Curse of the Forbidden Book (17 page)

The way he said it made Jesse think there was more to the story that Silas wasn't telling. Before he could ask, Silas sighed and pulled several pages out of his pocket. “I was going to destroy these at the first chance,” he said.

He took the top page off, handing it to Jesse, ripping the rest into small pieces. “This should answer the rest of your questions. It's a sketch of Parvel's brother, Justis.”

Jesse looked at the drawing. At first, he saw a vague resemblance to Parvel, especially in the strong jaw and rounded nose.

Then he held the drawing back and gasped. The piercing eyes, dark hair, and firm, unsmiling mouth—he had seen them all before.

The Youth Guard member in the drawing was a young Captain Demetri.

Once again, Demetri found himself waiting in Chancellor Doran's parlor. Now though, the smell of incense was gone. In its place was smoke of a different kind: the smoke of destruction.

The room had been destroyed, the wooden panels and heavy tapestries licked with flames. All that was left were ashes and debris, and the stone dragon that seemed to always be looking at Demetri, no matter where he turned.

There was something horrible about those eyes, but something that drew Demetri too. It was power, he finally decided. Horrible, awesome power. The same power that Chancellor Doran and Aleric believed in, and that Demetri was now ready to claim for himself.

 

Aleric, as usual, had appeared to him in his dream the night before. “They're alive.” The first words out of Aleric's mouth made Demetri stand in defense.

“They could not be. You yourself said….”

“I was wrong.” The fact that Aleric would admit such a thing was more of a surprise, perhaps, than the news itself. “The four live still—all of them. And, as such, they are of great danger to us.”

“I will find them.”

Demetri knew he spoke the words, but in the dream, he felt as though he were listening to someone else speak. The decision seemed to come naturally. The pulsing of the medallion on his chest demanded it.

“Very well,” Aleric said, nodding sagely. “If you have determined to join us, I warn you that your quest as a Rider will not be an easy one.”

Demetri laughed. “I wasn't expecting a stroll through a flowering meadow, Aleric. I know the danger. I have faced much worse, back in the desert, where every moment was a fight for my very life. This will be no different.”

“Pride,” Aleric mused. He began to slowly circle around Demetri. “An admirable vice. But take care, Captain, that your pride does not become foolish ignorance.” He stopped. “This
will
be different, Captain.”

Looking into his pale gray eyes, Demetri felt himself being drawn in…to what? The inner circle of the Riders? A conspiracy? Darkness?

All the same, no doubt
. “What do you mean?”

“The stakes are higher than you can imagine. These four must be the ones the prophecy speaks of.”

Demetri paused. “This prophecy. You have spoken of it before.”

“Correct. Then, you weren't ready to listen. Prophecy, after all, is within the realm of the supernatural.”

“Which I don't believe in.”

“Believe or not, you must listen now. Your life—the kingdom—depends on it.”

Did he really disbelieve the supernatural, after everything that had happened? Demetri remembered the smell of the incense, Chancellor Doran's dragon-red eyes, and the power that filled him every time he touched the medallion. “Speak, then.”

Aleric's voice became low, rhythmic, his eyes focused on a place far beyond the dream world.

When darkest night o'er sweeps the land,the four will rise again.

To bring down mighty justice's handupon the deeds of men.

He turned back to Demetri. “That's only the first verse of the Prophecy of the Four.”

A host of questions filled Demetri's mind. He asked one of them, the easiest one. “How many verses are there?”

“Four.”

“Naturally.” He paused, thought through the words again. “It sounds…ominous.”

He could not say what he wanted to—that the so-called prophecy sounded like the idle words of a bard in the king's court, trying to invent a dramatic fireside story. Aleric clearly saw the prophecy as a matter of life or death. Better not to mock it. Demetri had learned not to trifle with those in power among the Riders.

“King Selen believes it foretells the fall of the line of Marius and the destruction of the kingdom, as did his father before him,” Aleric said solemnly.

Demetri just nodded.

“I can see doubt in your eyes,” Aleric said. “Perhaps Chancellor Doran's decision was wise.”

“What decision?” Demetri asked.

As usual, the old man ignored his question. “The kingdom may fall, but I will not fall with it. It will not happen in my lifetime. Whatever you personally believe about the prophecy, Captain, swear to me that you will not let these four fulfill it. Swear to me!”

“I swear,” Demetri said, bowing. “This time, I will not fail in my duty. The four will die.”

With that, Aleric had disappeared, as he always did at the end of the visions, leaving Demetri to get what sleep he could before his audience with Chancellor Doran.

 

It was noon before he awoke, his body wishing to recover from the poor sleep and nightmares of the previous night. He dressed carefully, trimming his beard and attempting to straighten his rumpled uniform. Chancellor Doran would inspect him, he was sure, and a commissioned Guard Rider would do what he could to look presentable.

The palace guard led him to the destroyed parlor to wait for Chancellor Doran. They did not have to wait for long.

The doors to the chamber opened, and Chancellor Doran stepped out. He was still impressive in his stately robes, but something in his face looked older, more tired, more human, even.

“Leave us,” Chancellor Doran ordered the guard. “Let no one in, no matter what his business.”

To Demetri's surprise, there were two other figures in the room. He studied them in the flickering light of the oil troughs. They were both around his age. One was a slight, clean-shaven man. The jagged scar cutting across his chin stood in contrast to his meek demeanor.

The other was a woman, and a beautiful one at that. She had a high forehead and delicate features that made her look like one of the fairies of the legends. Her blonde hair fell down to her shoulders in waves.

“Ward,” Chancellor Doran said, pointing to the man with the jagged scar. “Son of my chief scribe, and more zealously devoted to the kingdom than his father.” He indicated the woman, who nodded so gracefully that Demetri found himself blushing. “Lillen, high priestess of the Great One.”

Demetri frowned. “I thought all religious leaders were men.”

Chancellor Doran stared at him. “You, Captain, are a strange one. Of all the questions you could ask, you question such an insignificant detail.”

Demetri pictured his book of records back in Nalatid, with neat columns of facts, lined up and ready to be checked off. “I value details. They can mean life—or death, if you don't bother to find them out.”

“Well said, Captain,” Ward said, a note of approval in his voice.

“In the village chapels, there are only male priests,” Chancellor Doran said. “But the king allows only those priests to exist because they satisfy the people's longing for connection with some sort of higher power. Their meditations and poetry do nothing. It is not the true religion.”

“So you, Lillen, are a priestess of the true religion?” Demetri asked. He couldn't hide the skepticism in his voice. In his mind, he pictured a priestess as an old hag with wild eyes and matted hair who sacrificed pigs during full moons. That, at least, would fit his image of Doran's religion.

“Yes,” Lillen said, and that one word, along with a stare from her cold blue eyes, carried the authority to silence all of Demetri's doubts.

“She and Ward will be accompanying you on your mission,” Chancellor Doran said. “But I imagine Aleric already told you that.”

“Of course,” Demetri lied. When did Aleric ever tell him anything, except in cryptic phrases, unanswered questions, and riddles?

Chancellor Doran began to pace before them. “Most Riders travel alone. They command a few Patrol when needed, but only one Rider is needed to bring down a squad. Not with these four. These four may be the four of the prophecy. Therefore, you will seek them out in a group. The three of you will be stronger together.”

“If three are stronger together, then why give the Youth Guard squads four members?” Demetri challenged. “Why not send them out on their own?”

“Oh, but we do,” Ward said, smiling mysteriously. “I serve on the Rider Council that selects the squads. They don't remain a unit of four for long, you see.”

Demetri shook his head. “No, I don't see. Explain.”

“We are most careful in our selection,” Ward said. “While others would balance strengths and weaknesses, we do quite the opposite. We put too many leaders on one squad. Appoint the most arrogant member as the captain. Place those with conflicting values together. It works wonders.”

I should have guessed it before
, Demetri thought. He had seen the results in his own squad. Every night on their journey, they had bickered and fought, Desma taking his side against Uric and Benjamin.

“You will depart as soon as we perform the commissioning to seek out the four,” Chancellor Doran said.

“Then we leave without a plan?” Demetri hated the thought of it. It was not the logical way to conduct a mission of any kind: leaving blindly to search for an unseen prey.

Suddenly, Lillen gave a shriek. The sound chilled Demetri to the bone, and he realized the medallion on his chest felt like ice. Without another sound, she collapsed to the ground. Demetri rushed forward to help her up.

“No,” Chancellor Doran commanded. “Leave her. She is in a trance.”

Demetri backed up slowly.
What kind of madness is this?

For a few seconds, Lillen lay there, soundless, but still breathing. Then she lifted her head, and drew herself to her knees, smoothing the edges of her gown. She made no move to stand.

“They were here,” Lillen said, in a voice that sounded like it came from a great distance. “In this very palace. Not more than an hour ago. They have escaped, killing one who stood in their way. Even now, they are free outside of the palace walls.”

Chancellor Doran made a fist. “And they have the Forbidden Book, no doubt. How did they get away?”

“I do not know, nor do I know where they are going,” Lillen said. “There is…a haze around them. A haze of light.”

“The Great One take them,” Chancellor Doran muttered. “Could it be any worse? There is at least one of the Enemy among them.”

“Then the Great One will not, in fact, take them,” Ward said, his thin brow lifting in amusement. Chancellor Doran glared at him.

“The four of the prophecy are just such as these,” Lillen said. She stood, straightening to her full height. “I have waited all my life to meet them.”

Though her words held no threat against him, Demetri felt strangely frightened by her words.

“Did you say they have the Book?” Ward asked, his hand thoughtfully pressed to his chin.

“Yes,” Chancellor Doran said. “It was stolen just last night, or so I suspected.”

“Perhaps,” Ward said slowly, “perhaps that is not a bad thing. For why would they want the book?”

For a beat, no one answered. “To destroy evidence against them?” Demetri suggested. “So you could not circulate the drawings of their faces.”

“No. There are copies of those drawings,” Chancellor Doran said. “I believe I am beginning to see where young Ward is headed. Think, Demetri. But do not think as yourself, of why
you
would steal the book. Think like these four: young, daring, and, above all else, self-sacrificing.”

Then Demetri had it. “They want to rescue the others.”

Chancellor Doran nodded. “And that, in turn, means that we know where they are going,” Ward said. “It will allow us to predict their every move, to track them, as it were.”

“Yes,” Chancellor Doran said. “Then it is their very nobility that will destroy them.” He laughed. The others joined him. Demetri saw no reason for laughter, so he remained silent.

Chancellor Doran picked up a candle from a nearby table. “Come. We will perform the ceremony in the parlor.”

“The parlor?” Ward said, frowning. “Excuse me, my lord, but wouldn't another location be more suitable—”