by Brandon Mull
Returning to stand beside the casket, Jason stared out at the sea of containers. Which would the old seer have expected him to pick? Jason scowled. Would there be an obvious clue? A familiar face? What if he selected the wrong one?
Leaving the dais, Jason roamed among the receptacles. At first he felt most drawn to the big wooden chests bound in iron, partly because they looked like pirates might have hidden treasure inside. But there were numerous chests of that description. He scoured some for clues but found nothing. He decided he should look for something more unique, a container that related to his life in some way. He found a porcelain vessel shaped like a titan crab. The top of it obviously could be lifted off. But the titan crab had been a negative experience, so he kept looking.
Maybe he should pick the fanciest box he could find; then he could keep it. Something with jewels. Would Darian have foreseen he might choose that way? He examined a delicate ivory coffer inset with enamel and crusted with sapphires. It would be worth a fortune. But did it reflect anything about him? What box would Darian most expect him to select?
Paying close attention, unsure what exactly he hoped to see, Jason wandered aimlessly. He looked for words in English, or references to his world, or people he knew, and generally tried to stay open to any item that might call to him. He meandered for a long time. Many objects looked unique or valuable, but he could find nothing that he considered more personally suited to him than the rest.
Maybe he had already passed the container he should have chosen. Maybe he should have gone with his first instinct. Which had been the first container he had wanted to open? A big chest back near the dais. But wouldn’t most people choose something near the dais? After reading the instructions, the first containers they encountered would be those by the dais. Maybe he should go to the far side of the room. Or maybe he should go back to the crab. Or the priceless ivory box. No, if he had been meant to choose those, he would have already done it, right?
Staring at the ground, Jason strolled away from the dais until he approached the far end of the room. Closing his eyes, he turned in a circle with his finger extended, came to a stop, and peeked. He was pointing at an elaborate container the size of a lunch box, carved out of glossy golden wood. It was an impressive piece of workmanship, but the embossed images were all vines and flowers. It looked sort of girly.
Jason sat down on the floor. Maybe he was going about this all wrong. If Darian was such a great seer, shouldn’t the message be waiting in whatever box Jason opened? If the task was to guess what container Darian would have picked for him, the cause was hopeless. There were just too many possibilities. Who knew what criteria the seer would have used? But if Darian could really see the future, it shouldn’t matter which box Jason picked. Whatever he chose would have to be the right one.
Standing up, Jason looked around. A golden coffer inlaid with tear-shaped jewels and lustrous pearls caught his eye. Resisting the urge to second-guess his decision, he walked over and opened it. The coffer did not explode. No poisonous gas leaked out. Inside he found a scroll.
Sitting and crossing his legs, Jason unrolled the scroll and found a message in English addressed to him. Relief flooded through him, and he began to read.
My Esteemed Lord Jason,
Although we have never met, I feel as if I know you. I have watched you extensively from afar. Should you ever read these words, you will have obtained them at great cost. You will certainly have reason to grieve, and you probably feel distraught and alone. Know that I appreciate what you and your comrades have suffered in order to receive my counsel. On behalf of Lyrian, I thank you.
Tears blurred Jason’s vision. He wiped them away. Strange how appreciation in a note from some dead guy could matter, but it did. He felt a little less alone.
Please pardon my grasp of your language. I apologize in advance if anything I express seems unclear. I have not yet had occasion to communicate in English during my lifetime, nor do I expect to enjoy the opportunity before I expire. I learned your language exclusively by gazing into my flames. My only firsthand practice has involved the composition of messages to potential readers fluent in the future common tongue of Lyrian.
You possess a curious nature. The vital words I must share are few, so allow me the luxury of explaining my mission. Toward the end of my life, I learned to see the past and the future in exquisite detail. Through my visions I recognized that I was the truest seer Lyrian would ever know, and I beheld that without my aid Lyrian would fall into darkness.
I left my home and absconded to a remote setting where I could better control who would access my prophecies, a place that would endure until after my last prophecy held any relevance. You have found that secret lair. I tried to ensure that you would reach my final resting place through assignments given in other prophecies. One of those requests sparked the creation of the Petruscan scroll that led you here.
Although I enjoy vivid visions of the future, I cannot always be certain which of the branching paths the future will take. I see a multitude of possibilities with tremendous clarity, many of them conflicting. There are numerous possible futures where you never read these words. If you are reading these words, many other prophecies I authored have become irrelevant. I have done my best to guard Lyrian as far into the future as I could foresee. Only the coming years will reveal the degree of my success.
More than five thousand prophecies reside in this room. At best fewer than fifteen hundred will actually be read. At worst just more than seventy will be shared. Beyond the five thousand prophecies the room also houses more than a hundred thousand lethal traps, most involving poisons of one sort or another. The vast majority will never claim a life.
I have done what was necessary to protect my messages. I have foreseen many who will seek to undo my work, and I have ensured that if they find their way here, they will perish.
You recognized clues to reach this chamber. A variety of choices lead to this room. Many more alternatives lead to certain death. I spent a great deal of effort ensuring that the choices of those I wanted here would bring them safely to this hall, while also ascertaining that the choices of my enemies would prove fatal.
I did not use clues on any of the receptacles that hold my messages in an effort to thwart cunning enemies who might use such a hint to intercept a prophecy meant for another. I trusted my visions to get my scrolls into the intended hands.
You were meant to find this message, Jason. In truth, of all the prophecies available here, yours is one of the most precious. If you read these words, it is because Lyrian teeters at the brink of unending darkness.
Should Maldor succeed, I am unable to view a time when Lyrian recovers. And I can see well beyond your day. Before the end of his reign Maldor will raise up others like him, and their dynasty of tyranny will endure for centuries beyond counting. Perhaps the only blacker end I have perceived for Lyrian involves the plague of Ebera sweeping the continent, an eventuality which has been prevented for the present if you have obtained these words.
I know you have fretted over why you were chosen to obtain this prophecy. Allow me to help alleviate that distress. It might be of comfort to know that some of the greatest figures throughout history have failed to recognize their own worth. In short, only with your involvement was there a chance for any who opposed Maldor to succeed.
Jason reread the words. Could they be true?
I can see that you will doubt my words. You want reasons. You want to understand. I will cite a few examples. If you are reading this message, you helped make key choices that saved your mission. You took action at pivotal moments that rescued your mission as well. But perhaps more than anything, your influence was required to assemble a team of dissenters with a chance for success. You were like a conscriptor working against Maldor. Without you the quest for the Word would not have been revived, and Rachel would have only associated briefly with Galloran. Nedwin would have never located his master. Tark would have never joined the cause. Nor Drake. Nor Aram. Nor Ferrin.<
br />
From across time I searched far and wide for a champion to rescue Lyrian. I had to search beyond our boundaries. Of any I could lure here, only you made victory possible. Both your direct actions and your indirect influence were necessary to give the free people of Lyrian a chance to avoid the tyranny of Maldor. Do not doubt your worthiness. Without you, in every scenario I examined, victory stayed entirely out of reach.
It remains to be seen whether all the rebels you united will play their parts as well as you have played yours. As you read this, victory remains possible, although by no means certain.
You came here for knowledge. The information I have for you will not assure victory. But it will make victory possible.
I helped steer the prophecies that brought you here. The oracle Esmira lacked the talent to upset Maldor’s aspirations. I mean no insult to her gift. Even to me the problem appeared nigh insurmountable, and in the end our combined efforts might fail. For the good of Lyrian I reached out to Esmira from across the ages and helped guide her visions. We communed most clearly at the end of her life. I could not show her all she needed to know, but I was able to convey enough to point Galloran in the proper direction and to direct you here to discover the rest.
There are occasions when knowledge proves more powerful than physical might. Maldor commands with Edomic more potently than I, and his armies vastly outnumber the host Galloran has assembled. But one secret from the past can give Galloran the advantage he needs. The secret is ancient even in my time. I learned it by looking back, not forward. The message you must share with Galloran is that the mount where Felrook now rests was once known by another name. In ages past it was called Mount Allowat.
Jason paused. The name seemed vaguely familiar, but he could not place where he had heard it.
This knowledge may baffle you at present, but Galloran will surely grasp the relevance. Let us hope for the sake of Lyrian that it will help him achieve victory.
I have a second message for you to relay. It pertains to your past, and my future. Again it is not a clue that you will decipher, but it may be of service to another. The message is for Rachel. It may save lives and spare you some grief. Tell her that Orruck already taught her all she needs to know. The former apprentice of Maldor meant to turn her into a weapon, and he shared a certain command he had crafted back when he aspired to overthrow Zokar. The command might serve her well in an hour of need.
These two messages are what you came to learn. Do not bother with the eagles. If the ear of the displacer does not suffice, the cause is already lost.
I have a final prophetic suggestion for you, Jason. This last message will only become relevant if you succeed and thwart Maldor. Lyrian will face many future dangers. You and Rachel came here from the Beyond. At the appointed time, for the good of Lyrian, one of you must return home, and one must stay. If you both stay, or if you both go, Lyrian will eventually fall.
That concludes the information I have to share. Never return here, Jason. There are no additional messages for you. Come again and you will die. To exit, press the round red jewel near the top of my throne.
Should Maldor fall, if your daughter ever has need of me, you may inform her that a prophecy awaits. Now speak to the ear and rejoin your friends.
From ages ago I bid you a fond farewell and wish you a bright future.
Your humble servant,
Darian
Jason could hardly see through his tears. He felt relieved to know how he had contributed, but he also felt torn about Drake, who he had personally involved and who had died as a consequence. Would others he had involved die as well? Had others died already? He felt relieved to have information to share with his friends, even though he didn’t understand how it would help. And he wasn’t sure how he felt about staying forever in Lyrian. If he was going to have a daughter here, he had to be the one to stay, right? Or was the daughter just one of the many possible futures?
After getting his emotions under control, Jason looked around the lifeless room, half surprised to find himself still alone. He had not felt lonely while reading. He had almost felt as if Darian were here with him. Technically, he was, Jason realized, gazing across the room at the casket.
Jason dug into his pack. He pulled out a little case bundled in rags. Pulling apart the rags, he opened the case and withdrew an ear wrapped in linen. Jason unwrapped the ear and held it to his lips.
“Ferrin,” he said loudly, spreading the scroll in front of him so he could use it as a reference, “if you are asleep, wake up. If you’re busy, stop to listen. Ferrin, I have the prophecy. It came straight from Darian, just like the oracle promised. We’ll send the eagles as well, but you should bring it straight to Galloran. Please be true. Please don’t betray us. Most of us died to get here. Corinne, Aram, and I are the only ones left. Farfalee might have lost her seed. We had to kill Groddic, who turned out to be the Wanderer.
“I’m rambling. Let me give you the message. I’m not totally sure what it means, but the mountain that Felrook is on was once called Mount Allowat. Darian thought that would be important. Also, he had a message for Rachel. Orruck already taught her what she needs to know. I guess it has to do with one of the Edomic commands he shared with her. It was something he invented to harm Zokar. That’s all I was told. I hope it makes sense to you guys. I’ll repeat the message again in a few minutes. I hope the battle is going well.”
There was no way for Jason to confirm whether Ferrin had heard, but he intended to repeat and repeat and repeat to be sure. The ear felt warm and was not bleeding, so he knew the connection remained intact and Ferrin was alive. According to Darian, all their hopes now rested with the displacer.
CHAPTER 28
THE LAST WIZARD
Rachel waited for hours in the room where the torivor had left her. The lurker had delivered her through the window after scaling a high wall. She had been braced for a swift introduction to Maldor, but instead she had been admitted to Felrook without any formal greeting.
The room was comfortable, with a generous bed, rich carpets, an impressive desk, multiple chairs, a wardrobe, a bookshelf, and a table in the corner complete with a covered tray of food. There was a separate room for bathing, and beyond that a water closet. But the locked door was solid iron, and the window had no ledge. No matter how comfortable, the room was a prison.
After nightfall Rachel had used Edomic to light some of the candles and lamps around the room. She ate all of the food on the table and was especially grateful for the fresh fruit. Opening her window, she looked out at the night. The view felt like she was gazing from a mountaintop, easily the highest point in the valley. Cool air swished into her room. She was in no mood to sleep.
Io was dead. The pain and guilt of it stewed deep inside. Not only had she probably made a massive mistake by accepting the invitation to train with Maldor, but she had gotten Io killed in the process. She had not known Maldor would send armed lurkers. And she hadn’t known Io would leap immediately to her defense against unbeatable foes. But even so, his death had been a direct result of her choice.
Rachel tried to shift the awful blame from herself to Maldor. The emperor had made her choice necessary in the first place. Without him none of this would be happening. He had sent the lurkers while she was with others instead of when she was alone. After what had happened to Drake, Rachel could not have imagined how she could hate Maldor any more, but somehow she was finding a way.
When the iron door opened, Rachel started, almost dropping her glass as she filled it with water from a pitcher. She had heard no footsteps to announce the visitor. Steadying herself, she took a sip and set the glass down.
A tall, spare man with close-set eyes and a narrow face waited in the doorway. He wore black robes overtopped by a gray mantle. Several guards stood behind him. “Good, you’re awake. His Excellency will see you now.”
“Is that an invitation or an order?” Rachel asked.
The man gave a faint shrug. “An invitation first.”
Mustering her will, Rachel wanted to order the officious man onto the floor. She could do it. Then she could give the guards distracting commands and race past them. But race where? She would be wiser to form a plan before she revealed all she could do with Edomic.
“Fine,” Rachel said, putting on her hat. She had held it tightly while riding the torivor. Now she arranged the veil to hide her face.
“Come with me,” the man invited.
“Who are you?” Rachel asked as she stepped out into the hall.
“A servant of little import,” the stranger replied. “An administrator of sorts. I am called Damak.”
“I know your name,” Rachel said. “You questioned Jason. You’re Copernum’s grandfather.”
“I serve Maldor according to my talents,” Damak replied. “Perhaps one day I will serve you as well. But not today.”
He led her down some steps, through guarded doors, along a hall, through another set of guarded doors, and around a couple of corners. Then they reached an iron door at the end of a hall. Damak used a key to open it.
“I have the girl,” he announced.
“Send her in,” a voice replied. Rachel recognized the voice from her dream, although it sounded a bit more ragged. “Alone. Wait without.”
“As you wish,” Damak replied. He motioned Rachel through the door, then closed it behind her.
Sumptuously furnished, the spacious apartment was gloomy. All the curtains were drawn. Scattered candles provided pockets of light. Her veil further darkened everything, but she kept it in place. A figure stirred in a cushioned chair across the room. Blankets covered the slumped form.
“Come closer,” Maldor beckoned. “Let me have a look at you.”
Rachel stepped toward the speaker.
“Close enough,” he said as she drew near his chair. “Turn around.”
She obeyed, rotating once.
“I approve of your apparel,” Maldor said. “Image matters more than many appreciate. I will have similar outfits tailored. Remove the veil.”