Chasing the Prophecy (Beyonders) (70 page)

“Well enough,” Ferrin replied. “They are under heavy pursuit. I am not surprised that Maldor sent torivors. Once the Maumet fell, his concern over their side of the prophecy would have increased a hundredfold. The emperor will throw everything he can between Jason and his goal.”

“Are the others well?” Rachel asked.

Ferrin paused. He had that sickly look again. “Several drinlings have fallen. And I’m afraid I have bad news. One of our original delegation gave his life to defeat a lurker. It’s a miracle they stopped a torivor without Galloran. It had come to slay Jason.”

“Lord Jason is all right,” Tark confirmed.

Ferrin nodded, his eyes on Rachel.

She paled. “Not Drake,” she whispered.

Ferrin gave a slight nod.

Rachel felt cold and sick inside. How was it possible that Drake had gone out of the world and she hadn’t known? She returned a little nod. “Oh.”

“I know you were close,” Ferrin said. “Jason said he died very bravely.”

“I’m sure,” Rachel said, trying to wall herself off, trying not to react to the terrible news. She wanted to lash out with Edomic. She noticed a boulder the size of a couch, and suddenly she wanted to throw it higher and farther than she had ever thrown anything. She wanted to crush it to dust. She wanted to tear the tent where she had just met with Galloran to shreds. She wanted to set the world on fire. In that moment of hurt and sorrow, she almost felt she could do it.

Instead, Rachel drew the dark veil in front of her face. For
once her outfit felt completely appropriate to her mood. “Maldor will not get away with that,” she finally managed.

“He won’t,” Ferrin said, giving her a hug.

Rachel let him hug her. She didn’t want the contact at the moment, but Ferrin couldn’t know that. He was trying to help. When the embrace ended, Tark took her hand and patted it. She could see the hurt in his eyes.

Rachel backed away. “I need some time alone.”

Ferrin nodded.

Rachel turned, walking away from camp. She wished somebody would attack her. She wished Maldor had left defenders in the pass. She wished Maldor himself would come after her. He had sent that torivor. She had a message for him.

Somebody caught her arm from behind. Rachel turned. It was Galloran, his blindfold off, his eyes sympathetic.

“You heard my thoughts,” she realized.

“They were impossible to miss,” Galloran said gently.

“I don’t . . . ,” she began, but couldn’t continue.

You don’t know what you’re fighting for if the people you most love are going to die
, Galloran conveyed mentally.

Yes
, she replied.
And at the same time, I want to fight more than ever. I’ve never wanted to hurt somebody with Edomic before. I’ve hurt people in the heat of the moment, in self-defense, but I’ve never felt like I do now.

Leash those desires
, Galloran cautioned.
I understand how pain and grief can fuel rage. In this moment, riding this tide of emotion, you could wield Edomic as never before. But the effort would be wasted. You might harm yourself, and for what? To scorch a field? To lob a boulder toward the clouds? Store up the emotion. Save it for when you really need it. Don’t weaken yourself before the true battle.

His words brought her back. The urge to lash out diminished as her anger dissolved into heartache. She felt utterly helpless. “They killed Drake.”

“We can’t reverse what happened,” Galloran said. “But we will make them pay.”

CHAPTER
19

O
n a bright morning, as Rachel prepared to mount her horse, a soldier sheepishly approached her. His tentative attitude did not match his large stature or his sharp uniform. He held a small scroll. He looked a bit like a child who had been dared to venture alone into a graveyard.

“Pardon me, milady,” he said. “A moment of your time?”

“What can I do for you?” she asked, trying to sound friendly.

“Nothing, milady. I have a message for you from the king.”

Rachel noticed Tark and Ferrin watching the exchange from a short distance away. She held out a hand, and the soldier passed her the scroll. She broke the seal and read it. Her veil caused a little interference, but the message was brief. Galloran meant to come speak with her tonight.

“The king is welcome anytime,” Rachel said, returning the scroll to the soldier.

With a little bow he backed away, then turned and walked off. Did he seem relieved? Rachel thought so.

As she mounted her mare, Rachel wondered how a conversation with Galloran would go. She had a lot of pent-up feelings.
Part of her looked forward to a visit from him; part of her dreaded it. Her fears about the validity of the prophecy remained unresolved.

Each day that the army advanced without trouble reminded Rachel of their danger. The emperor knew they were coming but did nothing to hinder them. And why should he? His enemies were handing him victory. Rachel would not have been shocked to find complimentary refreshments waiting along the roadside.

Ferrin had conferred with Galloran. The displacer had reported that it was hard to read whether the king had already taken the possibility of a false prophecy into consideration. In the end Galloran had firmly maintained that they could not turn back.

Ferrin and Tark had accepted the verdict. Rachel was not comfortable with the decision but felt she had to hide her dissatisfaction. She had already vented her concerns through Ferrin. Her misgivings had been considered, and Galloran had made his choice. The others had moved on. Who was she to keep complaining? Who was she to be more doubtful than a displacer? Who was she to question a king?

Rachel took her place near the front of the column. Tark and Ferrin followed a respectful distance behind. Over the past days Rachel had found her confidence in Galloran eroding. Since their last meeting he had spoken with her twice on the road—short, pleasant conversations. Superficial conversations. He had not mentioned his discussion with Ferrin, and neither had she. The topic had not seemed appropriate anywhere they might be overheard.

Galloran had not reached out to her mentally for days. Rachel had decided not to trouble him by using her private telepathic access. If he wanted to communicate, he could reach out any time he wanted. He had a private tent.

Now he had announced that he would be paying her a visit, but not until the evening. She was left to stew about her concerns. The more she thought about the potentially false prophecy, the more disappointed she became in Galloran for dismissing such a likely danger, and the less she wanted to think about him, let alone speak with him.

After a long day alone with her thoughts, Rachel felt a blend of terror and relief when Galloran appeared at her tent that night. Only Io accompanied him. Ferrin and Tark left the tent, and Io stood guard at the door.

With a low groan Galloran sat beside Rachel on her cot and put on his blindfold. “Ferrin is worried about you,” he said without preamble.

“I’m all right,” Rachel lied.

“I regret that I have been so occupied,” Galloran said. “There is much to manage.”

“I don’t want to be an extra burden,” Rachel assured him.

“Ferrin suspects that you continue to fret about the validity of the prophecy.”

Rachel stared at his blindfold. Maybe her friends weren’t as oblivious to her worries as she had assumed. She realized that she was pausing for too long. “Actually, yes. I’m still suspicious that Maldor could have used the oracle to direct us right where he wants us.”

“I can see how this idea would trouble you,” Galloran said. “The possibility would make you feel as though my misapprehension was leading us into a massacre. You would feel bound by duty to quietly accept my ruling, even though that very silence could be killing us all.”

“Something like that. I don’t want it to be true. It just really seems to fit.”

Galloran nodded. “The absence of resistance has created a terrible suspense among my soldiers. I feel the tension as well. Let me share what comfort I can offer. I knew Esmira better than most, both personally and through my aunt, the Pythoness. You realize that I could see her mind when we conversed. I searched hard and found no trace of deception.”

“That’s comforting,” Rachel said.

“I did not expect deception from her. Esmira had an impeccable reputation. But I was aware of the potentially devastating consequences that could arise from even the smallest untruth. We were in a predicament where any degree of wishful thinking could have led us down a futile and deadly path. During my interview and when she issued the prophecy, I scrutinized both her demeanor and her mind. I am satisfied that the prophecy is authentic.”

“Could Maldor have deceived her?” Rachel asked. “Could he have used torivors to plant a false prophecy?”

“The Temple of Mianamon is heavily shielded against mental intrusion,” Galloran explained. “And perhaps no place in Lyrian is better insulated than the chamber where she gave us the prophecy. I sensed no torivors in our vicinity at any time after I won the duel at the Last Inn. Furthermore, even had torivors been granted access to Esmira, they would not have been able to confuse an oracle of her quality.”

Rachel sighed. The responses made sense. But she still couldn’t relax. “If she was so powerful, couldn’t the oracle have guarded her mind against you knowing she was lying?”

“Possibly,” Galloran admitted, “though I don’t believe she would have been so foolish as to trust a bargain with Maldor.”

“What if he meant it?” Rachel persisted. “What if Maldor doesn’t care about the jungle? What if he promised to leave it
alone if she helped him? What if she looked into the future and saw that he would really do it? What if she saw that the rest of Lyrian was lost either way, but that deceiving us would at least save the children of Certius?”

“You have really thought this through,” Galloran said.

“Is there a chance I’m right?”

Galloran paused before answering. “I suppose there is a chance.”

“Doesn’t it fit what Maldor would do? Doesn’t it seem like what he did with the Word?”

“It does. I just don’t believe Esmira would stoop to dealing with Maldor under any circumstances. And I don’t believe the emperor would offer to spare the jungle. Not in sincerity. His objective is total domination. He is certainly in position to achieve it. He did not need her help to defeat us.”

“He didn’t need the Word, either,” Rachel argued. “He just likes to experiment with better ways to control everybody. He likes finding easier ways to win. He likes getting his enemies to destroy themselves.”

“I see how this must have been eating at you,” Galloran said. “You describe a plausible scenario.”

“I’m worried that he’s controlling us,” Rachel said. “What if he’s using your faith in the prophecy against you?”

“It’s possible,” Galloran conceded. “But what if our faith is the only attribute that can save us? What if your fear of Maldor is making you imagine a conspiracy where none exists?”

“That’s the problem,” Rachel said. “I’m not sure I’m right. But a fake prophecy makes lots of sense. If I knew I was right, I’d make everyone listen. But I’m not sure. Not a hundred percent. I can’t be sure. I have no proof. There probably wouldn’t be any proof.”

“If it is any consolation, I cannot be absolutely sure either,” Galloran said. “We can seldom be utterly certain about any choice.”

“I could live with having only a small chance of victory,” Rachel said. “I could handle the fact that we would probably lose. If our decision were between a small chance and no chance, I agree, we take the small chance. But I’m having a hard time dealing with the possibility that our small chance of winning might be based on a lie.”

“If the prophecy proved to be erroneous, do we have a better road to travel?”

“We could live longer,” Rachel said. “Who knows what other options we might discover? If the prophecy is a lie, there might be some other way to beat Maldor that we haven’t noticed. Some hidden vulnerability. There might not be just this one crazy path the oracle showed us. Like with the Word, the prophecy could be a distraction from better ways to reach our goal.”