by Blair Drake
"The Well of Tears dried up," Zora said. "And the Well of Silence is dangerous to get to. I daresay you won't be receiving very many visitors from the north at all."
"Hmm." The Keeper pressed his thumb and forefinger to the top of his mouth, and then stroked his mustache. "Dark times, indeed. The omens all seem to be suggesting we're in for another Turning Point, and here's our new Catalyst, right when we need one."
This was too much. Elijah needed a moment. He slumped onto the lip of the well, and slid his hands through his hair. "So I've spent three days freezing my ass off, chained up, attacked by wyverns and thrown into a puddle of snot that suddenly pushed me out here, and no one could tell me I'm wasn't the only person from Earth in the Nine Lands."
"We weren't certain if you were a Pasternakian spy," Yeorfac said.
"Bullshit." He glared at Zandui. "You knew I wasn't a spy. You've been keeping secrets from the start. What are you hiding?"
"You weren't ready to accept my truths," Zandui replied, crossing his arms over his barrel chest. "And I wasn't certain if the signs I was reading were the right ones, or if I was merely conjuring hope where there was none."
"The Guide," the Keeper said, circling Zandui as he sized him up. He turned to Yeorfac. "The Hunter." This time he turned his attention to Zora. "The Warrior." And finally his gaze came to settle on Elijah. "The Mage. Looks like we have all four for our quest."
Zandui let out a relieved breath. "Then I was reading the omens correctly."
The Keeper smiled. "You were."
"It's true then." Zora seemed to pale as she pushed herself to her feet. "Everything Zandui's been telling me is true."
"Well, I cannot speak for everything, but in regards to the Turning Point, then yes, I suspect it's mostly true," the Keeper said.
Elijah rested his forearms on his thighs. It seemed he wasn't the only one who hadn't fully known what was going on. Zora looked like the Keeper had punched her in the face.
"How did you know my name?" Elijah asked hoarsely. "What omens? What quest? What the hell is going on here?"
"The name was simple." For a second he thought the Keeper's eyes darkened. "I read your name in the Book."
"The Book? The book of what?"
The Keeper's lips thinned, and he stroked his narrow mustache. "I think it best if I show you. It's almost dinner and I put the kettle on when I sensed you were coming. I've got tea, and perhaps a hot cup of tea will settle all the emotions I'm sensing here in the room. It's not exactly Earl Grey, but I've spent three decades trying to cultivate a decent crop, and it's not a bad batch if I do say so myself." He turned toward the stone steps. "A good pot of tea, and then I think you'll be ready for the Library. And the truth, Mr. Davies."
The scent of tea stirred memories of his mom.
Elijah found himself in a contemplative mood as they entered what appeared to be a dining room. The table was covered in an array of foods. He spotted biscuits, teapots, cake, and a little plate covered in neatly trimmed sandwiches. If a Cheshire Cat popped out of thin air, he wouldn't be surprised. Elijah's stomach chose that moment to growl, and Yeorfac simply snatched a sandwich off the table and shoved it in his mouth.
"Yes, yes," the Keeper said. "Help yourselves. I've spent most of the morning in the kitchen."
The others didn't hesitate.
Elijah helped himself to a small plate and loaded it with sandwiches and cake. He'd kill for a coffee right about now, or even a can of Sprite, but beggars couldn't be choosers. "Real food," he breathed, as he inhaled the wedge of lemon cake. The others had fed him, but their meals consisted of whatever they could hunt and roast on a spit over the fire, or slices of cured meat and cheese, and hard rinds of bread, if they were really lucky.
He would never cuss out the dining hall slop again.
Windows lined the room, and Elijah glanced idly through them, before he strode to the window and pressed his face to the glass, spraying crumbs. The world was green. After a desolate landscape of snow, it was a shock to the system.
Where were they?
"How far did we come?" Elijah asked, as he stared out green slopes, and watched light twinkling off a lake in the distance. Sheep grazed on the sloped pastures, and thick forests of fir trees surrounded what appeared to be a heavily fortified keep carved of black stone.
"At least a hundred miles," the Keeper replied, pointing into the distance. "On a clear day, with a jolly good spyglass, you can see the tip of Ice Fang from the main tower."
Elijah massacred a sandwich, and then paused. Was it a cucumber sandwich? Didn't quite taste right.
"It's the best I can do," the Keeper said, with a cough. "I'm a little limited with what I have on hand."
"It's amazing. Thank you." He let his gaze rove up the walls. "What is this place? I think someone called it the Black Keep, but that means nothing to me."
Harry glanced to where the others were sitting at the table. "Mind if I borrow young Elijah for a moment? I'll show him the Library. The rest of you have some understanding of what you're in for, but I'll need to get him up to scratch."
Nobody protested.
"This way," the Keeper said, and Elijah loaded up his plate again, before he followed him down the hallway.
A dozen or so marble statues lined the stone halls.
There was a peaked hat perched jauntily on top of one of them. The statue appeared to be of a warrior, though he was young, and his eyes were sad. A fur draped over his shoulder, but it was the hat Elijah locked onto.
There was a gold embossed emblem of the British Empire on the top, and thought the brim was scarred with ash and pitted as if sparks had singed it, someone had clearly lovingly cleaned it.
The Keeper saw where his gaze shifted to.
"I was shot down over Arras," the Keeper said, his voice softening as if he saw something else when he looked at the hat. "We were barely trained, pushed into combat. All my friends were being blown right out of the skies and I had two bloody Albatros DII on my tail. When they hit me, I thought I'd end up in a ditch somewhere, but I parachuted straight through a strange cloud. Nearly tore the parachute clean off me, the winds were so fierce. The next thing I knew I was landing in a lake in the Verdun wetlands, and there's not a fighter pilot to be seen. No enemy bombers. No sign of my B.E.2c. Not a single Albatros in the sky. Only a ripple in the water which turned out to be a Turuk." He saw Elijah's confusion. "A swamp monster known for its predilection for human flesh."
"Sounds like everything in this world," he muttered. Arras. Arras. Why did that seem familiar?
"Aye." The Keeper smiled. "It's the closest I've ever come to walking on water. You can imagine my surprise to find myself in this strange land."
"You came through a portal too? Wait." Elijah felt the heat drain out of his cheeks as he finally realized where he'd seen the word, 'Arras'. Zoe had drilled it into his head along with most of the major battle sites of the World Wars. "What year did you come here?"
"1917," the Keeper replied, turning knowing eyes upon him.
"19—" He couldn't say the rest. "That's over a hundred years ago."
"Ah, has it really been all that time?" The Keeper shrugged.
What if there was no way back?
What if Elijah was never going to see his mom, or Zoe, or even his dad ever again? He'd miss the birth of his baby brother or sister. He'd never graduate, never go on to college. He'd been worried sick about final exams, but now all he wanted was the chance to sit them.
"So there's no way back?" Elijah said hoarsely.
The Keeper clapped a hand on his shoulder. "There's always a price to pay for entering the wells. The price of knowledge, Elijah. I saw a world that needed me. If I ever left Orynthica then the Nine Lands would fall. I'm not the first man of earth to walk these lands. I daresay you won't be the last. But some have chosen to stay, and others have chosen to return. There is a reason you are here, and until you learn that reason, then you shall not be able to find the portal back."
Oh, thank God. Elijah scraped his hand over his face. "I don't understand any of this. How are you still alive?"
"Magic. I am the Keeper of the Library now, and until it is done with me, I shall not die. We all have a part to play in this world, Elijah. Now come. I'd like to show you yours."
Chapter 10
The Keeper pushed open the enormous doors, revealing a sprawl of bookshelves Zoe would kill to get her hands on. Elijah stared as his neck craned, taking in the rows of mahogany shelves. Heavy-bound books were chained to shelves, and in some places, they rustled, as if something within the pages wanted to come out.
"Whoa." Elijah turned, taking it all in. Huge candelabras filled the room, fat globules of melted wax slinking down their sides. The heavy drapes were all drawn, as if to protect the books from the light. "This is a serious library. My girlfriend would love this place."
"Thank you," the Keeper said, with a faint, immodest smile.
"You must spend all day dusting," Elijah said, walking along the shelves and trailing his fingertips over the spines. As he went, each candelabra flickered to life, as if they had a sensor attached. "Hey, Keeper, what's with the candles?"
"Please, call me Harry." The man followed him among the shelves. "And they're powered by certain glyphs that ignite the flame when there's someone in here, and extinguish it when I'm done. No point wasting candle wax if it's not needed."
He sounded like Elijah's dad and his absorption in turning off power points when they weren't in use.
A pang of homesickness sliced through him.
"Okay." Elijah turned to face him. "Tell me how to get home."
"The only way to get home is to complete your quest," Harry replied. "Right now, there's not enough magic left in the world to power a portal of the size needed to warp space itself. It's only during the Turning Points that the world portals open, as the Current tries to restore the balance of magic in this world, and calls for what it needs. Sometimes what it needs is on Orynthica. Sometimes it's Earth. Sometimes... well, we're not the only planets out there."
"What is a Turning Point?"
"It's a time of possibility," Harry said, crossing to the reading stand, where an enormous book lay open, a quill hovering in the air over it, tracing slow curves on the open pages. "It's a time when the Current begins to vibrate quicker than usual, when portals can be torn in time and space, when the Current tries to fix the energy fluxes in the world. Whatever is draining magic from the Nine Lands has tipped the balance, and now the Current is trying to restore it, but it can only work through a lucky few.""How many Turning Points has there been?"
"Seventeen in my century of service," Harry replied. "There is always some princess—or prince—to rescue in the Nine Lands, or some warlord who gets his hands on something he shouldn't. Some rich king places a bounty on a phoenix's head, and next thing you know, every fire in the kingdom goes out. That sort of thing. But this one..." His words faded. "My first Turning Point occurred when King Dameron broke the world. It's what drew me into this world, and there's never been another one like it, until now. This Turning Point is a powerful one, Elijah. It's been a hundred years since Dameron broke the world, and now he's on the verge of coming back. He's almost gathered enough power to manifest. He just needs one more thing."
Elijah looked at him sharply. "How did you know about Dameron?"
Harry's lips curled in a smile. "Because I'm the Keeper, Elijah. I'm here to annotate the Legend of Orynthica, and give our heroes the information they need to finish their quests. That is my sacred duty."
Legend of Orynthica. It clicked into place in Elijah's head all of a sudden. "That's the LARP game Zoe plays. That's what it's called."
"Zoe? I've seen her in your story, but I do not know this LARP."
Elijah swiftly explained, as Harry cleaned his glasses on his sleeve.
"Mmm," Harry said thoughtfully. "As I said, some of the questers return to earth. Perhaps one brought with him the tales of Orynthica, and decided to spread it among the people? Perhaps he misses the Nine Lands? Who knows? As for Zoe and Zora being one and the same, I've always sort of felt as though there are many worlds out there, where we—or possibilities of ourselves—exist."
Elijah released a slow breath. "So Zora is really Zoe?"
"She's a Zoe who was born in a world full of magic," Harry said kindly. "A Zoe who had a sword put in her hand at the age of five, when she was sent to the camps to be trained as a potential tribute. She's not your Zoe, but she's an extension of her. Your Zoe was formed by her experiences, whereas Zora has been molded by hers."
"She hates me."
"Hmmm. Does she? Why would that be, I wonder?"
"Because she thinks I'm a mage."
"Zora's feelings are complicated. Her entire life has been focused on becoming a tribute and fighting for her people during the Ascension. She's given up many things to get to this point, Elijah, and here you are, full of a magic she hates, named Catalyst to a prophecy she's always seen herself as a part of. There is more to the story of course, but I think you should ask her yourself."
"How do you even know all of this?" Elijah asked.
"Because it's in the Book. The Book of Blessed Eloa. All of you are. Yeorfac, who worries he is not strong enough or fast enough to win this fight; Zandui, who fears he cannot weld a team of four fractured individuals together; Zora, who must confront all her prejudices if she is to reach her true potential, and you, Elijah. A mage who doesn't believe in his own magic. You're a Catalyst for this Turning Point, Elijah, but you are not alone. You cannot defeat Dameron by yourself. To face him alone means you will fail. It always takes a team to restore balance. Or a gifted pair."
"I do believe I have magic." He'd felt it running through his veins, the buzz of it vibrating against his skin. He'd seen it spill from his hands.
"But you don't want it. You don't believe in it. You don't believe in yourself. You just want to go home."
"And to get home I need to restore the Balance, so there's enough magic remaining to form a portal." Elijah sighed. He was pretty sure there was someone out there who'd be a better Catalyst, but clearly he didn't have many options. "What else is in this book?"
"Here we are." Harry gestured the floating quill out of the way, and it dipped itself in its inkpot, as if it glowered at him for disturbing it. Harry unfolded a set of reading glasses and placed them on his nose. "And lo, the mighty adventurers found themselves in the Black Keep, to prepare themselves for the forthcoming trials—"
Harry looked up apologetically. "It's a little wordy at times. Tends to ramble if you don't keep the mage glyphs tight."
"You're a mage?"
"Now, now," Harry laughed. "Don't go throwing that word around too freely in these lands." He cleared his throat. "I'm not a mage, not by your understanding of the words. I cannot use the Current for my own purposes. I cannot call it into life. But the former Keeper tasked the Library to me, and he taught me the glyphs that can trap Current and use it to keep the Library running. When I was called into this world, I was Catalyst for the first Turning Point, but my role was different to yours. I was the Guide. Now...." Harry gestured to the Library. "I am still a guide of sorts, though I work for all Turning Points."
"You said Dameron only needed one last thing to be able to manifest. What is it?"
"Now you're asking the right questions." Harry clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not allowed to tell you, Elijah. There are... rules even the Keeper must obey. Discovering what Dameron needs is your task, that and stopping him from getting his hands on it. All I can tell you is this." Harry leaned closer, shoving his glasses up his nose when they slipped. "Somewhere, between the time you arrived at the Keep and the time you leave it, you will learn something that can aid you on your quest. It's imperative for you to be here. You need to figure out how to defeat him, otherwise the balance will tip, and life will drain from the Nine Lands and leave it nothing but a barren wasteland."
Elijah spent hours reading
through the Book of Eloa before his eyes began to glaze. There'd been nuggets of information, but no sign of what Dameron needed to manifest.
"Fire and ice shall forge the pressure needed..." Elijah pinched the bridge of his nose. The book spent a hell of a lot of time muttering about temperature fluctuations. He needed the news, not the weather.
He needed a break.
He dwelled on the idea of being a catalyst, as Yeorfac and Zandui discussed their next move over the dining table, in the wake of roast chicken carcasses.
Watching the Ice Fang hunters decimate an enormous table groaning under the weight of food, had been an experience Elijah wasn't certain he ever wanted to have again. Harry, of course, was simply delighted to have guests and kept shoving roasted root vegetables their way, but there was a limit to how much food Elijah could put in himself apparently.
Who knew?
He felt restless and excused himself from the table, going in search of Zora. He found her in the sparring room, simply by following the sounds of someone beating a sandbag to death.
Shadows danced on the walls as he slipped in through the doors of the sparring room. Zora twisted and ducked, elegantly executing a set of movements that looked both beautiful and lethal, despite the fact Zandui had said she'd been at this for hours. She spun a staff in her hand, her attention grimly focused on some enemy he couldn't see. Elijah leaned against the wall to watch.
This was Orynthica's Zoe.
Vicious, deadly and focused. Zora and Zoe were poles apart, though he had to concede there were similarities between them. If Zoe wanted something out of life, she chased it with a fervor that almost intimidated him. Or perhaps it had only frightened him, because he'd worried she didn't want him enough to fight for him.
And why would she?
His life at home was a mess, despite the fierce juggling act to keep all his plates in the air. Grades slipping, girlfriend distancing herself, pushing himself into the one thing he was any good at, until he was overthinking even hockey. Elijah was failing. There. He'd thought it. He was failing everything he attempted, it seemed.
