by Laynie Bynum
He dismounted and walked Rorcham to the covered station just outside the air ship’s cargo ramp, then walked up to it.
There, a man dressed in lavish silks sat behind a table, looking bored as he rapped his well-manicured fingers on it. As Onen approached, he sat up and began to smile, but then his eyes went wide as recognition dawned. He fidgeted, but he composed himself by the time Onen walked up to the table. "Great Onen." He bowed at the waist, Western-style. His accent matched his mannerism.
Smiling warmly, Onenextended his hand, and he and the shipmaster shook—but the man clasped Onen's hand, rather than his wrist. Onen automatically looked down, a bit surprised as his calloused hand touched the man’s perfectly smooth one, but he recovered quickly. Shaking hands instead of wrists was just a Western mannerism, no disrespect intended.
"I see your ship floats light, today."
The silk-dressed master squared his shoulders. "Not for long, of course. Caravans coming and going, dignitaries... The wages of war are great for the Guild. I hear a supply caravan is not twelve hours out."
"Ah. Your luck rises with your ship, I see. However, I need transport to Abrecem Secer, and I need to go direct. No delays for other cargo, no other stops.”
“That’s a tall order, my lord.”
It was amusing to watch the ship man debating what to do in his mind. Onen rushed to get in front of the problem, adding, “Of course, you have certain expenses to cover. While there are many ships here, I could pick, yours is conveniently ready now. So is my coinpurse.”
The man let a hint of a smile form before he put his negotiation face back on. “It could be ready almost immediately, yes. But as I said, cargo is coming in a half-days’ time. One man is light cargo compared to a full hold.”
Onen smiled. Even the mighty Onen Suun had to pay Guild fees and like it. “Then, let's talk about what you need to make the long journey worthwhile for you—and your investors."
The ship-man's eyes lit up, his negotiating expression forgotten. "Yes, let's discuss that. New mooring lines to match Abrecem's strict city codes for docking permissions. Obviously, Mark-Three primary mast rejoinders for the seasonal storms we'll have to skirt. Oh, and then there's the Courtesy Non-Stop Service fee, a Guild requirement I'm afraid..." The man went on and on, and so did his list of fees.
Primary mast rejoinders? Ugh. So much for haggling out a lesser fare. At least on the battlefield, it was easy to tell when someone was trying to gouge him.
Abrecem Secer sprawled out before Onen as he rode Rorcham down the landing field ramp into the city proper. Unlike the waystation he’d come from, Abrecem Secer’s ramp could handle six wagons abreast, three in each direction—two of which were backed up in long lines, while the third was reserved for nobles and those who could afford enough of a bribe. Onen used the third lane, of course, and spent the brief time chatting amiably with a merchant from the far south about the “unrecognized value” of the hardwoods the merchant had just shipped north on a speculative venture.
Onen asked detailed questions, as hardwoods made the best trebuchets, ballistas, field emplacements... Unfortunately, the merchant's wood was highly flammable, and would burn long and hot, difficult to quench. Oh well.
But the purpose of Onen’s journey lay near the center of the city, and even at his distance, its spire rose high above even the city's grand castles.
With a thought, he sent his mount through the city at impossible speeds, but even rested from the air journey, Rorcham was sweaty by the time they arrived at the ultimate destination. No horse could sprint like that forever, magic or no, and dodging the heavy traffic as only Rorcham could do, at full speed, only added to its exhaustion.
Onen dismounted and tethered his mount among dozens of others outside the Library of Abrecem Secer, oldest and grandest of them all. The vast building looked like a military keep, with massive towers at all four corners. Smaller towers stood at the front curtain wall’s two corners and straddled the main gate.
The towers were relics of ages past, when Abrecem fought endless wars with the natives who had once populated the region.
Rising like a spear thrust through the keep roof's center, the Obelisk stood—the spire dominating the Abrecem skyline. It was clad in copper put up by the earliest settlers, but it had long since turned green with age. Though few offered ideas on who had built it, some said that when the first settlers arrived and began adding the copper veneer, the spire had already been there.
As he looked at the spire, Onen recalled how, once upon a time, the warrior-librarians had kept the entire thing polished up and shining brilliantly like a beacon. Those days were long gone, as it was no longer the only such library in the world. It did, however, remain the largest and most prestigious.
Also, it was the one that had what he needed.
He looked around the courtyard created by the curtain walls in front of the library's entrance, which extended from the keep, and saw it filled with merchants. They hawked wares ranging from simple writing quills and parchment to painstakingly illuminated copies of the library’s more famous books. One merchant even proclaimed loudly that he carried the only "ancient fragments of the Articulated Shield of Onen Suun, himself."
That brought a wistful smile to Onen's face. What was an articulated shield, and when would he have carried it? Did no one ask why it was articulated?
Absurd, but amusing.
After making his way through the crowd, dodging people clad in clothing from every corner of the continent, Onen went through the front doors. Those were stained a dun color from generations of people reverently touching them. Originally, he recalled, the wood had been rough-hewn.
Once inside, he didn't pause to look around. It was more or less the same as ever, and he'd seen it all before. He'd probably read most of the volumes, in fact, other than the newfangled ones that told tales of people and places that never existed, created in the imaginations of writers who lacked the talent to write about things that mattered. Bah, rich and lazy, no doubt.
It took a couple moments to navigate the swirling buzz of people inside, but he finally made his way to the center. There, the Obelisk's copper veneer was still kept polished, but the guards standing in front of the only door made it clear that whatever lay inside was not for public viewing.
To one side stood a desk, and behind that sat a grizzled old man with a beard as long as his one remaining arm. Half of his face was fire-scarred and ruined. The other half was handsome enough, for an old man. When the librarian spotted Onen, he stood with the posture and stance of a warrior, not a scholar. "Onen Suun, welcome to the Obelisk. You are, of course, welcome within."
Onen, startled, let his gaze rove over the man from head to foot. "Garreth. Well met, sir. It’s odd to see you here."
"Indeed. What can I help you find, today?"
Onen frowned. "You were here at this very desk the last time I was here."
"It is my post, after all. Are you here for one of the ancient history books?" Garreth's face could have been etched in stone, a mask of polite bemusement that never wavered.
"By my sword, man, the librarians here are the great-grandchildren of those who greeted me when I last came here. How is it that you remain?"
Onen caught the faintest movement of Garreth's mouth turning upward at the corners, but it was gone so fast that he almost thought he'd imagined it.
"This library contains many old relics.” He paused for a moment, but just before Onen asked another question, he continued, “Surely, you’re not here to ask me trivial questions. I have duties to attend. Tell me what you need, if you’d like to be one of those duties."
Onen took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Another time, perhaps, he'd be back to resolve this mystery. For now, he had a different goal. "Very well. Simply put, I’m determined to speak to the Library.”
The master librarian's eyebrows rose a hair's breadth. "You want to test your mettle and undergo Rosh'naar?"
Onen shrugged. "I do. I�
��ll challenge the Library, and I’ll succeed where others failed.”
“I see. Are you quite certain?”
“It’s the only way I can find the answer to what is, right now, the most important question in the world. So, yes, I’m certain."
Garreth turned and strode toward the single, stone door, and even the way he walked told Onen he had surely been a soldier once. But in which war? Abrecem had been at peace since the last time Onen came to the city.
The stone door slid to one side, into the wall, and Garreth passed through the opening without slowing. As Onen followed, he looked to where the door receded, but there was,n’t even a seam visible. That feat of precision would have been hard to duplicate even by current methods. How the builders had accomplished it was another mystery.
Within the Obelisk, shelving rose from the floor to the bottom of the stairs, which spiraled along the walls all the way up to the chamber at the spire's peak.
"Your answer, Onen Suun, is inside the chamber above, if you’re worthy." Garreth inclined his head and left before Onen could ask anything more, and the stone door whispered shut behind him.
A dozen questions came to Onen’s mind just as the door closed. They’d likely be answered when he got to the top, so he didn’t chase after Garreth. Instead, he began climbing, counting each step to keep himself occupied. He lost track somewhere around one thousand, but eventually, he reached the small landing that faced the chamber’s door. As his foot touched the landing, the door slid open without a sound, just like the one below. He took a deep breath and entered the chamber at the Obelisk’s peak.
Chapter Four
Onen saw only a bare room made of smooth stone blocks. The door slid shut behind him, and for the briefest moment, all was pitch black.
Then, azure-blue lines flared into light, forming a perfect grid that ran across every surface. He’d seen no lines etched into the walls or floor, before, but now, the radiant grid glowed and sparkled.
Onen’s jaw dropped as he took a sharp breath. The hue, the sparkles...
Those were ley lines. But that wasn't possible. Ley lines crisscrossed all around the world, but they couldn’t be moved, much less diverted. They were a primal force of nature, one that certainly couldn’t be crafted into a room. And yet, there they were, neatly set in perfect, straight lines.
The master librarian, enigma though he was, had said the answer was in there. He hadn't asked Onen what the question was, though...
A voice, which echoed like several voices speaking in perfect unison in a range of tones, said, "Welcome, Onen Suun.”
Onen jumped at the sudden voice. He spun to look in every direction, but no one else was in the room with him. How could that be? Unless the voice was only in his head...
“The answers you seek are here. The prison you wish to create, the means to defeat your enemy. These answers are within your grasp."
Somehow, the room's workers were talking straight into his mind.
But that was absurd.
Or was it, really? So much of what existed in the world would be impossible to believe if he hadn’t seen it for himself. As crazy as it seemed, mind-speaking was the only explanation that fit. Perhaps it wasn’t so different from the way Rorcham seemed to almost know what Onen wanted as soon as he thought it...
Onen managed a slight bow. Long years spent in various noble courts had trained him to recover quickly from such surprises. "I need the answers, yes. My enemy isn't some ordinary threat, though. He is Dag'draath, and no ordinary prison could hold him for a candle-span, much less forever."
"Nothing is forever, Onen." The voice took on an uncomfortable familiarity, like it knew him as well as he knew himself.
Onen shifted from one foot to the other, uncomfortable with feeling vulnerable, but at the last moment, he kept himself from scratching his neck. That was another of his fidgeting habits. "Until the stars fade, and the world burns then."
"There is only one way."
Onen's heart pounded faster, a thumping sensation in his ears. Could it be so easy? "Yes, I—"
"If you think it will be simple or easy because there is a single way forward, you are mistaken. Simple does not mean easy. First, you must prove your worth to we."
"We?"
There was a short pause before the vocal harmony replied, "Your word might better be said, 'us.' You must prove your worth to us by means of your motives, and by what is written in your heart."
"I am Onen Suun! I fight against chaos, I protect the world, and if anyone can be worthy of saving it, I am."
The lighted lines all pulsed in rhythm, and a bemused feeling washing over Onen.
That wasn’t his feeling, though. He was anything but amused. "You laugh at me."
The lights faded low.
Onen's pulse sped for a different reason. If he'd annoyed the Library and jeopardized his chance to find the answers he needed, there would be real consequences across all of Iynia, for all the people in it. If he failed his mission because of one impulsive comment, the guilt would never leave him.
"Be calm, Onen Suun. You may still attempt Rosh'naar, and if you succeed, us... we... will answer your question.”
"I will pass. When do we start? The sooner, the better.”
There was no answer, not in mind-words.
Instead, the dimming blue lines went dark altogether, and the room became black as Dag'draath's soul.
Was the test to find a way out? Easy. Onen turned around to go back the way he'd come in, and—
He nearly walked into a great green oak tree, covered with a dusting of glittering pollen that shone in the bright daylight. By reflex, his hand moved to his sword hilt, the smooth wood-and-leather grip sliding comfortably in his hand.
The tree’s broad canopy provided Onen a welcome relief from the sizzling heat of the noonday sun. Looking up through gaps in the canopy, the lovely azure sky looked as soothing as a calm sea.
He moved his hand away from the hilt.
But what magic was this? It had to be an illusion. Even the tree alone wouldn’t have fit in that small chamber, much less a forest. And if it were an illusion, then a wall had to be somewhere nearby.
He reached out with both hands, feeling ahead as he took tiny, cautious steps, counting his paces aloud to reassure himself. At thirty tiny paces, however, he still hadn’t found a wall. Perhaps “us" was projecting the scene into his mind. What a horrifying thought.
The sunlight above began to pulse to the same rhythm as the blue glow merfolk moments before.
Rude.
All around him, a small horde of children sprang into view, rushing into the clearing from the tree line that edged the old oak's canopy. They were chasing butterflies, but those, too, had only just appeared from deep within the canopy.
Surely, he hadn't been transported to whatever place this was merely to watch children at play.
The magic room laughed with a flicker of lights.
He took in the scene and every detail as he did his best to ignore the room.
Nearby, the only gap in the surrounding woods was where a bluff fell away, though the children wisely stayed away from it. Everything else he saw was a tree in the forest beyond or the field sheltered by the canopy.
The sunlight abruptly dimmed, and Onen whipped around to look up into the sky. If a young drake had flown overhead, the children could be in grave danger, especially if it was their mating season here. Wherever ‘here’ was. If so, the drake would be ravenous from fighting off rivals and chasing down mates.
Through a span in the canopy—one he could have sworn wasn’t there before—what he saw was no merfolk drake. A mighty cloud appeared, rolling out like the fiery breath of dragons. It stretched all along the visible horizon. It was ugly, darker than dark, with continual lightning playing within.
The situation had gone from risky to deadly. Onen turned to the kids playing and shouted, “Where do you live? We have to get inside, quickly. ”
They ignored him, or didn'
t hear him.
He grabbed one little boy and tried to shake him to his senses, but the boy slipped away almost effortlessly. Onen tried again and again, but each time he grabbed one, they slipped out of reach without even glancing at him.
The thunder of a hundred lightning flashes echoed out over the field and forest from within the dismal cloud. It would be on top of them in moments, and so would all those bolts.
Onen paused without thinking and tilted his head to hear better. Something was wrong with the thunder. It had a rhythm to it that wasn’t like any proper thunder. The hair on the back of his neck and arms rose up as he squinted to see into the blackening cloud.
Oh no. The flashing lights and rhythmic beat weren't lightning and thunder. No. Within the cloud, seeming almost to be a part of it, Onen could just make out the outlines of huge figures, mounted on giant horses the size of the grandfather oak tree, bearing down on the clearing. Their armor sparked, creating the lightning. The horses’ hooves beat fast and hard, creating the chest-pounding thunder.
The giants didn't carry warriors’ weapons, either. Instead, they wielded sickles and pitchforks, farm implements that, to the giants, were as small as a traveler’s folding knife and fork.
Even from his distance, Onen somehow clearly saw blood smeared across the snarling riders' cheeks and lips. Willing his view to improve, one giant’s face seemed to swell to fill Onen’s view, the way a dewdrop on an early morning leaf made everything on the other side seem larger. It was disorienting, but he focused harder.
When he saw more clearly, he gasped in horror. Small arms and legs stuck out from between the giants’ teeth.
Something stirred in the pit of Onen's belly like a worm crawling and knotting up inside him.
