by Josie Gold
Fluffy bowed the moment he saw us, allowing us to clamber onto his back with zero complaints. I held on tight to Fluffy’s silver neck as he bounded out of the stable and then launched us into the sky.
The Library was across the city. We had to move faster.
“Hold onto me,” I said to Fennion. He obeyed and I let go of Fluffy’s neck. I reached behind me and sent out gusts of warm wind. Fluffy’s wings caught the wind, pushing us faster through the air.
Above us, thunder cracked. Rain started to fall.
I kept sending out bursts of air as the Library loomed closer. As we landed on the steps, we noticed a crowd of people. Commoners, Librarians, and nobility alike were milling about with looks of horror and confusion on their faces. Fennion and I leaped from Fluffy’s back.
One of the Librarians came running up to us. His face had a deep cut on it.
“They’re killing them,” he gasped, reaching out to clutch Fennion’s sleeve. The clockwork bird let out another shriek, then flew through the open door of the Library.
“Kylarn must still be in there,” Fennion said, gently prying the Librarian off him. I manifested small tornadoes above my palms and started up the steps. Fennion followed close behind.
The scene inside the Library was pure chaos. The Library shifted and changed in the blink of an eye. From forests, to under the sea, to catacombs. It almost felt like it was throwing a tantrum. Or was afraid. Something was very very wrong.
“We need to find the Gloves,” Fennion said.
“If the murderer hasn’t found them already,” I muttered. Fennion ignored me and looked up, spreading his arms.
“Help us find the Gloves,” Fennion called out to the Library.
But it just shifted and changed, over and over. As if it had lost control of its magic. As if it was sick, or under attack.
“Use your magic,” I said. “You said it yourself, it has helped you find things for years. Concentrate on the Gloves.”
Fennion looked pale. He was remembering the look on Highlar’s face when we left him. All color and vitality drained. But alive, although Highlar scarcely deserved Fennion’s mercy.
Fennion closed his eyes and a green light, the exact shade of his eyes, emitted from his every pore. My knees felt weak as I realized it reminded me of Telsey’s light magic. When Fennion opened his eyes, his eyes were also glowing. He took my hand and started to run through the shifting Library.
We rounded a corner and nearly bumped into Torra and Kylarn. Torra’s staff was missing, so Kylarn was helping him walk. The mechanical bird landed on Kylarn’s shoulder. Kylarn was pale but his eyes were fierce. He looked relieved at the sight of us.
Until Fennion socked him on the arm with his fist. Kylarn yelped, appalled.
“Next time just tell us what the damned necklace does, you drama queen,” Fennion growled.
A tired, but cheeky smile briefly flitted across Kylarn’s face, but he sobered quickly.
“They’re killing every Librarian in sight,” Kylarn said through gritted teeth. “Torra and I have been helping people get out.”
“Who is it?” Fennion asked.
“They were cloaked.”
“The Gloves,” I reminded Fennion. He nodded.
“Take Torra to safety,” Fennion ordered Kylarn. Immediately both Kylarn and Torra started to argue.
“You will need help,” Torra insisted.
“I came prepared,” Kylarn pulled a sword from behind his back and then opened his brocade jacket to reveal several daggers. All of them were magic forged.
“What does that one do?” I asked Kylarn, nodding at the sword. Its blade was onyx, the pommel ruby. Kylarn’s grin was sadistic.
“Kills my enemy with a single scratch.”
I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. But either way, I could tell Kylarn wasn’t backing down from this fight.
“Let them come,” I said to Fennion. He nodded reluctantly.
Kylarn pocketed his bird and then without further ado, Kylarn hoisted Torra onto his back. Torra took it with as much dignity as he could muster. And then we were running again, following Fennion.
As we ran toward the Gloves, we discovered the emaciated bodies of Librarians. They were strewn in hallways and against shelves. Many of their corpses were frozen in a way that suggested they died while trying to get away. My stomach acids curdled at their expressions; their mouths were cavernous and ripped from screaming.
Fennion led us to the Forbidden Section where Librarians’ bodies lined the stairs.
“Please,” came a hoarse voice.
“Gods,” Kylarn whimpered.
One of the Librarians was crawling up the stairs toward us, but their body was mummifying and drying out before our eyes. Their dark skin shriveled and died, their eyes went dull, their mouth stretched wide in a silent scream. My necklace started to shine as we hurried down the steps toward the dying man. The light kept that suffocating dark at bay. Torra climbed off Kylarn and hobbled over to the dying Librarian.
We watched as Torra held the Librarian as they died. Torra sang to the Librarian in a language I didn’t know, trying to keep them calm. The Librarian’s wide, wet eyes stayed on Torra’s face. Their whines of fear slowly quieted. Kylarn turned away, pressing a hand to his face as the Librarian took one last wheezing breath.
From within the Forbidden Section, we heard screaming. We had to abandon the now dead Librarian. Torra kissed the corpse’s forehead and then we were running again.
In the glow of the necklace, we saw that the Forbidden Section was covered in even more bodies, desiccating before our eyes.
“This way,” Fennion said, his jaw tight and his eyes wet.
He brought us to that steel door, the same one that made my magic’s hackles stand on end. The door was ajar, a body was sprawled halfway through the opening.
“No,” Torra whispered.
“You know what’s in there?” I asked. Torra nodded, fear spasming across his face. I had never seen Torra afraid before. My blood stilled inside me.
We carefully climbed over the corpse, into darkness that felt alive and malevolent. The room we entered was mostly empty. The ceiling was high and the only light came from the burning orange mage marks that covered the walls. Ancient runes in an ancient language, written into circles. The same kind that Librarians had tattooed on them when they took the vow to protect the Library.
At the center of the room, there was a table. And on the table…
“The Gloves,” Fennion breathed.
We approached carefully. The Gloves were ordinary looking. Less than ordinary. They looked well-worn and functional, but there was nothing noteworthy about them.
“We found them,” I said, relief rushing through me. But Fennion was shaking his head.
“Why didn’t the murderer take them then? The door was open. They could have taken them.”
“I have no need for them.”
We all turned toward the light, honeyed voice that came from the dark. A cloaked figure stepped out. Kylarn brandished his sword and Torra manifested pure red flames into his palms. Wind whirled from my fingers, glacial and ready.
The figure raised their hands as if in surrender. They stepped closer. They were shorter than I expected.
“Show yourself,” Fennion demanded, his eyes pure green light.
The figure sighed heavily, then pulled off the hood of the cloak. We were too shocked to gasp. Too shocked to move.
“Karsea?” Fennion choked, the light winking from his eyes.
Princess Karsea’s full lips formed a sad smile. Her light brown eyes held Fennion’s for a long moment before they flickered to me, and then to Torra.
“Thank you, Fennion, for bringing me more Librarians.”
18
FENNION
Karsea?
“No,” I gasped, stumbling toward my sister. Harken reached out and grabbed my arm, halting me. Karsea watched us calmly. She looked so lovely. Her light brown skin was dewy,
her red hair was in soft waves.
And at her feet was a dead Librarian.
“I imagine you have questions,” she said, using the same tone she used during meetings. Patient and kind. It made my insides turn to liquid.
She stepped closer, hands raised as if she was not a threat. Beside me, I could feel Harken was tense and ready to fight. Kylarn’s blade was still raised, but his face was pinched in confusion and hurt. Torra’s face remained neutral.
“I will explain, as long as you promise to listen with an open mind,” she promised. The four of us made eye contact. Harken eyed Karsea, then her gaze flashed to me. I inclined my head and her wind died.
We would listen. Karsea looked relieved.
“This was never about the Gloves,” she began, moving closer in that dreamy way of hers. “Although I can understand why you thought so. Telsey thought so too.”
Harken stiffened and was ready to pounce. I tried to reach out to her, but she brushed me off. Her lip was curled back, baring her teeth. Karsea acknowledged Harken’s rage with a sad look.
“She already knew about the Gloves and was trying to protect them from getting into the wrong hands. Telsey was a lovely girl, a wonderful mage. But she was getting too close to figuring out my plans. And her power was too strong for my master to resist.”
“Karsea, how could you?” I whispered.
“You promised to listen,” she chided. That old feeling, the feeling of being in the way, rose in me.
“Let me start again,” Karsea cleared her throat, “long ago, the five Gods promised to look over Vivus. Promised neutrality in all things. Until one God rebelled.”
“We know this story already,” Harken snarled. Karsea bobbed her head.
“Yes, but you were lied to. Destruction was not killed. You cannot kill a God. But you can imprison one. So the four traitor Gods created a prison for Destruction. And what better way to hide an imprisoned God, than by hiding him in plain sight—in a library.”
Her words settled over us, heavy and awful.
“Destruction is here?” Kylarn’s voice was incredulous. “He’s been here all this time?”
We looked to Torra, who shook his head with sorrow.
“Librarians take the vow and in doing so, their magic becomes tied to the Library. Their magic helps keep Destruction imprisoned,” Torra said.
Harken rubbed at her forearm, where her tattoo once was.
“He’s right,” Karsea smiled, “and their magic can set him free. By draining those who kept him locked up, Destruction has become too strong for this prison to hold him.”
Oh Gods, Karsea. What has she done?
HARKEN
A frenzy of thoughts buzzed and prickled at my skull. Rage and sorrow pulled at my veins.
All this time, it was Princess Karsea. All this time, the murderer had been right there. Not the Vestians, not Highlar, but the soft-hearted heir to the throne of Kartheya.
“Many months ago,” Karsea said, swaying toward one of the sigils on the wall, touching it reverently. “I was in the Forbidden Section when I heard a voice. It told me many splendid, terrible things, and promised that it would do these many splendid, terrible things in my service. As long as I was willing to do what was necessary to release it. I agreed, and the voice taught me the words.”
She took out a blade from her cloak and we all tensed. But she didn’t attack. She sliced open her palm, barely wincing. She pressed her bleeding palm to the sigil and spoke.
The language was unlike any from this world. The words were harsh and guttural—perverse in her sweet voice. Every hair on my body stood up as she spoke in that ancient language. The sigil under her palm glowed orange.
Torra suddenly lurched forward. His movements were jerky and stiff as if he was a puppet on strings. His expression was slack, his dark eyes filmy. He walked toward Karsea. I suddenly understood how someone as small as Karsea was able to overpower so many mages.
“No!” I shouted, rushing forward and grabbing Torra. He struggled ferociously against me, striking me on the face and the stomach. I brought us down to the floor, pinning him down as he continued to fight me.
“Karsea, stop!” Fennion cried. Karsea removed her hand from the sigil, her face full of pity.
“You care for him? I never wanted to hurt you, brother. I will give you this kindness, then.”
Karsea cut her palm again and pressed it to the sigil. The sigil pulsed with orange light. Torra went slack beneath me. Kylarn helped me turn Torra onto his side.
But then we heard the sound of footsteps behind us. A Librarian, a middle-aged woman with buttery blonde hair and tan skin, emerged from the shadows. She walked in a daze toward Karsea. Kylarn made a grab for the Librarian, but the Librarian simply raised a hand and flung him back with a burst of water.
We all watched in horror as the Librarian staggered toward Karsea. Karsea welcomed the Librarian amicably, embracing her. She gently pushed the Librarian’s sleeve up, revealing the tattooed vow. Karsea whispered something to the Librarian, her eyes shining with gratitude. Then she pressed her bloody palm to the tattoo.
First, the Librarian’s body seemed to crumble. All her muscles contorted, then loosened. But before she could fall to the ground, she stopped mid-fall. As if an invisible hand had caught her. Slowly, the Librarian’s crooked form rose into the air.
A feeling, like the entire room was alive, washed over me. The presence was ancient and malevolent. My magic stuttered inside me.
Destruction.
The God of Destruction lifted the Librarian in the air. There was a pause, where I got the impression of cruel, amused eyes watching us. And then the Librarian began to shrivel up. Her mouth opened in a silent, terrified scream.
“Karsea, stop!” Fennion screamed, rushing toward her. That eerie, powerful presence expanded for a moment and then Fennion was thrown back and away from Karsea. Karsea looked up at the dying Librarian with awe.
“You’re so strong now,” Karsea breathed. “Are you ready?”
Karsea tilted her head, listening to a voice that was only for her. She turned to us as the Librarian’s body withered, their bones cracking and their skin peeling. The Librarian’s eyes blinked still. She was alive and lucid for all of it. Gorge rose inside me.
“Destruction is strong enough now. He will leave the Library with me. And we will do such wondrous things.”
“I don’t understand,” Fennion said, still on the ground.
He was on his knees with his head down and his hair obscuring his face. Karsea approached him. I reacted instantly, summoning my wind. Karsea eyed me apprehensively.
“I would never hurt him,” she assured me.
I snorted and stalked forward anyway. I stood over Fennion as Karsea stopped a few steps from us. From behind me, I sensed Kylarn shifting into an offensive stance. Ready to fight with us.
“Fennion,” she said softly. Fennion lifted his head. He looked utterly devastated.
“I’m doing this for us,” Karsea said, “for all of Kartheya. With a God on our side, we will be indestructible. Our enemies will fear us.”
“Since when did you care about inciting fear?” Fennion asked, his voice hollow. Karsea took a step back and raised a hand to her forehead. She suddenly looked tired.
“I know what they call me,” she muttered, “soft-heart. No one thinks I am capable of defending us against Vestan when Mother dies.”
“So this is the answer?” I demanded. “Making a deal with a God, killing innocents to help him regain his strength? Well, you sure showed your nay-sayers, Princess. No one could call you soft-heart after this.”
Karsea flinched.
“I never wanted to hurt anyone,” she whispered, “I only did what was necessary. You will see. Destruction will care for us. Protect us.”
The Librarian gasped one last time, then the light left her eyes. Instantly, she fell in a heap onto the ground, broken and discarded.
“Is it time?” Karsea asked, eyes search
ing the shadows.
That dark, terrible presence seemed to still. I held my breath. Fennion rose to his feet warily. Kylarn stood beside me, a dagger now in his other hand, his eyes intent on Karsea.
The stillness wore on for a moment longer and then we were all slammed onto the ground. Something held us to the ground, an unearthly pressure and malice. Like a cat pinning a mouse with its palm, playing with it before killing it. Fennion yelled and tried to get to his feet, but no amount of fighting released him. Similarly, Kylarn hollered and squirmed. Torra, who was awake again, didn’t move. His eyes were on Karsea. I turned my head to watch her too.
Karsea was kneeling on the stone ground, her hands up in supplication. In two swift movements, she slashed open both of her wrists. She uttered more words in that hideous, primeval language. As more of her blood spilled onto the floor, her voice rose and rose, until she screamed in that dead language. Her body started to spasm, but she continued chanting. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her forehead wrinkled in pain.
“Karsea!” Fennion called hoarsely, one hand outstretched toward her.
Karsea went quiet. Her body relaxed. I watched, transfixed, as her slashed wrists stitched themselves up before our eyes.
“Hells, have mercy,” Kylarn choked.
Karsea opened her eyes, but what peered out at us was not the Princess.
FENNION
Karsea blinked her flame-orange eyes at us. Her lips curled into a cruel smirk, an expression totally alien and wrong on her sweet face. She inhaled deeply, relishing the feeling of air in her lungs. She rose gracefully to her feet, running her hands over her body. She walked forward and back, chuckling in delight.
“Get out of her!” I yelled.
That was not my sister. A terrible thing was wearing her skin like a suit. Destruction’s eyes sliced over to me, and then over my companions. The smirk widened into a grin, and their orange eyes flared. With a careless flick of their hand, Destruction released the pressure holding us down.