“As for the other half of our worries, I do not know. I believe the traitor’s success hinges on finding the Mageborn Books, so we’ve placed our focus on preventing them from finding a set.”
Analindë nodded in agreement, then poured herself a fresh cup of tea. “And the Mageborn Books, have we located a set that we can use?”
“No; however, we have unearthed much speculation as to which families were believed to have them. Those families now search their libraries in haste. Mages and historians in the Mountain City, the Forest Glade, the Eastern Desert City, and up in the Northern Hills have commenced the search, without luck so far.
“It is written that the books will only show themselves to the elve they claim as their own, that they hide themselves from strangers. But therein lies the problem. How does one find a book that hides?” He finished his roll and started on another.
“How do the books choose who they belong to?”
“They pick among the descendants of the original family to whom they were gifted and whoever has added to it. Yours would have had such a copy and it would recognize your ancestors in you and would reveal itself. If it chose to do so.”
“If they are that well hidden, perhaps the Humans may not be able to find them either.” Analindë sat forward in her chair eagerly. “How will the Humans–”
“The humans posses some sort of amulet which forces the books to reveal themselves.” She remembered the flash of green and silver that the Human wizard had tucked into his robes that day and wondered if that was the amulet of which he spoke. She thought to mention it to him, but Master Therin quickly held up his hand to stop her interruption. “Which is why the traitors have recruited the services of the human wizard. The humans are but a tool, . . . useful yes, but once they have served their purpose . . . ” He shook his head, his mouth tightened. She did not try to tell him of the amulet again. After a moment he continued. “Gildhorn and his faction have no respect for any life but their own.” He pushed his unfinished apple away from him, and cast a weave upon it to keep it fresh. “Unfortunately, we know of no other copies of the amulet. Besides, elves would be unable to wield the amulet even if we possessed one of our own. And we know of no human we would trust enough to hold such a great power.”
“Come now, enough talk, let us move to the workshop. We have sources to speak about.”
Analindë and Master Therin sat on the stone floor, practicing grounding and centering. Analindë’s legs had long since fallen asleep, but if Master Therin wasn’t complaining, neither would she. He had warded the old workroom, invoking weaves that she hadn’t even seen until they were activated.
“There is no way out of here is there?” she asked, scanning the shields with her magesight.
“No, not even for you.” Steady eyes looked back at her.
“How does the shield work? I can’t sense anything beyond it.”
“I was not the one to raise my tower; my fourth-great-grandfather did. Since that time, many generations have studied here. Each has set their own wards, melding them to work seamlessly with the first. They are here for both safety and protection, not just for ourselves, but for others.” He leaned forward to capture her attention. “Should any spell go awry, we may die, . . . but others will not.” Somehow his words didn’t quite bring Analindë the comfort he’d probably intended. “Many powerful mages have studied here; it was built to match their strength. You will find it sufficient for the time being.
“Now tell me what it feels like to center.”
Analindë shifted slightly and covertly thumped her leg, trying to bring back feeling. “Centering feels as if everything comes into focus, snapping into place.”
“Good, now do it . . . good, now relax and center again, but faster.”
She had snapped into focus so many times that she’d lost count. They’d practiced grounding first, anchoring to the solid earth below. When grounded it was easier to find center; edges became crisper. She remembered the fuzzy loose feeling she’d felt that morning on the mountain ledge after she’d created the flat shield. She’d been trying to center but just hadn’t known what to call it. Analindë wondered what else her mother had covertly taught her without her realizing it.
She thought of the game of commonalities that her mother had taught her. It was the same quizzing game that Master Donarion had used on her when she’d stumbled upon Mirëdell’s first room.
“Analindë, your mind is wandering; perhaps it is time for a break. Come, let us drink some tea and speak of other things.” He stood up, spryly walked to the door, and released the workroom wards with a wave of his hand. Analindë missed the twinkle in his eye and the smirk that brightened his face as he walked out of the room.
“How does he do it?” She attempted to stand, but rubbery legs folded beneath her. She thumped her legs again and cried out briefly as numbness turned into excruciating prickles. She eventually pried herself up off the floor and limped after him to the sitting room. Master Therin had prepared tea and was munching on the rest of his apple.
“Tell me, Analindë, what do grounding and centering have to do with your source?”
Analindë thought about his question as she swirled the tea in her cup. “Use of energies comes more easily when you are grounded and centered.”
“That is part of it, yes; if not properly grounded and centered a lot of Energy is wasted when a weave or spell is cast. So yes, it would be easier if you were properly prepared. But the answer I’m looking for is not so simple.” He waited a moment to see if she had another response to his question. At her silence, he continued. “Some spells come at great cost to its caster, are very dangerous, and can result in one’s death. If you have properly prepared yourself for the casting of a spell, the added focus and clarity—one gets from being grounded and centered—could be the difference between great damage to oneself or others and a safe and successfully completed casting.”
Analindë thought of Riian and the constant explosions that echoed from his set of rooms; laughter danced briefly in her heart before a deluge of mournful sadness washed it away. She pushed the painful thought aside and fiddled with the ring on her finger.
“Now your source, tell me about yours,” he said.
“It lives within me but when I look at it, it seems much larger than I am. It’s a gigantic reservoir that can be filled; it glitters and glows with Energy . . . and . . . and it is different than it was before.”
“How so Analindë?” Master Therin stared intently at her as a teacher does when his student is about to stumble upon a powerful truth.
“The Energy glitters differently; it used to be lightly flowing, a very pale yellow. Now it is a deep gold color; heavy and slow, it glitters against the blackness of my reservoir like stars in the sky.”
“How long since it made this change?”
Analindë twirled the ring around her finger, started to pull it off, then pushed it back on again. “It started back when I found Mirëdell’s source. I . . . that’s it, isn’t it? Somehow it changed me.”
Master Therin nodded his head in approval, “What you feel as slow and heavy is actually densely compacted power. Mirëdell’s Source has tutored your reservoir; you will forevermore compact and condense Energy in this fashion.
“In time, you would have eventually learned to do this on your own, but it would have taken hundreds of years. You will find that as you use your Energy, its color will continue to deepen. The color of mine, for example, is a dark amber, while the newest of our apprentices uses Energy the color of corn silk. It creates a nice balance. Usually the more skilled mages wield more powerful bits of Energy, and the less skilled mages cannot do much harm when their spells go awry. Since you are out of balance, you will need to be cautious while your knowledge base catches up to your level of ability.
“Now, this next bit is perhaps the most important knowledge that you learn today. Do not forget it.” Analindë stilled, wondering what he was about to tell her.
“Each spell exacts a cost from the caster.”
That didn’t sound terribly important and she relaxed back into her chair. Some of what she’d thought must have shown on her face because he continued in a sterner voice. “After working major spells, it is important to eat and rest. If you become too weary you will either die or be many years in recovering.”
Analindë’s brows knotted in confusion. “But the energies from the earth or wind . . . can’t they restore the power within or pay the cost?”
“The Energy within your source is only part of the casting; a toll is always taken in physical energies as well. It cannot be avoided. Let this be your first lesson in the art of war. There is always a cost for everything; beware that you do not waste your energies unwisely for there may come a time when you need them.”
A light of understanding flickered in her eyes as her forehead relaxed. “That’s the reason why my mother always made me use an umbrella, even though she could cast a shield to keep the rain at bay. She never would tell me why, just that it wasn’t worth the cost.” She wondered what else her parents had never told her.
“Yes, my dear, that is correct.”
Analindë shook her head. He continued, “Go eat lunch with your friends, then go to the library. There is a large section dedicated solely to books about sources. The librarian will show you where. Search for something new; tomorrow you may tell me what you found.”
Excited to see her friends and to have a moment of peace where she wouldn’t have to think, Analindë bid good afternoon to Master Therin and flew down the tower steps with a skip in her step. Discussions with her mentor were proving to be more interesting than she had ever hoped. Unfortunately, this new dynamic in their relationship was not to last, she just didn’t know it yet.
The library was a magnificent place. It filled four floors, faced a courtyard, and the welcoming smell of paper wafted in the air. Practically every type of book that you’d ever want to read could be found here. Three floors were dedicated to the three separate disciplines of Healing, Earth, and Mage studies. The fourth floor housed many old and dangerous books and manuscripts and was restricted from general use. The staircase leading to it was enforced by wards and shielding that even the most powerful mages would not have been able to circumvent. Only the librarians and a chosen few ventured forth.
“Third floor, front-right corner,” Analindë repeated to herself as she headed for the stairs. She’d rarely explored the library since a stack of books had accompanied each class she’d taken so far. Those she’d kept in her room in the student’s quarters. She felt a gentle tug as she reached the landing and turned toward it. “Over in the corner,” she said to herself as she wound her way through the maze of bookshelves that lay in front of her.
She passed towering bookcases on either side, filled from floor to ceiling. The occasional pillar marked a new area. Some sections were brightly lit, others were dim. She turned and walked between two shelves that were narrowly spaced apart and shuffled down the long passage wondering if she’d ever reach the end. The row finally emptied out into a dimly lit corner of the library where the scent of old parchment hung heavy in the air.
She walked close to a set of shelves in front of her and crouched down to run her fingers along the spines of a particular set of green-bound books. Dizziness assaulted her and she clutched at the shelving to keep from tipping over. Her head cleared, air whooshed, and she frowned. Clear headed, she stared at the shelved books in front of her. “These aren’t what I need. How in the Realm did I end up here?” She craned her neck around, searching for something that would tell her where she was. Carved into a pillar near her was the glyph for two. “Second floor!”
She lurched to her feet and strode back toward the stairs. At least that’s what she’d meant to do. Upon taking her first few steps away from the shelf, an insistent tug had immediately pulled her left arm back toward the shelves. Every hair on her body stood on end and her palms became clammy. Scared, she swung her head around searching for danger. Nothing but books on shelves and dust motes floating in the air. She switched to magesight.
Nothing.
Curious, she turned back to study the shelves nearest her and retraced her steps to where the compulsion had left her. The second floor was dedicated to earth energies; the pull seemed to come from a few green-bound books that looked to be at least a few millennia old.
She scanned the titles in front of her, “Caves and Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Them; Rocks and Stones; There is More to Dirt Than Meets the Eye. “These are not what I need.”
Analindë stood up, turned on her heel, and walked swiftly away from the back corner while holding her left arm tightly against her body. The tugging finally ebbed away as she neared the stairs. She shivered. It reminded her of when she’d been a child and how a set of fairytales had followed her around their home until her mother had locked them up. “The lengths some authors go through to make sure their books get read! It’s unnerving!” She shivered again and climbed the steps to the third floor.
She found the section of books Master Therin had assigned her to search just where the librarian had said, in the front right-hand corner of the third floor.
Exactly opposite from the dark corner in which she had recently been. It was happily situated. Windows filled one of the walls and mild sunlight bathed the area. Analindë plucked a few books off the shelves at random and chose an empty desk near the windows. Students, quietly studying, filled most of the other tables and study areas.
She skimmed through the first two books. They covered basics she already knew. Sighing, she picked up the third and glanced back at the shelves and the endless rows of books. This was going to be a long afternoon.
Analindë sat reading until the late evening sun slanted through the windows, lighting the room in dusky oranges and pinks. Engrossed in the latest book she’d pulled from the shelves, she hadn’t noticed the passage of time. The book she studied was a large tome, its worn leather binding was cracked with age and its pages were yellowed and tattered.
Written in one of the old elvish dialects, the book had taken her a long time to decipher, but it had been the most enlightening of all the ones she’d searched. An elven mage named Lindariel—one of the first to recognize her source and name it—had written the book.
According to the short biography in the back of the book, Lindariel had been a powerful mage of her time. She had discovered much about the workings of Energy and how the different fields of study fit together. She had spent her life studying the complexities of power and was the first to realize that a source became distilled, more pure and powerful with age.
“It darkens and compacts, bringing forth even ten times the amount of power it had previously been capable of bringing.” Another line, “The capacity for power continues to grow through the years, even when one believes the full extent of power has been reached, a year later a greater capacity is measured.”
Analindë thought back to that moment in the mountain cave weeks ago when she’d ripped all the remaining fragments of Energy from her body, enlarging the boundaries of her reservoir. She’d absolutely known that her capacity to find more Energy or hold it would never increase after that moment, but it already had thanks to Mirëdell’s source. Was this what Lindariel meant?
She vowed to measure her source the following year to see if the cavern itself had grown bigger. A tap on the shoulder startled her. A stooped librarian stood at her side.
“Pardon, my lady, but the library now closes.”
“My pardon,” Analindë looked at the scattered books that lay across the desk in front of her.
“May I assist you in returning them to the shelves?” he asked.
“Yes, and thank you.” They both gathered a stack of books and moved to put them in their proper places. Working in companionable silence, the books were quickly shelved.
“So may I ask which book you found most interesting?” he said, eyeing the large leather tom
e and a couple of slim volumes she’d returned to collect.
“A book written by Lindariel, a Master Mage who lived long before the Elven Wars,” she said as she slid two volumes back into place.
“Ah, that book seldom makes its way to the shelves. I had wondered, but now I see that it recognized in you a need.”
“What do you mean, makes its way to the shelves?” asked Analindë.
“Why, exactly that. Look and tell me what you see,” he said pointing at the shelves of books she’d been reading from.
She glanced and saw rows of books; she shrugged and looked back at the librarian.
“What don’t you see?” he asked patiently.
Analindë scrutinized the shelf. Neat rows of books lined up in even rows. Their bindings gleamed in the last bits of light thrown through the windows.
“Perhaps you might put it back on the shelf for me?” asked the librarian gesturing toward the shelves.
Analindë looked from the book she held in her arms to the full shelves to which it belonged. There was no more room. Analindë blinked, “But I remember pulling it off the shelf right here.” She said patting the shelf where an empty spot had once been.
“Yes, you would have, but it does not belong here.”
Analindë looked at the shelved books again; they looked practically new in comparison to the one she held. Its age distinctly marked it as belonging to the fourth floor.
“How did it come to be here?”
“Books have a way of making themselves known when there is need. Particularly that one,” he said nodding toward the book she still held.
“It seemed to answer the questions I had the best.”
“Yes, it would do that. You may keep the book for the interim. It will make its own way back here when you no longer have need of it.”
Analindë (The Chronicles of Lóresse) Page 24