Chasing the Prophecy (Beyonders) (13 page)

Tears brimmed briefly in Ulani’s eyes. The head acolyte replied with a slight nod that showed little confidence. “We each have our duties.”

Rachel rested a finger beside her temple. “I see lots of walking in my future.”

Ulani smiled. “I hardly know you in those barbaric clothes.”

“Function before fashion. I’ll miss you.”

Ulani’s mouth twitched. No words came out. She nodded again, turned, and left the room.

Rachel swiveled to face the mirror. Ulani had finally voiced what many of the other acolytes had hinted at for weeks. After months spent practicing together, they knew how quickly Rachel learned, and regarded her with wary awe. Even the most jealous ones seemed to recognize Rachel as the greatest among them. Uncertain times were looming. The acolytes did not want to lose her. She had never felt so needed.

Did anyone rely on her like this back home? Her parents loved her, and certainly missed her, but did they
need
her? Not the way the people in Lyrian needed her. As her abilities increased, her role here in Lyrian would only grow more significant.

Are you busy?
The words reached her mind as clearly as if spoken.

Come in.

The door opened and Corinne entered, honey-blond hair tied back, her robes fitting like she had been prepped for a photo shoot.
I saw Ulani leave.
Corinne’s room was not far down the hall.

She was saying her good-byes. What have you been up to today?

I was helping Father
, Corinne conveyed.
We were sending messages to our allies. We won’t have easy access to messenger eagles again until we reach Trensicourt. I’ll miss them. They’re such intelligent, impressive birds. How are you feeling?

I’ve been tense,
Rachel admitted.
I had a good talk with Jason. It helped.

We live in very difficult times
, Corinne conveyed.
None would envy us.

I’m not looking forward to the good-byes
, Rachel expressed.

Corinne closed her eyes. The words came clearly to Rachel,
laden with heartache.
I understand, Rachel. I’ll miss you too. And the others. I have grown comfortable here. Resting. Sparring. Socializing. I may never see my father again after today.

I can’t think about all the separations,
Rachel replied sympathetically.
It’s too much. I’ve been dreading this. I don’t feel ready
. Not only was she going to miss her friends, but many parts of the prophecy left her full of unsettling doubts and questions.

Corinne opened her eyes.
I know! Why do oracles have to be so cryptic?

I didn’t share that on purpose
, Rachel responded. Like her father, Corinne was growing increasingly adept at perceiving unshared thoughts.

Sorry
, Corinne apologized.
I couldn’t help sensing your attitude. I know that Father has puzzled over every word. For example, what servant will betray what master? Could be almost anyone.

Rachel nodded.
I can’t resist searching for clues in her final words. She said our hope would be red like the blood of heroes, black as the bowels of the earth, and white like a flash of orantium. Is there some hidden message we need to deduce from that? Or was she just confirming that some of us will die and orantium will help in our battles?

It could be worse,
Corinne comforted her.
Some prophecies can be hopelessly vague. At least we know a few things for sure. We know that we have to split up. We know who goes where and generally what they must do. As for the rest? Good luck figuring out which secret from the past will ransom the future.

Maybe we’ll know it when we come across it.

Let’s hope so. Do you need more alone time?

Rachel scanned her room, realizing that it truly felt like
her
room. It was the only space in Lyrian over which she had ever felt a real sense of ownership. She sighed. The plan had never been to stay here. Her belongings were packed. “I’m ready.”

*  *  *

Rachel and Corinne caught up to the others on the main floor of the temple. A variety of treefolk mingled with Rachel’s companions. Certius had engendered the treefolk, humanlike races covered with foliage, most with moss or ivy, some with vines or thorns. Treefolk guides would be escorting both of the departing groups out of the jungle.

Galloran, his blindfold in place as usual, stood conversing with Nollin, Kerick, and Halco. The amars belonging to Kerick and Halco had been planted in a fertile patch of soil shortly after their arrival to Mianamon, and they had been reborn barely ten weeks later. The three seedmen would be accompanying Galloran’s group—Halco meant to split off and rejoin his people, while Kerick and Nollin would proceed to Trensicourt. Kerick and Halco appeared to be in good spirits as they chatted with Galloran, while Nollin seemed to brood.

Of all the members of the delegation who had set out from the Seven Vales, Nollin had liked the prophecy least. Although he had kept in contact with influential seedfolk, sending many messages by eagle proclaiming his doubts and misgivings, to his credit the dour seedman had confirmed that the oracle had indeed foreseen at least a small chance at victory if Galloran and his remaining allies took the offensive. Since the prediction contradicted Nollin’s personal expectations and politics, his affirmation lent needed credibility to the report.

Galloran had shaved his beard and trimmed his hair short. His face looked younger than the gray hair and whiskers had hinted—middle-aged, with chiseled features and a strong chin.

Jason waved at Rachel, and she trotted toward him. He looked good in his clean traveling robes. On the floor beside him sat a pair of covered buckets.

“What’s in there?” Rachel asked.

“Galloran is sending us with most of the extra orantium,” Jason explained. “Twelve globes. He’s only taking three, since the Amar Kabal have hundreds in reserve for the assault on Felrook. They promised to resupply him early by sending fifty to Trensicourt.”

“You’re carrying the spheres in buckets?”

“Check it out,” Jason said, prying off one of the lids. Inside, six crystal orantium globes floated in clear gel.

“What’s with the goo?”

“I was just asking the same thing,” Jason said. “The wizard Certius invented it specifically for transporting orantium globes. I guess they still have a decent stash here.”

“I thought that hardly any orantium had survived except for what we found in the swamp.”

“Right. But Mianamon is old. They have more left here than any other place besides the Sunken Lands. Like, twenty globes.”

Rachel dipped a finger in the goo. It came out coated in glossy syrup. “So the goo keeps the globes from smacking together and cracking?”

“Partly. Also, if a sphere breaks, supposedly the mineral won’t explode.”

Rachel rubbed her thumb against her slick finger. “I get it. Orantium combusts when exposed to air or water. But not this stuff.”

“It lets us transport orantium with less fear of blowing ourselves apart.”

Rachel wiped her hand on her robe. “I wonder if they used something like this to mine orantium in the first place.”

“Maybe,” Jason said. “The people who would know are long gone, along with the mine.”

“You could always check at the Celestine Library,” Rachel suggested.

“That’s totally what we’ll do there. Ancient mining research. Either that or we’ll find the location of Darian the Seer and save the world.”

Galloran raised his hoarse voice. “I believe we’re all assembled.” All other conversation stopped as everyone turned to hear him speak. Many acolytes and treefolk had gathered to see them off. “I would like to thank the inhabitants of Mianamon for their generous hospitality over the past months. You have proven yourselves friends and allies in times of hardship.”

The compliment earned scattered applause.

Galloran went on. “We now embark on missions prescribed by your most recent oracle. I thank the treefolk for providing us with safe passage through the jungle. Troubled times await us all. I will remain in communication via eagle whenever possible.

“The future of Lyrian has never been more precarious. Remain vigilant. Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst. I salute Jason and my friends, who now embark on a hazardous quest to a secret destination. Together they form one of the finest teams ever assembled in the history of Lyrian. If they counsel wisely and work as one, I expect there is little they cannot accomplish.”

Nollin started laughing derisively.

“Is something humorous?” Farfalee asked.

“I’m simply amused by this brave talk of victory,” Nollin said. “Can we be just a touch more realistic?”

“Enlighten us,” Galloran offered. Rachel could tell he wasn’t thrilled with the interruption.

“We’re not going to accomplish anything,” Nollin said simply. “I’ll do my best alongside you, but we’re chasing a phantom triumph. A fool’s mirage. The oracle made it clear that victory was all but impossible.”

“What would you have us do?” Drake challenged.

“I would tell the good people of Mianamon to expect word of our failure,” Nollin replied. “I would encourage them to withdraw deep into the heart of the jungle, to promote the breeding of ferocious beasts, and to erect whatever defenses they can contrive. After our nations fall, this will be the last vestige of free civilization on the continent. They should take every measure to protect it.”

“You can’t write us off like that,” Jason argued.

“Can’t I?” Nollin asked innocently. “The oracle did. She made it abundantly clear that this venture has virtually no chance of success. It will end in our ruin.”

“Then why are you participating?” Farfalee asked.

Nollin faced her. “If we’re already doomed, why not chase one last pleasant illusion? This was the decision of my people, and I will hold true to it. But the rest of Lyrian should brace for disaster.”

Rachel noticed the treefolk murmuring and shifting uncomfortably.

“If we think like that, we probably will fail,” Jason said resolutely. “The oracle told us that we still have a chance to beat Maldor. We need to focus on that.”

“You’re free to dream however you wish,” Nollin teased. “But don’t ask the rest of us to share your unrealistic—”

“Then don’t ask us to share your weakness!” Jason interrupted.

Nollin seemed taken aback.

Jason plowed forward. “This isn’t really my fight. It’s not my world. I’m not helping because my people obligated me. I’m helping because Lyrian needs to be saved. It’s a good place with good people. There’s so much potential that will be lost if Maldor wins! I’ve met him. He wants to control all of Lyrian. He wants to rule it completely, for as long as he can, and since he could live hundreds of years, that could add up to a really long time. If he wins, Lyrian
will become a terrible place. He barely even tries to hide that. Stopping him is the right thing to do.”

“Nobody is arguing that we should embrace Maldor,” Nollin said soothingly.

“You’re arguing that stopping him is unrealistic,” Jason said. “But don’t you get what Galloran was saying? You’re with people who do unrealistic things. He’s killed three torivors! I spoke the Word to Maldor and then escaped Felrook. Rachel killed Orruck and we took his orantium. We all made it through Ebera. We’ve done lots of unrealistic things. Why not try for a few more?”

The assemblage cheered. Rachel wanted to hug Jason. The mood in the room had gone from gloomy to jubilant in a matter of moments. Nollin surveyed the surrounding reactions with a condescending smile. He shook his head a little and raised his hands in surrender. The gesture reluctantly gave permission for the others to enjoy their delusion. They took him up on the offer.

“Well said, Lord Jason,” Galloran approved, motioning for the crowd to quiet down. “This is not an hour for doubt or fear.” The blindfolded king drew his sword. The sleek blade flashed like a mirror. “I have in my custody four swords of torivorian make, won by besting lurkers in battle. I have owned two others, but they were lost when I was taken by Maldor. I will keep one of the four swords. My daughter Corinne will retain another. A third will travel into peril with Lord Jason of Caberton.”

“Me?” Jason blurted.

Rachel glanced at his shocked expression.

“I wish I could give more,” Galloran apologized.

“But I’m not the best swordsman in my group,” Jason protested. “Far from it. How about Jasher? Or Drake?”

“According to the oracle, you must survive to reach Darian the Pyromancer,” Galloran said. “You must live to receive the
vital information. Therefore you should be the best equipped of your party.”

Jasher nudged Jason. “Go accept it,” the seedman whispered.

Rachel nodded her agreement.

“Okay,” Jason said, walking to Galloran. “Thank you—I can’t believe it. I’ll do my best.”

Jason strapped the sword about his waist. Despite his height, he looked young.

Tark began the cheering. Others noisily joined him, and the approval quickly swelled to a wholehearted level that surprised Rachel. She found herself caught up in spirit of the moment, whistling and clapping.

Jason smiled bashfully. The cheers subsided. Jason stepped away from Galloran, who produced another torivorian sword. “The fourth sword will travel with me to Trensicourt, borne by Ferrin, son of Baldor.”

Mutters rippled through the crowd, not all of them approving. Rachel glanced at the displacer, his expression a study in surprise and disbelief. He walked over to Galloran and knelt before him. “This is too kingly a gift.”

“The blade comes with a price,” Galloran said. “You must wield it in defense of our cause. If you do so, you will more than earn it.”

Ferrin bowed his head. “I’m deeply honored, Your Majesty.”

“More honor awaits if you see this through,” Galloran rasped softly.

Io handed Ferrin the sword. The displacer belted it on.

Considering Ferrin, Rachel decided that Galloran was wise to entrust him with the torivorian weapon. She knew Ferrin viewed the fine swords with an almost religious awe. Any gesture that might help cement his loyalty would give them a better chance for success.