“She wanted a distraction,” Wymarc said through Krea’s lips. The others looked at her. “She wanted to hide her tracks, slow us down.”
“Lyric?” Hana asked in a small voice, looking sick. She gestured at the books. “Why would she destroy such treasures?”
“Because they would teach us how to defeat her,” Krea said, putting a comforting hand on Hana’s shoulder. “She means to keep Meiko for herself.”
And if they are bound too long, she might succeed, Wymarc warned.
How long? Krea asked worriedly.
Weeks, no more than months at best, Wymarc said. Especially if she can call upon spells to speed the bonding up.
Spells?
Horrid things, Wymarc said with a shudder. Krea got the impression that her other half knew from first-hand experience — and decided not to press the issue: Wymarc would tell her in her own good time. Also, if Hana dies or is bound to another twin soul — the connection will break, naturally.
“Collect all the books that we can carry from here and make a list in order,” Nestor said decisively. He paled as three gods, one wyvern, one witch, one mage, and one god-touched girl all gave him affronted looks. Stammering, he added, “I-I m-mean, if that’s all right with you.”
“I think it’s a capital idea!” Reedis exclaimed, clapping Nestor on the shoulder. “Wherever did you come to it?”
“Well, it just seemed sensible,” Nestor allowed. “It was something that first minister Mannevy would say on occasions like this —”
“Does your library burn often?” Ophidian interjected drolly.
“Just the once,” Nestor added, turning red. “After that they wouldn’t let me bring candles in.”
“Ah!” Ophidian said, enlightened. “So from personal experience, then.”
“Father,” Wymarc said through Krea’s lips. “Let the boy speak. He is talking sense.”
“Rare,” Ophidian allowed. Wymarc arched Krea’s eyebrows at him warningly. Krea cringed internally: You’re telling a god what to do!
Get used to it, child, Wymarc told her. Because if we don’t tell him what to do, he’s liable to go off on his own. Krea could feel Wymarc shudder at some memory. And that’s never a good idea.
“We can’t help you,” Vorg said, shrugging with a flick of flame.
“Not unless you want more books ruined,” Veva added ruefully.
Another reason gods don’t read, Wymarc added devilishly.
“Yes,” Nestor said, nodding to them respectfully. “Perhaps it’s best if we let you depart.”
Veva smiled at his choice of words and gently tapped him on the nose, leaving a small red mark. “Well said, lordling, well said.” And the two fire gods disappeared.
“We don’t have to worry about father,” Wymarc said, nodding toward Ophidian. “Fire is only one of his aspects and he can control himself.” Krea could hear the slight emphasis on the word ‘control’. Ophidian allowed her a sardonic look, crossing his arms, and saying, “Besides, gods don’t do menial labor.”
Liar! Wymarc thought to Krea alone. Krea moved to grab the nearest stack of half-destroyed books.
“Do we have any paper?” Nestor asked, looking to the others. “And a pen?”
“I always have paper,” Reedis said, pulling a small notebook from his pocket. “But I can’t carry a pen.” He pulled out a small thin rod from his pocket. “I have this instead.”
“A wand?” Hana said, looking askance.
“A pencil,” Reedis corrected. He passed it to her. “It’s wood wrapped around graphite.”
“Graphite?” Hana said, frowning.
“A particularly hard form of coal,” Ophidian explained. He gave Reedis an approving look. “I hadn’t known you were so capable.”
Reedis shook his head. “I got it from a friend many years ago.”
Nestor frowned at the pencil. “But when the graphite wears down, what do you do?”
“Cut the wood away, sharpen the tip, and continue writing,” Reedis said. He nodded to Hana. “You’re the smallest, can you write?”
Hana smiled and nodded. “My father said it would make me more suitable for the gods.”
“The gods don’t write!” Ophidian growled. Hana flinched at the force of his words but replied meekly, “And wouldn’t you like a twin-soul who could, oh great god?”
Ophidian cocked his head thoughtfully before nodding and smiling at the young girl.
“Can you write Kingspeak?” Nestor asked.
“Kingspeak?” Hana repeated in confusion.
“Of course not!” Wymarc said, frowning at the crown prince. “Why would she write in such a barbaric script?”
“Barbaric?” Nestor said, affronted. “What other script, what other language is there?” He frowned. “It’s clear that Hana speaks my language, or else how could we communicate?”
“You’re in the house of Life and Death,” Ophidian told him with a droll look. “Everyone can understand you here.”
Language is tricky, Wymarc said to Krea in confirmation. Fortunately, I know them all so you won’t have to worry.
“Is that why Ophidian created the twin souls?” Krea asked out loud. “So that they could talk to everyone?”
“No!” Ophidian said hotly, his eyes flaring up. “It had nothing to do with it.”
“It was a happy accident, is all,” Wymarc said, nodding fondly at her father god.
“But if I can understand what she says while we’re here, won’t I be able to understand what she writes as well?” Nestor asked. He was greeted with a stunned silence. Finally, Reedis said, “It’s worth a try.”
Hana, feeling all eyes upon her, took a seat at the center table and started to write the number and title of the first book:
Fire Magic for mages.
“I can read that!” Reedis said. He glanced at the book and his eyes widened. “I can read this too!” He reverently spread open the first mostly-whole page and skimmed it quickly. He pushed it toward Hana. “Can you read this?”
“‘Magic comes from the understanding of the gods’,” Hana read, “‘Fire magic comes from understanding the need of all things to return to their elemental states.’”
“So it doesn’t matter what language the book was written in, it can be read by anyone here,” Nestor said. He turned to the back of the library and headed toward the burnt section purposefully. Krea Wymarc followed him.
Slowly they collected all the books and brought them out to the table, then when there were too many, to the next table and the next. At the end of it all, they counted over a hundred burnt or partly-burnt books.
“And there are ashes of at least a dozen more,” Reedis said sorrowfully as they finished clearing the shelves. He glanced to Ophidian who had chosen to stay with them throughout the whole lengthy task. “My lord god, is there perhaps any knowledge you have that could rebuild the original wood and words from these ashes?”
Ophidian shook his head. “I don’t doubt that one day a witch, mage, sorcerer, or twin-soul might discover some way but I know of none living today or before who had this power.”
“There’s not been that much cause for it,” Wymarc said through Krea.
“It would have helped me in the library,” Nestor muttered ruefully. He glanced up to Reedis. “I would have paid gold for such a spell.”
#
“I’ve never seen the like!” Angus exclaimed when they found the abandoned caravan in one of the stalls in the stables. There were no horses anywhere but several other strange contraptions that, from the look of them, had been abandoned hundreds — if not thousands — of years before.
The caravan had large spoked wheels. The wheels themselves were made of metal and studded. They were mounted on half-springs that attached to the caravan proper. The caravan was painted in brilliant colors. On top was a sma
ll contraption and a smoke stack — Angus decided that it was the engine, although he could see no boiler from where he stood. The caravan was almost twice as tall as a man and many times as long. At the front was a tiller, like on a small boat, which seemed to connect to the front wheels. At the back there were steps up to two wide double doors which could each be opened separately.
The driver’s bench seat was covered in leather and a bright red that seemed to show no signs of wear. There was a blanket — thick and comfy — draped on one arm where Lyric must have thrown it on her arrival. There was a small split door leading back from the front to the cabin inside.
“I’d like to look inside,” Ford said from the back as Angus poured over the front.
Intrigued, Angus climbed up onto the bench seat and pushed open the split door behind it. Peering inside, he expected to see Richard peering back from the other end. Instead, he saw only darkness, illuminated by what little light escaped from outside around him.
“Richard?” Angus called in alarm.
“I don’t know how anyone could sleep here!” Richard’s voice came back dimly. “There’s a great big table and — fresh food! — and books and crafts, tools, too!”
“Where are you?” Angus called.
“Don’t you see him?” Annabelle asked from her position at the middle of the caravan, peering to Richard at the back and Angus at the front.
“No,” Angus said.
“There’s a door up front, you should be able to open it,” Richard called back.
“I have,” Angus said.
“It’s closed, I can see,” Richard told him.
Angus frowned, stepped back, closed the door and opened it again. Inside was a well-lit room with a large bed and many, many large comfortable quilts. It looked like a perfect place to snuggle on a freezing night. A lamp hung at the far end filled the room with a warm light.
“I see a bedroom,” Angus said, glancing to Annabelle who looked at him thoughtfully.
“Try again,” she said.
Angus tried again. This time he got the darkness. He sniffed and crawled inside. He’d smelled coal. And fire.
“Angus?” Annabelle called.
Angus reached up and found a knob. He turned it and suddenly a small storm lantern lit. He glanced around, his jaw dropping in amazement.
“There’s an engine room here! It’s incredible!”
“There’s enough food for an army,” Richard’s voice called back. “Where is this engine room of yours?”
“Both of you get out now!” Annabelle cried. Her voice rose to a shout. “Now, now!”
Angus started to protest but Annabelle cried again. “Richard, Angus! Before it’s too late!”
Angus rushed out of the cabin, back into the light.
“Jump down! Run away!” Annabelle cried as soon as she saw him. “Richard!” she shrieked. “Run!”
Richard broke into a run and followed Annabelle out of the stall and into the long wide corridor of the stables.
“Don’t stop!” Annabelle called over her shoulder, pumping her legs as fast and as hard as she could.
“But —” Richard began.
Whoosh! The sound shook their insides and seemed to both pull and push in on them with some tremendous force. In the distance they heard horrible crashing sounds — like the stables were crashing down all around them.
They kept running, stopping only when they dashed through the door into the main corridor of the House of Life and Death.
Avice met them, her expression grim and furious.
“Really!” she scolded them. “I’ve never had guests behave so —!”
“It was Lyric,” Annabelle gasped out, her hand clutching the stitch in her side. “It was a trap.”
Avice stopped her tirade and took on a faraway look, as though seeing through the walls. “Sybil?” she said. The goddess appeared beside her. “It appears that the stables have suffered a mischief.” Sybil took on the same faraway look and scowled, turning her angry gaze on the three humans.
“It was the murderer, Lyric,” Avice said before Sybil’s look grew more menacing.
“Oh,” Sybil said. “Yes, much in keeping with her ways.”
“What happened?” Richard asked.
“It’s like the caravan turned into a hole and sucked the rest of the stables after it,” Angus said.
Avice and Sybil both gave him a sharp look and asked in unison, “How did you know?”
Angus shrugged. “I could feel it.”
“I felt something, too,” Richard said. “But not like that.”
“Sorcery,” Annabelle said, her fists clenched and eyes flashing. “Dark.”
“Ungodly,” Avice said, turning to Sybil with a sick look on her face.
“Ibb?”
Angus shook his head. “No,” he said even as the two gods glared at him angrily. “He wouldn’t condone such.” As Sybil started to shake her head, he held up his hands defensively. “He’s not like that,” Angus said. “What he wants, I don’t know. But I can’t believe he’d bring destruction here.”
“He wouldn’t be so foolish as to declare a war on Life and Death itself,” Annabelle said in Angus’ support.
“Oh, but he has, dear, he has,” Avice told her with a shake of her head. “For quite some time now, in fact.”
Richard raised his head and met her eyes. “My lady Life, I have met Ibb. I know the quarrel he has with you and your esteemed husband but I do not think he would so bold, so brazen, so disrespectful, and so arrogant as to try to harm your home.” He shook his head, his lips twisted. “He protects homes — this one above all.”
“I believe you are right,” the voice of Terric — who suddenly appeared beside his wife — spoke up. “You, who still owe a reckoning, have the right of it.” He looked at Avice. “This is not Ibb’s doing.”
“But it is the doing of his apprentice,” Sybil said with a sour look. “It will take some time to rebuild the stables.”
“Then it’s just as well we have no livestock at the moment,” Terric said, patting her on the shoulder. “Besides, dear, you were getting a bit stale, admit it.”
Sybil snorted in amusement.
“I think I know how she did it,” Angus said, glancing quickly toward the gods, then away in awe.
“How?” Sybil asked encouragingly.
“The caravan, it had many rooms,” Angus said. “Like it was ensorceled to have the rooms hidden inside each other.”
The three gods exchanged grim looks. Sybil gestured for him to continue.
“I think she caused the rooms to collapse inside each other, creating a hole in the world,” Angus told them.
Sybil closed her eyes, concentrating on the ruin outside. When she opened her eyes again, they were dark and flashing — like they held the stars and lightning inside them. “I think this mage is correct.”
“I’m not a mage, goddess,” Angus said demurely.
Sybil smiled at him. “If you say so.”
Annabelle laughed at his slack-jawed expression and clapped him on the back, “Angus, you should to listen to the goddess. She might know a bit more about such things than you!”
Chapter Five
“I felt it,” Reedis said when Annabelle, Ford, and Angus joined them in the library minutes later. “What happened?”
Angus sniffed and frowned as he spotted all the burnt books. “What happened here?”
“Lyric,” Wymarc said with a frown. “She burnt the books she’s used to learn how to murder Krea and Hana.”
“Didn’t do too well, by the looks of thing,” Angus said, nodding to the two girls.
“She stole Meiko,” Wymarc told him. Angus’ look fell. Wymarc waved the issue aside, saying to him, “And what happened to you?”
“Lyric,” Angus said grimly. “She brok
e Ibb’s magic and managed to crush the caravan.”
“There were at least three rooms all crushed together,” Annabelle added by way of explanation.
“That is very special magic,” Wymarc said, frowning with Krea’s face. “I’m surprised that Ibb loaned it to her —”
“I have a feeling that she betrayed him,” Annabelle said. “Or she played a role to confuse him.”
“Ibb is not very good at reading emotions,” Krea said in unison with Ford. The two exchanged amused looks.
“He’s been trying to rid himself of his for several thousand years now,” Wymarc said with a grimace. “I kept trying to tell him that he was making a mistake…”
“I think he may have learned that,” Ford said to her. “But too late.”
“He thought for the longest time that emotions were the curse of mortality,” Wymarc added in reminiscence. “That if he could banish them, he would live forever.”
Annabelle snorted and shook her head. “He knows nothing of the gods, then!”
“Or too much,” Reedis added with a frown of his own. He glanced toward Angus and his brows furrowed. “Is there more?”
Angus started to shake his head in vigorous denial but Annabelle stopped him with a hand on his wrist and a snort. “Sybil said that he’s a mage!”
“A mage?” Nestor said, looking up from his reading. He jerked as he took in the new arrivals and said, “Who’s a mage?”
“Me,” Angus said, glancing toward Hana fearfully. “The goddess Sybil said so.”
“Well,” Nestor said matter-of-factly, “wouldn’t you have to be to handle those infernal engines?”
“And you were apprenticed to Rabel,” Wymarc added with a sniff.
“And Ibb recommended you, didn’t he?” Krea added in her own voice.
“He was always good at spotting talent,” Wymarc added sagely.
Reedis and Ford exchanged looks and the mage said to the former captain, “You know, I actually had no trouble following that, strange though it seems.”
“Following what?” Nestor said, looking at the mage in confusion.
“When Wymarc speaks and when Krea speaks,” Reedis explained.
Twin Soul Series Omnibus 2: Books 6-10 Page 9