“I will be the stone, and you will hurl me toward the fortress,” Abraham said. “Picture the two tall poplars in the grove behind the keep as the prongs of a giant sling. The poplar standing farther back will be the leather pouch where the stone rests. I’ll curl myself into a fetal shape, and you will wrap me in something soft and rubbery so that I form a sphere. Then you’ll release the stretched band, and—hop!—I’ll be launched straight into the stronghold.”

Mark frowned.
“That might work… but if the ground is hard where you land, you could break every bone in your body.”

“I noticed something that day,” Abraham replied. “Behind the keep, Lord keeps an enormous open-topped hay store for his lambs. If I fall into that pile, the hay will soften my landing.”

After discussing it further, Abraham realized that the material wrapping his body had to be extremely light so it would not weigh him down as he dropped toward the stronghold. He even decided to lose a little weight. Once curled into the fetal position, they would surround him with a layer of light goose feathers and wrap that in a thin hide, forming a sphere.

He had considered attaching a small reed for breathing inside the sphere, but since the entire flight—from launch to impact—would last less than a minute, he decided it would not be necessary.

They decided that the two poplars standing twenty meters from the stronghold were perfectly suited for their plan. They fixed a thick, heavy band of rubber between the trunks, three meters apart, slightly above mid-height. Behind these two, they secured the third poplar with large springs to increase the launching force.

They set up the entire mechanism under the cover of night, intending to put it to use immediately—slipping Abraham into the stronghold without being seen or rousing the guards’ suspicion.

They calculated every detail, determining—through careful mathematics—how much tension the stretched rubber could bear, how much weight it could launch, and how far it would propel the sphere. Since the mechanism rested slightly higher than the stronghold wall, they did not need to aim upward—but their calculations showed that the sphere had to be positioned at about a thirty-degree incline for maximum distance.

To test the accuracy of their design, they performed a trial launch elsewhere on the island. When the feather-lined sphere carrying Abraham landed exactly where they intended—and when he emerged without the slightest injury—the two young inventors exchanged a triumphant look.

“This will work,” they said in unison.

Mark, grinning, raised an eyebrow.
“All right, we can fling you straight to the target… but what about the men watching from atop the wall? They’ll see a giant ball flying over their heads. And once you're inside, how do you plan to open that thick dungeon gate with its massive lock?”

Abraham had to admit Mark was right. Even if they managed to draw the men’s attention to the front of the château, that door and its lock didn’t look like something that could be broken easily. Even a sledgehammer might fail to crack it. Mark decided to answer his own questions with the banana-shaped object he pulled from his pocket.

“What you’re looking at is called a mine,” he said. “And this string-like thing is the fuse. Once you light it, it explodes fifteen or twenty seconds later. Everything within a few meters—dust. Including an iron lock.”

Abraham suddenly remembered the three strange objects Mark had stolen from the outsiders. Mark must have noticed from Abraham’s expression, for he felt compelled to speak:

“I told you—I didn’t steal for myself, but for mankind.”

Abraham frowned.
“And how do you even know what this thing does? Isn’t this the first time you’ve ever seen such a device? Unless… unless you know those men?”

Mark burst into an irritating little laugh.
“When all this is over, I’ll explain everything. You won’t die of curiosity until then, I hope. Anyway, I’m going to use one of these mines as a demonstration—but we need a lonely spot by the lake so we don’t start a fire.”

They decided that the gap between two enormous boulders near the lakeside was the best place. After lighting the fuse, Mark dashed back to the rock where Abraham was waiting. A heartbeat later, the mine erupted with a thunderous roar, reducing both boulders to dust and smoke.

The two brave friends were stunned by the sheer force of the explosion; for a moment, they nearly swallowed their tongues. Only after a short while did they manage to shake off their astonishment, muttering, “Wow…” The sound had not been heard by them alone—most of the island’s inhabitants had heard it as well. Some took it for a volcanic eruption; others, as a sign of divine wrath. For the first time, Lord felt a sting of fear in his heart. The echo of that blast seemed like an omen—perhaps a warning that the throne he clung to was beginning to crumble beneath him. He sensed that the threat drawing near was growing larger with each passing day.

They decided to use one of the two remaining dynamites to blow open the undersanctum door, and the other to divert the attention of Lord’s men.

“We couldn’t ask for anything better,” Abraham said. “If we set it off someplace flammable, the explosion will be followed by fire—and the blaze will light up the whole area. A spectacle of sound and light!” He looked at Mark with hopeful eyes. The launching mechanism and the mines were ready; so were all the details of how Abraham would reach the château’s hay store, descend to the undersanctum after landing, and, once the blast drew everyone’s attention, slip into the secret passage so they could escape without losing a second.

Petrus knew Abraham was plotting something. He wanted to prevent new trouble and planned to keep him away from Mark and from the château by saying they had work to do in the woods the next morning. He believed Abraham was asleep in his room—but the young inventor had already set his plan in motion.

When the shroud of darkness had fully settled over the land, they set their plan into motion. At the hour when everyone had returned from their fields to rest in their homes, a great explosion echoed from the green grounds surrounding the château. Lord, already restless from the growing defiance around him, felt his unease sharpen. Unable to understand what had happened, he barked orders at his men to find the source of the blast.

From atop the tall poplar within the grove, Abraham and Mark watched the château. Hearing their friend’s mine explode, they exchanged a look of grim satisfaction.

“Let’s hope he listened,” they thought silently, “and set it off somewhere truly deserted.”

When they saw Lord’s men rushing out of the château toward the site of the explosion, they knew the second phase of their plan could begin. The stretched rubber and the great wooden spring stood ready. Abraham signaled that he was prepared, lowered his head into the padded sphere, and curled himself into the fetal position. Mark stitched the edges of the leather casing tightly so the feather-filled sphere would not burst open in mid-air.

Seeing that no guards stood along the château wall facing the grove, Mark cut the rope holding the massive sling taut. The sphere tore through the air with a sharp hiss, hurtling forward at tremendous speed. Mark watched it arc like a stone from a giant’s sling—but he could not see exactly where it landed. Still, no scream or cry followed, and that silence told him the coordinates had been true: Abraham had struck the hay-filled loft exactly as planned.

Abraham had fallen into the hayloft exactly as planned. Because the friction of the hay was low, he did not stop immediately—he slid forward and struck the wooden beams surrounding the loft. Fortunately, his speed had not been too great, and since he hit with his feet, he was only dazed for a moment before regaining himself. Once he gathered his strength, he stretched, tore through the weakened stitches, and managed to crawl out of the sphere.

Lifting his head cautiously above the hay, he saw no one around. He slipped out of the loft and, looking westward, found before him the mosaic-floored corridor his father had once described.

Walking on the tips of his toes, he crept along until the garden passage ended at a door. Realizing it wasn’t barred, he exhaled in relief. He had a mine that could blow the door apart, but using it now would cost precious time and risk drawing Lord’s soldiers. He opened the door silently and, though he couldn’t see much in the dimness of night, the distant voices told him that the guards were still stationed at the château’s main entrance.

He recognized this corridor from his previous visit. Turning quietly to the right, he took a few careful steps and slipped into the château itself. Finding the door open and avoiding any noise felt like a stroke of fortune. From here, he knew the way. The voices drifting from above told him Lord was speaking with a few of his men on the upper floors. Moving in silence, Abraham descended the stairs into the cellar passage and reached the undersanctum on his right. Leaning toward the small barred opening, he whispered inside:

“Odessa, Melisa—are you there?”

At the same time, he glanced toward the end of the cellar corridor, trying to spot the passage his father had spoken of. After detonating the mine, he would never make it through the crowd of guards gathered above; escaping through the main entrance of the château was impossible. He had to find that passage. As these thoughts churned in his mind, a voice that could change the rhythm of his heartbeat reached him—Melisa.

“Abraham, we’re here!”

Part of him had hoped to hear something else—my savior, my hero, or some other tender whisper hinting at closeness. He scolded himself for the thought, muttering inwardly, Silence!, then called out:

“Who’s in there with you?”

“Odessa, and the men from outside,” she answered. Then she asked, “Did you two steal those things the men call mines from their pockets?”

Abraham remembered Mark’s answer and replied with a grin:

“We didn’t steal them—only borrowed them. And I’ve come to return them,” he said, sweeping his hand as if brushing aside a trivial detail. “Never mind that now. I’m going to blast the thick lock with one of these mines. During the explosion, shards of the door or wall might fly your way. Find a place where you can shield yourselves.”

One of the men, having heard everything, called out:

“We’ll use the mattress on the floor as a shield. If you use the smaller one, it won’t harm us at all—its blast radius won’t reach this far.”

Not wanting to waste a second, Abraham began searching for the entrance to the secret passage. He walked all the way to the end of the corridor, just as his father had described, but found neither a door nor anything resembling one. Only a flat, empty wall stood before him. Looking down revealed nothing either—until he held his torch farther forward and examined the ground more carefully. Then he noticed the moss. The rectangular outline made by the moss told him that this section was a separate slab.

Digging his fingers into the damp moss, he managed—slowly and with effort—to loosen the stone and lift it aside. Beneath it, he saw that a person could easily pass through and reach the tunnel below by a short stairway. When he lowered his head into the opening, he realized the passage was high, wide, and very long.

Leaving the entrance open, Abraham hurried back to the undersanctum door.

“Get ready—I’m setting it off!”

He lit the fuse of the smaller mine he had taken from his pocket, then retreated to the far end of the corridor to avoid any flying fragments. The mine exploded with a deafening roar, filling the entire passage with dust and smoke. He doubted the lock could have survived such force, yet he still watched anxiously, waiting for the prisoners to emerge from the thinning cloud.

Through the thinning cloud of dust, Abraham saw a man emerge—dark-skinned, brown-eyed, black-haired—and in his arms he carried a girl with golden hair. For a moment, the man seemed almost radiant, as if light spilled around him. Abraham realized the feeling came not from the man’s skin, but from the relief of knowing the plan had worked. From the man’s features, he understood this was Noah, just as Mark had described. And although he could not yet see the girl’s face, the cascade of blonde hair told him all he needed to know.

“Odessa… it must be her,” he murmured.

He remembered her mother’s words—that the girl feared closed spaces. Melisa had known it too; that was why she had thrown herself into the dungeon, so Odessa would not face confinement alone. Seeing that the explosion had left no wound on Odessa’s body, Abraham felt some of the weight lift from his chest. Waving urgently, he called to Noah:

“Go! Quickly—into the tunnel!”

Noah, still wide-eyed and unsure of what to say, jumped down into the passage first, then reached up and gathered Odessa into his arms once more. Right behind them, Melisa appeared, and Abraham guessed that the man beside her must be Seth. The dust was settling fast; their time was nearly gone. With the blast they had caused, Lord’s men could arrive at any moment.

Unlike Noah, Seth seemed concerned only with saving himself. Without the slightest regard for Melisa, he plunged headfirst into the opening like a man diving into the sea. Abraham bristled at his selfishness, but kept his expression calm. He caught Melisa just in time, keeping her from tumbling painfully down the steps. To his own surprise, he felt a quiet satisfaction at having done so. When Melisa turned back and thanked him with a soft smile, his focus flickered for a heartbeat.

Because of that heartbeat, he did not sense Lord’s soldiers approaching.

He threw himself toward the tunnel entrance, but just as he bent to slip inside, he turned his head to the left—and saw a bow drawn tight, an arrow aimed directly at him. At this distance, it would take no effort at all for the archer to kill him. Not wanting to provoke the man, Abraham slowly raised his hands in surrender.

From the man’s stare, Abraham understood the arrow would be released. The archer was just about to let go when Abraham saw Lord step into view. First he looked at Abraham, then struck the man’s arm. The arrow snapped free with a sharp whiiit and grazed Abraham’s ear. Snatched from death by a breath, Abraham threw himself into the tunnel and fell forward in panic before scrambling to his feet and running.

Noah, carrying Odessa in his arms, tried to steady Abraham as he limped forward. Melisa held the torch high, lighting the path ahead, while Seth had already darted into the darkness like a man fleeing for his life.

Abraham’s thoughts were still fixed on the tunnel entrance—on how close death had come. But that was not what troubled him most. What shook him was the fact that Lord had saved him. How could a man as cruel as Lord spare his life, especially at the cost of a moment that might bring his entire reign crashing down?

Noah was saying something to him, but Abraham could not quite understand the words. Yes, Noah was speaking in their tongue, but the unusual rounding of his words made it clear he had learned the language later in life.

Still, Abraham understood what he meant when Noah pointed first to the mine in Abraham’s pocket, then behind them. The echoing footsteps made the message even clearer: Lord’s soldiers were closing in fast. From the rhythm and the authority in the stride, Abraham sensed that Lord himself was among the men.

As they rounded a bend in the tunnel, he shouted with all his strength:

“Don’t come any closer! I’ll blow it up—the tunnel will collapse!”

From the rising smoke, Lord’s men understood that Abraham had not been bluffing. Lord abruptly halted his soldiers and ordered them to fall back. Meanwhile, Abraham kept running as far as he could, hoping not to be caught beneath the part of the tunnel that would collapse. When the tunnel finally gave way with a deafening roar, the cloud of dust was so thick that they could see nothing—but the fact that they were still able to run told them they had escaped the debris.

Covering their noses and mouths with one hand, the fugitives steadied themselves by brushing the wall with the other. Noah shielded his own face—and Odessa’s—from the swirling dust. From the ragged breaths Melisa drew behind him, Abraham could tell she was exhausted yet still on her feet. Now certain his companions were unharmed, he thought to himself:

“Cruel Lord—whatever reason you had for sparing my life, I repaid it by warning you about the collapse. We’re even now. I owe you nothing, and I accept no gratitude.”

First the dust began to clear, and then, faint but certain, came the croaking of frogs. The sound told them they were nearing the exit. When they realized the dim glow ahead was moonlight, they understood they were saved—only to trip over something on the ground and tumble forward.

From the voice that followed, Abraham was sure he had heard it correctly:

“Why in damnation did I ever come to this cursed island?”