Chasing the Prophecy (Beyonders) (109 page)

CHAPTER
32

S
omeone was calling to her. It was not the first attempt. He sounded far away. It was hard to focus on the words. The meaning escaped her. She would respond later. Right now she was too tired.

The petitioner persisted. Not loudly, but earnestly. The plea for her attention blended with her disjointed dreams, gaining and losing prominence. The voice was familiar. Some instinct insisted that she concentrate.

Rachel, are you there? I know you can sense me. Rachel, you must heed me! Rachel, can you respond? Wake up, Rachel! Wake up!

Rachel opened her eyes. It was Galloran, his mind calling to hers. Her room was dark. She was in bed. She sat up. She felt disoriented. Her mouth was dry and tasted horrible. She was at Felrook! She had tried to attack Maldor and failed! The vicious headache she had expected was almost nonexistent.

Rachel. Respond to me, Rachel! I have vital news! Rachel?

The fervent words tickled at the edge of her awareness, faint as the last bounce of an echo.

Galloran?
she replied, putting some effort behind it.

Rachel! I have sought to reach you for two days.

Two days? Where are you?

On the lake. I could perceive your mind, but you were not lucid.

She was already feeling much more alert.
I’m so sorry about how I left! I thought I might be able to help from inside Felrook. I had no idea it could be dangerous for you guys.

I understand what you were attempting,
Galloran replied.
We were almost out of options. You were doing your best. Io was an unfortunate tragedy. You must not blame yourself. He chose to attack. Wartime decisions inevitably lead to casualties.

I tried to attack Maldor,
Rachel confessed.
He was sick from sending the lurkers, and I hoped to surprise him. I never stood a chance. I tried my best and overexerted myself. I’ve been unconscious. Two days?

Yes. We have little time. Jason shared the prophecy with us.

Really?

The eastern armies are on schedule. They should arrive by midday tomorrow. Rachel, you must flee Felrook before then. You must get well away. If not you will die with . . . minions.

What? I missed part of that!
The communication was growing even less distinct. She got out of bed, her legs wobbly. Her mouth tasted disgusting. She padded to the window and opened it, gazing out at the calm evening. The last of the light was fading in the west.

You must escape Felrook by tomorrow morning,
Galloran repeated.
Otherwise you will die beside Maldor and his minions. We have found a way to stop him. I cannot be more specific than that.

I’m not sure I can escape.

Darian the Seer had a message specifically for you. I think it is meant to help you survive. He wanted you to know that Orruck taught you—

The voice in her head was gone. Rachel leaned out the window and exerted her will.
What? Galloran? I lost you again! What about Orruck?

The words returned to her mind so faintly that she bowed her head, eyes closed, not daring to breathe.
Orruck taught you what you need to know. One of the commands Orruck imparted was developed by him to harm Zokar. The seer felt . . . useful.

Orruck taught me to call lightning
, Rachel replied, unsure whether he could hear her.
A massive burst of lightning. I’ve never tried it. And he taught me words to turn stone into glass. Do you think I need lightning?

Rachel?

I’m here! Do you think I need lightning?

The voice in her mind grew stronger.
Lightning or the other command. Lightning is volatile. Plan an escape. Take any risk necessary. You must be gone by midday. Your life depends on it. Figure out how Orruck’s commands might prove useful. Otherwise you die tomorrow. Come to me if you can. I will be in the western hills. I cannot sustain this communication. I apologize.

She could feel the strain behind his words.
I heard. I’ll do my best. Good luck.

Be brave. You can do this. I am counting on you to escape.

Is Jason all right?

He lives.
The words were so weak, she wondered if she might have imagined them.
Escape. I’ll watch for you.

The distant communication had evidently taxed Galloran to his limits. He would need his strength for whatever was happening tomorrow.
I got the message. Go rest. Thank you.

Rachel backed away from the window. She lit candles and lamps with Edomic. Her gentle headache felt like the result of sleeping too long rather than the punishing backlash of failed
Edomic commands. The effort of will to ignite the candles did not seem to enhance the pain. Neither had the conversation with Galloran.

She stopped to wonder whether Maldor could have overheard the exchange. With mental communication she usually sensed only messages targeted at her. But Galloran sometimes picked up thoughts she didn’t mean to send.

If Maldor had sensed their conversation, there was nothing she could do about it now. If he had that ability, or if the lurkers had used their abilities on his behalf, she would just have to hope that nobody was paying attention.

There were two pitchers on the table. One gave off a strong odor. The scent triggered memories. She had wakened several times to sip that pungent solution. Her recollection of those moments was hazy—her head and shoulders propped up by pillows, a cup offered by a gnarled hand, a taste like nutty egg yolks accented by a distinctly metallic tang. Sometimes the drink had been warm, other times room temperature. Unable to resist her weariness, she had always sunk right back to sleep.

How heavily had they drugged her? The agony she had begun to experience after challenging Maldor lingered only as a vague discomfort. But she had lost two days! She had intended to find some way to help Galloran from inside Felrook before the enemy armies arrived. Instead, she had spent the time in a stupor.

She could not rest any longer. The other pitcher smelled like water. She poured some into her cupped palm and splashed the liquid against her face. Then she filled a glass. Walking to the window, she swished around a mouthful and spat it out. Then Rachel gargled another two mouthfuls. The gargling reduced the hideous taste in her mouth. The foulness went beyond the nasty flavor of
oversleeping. Some of the vileness had to be a consequence of the medicine.

Slowly sipping water, Rachel tried to decide what she should do. According to Galloran, she did not need to fret about winning the war from inside Felrook. Jason had come through. He had delivered the prophecy, and Galloran had learned some secret that would let him destroy the fortress. She just needed to worry about getting out.

But how could she do that? Maldor had proven much more powerful than her. Using all her strength while he was weakened, she hadn’t managed to scratch him. Maybe she could slip out of the fortress with a series of Edomic suggestions. Working with Ferrin, she had learned how to pick locks. Was it possible that she could make it all the way out of Felrook by picking locks and nudging minds?

The prospect seemed unlikely. She would have to get past too many guards. She could distract a few temporarily with Edomic, but eventually they would catch on, and an alarm would be raised. Besides, what would prevent Maldor from sending a torivor to retrieve her?

Rachel rubbed her face with both hands. Despite her many worries, Jason had done his part. How did he keep succeeding against all odds? What would he do if he were trapped here? She had to think like him. She had to find a way.

Galloran now had the information he needed. It was terrific, surprising news, except that it meant coming here had been totally unnecessary. She should have had more faith in Jason and his mission. If she had just held on a couple days more before caving in to her fears . . .

Then again, Jason had received a specific message for her. Darian had provided a clue. Was it meant to reach her here?
Could she still be within the boundaries of the prophecy? Or had that clue been meant to find her under other circumstances? Had she already blown it?

There was no rewriting history. She had made her decision with the information she’d had at the time. She had to accept her situation. Her focus needed to be on what she would do now.

If she discounted the clue from Jason, she would be adrift without a compass. She had to trust that the message pertained to her current situation. The secret of her escape must involve what Orruck had taught her. The former apprentice of Zokar had forced her to demonstrate her ability to push objects with Edomic. He had also taught her a command involving lightning and a command that could turn stone to glass.

Rachel had never attempted the lightning command. The phrasing would not allow the directive to be issued on a small scale. Galloran had warned that electric commands tended to be unstable. In ancient times, even the strongest wizards had generally avoided them.

But could that instability work to her advantage? Might Maldor struggle to counteract lightning? Or would he undermine the command as he had with fire, forcing Rachel to deal with the consequences of a failed mandate?

The electric command called for huge opposing charges that would produce the equivalent of a serious lightning strike. Such a powerful command could have been created to attack a mighty wizard. But the concept of commanding lightning had seemed familiar to Galloran, which implied that a lightning spell was not particularly unusual. Supposedly, Orruck had developed one of those commands to harm Zokar. If he had developed the command on his own, wouldn’t it be unfamiliar? Or could he have authored a specific type of lightning command?

Galloran had never mentioned seeing a command turn stone to glass. But Rachel had never discussed that command much with him. She had successfully uttered the command numerous times. It had never seemed remarkably challenging or mysterious.

Could turning stone to glass be the command Orruck had developed? How could it have harmed Zokar? How could it harm Maldor?

Maldor was not made of stone. But Felrook was a different matter. Could Zokar have had a similar fortress? Turning the walls of Felrook to glass would certainly make the stronghold more vulnerable. Of course, to accomplish the feat a wizard would either need infinitely more power than Rachel possessed, or else a very long time to transform the fortress segment by segment.

How else might Maldor be vulnerable?

Rachel wished she understood more about the relationship between Maldor and the torivors. Controlling them took a heavy toll on him, which meant that they probably weren’t willing servants.

What did she know about them? The lurkers were not native to Lyrian. They had been summoned from another world. The Myrkstone that Maldor wore was somehow involved with dominating them. Could she turn that to glass? Could she destroy it?

Was she foolish to imagine that the lurkers might help her if given the chance? When she had communicated with them, they had never felt evil. Alien, yes, but not hateful. If anything, they had seemed indifferent. They fulfilled their orders, but they did not seem to personally care about their assignments.

Folding her arms on the windowsill, Rachel rested her chin. How essential was she to all of this? Maybe she had already done her part by smashing the gate at West Keep. Did it matter if she escaped? At least if she died, it would mean Galloran had succeeded.
That was better than total failure, right? Of course, living to enjoy the victory would be nice too.

Could Galloran really have found a way to win? The notion seemed impossible, but he was no fool, and Rachel had sensed no uncertainty behind his words.

The lock to her room rattled, and the door opened. Turning away from the window, Rachel beheld an old crone in a drab, hooded robe. A huge mole bulged near the corner of her eye. She appeared mildly surprised to find Rachel on her feet. A pair of uniformed guards stood behind her. “You woke early,” the woman said, her voice tremulous with age. “How do you feel?”