Knowledge Protects

by D. S. Williams

  I suspected the end was coming soon. How much longer could we hold out against them? We either came up with a spectacular strategy to defeat the Drâghici, or faced catastrophic failure. No matter how much I disliked the prospect, I needed to face the truth. Goosebumps erupted over my skin. With defeat, nothing would stop Archangelo from—

  I pushed the thought away, shoving it back into the pile of things I refused to think about and after another glance at my sleeping son, I focused on the page I'd been doodling over for the past couple of hours.

  “Well. That's… interesting,” I muttered, studying the entirety of what I'd squeezed onto a sheet of A3 artist's paper. It was a complex mass of pictures, sigils, diagrams, and sketches. Not one thing appeared to match up with another, or have any meaning I could ascertain. I picked up the page to study it closely under the light of the hurricane lantern, and realized that not only did the squiggles and doodles cover every square inch – at some stage, I'd turned the page and filled the other side.

  Nissa unzipped the tent flap, stooping to come inside. “What is interesting?”

  I smiled at her and sat up, cross-legged, brushing my charcoal-coated fingers against my jeans. “You're not supposed to be guarding me – it's night time,” I grumbled.

  “And I don't see Conal anywhere,” Nissa retorted. She settled on the floor, one leg tucked under her bottom, the other bent so she could rest her elbow on her knee. She fisted her hand, tucking it under her chin. She resembled a particularly breathtaking origami. “What's interesting?”

  I huffed out a breath, handing her the paper. “It's not really interesting per se. I was trying to figure out what the hell I've been drawing for the past two hours. It was meant to be a sketch of Patrick.”

  “It is not Patrick,” Nissa announced, studying the paper. “And it is not only drawing, Angel. You have also been writing.” She lay the sheet of paper on the floor between us and pointed to the top left corner of the second side. “You see this? Here?”

  I squinted at the scrawled words, unable to recognize any of them. My handwriting, always terrible, was even worse when I wasn't watching what I was doing. “I don't know what it says.”

  “I do. It's a form of Antique Gnomish.” Nissa studied the words for a couple of minutes and her mouth moved, but no sound escaped from between her lips. She ran her finger down the row of hastily-scrawled nonsense I'd written until she reached the end. “It is a list,” she announced.

  “Excuse me?”

  “A list,” Nissa repeated. “I believe that is what you call it. A grouping of items one wishes to remember.”

  “Yep, that's a list. But what does it say?” I questioned impatiently.

  Nissa lifted her finger back to the top of the page and ran down it line by line, announcing what each word meant as she went. “Sarbon, you know, and Tamekeel. Kontirm is the site of the Dwarves' capital city.” She studied the words for another moment or two. “Pelathrad is the ancestral home of King Keenan and the Fairies original seat of power. Anethnore, Emelsari, and Narraneas are all major cities of the fairies. And those last two…” Nissa pointed to the strange words. “Dhobren is home to the current Gnome King, and Karng'dg is the seat of power for the Red Caps.”

  I waited for a minute, expecting her to explain further, but Nissa seemed immersed in the list. “What does it mean?” I finally spluttered, exasperated by the long silence.

  “I do not know. But these groups; the Fairies, Elves, Gnomes, Dwarves and Red Caps – are the five most powerful races in the Realm.”

  A dozen questions competed for attention, but one bubbled to the surface first. “What's a Red Cap?”

  Nissa shivered delicately. “The most brutal of all Fae races. We avoid them, wherever possible. A warrior-like people, who keep to themselves and would sooner kill you than look at you.”

  I pushed that information to one side, considering the list Nissa was still studying. “Why is there only one name for each of the other groups, but a lot of Fairy names?”

  “The Fairies are currently in power. Our Queen rules over all groups of the Realm, although they do, of course, retain their own sovereigns as leaders of their respective regions. The Fairies have control of most of the cities, which is why I imagine all these places have been recorded.” She thought for another minute. “These are the sites where Fae battalions are barracked throughout the Realm.” When she looked up, her orange eyes were filled with curiosity. “I did not know you had learned any of the Fae languages; certainly, not one as archaic as this.”

  I stared at her for a few seconds. “I didn't.”

  She returned her attention to the page, studying the other drawings. “This appears to be… a wolf?”

  I grimaced. “Not my best effort.”

  “And this here… are these not sigils?”

  I studied them, leaning over to get a better look. The charcoal was smudged, one picture running into the next and where my hand had rested, I'd blurred the symbols further. I tried to separate them out, came up with thirteen unique symbols. “I think they might be.”

  “Do you know which ones they are?” Having only recently been introduced to the sigils, Nissa didn't know them, but she'd started studying them, determined to absorb what each one did.

  I glanced down at what I'd drawn, lifting the lantern to cast greater light. “I don't know. They aren't ones we'd normally use to increase strength or abilities. They aren't healing signals, either.” I reached out to Lucas. “Do you know what this is all about?”

  His response was immediate, his voice clouded with frustration. “I am unable to tell you, my love.”

  I cursed. “Because you don't know, or because you're not allowed?”

  His chuckle echoed through my mind. “I'm sure you know the answer to that question, Charlotte.”

  I turned my attention to Nissa, fully aware that to press further would be a waste of energy. Experience had taught me when I could fight, and when it was easier to find another way.

  Lucas's voice resonated in my mind again. “Remember the passage over the top of Zaen's gate, Charlotte.”

  As quickly as he'd spoken, his voice was gone again, and the gentle murmur of the spirits ebbed and flowed, conversing between themselves. I thought about calling Keenan and Phelan into the tent from outside, but decided against it. If Lucas couldn't give me any more clues, it would no doubt be another waste of time.

  “What is this?” Nissa questioned, pointing towards a blurry figure in one corner.

  I craned my neck to get a better look. “I'm not sure? Another animal maybe, but I don't think it's a wolf.”

  “I am unaware of your earth animals. While I have seen many of the species training here in camp, this does not resemble any of them,” Nissa agreed. “But those over there, they appear to be those large cats… the striped ones.”

  “Tigers,” I said. “I guess that's Ambrose's group.”

  “Ah, yes; a formidable assembly of creatures,” Nissa agreed. “But they seem to have been crossed out.” She pointed to another drawing, just as the tent zipper opened for a second time, and Conal stepped through.

  “Ladies,” he announced with a warm smile, before his gaze fell on the page we'd been poring over. He quirked one dark eyebrow, indicating the paper with a tilt of his chin. “What's this?”

  “I'm not sure,” I admitted, focused on the paper. The cryptic pictures and scrawls meant something, but for the moment, their meaning had me puzzled. “I drew it.”

  Conal crouched beside us, studying the sheet curiously. “They're sigils,” he announced, pointing to the same ones Nissa had.

  “Yes,” Nissa agreed, “although Charlotte does not believe they are any commonly used by your people. “We believe this to be a tiger—”

  “A pitiful sketch,” I muttered, still disgusted, “which is probably why I crossed it out.”

  Conal glanced over at me. “Let's not read too much into that, Sugar.”

  Nissa pointed to the words she'd deci
phered. “These here – they are written in Antique Gnomish. It is a list of the cities in the Realm where detachments of Fae warriors are stationed.”

  “Antique Gnomish?” Conal lifted his gaze from the paper to stare at me, his lips quirked. “When did you learn Antique Gnomish?”

  “I didn't.”

  “What about this?” Conal questioned.

  Nissa leaned closer, squinting in the lamp light. “I believe that is another of your creatures.”

  I studied the drawing, tipping my head to one side. “I think… and it's only a guess… it's some type of big dog.”

  “St. Bernard, maybe? Or a wolfhound?” Conal guessed. He threw me a wry grin. “You're right about one thing – this isn't the best sketch I've seen you draw.”

  “A Newfoundland…” I muttered, ignoring him. “It's a Newfoundland… I think. Jerome Harding and his wife are Newfoundland shapeshifters.”

  Conal whistled, a low sound which made Patrick squirm in his cradle. “You've drawn all this in the past couple of hours?”

  “Apparently. I wasn't aware of what I was doing.”

  Nissa pointed to another group of charcoal scrawls, badly smudged. “This would seem to be another list, but I do not recognize the language.”

  “It isn't English,” Conal announced. “I'm not sure what it is.”

  “Maybe we should go and see Epi,” I proposed.

  ≈†◊◊†◊◊†◊◊†≈

  Five a.m. found a group congregated in the mess, chalkboards Epi had magically produced covered in transposed copies of the original drawings. Every element had been pored over, discussed, and set out on a board for consideration. Along with Conal, Nissa, and Epi, we'd been joined by Goren, Arasinya, Matt, Ben and Rowena, Striker and Marianne. The team assessing the drawings was rounded out by a cross-section of the council, including Bhekimuzi, Thut, Nat Finton, Gabrielle, Ambrose Wilkes, and Joe Reynolds.

  Sitting with Conal, Patrick tucked in his cradle at our feet, I watched the proceedings tiredly, having given up on adding anything constructive to the discussions long ago. I was resting my head against Conal's shoulder, watching Ben and Epi argue over one of the diagrams on the original drawing, while Bhekimuzi, Gabrielle, and Ambrose studied the animal pictures – or at least, what everyone suspected were animals – on a chalkboard. Seeing the smudgy chalk representations of my equally-smudgy charcoal sketches, I glanced up at Conal and grinned. “If we're relying on my drawings to sort this out, we're doomed. They're nearly undecipherable.”

  “If the old man had magicked up whiteboards, rather than chalkboards, we'd be better off,” Conal pointed out with a grin. “But he's too old-fashioned for that.”

  “I heard that,” Epi grumbled, staring at us over the top of his glasses. “If you two have nothing useful to add, I'd suggest you get some sleep.”

  “Nah, I'm good,” Conal said with a yawn, watching as Nonny bustled over with two steaming mugs of coffee and a plate of freshly-warmed pastries. “Besides, you could need us.”

  “Not until we resolve what these pictures are,” Epi said snippily, “and I would imagine you have pack business to deal with, Conal.”

  I lurched upright. “With all this ruckus about the drawings, I forgot to ask – what happened?”

  Conal shook his head, keeping his gaze fixed on a spot over my left shoulder. “Not much.”

  “You didn't resolve anything?” I'd thought Amoux and Nonny might have convinced him to return by now; they were formidable women and Conal respected their opinions.

  Conal leaned forward and kissed me. “Nope. Kenyon's been chosen as prime elder. Nothing else was solved. It's nothing for you to worry about.” His tone brooked no argument, and hurt flashed in his eyes, so I decided to leave it alone for now.

  Matt flopped into a chair opposite us, eyeing the pastries with interest.

  “Help yourself, Dad.”

  He snatched up a pastry and bit into it, closing his eyes and savoring the flavor with a heartfelt “Mmmm, mmm. Good.”

  Jerome limped in, carrying a kidney bowl holding a syringe and some antiseptic wipes and I groaned.

  “You're late,” he grumbled. “You're more than an hour overdue, based on the current ridiculous schedule you're keeping. Doesn't anyone sleep anymore?”

  “Sorry, Jerome. Stuff came up that we weren't expecting,” I admitted, rolling up my sleeve. “But I'm feeling okay.”

  “Not the point.” Jerome studied the four boards, lifting one bushy eyebrow. “Rumors are spreading through the camp; I heard something about a drawing. What's all this?”

  I pointed to the first chalkboard. “That's a list of thirteen new sigils, ones we've never used before. Striker, Marianne and Nat are trying to locate them in Epi's books.” I turned to the second board, where Ambrose, Bhekimuzi, and Gabrielle stood together. “Those are pictures of various— well, we're assuming they're all animals – it's hard to tell – that I've drawn.”

  “Why have some of them been crossed out?” Jerome inquired, dropping the bowl onto the tabletop.

  “We have no idea, but that's what Charlotte had done,” Conal admitted with a grin. “She was having a lousy night, maybe she was crossing them out because they stunk.” He earned himself a sharp dig in the ribs and chuckled good-naturedly, his worry over the pack seemingly pushed to one side. “Sorry, Sugar.”

  “What do the spirits tell you? Any clues?” Jerome questioned.

  “Nope, not a word.”

  “What about that one?” Jerome indicated the third board, where Arasinya, Nissa and Goren stood in a half-circle, studying the words. “It looks like a language.”

  “Because it is,” Matt grinned. “Seems Charlotte has learned herself a little bit of Antique Gnomish – which Nissa could translate – and a little bit of something else, yet to be deciphered.”

  Jerome concentrated on prepping the injection, with the safety cap between his lips, he tapped the side of the syringe, before gently pushing the plunger to extrude excess air. He rubbed an antiseptic wipe over my bare arm, expertly injecting the contents of the syringe into muscle. He popped the safety cap back over the needle, dropping it into the bowl. “What does the Antique Gnomish say?”

  “They're the names of each city in the Realm which serves as headquarters for Fae battalions. The Fae are trying to decide why I'd have written them down, and in a language which hasn't been used for years and years.”

  He pursed his lips, leaning heavily on his cane. “What about that last one?”

  I glanced at the final board, which held a single line of words. 'Permissum totus question templum ostendo suum famulatus ut Nememiah pro ingressus', which none of us had figured out other than the single, obvious word – Nememiah. It appeared to be a different language again, all of ten words including 'Nememiah', so everyone agreed we'd leave it until later to translate, concentrating on the bigger tasks first. “Don't have a clue.”

  Jerome slumped into a chair, offering me a wry smile. “Should have called on me earlier, Lottie.” He pointed at the board. “Latin. Had to learn some in medical school.”

  Conal got to his feet and hurried across to the board. “Can you translate it?”

  Jerome pursed his lips, studying the board. “Some, not all. That word there – suum – it means 'his'.

  Conal snatched up a piece of chalk, scribbling the translation beneath the word. “What else?”

  “ut – 'that', and permissum is easy – it's 'permission'.” Jerome rested his cane between his legs, leaning his hands on it and resting his chin on his hands. “ingressus would be 'enter' and ostendo is 'show'.”

  Epi hurried over, eyes blazing with excitement and he snatched the chalk from Conal. “Of course, of course! I was so busy staring at the tree, I didn't notice the forest! Of course this is Latin; how could I have missed it?” He wrote on the board as he muttered, filling in the gaps Conal had left. “There! 'Let all seeking sanctuary show their allegiance to Nememiah before entering.' It is the information written abov
e the gates of Zaen!” Epi turned toward us triumphantly, as if he'd located the holy grail.

  “That's all well and good, Epi. But what does it mean? We already know—” I squeezed my eyes shut, thinking over what we'd learned and recalling the conversations I'd conducted since then with Nissa, Conal, Epi… Lucas! He'd told me something last night, but I'd grown so tired in the meantime, I'd forgotten all about it. When the thought flashed into my mind, I heard Lucas's voice, filled with pride and a healthy dose of amusement.

  “Well done, my love.”

  “Lucas told me something last night… he said what was written over the gates was important. He couldn't tell me anything else.”

  “But we already know how to operate the gates,” Rowena said, her attention captured by Epi's excitement. One by one, the others drifted nearer, staring at the board, seeming as puzzled as I was about the significance of the message.

  “There must be some implication,” Epi pressed.

  “Maybe there's no meaning to any of it,” I muttered. “It could just be terrible sketches which have nothing to do with anything.”

  “No,” Ben stated, offering me an encouraging smile. “I don't believe that. There is some significance, otherwise the spirits wouldn't be so reticent. This has happened before, when we've been on the cusp of a new discovery. If the spirits aren't telling you anything, I'm certain this,” he waved a hand towards the chalkboards, “is of great significance. They wouldn't be so reticent otherwise.”

  “What do we know about the gate?” Bhekimuzi questioned.

  “It is warded, for want of a better word, by Nememiah's powers. To keep out anyone with demon blood,” Epi explained.