CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER
16
Peter, lying in the darkness, woke to find that he could hardly move. His hands and feet had been tied with thick, coarse ropes, and his whole body felt bruised and broken. He shrugged his shoulders, trying to twist himself into an upright position. The movement brought a gasp of pain to his lips. He had been beaten, and badly, then shoved in this cave like a common criminal. Which, Peter realized, he was.
He groaned as he sat up. He tugged experimentally at the ropes that bound him, realizing quickly that it was useless. He could never untie those knots, especially not with his fingers so swollen and bruised.
It was quiet outside. No moon, no wind—just that horrid smell from the volcano, and the dank air that stifled every breath. And then, as he listened, there came a sound. Twigs breaking. Grasses rustling. Footsteps—slow and soft, but sure. Peter leaned forward, trying to make out the figure that was coming toward the cave. His eyes had adjusted to the dark of the cave, but there was no light from anywhere, and no way to see who it was. Peter breathed in deeply, willing himself to be still, willing his heart to stop crashing against his chest. He thought that whoever was coming must be able to find him by the beating of his heart …
The footsteps stopped when they were just inside the cave. There was a long moment of silence, and then:
“Peter?” said a voice.
A guard wouldn’t have stopped to ask his name. It must be another one of the prisoners, thought Peter. It must be a friend. “Yes!” he called out. “Yes, it’s me. I’m here. They’ve tied me up.”
A man came forward, moving toward the sound of Peter’s voice. He knelt down beside him, feeling for the ropes that bound his arms and legs. Finding them, he withdrew a knife and began to saw at the bonds.
“My name is Gregory,” he said as he cut. “I am a friend of Alyce. She told me that the Deliverers had returned, and then I heard your message at the mine. I and my brothers will fight for you, and will follow where you lead.”
“Wonderful,” muttered Peter, grimacing as Gregory’s knife strained against the ropes. He thought that perhaps this would not be the ideal time to inform Gregory that he had no plan, no mission … just a vague idea that he needed to get the Captain’s talisman away from him.
The knife broke through the ropes binding his hands, and Peter rubbed his wrists as Gregory moved to his feet. The skin was raw and broken where the cords had cut into his skin. “We have to get to the Captain,” he told Gregory. “The Captain wears …”
But then he stopped, for there were more footsteps outside. Different steps. And not those of a friend. Gregory froze, and even in the dim light of the cave Peter could see that he was trembling.
“It’s the Gul’nog,” said Gregory. He returned to the ropes binding Peter’s ankles, sawing fiercely. One by one the ropes broke away, and finally Peter was free. He scrambled to his feet, trying to make as little noise as possible.
“Should we …”
“Quiet,” said Gregory in a whisper. “Quiet. He must be looking for us — or the others who are coming.”
“Others?”
“Hush.”
They waited together in the gloom of the cave, and as they waited they heard a scuffle, and shouts, and finally they could see that one of the guards’ torches had been knocked to the ground, and the flame was spreading like a wildfire.
Peter and Gregory crept to the mouth of the cave and looked out. Against the backdrop of the flames they could see the Gul’nog, and a few dark figures who had been unlucky enough to stand in its way. And then, as they watched, the Gul’nog leapt through the flames and was gone.
“Run,” said Gregory. “Run!”
Peter needed no urging. Mindless of the ache in his legs he urged them forward, out of the cave and into the forest that lay beyond. He could feel the heat of the fire between his shoulders, and he remembered running like this in Aedyn, running away from a cannon that was about to explode, running for his life without any certainty that he would be spared.
He ran deep into the trees. His lungs were on fire, and finally he collapsed against a massive oak, breathing hard and praying that he hadn’t been seen. He’d left behind the heat of the fire, but he could still hear the roaring and crackling of the flames. Had he been followed?
Gregory had spoken of others—had the prisoners rebelled? Had Julia and Louisa been set free? So many unknowns … and the only certainty was that he had to get the Captain’s talisman.
It wouldn’t be dark much longer, thought Peter, looking up at the sky. The slaves would be back at the mine soon. Maybe the Captain was still asleep, and Peter could steal the talisman from around his neck. A slim chance … but he had to try.
Peter got to his feet, looked around, and promptly realized that he was lost. He didn’t know these woods, and had no idea where the mine was. If he could just find the volcano …
The trees were thick, and blocked any view he might have had. He needed to find a ridge—needed to get higher up so he could see. Or else he could go back the way he’d come. Surely there would be a road … but he promptly abandoned that idea. There was also fire, and the Gul’nog. He’d have to find his way through the woods.
Peter fished his father’s compass out of his pocket and flicked open the top, watching as the needle spun around. He closed his eyes and tried to remember the map that he and Julia had studied only the previous night. The woods, the volcano, the caves … he couldn’t remember which direction he should go, and had no idea how far it would be.
South, he decided abruptly. He’d go south, and see what he found along the way.
The going was hard. Every muscle ached, and wounds that had not yet healed were screaming for rest. But still Peter pressed on. For all he knew Julia and Louisa were being held captive somewhere, having worse wounds inflicted on them. The only way to stop all this was to get the talisman.
He’d been right about the night ending soon. Dawn was pressing against the sky, illuminating a broken, barren landscape. The stagnant air pressed in on him. The smell of sulfur seemed to grow worse as he walked—perhaps he was, after all, getting closer to the volcano. He tripped over rocks and ducked under low-hanging branches, almost weeping once when he stumbled and gashed open his knee. The blood was bright — the only color in a gray landscape. Peter ripped off a strip of fabric from his shirt and blotted up the blood, then straightened his leg and kept walking. Whoever those “others” were that Gregory had spoken of, one thing was certain: they would never come to rescue him here.
And then he was there.
The trees opened up on a familiar scene—the mine, crawling with soldiers and prisoners. The guards, Peter noticed, seemed crueler than before. They kept their whips curled in their hands, not at their sides, and used them freely on any prisoner who was falling behind. Peter scanned the area for his sisters, but didn’t see Julia’s bright hair or Louisa’s familiar shape in the crowd. He was alone.
But another figure did come into view — a figure Peter knew well. The Captain. He was moving among the prisoners, using his whip with a steady hand, and even at this distance Peter could hear the curses coming from his mouth.
Smoke and ash were pouring from the mouth of the volcano, and the ground beneath Peter’s feet seemed to tremble almost constantly. The eruption was coming — and soon. There wasn’t much time left—even the Captain could tell that, evidently. But how to get the talisman?
Peter watched the Captain, remembering his fights with Mason back at school. He’d bested larger boys before, but a trained soldier? It would be like attacking his father, Peter thought.
He threw off the thought. It was something a child would think, and he was a man now. And so he kept his eye on the Captain, watching how he moved, looking for a weakness. But the man moved like the old solider he was: practiced, steady, with muscles taut and ready. There would be no opening—no opportunity to take the talisman without the Captain’s fist connecting with Peter’s windpipe.
Peter started forward anyway, making his way into the crowd of prisoners. He was closer to the Captain now—close enough to see the talisman swinging from a thin leather cord around his neck.
The volcano belched more smoke and ash, and Peter felt the ground give way underneath him. The earth seemed to tilt this way and that; all around him prisoners and guards alike were screaming as they fell and clutched at the ground. It was an earthquake stronger than any he had ever felt, and Peter knew what it meant.
But amid the screams Peter looked up and saw that the Captain, too, had collapsed on the ground and was struggling to regain his balance. And suddenly it was easy.
With the fleetness of foot that belongs only to the young, Peter dashed forward and knelt beside the aging soldier. He thrust a firm hand under the Captain’s chin, grasped the talisman, and, with a swift jerk, tore away the leather cord.
He was ten steps away before the Captain could yell, and fifteen before Peter could hear the guards stumbling to pursue him. They never had a chance. Running, running harder and faster than he ever had before, Peter was in the woods, the talisman held tight in his hot fist. He’d forgotten his aching shoulders, forgotten the sting of the reopened wound on his knee. He was running, and the soldiers could never keep up.
He kept running long after he knew that the guards had lost him. He ran deeper and deeper into the woods, hardly thinking of what lay behind. He splashed into a trickle of a stream, then up the opposite bank … and then he stopped short, because he could hardly believe what he saw in front of him.