded figure faced away from Cole, observing the activity.
Cole could hardly believe he was uninjured. A fall like he had experienced should have pulverized his bones. Apparently, none of the others had been hurt either. He could see the muscular redhead and the scarred blond man lugging the huge skull between them.
The brown landscape was unfamiliar. Cole knew of nowhere near his town where the terrain looked like this. He had never seen this ring of tall gray pillars. He looked up. There was only sky. How could dropping down a manhole deposit him on a barren prairie? Yet here he sat. Something weird had happened, something inexplicable.
Holding his breath and staying low, Cole scuttled sideways, hoping to take cover behind one of the pillars. As he got closer, he noticed the pillar was textured like bark, and in a flash he realized the pillars were petrified trees.
On the far side of the fossilized tree, Cole sat with his back to the stone. The petrified trunk was wide enough to conceal him. If nobody came to this side of the tree circle, he might not be discovered. But then what? How had he gotten here? How could he get back to the manhole and the basement?
Motion off to one side caught his eye. The hooded, robed figure had moved into view. The person continued to stare toward the kidnappers, but he clearly addressed Cole. “You are a surprise.” The male voice was somewhat deep, the words enunciated clearly, the tone neither menacing nor friendly.
“Please don’t give me away,” Cole asked quietly.
“The slavers have their quarry,” the man said, still not looking at him. “They told me not to expect anyone else. The way closed right after you came through.”
“What way?” Cole asked. “Where am I?”
“Far from home.” There was a hint of pity behind the words. “You have crossed over to the Outskirts.”
“The outskirts of where?”
“A difficult question. The outskirts of everywhere, perhaps. Certainly the outskirts of the world you know. This is an in-between place.”
The man was showing no hostility. He showed no fear of the kidnappers, either. He stood in plain sight. Cole felt wary, but he needed information. “How do I get back?”
“You don’t. It is hard to find the Outskirts, but much harder to truly leave.”
“Who are you?”
“I am a Wayminder. I help control access to the Outskirts.”
“Can’t you send me home? And my friends, too? Those guys kidnapped them.”
“I will not be able to open a way here for months. I have overtaxed my influence in this place. Others of my order would be able to accomplish the feat sooner. The slavers paid me well to open this way.”
“You opened it for them?” Cole sputtered, unable to hide his anger.
“Harvesting slaves from outside the boundaries is no crime,” the Wayminder said. “Not anymore. The High King of the five kingdoms supports it.”
“What if I pay you?” Cole asked. “You know, like the slavers did. Could you open a way for me?”
“Not in this location for some time,” the Wayminder said. “Elsewhere, perhaps. But your problem involves more than simply opening a way. Once you have come to the Outskirts, you will inevitably be drawn back here. The pull is considerably stronger if this is your birthplace, but once you have visited, all roads tend to lead you back.”
Cole could hardly believe what he was hearing. “So even if I make it home, I’ll end up here again?”
“Most likely within hours of your departure.”
“This can’t be happening.”
“I sympathize with your disorientation. Be grateful that you did not come he
re as a slave.”
“They took my friends. I wanted to help them.”
“Your friends are beyond any aid you could offer. They have been claimed by the slavers. They will be sold.”
Cole was nervous about the next question. He worried that mentioning his vulnerability could end the unspoken truce, but he needed to know what the Wayminder intended to do with him. “You’re not going to turn me over to them?”
“I am no slaver, and I no longer work for the slavers. They paid me to open a way. I performed my duty. I held the way open for the agreed duration. Now the way is closed. Our arrangement was specific and temporary. You came through on your own. They presently have no claim on you. Nor do I. But if they catch you unmarked, they can take ownership of you.”
“Unmarked?”
“Slaves bear a mark. The freeborn bear a different mark. Without a mark, the slavers could still claim you. Not all slaves hail from outside our boundaries.”
“Can I get marked as free?” Cole asked.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Many places, none of them close at hand. The nearest would probably be the village of Keeva. You would present yourself to a needle master. Any unmarked person can request a freemark. Naturally, you would have to avoid any slavers on your way there. Until you bear a freemark, any slaver given half a chance would promptly label you as their property.”
“My friends will all be slaves?”
“If the slavers brought your friends here, their fates are sealed.”
Cole tried to digest the information. He had thought he was following his friends into a sewer. Getting stranded in a desolate, magical prairie was a lot more than he had bargained for. Had he really left the world he knew behind? Was he really stuck here? If so, should he abandon his friends and run off to a village to get a mark that would protect him from slavery? If he fled, would he ever find his friends again?
“Will you help me?” Cole asked.
“I won’t turn you in,” the Wayminder replied. “I have no reason to do you harm. It costs me little to answer a question or two. But you will have to make your own way. Traveling with an unmarked person is a dangerous business. I have my own affairs to worry about.”
“I need to save my friends,” Cole said.
“Do not cross slavers,” the Wayminder warned. “They are already marking the slaves. Your friends are now their property. If you free them, you would be committing a crime. And you would not succeed. These slavers know their trade. If you try to help your friends, you will join them. Wait until darkness falls or the slave wagons roll away, then take your chances on the prairie.”
“Could you help me get to that town?”
“Keeva? You’re on your own, friend. I need to move. If I tarry much longer, I will arouse their suspicions.” Holding both hands behind his back, the Wayminder pointed in a certain direction. “The village is that way. Avoid people. It will be a tough walk, but less arduous than a life of slavery. Good luck.”
The Wayminder strolled out of view. Cole had never gotten a good look at his face. There had been no eye contact. All he knew was that the Wayminder was reasonably tall and that his hands had been a chocolate brown.
The light was gradually fading. Cole could hear the blurred murmur of distant conversation. He heard horses and an occasional clanging. What should he do? If he was marked a free person, could he someday find his friends and free them? How big was the Outskirts? If he lost sight of the slavers, what were the chances of ever finding them again?
The Wayminder had warned him against a rescue. But maybe the Wayminder was overcautious. He hadn’t seemed like the type to stick his neck out for others.
With his back to the petrified trunk, knees bent, Cole hugged his shins. He had no idea how to survive in the wild. Wandering the barren prairie alone, he might die of thirst or starvation before ever finding a village. If he could rescue Dalton, Jenna, and maybe some of the others, they could set off together. Even if he failed and got caught, at least he would be with his friends. And he would have some protection from the wilderness. Maybe he could escape later.
But Cole had not been caught yet. If he was careful, maybe he really could save everyone. He had to think positively.
The light faded. Bright stars adorned the moonless sky. He was no astronomer, but the swirling bands of dense stars above him were unmistakably grouped in different patterns than the stars back home. Camping in the desert, his dad had once pointed out the Milky Way. The crowded strips of stars above him seemed like multiple Milky Ways, curved galactic arms stretching across the firmament. Several stars glowed in brighter shades of blue and red than he had ever seen.
The only other light came from a number of campfires among the wagons. Using the dark night as cover, Cole crept closer to the camp. By the dancing firelight, he could see the kids in the cages, still in their Halloween costumes. The girls had been separated from the boys. Some were trying to sleep. Others moped, slumping against the bars. A few conversed quietly. He saw Jenna whispering to Sarah. In a different cage, Dalton rested his forehead against his folded hands.
Dalton had noticed the locked door after they had descended the stairs. He had wanted to leave. Not only had Cole shrugged off his friend’s concerns, he had suggested the haunted house to Dalton and Jenna in the first place. He had sentenced his friends to slavery. He had to save them.
Not all the wagons looked like cages. Some were more like coaches. A couple looked almost like portable houses, with humble decorations and quaint windows in the sides.
Cole waited. A single sentry circled the camp, strolling through the gloom beyond the firelight. The first sentry had been the scarred man with blond hair. Now it was Ham. Nobody else seemed concerned about security. Cole watched as the slavers joked and ate. He never glimpsed Ansel, but he saw the woman go in and out of one of the homier-looking wagons. Maybe she had been talking with him. The other kidnappers were all present, except the guy with the head of a wolf. In addition, Cole noticed at least four men he had not seen earlier. They must have stayed behind with the wagons.
The slavers eventually bedded down—some in wagons, some under wagons, some on the open ground. Most of the kids fell asleep. But not all. Dalton leaned against the bars of his cage, staring vacantly at the dwindling light of the nearest campfire. The sight made Cole blink away tears. His friend did not deserve to be chained up in a portable cage like a circus animal.
The camp fell silent. The muscular redhead took over as sentry. He paced around in lazy circles, eyes studying the empty night. Empty except for Cole, huddled in a low depression at what he hoped was a safe distance.
Cole tried to form a plan. It was hard from this far. Presumably, the cages were locked. He had seen no keys. Nobody had gone in or out of the cages since he had started spying on the camp.
He couldn’t do anything from where he was hiding. He needed to either risk moving in closer or try his luck finding the village of Keeva. Looking away from the campfires, Cole considered the empty gloom of the prairie. He could not wander off into the night alone and abandon his friends. It was his fault they were stuck here.
Cole waited for the sentry to walk around to the far side of the camp, then hurriedly approached in a crouch. He raced for the cage that held Dalton. His friend and a couple of other boys perked up as they saw him coming. Cole had carefully observed that none of the kidnappers had crawled under that particular wagon to sleep. With a finger to his lips, he dove into the concealing shadows.
“Cole?” Dalton whispered in disbelief.
Cole could barely hear his friend, but he still worried the greeting had been too loud. He had to respond. He needed info. But he waited a moment to be sure the camp remained still.
Sitting up, Cole put his mouth near one of the cracks in the plank floor of the cage. “I came through to this place on my own. I’m here to bust you out. Are the cages locked?”
“Yes,” Dalton whispered through the same crack. “H
am has the key. The guy who first greeted us in the basement.”
“I remember him,” Cole said. Ham had gone into one of the coaches. “I saw where he went to sleep. I’ll try to steal the key.”
“Are you nuts?” Dalton asked.
“Not so loud,” Cole urged.
“They’ll catch you, too. You should run for it.”
“No,” another voice chimed in. “Get us out.”
“Shut it,” a third voice whispered urgently.
The boys above fell silent. Cole heard footsteps approaching. His body went rigid. He tried to breathe silently. Boots and legs became visible.
“What’s all the commotion?” the redhead inquired in a rough whisper.
“Nothing,” one of the boys answered.
“They were trying to take my coat,” Dalton improvised quietly.
“Keep it down or I’ll confiscate it,” the redhead threatened. “It’s time to sleep.”
“Just wait until my dad catches up,” one of the boys said. “He’s a cop.”
The redhead gave a weary chuckle. “There is no way from there to here. Your parents won’t even remember you. No more noise. I don’t want to come over here again.”
“Sorry,” Dalton said.
“Don’t apologize,” the redhead said. “Just stop talking.”
“Excuse me,” a girl called softly from a neighboring wagon.
“That goes for all of you,” the redhead snapped, barely maintaining his whisper.
“I just thought you might want to know about the boy hiding under the wagon,” the girl replied.
Cole felt like he had suddenly been immersed in ice water.
The boots shuffled. “What?”
“Ansel told us we would be punished for not telling what we know,” the girl said. “A boy under that wagon is planning an escape.”
The redhead crouched and met eyes with Cole. “Well, who have we here?”
Cole tried to force words from his throat. It took a second. “Me? I’m a free citizen looking for work.”
“Free, you say?” The man chuckled. “I can see your wrist, lad. Free for the moment perhaps. Not for long.”