The disciple of the Sacred Realm—the realm said to be the home of all the gods—bowed. “Welcome to you, Realmist. We have waited many years for your arrival. Please follow me.” Surprised at the ease with which they were accepted, Arcon and Avruellen breathed relieved sighs.
As they made their way to the monastery, Sinjenasta spoke to Fang. How goes it, my little friend?
Fang, surprised at the sudden attention from the usually aloof panther, nervously cleaned his whiskers as he peeked out of Blayke’s bobbing pocket. He looked across at Sinjenasta who walked a few feet behind. I’m well, thank you, Sinjenasta. To what do I owe the pleasure of this conversation?
I wanted to get your opinion on something.
Yes?
What do you think about Blayke’s new girlfriend?
Fang paused, wondering how much he should tell the panther and if there was any way he could use the information against him later. He decided it would be safe to confide—they were on the same side, after all. She’s certainly smitten with him, and I think the feeling is mutual….
But?
But, there’s something I don’t trust.
That’s the general consensus with everyone else. I think Blayke’s the only one who can’t see it. Have you seen anything in particular?
Not really, but I’ll keep my eyes out. I’m glad it’s not just me. I don’t think it’s wise to say anything to Blayke just yet—he wouldn’t believe us without proof.
No, of course not.
Flux interrupted, Sorry to butt in, but I’ll give you my two whiskers’ worth. I think she’s a bit silly, but Avruellen hates her.
Hates is a strong word, but I haven’t known Avruellen to overreact about anything, mused Sinje.
Ha, you should see her when people don’t do what she says. Flux joked, and the creaturas laughed.
Fang looked at Avruellen, knowing she couldn’t hear, but worried nonetheless. Okay then. I’ll let you know as soon as I find out anything.
He turned around to see they were almost at the entrance of a sprawling, squat complex that glowed white, even in the dim light. Several domes roofed the attached buildings, and timber shutters stood open at the many square windows, allowing the cool night air inside.
They entered a stone-paved courtyard through a creaking timber door, crossed the expanse, and entered another door that opened into a low-ceilinged foyer that barely held the large party. A woman waited. Standing taller than even Blayke, a brown robe covered her thin frame, and her white hair was twisted into a bun on the crown of her head. Their guide placed his hands together in front of his chin and dipped his torso in a slight bow. “Thank you, Steen. Please see that their rooms are ready.” She turned to Arcon and Avruellen. “Welcome to our cloister. My name is Fiora. We’ve been expecting you.”
“That’s good to hear. I’m Avruellen, and this is Arcon.” Avruellen gestured towards her brother. “Would I be able to bother you for a cup of tea?” Arcon looked at Avruellen as if she’d asked for a bucket of slops to be poured on her head. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, old man! Discussions are always more palatable when enacted over a cup of tea and a biscuit; isn’t that right, Bronwyn?”
Bronwyn nodded, remembering the last time she had eaten Avruellen’s biscuits—the day they had left home. She sighed.
“Indeed, Avruellen. I’m sure the table has already been set for you to break your fast. Dawn is approaching. Please follow me.” Her smile was warm, and Bronwyn admired her elegant movements as she glided out of the room.
They were shown to a modest dining room with two plain timber tables. Upon closer inspection, the low-backed chairs were speckled with signs of age: nicks and small flecks of different colored paints. Blayke noticed a subtle scent of musk under the stronger tang of the ocean. When they sat, Corrille sat next to him. He got a tingly feeling in his stomach when her arm brushed his. She edged her chair even closer, and he felt her hand rest on his leg. When he raised an eyebrow at her, she giggled. He shook his head and whispered in her ear, “You're going to get me into trouble.”
“No one can see. Stop being such a spoilsport.”
“I just feel uncomfortable. It’s okay when we’re alone, but not in front of everyone. Please?” She frowned but took her hand away. “Thank you.”
Ever since he had rescued her and Bronwyn, she hadn’t left his side. He liked how it felt to hold her small hand in his and although he had kissed a girl before, this was different—his heart raced and he felt like he was losing control. He’d had to go to the deck more than once for fresh air. He wondered if this is what it felt like to fall in love. Suddenly he wished her hand was still on his thigh.
A rattling of plates preceded the smell of bacon as two young, robed men entered with trays of food. Blayke saw Corrille smile at one of them. The black-haired acolyte blushed, and Blayke felt jealousy squash a heavy hand around the butterflies that had been playing in his stomach.
Bronwyn, sitting across from them, watched with interest. She’d been busy admiring the dark-haired serving boy, thinking how vivid his blue eyes were, but when he had finally noticed Bronwyn, Corrille turned her attention on him. Bronwyn spoke into Sinjenasta’s mind, What is she playing at? Isn’t one man enough?
What are you talking about? He and Flux sat on the floor behind Bronwyn, waiting for their food.
Corrille. She’s all over Blayke but now she has eyes for that other guy. Bronwyn folded her arms, wondering if Corrille was doing it just to annoy her, or if she was just desperate for everyone’s attention. Corrille had suffered an awful childhood, but Bronwyn had always been nice to her and didn’t deserve to be treated this way. Is this how all friends behave?
No, certainly not. I would tell you you’re better off without her, but you probably won’t listen.
But she’s my friend; we’ve always done everything together. She’s just upset because of everything that’s been happening. I bet she’ll go back to normal soon. Bronwyn spooned grilled tomatoes onto her plate.
If you say so, but I seem to recall having this conversation already. Now, where’s my breakfast? I’m starving. Sinjenasta twitched his whiskers and sniffed the air.
The lad in question walked to Bronwyn’s side of the table and offered her a plate with just-baked bread. The realmist took a piece and smiled, staring into his eyes: she knew it wasn’t polite, but she couldn’t help it. Shyly, she said, “Thank you.”
His answering grin made her want to melt under the table. “My pleasure.”
Suddenly she wasn’t hungry. Her gaze accidentally met Corrille’s over the expanse of the food-laden table, and her smile vanished: Corrille’s eyes smoldered with hate. Blayke broke the spell by asking her a question, and Bronwyn had no doubt he remained oblivious to what had just happened. She hoped her brother wasn’t lost to her; they had only just started to know each other, and family was something she had craved her whole life.
Bronwyn spoke to Sinjenasta, who was noisily tearing through two chickens. This is all my fault. If I hadn’t run off and been kidnapped, Corrille wouldn’t be here now.
Don’t be like that, cub. She’s not that bad. You can’t be serious that you’d rather she was fed to the gormon?
No, I suppose not. She reddened and looked at her plate, realizing how ridiculous she sounded.
Now, do you mind? I’m trying to eat.
Bronwyn turned to look at him. Sinjenasta did his best let me eat or you’ll regret it look, but Bronwyn burst out laughing.
What’s so funny?
You have feathers on your nose. You are such a messy eater. Sinjenasta pawed at his nose in an attempt to dislodge the offending plumage. Bronwyn was sure if a panther could blush, he would have. He turned his back to her, and she heard a bone snap as he chomped down with purpose.
Arcon set his knife and fork down. “I think we’ll need all hands on deck today. We have to find this book in a hurry and as much as I’d like to think we will, knowing our luck, we probably won’t. No one kno
ws the full name of the book, but we do know one word: almanac.”
“One word?” asked Bronwyn.
“Yes, my dear,” answered Avruellen. “Why do you think I’ve been trying to get you to learn patience all these years? I’ve found nothing worth doing is easy.” Avruellen looked at Corrille. “And I think while we’re searching, Corrille can help our hosts since we’re a bit of a drain on their resources.” Bronwyn suppressed a smile at Corrille’s scowl—Corrille had been openly unfriendly to Avruellen since her return and wasn’t about to start being subtle now. Blayke noticed his sister’s reaction.
When they reached the library, Blayke, with Fang cozily ensconced in his pocket, spoke to his sister. “What was that smile about at breakfast?”
She looked at him. “What smile?”
“When Arcon said Corrille couldn’t help us. Well?” His cranky expression was one Bronwyn had never seen.
“You really want to know?” He nodded. “Okay then. Ever since you and Corrille met, I’ve hardly spoken to you. She’s always practically in your lap, and neither of you include me in anything. Is it wrong for me to want some time with my brother? We’ve practically only just met, and already I feel like you don’t care. Didn’t you ever want a brother or sister? I know I did.”
“She’s not practically in my lap.”
Bronwyn raised an eyebrow, and Blayke was reminded of Avruellen. Blayke’s cheeks and neck heated to red. “It’s not my fault she’s like that. Anyway, I like her; she’s nice. I also feel sorry for her; she told me your aunt picked on her.”
“She’s your aunt too, and yes, they didn’t get along, but it wasn’t all Avruellen’s fault. Look, I’m just asking to be included. Do you want me to be your sister or not?”
“Of course I do. I’m just used to being by myself. What do brothers and sisters do, anyway?”
“I’ll tell you what they do,” interrupted Arcon. “They argue, fight, and sometimes be nice to each other—and they stick together. The other thing they do is what their superiors ask them to.” The young realmists rolled their eyes. “Well, there’s something you two have in common. Now off you go. Blayke, you start in that corner, and Bronwyn, in that one.” Arcon pointed to their respective corners. “When you find something that looks like it could be the book, add it to my pile over there.” He nodded at a long, polished wooden table, which sat next to a thick support pillar in the middle of the room. Bronwyn looked up the length of the pillar to the high ceilings lined with dark, stately beams. She breathed in air that encompassed the slow decay of thousands of leather-bound books and wished that was enough to gain knowledge.
Bronwyn approached her corner of the green-carpeted room, sat on the floor, and ran her fingers along the spines of each dusty book on the bottom shelf. When she stretched her neck out by tipping her head back, she despaired at ever finding the right book: a wall of tomes rose to the ceiling—shelf upon shelf of red, green, black, orange, blue, engraved with gold, silver, sometimes black. Millions of words, stories, spells, histories, and futures—Bronwyn marveled at how so many worlds could be condensed into one room.
Trying to ignore the feeling of being overwhelmed, she leaned close and began what she hoped wouldn’t be a fruitless search. Bronwyn could practically feel the gormons’ hot breath on the back of her neck. She read as fast as she could.
***
Arcon leaned back in his chair, arms slumped by his side. If someone had told him how many books had the word “Almanac” in their titles, he never would have believed them. He had skimmed over one-hundred books using Second Realm magic. He envisaged the words amulet, gormon, and activation. The power highlighted each word with a yellow glow to make them easy to find, but he still had to leaf through every page of every book and read sentence after sentence wherever the highlighting occurred. If he ever wanted to cast a spell to make a gormon itchy, a burnt meal taste good (which would come in handy considering his culinary skills), or make an amulet for casting fertility over a flock of sheep, he was set—but he had yet to find the book he needed.
He rubbed the back of his aching neck. “What? Tired already?” Avruellen stood next to him with an armful of volumes. She dropped them onto the table, the thump startling Blayke and Bronwyn out of their searching trances. “I think we should have a break. We’ve forgotten about lunch, and I’m sure it’s almost time for dinner. We won’t last long if we don’t eat.”
She placed an encouraging hand on Arcon’s arm.
“Yes, you’re right, but we’re really running out of time. We only have until tomorrow night.” Adrenalin shot through his stomach as he considered the consequences of failing. He swallowed.
Before Arcon could refuse the break, Fiora swept in and announced dinner was being served in half an hour. “I’ve had baths drawn for the ladies; the men will have to wait until after dinner to clean up. I hope that’s okay.”
Avruellen nodded. “Thank you, Fiora. I’m sure the men don’t mind being dirty; I, on the other hand, would love to be free of this oily coating of dust. Come on, Bronwyn.”
Bronwyn climbed down from the ladder where she was inspecting the sixth-level shelf, brushed the dust off her pants and followed Avruellen out.
Arcon rose and called to Phantom who had been preening himself while perched on one of the beams, two stories above. The owl swooped down and alighted on Arcon’s shoulder.
Do you think we’ll make it? asked the creatura.
Arcon, afraid to answer, shrugged. “I think we have a long night ahead.”
We? You mean you have a long night ahead. I’m going outside to catch some mice; all this waiting has made me quite peckish.
Blayke, who had also dusted himself off, joined the conversation. “So that’s where that word comes from.”
Which word? asked Phantom.
“Peckish. Birds get peckish, as in they get hungry enough to peck for food. If you say it enough, it sounds weird. Peckish, peckish, peckish.”
“Will you shut up, Blayke? And that was a rhetorical question, in case you were wondering. Gods, now I have two idiots to put up with.”
Hey, old man, who are you calling an idiot? I’m wiser than you, or hadn’t you heard? Phantom thudded a wing into Arcon’s ear.
“All right, all right. Go easy. That’s no way to treat an old man.” Arcon winked. “Come on, let’s go and eat.”
***
Bronwyn, sick of watching Blayke and Corrille fawn all over each other at dinner, ate quickly and excused herself by saying she wanted to keep sorting through books. When she entered the hushed library, she didn’t notice she had company. Reaching her section, she was about to climb the ladder-on-wheels and looked up to see a brown-robed person standing on the rungs. She was relieved to see he was wearing trousers underneath the robe. “So that’s what monks wear under their dresses.”
“Only on a work day. You’re lucky you didn’t get me on a feast day.” The dark-haired acolyte looked down at Bronwyn and grinned.
“So, what are you doing in here?”
“Fiora asked me to help. She said it’s urgent and if you don’t find what you need, we’ll all be dead before too long.”
“Wow. She’s not into subtlety, is she?”
“Not really. I should be able to speed things up—I’ve been here for five years, and I’ve read a few of these books. I think I can narrow it down a bit.”
Bronwyn looked around the room at the thousands of books. “I hope you’re a fast reader; there’s a lot of books here.”
“There was one in particular I think would help. It may not be the book you have to have, but I think it sheds some light on what’s going on. Give me a minute and I’ll get it.” He pulled the ladder along by grabbing the shelves and dragging it across its tracks. After checking a few covers, he said, “Here it is.”
The book he grabbed had a linen cover, woven with threads of gold and fawn. He scrambled down awkwardly with the large volume and carried it to the table. “A Complete History of the Realm
s. It’s got some interesting background on the gormons and what caused the war in the first place. Some here say it’s true—others say it’s myth.”
“And what do you believe?” Arcon had quietly entered, his eyes shining in the subdued torchlight, bright with a hope Bronwyn hadn’t seen for a while.
“I believe it’s true.”
“What’s your name, lad?”
“Toran, sir.”
“Well, Toran, let me have a read of this book: A Complete History of the Realms. I would have thought that would be one of a many-volume set. How will I find what I need in here?” Arcon ran a forefinger over the course surface.
“I think you’ll find it’s a special book. Everything you want to know about the history of Talia is in there. We’re not allowed to talk about it to outsiders, except you of course. It’s a book that would, what’s the right word … upset a few people, and maybe some dragons too. This book could start wars.”
“If it has everything you say it does, I wouldn’t debate that.” Arcon cautiously opened the cover, not sure what to expect. Phantom, sensing his partner’s tension, flew in through one of the windows, and the realmist automatically put his arm up so the owl could land.
Bronwyn, Arcon, and Phantom crowded around the weighty tome. The front page declared A Complete History of the Realms, commenced three centuries after the Gormon War. “That’s unusual,” said Bronwyn. “That sounds like it hasn’t been finished, but that’s impossible.”
“Just wait and see,” said Toran, his sapphire-blue eyes meeting hers, lingering longer than necessary. Arcon turned to page one and saw the story started some five-thousand years before the Gormon War. He quickly read the page and flicked it over. “This doesn’t match up!” he declared. “We’ve barely had an introduction and now we’ve jumped ten years.”
“Let me show you.” Toran stood next to Arcon, turned back to the first page, and placed his finger on the bottom of the page. He traced his finger up the page and the words followed.
“What in the Third Realm? You didn’t use any power. How did you do that?” Arcon bent over until his nose almost touched the paper. “That’s incredible. Okay; leave me to it. I have a lot of reading to do.” He straightened and looked at the youngsters. “I need you to find the other book. As interesting as this one is, it won’t save us if we can’t activate those damn amulets tomorrow night. We’re almost out of time.”
A Time of Darkness (The Circle of Talia) Page 13