Chasing the Prophecy (Beyonders) (120 page)

T
ark 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 hands. 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.”

“You swore to uphold our cause,” Tark said. “You swore to Galloran and Jason and Rachel.”

“I did,” Ferrin admitted. “Naturally, they all expected me to lie. It’s what displacers do. Thanks to Naman, I’ve enjoyed some time alone to consider a new plan. Want the essentials? First, I shoot you. Then I inform Maldor that his fortress is built atop a mother lode of orantium. He wipes out the forces fleeing into the mountains, then chooses a new stronghold from which to rule for a thousand years. The smug seedmen fall. And I get pardoned. Nothing short of service this crucial would earn Maldor’s forgiveness, but I expect this would prove more than sufficient.”

“Maybe,” Tark said, hoping to plant doubt.

“When I spoke with the oracle, she told me that before the end I would have the chance to decide the outcome. I didn’t expect the opportunity to be so blatant. Perhaps neither did she.”

“Don’t do it,” Tark said. “Galloran still has part of your neck.”

“I appreciate the concern,” Ferrin laughed. “I’m resourceful. I could get to Maldor before Galloran had any inkling of my betrayal. Some quick emergency graftings, and I would be fine.”

“Why am I still alive?” Tark asked, aware that the quarrel could be loosed at any moment. “I can’t stop you.”

“Nobody can stop me. Today, right now, the future of Lyrian teeters on a knife-edge, and I get to determine which way it will fall. To side with Maldor will preserve my people and provide me
with a long life as a noble lord. They might even grant me one of the few remaining displacer women as a companion.” He paused, his eyes momentarily distant. “To side with Galloran would buy me death and grant victory to my ancestral enemies.”

“You don’t have to die,” Tark said. “You could still try to flee.”

“I will not flee. I’ve fled enough. If I kill you, I will have no reason to flee. If I let you destroy Felrook, I will remain at your side and see it done. If my people must fall, I will be man enough to fall with them. There would be no place for me in the world after that.”

Tark felt a glimmer of hope. “Are you still undecided?”

“Not anymore. Funny. I came down here still uncertain, angry, all the possibilities dancing in my mind. I doubt anyone could have guessed what would sway my final verdict. Displacers have a reputation as selfish schemers, and my personal reputation is among the worst. But in the end I’ll make this choice based on friendship. It’s even surprising to me. I’ve never had friends before. Not real ones. Now I have three friends in the world, Tark. Three people who I truly love and respect. None are displacers. None serve Maldor. My friends are Jason, Rachel, and Galloran. In the end, with the fate of Lyrian in my hands, I’m not willing to let them down. I couldn’t harm them and live with myself. They’ll never know about this decision. They’ll never know how much their friendship meant to me. But I’ll know, and that’s enough.”

Ferrin lowered the crossbow.

“Really?” Tark asked. He had turned, offering his arm as a target rather than his chest. He had been braced to attack Ferrin after the quarrel hit. He had been braced to drag himself, bleeding, toward the orantium vein.

Ferrin gave a nod. “Naman made me angry. But I don’t care about him any more than I care about Maldor. Why should either
of them influence me? You treated me well when the seedmen came for me. Galloran, Jason, and Rachel have consistently treated me well. They wanted this, so they’re going to get it. Besides, I gave Jason my word. Nobody has ever asked that of me. Not directly. Not knowing who I was. It pleases me to reward him for it.” The displacer seemed to relax, as if uttering his intentions had made the decision real.

“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.