by Brandon Mull
Nia fell back, sloshing noisily. “That shell is tough!” she warned everyone.
“Titan crab,” the Wanderer said bemusedly. “I often reinforce my bones with the remarkable substance. The shell of the titan crab is the most durable biological material I have encountered. I’ll use excessive quantities of it inside of me to disguise my mass when I wish to appear smaller.”
“Are you doing that now?” Aram thundered. He waited at the end of the island. “You’re looking tinier.”
“Jasher robbed me of some mass,” the Wanderer agreed. “And it cost me some size to armor myself like this. Come test your sword against me, half man.”
“I think I’ll keep the high ground,” Aram replied.
“I’m between you and your destination,” the Wanderer replied. “I am in no hurry. Much like Heg, I require no sleep.”
Nia fell back to behind Aram and climbed onto the island. She retrieved Jasher’s torivorian sword.
“We have time as well,” Aram said. “I’ll not be baited.”
The Wanderer laughed. “Three of you have already perished. I could slay the rest of you a thousand ways.” He dropped beneath the water.
“To me,” Aram said.
Swords ready, Jason and Corinne dashed forward to stand beside Nia and the half giant. “I have orantium,” Jason said.
“Don’t use it too close to us,” Aram said. “Jasher had a globe too. Might be worth retrieving.” He crouched and slid Farfalee’s torivorian sword from its sheath. “When the shape-shifter surfaces, fall back and let me deal with him. I won’t let him win.”
Kneeling and scrabbling, Corinne searched for Jasher’s sphere. Jason scanned the surface of the river.
The Wanderer burst from the water and landed at the other end of the island. For a moment he had gill slits at his neck, but they were abruptly covered by the glossy black carapace. He still held Del’s sword.
Jason flung the orantium sphere low, at his feet. The Wanderer dove forward and caught it in an enlarged, softened hand. Rising to his knees, his hand returning to its normal size, the Wanderer threw the globe back at them.
Dropping his swords, Aram flung Corinne and Jason into the river. Nia dove forward, smothering the globe with her body as it struck the rocky ground.
Jason missed seeing the explosion. He heard it from under the water. When he surfaced, Nia was gone, and Aram lay at the edge of the island, one leg in the river, the side of his face blackened and caked with blood. The Wanderer charged him.
Jason heaved himself from the water. If the Wanderer killed Aram while the half giant was down, they were all dead. Jason got to his feet and gripped his sword as the Wanderer approached at full speed, eyes enraged. Jason had never felt more intimidated, but he stood his ground.
The Wanderer’s sword swept toward him. Leaning forward, Jason met the blade with a strong blow from his own. Despite the Wanderer’s sprint and the strength of his swing, he came to a skidding halt as his sword was knocked back by the impact. For a moment the Wanderer was unprotected. Advancing, Jason issued a quick counterstroke, narrowly missing but forcing the Wanderer to retreat a pace.
Their swords began to clash fiercely. Jason was mildly surprised to not be immediately cut down. He was mostly on the defensive, slowly giving ground, but he managed to sneak in a few attack strokes. Without the torivorian sword, Jason doubted he could have resisted the heavy blows or swung quickly enough to match the Wanderer’s speed. Each slash he survived increased his confidence.
The combat felt different from how he had expected. There was no time to feel nervous. He knew he was fighting for his life, and to protect Aram and Corinne, but all he could focus on was blocking the next blow and watching for chances to attack. There was no time to plan or to give conscious thought to form or footwork. There was barely time to react, and occasionally a narrow opening to strike.
As the fight progressed, Jason felt less and less like he was holding his own. His wrists and elbows began to ache. The Wanderer was so quick and used moves and feints Jason had never encountered. Jason improvised defensive blows and dodged as best he could, but he began to feel sloppy, like he had lost his balance and was about to fall.
Then Corinne attacked Groddic from behind. The shelled warrior turned to confront her, allowing Jason a moment to recover. Her blade kept him busy.
Jason saw the Wanderer staring at him with a large pair of golden eyes on the back of his head. For the moment his rear was unguarded. And clearly Corinne needed help. Jason lunged forward as a tail sprouted from the center of the Wanderer’s back. Just before the tip of Jason’s sword could reach the Wanderer, the heavy bulge at the end of the tail slammed into Jason’s shoulder like a mace, sending him splashing into the river.
Jason surfaced in time to see the Wanderer thump Corinne with his tail while he had her occupied with his sword. She tumbled into the water as well. Teeth bared, the Wanderer wheeled on Aram.
Crawling forward shakily, Aram grabbed Farfalee’s torivorian sword, as well as the torivorian sword Nia had dropped. With one side of his leather cloak charred and tattered, the half giant rose unsteadily to meet the attack.
The Wanderer lunged and stabbed at Aram’s chest. Raising both swords high, the half giant made no attempt to block the thrust. Instead, he pivoted, so the Wanderer’s sword struck his coat of rings at an angle. The tip scraped across the armor, failing to penetrate.
Aram brought the torivorian swords down viciously, severing both of the Wanderer’s arms at the shoulders, slicing neatly through the chitinous casing. As the Wanderer struggled to recover, Aram paced forward, torivorian blades hacking in rapid sweeps. Chunks of the Wanderer flew free, turning to dust when parted from his central bulk.
Shrinking as he sprouted new arms, the Wanderer tried a punch and lost the new appendage. The other limb broadened into a defensive rectangle of titan-crab shell, but Aram cleaved it in half. As the Wanderer spun to flee, a brutal horizontal slash bisected him at the waist. The bottom half of the Wanderer crumbled, and Aram savagely attacked what remained. A few more swings, and there was nothing left to cut.
The half giant sank to his knees, breathing hard, as Jason and Corinne returned to the island. Jason’s shoulder ached, but he hardly felt the pain through his enormous relief.
“Want to know one of the many things I learned from Drake?” Aram asked without facing them. “With enough force behind them, torivorian blades can tear through the shells of titan crabs. The Wanderer appeared surprised. He had formed a thick shell, and was reinforcing it wherever the blades landed.”
“Are you all right?” Corinne asked.
Aram glanced down at himself. “I’ll live. I lunged away and got low while Nia shielded me from the worst of the blast. You two bought me enough time to recover. Thanks.”
“I shouldn’t have thrown it,” Jason said, his insides writhing.
“You did the right thing,” Aram assured him. “There was no way to anticipate what happened. You aimed low. You did it right. We had to try orantium. The shape-shifter was starting to look unbeatable. He caught the sphere, and Nia paid a price to protect us. That fight could have gone either way, Jason. We got lucky at the end. You two were magnificent. You crossed swords with the Wanderer and will live to tell the tale. I tried to act more stunned than I really was, and the Wanderer took the bait. He expected to finish me quickly. And I suspect he was overconfident about his shell armor. I would wager he has killed many an opponent while they fruitlessly strike at him.”
“Are you all right?” Jason asked Corinne.
“I was using Drake’s breastplate,” she said. “The tail struck me there. How about your shoulder?”
Jason shrugged it, rolled it, and rubbed it. “Sore, but I don’t think he broke anything. It might turn an interesting color.”
“We got off easy,” Aram grunted. “Others paid the price.”
“Farfalee,” Jason remembered. “Jasher thought she might have a chance if we plant her quickly.
”
Corinne went and gingerly collected the seed from where the Wanderer had tossed it aside. She held it in her palm while Jason and Aram investigated it. The casing was split on one side. There was no telling how deep the knifepoint had penetrated.
“I’m no expert at growing seedfolk,” Aram announced, “but this island seems to be little more than a rock pile. All of the ledges and other islands have been similar. I have seen nothing growing down here. There is no soil, and infrequent sunlight.”
“You’re right,” Jason said. “It won’t do her any good to bury her seed under barren rocks.”
“Back by the lake,” Corinne said. “On the other side of the caverns there were some fertile areas by the lakeside. At least as fertile as the Fuming Waste gets.”
“I won’t fit through those caves until after dawn,” Aram said.
“I can do it,” Corinne offered. “I was paying attention to the way.”
“I was trying to do the same,” Aram said. “There were some puzzling junctions. You don’t want to get lost in there.”
“There could be fertile ground up ahead,” Jason said.
“Possible,” Aram allowed, “though not likely based on what I’ve seen.”
Corinne had crouched to rifle through Jasher’s pack. “Here is his orantium,” she said, holding up the last of their spheres. Setting the globe aside, she kept searching. “I know Farfalee translated the directions. They must be in here somewhere. Here we go.” She produced the pages of notes. “Thankfully, he kept them dry.”
“I should double-check what I need to do,” Jason said.
Holding a glowing strand of seaweed close, Corinne scanned the writing. “I see nothing they failed to tell us. The entrance is under the waterfall. You should enter alone and unarmed. If you are unworthy, you won’t survive. There are no further details.”
“I hope I’m worthy,” Jason said.
“I’ve been watching all of this closely,” Aram said. “That oracle knew her business. If I harbored any doubts before, they have flown. We would not have made it this far without each person she selected. Drake stopped the duel with the torivor. Corinne got rid of the spying lurker. Jason figured out how to defeat the Maumet. Farfalee translated the scroll. And the Wanderer required a team effort. Jasher weakened it. Nia shielded us. That same oracle who chose our team wanted you here, Jason. She would not have sent you to perish as an unworthy trespasser. I don’t expect this seer has ever had a more worthy visitor.”
The reasoning brought Jason comfort.
“I should go,” Corinne said. “I want to get Farfalee and Jasher in the ground.”
“It will be dangerous,” Aram said. “You won’t be able to start immediately after an eruption.”
“I would face the same peril whenever I return,” Corinne said.
“Let me study the instructions,” Aram said. “I paid close attention, and I have a reliable sense of direction. Give me a moment to memorize what I need. Then you bring these pages with you and wait for us on the far side.”
“Are you sure you can make it though without them?” Corinne asked.
“I could probably retrace our route even without studying the instructions,” Aram claimed. “As we came through, I looked back often. Give me a moment.”
The half giant sat staring at the writing, one finger sliding across the words, his lips moving occasionally. At times he would close his eyes, move his lips, and then check himself. Finally, he handed the pages back to Corinne. “Keep out of sight on the other side.”
“I’ll be careful,” Corinne promised. She gave Jason a hug. “You be careful too.”
“We’ll see you soon,” Jason said.
CHAPTER 27
SECRETS FROM THE PAST
By the time Jason and Aram reached the waterfall, the crescent moon peeked down into the chasm, rendering their seaweed temporarily unnecessary. The silver ribbon of water plummeted from a ledge half the height of the gorge, churning in a misty basin at the bottom.
“The water is dropping a long distance,” Aram said, gazing upward. “The volume may not look impressive, but it is hitting with enough force to pin a man to the riverbed and keep him there until long after he drowns.”
“I’ll watch for barrels of air,” Jason said.
Aram smirked. “I would approach from the side. If you end up pressed to the ground, claw your way under the falls.” He tied a length of seaweed around Jason’s wrist.
“I guess I should leave my sword,” Jason said. He handed it to Aram. “I’ll bring the shield.”
“I’ll stand guard until you return,” Aram promised.
Jason was wet and shivering from hiking up the river. He stared at the falls, psyching himself up for the swim. He considered those who had lost their lives to get him here. Heg and the other drinlings. Drake. Jasher, temporarily. Farfalee, maybe forever. Nia. He had to push away the memories. If he dwelled on them now, he would be unable to go forward. “The secret behind those falls had better be useful,” he muttered.
“Amen,” Aram agreed.
Jason plunged into the cold pool. He approached the falls from the right, staying close to the wall of the cliff. The closer he came to the base of the waterfall, the more he felt currents tugging at him.
After waving at Aram, Jason held his breath and dove down, grateful for the radiance of the seaweed around his wrist, although at first all he saw was a shimmering screen of illuminated bubbles. The force of the falling water helped him sink quickly. He kicked and stroked hard, trying to get behind the falls. The turbulence actually helped him, drawing him downward and inward.
Sure enough, at the bottom of the basin, below and behind the falls, he found a large gap in the wall. Swimming inside, he passed along a short tunnel before surfacing in a placid pool inside a cavern. Jason breaststroked to where he could walk, then waded out of the water, shivering in the cool air.
Before him Jason saw a bronze door, incongruous against the natural stone of the cavern wall. He stared at it with relief. At least something was hidden behind the waterfall. People had died to get him here. Many other people were counting on him.
He wondered what Rachel was doing at the moment. Had Galloran raised his army? Were they on the move against Felrook? Living on the run, Jason and his companions hadn’t had the opportunity to get much news. Rachel could be anywhere. He hoped her team was having an easier time than his group had endured. Maybe whatever the door concealed would keep her from suffering too much. After crossing to it, Jason found the door unlocked, and entered.
“Hello?” he called, feeling like an intruder. The word echoed down a long corridor. Beyond the doorway the walls were stone blocks, the floor slate tiles. “Anybody here?”
Leaving the door ajar, Jason crept forward. Eventually the hall turned. Ahead he could see a quivering red radiance. “Hello?”
Again the only answer was his voice returning from the emptiness. At the end of the corridor, Jason reached a circular room with a domed ceiling. Four bronze torches lit the space, held in sconces a few feet out of reach, the flames red as blood. He could not see or smell any smoke. The deep redness of the flames seemed unnatural.
Perfectly round holes of three distinct sizes riddled the wall opposite the entrance to the room. A tiny, neat picture was painted above each hole. Three bronze bins in front of the perforated wall contained spherical white stones, each decorated with a small picture. The stones in one bin were the size of marbles, the next held spheres the size of golf balls, and the last contained stones more comparable to baseballs. The stone spheres seemed to match the three sizes of holes in the wall.
Apart from the holes, engravings textured the wall: runes and glyphs and symbols that Jason had no chance of comprehending. To his surprise, among the foreign shapes and squiggles, he found one concise message in English, the familiar letters etched neatly.
Do not proceed uninvited. Leave behind all weapons. Deliver a single ball to a single hole. Choose wrong and perish
.
Jason scrutinized the rest of the wall to make sure he had missed no other legible messages. After finding nothing recognizable, he returned to the section of the wall peppered with holes. There appeared to be equal quantities of small, medium, and large perforations—hundreds in total.
He began studying the little paintings above the holes. The details were so minute that the brush must have been no larger than a whisker. The images seemed totally random: Animals, plants, buildings, symbols, articles of clothing, tools, faces, food, flags, and a variety of other objects were depicted.
How could he know which ball to put in which hole? It had to be a complex lock, like the door at the Repository of Learning. Did the little paintings on the balls match the images on the holes? Could it be that straightforward?
Jason scooped out two handfuls of medium-sized balls and began sifting through them, looking for an image that matched an image on the wall. The little icons on the balls seemed just as diverse as the images on the wall, but he was having trouble finding anything that matched.
He decided to focus on one ball. He chose one decorated with the tusked head of a golden elephant. He liked the image because it was so distinct. Walking along the wall with the ball, he looked for a matching image above a hole. His eyes darted from hole to hole, glancing at everything but with emphasis on the medium ones. His eyes stopped on an image above one of the large holes.
He did not pause because the image was an elephant.
He halted because the image was the face of his father.
Unable to make sense of what he was seeing, Jason stared in stunned befuddlement. He drew close, squinting. The picture was not quite as perfect as a photograph, but it seemed as unmistakable. The resemblance was uncanny, like a really good caricature. But how could that picture be here? His father had never been to Lyrian. And this place was supposed to be really old.
Could there have been a man in Lyrian who looked like his father? Could the artist have imagined a face that happened to look a lot like his father? Could it just be a coincidence?