Still carrying his knapsack that lightly tapped against his back as he walked and the satchel that would awkwardly get caught on his staff, Ardan opened the door leading to the stairs and… Well, there was nothing particularly remarkable there. Just ordinary steps that alternated with wide landings and iron railings ant to protect those climbing from a sudden fall.
Ardi leaned over the railing and took in the scale. The stairs descended only twelve landings, and the floor of the first level could be seen without difficulty. But looking up… was different. The staircases wound and twisted, disappearing sowhere above, shrouded in the steady glow of Ley-lamps.
This staircase, unlike the one at the Anorsky mansion where his feet had walked across marble and polished wood, was made of cold, gray concrete.
Ardi, counting the floors as he went, quickly climbed to his destination. The door at the top of the landing was nothing special, just a wooden panel with a few tal brackets and a simple handle. Ardan pulled it open and, for a mont, felt like he had stepped into another world.
Even compared to the impressive library at the Anorsky estate, the one belonging to the Grand seed utterly unbelievable. He wasn’t standing among re shelves and bookcases — it was an entire city. A narrow street beckoned him, wedged between two sections pressed tightly together, with delicate book spines lining them. It seed to almost be drowning in the hushed whispers of the printed pages. Then, the path split at an intersection, expanding into a wide boulevard where heavy tos gazed ponderously at passersby, surely containing equally weighty thoughts. Farther on, it vanished into a dark alley where curious eyes might discover sly, slightly mischievous newspaper clippings, monographs, and even a few dusty manuscripts.
Above, if one tilted their head (and carefully held onto their hat), rose the levels of the city. They were connected by broad bridges, arching not over streets and avenues, but over flowing canals and rivers. Signs along the way thoughtfully guided travelers in their search for knowledge, sotis pointing out resting spots with a small table or a comfortable bench.
The city of books soared higher and higher until it disappeared into a ceiling shrouded either by mist or by the veil of its local ruler — book dust.
Behind him, the door closed with a long, drawn-out creak.
The sound, far from polite, shattered the illusion, and Ardan found himself standing in a vast library where countless sections rose several stories high, forming tiers connected by walkways.
From where he stood, it was hard to gauge how deep the rows of shelves extended, but judging by the echo that wandered through the space, it was far enough to get lost in.
His first instinct was to look at the sign beside the door. It had been printed on white paper, and was behind a glass pane set into an iron fra:
"Fire Exit. Left — Information Desk, Right — Sections 38-43, Directly ahead — Section 37, even-numbered divisions."
Ardan hurried in the indicated direction. As he crossed aisle after aisle, passing intersections, he occasionally glanced at the spines of books and hefty tos. However, their titles either proved too complicated for him to grasp, like, for example, "Principles of Ley Energy Concentration in the Morcain Node and the Resulting Seal Effect of Two Red Rays and One Green Ray" or were related to sothing highly specific, like, "Organization of Steel Production in a Region with a Literacy Rate Below One Tenth."
At so point, Ardi managed to stop himself from gawking at the shelves and focused on finding the information desk.
"Watch out!"
Ardan skidded to a halt, nearly crashing into the person in front of him. Sohow, he managed to stay on his feet and avoid falling to the ground. Looking around, he saw no one, but recalling his encounter with Poplar, he glanced down.
On the floor, amid a scattered pile of books, sat a woman. Her skirt flared out around her and her knitted sweater — a soft, dusty pink with a pattern of wildflowers — looked slightly worn. She appeared to be about forty, maybe a little older.
Her hair, chestnut and voluminous, sat atop her head like an inverted strawberry. She was hurriedly gathering the fallen books, awkwardly tugging at a black cloak that hampered her movents.
Ardan’s breath caught. Black was the color of the Sixth Star, indicating nearly the highest echelon of magical science among humans. And on her shoulders, there were indeed quite a few impressive stars with an amazing number of rays: six, eight, another eight... An eight again, a five, and finally, one with two points.
But no staff was visible. Only books. Countless books.
"M-my apologies," Ardi stamred, bending down to help her gather the manuscripts.
Together, they made quick work of the task. In just a few monts, Ardan found himself holding a stack of ten hefty tos, while his satchel had sohow ended up in the plump hands of the female mage. He wasn’t sure how that had happened.
The woman, it turned out, was quite short — she wasn’t even a full one ter and sixty centiters. And yet her cheeks, despite her age, shone with a youthful flush. Although, that perhaps had more to do with her plump figure. No, she wasn’t fat or stout, more… solid. Or possibly soft. Cozy, even. Or maybe it was just the sweater?
It was simple, but clearly made with care, despite a few imperfections. She had likely knitted it herself. As Ardi studied her, she seed to be studying him in return.
After a few monts, she lifted her upper lip slightly, as if preparing to growl, and said in broken beast speech:
"You. . Hunter. We path. No prey here."
Ardan nearly dropped the books again out of surprise. This language… He’d only ever heard it a few tis from his grandfather, and occasionally from his father, in fragnts. And from his forest friends of course, including Atta’nha.
The language of the Matabar.
The woman, seeing Ardi’s reaction, lowered her lip and furrowed her brow slightly.
"Did that sound off?" She asked in Galessian.
Ardan pondered for a mont.
"A little rough," he admitted after a few seconds. "But overall, the aning was clear. However, you probably shouldn’t have called yourself a hunter unless you’ve undergone the rite, and-"
"Oh, right!" The woman cut him off and began muttering indistinctly. "O’Shelly’s ’Notes on Naturalism.’ Written in the year 247 after the fall of Ectassus, printed in 473. Published by the Imperial Scientific Society. Chapter Four, ’The People of the Alcade: Culture and Customs…’" After this, she briefly closed her eyes before turning back to Ardi, who was now unsure of whether he should stay or flee. "So, how should that phrase sound when spoken correctly?"
It wasn’t that Ardan was eager to play the role of a guinea pig, but her black cloak and the impressive stars on her shoulders suggested that it might be wise to spare a few minutes of his ti.
"You and I," Ardi began, struggling to recall the language he rarely spoke these days. "We walk the hunter’s path. I am the hunter. You are the guest. There is no prey among us."
"Exactly!" The woman bead, her smile as warm and bright as spring sunlight. "Guest! I completely forgot that word. Not surprising, though. The Matabar language has no written form, and the recordings we have aren’t proper translations. By the way, Ard, you could write a brief guide on your language. It would have no practical application, but it would enrich the library’s knowledge-"
"How do you know who I am?" Ardan couldn’t hold back and interrupted the woman.
She paused mid-sentence, then grinned again, her warm, radiant smile returning.
"A two-ter-tall young man with a staff made of thousand-year-old oak, an upper lip that hides fangs, bright amber eyes, and…" She reached out and patted him on the forearm, "I saw your picture in the newspaper, young man. I’m not sure what gave it away — likely the oaken staff. After all, there aren’t many of those who witnessed the Old World left in the Empire."
Ardan could only blink in confusion. The woman not only looked peculiar, but she also spoke in the most bewildering manner.
A thousand-year-old oak? Sure, the old tree beneath which his grandfather… No, his great-grandfather had used to tell him stories certainly had the scent of ages about it, but surely not to that extent... Right?
"Co along, young man," the woman said as she turned toward one of the gaps between the sections. "These little ones need to be returned ho."
What she ant by "little ones" wasn’t hard to guess, though none of the books in Ardan’s hands could boast a waist thinner than four hundred pages.
"Excuse ," Ardan called after the woman. "But I need to find the information desk…"
She didn’t slow down at all, continuing to move deeper into the library in her stately manner, all the while dragging Ardan’s satchel with her.
With no other option, Ardan sighed in frustration and followed after her.
For the next half hour, they wandered through the sections and bookshelves, climbing ladders and spiraling staircases, reaching new tiers, and weaving through walkways and intricate branches of corridors. Occasionally, they paused on benches, sitting quietly, and doing their best to avoid disturbing the silence that enveloped the place.
Since Ardan had found himself here anyway, he began to eagerly devour the wealth of knowledge around him. It seed like there were so many books, tos, newspapers, plaques, strange knotted ropes, mysterious statuettes, and even paintings that one lifeti wouldn’t be enough to read through them all.
Perhaps this is what paradise looks like, Ardan thought, rembering the stories his mother had told him about the afterlife while reading excerpts from the sacred texts of the Face of Light.
But all things must co to an end, and soon enough, when they descended back to what could be considered the "first" floor of the library, Ardan found that he was no longer holding even a single book, and the strange sorceress handed him back his satchel.
"Thank you for keeping company, Mr. Egobar," she said.
"Of course," Ardan replied, taking his belongings back.
He glanced around, but there were no signs or directions to be found. They stood in the middle of towering shelves that stretched toward a ceiling lost in the misty haze, and Ardan had no idea how to get out of there.
"Could you point toward the information desk?" He asked politely.
The odd mage, whose na Ardan still didn’t know, raised her eyebrows slightly.
"It’s right across from the elevators. You couldn’t have missed it, unless…" She looked at him again, smiling just a little, and reminding him, for so reason, of Atta’nha. "You took the stairs, didn’t you?"
"I did."
"The elevators made you uncomfortable, didn’t they?" She asked with a note of certainty in her voice.
"How did you…?"
"Soti in your life, probably as a child, you were trapped in a small, enclosed space," she muttered to herself, her thoughts wandering. "And that experience involved pain, fear, and sothing quite unusual that left its mark on you. At least, that’s what Dr. Anka Dorov’s monograph on claustrophobia suggests."
"But I’m not afraid of confined spaces," Ardan protested.
"You’re not afraid of all confined spaces..." She emphasized, her tone light but pointed. "I’ve long requested they lock that door. It’s hardly proper that students can sneak into the library without registering. But those bureaucrats are always full of excuses… Fire safety, public regulations, and a dozen more reasons to avoid doing anything."
Despite her odd behavior, Ardan found himself sowhat chard by the woman. Yes, she was strange and wore a cloak that testified to her imnse magical power, but she also exuded sothing simple and warm. Being near her felt comforting, like sitting in Tenebry’s classroom with a difficult puzzle in front of him.
"Oh, I forgot to introduce myself," she suddenly realized, smoothing her sweater down and extending a hand. "Velena Ergold, Chief Librarian of the university and, incidentally, the holder of several academic degrees, though we needn’t delve into details."
Ardan carefully shook her hand, startled for a mont.
"Ergold… As in…"
"Thea Ergold is my grandniece," Velena confird his guess with a slight smile. "It’s a pity her research on Ley Lines is overshadowed by that little scandal of hers, which was driven by a fit of jealousy."
Ardan barely restrained himself from asking about the nature of the scandal that had led to a mage strike in the capital.
"You seem a bit surprised," Velena noted, narrowing her eyes slightly. "But not by the fact that I’m related to Thea. What’s on your mind, Ard?"
Ardan didn’t hide his thoughts and silently pointed to her cloak.
"Ah, that," Velena sighed, awkwardly hiding the cloak behind her back. "When I was younger, Ard, I thought that in order to study magic, one needed to be able to wield it in every form, which led to… well," she gestured to the stars on her shoulders, "but as we grow older…"
"But you’re not even fifty yet!" Ardan blurted out without thinking.
Velena laughed in response.
"I never expected to hear that from you," she said with playful exaggeration. "After all, wasn’t it your great-grandfather who, together with a very talented wizard, wrote an entire treatise on the Seal of Long Years? Surely he must have told you about it?"
Ardan felt a wave of dizziness. The air in the library seed to thin, making it harder to breathe.
His great-grandfather had known Star Magic? But why… Why had he never ntioned it? Ardan had already co to terms with the fact that his great-grandfather hadn’t talked to him about the art of the Aean’Hane, but Star Magic?
Velena gently squeezed his forearm, her voice soft.
"If Aror Egobar chose not to share sothing with you, Ard, there must have been serious reasons for it."
A new thought caused Ardan to regain his composure.
"You… you knew him."
"Several unfortunate mages, so nearing two centuries of age, knew your great-grandfather," Velena nodded, and in her brown eyes, a flicker of sorrow appeared. "When I was very young, he was finishing his last years of service in the Second Chancery."
Ardan choked on the air itself in shock.
"What?"
Velena sighed and gestured toward a nearby bench.
"Shall we sit?" She offered.
After a mont of hesitation, Ardan sat down beside her, still holding his staff and satchel.
"Back then, two hundred years ago, after the Dark Lord’s army was defeated," Velena spoke softly, twirling a loose thread from her sweater between her fingers, which made her look even younger, "your great-grandfather struck a deal with the crown. For fifteen years, he served the Second Chancery, teaching those the crown appointed about Star Magic. They were most likely hoping to extract information about the Aean’Hane from him, but they never succeeded."
"But why would he…?"
"No one knows," Velena shrugged. "Or rather, no one in the small group of people aware of Aror’s captivity in the Second Chancery knows why the right hand of the Dark Lord was offered such a deal or what price was paid for it. Everyone assud Aror would eventually be executed. So believe he simply wanted to delay his end, but… Your great-grandfather wasn’t just a powerful Aean’Hane, Ard. Though he possessed only three Stars, they were complete Stars."
Complete Star… That term referred to Star that had all nine rays.
"And after all those years, he could have easily found a way to escape, even from the dungeons of the Second Chancery," Velena continued. "Yes, Ard. We, the children chosen by the crown at the age of thirteen, spent entire days and nights by the closed door of his cell. We never saw your great-grandfather, only heard him. For fifteen long years, we studied under him, until, at last, Aror did find a way to escape. How or where, no one knows. He vanished as if he’d been swallowed by the earth. They searched for him throughout the Empire, then across the continent, and expeditions were even sent to the east and the far north. But he was never found. It was as if he had disappeared into thin air… And then, over a hundred years later, the tragedy of the Alcade happened…"
Ardan closed his eyes. Involuntarily, he recalled the "writings" left on the Mountain of mory. Yes, Velena had been right. The Matabar had no written form of language. Their "writings" were songs and paintings. Sotis terrifying ones.
"That was one of the many bloody events in the Empire’s history, young man," Velena sighed heavily, and in that mont, Ardan felt the weight of all those years on her small shoulders.
And then he noticed her shoes. The laces were tied only on her right one…
"The docunts at the information desk in the atrium were sent by air mail," Ardan said, turning away. "But I delivered the envelope to the secretariat, which ans the air mail was sent sowhere higher up… Maybe you recognized because of my oak staff, but you were waiting for here."
Velena smiled, but this ti, it wasn’t warm or soft. It was more like the smile of a cat who had finally caught the mouse.
"I spent several hours by the elevators," she admitted, not denying the obvious. "My feet even got sore, and I had to take off my shoes. You probably noticed that I didn’t have ti to tie both laces? Then I realized you might have used the stairs. I wanted to head for the fire exit, but just at that mont, the delivery of new editions, which had been delayed by road closures, arrived. It was a string of random events leading to our awkward encounter. Though a priest would call it fate, and you might call it…"
"A dream of the Sleeping Spirits," Ardan whispered.
"I’ve always wanted to study the genesis of that belief," Velena mused, tying the thread from her sweater into a knot and smoothing it down with her hand. "That claim that we are rely the dreams of spirits who see the world as they dream it up. But alas, I’ve never had the ti to delve into that."
Ardan shrugged.
He was far more interested in sothing else.
"Why did you want to et ?" He asked.
"Would you believe if I said it was out of curiosity?"
Ardan gave her a faint smile.
"This has been a very strange day, madam Ergold," Ardan said with a touch of exhaustion in his voice. "This morning, I t a palace servant who turned out to be an operative of the Second Chancery, then a guard who turned out to be a follower of the Tavsers. After that, a random noble acquaintance revealed himself to be from the military aristocracy. I thought the day had exhausted its surprises, but then even a simple, albeit ticulous, student turned out to have connections to the Second Chancery, and now, here I am, eting you… So, I’m willing to believe anything at this point. Even if you told the bench we’re sitting on is a cursed ancient beast that’s about to bite off my-"
Ardan trailed off, his manners preventing him from finishing that sentence.
"Such is the tropolis," Velena spread her arms out with a slight grin. "Here, young man, nothing is quite what it seems to be. But rest assured about the bench, at least. It’s, if I’m not mistaken, made of morta pine."
"That’s reassuring," Ardi sighed.
They sat in silence for a mont.
"You know, Mr. Egobar," Velena suddenly said, "I once hated Aror. For being the Dark Lord’s accomplice. For the cris he committed. For the pain, fear, and death he brought upon people. But, and perhaps this won’t reflect well on , I hated him even more for the devious assignnts he gave us, for the lectures he deliberately made more difficult, for the way he cursed us when we failed, and for how much he didn’t care about us, making no effort to hide it at all."
"Yes," Ardan agreed. "That sounds like my… great-grandfather."
"And I wanted to et you because, to be honest, I thought that by getting to interact with the person Aror didn’t rob of a future, I could vent all that festering anger on you. That I could take it out on you… for losing my childhood, for spending all my youth in laboratories, and ultimately, for never finding soone with whom I’d want to start a family. And all of it simply because I fell under the spell of a thirst, Ard — a thirst without limits."
"A thirst?"
"A thirst for knowledge," Velena clarified. "Aror infected us, his students, with that poison. And perhaps that was his twisted form of revenge. So went mad from that thirst. So lost their lives. The rest of us, like , were condemned to a miserable existence. One without family or children. Without friends or loved ones. Always chasing a horizon…"
Ardan turned to look at her and saw small, glistening threads of tears tracing down her cheeks.
"And even now, as I sit here with you, Ard, I am painfully curious as to how your Witch’s Gaze can pierce through all of my defenses," Velena continued. "It’s making say things I never intended to say. I can feel it probing my mind, sinking into my soul… and yet I don’t feel the urge to resist. It’s a monstrous power."
"I’m sorry, I didn’t an to-"
"I know you can’t control it," Velena gently wiped away a tear with her fingertip, gazing at it as though it were sothing rare and delicate. "And I don’t even know, Ard, if sothing like that can ever be controlled… But what I do know is that I no longer have a reason to take my revenge on Aror through you."
"Why?"
This ti, her smile was sharp and predatory.
"Because what sense is there in taking revenge on soone who has fallen into the sa trap we did so long ago?"
Ardan opened his mouth, but Velena spoke first.
"I saw how you were looking at the books, Mr. Egobar. I saw the hunger in your eyes as you devoured everything around you," she closed her eyes, as though recalling distant mories. "He infected you, too… And now, you are also bound, hand and foot."
"Nonsense!" Ardan exclaid, jumping to his feet, montarily forgetting who he was talking to and where he was. "My grandfather would never-"
"Your grandfather?" Velena scoffed bitterly. "He didn’t even tell you who he truly was, did he? Aror Egobar… Sotis I wonder, Ard, whether your great-grandfather or the Dark Lord caused more suffering. And whether the Dark Lord was rely Aror’s puppet… But it doesn’t matter. If you don’t believe , then recall the mont you lit your Star. Rember what you felt at that mont."
"I rember it all perfectly well, and-"
"Do you know what other mages feel?" Velena cut him off. "They feel terror. A fear so intense it almost drives them mad. Think about it: you touch Ley energy directly when you light a Star. The force that runs through our entire world. It’s like standing on a fragile thread stretched out over an abyss… What did you feel, Mr. Egobar?"
Ardan faltered and fell silent.
"You don’t need to answer," Velena waved dismissively. "I already know. At so point, you felt a thirst for power. For strength. For authority beyond anyone’s control. And it was that which compelled you-"
"I resisted that feeling," Ardan cut her off.
Velena fell silent, staring at him as if seeing him for the first ti.
"What?" She asked, almost incredulously.
"I resisted that feeling," Ardan repeated. "You’re right, madam Ergold. After I lit the seventh ray of my Star, I did feel all of that. But I didn’t give in."
"Then why did you start lighting the Stars at all if not for…?"
"Curiosity," Ardan sat back down beside her. "And maybe because I thought, sohow, that it would help regain sothing I lost as a child. Sothing that slled like snow…"
"Snow doesn’t sll," Velena corrected him softly, but Ardi only smiled in response.
Snow did sll… At least it did to him…
They sat there quietly once more. This ti, the silence stretched for a longer period. Around them, the bookshelves stood tall, containing the thoughts of the past, immovable imprints of ti itself. And, for a brief mont, Velena seed as though she, too, belonged to that ti.
"You ca here for your textbooks, didn’t you?"
"Yes, my course-"
She didn’t wait for him to finish. She clapped her hands together, and her arms spread out wide. For a brief mont, a blurry, black seal flared before her. Then Ardan thought he heard the faint flapping of wings. Shadows swirled around the floor, and the silence of the library shattered as a strange, almost unnatural cawing filled the air.
High above, near the ceiling, a flock of birds suddenly blocked out the misty sky. They spiraled in a wild dance, and then individual "fliers" began breaking away.
Only as they descended to the lower tiers did Ardan realize that they weren’t birds at all, but books. Their spines flapped, their pages rustled, and just before reaching the floor, they folded their "wings" and neatly stacked themselves into a pile. A rather substantial and hefty pile, in fact.
User Comments
0 comments from readers