Rift in the Deep

by Janelle Garrett

  “Come on!” Garron said, shoving past Malok and heading for the infirmary.

  “I will take the scrolls to the Dome. Here,” and Malok took the rest from Garron’s hands. His friend walked away briskly, pulling a vial from his pocket and disappearing down a hallway. Shifting the scrolls in his arms, Malok went the opposite way, sidestepping the Brother who was doing fire rounds, who nodded at him before continuing the inspections.

  A large, arched entry led into a room with shelves upon shelves of books. Several Brothers wandered between the high wooden partitions, searching for what they needed. The Keeper of the Books followed behind one group, holding the sorter that documented what each of the books were and what they were for. Malok headed across the large enclosure, passing through a door that led to a hallway branching to the right. He walked by several Brothers’ personal rooms to his left, simple and practical with only a bed, a table with a candle, and a pot for waste. He was the one that emptied the pots on the first day of the week. Thank the Truth that was yesterday, and he had six more days until he had to do it again.

  The hallway led to the Dome, a room in the middle of the Library specifically allotted for the oldest and most important scrolls. There were no windows so that light wouldn’t damage the parchment. The Dome housed thousands of ancient documents that could crumble not only to the touch, but also if they encountered sunlight. Malok nodded to Brother Tapook, who jerked up and acted like he hadn’t been napping, grabbing his quill to document Malok entering the Dome.

  Malok wound past tables with mounds of scrolls, some Brothers teaching other acolytes, some studying them for personal reasons. The low murmur of their voices was soothing and familiar. The passing on of knowledge was more important than anything else, and their echoing voices was proof that wisdom would live on through the acolytes.

  Malok wound around them, making his way to the very back of the Dome where Brother Borak waited. He had set up his own personal tables arranged in a lopsided circle, with a chair in the middle at a small desk. Whatever the old Brother was searching for, it must be important. Borak hadn’t left the Dome in four weeks. A waste bucket sat under one of the tables, and meals were delivered by acolytes. Often, he could be found asleep at the table, only to jolt awake and start frantically digging through the scrolls like the Liar himself was on his back. Or maybe the Truth was lighting his way. Whichever force it was, Borak certainly seemed driven.

  “Brother?” Malok squeezed through a gap in the tables to enter Borak’s sanctuary, nestled amid the towering stacks of scrolls. “Here are the scrolls you wished me to bring.”

  “Eh?” Borak said, turning from where he was stooped over a smaller stack, squinting at Malok. His eyesight was fading, there was no doubt. When he read, he crouched low over the words, reading them with one eye. “The scrolls from the Brothers at Mead?”

  “Indeed,” Malok responded. “An acolyte of the Mead Library delivered it this morning.”

  “Excellent!” Borak exclaimed, turning about to search for a place for Malok to place them. There wasn’t a square inch available. Sighing, Borak took some from Malok’s hands, opening them to search the title before placing them on top of other scrolls to the table on his left. Rubbing his bald head, the Brother nodded to Malok. “Thank you for your service, young Master.”

  “As you wish, Brother,” Malok responded. “Where should I place these?” and he hefted the rest in his arms.

  “I’m looking for a leak,” the Brother responded, more to himself than to Malok, and turned back to the scrolls he had been studying. Malok had no clue what he was talking about, so he stood still, waiting for the old man to remember he was there. “It must be here. The ancient Order of Brothers mentioned the signs, but it seems the leak itself is lost.” He shuffled through the scrolls, tossing some to the side, only to turn back to Malok. “Young Master, search for the Signs of Apok. It was referenced in Signs of Mog and I think maybe it’s what we need.”

  Malok set the scrolls down on the table, bending to search through the titles himself. They were written in Sway, to his surprise. That meant they were only a few hundred years old; he should have known as soon as he saw the color of the parchment. The Brothers of Mead had done a good job keeping them protected. Sway was only a written language, a derivative of the Early tongue. Common sprang forth as the spoken language from Sway, and now, it was the trade language of the Lands, the Domains, and the Continents.

  “Here.” Malok found the scroll with Signs of Apok written in sprawling letters across the head of the parchment. Borak took it from him, excitement lighting his eyes as he looked about madly for something.

  “Where is my quill!?” he screeched in a frenzy, throwing his arms wide, much like a flapping bird. He brushed Malok’s arm in his excitement.

  “You left it in the book room,” Malok replied, and then blinked. He wasn’t sure how he knew, yet in his mind’s eye he could see a quill lying gently on the third shelf of the last row.

  “Hmm,” Borak answered, cocking his head and looking at Malok with interest. “Did I?”

  “I’ll get it,” Malok answered, turning quickly from the Brother and weaving his way out of the Dome before Borak could ask more questions. Malok wouldn’t have known how to answer.

  It wasn’t the first time this had happened. Several times over the last year he had known things he shouldn’t have. Like when a Brother would get sick, and why. Or where Garron’s secret stash of scrolls was.

  The quill was exactly where Malok knew it would be. Picking it up, he half expected to feel something, anything. Maybe a tingling feeling, or a shock of a current. But no, it felt like a normal quill, with ink stains on the tip. Shifting it between his fingers, he made his way back to the Dome past a sleeping Brother Tapook. He stopped and notated his own entrance and then wound around the tables, past the acolytes and Brothers, to hand the quill to the old man. Brother Borak turned and eyed Malok, stopping what he was doing.

  “Did you see me place it there?” he asked, taking the quill from Malok’s hands. His voice was even, as if he was trying to hide his curiosity behind indifference.

  “I must have,” Malok replied. But in his mind’s eye, he saw himself finding it there before he actually had.

  “But you were gone for the whole morning. I went to the book room after you had left, to search for Mysteries of the Sky and Water. How could you have known?” The Brother took a step toward Malok and reached up to touch his forehead. Malok kept himself from flinching under Brother Borak’s light, querying fingers. He hadn’t made the mistake of voicing his knowledge until now, and he regretted it. When would he learn to keep his mouth shut? Only a fool blurted out loud the first thing he thought in his head. A wise man waited and measured his words.

  “I—” but Malok’s voice caught in his throat as an icy touch infiltrated his mind, like the feeling he got when he ate too much snow as a child. He jerked away from the Brother, not allowing him to Delve. The feeling fled, and Malok’s neck grew hot with anger. A Brother’s Delve was not allowed unless permission was given first, unless one was accused of a crime. And Malok certainly had not granted it to Brother Borak, and was certainly no vagabond criminal.

  “How incredibly interesting,” the Brother said, eyes alight. Malok stepped away, his face turning hot. “I apologize, young Master. But your thoughts are blocked.”

  Malok’s face heated even more, and he bumped against a table in his haste to get away. Brother Borak watched but didn’t try to stop him. Malok fled, forcing himself to keep from running.

  He made his way to his own rooms, shared with Garron and another acolyte named Roke. Thankfully neither of them was there, and he paced the floor after he shut the door. He shook his head, trying to calm his anger. What Brother Borak had done was defiling, akin to a man taking sexual advantage of a woman. It was abhorrent.

  Yet on the other hand, Malok was relieved. No one had tried to Delve his mind except Garron when they had both practiced on each other. Gar
ron’s mind was easy to access, yet Garron had been unable to Delve Malok’s. They had both kept it a secret, since they weren’t supposed to even be trying to Delve each other yet.

  Still. Malok had been curious if Garron was simply weak, or if Malok was somehow exempt from the Delving. He had found his answer.

  To calm himself, he grabbed one of his favorite books, The Art of Mind Studies, and opened it. A note slid out of the pages and flitted to the floor. He already knew what it said by heart.

  Dear Brothers of the Loun library, I only request that one young acolyte meet me at the bottom of the trail with The Fortress of the Deep, a scroll written many Times ago, to aid me in my study. Signed, the Rook.

  A knock at the door as he bent to retrieve the note startled him. He frowned and went to open it. No one was there; instead a book was sitting outside the door. He glanced down the hall to see if he could find who had left it but the hallway was empty. Stooping to pick it up, Malok ran his fingers along the leather binding, which indicated it had been written within the last fifty years. The title was in Common, Of the Four Stewards, by none other than Brother Borak Mountain Climber. Malok stepped back into his room, leaving the door open to allow more light inside. Sitting on his cot, he opened to the first page where a note rested.

  Master Malok, I apologize for earlier. My curiosity often gets the best of me, and I Delved you without permission. Yet the fact that I couldn’t access your mind is going to cause me to lose my own, if I can’t study this further. I implore you to come back tomorrow and allow me to try digging deeper. If the door of your mind remains inaccessible, it can only mean one thing. Read the book and find out what I mean. I’ve marked the pages that pertain particularly to you.

  Brother Borak

  MALOK READ THE NOTE twice more, frowning in consternation. What would this entail, for the Brother to “dig deeper”? As far as he knew, the only time this was done was when a memory was buried so deep it had been forgotten by the person in question. This usually pertained to something the person wanted to forget due to trauma or suppression by an unknown cause, perhaps even disease.

  Curiosity. Brother Borak had an unending amount. Malok himself did as well. It was what made the Brothers stalwart in their pursuit of wisdom. He opened the book to the mark left by the Brother, the title of the section written clearly.

  A history of the Seer, as pertains to mind blocking.

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  Part 2 Rise of the Warlock King is also on Amazon and available in print, ebook and Kindle Unlimited

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