Chasing the Prophecy (Beyonders) (58 page)

“An acceptable reason for haste,” the old guide allowed. “Let me briefly review what you can find here pertinent to your search. I have aided many with research on this topic, though as you might guess, I have had no serious inquiries in a great while. The texts you desire are ancient and almost uniformly amount to unconfirmed speculation. All I can offer are a thousand different unverified theories.”

Jason rubbed his forehead. “The information has to be here.”

“The correct answer may lie camouflaged among those many guesses. In your lifetime, without interference and with infinite funding, you could perhaps pursue forty or fifty of those leads. The search would take you all over the world.”

Jason thought of Galloran attacking Felrook. “We only have one shot. Even going straight to the right destination might take too long. Maldor is about to crush us. Are you aware of all the possible sources we could check? Is there another guide who might know something you missed?

Bactrus bristled at the question. “I am the chief guide for ancient history. And the last abode of Darian the Seer is an area of personal expertise. Any of the other guides who wished to be of service would refer you to me. I personally know the contents of every scroll, map, and volume relevant to your inquiry. You will find no other pertinent text in this library, unless you can read ancient Petruscan.”

Jason turned to Farfalee. She did not look like she was getting favorable news from her guide. “Hey, Farfalee. Do you know ancient Petruscan?”

She brightened. “Petruscan? Actually, yes. Petruscan is the most obscure language with which I am familiar.”

CHAPTER
16

D
id 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.”