Escape From Riddler's Pass by Amy Green Page B

Silas,” Jesse said, exasperated.
    â€œI know,” Silas snapped. He handed the stone to Noa, who stared at the symbol carved into it.
    â€œMy father spoke of the Rebellion,” he said. “In the old days, he was part of the representer clan, which dealt with the Above-grounders. The Patrol members hated the Rebellion, I remember that much.”
    â€œWith good reason,” Silas said bitterly.
    Noa didn’t seem to hear him. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “There was one story my father used to tell. I remember it, because it was one of my favorites. He overheard a Patrol member talking one day, telling of a fellow Patrol who had gone mad and spoke of a place in the mines where there were traps and secret tunnels. He described it as ‘the place where the fist pounds the mountain.’”
    â€œThe fist?” Rae asked, sounding confused.
    â€œYes, that’s what the other Patrol member thought too. He described the man’s ravings as a hilarious joke, and apparently thought nothing of them. My father thought differently. He knew of a place fitting the crazed Patrol’s descriptions.”
    â€œHow?” Jesse asked.
    Noa shrugged. “Our people created these mines, nearly all of them. The first one was poorly planned, full of twists and turns and dead ends, deep in the heart of the mountains. It was mined of anything useful and abandoned generations ago. My father always believed that was the place the man spoke of.”
    â€œBut what does that have to do with the Rebellion?” Silas pressed.
    â€œOf course,” Noa said, like he had forgotten. “The man also repeated the phrase, ‘The Riddler’s Pass. The riddler and the Rebellion.’” Noa smiled slightly. “My father told the story well, imitating the man’s crazed words. But, though I found the story amusing, Riddler's Pass does not sound like a place hospitable to visitors.”
    A mild statement . “So their headquarters are somewhere in the Deep Mines,” Jesse mused out loud.
    â€œYes,” Noa agreed. “About half a day’s journey from here, in fact, if I remember correctly.”
    â€œThen you know where the headquarters are?” Silas demanded, his voice rising in excitement. “Why didn’t you tell us before?”
    â€œYou didn’t ask before,” Noa said, shrugging. “You asked what I could tell you about the Rebellion—its history. Its location is something to be looked up in a book of maps, not something to be told about. There is a difference.”
    â€œYou have a book with a map of the Rebellion headquarters?” Silas asked in amazement.
    Noa nodded. “The mountains are our home. You Above-grounders are newcomers here. In the old days, we had every ravine and crevice diagrammed. I am perhaps the only one who remembers.”
    â€œWhy haven’t you done anything with it? Told anyone?”
    â€œWho would I tell?” Noa pointed out. “No one Above-ground knows we exist—besides you, of course. No one here cares. And besides, how do I know this Rebellion is evil?”
    â€œThey killed my father,” Silas said in a dull, dead voice. “He was a priest, shot in an attempt by the Rebellion to murder the governor’s steward. He was innocent—killed for no reason. What could be more evil than that? The king may do wrong, but it cannot compare to the evil of the Rebellion.”
    â€œWho are you to judge that?” Noa asked. “Is the evil that destroyed my mother and my people greater than the evil that destroyed your father?” His eyes, though squinting, seemed sharper as he stared at Silas.
    Silas didn’t answer. He just stared straight ahead, unblinking.
    Without another word, Noa crossed over to the cluttered desk on the other side of the room and began rustling through papers and books. “I can’t recall where it might be. Never added to it myself, you