by Sever Bronny
Leera frowned as she glanced between Esha and Leland. “What exactly is everyone’s plan for Leland?”
Secretary Klines stepped forward. “Young Leland is training to become an illusionist.”
While Mr. Goss pressed his lips into a disapproving line, the trio shared an excited look. Augum hoped to be able to find time later to ask Leland all about this interesting path.
“Is an illusionist someone who just makes illusions?” Mary asked.
“An illusionist is an ancient profession that makes the mind see what it wants to see,” Klines replied. “And when one becomes adept at it, one can force the mind to see what it does not want to see.”
Mr. Goss crossed his arms. “I cannot say that I approve of such an … ignoble profession.”
“I’ll only ever use it for good, Father, I promise,” Leland’s ghoul countered.
Klines turned to the concerned father. “It is a great honor, Mr. Goss, as it is a very rare occupation. In fact, your son will likely be the only Solian illusionist of his generation. A prodigy, if you will. Senior Arcaneologist Ning will be most pleased when I report to her on this latest demonstration of his.”
“I am not comfortable with the secrecy,” Mr. Goss replied. “And I would appreciate being kept abreast of my son’s learnings.”
“You will have to discuss that with Senior Arcaneologist Ning, Mr. Goss.”
He raised his chin. “Then I shall.”
“Very good. Now if you will please excuse me—” Klines strode past him to the gargoyle statue by the closest tall door and placed a hand near the gargoyle’s outstretched palm. “Shyneo.”
A bright crimson symbol of a multi-headed beast and an inscription that read Monstrosities appeared on the gargoyle’s chest.
“Um, sorry, but why does it say that on its chest, Secretary Klines?” Mary asked in a voice that quivered slightly. “And what’s behind the rest of the doors? They’re so … scary looking.”
“What do you think Monstrosities means, airhead?” Maxine hissed.
“Hey!” Augum snapped. “Enough.”
Maxine glanced him over. “We need to stop wasting time prattling on about inanities. The Canterrans could easily figure out that clumsy ruse and come charging right back in here, army in tow, and then what? Huh? And then what?”
He squared his jaw. “Then we deal with it.”
Maxine’s face went stony. Augum turned his back on her and nodded at Klines.
“It is indeed a room for the study of known monstrosities, young lady,” Klines said to Mary. “There are ten rooms between the 1st and the 10th degree, seven rooms for the seven primary elements, and a room each for History, Archives, Philosophy, Cartography, Kingdoms, Luminaries, Folklore, Planes, Artifacts, Tongues, and Restricted.” She looked back at the inscription. “And since they are all unmarked until asked, and I have not been in this part of the library in a while, I have unfortunately found the wrong room.”
“Which one are ye searchin’ for, lass?” Herzog asked.
“Planes.”
“This way.” Herzog shuffled to a room a ways down the hall, Klines’s high-heeled shoes clacking along the polished marble floor beside him. When she stepped before the gargoyle and placed a hand on its palm, its chest lit up with the crimson inscription Planes. A symbol depicting a red line flanked by two red dots also appeared.
“That’s the runic symbol for planes, lass,” Herzog whispered to Mary with a wink before she had the chance to ask.
“What if the scholars are in there?” Jengo asked. “Are we going to just … arrest them or something? It’s bad luck to fight a scholar.”
“Not if they’re crazy Path Archons,” Leera muttered.
“Combat of any kind is strictly forbidden within these rooms,” Klines snapped. “Should any arise, we must vacate immediately. The knowledge contained within is more precious than you can imagine. It must be protected.” She grimaced at the historian. “I assume you promoted them in my absence?”
Herzog grinned, head bobbing and weaving. “Aye.”
Klines sighed and placed her palm on the gargoyle’s. “Secretary Prudence Klines.” The gargoyle lumbered to life and stepped aside with a deep grinding noise. “I could get dismissed for this,” she muttered as she pushed open one of the tall doors, revealing a dark interior. She walked aside and looked back at them. “You lot coming then or what?”
Old Knowledge
The large group filed into a dark and cramped vestibule and Klines quietly closed the door behind them. All the Arcaners and their protectors lit their palms, revealing marble walls looming up to a high vaulted ceiling. Tall ragged tapestries hung from each wall, depicting exotic realms. There were iron hooks for coats and a brass tray for boots, as if visiting groups of school kids had once regularly shuffled through. Ahead, a small empty booth sat forlorn by a pair of arched golden doors. Everything was covered in dust.
“The booth is from a time when the library saw greater attendance,” Klines whispered reverently as she strode past the huddled throng to the golden doors. “Normally one would have to pass a degree-appropriate test of some kind to even get past this room.” She placed a hand on each door. “That is why I, the library, and Senior Arcaneologist Ning consider this cheating.” More than a hint of annoyance was evident in the way she shoved open the doors, which seemed to have been stuck.
“Does that mean we’re going to be cursed?” Mary whispered to Bridget, eyes large.
“I don’t know, Mary,” Bridget replied as they filed through the open doors, lit palms raised. “I don’t know …”
They entered a vast and long room that glinted back at them, for the walls were lined with shelving adorned with exquisite ornamentation—carvings, ivy scrollwork and statues, all accented with gold. The statues depicted all manner of beasts and beings, from cherubs and gargoyles to demons and dragons. Scattered strategically about were dusty oaken claw-foot tables, chairs tucked neatly underneath. And beyond were ten long floor-to-ceiling rows of bookshelves that ran down the room like arrow shafts. At the head of each row stood a huge stone golem wearing ancient bronze armor.
“Don’t worry, little lass,” Herzog whispered to a wide-eyed Mary, “they come alive only when facing unwanted intruders, yes they do. And they are impervious to arcanery. They were imported a long time ago from the deserts of Sierra, their arcanery too old and complex for our brittle minds.”
“At least there aren’t any Canterrans about,” Olaf whispered.
“Speaking of which—” and Augum quickly doubled back to the open doors. He placed both hands on the old brass knob of one door and focused on crafting an arcane alarm. “Concutio del alarmo,” then repeated the spell on the other knob and closed both doors after himself. He probably should have cast the spell on the main doors, but oh well.
“Smart,” Haylee said when he returned.
“Eton!” Klines called into the darkness, muttering, “Where is that old bucket of rust?”
There was a squeaky distant reply followed by a shuffling noise.
“Etonius is the librarian of this section,” she said to them. “He’s a bit grouchy, so make sure you don’t touch anything before I’ve had a chance to disable him.”
A full-sized suit of bronze armor, not unlike the armor Attyla the Mighty had worn in his tapestry, soon appeared from between two shelves. The helm was conical, with a dark slit for the eyes—though of course there were no eyes as ancient arcanery made the suit move. A flat sword hung from its hip and a plain round shield from its back. The entire exterior was dented and rusted and green with verdigris.
“Etonius at thy service, mine lord and ladies,” the suit of bronze armor said in a perfunctory voice that echoed from within the helm. “Librarian and minder to the Planes room of thy ancient library. How may I serve thee?”
Klines strode up to it and whispered a command under her breath. The armor immediately went still. She turned in place and dusted her hands. “There, now we can concentr
ate. Senior Arcaneologist Ning has given me instructions on which area to search. Follow me.”
She led the group down an alley between two towering bookshelves lined with ancient tomes, piles of parchment tied with crimson ribbon, and cubby holes stuffed with scrolls. Each section had its own wooden ladder affixed to rails so that it could slide.
The tomes on these particular shelves had a distinct flavor—many were night-black, had depictions of demonic faces on their spines, or were twisted in some way, as in one book that was wrapped with thorns, or another that seemed to ooze poison, or still another that appeared to have a hundred miniature steel barbs protruding from it like a cactus.
Augum discovered why they were like that when he read some of the titles—Abominations of Hell … Brides of the Netherworld … Caretakers of the Damned … How to Brine a Body … Mass Burial Strategies, and so on. He suspected some were written in blood.
“Are these … are these real?” Mary asked.
“Of course they’re real, lass,” Herzog replied from the rear as his quill scribbled away. “But the knowledge is theoretical. No one alive has ever been to Hell, and theories abound as to what it is. The predominant theory says that it’s a land of torment concocted by a powerful and ancient Unnameable. Every budding necromancer who has ever lived has studied texts such as these in an effort to learn new powers … in an effort to live forever.”
“But Hell of course exists, uh, Ancient One,” Arthur, who was striding behind Esha, whispered. “I mean, surely you believe in that?”
“It does indeed exist,” came the soft reply, making many exchange dark looks. Herzog scribbled an addition into his floating tome while Arthur reached into his salt pouch and tossed a handful of salt over his shoulder.
“Hey, you hit my eye!” Haylee snapped from behind him, rubbing her face.
“Oh gosh, sorry!” Arthur reached for her face only for her to slap his hand away.
“Leave it, would you?” Haylee fixed her hair even though it looked fine. “Um, and Ancient One, have, uh, have you been to Hell?”
“I have not.”
“Then how do you know it exists?” Maxine pressed.
“Deduction.”
Maxine scoffed, muttering, “And so do faeries and elves and angels and ghosts and goblins and dwarves. Spare me.”
Augum continued idly reading the occasional book title, finding them fascinating. Hellian Fables … Kingdoms of Hell … Rivers of Dark Origin … Sects of Evil and Mayhem … The Mystery of Tyranecron the Missing Necromancer … Worshipping Hell Properly …
They came to the end of that row of shelves and entered another.
Leera’s fingers lightly trawled above the tomes. “What sort of plane is Niethiya?”
“An Abrandian plane,” Bridget replied. “A plane of afterlife.”
“How do you know that?”
“Mythology class has its uses.”
Row after row of precisely labeled shelves revealed that every kingdom had its own planes, further complicated by varying cultures. The seven major Nodian tribes, for example, each had multiple planes of existence—one for warriors, one for sorcerers, one for thieves and charlatans, one for chiefs, and so on. This long row alone had to account for hundreds of lifetimes of knowledge.
As far as Augum knew, Sithesia only had two planes—Ley and Hell. For the first time, he regretted not taking Mythology class with Bridget.
At last, they came upon a section of old clay shelving filling the entire back wall. The bottom half was stuffed with books and tomes and the top half cubby holes filled with yellowed parchments and scrolls, as well as stone and clay tablets.
“This is all the library’s knowledge on Ley, divided by time.” Klines indicated the left portion of the long shelving unit. “Prior to The Founding—” Her stubby hand swiveled to the right side. “After The Founding.”
Arthur scowled at the left-hand wall.
“What, you think it’s all fake?” Leera needled.
He raised his nose at her. “Nothing but well-written stories to captivate the mind.”
“I’m disappointed in you,” Leera said. “I truly am,” and ignored him as Klines went on.
“Senior Arcaneologist Ning insisted that you start here. Be extremely careful handling these items as many of them are thousands of years old. Anything you take out, leave on a table. Etonius will put it all back later.”
Mary raised a timid hand. “What are we searching for, Secretary Klines?”
Esha stepped forward to admire the shelving. “We are searching for knowledge on an old Arcaner ritual that can open a portal to Ley.”
“Can you provide us with any clues as to where to look, Ancient One?” Mr. Goss asked, adjusting his round spectacles. Augum recalled that he was quite fond of books.
“I regretfully remember little of the ritual itself other than it demanded sacrifices that went against the Arcaner ethos. Whoever created it required that as a toll so that it could not be abused.”
“What does that mean?” Leera asked. “Er, Ancient One.”
“I am afraid I do not know.”
“Forgive me, Ancient One,” Jengo interrupted, “but if it went against the Arcaner ethos, would it not be wiser to go to the Seers for a solution instead?”
“Now that an answer exists to your problem, it is the one that would be given.”
The group exchanged mystified looks.
Haylee raised a blonde eyebrow. “I’m sorry?”
“You have seen your own reflection in the pond of possibility. The reflection cannot be unseen. The Seers will see that reflection.”
“More stupid riddles,” Maxine muttered, and began pawing through random books on the right side. One by one, the others peeled off to look for the Arcaner ritual. Arthur dawdled near the Pre Founding books only to change his mind and go for the ones after The Founding, joining Maxine.
“Is there a dragon plane among these sections?” Augum asked, wondering if it was perhaps wiser to start there. He also made a mental note to check his code.
“Endraga Ra is a name older than time,” Herzog replied, “and it is the name of the plane you are referring to. And yes, there is a small section on it, but you might as well open up a children’s book, lad, as that is mostly what the section is comprised of—children’s stories throughout the ages, for the true nature of the realm is said to be a sacred secret known only to ancient Arcaners who have long passed.”
The trio exchanged mysterious looks. Augum wondered if that knowledge was discoverable by them somehow and seriously considered skipping the shelving research, as interesting as it looked, and diving right into the codex instead. But he wanted to give Ning’s plan a chance first, as she was a wise woman whose instincts should not be ignored.
“But isn’t there, like, an Arcaner section?” Mary asked.
“There are a few,” Klines replied. “Just as there are Monstrosities sections within each Planes section here. But scholars have already scoured those sections for such knowledge and come up empty-handed.”
Leera tugged on Augum’s robe. “Shall we begin then?”
And so they began perusing the Ley section, lit palms shining like fireflies in the thick and musty darkness. Even Esha partook, picking at this and that book or scroll or tablet, examining each as if it were a sacred relic. All the while Herzog hovered near her like a hummingbird.
Tables were soon covered with research materials and silence reigned, underpinned by murmurings, the sound of parchments crinkling or pages being turned, accented by the occasional yawn that would quickly yield to more yawns.
“Slap me fats, I’m as tired as an old dog,” Olaf mumbled sometime later, rubbing his eyes. “When do we get to sleep?” He was sitting with Bridget, Augum and Leera at a long oaken library table, parchments strewn before them, palms lit.
Leera grunted in agreement. She had been staring at the same page for a while, eyes unfocused.
Bridget merely continued leafing through no less th
an five books, murmuring to herself as she turned page after page, cross-referencing what she found with an outstretched finger that occasionally tapped at a page when she read a worthwhile point. Her other hand, the lit one, made a quick note on a parchment with her peacock quill.
“Half of this stuff is in the old tongue,” Olaf muttered, turning a page in a gigantic book that took up all the space before him. His voice took on a theatrical tone. “ ‘F’r he did march through the blasted sands like a sir possess’d. “Thou art possess’d indeed!” called the soot-black Leyan. “Unbecometh thou art for none lady, good sir!” ’ ” Olaf chuckled to himself. “I bet Laud would kill for stuff like this.” He cracked a grin at Augum. “You understand any of this, Three Toes?”
“Some,” Augum mumbled, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. As tired as he was, he had been perusing book after book and scroll after scroll like a man possessed, determined to find even the smallest scrap of information that could help them. There was indeed some interesting information in the book he had found, titled Bridging Ley with Sithesia, except it didn’t discuss actual bridges but rather metaphorical ones that dealt with the sharing of knowledge. And it was written in a stuffy style that continually made his eyes glaze over.
Bridget abruptly froze, quill hovering above her parchment. She glanced between one open book and another. “Think I got something here.” She tapped a line and quietly read it aloud. “ ‘Therein, between the cairns, after much gathering and timing it just so, with a full moon watching with its great silver eye, the intrepid adventurers performed the ritual that opened a portal to the land of sand, to the black-eyed and knowledge-infused. Once on the other side, a second quest began in search of a bridge fabled to take them to the lethal lands of the winged beasts.’ ”
Leera perked up. “Tell me there’s more.”
Bridget held up a finger and continued. “ ‘But a price they did pay upon entry, for the witch demanded its bargain.’ ” Her chair creaked as she slumped back in defeat. “Oh, for mercy’s sake, the ritual is a witch’s bargain.”