Chasing the Prophecy

by Brandon Mull

  “A cogent plan,” Drake said with mock astonishment. “You really must have been a smuggler! I was convinced you had made it all up.”

  Aram smiled. “I think we set sail just in time. Whatever our enemies may have known about our intentions before, they’ll have a difficult time finding us now.”

  As the group dispersed, Drake pulled Jason aside. The seedman produced an elegant necklace set with extravagant gemstones.

  “Drake,” Jason said, “you shouldn’t have.”

  Ignoring the comment, the seedman looked pleased with himself. “I also swiped a beautiful necklace for Rachel, lest she feel forgotten.”

  Jason smiled, wondering if Drake realized what he had just implied. “You think we’re going to make it.”

  “What?”

  “You think we’ll have a chance to give it to her.”

  Drake tried to muster a tough stare. “Now, don’t start putting words in my mouth. We’re probably as doomed as ever.”

  Jason tried not to grin. “I don’t blame you. I’m feeling pretty good too. Things could have gone a lot worse on the island.”

  “Things went plenty bad. But yes, we bested the Maumet, we found the scroll, and we might even get away before our enemies catch our scent. Things could have gone worse. There’s still plenty of hardship and uncertainty ahead. Only a fool would predict we’d survive this . . . but who knows?”

  “You brought the necklace just in case.”

  “Exactly. One never knows.” He jangled the necklace. “Just in case.”

  CHAPTER 16

  THE PETRUSCAN SCROLL

  Did you catch that?” Jason asked, turning to Bactrus.

  “I heard her,” Bactrus said, bewildered. “That language is not just dead. The cemetery where it was buried has crumbled to dust. Many of our guides possess extensive linguistic expertise. None here knows Petruscan. There was no need. We had no Petruscan texts. Very few survived elsewhere. How does she know Petruscan?”

  Jason looked to Farfalee. “He wants to know where you learned Petruscan. Why won’t he just ask you?”

  “The guide will only directly address the patron holding the stone,” Farfalee said. “But he’ll hear my response just fine. In my youth I worked as a researcher for Eldrin in the Great Document Hall at Elboreth. He had assembled a sizable team to comb through ancient writings in pursuit of Edomic references. The task required several of us to master dead languages. To my knowledge, the only Petruscan texts in existence resided in the Great Document Hall, and a small team of experts on-site were the only people keeping the language alive. I was one of two among the Amar Kabal who learned to read it.”

  “Who was the other?” Jasher asked.

  “Kale, son of Hannock,” Farfalee replied. “His seed perished in the war with Zokar. After the war, when Eldrin razed the city he had founded and obliterated the Great Document Hall, I never expected to encounter Petruscan again.”

  Bactrus gave Jason a significant stare. “How is it that this remarkable woman came to be in your company?”

  “The oracle sent seven of us to find Darian the Seer.”

  Bactrus giggled excitedly. “This oracle told you the information was here and sent the seedwoman with you—probably the sole person in all of Lyrian who can read Petruscan.”

  “Right.” Jason struggled to restrain his excitement. It certainly appeared to be more than coincidence. Maybe the oracle had a more detailed plan than any of them had realized!

  “Allow me to relate a brief account,” Bactrus said. “High in the Sturloch Mountains northwest of here, there once stood a minor storehouse of ancient texts, most in unreadable languages. The modest collection was cared for by a small but long-standing order of loremasters. As the forces of Zokar began to plunder villages in the region, the loremasters sent many of the texts here to the Celestine Library for safekeeping. Those writings continue to reside here on loan, since the loremasters have never come to collect them. Presumably both the order and the storehouse perished. Among the loaned texts are the only Petruscan works currently within these walls—relatively recent acquisitions.”

  “Ask him why he suspects that any of those texts might be relevant to our search,” Farfalee said.

  Jason asked the question.

  “The name Darian is mentioned several times on one of the scrolls,” Bactrus said. “Petruscan characters were not used for his name, so it is the only discernible word on the document.”

  “Why would Darian be mentioned in a Petruscan scroll?” Farfalee wondered. “The Petrusian society was extinct long before he was born. By the time Darian lived, Petruscan was already a dead language.”

  “You heard her?” Jason asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What can you tell us?” Jason prompted.

  “I found the anomaly intriguing,” Bactrus said, “but without a Petruscan translator I had no means to investigate. Petrusians wrote on metal plates. At least those were the only writings that survived. The text in question is written on a scroll. These writings could have been transcribed from metal plates, perhaps by a relatively modern scribe who translated the name Darian into more familiar characters. The scroll might preserve an arcane Petruscan prophecy regarding Darian. Seers have been known to prophesy about one another.”

  “Or it could be a hoax,” Drake pointed out.

  “The scroll could certainly be fraudulent,” Bactrus told Jason. “Swindlers have created many false trails to the last abode of Darian the Seer. In bygone days, certain adventurers would pay handsomely for clues to unearthing the fabled treasure.”

  Farfalee raised a finger. “The scroll could be neither prophecy nor fraudulence. Some clever soul might have translated a sensitive message into Petruscan in order to conceal it.”

  “Is that possible?” Jason asked Bactrus.

  The old guide scrunched his face in thought. “Perhaps even probable.”

  “Can you guide us to the scroll?” Jason asked.

  “It would be my privilege,” Bactrus replied.

  Jason looked around. Drake, Jasher, and Farfalee had already returned their stones to the counter. Nia had exchanged hers to reanimate Tibrus.

  “Nia,” Jason scolded lightly, “what’s with the soldier? Didn’t Tibrus already tell us he isn’t big on history?”

  “I know,” Nia replied. “But he isn’t too proud to use common speech. My other guide insulted me. It looks like you four have this search for Darian well in hand, so I thought I might do some other research.”

  Jason glanced from Nia to the strapping warrior. “I’m not sure it could ever work out between you two.”

  “You deserve someone more substantial,” Drake added with a smirk.

  “At least tangible,” Jason said.

  Nia gave an exasperated sigh. “I really need his expertise. It’s only a coincidence that he’s attractive.”

  “Are you serious?” Jasher asked.

  “Absolutely,” Nia responded.

  “Very well,” Farfalee said. “The rest of us will accompany Jason and Bactrus.”

  Jason wagged a playful finger at Nia. “We had better not catch you in the poetry section.”

  Drake turned away, a hand over his mouth. Jasher developed a sudden cough.

  Nia put a hand on her hip and cocked her head. “Very mature, Jason. It’s important research. You’ll see.”

  “What research?” Jason pressed. “You could be more specific.”

  “You’re right. I could. But maybe I don’t think you deserve to know.”

  “No hint?” Jason asked. “Not even a category?”

  “You’ll find out later,” Nia replied.

  “Tragic romances,” Drake deadpanned.

  Everyone laughed besides Nia and the guides.

  * * *

  Even with a guide escorting them along the quickest route, it was a long hike to the scroll. The Celestine Library went on and on, room after room, level upon level. They passed numerous stairways and branching corridors
. In some of the larger chambers, bookshelves towered like cliffs, accessible only by systems of ladders and platforms. Aside from endless texts, the group passed masterful paintings and murals, meticulous mosaics, exquisitely detailed sculptures, mounted weapons of the finest craftsmanship, and tempting displays of priceless jeweled artifacts. Since the library was abandoned, Jason supposed he would be justified in salvaging some of the costly relics. Without the warning from Farfalee about Edomic traps, he would have paused to fill his pockets on more than one occasion.

  Bactrus walked beside Jason the entire way. Despite his holographic appearance and the fact that his footsteps made no sound, the guide moved around as if he were subject to the laws of gravity.

  “We’re in the middle of a desperate war,” Jason mentioned to Bactrus as they mounted a broad stairway. “Are there any weapons here at the library that we could borrow for the cause?” He tried to act casual, even though he had spent some time deciding how best to phrase the question.

  “Most of the weapons and armor you see on display are priceless pieces of our permanent collection,” Bactrus replied. “We did not even lend our books out to the wisest of wizards, let alone any of the artifacts housed here. I am afraid the armaments must remain.”

  “That’s what I expected,” Jason said.

  “You could always try the cloakroom,” Bactrus mused. “Visitors left their weapons and armor there. The policy was mandatory. Anything remaining will never be claimed and does not belong to the library.”

  “Worth a look,” Drake said. “Nearly anyone with the funding or initiative to come here would have been well equipped.”

  “Although they probably would have retrieved their gear when they tried to flee,” Farfalee speculated. “Also, some who fled might have claimed the equipment of others. But still, I agree, worth a look.”

  “You might also inspect the antiquities shop,” Bactrus said. “The inventory is not technically part of the collection, since it was for sale. The exorbitant prices were meant to raise funds. But with no shopkeeper present to manage the inventory, any remaining items could reasonably be considered abandoned and available.”

  “Thanks for the tips,” Jason said.

  “I like how this guide thinks,” Drake confided to Jasher.

  In a distant wing of the library, at the end of a hall several stories above ground level, Bactrus stopped before a hefty door. “This section is restricted access,” the guide explained. “Loaned texts in extinct languages. Much of the material here came from the same repository as the scroll you seek. More than half the content cannot be deciphered by any of our guides.” He indicated a round depression in the center of the door. “Place your stone into the recess.”

  Jason pressed his stone into the depression. It fit perfectly. The stone glowed momentarily, tumblers rattled, and the door swung smoothly open. Jason kept the stone in his hand.

  The room beyond was not large, but contained many shelves and cubbies. The few books on display were primitively bound. Metal plates, clay tablets, and tightly wound scrolls were much more prevalent.

  Bactrus led them to a bulky cabinet full of small, square drawers. He indicated a particular one. Pulling it open, Jason found that the long drawer contained a scroll.

  Farfalee removed the scroll, unrolling it carefully. Nearly a yard long, the yellowed document contained row after row of tidy, unrecognizable characters. Farfalee started at the top, squinting at the words. Her lips bent into a smile.

  “It purports to describe a route to the last abode of Darian the Seer,” she announced. “According to this document, our road will take us . . . through the Fuming Waste and into the mountains beyond.”

  “Dangerous country,” Jasher said.

  “But not particularly distant,” Drake noted.

  “Could this be real?” Jason asked Bactrus.

  The old guide bent over the scroll, scanning it intently. “The scroll was certainly not written by Petrusians. As we established previously, although Darian lived long ago, by his time the Petrusian society had vanished and the language was out of use. And according to what your comrade has shared, the scroll does not purport to be a prophecy.”

  “Could it be part of a scam?” Jason asked.

  Bactrus lowered his eyebrows. “If the scroll is fraudulent, Petruscan is an odd choice of language, since it was comprehensible to only a handful of scholars. It would have required a discouraging amount of work for a buyer to translate the content.”

  Drake folded his arms. “A swindler might have decided that the odd choice of language would lend the scroll an air of authenticity. Furthermore, the period required to decipher the message could allow the crook additional time to disappear before the buyer found the information disappointing.”

  “Did you catch that?” Jason asked Bactrus.

  “Plausible reasoning. Does anyone claim authorship?”

  Farfalee skipped to the bottom of the manuscript. “The author is described at the beginning and the end as ‘the Steering Hand.’ Would you like to hear a rough translation of the introduction?”

  “Please,” Jasher said.

  Farfalee cleared her throat. She read haltingly, as if intent on choosing the most accurate words. “ ‘Courtesy of the Steering Hand, herein the worthy seeker of enlightenment will find instructions to reach the final dwelling place of Darian, son of Thebrun, the renowned seer of Darvis Kur and author of more than two thousand verified prophecies great and small.’ The account goes on to reveal the general location of the last abode of Darian, and then gets very specific naming landmarks to use as guideposts along the way.”

  “What do you think?” Jason asked, studying Bactrus.

  The guide lifted his empty hands in a noncommittal gesture. “Genuine or false, the message would probably read the same. Only by following the directions to the end could you know for certain.”

  “Do we have a better option?” Jason asked.

  “Over the years, all of the other leads have been explored with no evident results. The most promising leads have been pursued countless times. Since arriving here, this particular scroll has never been read, and thus it has never been tested. And thanks to the foresight of your oracle, you arrived with the one person in Lyrian capable of reading it. If you want me to guess which source you should rely on, this would be my pick.”

  “Good enough for me,” Jason said.

  “Me too,” Jasher agreed. “We need a path, we need it quick, and circumstances certainly point to this scroll.”

  Drake frowned. “If the scroll is false, our quest will fail.”

  “True,” Jasher said. “Do you expect to find a better option?”

  Drake slowly shook his head. “I agree that this seems to be what we’re looking for.”

  “There is a warning toward the end,” Farfalee said.

  “Tell us,” Drake said.

  “ ‘Seek not this sanctum in the name of vanity or avarice. Enter with no instruments of war or tainted intentions. Calamity awaits the undeserving. Only the . . . chosen . . . can survive.’ ” She looked up. “ ‘Chosen’ may not be the precise word. But it is close.”

  Jason realized that all of his companions were looking at him. The oracle had specifically stated that he needed to find the last abode of Darian the Seer. Apparently, that made him the chosen one, at least in their minds. The attention made him a little uncomfortable.

  “Do any of the other texts lead to the Fuming Waste?” Jason asked.

  “Several,” Bactrus answered, “although the same could be said for nearly any location in Lyrian that you would care to name.”

  “We’ll need detailed maps of the Fuming Waste,” Jasher said.

  “Can you help us?” Jason asked the guide.

  “We should adjourn to the geography center,” he replied. “You will find not only the most thorough assortment of maps ever assembled, but materials with which to copy the contents of the scroll.”

  “We can bring the scroll to the ot
her area?” Jason checked.

  Bactrus gave a nod. “The texts are not to leave the library, but within these walls they are meant to be studied and used.”

  “Lead the way,” Jason said.

  Once again Bactrus ushered them along a lengthy route. At first they backtracked past familiar sights, but soon they forked off through new rooms, stairways, and passages.

  “Being a loremaster here would be good exercise,” Jason remarked as they passed a glittering stained-glass window. “Are we getting close?”

  “Just up ahead,” Bactrus promised.

  Jasher held up a hand, bringing them to a halt, a finger to his lips. Jason listened. A male voice was calling their names from a distance. There was an edge of panic to the tone.

  Jasher cupped both hands around his mouth. “We’re here!” he belted. “Western wall, four floors up, near the third largest dome.”

  Jason was impressed by Jasher’s clear sense of their location.

  “On my way!” the distant voice answered.

  “Won’t be good news,” Drake murmured.

  “Jasher,” Farfalee said, “perhaps you should wait here for the messenger. We can run ahead and start copying the needful information.”

  “Yes,” Jasher said. He looked to Jason.

  Jason turned to Bactrus. “Can you tell Jasher how to find us?”

  The old guide issued terse instructions; then Farfalee started running. Jason and Drake followed, and the old guide as well. Jason noticed that Bactrus sprinted as swiftly as any of them and showed no signs of tiring. After a few more twists and turns, followed by a flight of stairs, they entered a large space dedicated to maps and atlases. A huge relief map of Lyrian dominated the floor, with the rest of the room built around it. A skylight above added natural brightness, and a balcony around the top half of the room allowed patrons to access high shelves or to gaze down at the floor map from above.

  Bactrus directed them to an oversized book of maps dedicated to the Fuming Waste. While Farfalee perused the maps, he led Jason and Drake to collect paper, ink, and pens.