by Brandon Mull
“Have you asked Tibrus if he knows where we can learn about Darian?” Nia inquired.
“I did. Tibrus specializes in medicine, the arts, and the strategy of warfare. But he told me where we can find several guides with rich backgrounds in history.”
Farfalee thanked Tibrus in Edomic and set down his stone. The instant her fingers lost contact with the hemisphere, the wispy soldier vanished. She ducked behind the counter and came back up holding a small iron strongbox with a keyhole in the front. After setting down the heavy box, she moved along the counter a few paces, crouched again, and produced the key.
“These are some of the more expert guides,” Farfalee explained, unlocking the container. “Since the library is vacant, Tibrus was kind enough to tell me where to locate the key.”
“These guides are better than the others?” Jason checked.
“History is by far the largest section of the collection,” Farfalee explained. “Tibrus warned that the expert guides can be trickier to handle, which was my experience centuries ago in the Great Document Hall at Elboreth. The experts are designed to carefully match the seeker of knowledge to appropriate volumes. They will steer the unworthy away from the weightier texts.”
“Then why use the experts?” Nia asked.
Farfalee took six stones from the strongbox and placed them in a row on the counter. “If we knew the name of the book we desire, any guide would suffice. But I have no idea what tome will inform us about the most recent abode of Darian the Seer. So our best chance will be to solicit an expert who can suggest how to locate that information. We must impress them and win them over. Jasher, would you prefer Edomic or common?”
He winced a little. “I’m more comfortable with common.”
“It won’t help your credibility,” Farfalee cautioned.
“Neither will poor speech,” Jasher said.
“Very well,” Farfalee conceded.
“Why don’t you consult the experts one by one, Failie?” Drake asked.
“Partly due to time,” Farfalee replied. “Partly because the experts have varied personalities. Some prefer men to women. If necessary, I will solicit all of them personally. For the present we should share the task.” She tapped four of the stones in turn, muttering a phrase about common speech each time. “You may each select one and see what you can learn.”
Jason picked a cloudy white stone with fiery orange flecks. It felt smooth, cool, and somewhat heavier than it looked.
Farfalee told them the word they should speak to activate the stone. Jason felt a little nervous, because Edomic commands had never worked for him like they had for Rachel. But in this instance he just needed to pronounce the word correctly, not pour his will into the command to demand compliance.
Trying to match her inflection, Jason repeated the summons Farfalee had shared, and the stone instantly hummed in his hand and grew perceptibly warmer. A bald man with a hook nose and thin eyebrows appeared, leaning on a cane, his skin and clothes a luminous white.
“Common tongue, is it?” he said, sounding a bit cranky.
“It’s my native language,” Jason explained defensively.
The old guy waved a dismissive hand. “What a sorry state of affairs. Native tongue, you say? The current common speech does not even originate from our world, lad. It comes from the Beyond.”
“I know,” Jason said. “So do I.”
This surprised the old guy. “You hail from the Beyond? Then you know the country our common speech is named after.”
“England.”
“Correct.” The ghostly figure suddenly seemed more friendly. “Do you know how English came to be our common tongue?”
“From the Beyonders who came here?”
“The Beyonders planted the first seeds. There were many factors involved. The primary culprits were wizards. The wizards of Lyrian have long been fascinated with Beyonders. Some wizards have even traveled to the Beyond. Since English was utterly foreign to this world, a number of powerful wizards began using it for secret communication, both in writing and in speech. As the trend grew, the study of English became second only to Edomic for many wizards. Consequently, even outside the society of wizards, many of the learned and wise adopted the practice.
“Of the two languages favored by the wise, English was easier to master. And so interest in it increased. English became synonymous with learning and power. Diverse cultures spoke their own languages, and English besides. In time, English provided a means to converse across cultural boundaries. Gradually, English became firmly established as the common tongue of Lyrian. As an increasing number of children learned it from the cradle, English also became the primary language of many cultures.”
“You know a lot,” Jason said.
“It is my calling,” the old man answered pleasantly. “Under most circumstances I would consider the use of English inelegant, but the opportunity to converse with a native speaker of a Beyondic tongue is indeed an honor. What brings you to these hallowed halls of learning?”
“A single question, really,” Jason said. “I’m looking for the last home of Darian the Seer.”
The old man burst into laughter. Not brief laughter. The mirthful condition persisted long enough to make Jason feel awkward. The old guide partly got himself under control, then started up again, wiping tears from his eyes.
“Why is that funny?” Jason asked.
“My apologies, my young Beyonder. For how long have you inhabited our world?”
“Several months, now. Less than a year.”
“And already you’ve turned treasure seeker?”
“I’m not a treasure hunter,” Jason said. “I need information.”
The old man nodded. “Information that will lead you to Darian’s fabled treasure.”
“No. I need information from Darian.”
“My boy, surely you are aware that Darian must have died ages ago.”
This was not news to Jason. Not long after hearing the prophecy, Farfalee had explained that Darian should have died well before even she was born. “Are we sure he’s dead?” Jason asked the guide. “Was it confirmed? Did anyone find a body?”
The old man made a disappointed face. “Are you one of those?”
“One of what?”
“I thought we had seen the last of them.”
“The last of who?”
The guide considered Jason shrewdly. “How much do you know about the question you are asking?”
“Not a lot. But I was told by a trusted source that Darian has information for me.”
The guide narrowed his eyes. “How trusted is the source?”
Jason glanced over at Farfalee, who was conversing with a short, plump woman. “Hey, Farfalee. How much can I tell him?”
“Ask a guide to keep a conversation private and it will,” she replied. “Even so, do not divulge more than seems needful.”
Jason turned back to the old guide. “Do you have a name?”
“Bactrus.”
“I’m Jason. Bactrus, will you keep everything I tell you private?”
“Every patron has the right to privacy. I will protect that right, if you desire.”
“I do. I was told to come here by an oracle.”
Bactrus smiled patiently. “My boy, many profess the gift of prescience.”
“This was the oracle of Mianamon. The head oracle. She died to get the prophecy she shared with us.”
“Mianamon you say? A young sect of truth tellers, last I heard, but reputedly legitimate. Perhaps they have fallen into error in the intervening years. This library has sat dormant for centuries, you know.”
“I know. I’m pretty sure the oracle was legit.”
“Time will tell. What do you know of Darian? Have you other reasons for suspecting he survives?”
“Just the word of the oracle.”
“Allow me to furnish some general background. Like most individuals possessing abnormal skill with Edomic, Darian lived an extended lifetime. More ex
tended than most wizards, in fact, which implies significant power. Thousands of years ago, toward the end of his career, already growing frail with age, Darian left his comfortable home in the city of Darvis Kur.”
“The Drowned City,” Jason interjected.
“You know something of our history,” Bactrus approved. “This was long before the incident with Pothan the Slow, but yes, I refer to the same Darvis Kur that now lies in the Sunken Lands. Darian left his comfortable home for a secret abode in the wilderness, where he planned to end his days.”
“Secret abode?” Jason asked. “How secret?”
“Most secret,” Bactrus emphasized. “The disappearance produced quite an uproar. You see, Darian was undisputedly the greatest seer Lyrian had known. Past, present, and future were open to him as to no other before or since. Fire aided his visions, earning him the secondary title of pyromancer. He had helped and guided the people of Lyrian for generations. He was old, but there were still years in him. In spite of that, he vanished abruptly and with little explanation, which spawned rumors for centuries.”
“What rumors?” Jason asked.
“Darian had many servants and disciples. Some claimed he had seen a vision of the place where he was supposed to die and that he had become obsessed with spending the remaining years of his life there. Others asserted he had been hoarding treasure over the years and wanted to die entombed with his riches. Some rumors even purported that Darian had found the secret to everlasting life and meant to prophesy in hiding until the end of time. These were some of the earliest and best documented assertions. Over the years there has been no shortage of additional speculation.”
“So he might be alive?”
The spectral guide chuckled. “It would be an unprecedented feat. No matter his ability, no matter how diligently he conserved his vigor, Darian should have perished millennia ago. But who is an old library guide to label anything impossible?”
“Did anyone ever find his last home?”
“You must understand, treasure hunters tried to uncover this secret for a thousand years before giving up. The last abode of Darian the Seer is the stuff of legend, a mirage that has been pursued by countless doomed expeditions. Respected oracles and seers have sought the final dwelling place of Darian, including several truth sayers he had personally trained, but their efforts yielded nothing. As with other such legends, the only claims of success over the years came from unreliable sources with little or no proof.”
“Now I get why you laughed earlier,” Jason said.
“I am glad you can empathize,” Bactrus said. “The hunt for the last abode of Darian the Pyromancer was abandoned as folly centuries before this library became dormant. I found it humorous that our first visitor in many long years came chasing such a far-fetched legend.”
Jason sighed. “The idea of finding the last home of Darian the Seer has become a joke.”
“It was a joke fifteen hundred years ago,” Bactrus said. “Now it has been so long that most have forgotten the idea was ever amusing.”
Jason glanced over at Farfalee. “The seed people I’m with knew of Darian, but they didn’t seem to know how absurd the quest for his home is considered.”
“Not surprising,” Bactrus said. “Compared to Darian, even the Amar Kabal are young. The quest you describe is a fool’s errand. The search for his final dwelling place has been long forgotten. Nevertheless, the name of Darian will endure forever. He truly was the greatest seer of all time.”
“Great enough that if he knew he could live forever, he might have moved away from Darvis Kur before the city flooded?”
Bactrus smiled. “An interesting observation.”
“Everyone may have forgotten this was ever a joke, but the oracle I spoke with was the real deal. Her predictions brought me here from the Beyond. She couldn’t see his home, but she seemed certain we could discover the location here. We don’t need the location to find treasure. We need it to learn a secret that can save Lyrian. Can you help me?”
“You have a flair for the dramatic,” Bactrus said. “And I have a soft spot for the enthusiastic pursuit of hopeless causes. Besides, my job is to serve as your guide. If this is the knowledge you seek, I shall do all in my power to aid you.”
“Where do we start?” Jason asked. “We don’t have much time.”
Bactrus furrowed his brow. “How long do you have?”
“We’re not sure,” Jason said. “Do you know what’s going on across Lyrian right now?”
“I know much of what is written here,” Bactrus said. “But I have learned nothing from outside since our last visitors arrived. The Maumet sealed us off from the rest of the world.”
“What happened to the people here?” Jason wondered.
“Most tried to flee the island. Far as we could tell, the Maumet took them all. Some tried to hide here. The Maumet has never entered the library. It has never tried. Eventually those hiding here either took their chances with the Maumet or starved.”
Jason frowned. “What happened to the bodies? You know, the ones who starved?”
“Apart from the Edomic spells preserving the walls, artifacts, and books here, there are a few simple constructs that assist with shelving and trash collection. These constructs deposited the corpses in a storage room.”
“Gross,” Jason said.
Bactrus shrugged. “Less unpleasant than some alternatives.”
“Well, a lot has happened since then. You know about Maldor?”
“The apprentice to Zokar.”
“Zokar is dead. Eldrin destroyed all the major libraries except for this one. All the wizards are gone now, except for Maldor, who is setting himself up as emperor. His forces will follow us here anytime. If they find us here, they’ll kill us.”
“An acceptable reason for haste,” the old guide allowed. “Let me briefly review what you can find here pertinent to your search. I have aided many with research on this topic, though as you might guess, I have had no serious inquiries in a great while. The texts you desire are ancient and almost uniformly amount to unconfirmed speculation. All I can offer are a thousand different unverified theories.”
Jason rubbed his forehead. “The information has to be here.”
“The correct answer may lie camouflaged among those many guesses. In your lifetime, without interference and with infinite funding, you could perhaps pursue forty or fifty of those leads. The search would take you all over the world.”
Jason thought of Galloran attacking Felrook. “We only have one shot. Even going straight to the right destination might take too long. Maldor is about to crush us. Are you aware of all the possible sources we could check? Is there another guide who might know something you missed?
Bactrus bristled at the question. “I am the chief guide for ancient history. And the last abode of Darian the Seer is an area of personal expertise. Any of the other guides who wished to be of service would refer you to me. I personally know the contents of every scroll, map, and volume relevant to your inquiry. You will find no other pertinent text in this library, unless you can read ancient Petruscan.”
Jason turned to Farfalee. She did not look like she was getting favorable news from her guide. “Hey, Farfalee. Do you know ancient Petruscan?”
She brightened. “Petruscan? Actually, yes. Petruscan is the most obscure language with which I am familiar.”
CHAPTER 15
LIBRARY
Once the celebration over the demise of the Maumet subsided, the next phase of planning began. All agreed that haste was a top priority. They needed to secure the information from the library before the opportunity vanished. Even if the imperial forces of the Inland Sea did not know their current position, the tower of smoke rising into the atmosphere would be visible for many miles around. A number of vessels were likely to notice.
Within an hour Aram had the Valiant anchored off the eastern coast of Windbreak Island, just south of the new crater. Two launches made for shore, eight passengers in each,
including Jason, Farfalee, Jasher, Drake, Aram, Nia, Heg, and a very pale and weary Corinne.
After landing on a strip of beige sand, Corinne flopped onto the beach, facedown, arms spread wide, as if trying to embrace the ground. Breathing deeply, she held the pose for a long moment. Jason squatted beside her, and she raised her head to look at him. Particles of sand clung to her lips, nose, and chin. Her face was ashen, with dark smudges under her eyes. Even worn out and sick, she remained pretty.
“Does it feel good to be back on land?” he asked.
She nodded. “I’m better already. Not all the way back yet. Might take a little time. The warm sand feels divine. I almost feel like eating something on purpose.”
“We’ll have to be fast,” Jason said.
“Don’t you dare,” Corinne scolded.
“Our enemies could catch up any minute,” Jason explained.
“I know.”
“Farfalee said the research might take days.”
“I like her.”
Jason saw that the others were ready to move out. A pair of drinlings had been assigned to guard Corinne. “I have to go.”
“Take your time. I’ll come find you when I feel better.”
“Such a nice beach,” Jason said, looking up and down the narrow stretch of sand. “It would be a shame to barf all over it.”
Corinne threw a handful of sand at him. He could tell she was already feeling more like herself.
Jasher strode over to Corinne and laid the sheathed torivorian sword on the sand beside her. “This belongs with you.”
“Thanks. You’re welcome to take it.”
The seedman shook his head. “I have my own sword. I want you properly armed.”
Another group of drinlings was heading toward the beach in the skiff that had trailed the Valiant out of Durna. “What are they up to?” Jason asked.
“Foraging,” Jasher said. “You know how much food the drinlings require. They thought it wise to fill the hold while they have the chance.”
“I hope they find stuff we can eat too,” Jason muttered.
“We’ll be all right,” Jasher replied. “The Valiant was well provisioned when we took it. The drinlings have left the best stores for us.”