Library of Absolution

by Jennifer Derrick

  As if she sensed his mental turmoil, Elissa stirred on the sofa and sat up.

  "Alarick?" she asked, voice husky with sleep.

  "Right here," he said, getting up and going to sit next to her on the sofa.

  "Did you finish?" she asked.

  "I did. You did a wonderful job."

  "You're not angry?" she asked.

  "No. Why would I be?"

  "I wrote some very personal things about you. Your past," she began.

  He took her hand in his. "It's a beautiful story and you told it as it should be told. Honestly. At first, I was surprised, but by the end, I understood. And choosing Marius as the guardian of the book was the best choice you could make. I think he'd be honored."

  "He is," she said.

  Alarick's hand tensed over hers. "You spoke to him?"

  "Of course. After I drew him, I had to make certain that he was under control. Even people we trusted in life don't always behave when drawn into books."

  "What was he like?" Alarick asked.

  She shrugged. "Odd. He was much himself, but also not, if that makes sense. He knew who and where he was, but it was like an essential part of him wasn't here. Marius just wasn't… Marius. He grasped the job well enough, though, and was honored I asked it of him. Would you like to speak to him?"

  "No. At least not right now. I need to think about that."

  "If it's any comfort, I think some of his confusion will pass over time. I've seen it happen before, particularly in cases where the guardian is summoned more than once. They begin to take on more and more of their personal essence over time, becoming almost human."

  "I'm not certain whether that would make speaking to him better or worse," Alarick said, thinking that a half-there Marius would be easier to let go than one who so closely resembled his old friend.

  "Hopefully we'll never have to find out," Elissa said. "As long as the book stays out of the hands of invaders and thieves, he won't have to reappear."

  "Is the book finished?" Alarick asked.

  Elissa shook her head. "No. I'll work on it until I no longer can, whether that's days or years from now. In an ideal world, it will never need to be used. The Ministry will be overthrown before we die, and we can personally gift this library to the world."

  "But we all know that's not likely," Alarick said.

  "We do. That's why the book must be kept in our room or hidden elsewhere in the Keep, not here. If the time comes when the library must be sealed, this book has to be outside of it for our descendants to have a chance of finding it."

  "About the library sealing itself," Alarick began, not wanting to address his fear, but having no choice. "Is there another way to seal it from the Ministry other than your death? The book makes it seem like a foregone conclusion that the library will be sealed."

  "That is my hope and intention," she said.

  "You intend to die?"

  "Not today," she said. "But someday, yes, I will die. If the Ministry is still around at that point, I will do everything I can to die here to protect this work. It is my life's work, Alarick, and it is my duty in death to protect it. Otherwise, the work will have been for naught."

  "So if you're given a chance to flee, you will not take it?"

  "Not if it means leaving the library unprotected," she said.

  "So basically you're advocating suicide," he said, anger rising at her stubbornness. And at the fact he knew she was right, but he desperately wanted her to be wrong.

  "No. I can't kill myself in here. That will not seal the library. Another must spill my blood. If forced, however, I would lead any attacker here and let them kill me."

  "There must be some other way," Alarick protested. "Some spell that binds the books to the library, preventing them from leaving this room. Surely there is something. Some way for you to protect the library and yourself."

  "If there is, I do not know of it. And I have sought that information," she said before he could beg her to look for it. "All of the facts point to the same conclusion: The work of the Book Mesmer can only be sealed by the death of the Book Mesmer."

  "Then let the books go hang. Let the Ministry take them. You've already protected them. The Ministry cannot destroy them, cannot read them. Let our descendants seek the books again. They will find them," he protested. "You cannot seriously intend to let yourself be killed if there is any other way."

  She sighed and squeezed his hand. "Alarick, do you see those books on the top shelf? The smoky-smelling ones that someone long ago salvaged from the remains of the library of Alexandria?"

  "Yes," he said. "Those are some of my favorites."

  He didn't favor them for their contents, had in fact never read them, but they were fascinating just the same. They were relics not only from the past, but also from a library so mythical, so important, that its loss was still felt centuries later.

  "Then you understand what happens when a major learning resource like that is destroyed. The Dark Ages were a direct result of Alexandria's destruction. All that knowledge, lost. Some of the materials survived, it's true, but they were scattered to the winds by the destroyers of the library, scavengers, and collectors.

  "Never again would those books be part of such a comprehensive resource. There wasn't a single repository of knowledge that was open to all. Knowledge was sequestered, held by the wealthy or those who sought power. Books became leverage.

  "As a result, it took hundreds of years to move forward from that loss. To this day, no one knows where all of Alexandria's books are. That is the fate we must avoid. Yes, our materials would survive, but where? Even with my book to tell a survivor that the materials are out there, where would someone even begin to search? The world is a big place, Alarick, and while the Ministry may not be able to destroy the books, they can hide them in caves, bury them, or conceal them in thousands of other places. Imagine trying to rebuild this collection without the faintest idea where to begin. It would be impossible.

  "That is why the books must remain here, protected. The library will seal itself inside an impregnable, immovable shell. Even if the Keep is razed to the ground, that shell will still be here, cocooning our work where our descendants can easily retrieve it."

  Alarick thought through her argument and saw her point. They'd amassed this collection with the help of friends and informants who'd told them where to find most of the books and through systematic searches of known magical villages. But without that information? Without knowing where on Earth the books could be? It would have been impossible. And he was certain the Ministry would leave no clues as to where the books were hidden. When the Ministry fell, and Alarick firmly believed it would happen one day, any link to the materials would be lost forever.

  "I don't like to think of your death," he admitted.

  "Neither do I. But I'm not afraid of it, either. I certainly hope to be very old before it happens, and the Ministry gone by then, so I don't have to worry about the library. But I must assume neither will be the case and plan accordingly."

  Alarick lowered his face to hers and kissed her gently.

  "Damn your practical, forward-thinking mind," he whispered.

  Elissa laughed against his lips. "It's why you love me."

  "Heaven help me, but it is," he said trying, yet again, to banish the image of her, broken, bleeding, and dying on the library's marble floor from his mind.

  19

  Two weeks after that night, Elissa went into labor. Alarick, who had been sleeping lightly, alert for any change in Elissa's condition, woke instantly when she shook him.

  "It's time," she whispered. "Get Candace."

  Alarick didn't ask any questions. They'd planned for this event for weeks. He simply threw on his shirt and pants and raced out of the room.

  Candace answered his knock in her nightgown and, to her credit, asked no questions, either.

  "Wait here," she said as she shut the door in his face.

  She emerged a few minutes later, fully dressed, a bag of s
upplies in hand.

  "Go get Margaret," she instructed.

  "Not one of the other healers? A surgeon, perhaps?" Alarick asked.

  "No. Margaret is an experienced midwife and Elissa will be more comfortable with her. We'll only need the surgeon if something goes wrong."

  Alarick stopped in the hallway and grabbed Candace's arm to keep her from walking away.

  "Will it?" he asked, his voice shakier than he would have preferred.

  Candace laid a hand over his and met his eyes. "The honest truth is that I can promise you nothing. You know that. But problems are unlikely. She's young, strong, and healthy. The odds are in her favor."

  Alarick nodded. "Just help her however you can."

  "You know we will."

  Alarick ran downstairs and found Margaret who was thrilled that the time had finally come. She rushed to follow him upstairs. John came along, too, for moral support. After Alarick deposited Margaret in his room with Elissa and Candace, John clapped a hand on his shoulder and pulled him into the hallway.

  "Let them get on with it," he said, producing a flask from his coat pocket and passing it to Alarick. "Have a drink. You're going to need it."

  Alarick drank, pleased to discover that it was scotch, not the usual whiskey John preferred.

  "What am I supposed to do?" Alarick asked, looking down at his hands.

  "You wait," John said. "And hope."

  They slid down the wall, so they were seated side by side on the floor and amiably passed the flask back and forth for a while. Neither said much. Alarick was too worried about Elissa and John wasn't the chatty sort. Still, John was good company and Alarick was grateful for his presence.

  Especially when the screaming started.

  At the first scream Alarick jumped up, ready to race into the room and deal murder to whoever was killing Elissa, but John pulled him back down to the floor.

  "Nothing you can do, brother," he said, handing over the flask again. "It's part of the process."

  "How do you know? You don't have children."

  "Ah, but I'm much older than you, boy. I've seen more of life and lived in villages with plenty of children. This is the way it is. Honestly, you should fear the quiet. If she's screaming, she's alive."

  Alarick didn't find that comforting, especially as the screams and moans grew more frequent.

  The hours passed and the sunrise gradually changed the hall in which they sat from black to pink to the white of full daylight. Occasionally Margaret or Candace would come to the door and ask for water or more towels and John would run off to fetch whatever they needed.

  Before long, the Keep's grapevine had spread the news that Elissa was in labor and large numbers of people gathered in the hall. The men offered commiseration and support. The women offered medical opinions. Things were likely fine, they assured Alarick. He wanted desperately to believe them.

  Through it all, Alarick stared at his hands, wondering how hands that could wield magic so deftly could do nothing to ease his own wife's suffering. It seemed unfair, especially since it was suffering he'd brought upon her.

  The flask was long empty by now, yet nothing numbed Alarick to the pain emanating from beyond his bedroom door. He tried to take comfort in John's theory that screaming equaled life, but Elissa's every scream tore a piece of his heart from his chest.

  When he thought he could bear it no longer, the screaming stopped. Alarick and John looked at each other.

  "No," Alarick whispered.

  "Wait," John said, holding up a finger. "Listen."

  They did and a moment later a cry rather than a scream came from beyond the door.

  "That's your baby," John said, thumping Alarick repeatedly on the shoulder.

  "Elissa," he whispered, fearing the worst. He stood and pressed his ear to the door. He heard nothing other than the baby's cries. No screaming, no sobbing, and no conversation.

  "Why is it so quiet?" he asked John.

  John, who was also beginning to look concerned, shrugged. Alarick backed up, ready to charge the bedroom door. Before he could, however, a chorus of female laughter came from beyond the door.

  John had risen to stand next to Alarick.

  "They wouldn't be laughing if something was wrong," he said.

  Alarick relaxed a bit and reached for the doorknob.

  "Wait," John said. "They'll come get you when it's time."

  No more than a minute later, the door opened. A beaming Margaret stood before them.

  "Congratulations. It's a girl," she said.

  "A girl," Alarick whispered. "A daughter."

  "She looks just like you," Margaret said. "The same dark hair and eyes, and her mouth has the same funny little quirk as yours. Come see."

  Alarick couldn't move. Fortunately, John was now thumping Alarick on the back so hard he practically propelled Alarick into the room.

  "Good job, man," he said as Alarick stumbled forward past a laughing Margaret.

  Elissa was propped up on pillows in the bed. She showed the wear of labor. Sweaty hair was matted to her forehead and her eyes were closed and ringed by dark circles. Still, she was beaming. Certain she was okay, Alarick shifted his gaze to the bundle she held in her arms. His baby. His daughter. His brain stumbled over the word. He had a child.

  "Elissa?" he asked as he stepped toward the bed.

  She turned to him and opened her eyes, her face full of joy. She was more beautiful in that moment than he had ever seen her.

  "Come meet your daughter," she said.

  Alarick sat down next to Elissa on the bed and looked at his daughter. Margaret was right. The poor thing did look like him. He hoped she'd grow out of it, or at least not be burdened with his nose on top of everything else.

  "She's beautiful," he said, lightly kissing Elissa's cheek. "Well done."

  Elissa traced her fingers over the baby's face. "Margaret says she looks like you."

  "She does, but I see you in her, too. Her face is shaped like yours, and she has your ears."

  Elissa traced an impossibly tiny ear, seeking the resemblance she could not see.

  "Would you like to hold her?"

  "Of course," Alarick said.

  Elissa handed him the tiny bundle wrapped securely in a soft blanket. Alarick carried her over to the window where he could better see in the light. His hands almost engulfed the tiny body. Never had he felt at once so strong and so powerless. This life was his to care for and protect. The realization and attendant responsibility nearly brought him to his knees.

  His daughter opened her eyes and looked at him, and he was lost, as lost as he'd been the first time he'd made love to Elissa. His heart belonged completely to this tiny creature. Alarick knew in that moment there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for her, nothing he wasn't strong enough to do as far as she was concerned. Whatever she needed he would give her, for as long as he was able.

  Margaret came alongside him and stroked a finger down the baby's cheek. "Have you chosen a name?" she asked.

  Alarick looked toward Elissa. They'd discussed this often, even up until late last night. He thought they'd chosen, but he waited for her to speak to be certain.

  "Frances," Elissa said. "Frances Eleanor Brandon."

  Alarick stood there, stunned. They'd discussed first names, but never gotten around to middle names. Elissa had, though. As usual, she was far ahead of him.

  "My sister," he said, returning to the bed. "You chose her middle name after my sister."

  "I did. We can change it if you don't like it, but I thought it was a fitting way to remember the sister you lost."

  Alarick could say nothing. He returned Frances to Elissa's arms and then wrapped his arms protectively around them both.

  "It's perfect," he said. "You're perfect. I love you."

  Elissa rested her head on his shoulder and sighed. "I love you, too, Alarick."

  He was so enthralled by his wife and daughter that he didn't notice Margaret and Candace slipping out of the room, leavin
g the new family alone to get to know each other.

  The next few months passed in a blur for Alarick. He learned how to change diapers and wondered how it was that something so tiny could produce so much mess. Watching Frances nurse at Elissa's breast never ceased to amaze him. The picture of wife and daughter was almost too beautiful for him to take in. The summer weather was gorgeous, and he and Elissa took every chance they could to stroll through Master Hale's gardens. Elissa carried Frances, and Alarick tucked her arm in his, guiding them carefully among the blooms.

  Sleep was difficult to come by, but he didn't mind. Alarick found a small selection of children's books in the library and took to bringing Frances in there late at night so Elissa could get some much needed rest. There in the quiet, the room lit only by a single orb, he would read to his little girl and spend time talking to her of things she couldn't possibly understand, yet which he desperately wanted to impart upon her.

  He was afraid he was running out of time to teach her all he knew and so he often followed some irrational impulse to tell her about magic or share some random bit of wisdom. It was silly, but he hoped some primal part of her brain might remember the information later.

  All through the summer he marveled at how fast Frances grew and how perfect she was. The little fingers grasped his own now, and she even smiled at the sound of his voice. He often fell asleep on the library sofa, Frances resting on his chest. Elissa would find them like that in the morning and tease him about "Daddy's girl," but Alarick didn't mind. It was the truth. Elissa held his soul in her hands, but Frances held his heart in her tiny palms.

  Most of all, he wondered how he managed to make it day to day without his heart exploding from joy and love. This life was certainly nothing like the life he'd envisaged for himself. It was full and happy, even if the threat of extinction at the hands of the Ministry hung over his head every day.

  And that dark cloud got darker every day. Try as he might to avoid it, reports of increased Ministry activity reached him every morning. That wasn't unusual. With the fine summer weather, it was the perfect time for the Ministry to travel and ransack villages. It happened every year. What was odd about this year was that their movements seemed to have more purpose and direction than usual.