by P. D. Kalnay
I pointed to the left side of the door.
“Here, the simplest bits are around the outside, you should be able to understand those parts, right?” The edges were ringed with mathematical equations, whose answers led you inward to the next level of the puzzle.
“I see a door with an enchantment warning me not to touch it,” Ivy said.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Maybe it’s a petrathen thing.”
“Unlikely,” Ivy said. “The library accepts scholars from all races. Intelligence and wisdom are the only considerations.”
“That’s probably why I can see it.”
I couldn’t help smiling.
“On your best day, you fulfil half of the requirements. I’ve yet to see you show any behaviour that might be considered wise.”
Nice.
“Who can see the puzzle—and who can’t?”
“It is mysterious. Can you solve the puzzle?”
Good question. Answer: I had no idea.
“The outer layer is simple enough,” I said. “This math is only what you’d get at the very end of high school or the start of university. You’d think there would be harder stuff. Maybe it’s a trick.”
I’d always been a math nerd.
“Unlikely,” Ivy said. “You come from a world with computers and technologies that don’t rely on enchantment or innate power. Does mathematical reasoning play a role in any of those things?”
“It’s all based on math,” I said.
“Ah, then I think you should simply solve the problems and assume there’s no trick. A scholar’s door would surely be a test of scholarship… likely in diverse fields. No one can master every field of study.”
That made sense, so I followed the swirling lines at the end of each equation to the correct answer and touched each of those answers in turn. When I solved the seventh and final equation, the symbols and lines shifted to form new patterns in the next layer. Who’d have guessed my life would ever hinge on calculus or the Pythagorean Theorem?
The next layer was entirely different. I’d come to the short answer part. The problem was that I knew next to nothing about First World history, politics, or anything. I stared at the first question in defeat.
“Is something amiss, Jack? I thought you said the questions were simple?”
“The math was simple, but I’m past that. How can I guess what Perio’s Conundrum was when I don’t even know who Perio is?”
I wondered if the door’s enchantments could kill me if I stopped partway and ran for it.
“Perio Murkwatch was an Atlantean general during the reign of King Melacor,” Ivy said.
None of those names meant anything to me—unless the Alanteans lived on an island that sank in a cataclysm. It wasn’t the time to ask.
“What is the question?” Ivy asked.
“It just says ‘What was Perio’s Conundrum?’”
“Loyalty,” Ivy said. “He was torn between loyalty to his king and to the people. Perio chose his king and brought an end to Atlantis.”
I touched the blank circle and said, “Loyalty.”
The inner lines swirled again, and the rest of the questions in the second ring changed. The math questions hadn’t done that. There was no point in working ahead if a correct answer changed the next questions. It also meant that it made the most sense to answer the question about which we were most confident. I explained the situation and read Ivy the four new questions. Ivy considered the questions before choosing.
“The third Queen of Alu Neen was Reaten the Bloody Handed,” Ivy said. “Many believe it was her sister Laleel, but she never completed the Rigours of Ascension, and used subterfuge to gain the crown.”
“You sure?”
Ivy frowned, “I had good tutors—when I was younger.”
I touched the door, gave the answer, and didn’t die. The remaining questions changed again. I read Ivy the next round of questions. Ivy was slower to solve the third and fourth rounds, which I took to mean that the questions were getting harder as the options became fewer. When I read the last question, she shook her head. Then she hung it.
“I’m sorry, Jack, I don’t know that answer.”
I couldn’t help laughing, and my laughter brought her head up again with a snap and a frown which only made me laugh harder. I knew the answer to question number five. I was likely one of the only people in the world who did.
“This is serious,” Ivy said. “Your life is in the balance. I’ve failed you.”
“Nah, I’d never have made it this far without you. Don’t worry, I’ve got this one.”
Ivy peered up at me with as much scepticism as she could muster, “You do?”
I’d read her the question before realising that I didn’t need her help. The question was: Where did the last Son of the Shogaan Empire fall?
I nodded.
“How could you know that?” Ivy asked. “The Empire’s fall was rife with fire and blood. No records exist of the last days of the imperial line…”
“Recorded in Marielain’s Journal,” I said. I touched the final answer circle. “The last heir of the imperial line died in Talanth.”
The two outer circles swirled at my answer and something new appeared in the middle most section of the door. Only one problem left to solve, and it looked to be a puzzle. Ivy stared up at me with an unspoken question written large in her bright green eyes.
“It was Janik Whiteblade,” I said. “Mr. Ryan was the last of the heir of the Shogaan Empire.”
“Extraordinary,” Ivy said. “Though… it makes sense too.”
“What’s so extraordinary?”
“That the secret was kept. I knew Janik was Shogaan of course, but…”
“Only one part left to solve,” I said. “It looks to be an actual puzzle where you have to place the pieces correctly.”
“Then I won’t be able to help.”
“You’ve already helped,” I said. “I like that you aren’t just pretty.”
“Perhaps, you should pay more attention to the door… to avoid death.”
She had a point. It looked as if I needed to move the jumble of lines in the centre of the door into positions forming an image. Nothing about the lines hinted at what that image might be. I touched a line and tried dragging it to one side. The line moved across the door under my finger—so far so good. When I took my finger away to grab a different line, a fiery pain tore through my body and drove me to my knees.
“Jack! Your nose is bleeding!”
Sure enough, two streams of blood ran down my lip. I regained my feet, still in a lot of pain.
“I think it punishes for guessing,” I said.
“Don’t guess!”
“Yeah, thanks.”
I stared at the lines. The pain in my body wasn’t getting worse, but it wasn’t going away either. My fairy instincts said the pain would grow with each wrong placement. After an hour of staring, I broke down and made another random move.
The second wrong move hurt worse than the first. The pain laid me out flat and afterwards blood trailed from my eyes and ears too. I thought a third mistake might kill me. After wiping away the blood, I stared hard at the lines. They were of every length. Some were straight, others weren’t. Lines ran vertically, horizontally, and a few made smooth sweeps like the stroke of a pen or a brush…
I hit myself in the head and instantly regretted it.
“What is it?” Ivy asked.
“I’m an idiot,” I said.
It spoke to Ivy’s worry that she didn’t agree.
“Speak ‘Friend’ and enter,” I whispered. Then I chuckled at my own joke. Pain soon put a stop to that.
“I don’t understand,” Ivy said.
“It’s not a picture, it’s a word. Technically, I guess it’s a word that is a picture, but…”
I moved a third line. No pain followed, and my confidence grew. A few of the lines were very similar, so I left them till the end. When t
he last short, vertical line was ‘dropped’ into place, the pain vanished from my body. The Titan word for wisdom stared back at me from the middle of the door. It wasn’t one of the standard set used by enchanters, and I wasn’t sure how you would use it for an enchantment, but I considered myself lucky that it wasn’t the word for library—since I didn’t know it.
The door didn’t swing open so much as vanish, leaving an open portal before us. On the other side we saw a comfortable looking study filled with a desk, chairs, and the woman we’d spoken to earlier. She looked up from her reading, and the surprised expression on her face was both hilarious and satisfying. She blinked several times as if unable to believe her eyes.
“So that’s it, right?” I asked. “We can come in now?”
“If you can open the door, you may enter…”
I stepped through the doorway and into the study. Stairs led upwards on one side and another door stood open on the other, leading the gatehouse behind the main gate. The place looked all fortress from the bridge, but was more library or school on the inside.
“Jack, I cannot pass,” Ivy said.
She had hands pressed up to where the door had been, like a cute, fairy mime.
“Only a scholar may pass the door, and only after providing the correct answers.”
“She helped,” I said.
“Is she your assistant?” The woman sounded slightly more polite than she had earlier. “If so, I may grant her access. Scholars are allowed a single servant.”
“Best assistant I ever had.”
Ivy’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t argue.
“Very well then.”
Ivy stumbled forward for a half step into the room. When she moved away from the door, it became solid again behind her.
“I shall take you to the Supreme Scholar,” the woman said. “These circumstances fall outside the Manual of Admittance.”
The Manual of Admittance? It looked as though I was about to get a taste of First World bureaucracy, but we’d made it there—and we were in. I figured a little stair climbing, followed by a spot of dungeon exploration, and our quest would be complete. Sweet! The woman led us through the open doorway, out of the gatehouse, and back under the open sky. We walked along the last section of bridge to reach the main library complex, barred by another set of substantial gates.
Those opened immediately upon our arrival.
The Library of Anukdun was a massive structure that filled the entire island at the top of the waterfall. High, smooth, and unbroken walls ran along the waterline forming a wedge that split the upper Dun before it spilled over. The river was full of turbulent rapids at the top, so even if a person had the means to scale shear walls, reaching them in a boat would be impossible. It was one heck of a moat.
With the southern bridge in ruins, only the bridge we crossed allowed access. My petrathen instincts alerted me to enchantments in the stone under our feet. With the proper set of commands that whole section would crumble to dust and fall into the river below, cutting off the library on the north side too. The enchantments were ancient, but still functional.
I tried not to think about that I we walked.
Enchantments of air circled the library’s outer doors. I sensed them as we passed. It took me a few seconds longer to figure out their purpose. Then I ran a hand down my robes. The spray from the waterfall had soaked them, but they were now completely dry. Those enchantments kept humidity from the library’s interior—pretty cool.
Our guide led us down dozens of hallways, through open halls, and up hundreds of steps worth of staircases before stopping in front of a door flanked by two armoured warriors carved from stone. She set a brisk pace, and we’d passed many strange things I wanted to go back and look at. Everything about the library screamed old. Anukdun had a solidity to it that I’d not felt on the streets of Gaan, which was itself a ridiculously ancient place. It was also packed full of stuff besides the thousands of books and scrolls we’d passed on our walk through a small part of it. Without thinking I reached out to touch one of the stone sentinels. Then I jumped back in shock when a stony hand slapped mine away. Heat burned briefly inside the warrior before going cold again, and the hand returned to its side.
“Don’t pester the gollens,” our guide said.
“Sorry, I didn’t know they were alive.”
“They aren’t,” Ivy said.
“No, but they can become annoyed. This way.”
The gatekeeper knocked three times and pushed the door open without waiting for an answer. Ivy and I followed her into a large room that seemed small only because of how full it was. A tiny man in ornate white robes squatted on a huge desk, poring over a scroll that lay open, spanning the entire width of the desk before spilling over the edges on both sides. Based on his height and Ivy’s descriptions, I suspected I was about to meet my first gnome. He couldn’t have stood three feet from the ground, the parts of his face—not obscured by thick white beard—were lumpy and misshapen, and a polished, bald head, entirely covered in a complex tattoo, shone. The tiny, wizened man looked up from the scroll as we entered.
“What do you want, Nal Vador?” he asked.
The petrathen woman bowed, “Forgive the intrusion Supreme Scholar, but a situation which falls outside the precepts of The Manual has occurred.”
“The Manual is explicit. Nothing falls outside its precepts.” The Supreme Scholar raised one eyebrow and scratched his long white beard. “Do you disagree?”
“With all due respect, yes.”
“Explain.”
“This young man opened the Scholar’s Gate a short time ago–”
“Then he is a scholar and meant to be here. Why are you wasting my time?” the Supreme Scholar turned his attention back to the scroll.
“Supreme Scholar, I’ve been at the gate for forty-nine years…”
Two cold, solid black eyes stared across the desk, “And?”
“This young man hasn’t even come of age. It is impossible he is a vested scholar…”
“He saw and answered the questions—and passed the threshold?”
“Yes, Supreme Scholar.”
“Then the Library has accepted him. You shall do likewise. Good day.”
With that we were dismissed from the office without Ivy or me even having time to speak. Nal Vador hustled us out and didn’t say more until the door was closed.
“This is extremely irregular,” she said out in the hallway.
“What now?” I asked.
“I’m uncertain. Normally, a vested scholar, returning to the library, has freedom of the stacks, and adds to the collection upon their return. I suppose I must find you quarters.”
“Quarters?”
“Yes, the library grants scholars personal space for living, study, and experimentation when they become vested. The library has accepted you, but you’ve clearly never been here before. I can’t leave you to sleep among the stacks or in the hallways.”
“Are there quarters for guests or visitors?” I asked.
Hopefully we wouldn’t be there very long, anyway.
“The library hosts no guests and rarely allows visitors. I can’t even open new quarters for you without the Ceremony of Investment.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“The library has grown as large as is physically possible, and with its greater isolation fewer applicants arrive each year. However, we must maintain the standards, so a smaller number of scholars now live within these walls than at any time in the history of Anukdun.”
“Doesn’t that mean there’s a surplus of living quarters?” Ivy asked.
“Yes and no. Yes the library is far below its potential complement of scholars, but those accommodations don’t become available until the Ceremony of Investment.” She looked at me. “You are somehow a vested scholar already, meaning that even if you wait until the next ceremony, some months from now, you still won’t be able to take part.”
“Couldn’t we borrow one of the e
mpty places?” I asked. “We won’t make a mess or touch anything.”
“It isn’t so simple. They can only be opened by the resident scholar assigned to the rooms, with their permission, or by all five of the council members together. We are a private bunch and none wish interruptions in their work.”
“Don’t the scholars work for the betterment of the library?” Ivy asked.
“Also a yes and no answer. Yes each must contribute meaningfully to the library, but they need not reveal the extent of their work while alive. After a scholar dies the Council of Scholars unlocks their rooms and adds the accumulated knowledge of their lifetimes to the stacks.”
“So every former scholar’s room gets emptied as a new scholar moves in?” I asked.
“That is typical. When the new scholar is the former master’s assistant or follows a course of inquiry similar enough to the previous occupant, they may claim the rooms and the work inside, to continue a line of research. In extremely rare cases… rooms are sealed.”
“So we’d need the five council members to open a room for us, regardless?” Ivy asked.
“Yes, and two of them aren’t scheduled to return to the library until the Day of Application. However, even were the five in residence, I don’t believe they would make an exception, as you fall outside of accepted regulations.”
“Don’t the regulations get re-examined when they’re no longer applicable or a loophole is discovered?” I asked.
“The Library holds regular scheduled debates, where all scholars may take part to discuss administrative issues and alter the regulations.”
Maybe we could argue our case. It all seemed unnecessary since we weren’t planning on staying.
“When will they hold the next debate?” Ivy asked.
“If I remember correctly, the next debate is scheduled to occur in thirty-one years.”
“Thirty-one years!” I could live without a bedroom.
“Yes they are convened every century without exception. What remains to you—in the interim, is trying the doors.”
“Trying the doors?”
“The library decides who may go where, and since it has allowed you to enter, it seems possible it will also give you access to quarters. Most the rooms in the Hall of the Thousand Scholars sit vacant. I suggest trying the doors.”