by Brandon Mull
“You might also inspect the antiquities shop,” Bactrus said. “The inventory is not technically part of the collection, since it was for sale. The exorbitant prices were meant to raise funds. But with no shopkeeper present to manage the inventory, any remaining items could reasonably be considered abandoned and available.”
“Thanks for the tips,” Jason said.
“I like how this guide thinks,” Drake confided to Jasher.
In a distant wing of the library, at the end of a hall several stories above ground level, Bactrus stopped before a hefty door. “This section is restricted access,” the guide explained. “Loaned texts in extinct languages. Much of the material here came from the same repository as the scroll you seek. More than half the content cannot be deciphered by any of our guides.” He indicated a round depression in the center of the door. “Place your stone into the recess.”
Jason pressed his stone into the depression. It fit perfectly. The stone glowed momentarily, tumblers rattled, and the door swung smoothly open. Jason kept the stone in his hand.
The room beyond was not large, but contained many shelves and cubbies. The few books on display were primitively bound. Metal plates, clay tablets, and tightly wound scrolls were much more prevalent.
Bactrus led them to a bulky cabinet full of small, square drawers. He indicated a particular one. Pulling it open, Jason found that the long drawer contained a scroll.
Farfalee removed the scroll, unrolling it carefully. Nearly a yard long, the yellowed document contained row after row of tidy, unrecognizable characters. Farfalee started at the top, squinting at the words. Her lips bent into a smile.
“It purports to describe a route to the last abode of Darian the Seer,” she announced. “According to this document, our road will take us . . . through the Fuming Waste and into the mountains beyond.”
“Dangerous country,” Jasher said.
“But not particularly distant,” Drake noted.
“Could this be real?” Jason asked Bactrus.
The old guide bent over the scroll, scanning it intently. “The scroll was certainly not written by Petrusians. As we established previously, although Darian lived long ago, by his time the Petrusian society had vanished and the language was out of use. And according to what your comrade has shared, the scroll does not purport to be a prophecy.”
“Could it be part of a scam?” Jason asked.
Bactrus lowered his eyebrows. “If the scroll is fraudulent, Petruscan is an odd choice of language, since it was comprehensible to only a handful of scholars. It would have required a discouraging amount of work for a buyer to translate the content.”
Drake folded his arms. “A swindler might have decided that the odd choice of language would lend the scroll an air of authenticity. Furthermore, the period required to decipher the message could allow the crook additional time to disappear before the buyer found the information disappointing.”
“Did you catch that?” Jason asked Bactrus.
“Plausible reasoning. Does anyone claim authorship?”
Farfalee skipped to the bottom of the manuscript. “The author is described at the beginning and the end as ‘the Steering Hand.’ Would you like to hear a rough translation of the introduction?”
“Please,” Jasher said.
Farfalee cleared her throat. She read haltingly, as if intent on choosing the most accurate words. “ ‘Courtesy of the Steering Hand, herein the worthy seeker of enlightenment will find instructions to reach the final dwelling place of Darian, son of Thebrun, the renowned seer of Darvis Kur and author of more than two thousand verified prophecies great and small.’ The account goes on to reveal the general location of the last abode of Darian, and then gets very specific naming landmarks to use as guideposts along the way.”
“What do you think?” Jason asked, studying Bactrus.
The guide lifted his empty hands in a noncommittal gesture. “Genuine or false, the message would probably read the same. Only by following the directions to the end could you know for certain.”
“Do we have a better option?” Jason asked.
“Over the years, all of the other leads have been explored with no evident results. The most promising leads have been pursued countless times. Since arriving here, this particular scroll has never been read, and thus it has never been tested. And thanks to the foresight of your oracle, you arrived with the one person in Lyrian capable of reading it. If you want me to guess which source you should rely on, this would be my pick.”
“Good enough for me,” Jason said.
“Me too,” Jasher agreed. “We need a path, we need it quick, and circumstances certainly point to this scroll.”
Drake frowned. “If the scroll is false, our quest will fail.”
“True,” Jasher said. “Do you expect to find a better option?”
Drake slowly shook his head. “I agree that this seems to be what we’re looking for.”
“There is a warning toward the end,” Farfalee said.
“Tell us,” Drake said.
“ ‘Seek not this sanctum in the name of vanity or avarice. Enter with no instruments of war or tainted intentions. Calamity awaits the undeserving. Only the . . . chosen . . . can survive.’ ” She looked up. “ ‘Chosen’ may not be the precise word. But it is close.”
Jason realized that all of his companions were looking at him. The oracle had specifically stated that he needed to find the last abode of Darian the Seer. Apparently, that made him the chosen one, at least in their minds. The attention made him a little uncomfortable.
“Do any of the other texts lead to the Fuming Waste?” Jason asked.
“Several,” Bactrus answered, “although the same could be said for nearly any location in Lyrian that you would care to name.”
“We’ll need detailed maps of the Fuming Waste,” Jasher said.
“Can you help us?” Jason asked the guide.
“We should adjourn to the geography center,” he replied. “You will find not only the most thorough assortment of maps ever assembled, but materials with which to copy the contents of the scroll.”
“We can bring the scroll to the other area?” Jason checked.
Bactrus gave a nod. “The texts are not to leave the library, but within these walls they are meant to be studied and used.”
“Lead the way,” Jason said.
Once again Bactrus ushered them along a lengthy route. At first they backtracked past familiar sights, but soon they forked off through new rooms, stairways, and passages.
“Being a loremaster here would be good exercise,” Jason remarked as they passed a glittering stained-glass window. “Are we getting close?”
“Just up ahead,” Bactrus promised.
Jasher held up a hand, bringing them to a halt, a finger to his lips. Jason listened. A male voice was calling their names from a distance. There was an edge of panic to the tone.
Jasher cupped both hands around his mouth. “We’re here!” he belted. “Western wall, four floors up, near the third largest dome.”
Jason was impressed by Jasher’s clear sense of their location.
“On my way!” the distant voice answered.
“Won’t be good news,” Drake murmured.
“Jasher,” Farfalee said, “perhaps you should wait here for the messenger. We can run ahead and start copying the needful information.”
“Yes,” Jasher said. He looked to Jason.
Jason turned to Bactrus. “Can you tell Jasher how to find us?”
The old guide issued terse instructions; then Farfalee started running. Jason and Drake followed, and the old guide as well. Jason noticed that Bactrus sprinted as swiftly as any of them and showed no signs of tiring. After a few more twists and turns, followed by a flight of stairs, they entered a large space dedicated to maps and atlases. A huge relief map of Lyrian dominated the floor, with the rest of the room built around it. A skylight above added natural brightness, and a balcony around the top half of the room al
lowed patrons to access high shelves or to gaze down at the floor map from above.
Bactrus directed them to an oversized book of maps dedicated to the Fuming Waste. While Farfalee perused the maps, he led Jason and Drake to collect paper, ink, and pens.
“Will the ink work after all these years?” Jason asked.
“Yes, if the bottle has been sealed,” the guide replied. “Edomic was used to protect and preserve nearly all of our resources.”
Jasher and one of the drinlings who had accompanied Aram burst into the room. “We have a situation,” Jasher said.
“What?” Drake asked.
“Six ships on the northeastern horizon, coming this way, including an interceptor.”
“The wind is still from the east?” Drake asked.
“Yes,” Jasher said. “Aram found an observation room atop the highest dome. The ships just came into view using telescopes. They are still hours away. Aram thinks if we hurry, we might have a chance to escape undetected.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice?” Drake asked. “Farfalee?”
“Depends how long it takes to copy the scroll and a map.”
“Captain Aram has already run ahead to prepare the Valiant,” the drinling said. “He knows you will follow as soon as you see fit.”
“Anything you can do to help us hurry?” Jason asked Bactrus.
The old guide pursed his lips. “Possibly. Ask your friend if she ever held an office when she worked at the Great Document Hall.”
“Farfalee?” Jason asked.
“I attained the office of lesser loremaster,” she replied.
“Ask if she recalls her words,” Bactrus instructed.
“Farfalee?”
She spoke several Edomic phrases. They referenced fidelity in preserving the rich history of Lyrian, honesty in dealing with those seeking knowledge, and courage in protecting the documents in her care.
“Those are the words,” Bactrus told Jason. “The scroll is not a permanent part of our collection. I could release it into her custody as if she were the loremaster who came to return it to Cirum Elsador, the repository from whence it came.”
“Really?” Jason exclaimed.
“I have that authority,” Bactrus said. “And she is, after all, the only remaining person who can read it. Ask your friend to pledge to see the scroll either safely delivered to Cirum Elsador or else returned here.”
“I promise,” Farfalee said.
“Have her touch the scroll to the stone,” Bactrus instructed.
They did so, and the stone briefly pulsed with light.
Bactrus regarded Jason somberly. “The scroll is now under her stewardship. You also need a map.”
“Yes,” Jason said.
“We have diverse maps for purchase,” Bactrus said. “All part of a service once offered by the cartographers here. They are not so finely detailed as some available in the collection, and the selection is limited, but I am aware of five commercial maps that together should serve your needs. As with the antiquities shop, since there is no proprietor present, I can simply let you take them.”
“This could make all the difference,” Jasher said. “It will save hours.”
“You could attempt to copy our maps by hand,” Bactrus told Jason, “but it would require considerable skill to match the detail. The commercial maps will most likely serve better than any copies you might render.”
Bactrus led them to a side of the room crowded with counters, cabinets, and drawers. With his help, they collected five rolled maps. Farfalee scanned them to be sure. “These will serve,” she decided.
“Take care in the Fuming Waste,” Bactrus warned Jason. “The landscape is constantly changing. The main features should be relatively constant, but nothing on the maps can be guaranteed.”
“Right,” Jasher said. “To the entrance.”
“Can you lead us there double time?” Jason asked Bactrus.
“I do not tire,” the guide responded.
As they ran, Drake spoke up. “I’d like to peek at that antiquities shop before we go.”
“I wouldn’t mind a look at the cloakroom,” Jasher added.
“Every minute counts,” Farfalee reminded them.
“We’ll hurry,” Drake promised.
“I can lend you the stone,” Jason said.
“Much appreciated,” Drake replied.
“I wish we had time to hide the stones,” Farfalee said. “I don’t want to make it easy for our enemies to use these resources.”
“Maldor could probably learn a lot here,” Jason realized.
“If we lose the war,” Farfalee said, “this library will provide the means to significantly enhance his power.”
“Is there any way to lock the library?” Jason asked.
“It would require an acting loremaster who knew the words,” Bactrus said. “We guides have no such authority. The outer doors will open to any Edomic greeting.”
“Hiding the stones isn’t worth the effort,” Jasher panted. “If we bring the scroll, I can think of no immediate benefit the library can offer our foes. Unless perhaps there are useful items in the antiquities shop.”
“Very well,” Farfalee said. “You two check the cloakroom and the shop. But don’t lag! The time will be best spent escaping.”
They ran the rest of the way to the entrance without conversation. By the time they reached the lobby, Jason was damp with sweat and breathing hard. Only the drinling and Bactrus showed no sign of fatigue.
Jason handed the stone to Jasher.
“Does Nia know we’re leaving?” Farfalee suddenly asked.
“We already found her,” the drinling said. “She and the others have gone ahead. We’re the last people in the library.”
“Come on,” Farfalee urged, leading the way out the front door.
Glancing back, Jason saw Bactrus giving instructions to Jasher. “Thanks, Bactrus!” Jason called, but the guide remained focused on the seedman.
Outside, Jason saw that afternoon was progressing toward evening. He raced alongside Farfalee and the drinling through the greenery down to the beach, where they found Corinne and Nia waiting, along with Zoo and a single launch.
“How are you feeling?” Jason asked Corinne.
“Much better,” she said. She was on her feet and had some of her color back. “And I might stay that way. Nia did me a favor. She brought me a remedy for seasickness.”
Jason turned to Nia. “Really?”
“Tibrus is a medical expert,” Nia explained smugly. “He showed me a picture of an herb called langerhop that was once cultivated here on the island to help visitors who found the crossing unpleasant. He said it’s a potent remedy, working well even in chronic instances. I found a huge patch of it growing wild on the south side of the library. Corinne already sampled some, and we loaded a lot into the launch.”
Corinne gave Nia a big hug. “If this works, I’ll owe you forever!”
Jason felt more than a little jealous. If he had been a bit more considerate, he could have been Corinne’s hero!
“We should get that launch ready,” Farfalee said. “We need to leave the moment Jasher and Drake return.”
The two drinlings turned the launch around. Jason, Nia, and Corinne wandered over to it. Jason watched the sea lapping against the shore with wimpier waves than ever.
Within a few minutes Jasher and Drake came bounding out of the vegetation and sprinted across the sand. They held three black shields shaped like extremely rounded triangles. Drake wore a round steel cap and a breastplate that matched the shield. A dark, velvety cloak billowed behind Jasher.
The two seedmen leaped into the launch. The drinlings shoved off and then manned the oars. Grinning, Drake held out one of the shields to Farfalee.
“Titan crab,” she said, hefting it.
“I almost got killed by a titan crab,” Jason mentioned.
“Lighter than steel,” Jasher said. “And a good deal stronger.”
“I’ll admit,” F
arfalee said, “titan-crab shields were probably worth the wait.”
“The cloakroom was empty except for junk,” Drake said. “But the shop looked untouched. You would weep to know the valuables we left behind. The art alone!”
“We concentrated on useful items,” Jasher said.
“How novel,” Farfalee commented.
Jasher gave her a lopsided grin. “But that didn’t stop me from thinking of you.” He held out a jeweled necklace and a fancy silver bracelet.
Farfalee could not disguise her pleasure. “Oh, Jash! You scoundrel! You pillaged for me! That necklace is divine! It’s useful—it must be worth a fortune!”
“And since I have no spouse,” Drake said, “I thought of you girls.” He handed Corinne and Nia matching rings set with huge blue gems.
“It’s lovely,” Corinne gushed, her eyes dancing.
Jason could not help but notice that everyone was scoring major points with her today except him.
Nia said nothing. She held up the ring, transfixed by the glinting facets. At last she let out a low whistle. “I never imagined owning something so fancy.”
“Facing grim peril should have some rewards,” Drake said, rapping his titan-crab breastplate with his knuckles. “The extra shield is for Lord Jason.”
“Really?” Jason said, suddenly feeling much better.
“We don’t want to make it too easy for them to kill you,” Drake insisted cheerfully. “Windbreak Island has been good to us. We have our scroll, and our maps, and several rare and valuable items besides. Now all we have to do is get away.”
They reached the ship and climbed to the deck. As a group of drinlings took care of the launch, the Valiant set sail. Aram approached, and Farfalee filled him in about the scroll and the maps. Jasher showed off the shields and gave Aram a curved knife with a jeweled hilt.
“How do we get away?” Jasher asked.
“We took the time to study their heading from the observation room,” Aram said. “They’re coming from the northeast, on a direct course for Windbreak Island. So we’ll slip away to the southwest, using the same easterly wind, and keep the island between us until nightfall. They’ll want to search the island thoroughly, so they’ll surely stop there for the night. If the wind holds, by daybreak we should be out of sight even from the observation room.”