A World Without Heroes (42 page)

“Somehow Maldor had learned I was unfaithful and used me to lure Dinsrel out of hiding. Dinsrel had hoped to capture the ship I was on, along with its precious cargo. Maldor had turned the attempted thievery into a masterful trap, beheading the nascent rebellion with a single blow.

“Once the executions were complete, the bodies were dumped overboard, staining the sea. I was transported to the flagship. The other ships departed.

“Maldor ordered my head severed, along with one arm. The rest of me was placed inside a heavy strongbox and thrown overboard. To this day I can feel the water around me, though I only notice it when I concentrate. I can touch the rusty insides of the strongbox. So long as my weary heart keeps beating on the bottom of the sea, I remain alive.”

“How did you get away?” Rachel asked. Her ankles hurt from squatting, so she shifted to a kneeling position.

“I was held in a cell with a fellow called Drake, a seedman, one of Dinsrel’s closest counselors, and Rex, Dinsrel’s top assassin. Rex had smuggled a lockpick into the cell in his hair. During the night he sprang the lock to our cell. Rex killed the first guard silently, but the next one raised an alarm. There was no way to rescue the others. Drake and Rex fought their way topside with me in tow and leaped into the sea.

“Rex was slain by an arrow in the water. We were miles from shore, but Drake managed to swim the distance while keeping my head above water. My hand clung to the back of his neck the whole way. Had the ship been much farther out to sea, I would not be here today.

“When Drake made it to the beach, he was exhausted. Poor fellow collapsed right there on the sand. Before sunup I roused him by flicking his eyelid. He picked me up and headed inland.

“I spent a long time as a piece of luggage, passed from person to person. After a season I received word of another defection by a displacer: Maldor’s chief scribe, Salzared. That was when I learned of the Word. A man who had learned the fifth syllable brought me here. Eventually he left. I have remained ever
since, preserving a fragment of the Word, years upon years.”

“Quite a story,” Rachel said.

“Would you mind terribly lowering my lips to the water so I can take a drink? It is such a bother to shuttle water in my palm.”

“Of course. Why don’t you stay nearer to the water?” The head was about six feet away. It was a wonder the arm could bring any water to him. Rachel supposed he had a lot of practice.

“In case of a heavy rain. Twice I almost drowned, this place filled so quickly. I just barely managed to push my head away in time. It can be slow going with just an arm.”

Rachel carried the hairy, wrinkled head to the edge of the pool and lowered it carefully, holding the long beard back as best as she could, until the lips touched the surface. The head drank greedily, finally stopping with a satisfied sigh. “I have not drunk so well since Galloran was here.”

“Was he the last to visit you?”

“Correct. How did he fail? He was almost finished when he found his way here.”

“I don’t know all the details,” Rachel said. “He was captured and brainwashed. He has forgotten most of what he learned. But he helped me and a friend begin our search for the Word.”

“A shame. A good man, Galloran. You may return me to my resting place.”

Rachel situated the head as it had been before.

“We have overlooked introductions,” the head said. “I am Malar.”

“I am Lady Rachel of Caberton.”

The white eyebrows went up. “Caberton. A handsome estate.”

Rachel shook her head. “Not anymore. Galloran gave my friend and me the title, but I have heard the estate has fallen into disrepair.”

“A shame. In my day it was one of the finest. Times change when you are shut away in a cavern. This friend is male?”

“Yes?’

“And he let you brave the lake?”

“I insisted,” Rachel said. “I’m a runner.”

“You have spirit. He’s a lucky man.”

“We’re not . . . We’re just friends.”

“I assume you desire knowledge of the Word.”

“Yes, please.”

“The fifth syllable is ‘dra.’ Have you visited the sea cave?”

“I have.”

“What syllables do you lack?”

“The second and the sixth.”

“You are doing well. The sixth is in the keeping of the Pythoness, in the heart of the Sunken Lands, north and east of here. The second lies very far to the southeast, in the Temple of Mianamon. I would not know where the second lay, were it not for Galloran. He is the only person I know to have ever found it.”

Rachel sat down. She felt relieved to have a path again. Now she could put a name to the locations of the missing syllables! And they had two thirds of the Word! Maybe Ferrin would know about the Temple of Mianamon.

“You say you served Maldor, as did that other displacer, Salzared. Do many displacers serve him?”

The head chuckled. “Have you been in a cave yourself? They all do, by covenant. We are his spies.”

Chills tingled up Rachel’s back. “All of them? Are you sure?”

“To my knowledge only Salzared and I have ever betrayed him. Our race was created by Maldor’s old master, Zokar. Things may have changed outside, but certainly not that much.”

Rachel put a hand over her mouth. “We’re traveling with a displacer.”

Malar grimaced. “How did you not know any better? Are you a Beyonder?”

Rachel nodded.

Malar looked surprised at the nod, as if his question had been intended as a rhetorical expression. “Well, that explains it. Is it just you three traveling together?”

“It is.”

“How did you fall into company with this
limb dropper
?” He spat the title as an expression of contempt.

“His head was dangling in a bag at a crossroads. His body was buried nearby. He said he had been robbed.”

Malar looked downward, as if ashamed to be a displacer himself. “A predictable setup, playing off your ignorance. Has he been with you long?”

“A good while.”

“He has been a faithful companion?”

“He feels like our only real friend.”

“Then he is an observer,” Malar said. “Confront him, and he should leave without violence, unless times have drastically changed.”

“When should I confront him?”

“Immediately. Every move you have made with him in your company has been or will be reported to Maldor. Every strength you have, every weakness, every asset, every plan. And there will be other minions of Maldor nearby, ready to strike. After you break company with him, get away fast.”

“This is a nightmare,” Rachel said.

“Life gets no more difficult than when a person opposes Maldor. Believe me, I know.”

“Do you mind if I take a drink?”

“Help yourself. You must be parched after the run across Whitelake.”

Rachel bent over at the edge of the pool and began gulping down the water. It tasted strongly of minerals and was so cold it made her teeth ache. Despite the raging thirst the first sips awakened, she had to pull back several times because it was so frigid.

“How does the water stay so cold?”

“Magic.”

Rachel stared.

“I’m not jesting. A stone that emits perpetual cold lies at the bottom. It prevents this room from becoming a furnace. Some old wizard designed this sanctuary.”

“I have another question. Do you know how I can return to the Beyond?”

Malar scrunched his brow. “There I cannot help you. It is said that long ago there were more gateways to the Beyond than now exist. I myself know of none. There was a rumor in my day that Maldor guarded a secret involving such a portal. I learned no details, and the scant information I heard came from questionable sources.”

Rachel sat down near the head. “I don’t look forward to running back across the lake.”

“I often wonder how many have died trying to cross it. In all my years here only four men have ever found me. I have dwelled here for decades. Although I was getting old when I came here, displacers age more slowly than other men and have hardier constitutions. Would you feed me some moss before you go?”

Rachel moved around the room, ripping up moss. When she squeezed it, a sticky fluid oozed out. She fed some to Malar.

“You should eat some,” Malar said. “This stuff is full of energy. It will help in your dash over the lake.”

Rachel smelled it. The moss had no scent, unless it was faintly like grass clippings. She tasted some. It was almost unbearably bland, and it triggered her gag reflex.

The head chuckled. “I wish I could say I have developed a taste for the stuff. All I can profess is a tolerance.”

Rachel forced herself to eat more. She did not want to sink into the hot lake for lack of energy because she was a picky eater.

“Good girl,” Malar encouraged.

Finally she ingested a good portion of the bland moss.

“Give yourself an hour or two,” Malar recommended. “That is when your energy should peak. Have some more water. Don’t drink any during the last thirty minutes before you run. Before you go, soak your shirt and hair. It will help you stay cool. And run to the shore to the east, right across from where you came in. It is closest, though not by much.”

Rachel nodded. She drank more water from her cupped hand. Then she lay down and fell asleep.

She awoke with the head yelling. “Lady Rachel! Lady Rachel! Wake up!”

Rachel sat up with a start, squinting and rubbing her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It has been over two hours. You should probably get started.”

Rachel stood and began her stretching routine. Afterward she submerged her head in the water, and came up sputtering and shivering. Then she soaked her clothes. Goose pimples stood out on her arms. “Hard to believe I will be hot in a couple of minutes.”

“Believe it.”

“I guess this is good-bye,” Rachel said. “Do you want me to bring you with me? Get you out of here?”

“I must remain to protect my syllable,” Malar said. “Powerful spells guard this chamber.”

“Thank you for your help. Any parting advice?”

“Be firm with your displacer. We can be a slippery breed.”

“See you later.”

“I doubt it. May you prosper in your quest. Safe journey.”

“Thanks, Malar. Safe . . . moss eating.”

CHAPTER
17
JASHER