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  Website – www.trisefbook.com

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  Oracle – River of Ore

  C.W. Trisef

  Other titles by C.W. Trisef

  Oracle – Sunken Earth (Book 1 in the Oracle Series)

  Oracle – Fire Island (Book 2 in the Oracle Series)

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination.

  Written by – C.W. Trisef

  Cover designed by – Giuseppe Lipari

  Copyright © 2013 Trisef Book LLC

  Book 3 – Edition 1

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 9781626755185

  CHAPTER 0

  THE DOCTOR’S ORDERS

  “Welcome home, Lord Lye,” said a cold voice from the dock.

  “Thank you, Victor,” Lye replied to the doctor, sounding rather weary. “It’s good to be back at the Deep.”

  “How was your trip to Fire Island?” Victor asked.

  “Successful,” Lye told him.

  Dr. Cross extended his hand to help his feeble lord out of the small boat that had ferried him from the large battleship floating in the distance. One by one, the rest of the fleet continued to arrive from Fire Island, anchoring sporadically in the deeper waters around the Deep.

  “So you captured the boy then?” Cross said hopefully, walking a slight step behind his superior.

  “No,” Lye sneered, “but the fire element is now safely within the Oracle, and, for that reason, it was a success.” Lye’s words were punctuated by the sharp, rhythmic tapping of his white, spiraled cane. “Fire Island is no more—and the same can be said of Bubba and Carmen.”

  “He was a necessary loss,” Cross concluded. “Too bad about her though.” They had reached the end of the dock and were now walking on rocky terrain. The sound of crashing waves could be heard nearby. “So the boy got away?”

  “His name is Ret, Cross,” Lye barked, “and he’s not a mere boy anymore—he’s getting stronger; he’s perfecting his powers. He and the Guardian were not easy on me.”

  “I should have been there to help you,” the doctor apologized. “I mean, given your health—”

  “I can take care of myself!” Lye snapped. “I need no physician.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Just hurry up with the weapon,” Lye ordered. “Is it ready yet?”

  “Almost,” Cross reported with nervousness.

  “I need that device in order to subdue Ret,” Lye explained. “It can’t take much longer. Time is of the essence. Ret is maturing quickly, and the Oracle is hastening its gathering. It wants its elements back. Things are in full motion now.”

  “I understand.”

  “Then why is it taking so long?!” Lye hissed.

  “It’s complicated, my lord,” Cross said softly, his head down. “It will be operational soon.”

  “Let’s hope so, for your sake,” Lye threatened. “By the way, you might be interested to know I ran into an old friend on Fire Island: Lionel Zarbock.”

  “The nuclear physicist?” Cross wondered with eagerness.

  “Yes,” Lye said with pleasure. “He was taken prisoner on one of the ships and will be here soon. His knowledge should prove valuable to you in perfecting the weapon.”

  “Do you think he’ll cooperate?” Cross asked.

  “I doubt it,” Lye shrugged, “so feel free to do whatever it takes to get him to talk.” Lye cackled. “I’ll leave you to handle that. All I ask is that you keep him alive.”

  “As you wish.”

  The sun was setting over the south Pacific Ocean, its crimson rays reflected in the many puddles strewn across the ground. These were colorful, vibrant pools of warm water, gurgling and steaming like hot springs. Lye’s long, black robes swirled the rising mist as he shuffled along.

  “And were you able to secure Argo’s relic, my lord?” Cross asked with concern.

  “No,” Lye answered grumpily. “I searched his robes but found nothing.”

  “So it is in Ret’s possession then?”

  “I don’t know, Cross,” Lye growled, perturbed by the reminder.

  “So that means they may now have both the key and—”

  “Yes, I know!” Lye shouted angrily.

  “Forgive me, my lord.”

  “Bah!” Lye snorted, mocking his minion’s plea for mercy.

  The landscape had changed from rocky to riparian, with mature trees rising above thick and low-lying shrubbery. The pair arrived at a door, hidden in the lush vegetation, and waited for it to open. They passed through the entryway and marched onward, entering a large and spacious control room. The underground facility was buzzing with activity.

  “Lord Lye,” a commander said, approaching his master. “We have been unable to locate the approaching aircraft on our radar.”

  “Keep trying,” Lye told him. “It’s mostly invisible, but it’s out there. I’m sure of it.”

  “Yes, sir.” The commander hurried off.

  “An invisible aircraft, sir?” Cross asked.

  “It’s Coy’s ridiculous balloon,” Lye scoffed. “They’re headed this way, just as planned.”

  “Excellent,” said Cross.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” said Lye, turning down one of the corridors, “I’d like to spend some time in the dungeon before our guests arrive. I’ve been gone for many days, and I’m sure our resident prisoners have missed me. You know how much I enjoy the sound of their suffering.”

  “That I do,” Cross grinned.

  Lye stepped in front of another door. As soon as it opened, the faint cries of incarcerated souls could be heard, bemoaning their miserable fates and rattling their heavy chains.

  “Ah,” Lye beamed, “music to my ears.” He hobbled into the dungeon. “Now let’s see if I can make room for six more prisoners.”

  CHAPTER 1

  OLD WOUNDS, NEW SCARS

  It was as though Ana had spoken in a foreign language. For several silent seconds, her words failed to register in the stunned minds of her listeners. Everyone stood so petrified with perplexity that she felt the need to restate her claim, this time with a bit more confidence.

  “I think it was—”

  “I’m sorry, dear,” Pauline said sweetly, like a mother humored by her toddler, “what did you say?” Her tone was a mixture of sugar and spice, as if to dilute a brewing embitterment.

  “I said,” Ana repeated yet again, “I think I saw Dad back there.”

  “And what makes you think that?” Pauline asked, still choosing not to believe.

  “Because he looked just like him,” Ana explained with a seriousness that was very uncharacteristic of her. “Dirty blond hair, parted on the left side; really tanned forearms, and calves too big for his skinny ankles.” With each evidence, Pauline’s pretended incredulity seemed to wane. “Of course, he was pretty far away, so I couldn’t really see his eyes, and he didn’t seem to have his usual smile. But I watched him, Mom. I saw how he helped Lye onto that boat-thing—just like how he used to help you out of the car, remember?” Ana took a step back to reenact the familiar move. “He put his right foot forward, then bent over a little and extended his left hand, helping you up gently and using his right hand to steady your shoulder.”

  “Yes,” Pauline mumbled unwillingly, “I—I remember quite well, thank you.”

  “But even more than what I saw, Mom, is how I felt,” Ana continued. “It’s not like I’ve been looking for opportunities over the years to say Dad’s back; you know that. I don’t look through a crowd to find people who l
ook like him. And I would never make something up or play a joke on you; I know how much you—and I—miss him.” Ana seemed to be breaking down Pauline’s guise of guile. “But as I watched them—Dad and whoever the other guy was—it was like someone—something—put the idea in my head. It wasn’t my own. I tried to dismiss it as crazy, but it kept coming back.”

  “Heat and exhaustion can play terrible tricks on the mind, Ana,” Pauline suggested, her appearance now more perturbed than playful. “This trip has been tiring, to say nothing of all the—all the lava.” She flailed her arms in boiling desperation.

  “If this trip has taught me anything,” Ana said with maturity, “it’s that we can’t always get what we want. So if you don’t believe me, then that’s fine. But I just thought you might want to know.”

  “Sorry to interrupt your heart-to-heart,” Mr. Coy said brightly, entering the conversation, “but the girl’s story is consistent with one of my theories.”

  “Oh?” Pauline snuffed defensively.

  “Oh yes!” Coy countered. “And my theory is this: Lye captured Jaret.” While the others furrowed their brows in bewilderment, Coy raised one side of his in self-satisfaction. “Think about it, folks: the bubbles and the burning, the help of the hurricane, no ship wreckage in the storm surge—Lye was trying to enter Sunken Earth when Jaret came on the scene! How else could Lye have lost the Oracle and Ret have wound up in Jaret’s raft had the good Coast Guard Captain not intervened? Of course, it’s unclear why Jaret is now presumably helping Lye, but I wouldn’t be too terribly surprised if the evil lord can toy with minds—” then, glancing at Ret, “—even erase one’s memory.”

  “So you’re saying my dad’s been brainwashed?” Ana concluded.

  “We don’t know for certain it was your father,” Pauline reminded. Ana rolled her eyes.

  “But what if it is?” Ana affirmed while still trying to honor her mother’s judgment, as jaded as it usually was. “Why can’t you just believe, even for a moment? Why not give it a chance? Don’t you want him back?”

  “Of course I want—”

  “Then why won’t you believe me?”

  “Because I’m scared.” Pauline’s voice died down as her tears showed up. Ana looked away briefly, then back again, not altogether displeased with herself.

  “Scared of what, Mom?” Ana probed gently.

  “Scared of...scared of...,” she stammered. “Look, it’s taken this long for me to get comfortable with what happened. It was impossible at first; a part of me had died—you remember. But, as time passed, I guess I sort of rolled all my sorrows and fears into a hope—a hope for the best, and I could determine what the best ought to be, which might be better than the truth.”

  “What do you mean ‘better than the’—”

  “What if it’s not him, Ana?” Pauline countered emotionally. “What if we get our hopes up and ‘just believe,’ as you put it, but then it turns out different than we imagined? Or worse, what if it is him?” Ana looked puzzled. “If he is still alive, why has he never returned to us?—called, written a letter—something, anything?! Does he even remember me—you—us? Wouldn’t you hope, then, that he really has been ‘brainwashed’?” She glared at Coy. “Do you think I’ve never considered these things? What else keeps a widowed woman up at night?”

  Ana wasn’t sure how to respond.

  “What then?” Pauline pressed on. “What hope can I cling to then?” She buried her sobs in her daughter’s shoulder.

  For being such a shallow woman, Pauline Cooper’s insecurities certainly ran deep. Her plight traced its origin to her incredibly small comfort zone, whose size was exactly according to her personal preference. As tragic as was her sweetheart’s disappearance-termed-death, it seemed to have happened for a wise purpose, though she herself would never entertain such a thought. Over the last few years, the whole ordeal had acted like a sort of wild wrecking ball, determined to demolish the walls and sweep the cones that zoned off her comfortable quarters. Imagine her displeasure when another ball, this time the Oracle sphere (though more like Pandora’s Box), ran ashore and then amuck in her simple life. Amid all this quaking and shaking, she had thus far elected to buzz about her crumbling safehouse, attempting to take some cover or save the china. But now, in this moment, a profound change was taking root, perhaps because there was, at last, nothing left to hide behind.

  As a result of the tense mother-daughter discussion, an acute uneasiness permeated the very strands of the wicker basket as the hot-air balloon bobbed above the clouds. Paige, the great peacemaker, decided to offer a suggestion.

  “You know,” she said, treading lightly, “we’re already following Lye’s ships so that we can rescue Lionel. Maybe we’ll be able to help Mr. Cooper, too—if it really is him,” she added for Pauline’s sake, earning a frown from Ana.

  “Excellent idea!” Mr. Coy beamed. “That’s my girl.” Putting his arm around her, they half-embraced, and, for once, it did not look all that awkward. “Ishmael,” Coy excitedly addressed his loyal hand, “westward ho!”

  “Yes,” replied Ishmael from the controls, having already received this same command, “still ho-ing westward, sir.”

  There was only one person in the floating vessel who had yet to say a word since Ana’s disconcerting announcement, and he had no intention of acting to the contrary. This was not because Ret had nothing to say but rather because he was not entirely convinced anyone would understand.

  For, of a truth, his muted tongue juxtaposed his swirling mind—swirling almost as tumultuously as the ocean below, where a massive whirlpool made it seem like the Titans had just flushed their personal commode. The whitewater waves had now fully swallowed Fire Island. The sinking, volcanic islet to their east was wholly unrecognizable, as it had long since fragmented into a thousand lava-strewn pieces before plunging into the underground magma chamber where Ret and the Guardian, Argo, had foiled Lye’s attempt to procure the fire element. It had been a heated fight, to say the least. Lye had proved, yet again, to be a very curious opponent. Though clearly at odds with Ret, Lye did not seem to be the most menacing of nemeses. Twice he had tried to prevent Ret from acquiring elements, but all of Lye’s other actions appeared to have aided Ret: Miss Carmen with the mark of the moai on her back, Principal Stone’s apparently inconsequential loss of the fire-prone and porous rock from his Keep, the fact that Lye had never threatened Ret with death. Of course, on more than one occasion Lye had hinted at some previous alliance between the two of them—that they were once partners working together with a common objective. Could it be that Lye was actually helping Ret to collect the elements, and, if so, was it for a truly unselfish purpose or simply because he needed Ret’s scars? Or vice versa: was Ret actually helping Lye to collect the elements? He shuddered at the thought.

  Thus Ret’s unconquerable hopefulness caused him to wonder if Lye might somehow be an ally—almost akin to a distant relative—on his First Father’s side, once-removed, perhaps? Or, though certainly unbecoming of a veteran villain, was it just that Lye had mixed a bit too much friendliness in his fiendishness and was now perpetuating Ret’s confusion in order to cover up his own blunder?

  Friend or faux pas? Ret wasn’t sure, unaided by the flood of emotions washing over him as the smoky specter of Fire Island faded out of sight.

  Wait. Where had he seen this before?

  Ah yes: on the other side of the globe, in the ocean called Atlantic, where the civilization of Sunken Earth had drunk its demise. Ret was beginning to see a sort of pattern throughout all of this: a world within our world, unknown to the latter except for those who exploited the former; populated by a people who were rich in heart but poor in everything else, victims of a select few with insatiable thirst for power and dominion. And then, one unscheduled day, a random young man showed up—from out of the sea or out of the sky, either way it was out of the blue—and turned everything upside-down from the inside out.

  But the thing that impressed Ret more than any
thing else was the impeccable timing of it all. Thus far, it had proven to be a monumental task just to get to each of the locations where the elements were hidden, greeted by doubt and disbelief at every turn. But as soon as Ret and his unconventional cohorts arrived on stage, everything fell into place like a well-rehearsed play. As if all nature was on his side, Ret was able to procure the earth and fire elements. Yet, despite the gloom and doom that followed—the slaughtered masses; the cascading mountainsides and collapsing ceilings; the swirling, gaping voids left in the earth’s crust and oceans’ waters—yes, through it all, one solitary thing shined brighter than the sun: the Oracle.

  Undimmed by destruction! Untarnished by tyranny! It was the Oracle that was in control; Ret was merely the vehicle who, under the hood, fit the required model to a tee. Indeed, it was Ret’s lack of an ulterior agenda that jived so perfectly with the Oracle’s decreed yet unhurried schedule.

  “You okay, Ret?” Mr. Coy asked, stirring Ret from his endless thoughts, which he hardly ever shared. As if to encourage candid conversation, Coy casually leaned forward to place his arms on the rim of the basket, mimicking Ret’s pensive position.

  “So what’s your plan for rescuing Lionel?” Ret inquired, purposely evading Coy’s question.

  “I was thinking we’d lower you on deck and let you burn anything that stands in your way,” said Coy jokingly. Then, noticing how Ret remained unamused, he added, “Unless you have a better idea?”

  “No.”

  Patting Ret’s back caringly, Mr. Coy said, “Don’t worry, Ret. We’ll make sure we get Lionel back.” Then, as if prompted by lingering guilt, he corrected, “I’ll make sure we get Lionel back.”

  On the other side of the basket, though seemingly worlds apart, another dialogue was taking place, this one between Ana and her mercurial mother.

  “Oh, Ana, dear,” Pauline said giddily, “I just can’t wait to see—what if it is him? What if my Jaret really is alive, and we’re this close? Oh, it’s been so long!” She was anxiously combing her hair with her fingers, as if to spruce it up a bit. “Can’t this balloon fly any faster?”