Chasing the Prophecy

by Brandon Mull

  “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.”

  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 C
handra, 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 might 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 35

  SACRIFICE

  Tark surfaced inside the mine, gasping desperately. Luminous seaweed in hand, he crawled out of the water, his hair and pants dripping. He wore no shirt or shoes. He lay on his back, drinking in the earthy air. The swim had tested him to his limits.

  Thanks to Ferrin, Tark had known exactly where to find the entrance to the mine and how far he would need to swim in order to reach the ancient air trapped inside. The entrance had been a long way down. Even with weights to aid his dive, the descent had consumed an alarming amount of time, the pressure building as he sank. Rocks clogged the entrance, but he had stroked through the gap Ferrin had made. For twenty feet it had been tight. Afterward, his lungs complaining, he had advanced along the underwater excavation until the tunnel finally elbowed upward and he had emerged here.

  Not many men could have survived that swim. Ferrin had warned that it would be challenging, and the displacer had not been wrong. Tark sat up. His task was far from complete. All of Lyrian was counting on him.

  By the light of his seaweed Tark saw the tools Ferrin had left. Multiple pickaxes, pry bars of varying length, rope, spare seaweed, and half a dozen orantium spheres, including one of the large gatecrashers. Ferrin had rehearsed the route that would take him to where the mine had been sealed off. The information had been shared not long before Ferrin was taken into custody.

  Tark had informed Galloran how Naman had arrested Ferrin, but by the time Galloran confronted the commander of the seedfolk, the displacer had already quietly escaped. Ferrin had not been spotted since.

  But Tark could not afford to dwell on that now. Led by Galloran, the retreat was already underway. Tark had to keep moving. The timing was crucial. According to Ferrin, the extensive tunnels should hold plenty of breathable air. The timing concerns involved the placement of Maldor’s forces. Trying to warm himself, Tark briskly rubbed his arms. If he could hurry and detonate the vein of orantium while the vast host was massing around Felrook, the war might realistically end with a single blow.

  Tark began gathering supplies.

  Farther along the tunnel, a glow appeared beyond the reach of Tark’s light. Ferrin held a newly lit length of seaweed in one hand and a large crossbow in the other. The crossbow was casually aimed at Tark.

  “Ferrin?” Tark asked.

  “Hello.” He was frowning, his voice neutral. He looked weary and disheveled.

  Tark had never seen Ferrin disheveled.

  Tark’s hand slid toward his knife.

  “Don’t touch that knife,” Ferrin warned. “My finger is quicker than your arm.” The displacer was missing his nose.

  “What is this?” Tark asked, slowly raising both hands.

  “What does it look like?” Ferrin asked. “After all I did, Naman arrested me.”

  Tark winced. “I know. Galloran was upset. He tried to intervene, but you were already gone.”

  “I believe he would have tried. But the time had come to take matters into my own hand
s. My captors left me a small opportunity to escape, and I took it. The experience served as a sobering reminder. If you detonate that vein of orantium, the Amar Kabal win. And the displacers lose. Forever.”

  Tark nodded. “You knew that from the start.”

  “But what were the chances we would actually succeed? Did you expect it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I didn’t. Not really. But here you are, about to spill your blood down in the bowels of the earth to create a flash of orantium like the world has never known. I failed to give Esmira the proper credit.”

  “Seems she had a gift,” Tark agreed. He glanced from the crossbow to Ferrin’s eye. “Have you been toying with us all along?”

  “I’m not sure what I’ve been doing,” Ferrin replied. “I’ve been open about that with those who have bothered to ask. I’m not sure how I expected this to end. I certainly never thought I would find myself in a position to receive an imperial pardon.”

  “You really think Maldor would pardon you?”

  “Naman seemed to think so,” Ferrin said wryly. “The prospect once seemed impossible. I had crossed too many lines, burned too many bridges. But what if I were able to warn the emperor that Felrook had unwittingly been constructed on top of a mountain full of explosives? What if I could singlehandedly save his armies and his life? That would probably do the job.”

  “I can’t believe this,” Tark sighed. Everyone was counting on him. He could not fail! His mind frantically searched for a workable strategy. Ferrin would not miss with the crossbow. Even without it, Tark knew how well the displacer could fight.

  Ferrin smirked. “It’s amazing that this fortress didn’t explode long ago. They could have tunneled into the orantium when digging the dungeons. The dungeons of Felrook are deep. A little deeper, and they might have had quite a surprise.”