Chasing the Prophecy

“It must have been hard for the wizards to create new life,” Jason said. “Rachel told me that living things resist Edomic.”

“Which is why very few wizards ever produced even simple life-forms. Only the most learned and powerful could engineer life, and only four or five ever managed to spawn what we would consider intelligent life.”

“Can Maldor do it?” Jason wondered.

“If so, we have seen little evidence. His supporters are culled from preexisting races. It required some skill to evolve a botched race into the manglers, but it was adaptation, not true creation. Maldor is both powerful and talented, but probably not yet skilled enough to truly produce his own life-forms.”

“You knew some of the great wizards of Lyrian,” Jason said. “Like Eldrin.”

“I was not close to Eldrin,” Farfalee clarified. “But in my youth I spent some time in his presence. He was not a particularly kind man. He struck me as brilliant but abrupt, much more interested in his own plans and goals than in the people around him. All of his intelligent races have reason to dislike him. After all, at the same time he brought the Amar Kabal into being, he also designed our eventual extinction.”

“He made it harder to have kids over time,” Jason recalled.

Farfalee nodded. “We’ve grown less fertile. Only six children have been born to the Amar Kabal during the past thirty years. My son, Lodan, is one of them. I could hardly believe I was going to be a mother after lifetimes of trying. I may be one of the last. As a people we will endure only as long as our seeds stay healthy and keep getting planted. Drake is not the first of us to be reborn without a functional amar. Nor will he be the last.”

“Could somebody use Edomic to fix the way Eldrin made you?”

She shook her head. “Such expertise no longer exists. Even the most capable wizard from ages past would probably fall short of the task. Only Eldrin could have given our race the chance to endure, and he opted to limit our population, much as Zokar did with his creations.”

“I know your laws forbid it,” Jason said, “but what if you studied Edomic? You know, learned to repair yourselves.”

“Some among us have argued that we should study Edomic. My brother is one of them. Such thinking is foolishness. We were engineered to have little aptitude for Edomic. The most adept among us could never achieve enough power to justify the risk. Any of the Amar Kabal who tamper with Edomic risk fulfilling the prophecy that such activity will bring about our demise.”

“Labeling me a fool behind my back?” Drake asked from behind.

Farfalee turned to face him. “I’ve issued no labels that I would hesitate to repeat in front of you. You are a fool to toy with Edomic and to advocate its use to other seedfolk. You could bring about the end of our race for the lofty aspiration of igniting small fires without tinder.”

“I still normally need tinder,” Drake explained. “But I can manage the feat without flint.”

“Foolishness.”

“You speak Edomic better than I do.”

“That’s different,” Farfalee insisted. “I only speak to communicate. Never to command.”

Drake waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry, Failie. No prophecy would have included me. I’m a disgrace and an outcast.”

Farfalee shrugged. “Your words, not mine.”

He folded his arms. “Very well, sister, how would you label me?”

She looked at him seriously for a moment. “You are certainly an outcast. But so is my husband, and I have greater respect for no man living. You have made some poor choices, Drake, but here we stand. You keep correcting your course. Few men are as true to themselves and their instincts. I would say that you are much closer to being a hero than a disgrace.”

Drake looked away. Jason could tell her words had touched him. Regaining his composure, the seedman squinted at the slowly gaining interceptor. “This should time out well.”

“Our pursuers will be in position before nightfall,” Farfalee said.

“Think we can sink it?” Jason asked.

“Aram likes the plan,” Drake replied. “As does Heg. As do I. Bat volunteered to do the honors.”

The plan was simple. With night falling, and the interceptor directly behind them, the crew of the Valiant would lighten the load slightly by throwing some nonessentials overboard. A drinling would jump into the sea along with the junk. He would bring a pair of orantium globes. The Valiant would hold a steady course, which would hopefully lure the pursuing ship right past the drinling in the water.

“Will we circle back for him?” Farfalee asked. She and Corinne had spent more days with Bat than the rest of them.

“It has been a matter of debate,” Drake said. “Seems heartless to leave him. But we’d have to go against the wind. It could cost a lot of time. Bat claims he can make it to shore on his own. I don’t know. Tireless or not, we’re far from land.”

Farfalee nodded. “If you’re right about the empire learning our plans, we can ill afford to lose time.”

“Hence the debate,” Drake said. “Heg and Nia insist we should leave the drinling behind. Aram seems to be leaning their way. Jasher and I would rather return for him.”

Looking out at the water, Jason envisioned himself stranded at sea, alone, no boat or land in sight, gentle swells rising and falling around him. He could think of few predicaments more intimidating. Clearing his throat, he asked, “What are the chances he could make it?”

Drake shrugged. “He’ll go over the side with plenty of debris to help him keep afloat. Not quite a raft, but enough to rest on. Unlike us, he can drink seawater. He would bring provisions. If he can keep his bearings and survive, Bat might reach land within a week or two.”

“Or he might die miserably and alone,” Farfalee added. “Without an imminent threat, it strikes me as disgraceful to abandon a hero who risks his life to save the rest of us.”

“What does Bat want?” Jason wondered.

“He insists that we shouldn’t return for him,” Drake said. “Claims it will jeopardize the mission and belittle his sacrifice.”

“Bat has to say that,” Farfalee sighed. “Drinlings were created to sacrifice in battle. The concept might even be supported by their physiology at an instinctive level. They view death in combat as the glorious fulfillment of their destinies. Eldrin taught them that they are expendable, and they believe it. Unless blatantly mistreated, drinlings will readily suffer and die for the good of their allies.”