He was, though, and he couldn't seem to help himself. Everything about Castledown felt like a weight pressing him against the earth, crushing him to nothing. He was embarrassed and ashamed, still carrying guilt for having run from the attack, for having been so petrified with fear that he couldn't bring himself to help the others. Maybe that was why he was afraid. Maybe that was why he seemed to be afraid all the time.
She reached over and touched his arm, surprising him. "It's all right to be frightened. I'm frightened, too. I don't want to be here either. But we might be the only ones who can help Walker. We have to try."
He nodded disconsolately. She was right, but that didn't make him feel any better. Or braver. They rose and started off again, following after the little sweeper. It took them down new passageways and ramps, stairs and corridors, leading them on, deeper and deeper into the catacombs of the underground city. The journey was tedious and numbing; the world of Castledown was the same wherever they went. Fatigue set in, physical and emotional both. Ahren found himself wondering if it was still dark outside. He didn't think it could be. He wondered if anyone else had come into the ruins since. What were the chances that someone else from their scattered little band would find a way underground as they had?
Several times he tried asking the sweeper how much farther they had to go, but there was never any response. The sweeper simply pressed on, not bothering to communicate, no longer showing images. They were completely dependent on it by then; they could not find their way back to the surface alone. They could not find their way anywhere. If the sweeper did not lead them to Walker, they were hopelessly lost.
When they stopped again to rest, backs against the wall once more, eating and drinking to stay strong, tired enough to sleep, but unwilling to chance it, Ahren was so consumed by their predicament that he could no longer stand it. He waited a moment, thinking through the suggestion he was about to make, watching the sweeper as it faced them from the center of the corridor some ten feet away.
"I want you to do something," he said quietly to the seer. She glanced over at once. He paused and leaned closer. "I want you to try your empathic skills on the sweeper and see what they tell you."
She furrowed her brow. "You want me to see if touching it will induce a vision?"
"Of the past, of the future, of the present, of anything that will help us."
"But it's a machine, Ahren."
"Try anyway. You said it was sentient. If that's so, you might be able to trigger something from its thoughts. Maybe you can discover how much farther we have to go or where to look for Walker." He shook his head helplessly. "I just want something that says we're down here for a reason and should keep going."
She stared at him for a long time, undecided. Then she gave him a slow nod. "All right, I'll try."
She finished a last bite of bread, put down the water skin, and rose. The sweeper started to move away, thinking they were ready, but then turned back when Ahren made no move to follow. Ryer approached it without speaking, knelt beside it, and put her hands on its rounded metal body, fingertips pressing as her eyes closed. Her pale, ethereal features tightened in concentration, and her face lifted out of the shadow of her silvery hair.
In the next instant, she rocked back sharply on her heels and her slender body went rigid with shock. Ahren started. The sweeper never moved; Ryer Ord Star clung to it, fingertips crooked and head thrown back, eyes closed and arms extended, finding in whatever vision her contact with the sweeper had induced such images that the emotions elicited could be read upon her face, raw and naked and terrible.
She gave a low moan, then sagged, her hands falling away. Right away, without prompting, without even opening her eyes, she began to speak.
"A young man, an Elf, was brought here in chains, battered and broken from a struggle that left his companions dead. His eyes were then gouged out and his tongue removed. He carried Elfstones, gripped so tightly in his hand he could not release them. They were magic and so powerful that they could have freed him had he the will to use them to do so. But his mind was shackled like his body, and he no longer had control over it. Creepers bore him into this place, deep underground, into a chamber filled with machines and blinking lights. He was placed in a chair. Iron cuffs secured him and wires were inserted into his body, carefully inserted beneath his skin by creepers."