by Brandon Mull
“You swore to uphold our cause,” Tark said. “You swore to Galloran and Jason and Rachel.”
“I did,” Ferrin admitted. “Naturally, they all expected me to lie. It’s what displacers do. Thanks to Naman, I’ve enjoyed some time alone to consider a new plan. Want the essentials? First, I shoot you. Then I inform Maldor that his fortress is built atop a mother lode of orantium. He wipes out the forces fleeing into the mountains, then chooses a new stronghold from which to rule for a thousand years. The smug seedmen fall. And I get pardoned. Nothing short of service this crucial would earn Maldor’s forgiveness, but I expect this would prove more than sufficient.”
“Maybe,” Tark said, hoping to plant doubt.
“When I spoke with the oracle, she told me that before the end I would have the chance to decide the outcome. I didn’t expect the opportunity to be so blatant. Perhaps neither did she.”
“Don’t do it,” Tark said. “Galloran still has part of your neck.”
“I appreciate the concern,” Ferrin laughed. “I’m resourceful. I could get to Maldor before Galloran had any inkling of my betrayal. Some quick emergency graftings, and I would be fine.”
“Why am I still alive?” Tark asked, aware that the quarrel could be loosed at any moment. “I can’t stop you.”
“Nobody can stop me. Today, right now, the future of Lyrian teeters on a knife-edge, and I get to determine which way it will fall. To side with Maldor will preserve my people and provide me with a long life as a noble lord. They might even grant me one of the few remaining displacer women as a companion.” He paused, his eyes momentarily distant. “To side with Galloran would buy me death and grant victory to my ancestral enemies.”
“You don’t have to die,” Tark said. “You could still try to flee.”
“I will not flee. I’ve fled enough. If I kill you, I will have no reason to flee. If I let you destroy Felrook, I will remain at your side and see it done. If my people must fall, I will be man enough to fall with them. There would be no place for me in the world after that.”
Tark felt a glimmer of hope. “Are you still undecided?”
“Not anymore. Funny. I came down here still uncertain, angry, all the possibilities dancing in my mind. I doubt anyone could have guessed what would sway my final verdict. Displacers have a reputation as selfish schemers, and my personal reputation is among the worst. But in the end I’ll make this choice based on friendship. It’s even surprising to me. I’ve never had friends before. Not real ones. Now I have three friends in the world, Tark. Three people who I truly love and respect. None are displacers. None serve Maldor. My friends are Jason, Rachel, and Galloran. In the end, with the fate of Lyrian in my hands, I’m not willing to let them down. I couldn’t harm them and live with myself. They’ll never know about this decision. They’ll never know how much their friendship meant to me. But I’ll know, and that’s enough.”
Ferrin lowered the crossbow.
“Really?” Tark asked. He had turned, offering his arm as a target rather than his chest. He had been braced to attack Ferrin after the quarrel hit. He had been braced to drag himself, bleeding, toward the orantium vein.
Ferrin gave a nod. “Naman made me angry. But I don’t care about him any more than I care about Maldor. Why should either of them influence me? You treated me well when the seedmen came for me. Galloran, Jason, and Rachel have consistently treated me well. They wanted this, so they’re going to get it. Besides, I gave Jason my word. Nobody has ever asked that of me. Not directly. Not knowing who I was. It pleases me to reward him for it.” The displacer seemed to relax, as if uttering his intentions had made the decision real.
“If you’re serious, we ought to hurry.”
“Agreed. I know where the sealed portion of the mine begins, but it could still be a chore to reach the vein itself. Before Naman apprehended me, I had considered suggesting to Galloran that I join you, but I worried that he might object to my presence here at such a sensitive time.”
Tark was already gathering gear. “Nobody can stop you now. I expect I’ll be glad you’re with me before the end. This is a weighty responsibility for one man.”
Ferrin collected the gear that Tark could not carry. The displacer led them deeper into the mine, taking turns that Tark had memorized. After a long stretch down a straight tunnel, they reached a wall of rubble. Deep engravings etched the walls. Tark understood none of the writing. “Can you read this?”
“A variety of ancient languages are represented,” Ferrin reported. “I can only read one of them. It warns intruders away. I checked all the tunnels. This was the only premature ending, and the only one marked.”
“This might only be the first barrier,” Tark said.
“I made the same guess,” Ferrin replied. “But I decided I had better not investigate until Galloran got away. It would have been a shame to destroy our own armies along with Felrook.”
Tark studied the wall of rubble, selected a pry bar, and went to work. After a minute or two he started giving Ferrin instructions. Together they heaved stones out of the way. After most of an hour, Tark paused, panting, holding his seaweed into the high gap they were creating. “I can see the far side. The tunnel goes on.”
Ferrin held up a canteen. “Water?”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Tark tipped his head back and drank. “I wonder if that will be the last I ever drink?”
“I don’t think we’re that lucky,” Ferrin replied, wiping his forehead. Dust clung to his perspiration, and the action smeared it. “I expect we have more work ahead of us.”
They cleared the remaining obstacles and brought their gear through the gap. The tunnel angled downward. They advanced until they reached an iron gate. The bars of the gate and its frame stretched from floor to ceiling, utterly blocking the way. Carvings decorated the walls.
“More warnings?” Tark asked.
“Everything I can recognize says to turn back,” Ferrin replied. He rattled the gate. It had several locks. He peered at them. “These locks are corroded. I can’t pick them. The iron still feels relatively solid. Orantium?”
“I would hate to risk a cave-in,” Tark said, “but it might be our only choice.”
“Where do we place it?”
Tark cut a length of rope and tied one of the smaller spheres near the center of the gate’s hinges. They backed well away and flung rocks until the sphere shattered and the mineral inside exploded. The blast echoed down the long tunnel, the thunder skipping and rebounding as if the rumble were reaching for infinity.
Although damaged, the gate remained partially intact. A little work with their tools pried part of it open far enough for them to slip through.
Around a bend they encountered another wall of rubble. It proved to be very thick, requiring more than an hour of heavy labor with pickaxes and pry bars complemented by two orantium blasts. The first orantium blast actually seemed to make matters worse, but the second helped considerably.
Once on the far side, Ferrin and Tark finished the last of the water.
“That may be your last drink,” Ferrin said. “Unless we head back for more.”
“This is already taking longer than I’d like,” Tark said, running his tongue over his teeth. Even after the water, his mouth tasted gritty.
“Think of it as giving Rachel some extra time to get away,” Ferrin said.
“Do you think she has a chance?”
Ferrin shrugged. “Part of the prophecy was meant specifically for her. We have good reason to trust that Darian the Seer knew his craft. I expect that means she has a good chance. Since I’ll never know the truth, I prefer to assume she’ll survive.”
Tark and Ferrin proceeded along the tunnel. Up ahead, floor-to-ceiling bars blocked the way. They had an odd sheen, almost golden. Fifty feet beyond the hefty bars, the tunnel terminated. A white, pasty substance covered the end of the tunnel.
Ferrin rubbed the fat bars, then tapped his knuckles against one. “It makes no sound.”
&
nbsp; Tark hit a bar with a pickax. The impact was much quieter than it should have been. “What is it?”
“I have no idea,” Ferrin said. “Some alloy. Something strong. It hasn’t corroded at all. It looks to be anchored deeply in the floor and ceiling. There is no gate. No hinges. Nobody was meant to get past here.”
Leaning on a long pry bar, Tark sighed. “Not only did they conceal the location of the mountain. Not only did they submerge the entrance under a huge lake. Not only did they erect multiple barriers. Now this.”
“That white coating at the end of the tunnel,” Ferrin pointed out. “Do you suppose it is meant to seal off the vein?”
“I sure hope so,” Tark said. “If the tunnel continues behind it, we could be in trouble.”
Ferrin studied the wall of bars. “We could attack the stone. Blast it. Try to remove a bar that way.”
“We could,” Tark said. “I’m not optimistic. These bars are thick. They were put here to stay. They enter seamlessly into the natural stone. I think they may have been inserted using Edomic.”
“The bars are spaced close together,” Ferrin said. “Even taking it slowly, I don’t think I could pass myself through piece by piece. But I can send my arms.” They crouched. Ferrin detached one arm and passed it between the bars. Tark grabbed the other and placed it through.
“Hand me the smallest pick,” Ferrin instructed.
Tark passed a pick between the bars. One of Ferrin’s hands accepted it. His arms began working their way down the tunnel, moving like overgrown, fleshy inchworms. Before long they reached the end of the tunnel. The free hand probed the white substance on the wall.
“Feels like clay,” Ferrin reported. One arm awkwardly tried using the pick. The hand without the pick tore away the white substance faster. Soon Ferrin dropped the pick and started clawing white clay from the base of the wall, one small handful at a time.
“If this is the last barrier,” Tark said, “you might reach the orantium at any second.”
“Wouldn’t that be a happy surprise?”
“I wonder if we’ll have time to notice.”
“It might be quick, but I think we’ll feel it coming.”
Gripping the cool metal bars, Tark watched tensely as the minutes passed. The hands could not reach high, so they gradually excavated a tunnel at the base of the white wall. More minutes dragged by. “I wish I could help.”
Sweat beaded on Ferrin’s brow. “Me too.”
Tark chuckled. “Want me to fetch water?”
“You might miss the blast.”
“I think I’ll notice.”
“Sure, that would be nice.”
Taking the canteen, Tark retraced their steps, clamoring through rubble and walking along manmade tunnels until he reached the place where he had entered the air pocket. He stared at the dark water. Did Ferrin really need his help? Tark glanced over his shoulder at the empty tunnel, then back at the water. What if he made a run for it? Might he get away? Probably not. The explosion should happen soon.
Tark shook his head. The musings were reflexive. He had run away more than once in his life. The thoughts were familiar, but today he had little desire to heed them. The displacer could not be trusted to finish the job. He had to stay and see this done. It was his chance to make things right, the chance he had always wanted.
Crouching, Tark lowered his lips and drank directly from the water. Then he filled the canteen.
On the way back, Tark thought about others who had sacrificed to make this moment possible. He thought about the members of the Giddy Nine. He thought about Tristan, who had died as they’d escaped Harthenham. He thought about Chandra, and Raz, and Dorsio, and the oracle. He thought about Drake. He thought about Io trying to protect Rachel. He thought about Ferrin, down here with him in the dark, digging toward a cataclysm.
When Tark reached Ferrin, the white tunnel at the base of the wall went back four feet. “You’re a good man,” Tark said.
“That might be something of an exaggeration,” Ferrin replied, “but under the circumstances I’ll take it.”
Tark jutted his chin toward where Ferrin’s arms were working. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
“You want a drink?”
“I’ll need your help.”
Ferrin knelt, and Tark poured water into his mouth. After pausing to let him swallow, he poured more. “Keep going?”
“Sure.”
Tark shared water until Ferrin had drunk his fill. Down the tunnel, the hands and arms kept digging.
“Are you afraid to die?” Tark asked, taking a swig himself before setting aside the canteen.
Ferrin paused. Tark glimpsed something in his eye, a quiet struggle to remain in control. Maybe a hint of worry. “Yes, if I’m being honest. But we all have to go. I was trying to think of a better way than this. I couldn’t.”
Tark nodded. “I hear you. Ever play stones?”
“Sure.”
“My father taught me the game. I’m no expert. Neither was he. But he taught me that sometimes you have to sacrifice a stone or two to gain a strategic advantage. He told me that sacrifice means trading something good for something better. It stuck with me. I guess it applies today.”
Ferrin gave a nod. “I suppose it does. In fact, I find that a very rational way to look at it.”
Tark sighed. “I feel like I’ve cheated death a lot.”
“I could say the same. I suspect both of us have run out of extra chances.”
“I hope so. For the sake of the battle, I mean.”
Ferrin furrowed his brow. “What have we here?”
“What?” Tark asked, peering at the end of the tunnel.
“I think I’ve made it through the white stuff,” Ferrin said. “There’s something behind it. Something flat. Not stone. It feels like wood. Slightly spongy, though not as soft as cork.”
“Can you tear it apart?”
“I’m trying.” Ferrin winced. “Just tore a fingernail. Ouch, and another one. It feels pretty firm. Dare we hope this is truly the end?”
“Should we try orantium?” Tark asked.
Ferrin nodded. “It might be our only remaining option. I wish we could use the gatecrasher, but there is no way it will fit through the bars.”
“A normal one might do it,” Tark said.
“Let’s find out,” Ferrin said.
An arm came scissoring back to them. Tark handed it an orantium sphere, and the arm wriggled away.
“Use the crossbow,” Ferrin said. “I want to get my arms clear, in case this doesn’t work and we need more use out of them. I swear, Tark, if I have to cram myself through these bars piece by piece, I will see it done.”
“I thought you said it would be too hard,” Tark replied.
“It would be risky,” Ferrin replied. “There are limits to how much of myself I can separate at once. If my displacement fields falter, I would become a big mess. Still, if all else fails, I’ll try it.”
Tark laid down on the ground and sighted with the crossbow. “It’s too dark. I can’t see the target.”
“Throw a bit of seaweed that way.”
Tark tore off a segment of seaweed and threw it through the bars. An arm moved to retrieve it. Tark settled back on the ground. After the arm put the seaweed at the back of the white clay excavation, Tark could see the globe perfectly.
“Give me a moment,” Ferrin said as his arms retreated. “Want me to take the shot?”
“I can do it.”
“I have two spare quarrels. With that bow at this distance, you’ll want to aim about four inches high. No wind. The quarrel should fly straight.”
Tark aimed as Ferrin described. The arms reached the bars.
“Do you want to attach your arms?” Tark asked.
“No,” Ferrin said. “I’m missing an eye, an ear, my nose, part of my neck, even part of an artery in one arm. It’s fitting that I should meet my end in pieces. We mi
ght still be hours away from a conclusion. Or this might be it.” Ferrin turned slightly and looked right at Tark, giving him a nod. “You’re a brave man, Tark. It has been an honor.”
“Likewise,” Tark said, letting his mind relax as he squeezed the trigger.
The quarrel sprang from the crossbow. At the end of the hall the orantium shattered. The mineral inside flared white and exploded. After a gasping rush of air, there came a second, stronger explosion. The second blast wave sent Tark rolling. Debris slammed against the bars. With a stronger rush of air, a third detonation followed. The last thing Tark knew was a sense of relief coupled with an intense white flash.
CHAPTER 36
THE FLASH
The sun was almost to the top of the sky by the time the lurkers delivered Rachel to Galloran. She found him in the western foothills, on the far side of a stony bluff. Having sensed the lurkers coming, the king reacted with apprehension at first, but soon Rachel explained how she had destroyed the Myrkstone and entrapped Maldor.
“You struck a bargain with the torivors?” Galloran clarified.
“Most are free to go,” Rachel explained. “They can return to their home world. But three must unconditionally serve you until the day you die. It seemed fair, because three have attacked you with swords. And one must unconditionally serve Jason for as long as he lives and remains in this world, because they sent one for him. And one must unconditionally serve Farfalee, because one of them killed her brother.”
“Unconditionally?” Galloran asked. “No limits? Not even Zokar attained that level of commitment.”
Rachel shrugged. “I guess Zokar didn’t free most of them.”
“Will any serve you?” Galloran asked.
“One used swords to attack Maldor for me,” Rachel said. “He’ll keep on him until the job is done. And the three that will serve you vowed to help me escape Felrook and bring me to you. That was all I really needed.”
“So Maldor is pinned down by a former minion,” Galloran mused, his mismatched eyes remote. “Yes, I can sense his Edomic exertions—potent, but strained. He seems both weary and unwavering, no doubt still holding off the torivor. A protective barrier such as he raised requires a great deal of power and concentration. As long as the lurker stays on him, Maldor won’t have an opportunity to attempt any other commands.”