by Sever Bronny
“I am sorry to interrupt, Ancient One,” he said, “but we have little time before Orion returns to search for us.” He did not want to presume and say that he wanted to come up with a plan, hoping Esha would offer instead.
Esha looked to him and her face gentled upon seeing Leera in his arms. “You seek what many have sought before you. You seek entrance to Ley.”
“Yes,” Augum only managed to whisper.
Esha continued looking at Leera as she spoke. “There may indeed be a way forward …” She closed her eyes. “I recall a conversation that happened a long time ago with a friend on an island said to be so beautiful it had been bequeathed to poets. Ah, yes, I can hear the words like a nearly-forgotten song from childhood. Perhaps her stone lies amongst the grasses still.” She opened her eyes. “There is an ancient Arcaner ritual that can open a portal to Ley, one that accepted that no victory came without cost. But I am not sure the knowledge still exists on Sithesia. The query will need to be researched.”
“Are you referring to the incomplete Namidius Ritual?” Ning asked.
“I do not believe so, friend,” Esha replied.
“Is it Athodian’s Ritual then, said to be lost?”
“That also does not sound accurate—”
“The Kieroken Divide—”
“No, I do not believe—”
“Then surely it must be the Edrodian Chant—”
“Alas, I do not believe so.”
“Then tell me … please.”
“I regret that I am not sure. Perhaps a study of the Leyan plane in relation to Arcaner history will yield a result.”
“Hmm, very well then. I believe I know where you need to begin.” Ning’s chair turned toward Secretary Klines.
Klines bowed. “As you wish, Your Brilliance.” Her gaze, magnified greatly by her oversized spectacles, swept the group. “We must go to the arcane wing of the library.” She opened a palm toward the doors.
The companions picked up their belongings and shuffled out of the room, many glancing back at it.
“If you happen to see Anna,” Ning called after them, “be sure to say hello.”
Augum nodded at her. “We will, Senior Arcaneologist Ning.”
“And don’t you miss a single word, you old coot,” she added to her husband, making sure everyone heard that particular thought. “Not a word! And that means no shortcuts!”
“As you wish, Your Brilliance,” Herzog replied in a mocking tone.
“You must return to me, Ancient One,” Ning pressed into their minds. “You are far too important to history. Promise me this.”
Esha stopped at the doorway, voice soft with sorrow. “My kind and lonesome friend, one cannot find wisdom without first searching for it. Alas, the only promise I can make is that I too shall pass, ir vitae mio suela o ento ersa au aat veteri sona.”
Herzog reverently quilled the translation. “ ‘… for my life now sings the final verse of an old song.’ ”
Across Time
The group somberly strode through the dimly lit curving castle-like halls of the old library, shoes padding on the carpet, rucksacks swinging on their shoulders, fur coats hanging limply over their arms as they were too hot to wear. Esha was in the front with Secretary Klines and Rafael Herzog, whose tome floated by his side, the quill tip pressed to the thick book’s pages. Nearly every eye was upon her as she strode with a peaceful gait, her long lioness tail occasionally peeking out from under her attendant robe. The trio and Olaf brought up the rear. Brandon soon fell back to walk beside Augum and Leera.
“I didn’t know you had set the Dreadnoughts free,” he said, voice full of awe. “In fact, I don’t think anybody knows that.”
“And I’d prefer to keep it that way,” Augum replied, trying not to sound abrasive.
“Do you know the sorts of songs they would—”
“Please,” Augum interrupted. “I meant what I said.” Life is tough enough.
Brandon stared at him as they walked. “You’ve got to stop trying to hide from your accomplishments. That’s a huge thing you did. I … I don’t know if I could have been capable of that.” He swallowed as he glanced to Bridget, who strode just ahead beside Olaf. “I don’t know if I could have achieved any of what you lot achieved had I been appointed the task.”
“We just did our duty, nothing more.” He adjusted his grip on his golden breastplate, wondering if he should secure it to his rucksack. The girls carried theirs as well and routinely switched hands as the plates, although made from relatively light Dreadnought steel, were still cumbersome.
“That’s my point, Aug. Few would have had the courage to do that sort of duty. But I’m … I’m glad someone did.” Brandon hurried ahead again, careful to stride by Bridget without looking at her.
“Still pains him,” Leera noted in a whisper, nodding at Bridget, referring to their break-up. Augum nodded in agreement, though he didn’t know if anything could be done about it. Brandon had overcome his attraction, only for that attraction to creep its way back in. Perhaps only time could heal that particular wound.
As they walked, Augum rubbed his eyes. He didn’t want to explore the turmoil that swirled in his chest like an acid whirlpool. He hadn’t given it much thought before, but the path they were on—that is, if they were successful in summoning dragons—would vastly increase their fame and likely draw the craziest people from all over Sithesia. It would mean putting everyone he knew in grave danger from that point on, for no amount of security was ever enough when every fool knew where to find them. Thus, a cowardly part of him wished he had never started on this path at all, wished he had kept his damn fool mouth shut and that there was another way to save the kingdoms.
“You look troubled,” Leera said, hooking her elbow with his and drawing him nearer.
“I’m falling in with Bridget on a point,” he said. “I think I’m starting to long for a quiet life.”
Bridget turned around and walked backward. “Far too late for that, Aug. All we can do now is adapt.”
“What’d you think of Sabella?” Leera asked her.
“I think … I think …” Bridget’s brows furrowed. “I think that’s what I want to do?” she said uncertainly.
Leera grinned. “What, get arcastrated?”
Bridget ignored her. “It’s right in the code. It’s been staring me in the face the whole time.”
“What’s in the code? What are you going on about?”
“ ‘Thou shall fight for the welfare of all. Thou shall seek knowledge that contributes to the craft.’ ”
“I don’t understand. Stop being mysterious. I hate mysterious.”
“Vague,” Cry absently threw in, taking his own notes in his journal. “You mean vague.”
Leera shrugged. “Whatever.”
“Well, I don’t know what it is I’m trying to say yet,” Bridget snapped, and whirled back around.
Leera gave Augum a deadpan look. “She doesn’t know what she’s trying to say yet.”
“Oh, leave her be.”
“I should, shouldn’t I? I suppose we’re all trying to discover who we are and what we want, aren’t we?”
Augum nodded in a We certainly are manner.
Leera sighed. “I miss Sir Pawsalot.”
“I do too.”
“Hope that little cuddler is snug and secure.”
He will be as long as the academy stands, Augum thought.
They came upon a barren room with simple torch sconces and countless oval runes etched into black stone walls as polished as the mirror-like floor.
Klines turned to address the group. “We are about to enter the arcane wing of the library, which the Canterrans have been mighty interested in since their occupation of Solia. I’ll scout it first and see who we have to deal with today, as they seem to come and go as they please. Also, you should know that the library is ancient and obeys ancient rules of curiosity—one must earn the right to access its knowledge.”
Augum fondly reca
lled earning coins by solving puzzles deep under the library and using those coins to gain access to rooms filled with knowledge.
“Unfortunately, none of you have earned the right to enter the rooms within, which means I alone must enter on your behalf—”
“Nonsense!” Herzog spouted, limping forth with his cane, tome and quill trailing.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Did you lose them ears, lass? You heard me plenty clear, yes you did. We’ll be letting them all in. This is no time for games.”
“That is strictly against the rules, not to mention against Senior—”
“I don’t give one hoof what that old floating fart thinks, no I do not. The arcane wing is my domain, yes it is indeed. I will be allowing them entry.”
“Her Brilliance will be livid—”
He pointed at her with his cane. “Then your beetle self need not tell her.”
“You are perfectly aware she will lift it from my mind like a sheaf of parchment—”
“Then I shall simply have to do what I always do, yes I will—” He winked at the group. “—hide my old buzzard hind until she calms down!” and he wheezed with laughter. A few joined in with half-hearted chuckles. “Besides, I already gave these three—” He swung his cane to point at the trio, nearly whacking Mary in the head. “—full access to the library during the war.”
Augum hadn’t wanted to bring that up as Herzog specifically told them not to reveal that fact to anyone, especially Ning.
Klines blanched. “You what?”
“Might want to clean them ears out, my stubby-legged lass. I gave them access as a reward, and in case they needed it again. Unlike that stingy floating old chamber pot, that’s what decent folks do for Heroes of the Resistance.”
Klines was quivering now. “Senior Arcaneologist Ning will yank the permissions the moment—and I mean the moment—she discovers them. There are strict rules when it comes to—”
“And there are exceptions to rules, yes there are. And this occasion happens to be one of them. We are not training in degrees here, lass, we are training to save all of Sithesia. Learn the weed-pickin’ difference. Now go on and scout ahead like you said you was going to as I need to get back to chronicling important events, not your ill-timed, ill-considered, rigid-thinking, line-toeing shenanigans.”
Klines was nearly purple. “Very well, I shall leave it to you to explain to Senior—”
“Yes, yes, stop your yappin’ and get to clackin’.”
Klines straightened her robe in a dignified manner. “Well I never!” But then she looked to Augum. “If I don’t return by the twelfth strike of the midnight bell, you go right back to Senior Arcaneologist Ning and hide until it is safe.”
Augum nodded his understanding.
“And this is a rarely used secondary portal room, so you should be fine waiting here.” Klines then clacked her way over to an oval etching. “Shyneo.” Her hand flared with smoky gray light. She pressed it to the oval and a portal burst into existence beside her. A fierce wind blew from it, flailing people’s hair and billowing robes. She stepped through and the portal disappeared with a reverse sucking sound.
“Have you gaggle of geese been registered yet?” Herzog asked. They nodded. “Good, that will make things mighty easy.” He found the etching of a gargoyle and beckoned them over. “Let’s go, lads and lasses, one at a time, tell me your first and last names, and quickly now.” He pressed a hand to the oval and it lit crimson. “Arch Historian Rafael Herzog. Promote—” He nodded at Mary, who blurted her name. “Mary Martel,” he said, and nodded at each person in turn and repeated their names, finalizing the ceremony with “—to cloaked administrative access. Full privileges.”
“She’s going to throttle you,” Leera muttered. “Maybe us too.”
Herzog smiled crookedly. “Most certainly so, and I think it best we all avoid the old windbag for a little while, yes? For that matter, best not bring this up again within library grounds. And unfortunately that little beetle is right—my cranky old wife will revoke your access the moment she finds out and then run me down with that cursed chair of hers, yes she will.” As he chuckled at the jest, Augum cracked a smile picturing Ning chasing him through the halls, the pair hurling insults at each other.
They milled about awkwardly.
Haylee lingered near Esha. “So, uh—” Herzog’s quill scratched away as soon as she began speaking. “—what’s it like to live forever … and stuff?”
Esha considered the question. “Lonesome and tedious, dare I say, and most melancholy. My heart is heavy with the weight of souls I shall never look upon again.”
Haylee’s innocent query opened the gates to a slew of others, all jumbled together.
“You heard Senior Arcaneologist Ning,” Maxine hissed to the group. “Don’t pester her with inanities.”
Leera waved her sentiment aside. “I’m sure it’s fine. But one at a time would be better—” She flashed a grin as she pointed at herself with two thumbs. “—starting with me. Move aside, Crooked Leg—” She playfully pulled on Haylee’s robe (“Hey—!”), taking her place while teetering on her toes. “What’s the secret to living forever?”
Esha glanced at their rapt faces and chuckled. “A question as old as time. Retus Eldriticus was quoted as saying, ‘Our deepest desire has always been to be remembered in the arc of history.’ He believed that, one way or another, our existence will always end, yet the amount of time we live will never seem to be enough. That is why it is better to live in the moment than spend it worrying about the future. The moment is the only thing we truly possess.” She smiled at Leera. “You have the privilege of a mortal life. Do not squander it, for its beauty lies in its fleetingness.”
“When were you born?” Brandon asked as Leera gawked in amazement.
Esha’s voice took on a hypnotic tone. “I was born at the twilight of the Age of Beasts and the dawn of the Age of Primitives, when flint tipped arrows and spears and axes and tools. When night was a terror avoided at all costs. When tribes began naming lands and staking boundaries. When my people first discovered bronze and began sculpting it into all sorts of useful shapes. When arcanery was known as magic and was crude and wild and unkind. When the gods were on the lips of every mortal and governed lives from the crow of the rooster until the quench of the night fires.”
They listened, mesmerized.
“My mother gave birth to me under a silver moon in an earthen home with walls of plaster and a roof of mud and reed, during the sweltering heat of a three-year summer. I grew up carefree among my people back when we still lived in the mountains, warring with the wolfkind for territory, as well as with forgotten peoples who soon perished under the blade of war.
“In my fifteenth spring, on a dark morning I can still recall as if it had happened only today, we were cursed by the so-called father of our people, who felt betrayed when we refused to continue to do his bidding. Now that I am the last Dreadnought, I can openly proclaim that, despite his insistence otherwise, he had not been a god at all, but rather a powerful warlock, a lion among lions.
“That is when I and my people became immortal. That is when we began to serve masters, nearly all of whom were lords of death, of necromancy and suffering. Masters who longed to live forever, who longed to use our forging prowess for their own ends. Who sought war at every turn, who desired the first great empires. Throughout, our skill improved, for it was all that we had—to the detriment of all.”
She ceased speaking, leaving behind a chasm of silent questions.
“Near the beginning of the Age of Primitives,” Jengo whispered reverently. “That’s … that’s like … like—”
“Ten thousand years ago,” Bridget finished for him in a hallowed whisper.
For a moment, even the quill ceased its scratching. For his part, Augum could barely comprehend such a vast stretch of time. Ten thousand years! And he was merely a teenager. The difference was … unfathomable.
“And you’
ve lived ever since?” Cry pressed in that same hallowed whisper. He was frantically scribbling in his journal, entranced. “I mean … did you live every one of those years?”
“We slept long sleeps between masters, skipping many generations.”
“We are humbled by such a feat of life,” Mr. Goss whispered, shaking his head and holding onto Leland. “Thank you for gracing us with your presence.”
“The honor is as much mine as it is yours, Father of Leland.”
Mr. Goss swallowed dryly. “Albert … Albert is fine.”
“Did you see dragons?” Augum blurted, unable to help himself.
Esha tilted her head up as if seeing through the ceiling of her memory. She closed her lion eyes and smiled. “There was indeed a short window of around a thousand years when the winged lizards occasionally roamed the skies, preserving the First Great Peace. All because Arcaners dared to bring the spirit of the dragon back with them from a land beyond lands.”
She lowered her head and opened her eyes. “And then Arcaners were betrayed by their own and a terrible war broke out. When it was over, they relinquished that great power, fearing more death and destruction should they hold onto it. Then came the rise of Attyla the Mighty, bringing with him the Age of War, and vultures grew fat and the air smelled of smoke and blood. The dragons have not returned since.”
Esha, eyes unfocused, allowed a thoughtful silence to pass, marred only by scratching quills, before continuing on. “But it is said that the winged lizards existed long prior to Arcaners bringing them back. Many eons ago, prior to the clay tablet, even prior to all the peoples of all the lands, back in the early ages when great beasts roamed hot lands and volcanoes were the terrors to be feared by every living creature …”
Augum found himself slowly shaking his head in amazement. The timescale involved was so beyond what he could grasp that he felt like a gnat trying to fathom its place in a great forest.
“That’s blasphemy,” Arthur blurted, clinging to his salt pouch. “Everyone knows the gods created the world during The Founding.”
Leera whirled on him. “How could you believe that! You’re a warlock! A warlock. The Founding was crafted and written by warlocks.”