The Darkest Bloom

by P. M. Freestone

  “Better?” I ask.

  “Much better.” She smiles. Actually smiles, one of her teeth snagging ever-so-slightly on her bottom lip. I’m surprised to find it disarming.

  Despite myself, I smile back. “Only Kaismap knows how you fit so many things in that pack of yours.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your new attire.”

  “This old thing? It’s just my nightdress washed and hemmed.” Her smile turns mischievous. “I used part of the offcuts on the belt, otherwise there was no way these were staying up.”

  I peer closely at the trousers. “Hang on. Are those my—”

  “It was very generous of you to loan them. Thank you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to check on my horse.”

  We rest in shifts through the afternoon, though I can only manage a fitful doze. At sunset, we share a meal of dried figs, the last of the coarse barley bread and a slice of over-salted Aphorain cheese. The stars seem slower to appear than normal – watching the dusk sky when your next move depends on it is like waiting for an oil burner to steam.

  Eventually, Rakel points. “There, see? Between the fox and the lion. Nothing.”

  The two constellations are in different parts of the sky to where they usually hang over Ekasya at this point in the starwheel’s turn. But it’s always easy to spot Kal – the milky patch of the gods’ realm where the scholars say there are more stars than the eye can see. It’s edged in seven brighter points, curving from the snow-fox’s curious nose, along its back to the sweep of its tail.

  I move behind Rakel and follow the guiding line of her arm. The sparkle of the stars at the tips of Tozran the lion’s feathered wings come into view. Between them is a distinct patch of dark sky.

  She squints back at her necklace. “Some map. What are these stars meant to be? A constellation that appears at a different time of night? Or in the day? Or something else all together? Direction marker? A message? And where is this stinkin’ lost library in all of it?”

  My mind casts back to her sketch in the dust, the line she drew like a letter “w” to connect them. Something tickles at my thoughts like an unreachable itch.

  The way of the stars.

  “It’s the canyon!”

  “What?”

  I reach for her locket. “May I?”

  She hesitates a moment, then hands it to me.

  “When I was keeping a lookout today, up on the rim, I got the lay of the land. There’s a branch of the canyon that curves in exactly the same way as a line drawn between those five extraneous stars.”

  “Are you sure? Which way?”

  “Further south. We should be able to backtrack until the branches diverge, then follow the other until we reach this marker. If I’m right, two days at most. I can hardly believe the Library would be so close.”

  Rakel shrugs. “As good a place as any. There’s no caravan trail, you can’t grow crops. The only place you’d be getting closer to is the borderlands, and heading there without a death wish is kind of like sitting on a sand-stinger nest to avoid being bitten. Why would anyone strike out into the desert in the direction of nothing?”

  Curiosity, comes Nisai’s voice in my mind.

  “Desperation, more like it,” I mutter.

  “Sorry?”

  “Exploration. That’s why someone might come out here. To learn something.”

  She nods, expression thoughtful. “I suppose I could understand that.”

  We gather our things and set out.

  Other than a few short breaks, we walk all night. When the sun invades the gorge the next day, we rest beneath an outcrop, tense and barely saying a word. At times, the canyon floor is sand, the walls wide, so that Rakel can ride and I can keep pace beside her horse. When the canyon narrows so that there’s only the barest sliver of sky overhead, I take the lead and we walk in single file. Not long before the next dawn, when the sky illuminates to a gradually paling blue, I call a halt.

  Beside me, Rakel pulls her horse up and slides to the ground, tying off the reins. “Don’t wander far,” she tells the mare, who immediately lowers her head, closes her eyes and bends one foreleg to rest it on the tip of a hoof. Useful skill, being able to sleep on command.

  Rakel shoulders her satchel and peers ahead. I follow her gaze. Around the bend in the canyon, the cliffs are in shadow. It’s a dead end.

  But there’s something precise about one line in the rock, something that seems intentional rather than the result of natural erosion. Or it could just be my imagination.

  “Stay there,” I tell Rakel quietly. “I’ll scout ahead.”

  Keeping my back pressed against the canyon wall, I edge closer. If there does happen to be anything here, I need to assess how well it’s defended. I unsheathe a knife, angling the blade to mirror around the bend.

  It’s deserted. Silent.

  So far, so good. I creep closer.

  At the dead-end cliff face, I discover my hunch is right. There’s a pathway, barely as wide as my shoulders, that veers sharply to the right, so that it’s completely disguised from anywhere else in the canyon. I hesitate. The gap becomes a tunnel a few paces in, and the remains of several rockfalls are piled up around it. Who knows how stable the rest is. But it can’t stretch on for too long – there’s light beckoning beyond the gloom.

  I take a deep breath, set my jaw and venture onwards.

  Thirty, forty, fifty paces with my chin ducked to my chest and I’m emerging, blinking, into a circular ravine, the floor littered with rocks and long-dead vegetation the wind and seasons have deposited down here.

  Another dead end.

  “Well, dunk me in a tanner’s vat and call me Pong,” Rakel breathes next to me.

  I turn on her. “I thought I told you to stay back there?”

  “You did. And?”

  I scowl.

  “Look.” She points. “Under that branch of flood wood. Is that a flagstone?”

  “Who would pave a dead-end ravine?”

  Hands on hips, Rakel stares up at the façade. “I don’t have the faintest whiff. What I’m more interested in is who lives there now.”

  “Shall we go find out?”

  I needn’t have bothered asking. The words have barely left my mouth and she’s already leaping ahead. I shake my head and start after her.

  Then I notice them. I’d first thought they were rocks that had tumbled from the cliffs over the turns. But rocks don’t bleach white like that. And they certainly don’t have two dark holes where eyes used to be.

  “Rakel!” I bark. “Stop!”

  She turns around, annoyance pinching her features, her feet still moving backwards. “Come on! I can see an opening from here. This has to be it!”

  “Seriously, Rakel. Don’t move.”

  Her posture goes rigid. But she’s off balance. She teeters for a heartbeat, then stumbles back on to the flagstone behind her.

  It sinks beneath her weight with a sharp, mechanical click.

  CHAPTER 21

  Rakel

  “Stay still and look around you.” Ash’s words are low and quiet, his gentle tone reminding me of my own, back when I was first training Lil.

  It stops me quicker than any haughty command.

  Without shifting my weight, I cast about me. There. The telltale lines of a ribcage. And there? Is that the curve of a skull? A human skull? And why are they only in a few places? As if they’d collected in front of that opening in the rock only a few more paces from where I’m standing—

  Oh.

  Oh, oh, oh.

  I could slap myself across the nose. Sideways.

  If this truly is the Library of the Lost, it’s of course going to have defences. A place that lasted through centuries of spilled blood between the small kingdoms of old, a place that survived the Shadow Wars, doesn’t persevere by letting you stroll up and wander straight in. Particularly the kind of place that legend says preserves every written work since written work began. Even texts the Empire
has since outlawed. Especially texts the Empire has outlawed.

  “Ash?” I call, voice hesitant.

  The scrape of rock against rock grates in my ears. Then there’s a grunt and a muttered curse.

  “Ash!”

  “Just hold on,” his voice comes from off to the side. “I’ve got a plan.”

  He appears before me again, rolling a boulder along the exact same path I’d taken. “I’m going to wager that mechanism isn’t hooked up to a welcome mat. And, given that we don’t know what it is connected to, I’d greatly prefer we replace you with this.” He eyes the rock critically. “Appears about right.”

  “About? That’s how confident you are?”

  “I’ve been sizing up opponents on the training field for over half my life. You’re going to have to trust my judgment. Now, if this setup is what I’m thinking it is, we’ll need to time it exactly. When I say, and not before – jump on to the flagstone I’m standing on. Don’t go too early. Equally, this isn’t a time to start hesitating.”

  “Got it.”

  “On three then?”

  I nod, dropping my hands to my sides, balancing my weight across both feet.

  “One…”

  If I managed to get myself here in one leap, surely I can get myself back again. But fear has made the pavers seem bigger than excitement did.

  “Two…”

  I wish I could shuffle closer to the edge of the sunken stone, but I don’t dare.

  “Three!” With a final grunt of effort, Ash tips the boulder on to the lowered flagstone.

  I jump.

  Both my boots land on the next stone.

  Nothing happens.

  Ash reaches out to steady me, and I grab for his arm. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me, thank my ‘pretty’ life in the palace. I’d never have learned about architectural defences otherwise.”

  I resist the urge to roll my eyes at him.

  With a new sense of caution, we pick our way towards the gap in the cliff face, testing each stone with the press of a foot before moving our full weight. When we’re close, I catch sight of a line of spears arrayed in carved holes in the rock, as if ready to launch. Their tips are made of something resembling blue-black glass, the points cruelly barbed.

  I look back down the path we’ve picked out. Sure enough, Ash’s boulder is directly in line with the spearheads. I swallow. Human pin cushion – not a way I’d like to go.

  Ash only has eyes for the spears.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “This glossy stone,” he says. “I’ve only ever seen it in one other place. In the Council chambers in the Ekasya palace.”

  “You think that means something?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I peer inside the opening in the rock. It’s dark. Really dark.

  Careful not to step beyond the path we’ve already taken, I scoop up a bleached thigh bone. “Sorry,” I apologize to the skeleton as sinewy bits stretch and snap, sending other bones to the ground with an unnerving rattle.

  I retrieve the last remnants of my old nightgown from my satchel and tie them around one end of the bone, then smear them with a little yeb balm. It’s not as flammable as krilmair, but even if I had any of that stuff, I wouldn’t want to be carrying a flaming glob of it into a creepy tunnel full of stench-knows-what. And yeb balm smells sweeter.

  Ash crouches beside me, gathering a handful of pebbles. He tosses one through the tunnel entrance. It clatters once, twice, three times across the rock floor. Then nothing.

  I hand him the torch, and glance back up the canyon to where Lil rests. I don’t like leaving her, but I’d rather do that than risk her getting hurt – or worse – in here.

  Inside, the tunnel has been lined with huge blocks of unadorned stone. It twists and turns in sinuous curves that remind me of the garden labyrinth Sephine used to walk. If she were here now she’d have to crouch low – Ash stoops to not hit his head.

  He runs a palm along the wall, the torchlight flickering over the stylized claws inked on the back of his hand. “Only Kaismap knows what the architect of this place had going through their mind.”

  The path spirals gently but steadily downward. I lose count of how many times we throw and retrieve the pebbles.

  We emerge into a huge chamber, easily as big as an entire wing of the Aphorain palace. Pillars flare up from the floor, crossing over each other before joining the stone high up the walls. Sconces attached to the pillars are lit with some sort of alchemical fire that lends the vast space a greenish hue and smells completely alien. It’s unnerving.

  On the far side of the vaulted chamber is the largest statue I’ve ever seen, a massive figure sitting on a simple throne, carved from the rock wall behind. It’s so big I need to crane my neck to take it all in. One hand rests palm-up on a leg, the other lies face-down. There’s nothing to indicate gender, the huge chest slender but flat, no beard, head carved smooth as a freshly shaved scalp. No crown or jewellery. None of the trappings of any of the gods.

  My breath catches when I look further up. The ceiling is higher than any I’ve ever seen. It’s made of the same blue-black glass-like substance as the spears at the entrance. But this is one single, magnificent piece, dotted with silver in what seems like an irregular pattern until I recognize the points of the horns in the aurochs constellation.

  It’s the starwheel in the night sky.

  A woman’s triumphant voice echoes across the chamber. “Here they are. I knew it! Pay up!”

  “Sssh!” someone else hisses.

  Ash shoulders past me and draws his swords, the blades shining in the strange light.

  Two figures appear. They move towards us on silent feet, the toes of soft leather slippers peeking from the hem of their plain linen robes. They both wear their grey hair in a single plait down to the waist. As they near, their faces reveal the deep lines of age, and the scent of orange and cinnamon wafts from the simple pomanders hanging around their necks – the only adornment they’re wearing.

  “Sheer luck,” the woman’s companion says. He points at me. “There isn’t a skerrick of self-control in this one. Hardly a worthy wager.”

  The woman leans to the side to catch my eye, completely unconcerned with the sight of an armed Shield before her. “Don’t mind Akred. These days he’s outnumbered and that makes him grumpy.”

  The man scowls. “In case protocol has escaped your memory, all visitors must be escorted to the Archivist immediately upon arrival.”

  His companion sighs. “Stickler.” She sweeps an arm back in the direction they arrived. “If you’d be so kind as to follow us. And you can put those away, young man.”

  I glance to Ash as we fall into step behind our escort. He’s wide-eyed. Seems even someone who lives in the imperial palace can be awestruck.

  “Are you sure we’re in the right place?” I murmur.

  He nods. “I’ve spent enough time in libraries to know when I’m in one. Nisai and Esarik are going to be beside themselves when they hear they’ve missed this.”

  Guess the legendary library is kind of impressive.

  Doors line the walls of the chamber. There must be dozens. Maybe more. Identically attired figures, almost all of them women, hurry soundlessly between them. Some bear armloads of tablets and cylinders. Others carry clusters of pale yellow candles – their wicks left long and braided together as handles – or trays of small pots and reed styluses. Everyone appears to have seen more turns than Old Maz, who could remember when my village was nothing but an oasis and a couple of huts.

  Somewhere in the distance, there’s a muffled echo of thuds. The sound comes in rhythmic bursts, like hammering, the impact vibrating the stone under my feet. I look up to the impossibly high ceiling, trying not to think of the sheer weight of the cliffs above us.

  The friendlier of our escorts smiles. “Safeguarding the written word – law or literature – takes space. Don’t fret, we’ve been expanding the Library for centuries. The
Delvers may be our youngest members, but they know their craft.”

  Her companion huffs. “If only they could figure out how to do it quietly. Terrible imposition on serious study.”

  By the time we reach the far side of the vaulted hall, we’ve gathered a following, so that a small crowd gathers before a platform at the feet of the huge statue. There sits an elderly woman at a desk of blue-black glass, piled high with scrolls. She wears the same robes and is as wan as everyone else in here, as if they haven’t seen the sun for half their lives.

  “Archivist, we have visitors,” our grumpy guide announces.

  The woman at the desk doesn’t look up. Her stylus scratches across a parchment before her, moving faster than the scribbles of an Aphorain auctioneer. “Thank you, that will be all.”

  Our escorts nod in unison.

  “She is all,” the friendly woman says.

  “He is all,” the testy man says.

  Curious.

  Ash steps forward. “Archivist, is it? We’re grateful for this audience. I serve as Shield to First Prince Nis—”

  She peers down her long nose at him. “I’m old, my boy. Not ignorant. Your ink has already announced you.”

  Her voice is high, and she speaks in rapid bursts like a chattering bird. “However, I’m afraid we haven’t been a public library for nigh on a millennium. Third century pre-Accord. Though I suppose we didn’t truly close our doors until the end of the Great Bloom. After those lofty heights of debate and enquiry everyone was looking for a short cut, not willing to put in the work to hone true expertise. I remember one young man walked in our door not long after I was elevated to my current position – before we took those measures you encountered – marched right up to the catalogues and dared to lay his gloveless hands on—”

  The male Chronicler who first met us clears his throat.

  “What’s that, Akred? You have something to contribute? I’m struggling to deduce how fifth-century Losian architecture could enhance our guests’ understanding of the situation. Do enlighten me if you’ve been developing another specialism relevant to the conversation at hand?”