Michael's Flight_A Librarian of Nimium Book

by Lynn Egan

  He looked up sharply at her phrasing.

  Qimal shook her head at his look, "To leave her here is death, to move her may be dangerous. It is a chance we take."

  He nodded and continued to assist her. When they had Murud lashed to the sturdy support, the only thing left to do was begin the trek to Seasguir.

  ~

  It had not been easy to move in the darkness with their burden, but with Qimal's better night vision in front they had made decent time, and it was only a few hours back to the inn. They had to be extra careful once they were in the city and keep to the shadows unnoticed until they got to the alleyway she had used when they'd left the inn that morning. When they were inside, they set Murud down gently on the hall floor and the Aeldwidd went on ahead into the main room, where Michael heard low voices. He leaned against the wall, weary in mind and body.

  How had he even gotten into this mess? He didn't feel that he should be singled out for so much madness, so much chaos. It wasn't right that he should be a part of some larger mystery. All he wanted was to live a nice life in his nice house on his nice little island in the Eastern Sea, maybe go to a few parties, meet a woman he could have a nice family with and die as a very old man surrounded by books in front of a big fireplace. Why did this happen to him? He indulged in an inner wail.

  :Fate leads us strange places.:

  He lifted his head to see the unfathomable black eyes gazing at him from the bundle on the floor. A thought briefly crossed his mind and as swiftly left - she would not age very much by the time he was old.

  The end of her tail twitched in amusement. :It is a pleasant dream, to grow old with another.: Her eyes closed again as Qimal came back down the passage.

  "The main room is clear, and an animal healer has been sent for. Let us take her." They lifted the bundle, brought it to a cleared table, and unwrapped her. Blood now stained the blankets near the ends of her wound and her eyes when they opened again had a glassy appearance. Michael stroked her head the way one would a treasured pet, and her eyes cleared, then glazed again.

  "Will it be long?" He knew his worry showed, and Qimal studied him critically.

  "They must wake him, and he comes from the other edge of town. I have asked for urgency." She tilted her head at him. "She is your rescuer, is there more than that?"

  The young man continued to stroke the feline head, though he knew she had lost consciousness again. It soothed him somehow to be in contact with her, even with her shape changed. Was there more to it than the gratitude of having been freed from prison? He remembered a fierce joy at discovering her again, a feeling of rightness in being with her, but now it seemed far away. He recalled her crazy notions about life outside her palace being like the songs and stories bards related, and their teamwork as cat and raven among the bones of his people. He thought about her selflessness in helping him get this far, and how she now lay on this table with a wound she had taken so he could escape.

  He shook his head, too tired to analyze it, "Maybe," he answered lamely. A thought occurred to him as his thumb moved Murud's eyelid, showing a sliver of jet-black eye.

  "What is a… jhak-wiss? You called her that in the forest."

  Qimal shook her head and recoiled, "It is nothing good. It is a word from the Varaine, the dark ones."

  Is surprised and disturbed him to hear that race named. "They aren't around here anymore, though. They were banished a long time ago."

  The Aeldwidd grew very still and quiet, "There are strange things moving here. Banished does not mean they are gone from this world, or that they have no influence."

  It was Michael's turn to grow still and quiet. Did she know? She seemed to know everything else. He kept his thoughts to himself and she continued.

  "There are rumors in recent years that it is time for the Destructor to be born. Only in this place is the crossing of races not monitored and controlled. Even the royal blood is not pure. We are saved only by the aloof Hivvin who refuse to mix their blood with others."

  A cold lump grew in the pit of his stomach, and he was careful not to have a reaction to her words. She didn't know that much! A quiet knock at the front door was answered by the very sober proprietor. A man and a woman entered.

  The man was stocky and when he threw his hood back he had a greyish tinge to his skin and hair. His eyes were small but sparkling in his broad face, and his ears were over-large and pointed. His nose was much too wide for his face, but he had a pleasant demeanor. He carried a worn leather case by its wooden handle.

  The woman was very tall and slender, with the classic long lines of the Aeld and large, wise blue eyes. Her hair was silver and pulled into a knot at the back of her head. Her cloak pin matched her hair and the garment it closed was of very fine black wool. If Michael wasn't missing his guess, this was the Duchess of Seasguir, who had ruled her coastal demesne since the Island had been founded. He had not expected someone of such age and status in this dingy hidden lair. He stood up respectfully and she waved him back down to his seat.

  The man sped to the table and began to examine the cat, prodding gently at the arrow shaft inside the wound. The Duchess conferred with Qimal in a corner; Michael couldn't make out their words and focused on what was happening to the princess. The man grunted after a few moments.

  "It's something fine as happened here, that shot didn't kill her instant. Seems to've missed aught but muscle. Have to get it out, 'course but Iayana'll help." At the sound of her name, the Duchess glided over to them.

  "My aid is gladly given, sir. Allow me to examine the thing,” her voice was soft and musical, with the high-class accents Michael was used to hearing only on the mainland. She extended her slender fingers toward the arrow and pulled back as soon as she had touched it.

  "It is sskakkari wood! How came that here?" She turned her huge blue eyes on Michael, whom she looked up and down before giving the arrowhead that protruded from Murud's fur a closer examination. "And this head is Varaine manufacture! No such weapon is allowed across my docks!" She seemed personally offended at the object's presence in her city.

  "Your Grace, we were hunted in the forest, and I don't know who it was, or why." Michael spoke with deference to the woman, as she was older than anyone else on the Island.

  Qimal spoke up, "The cat has the eyes of a Zhahkwiss, and I have heard Varaine will hunt their own to throw a trail off…” Her impassioned statement faded as Iayana's eyes turned an icy glare in her direction. The ancient Aeld's voice was just as cold as her eyes.

  "You speak of the Heir of Murud, youngling, and be it known that Aestir's line has nothing in it of THAT blood."

  The Aeldwidd shrank back from the admonishment and looked away, "I am sorry, Your Excellency, I did not know."

  Here Iayana turned to Michael, "Ishald, you didn't tell her?"

  It was his turn to look chastised, "Ah, no, I wasn't sure I should." He didn't wonder how she knew who he was, but how did she know this cat was the princess?

  The Duchess' eyes narrowed but she turned again to her task. "Gurben, I cannot affect this tainted wood. You will have to cut it, and smooth it by hand before we can guide it out of her body." The man grunted and bent to open his case, which he had laid upon a nearby chair. The tools revealed when he opened it were an odd assortment of probes, knives, and scissors which had seen much use, but looked clean and sharp. Michael swallowed nervously as the stocky man's skillful fingers selected a stout pair of shears and used them to snip the fletching off the arrow, leaving a jagged end of wood. A file quickly removed splinters so that nothing would drag or be left behind in Murud's body as they drew the shaft out of the wound.

  The cat had twitched in her unconsciousness but not woken, and Michael kept nervously working his fingers into the fur around her ears. Once the arrow was ready to be freed, Gurben waved him away, since now he would be in the way of their work. Iayana positioned herself by Murud's tail, and Gurben readied himself by her head. He gave the Duchess a nod, and the woman put her hands on the
feline's legs.

  "I cannot sense the shaft, you will have to guide me in how to move her."

  "Aye," was the man's short reply as they began.

  Michael watched as the Aelden woman used some sort of power to lift and manipulate Murud's body according to the healer's instructions. He realized that they were trying to get the princess into a position from which the shaft could come out without harming her further. At the last moment, he saw that she must have been mid-leap when the arrow struck her from behind, following the line of her spine until it emerged from her shoulder. Gurben pulled gently and swiftly and the bloodied shaft came out in one long movement. Murud yowled softly before his other hand soothed her and Iayana allowed her body to descend back to the table. The bleeding had started again and the healer worked to staunch the flow, his fingers flying over the fur along her back. While he worked, the Duchess picked the arrow up with distaste and examined it. He drifted over to her, curious.

  She noticed his curiosity and held the pieces out to him. He took them from her and looked at them while she spoke. The wood was gray and dry, and made his fingers feel odd.

  "That is sskakkari wood, rarer even than the saava which grows only here and on the south continent." The mention of the mysterious lost landmass that Aeld legends had as their original homeland surprised Michael. It was so far past the deserts of the Rochat that even they didn't mention it often. She continued, "Sskakkari, on the other hand, grows only to the far north of here, on a peninsula west of the Cold Wilds. It is the only wood which magic can neither shape nor sense."

  "What is that word you use, seskaree? And what did Qimal call Murud?" Michael was usually very good with languages, but the two words were foreign to him, even with his mainland education.

  Iayana shook her head and spoke slowly, "Ss-kak-kar-ee. The other you heard the half-cat use is zha-hk-wiss. They are Varaine words. I would be surprised if you had heard them." He wasn't sure how to take her words or her sharp look.

  "I've heard of the Varaine," he temporized, "Of course, at school. They were one of the First Races."

  The Aeld nodded, "Yes, made by Her for some purpose. No amount of prayer has revealed why. They are nothing but evil."

  "But they're not around anymore. At least, I've never heard much about them until now, other than the Creation stories."

  She sighed heavily, "Sometimes I hate to be right. My fear was that, when they were banished from our lands those many years ago, our youth would no longer learn of them, or how to combat them, or how to see through their scheming. Yes, they exist, but they are not spoken of except in stories or songs. Their blood lingers on in our society, often hidden but always making trouble."

  Michael couldn't prevent his face from showing an embarrassed consternation at her words, and she noticed.

  "Your heritage is known, Michael of Ishald, and you have been watched. We still have not found the origin of your father's tainted blood, but his nature made its presence clear. Your mother’s blood protects you, but it hinders you as well. It's a narrow road you tread, between the two."

  Her words echoed some others he had heard recently, spoken by a desert cat destined to tell his people's future.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Gurben grunted, "It's done. Now nature can take 'er course." He started to pack up his tools. "She's got to stay a cat, though, least a week. I've mended best I can but it's got to set up, like. When the scabs fall, she can change. You can move 'er now, she'll sleep a bit. Walkin' ain't gonna be fun for 'er, day or two, so don't ask 'er none."

  "Your aid, dear Gurben, is much appreciated." Iayana smiled graciously at the man as he bowed to Michael and the Duchess, nodded to Qimal, and went back out into the night. The Aelden lady turned to Michael when he was gone. "Ishald, be so kind as to put our dear Heir into bed and return here so we may speak. I know you're weary but there is much to say and so little time to say it in. This is larger than I had suspected."

  Michael sighed inwardly and gently picked the big cat up from the table. Qimal led him to the chamber he'd occupied the night before and he laid the sleeping princess on the bed there. The Aeldwidd chose to stay while Michael went back to the main room. It was empty except for the Duchess, who sat at a table near the fire. Two mugs and a pitcher of hot spiced cider were before her, and she indicated that he should sit and pour himself a mug. As he was doing so, a servant brought a plate of bread and a wheel of soft cheese to the pair. Iayana thanked her and began to spread the cheese on a piece of bread. Michael stared dumbly into the steam coming from his cider until the woman waved the food in front of his face.

  "Here, you should eat. I would have ordered 'bakh but you'll need to sleep when we are done." She glared at him until he took the slice she handed him and had a hefty bite. The bread was hearty and warm, and the cheese unexpectedly sharp. That, paired with the sweet spiced cider, woke him up enough to feel that he could pay attention to their conversation.

  Iayana chewed and tapped her fingernails pensively against her mug, gazing at him with an unfathomable expression upon her face. She finally finished her snack and half-smiled ruefully at the young man.

  "You know, despite my years, it's difficult to know how to advise you in this."

  Michael cleared his throat, "Well, what is 'this' is a good start, I think."

  She gave a short laugh. "True, Ishald. What is 'this'?"

  "I wish you wouldn't call me that." he snapped.

  Here the Duchess leaned forward. "Young man, I must call you that. You must impress upon yourself that you no longer are yourself. You are Ishald, blood and bone. You are of the Island and for the Island, and the Island is in danger. I have not lived these years building my haven to have it stripped from me without a fight. Will you lose your land so easily?"

  He spoke softly into his mug, "It's only been mine for a day."

  The older woman sighed irritably and leaned back with her arms crossed. "Whose forest was it, then, that you wandered as a boy? When you found a toad or squirrel hole, did you think it was your father's toad, your mother's squirrel? Or was every discovery uniquely yours? If you found a fisherman at the river, were you annoyed at his presence for your sake or the sake of your family? Tell me honestly that it wasn't your land even then."

  He opened his mouth to answer her, and found his mind wandering back. There was a feeling of possession that he remembered having about the place. He never felt as though he were stealing when he climbed a tree and picked a fruit for himself. Guilt never shadowed him when he gathered wood for a small fire to cook a fish that he'd caught. He'd been aware of the borders he could not cross, and had felt protective of the place when he noticed others broaching his domain. He shut his mouth on what he'd thought he was going to say.

  The Duchess nodded. "You are Ishald, and Feysguir. It never should have happened, but Fate is strange."

  "What shouldn't have happened?"

  "Ah," she looked slightly abashed, "It is a story I don't have the right to tell, even if the players are gone now." She gazed into the fire for a moment and spoke softly, "It isn't well to speak ill of the dead, though of your father many spoke ill while he lived. He wasn't a good man, or a smart man. He knew how to do his duty well, if it served his interests." Her face hardened, and Michael wondered what thought had crossed her mind as she looked in his direction. He waited. She softened and spoke again, "Pay me no mind; I've got strong opinions you need not hear right now. The two Houses weren't destined to mix but they did, and you're the issue of that mix."

  He bridled a bit, "I hope I meet your standards."

  She laughed lightly, "Oh, and surpass! Young Ishald, your mother wrote to me about you as well as she could, given the circumstances. She knew long before the rest of us did that there was trouble in the wind here on our little Island. Somehow, she set something up to keep you safe from it, but I can see that protection fading. You felt the wrongness when you set foot on the soil, as we all do from living here."

  He nodded slowly. Sh
e had to be referring to the malevolence he felt underneath everything. It was so subtle that he didn't want to call it something so concrete as evil. He sought to bring it to words.

  "It's like my mind is… itchy. I can't scratch it, and it's irritating. It's distracting me from... well even from my own thoughts."

  She smiled in satisfaction, "Just so. Our people leave and they don't even know that they are fleeing it. You especially need to go elsewhere. I fear what it may awaken in you."

  Michael brought his tired head up in surprise, "In me?" he squeaked. He cleared his throat and said more strongly, "I'm sure there's nothing wakeable… awakenable… woken…” his weariness caused his words to fail him and his inner anger rose.

  Iayana narrowed her eyes at him critically, "Don't be so sure, young man. There are muddied lines in your past. It is just possible…" She trailed off and shrugged. "It is unlikely but precautions do more than hindsight ever did."

  He didn't feel like working to understand her, and concentrated on another slice of cheese and bread while she continued.

  "You must go to the mainland, that is certain. Marinarae makes things complicated but," she broke off and seemed to be deep in thought for a moment, staring at the ceiling. "It might be best, though, if the Heir leaves this atmosphere for a time. Your protections should extend to her if she is in your care. There's no foul play afoot, so Aestir, being who he is, will wait for word of his daughter to surface before taking any action. That wife of his will whine at him, but she has no power. Katryn is the opposite of devious so Marinarae need not fear for her throne. Yes, I believe that will work." She focused on him after her reverie ended and he raised an eyebrow.

  "I take it you've planned something?"

  "When Fate hands you lemons, do you try to make applesauce?"