, Aug 10, 2014
Chapter Fifteen
Book-Learning
The smell of salt water and fresh fish raised Jendara's spirits a bit. They were the two strongest notes of a harbor's perfume, after all, and any harbor was a kind of home to her. Her chin lifted a little as she strode down the steps leading to the docks. The palace had been a bust, but there had to be other ideas out there.
"Jendara!" Fambra called.
Jendara picked up her pace. The redhead waved happily. A man stood beside her on the deck, his own hair a faded version of Fambra's. He wore simple leather armor and a pleasant smile.
"Ahoy!" Jendara called. "This must be your cousin, the guard."
Fambra grinned. "Jorgen, meet Jendara."
"Pleased to meet you. Although, I must say after Fambra and Sven's stories, I was expecting someone seven feet tall and breathing fire." He clasped her forearm in islander fashion, then clapped her on the shoulder.
"Sorry to let you down." Jendara glanced over her shoulder at Hazan, still making his way slowly down the docks. "This is Hazan, our...companion."
Fambra frowned. "Hazan, are you well? You look pale."
He walked up the gangplank. "Think I bumped my ribs on the stair rail. Nothing serious."
"Well, sit down. Sven will bring you something to drink. Rest yourself." Fambra turned to Jendara. "You don't look so good yourself. There's cabbage in your hair."
Jendara scowled. "I got thrown out of the palace. I should have sent you to do the talking—the steward knew my history and thought I was trying to organize some kind of pirate attack on the city."
"Then we'll just have to find some other kind of help," Fambra said. "Jorgen, you've heard our story. Do you think you could organize any volunteers from the other Iron Shields?"
"We'd all go," he said. "Every one of us would believe you and Jendara. We'd go in a heartbeat if you asked us to."
Jendara shook her head. "You can't all go. The steward's right about one thing: if we take the best warriors from Halgrim, we risk leaving the capital city defenseless. We've been worried about Sorind and Flintyreach, but we know for sure that Kalira has her eye on this island. Maybe she's hoping we'll do exactly this. Gather up all of the city's defenders and leave it open for her attack."
Sven handed Hazan a glass and joined the group. "Battlewall is the most heavily populated of the islands. If Kalira's looking to crush the archipelago, she could start here and hope it leaves us paralyzed with fear."
Fambra looked skeptical. "I don't think she has the numbers to take on Halgrim, let alone the whole island. I think an attack this far south isn't very likely until she's taken more ground. But you have a point, I guess."
"I'm just not sure what we should do next," Jendara admitted. "I don't know how quickly Kalira's forces can move or how many fighters she has. And I don't know if there are any weapons or tools we might use against her skinwalkers. Nobody's ever faced anything like this!"
"Not anybody in recent history," Sven reminded her. "But there are stories about skinwalkers. We've all heard them. They must be based on some kind of fact."
"That's true," Jorgen agreed. "Even here in the city, we knew better than to leave a hide untreated. That kind of wisdom has to come from something."
Fambra nibbled her thumbnail, thinking. "Something historical. There might be a record of it someplace." She caught Jorgen's eye. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
He raised an eyebrow. "The Basalt Library? No one enters those gates. We run a patrol out there, now and again, but there's never any sign of activity. I wouldn't be surprised if those librarians were all dead by now."
"What are you talking about?" Jendara dropped onto a cask, looking at the arguing cousins. Her head hurt, and so did her branded hand. She rubbed it irritably.
Fambra pulled a lobster trap close to Jendara. The others took it as a cue to sit down as well. Sven disappeared below and reappeared with more glasses and a second bottle of the honey-colored liquor he'd given Hazan. He poured a scant measure for each of them.
"About five years ago," Fambra said, "just a few years after White Estrid took the throne, a group of scholars and explorers asked for her permission to build a library."
Jendara sipped her liquor. The honey sweetness played over her tongue. She sipped again.
"Estrid allowed them to build their library in the northern cliffs, just outside of the city. They kept to themselves, but for two years, ship after ship brought them crates of books." Fambra lowered her voice. "Some of the ships came in the dead of night, and those who saw the crates heard strange sounds and saw strange lights."
Jorgen rolled his eyes. "Gossip and superstition. I checked many of those crates myself, working harbor patrol. Books, plain and simple. Moldy old books."
Fambra sighed. "After construction was completed, members of the order went out into the islands, collecting old manuscripts and interviewing people. One of them spent a lot of time talking to Gerda, writing down the stories she remembered. But about a year ago, they just...stopped."
"That's true," Jorgen said. "They closed the doors to the library, and no one has hear a peep out of them since then. They may have left the island, for all we know."
"You haven't checked?" Jendara frowned.
"They wouldn't have appreciated our meddling," he answered. "These were strange men."
"But you think their library may have records of the incidents behind the old stories," she mused. "Well, it's worth checking, anyway. Where is this library?"
"I can give you directions," Jorgen said. "I want to go talk to some of the other guards. I can probably organize a group of volunteers to leave for Sorind on tomorrow's outgoing tide."
"That's terrific. Fambra, perhaps you can talk to some of the fisherfolk. If I can't get any information out of this library, our best defense is going to be a lot of fighters. Maybe you can get us some."
"Absolutely."
"Hazan, if you bumped those ribs, maybe you should just rest here," Jendara suggested. "I need to you in good shape for any sailing tomorrow morning."
"No," he said. "I'm coming with you."
"Hazan—"
He cut her off. "I've heard plenty of stories about these librarians. I'm not going to leave you in their hands, not if they're practitioners of black sorcery and book-worship. Even if they're not, well, I can read. I want to help."
She shrugged. At least he'd be easy to keep an eye on. "All right. You can come with me."
She got to her feet. "Jorgen, I'll take those directions. And hopefully, I'll meet you all back here in very little time."
∗ ∗ ∗
Jendara reread Jorgen's directions and noticed that the paper she held in her right hand trembled. She flexed, feeling the scab pull taut and sting. She made a face. She'd taken plenty of wounds, but never one this irritating. She rubbed the edge of her bandage. It didn't just hurt, it burned and itched and swelled. It was as if an angry wasp had drilled into her hand.
She wondered again just what was in the black liquid Brynorm had forced her hand into. Had Kalira really mentioned adding her blood? What kind of ritual or spell was she going to do to make Jendara one of her clan? Jendara was glad she'd escaped before she'd seen it.
Jendara studied the buildings around her. Here at the edge of town, the slate shingles of the old city were gone, and humble thatched roofs dominated. In a crowded city like Halgrim, fire was chief among fears. But on the outskirts, there was enough space between the run-down establishments to allow cheaper—if more flammable—materials.
She noticed a weather-beaten sign advertising ale and food. She glanced back at the directions. This was probably the closest eating establishment to the Basalt Library. If anyone knew if there were still people living in that fortress of books, it was likely these folks.
"Let's go check in with the natives," she said, pointing at the cheerless pub. "Ask a few questions about the mysterious librarians."
They pushed open the swinging doors and wa
ited a minute in the dim light within. The unpromising smell of overcooked cabbage lay heavily over the place. Hazan took a seat at the cleanest of the tables.
Jendara shook a few coins out of her pouch. "Can you order us some ale? And whatever the lunch is? I've got to find the jakes."
She didn't wait for his nod. She picked her way through the taproom, her stomach churning at the smell of spilled beer and stale grease. Probably just a remnant of her concussion. She shoved open the back door and was glad to see a courtyard with its own well. The privy stood a sensible distance away, its door sagging on its hinges.
Jendara hurried to the well. An exploratory adjustment warned that her bandage stuck to the raw flesh beneath it. Jendara set her teeth and tugged it free. The stink of singed flesh welled up, along with blood from the cracked and ripped scab.
With her good hand, she cranked up a bucket of ice-cold water, then rinsed her hand clean and studied it closely. The bubbled, scabbed outline of the bird's wing stood out clearly. Beneath it, the jolly roger looked faint, its ink fading into her flesh. She rubbed at it, wincing at the pain. There was a grayness to her skin, a darkening around the lines of the brand. She thought she'd seen that earlier, but it had spread somehow. The veins themselves looked darker, an ugly purple running toward her fingers and wrists.
"This can't be good."
She ladled more water over the wound. She tried to remember what herbs helped with blood poisoning, but drew a blank. She needed to get back to Sorind and have a wisewoman look at this wound. If it got much worse, she could lose her hand.
She rewrapped the injury and headed back to their table. Mugs and bowls already sat in front of Hazan. She sank onto a bench. Circles of grease floated on the surface of her soup, shining up at her like eyes.
She forced down a bite. The weight of their mission settled onto her shoulders, pulling them down, choking off her throat. She sipped her ale to wash down the feeling.
"You look worried, Jendara."
"I am worried." The words tumbled out, despite her mixed feelings about the man. "I already failed once on this expedition. I don't want to fail again."
"You won't fail. I believe in you." He gave her a smile over the top of his mug.
She shook her head. "I just hope there's someone left at that library to help us. When it comes to books, I'm not much use."
He rolled his eyes. "You're a smart woman."
She speared a lump of potato out of her soup. "Not smart enough to talk to that steward. I think with my fists, not my brain."
"You organized this entire expedition. You got up on the podium in the Sorind meeting hall and inspired people—not with your fists, but with your words."
"You know what I mean. My father was always trying to teach me about diplomacy. ‘That's the heart of leadership right there,' he always said. That's how I knew I wasn't meant to be a leader."
Hazan pushed aside his meal. "Jendara, you might not be your father. And you're right—your diplomacy stinks. But you're what we have right now."
The potato slid down Jendara's throat like a stone. Hazan was right. Maybe she was still more of a pirate at heart than she'd like. But no one else had looked at those dead men back at the quarry and known they meant something bigger than a single attack. No one else had looked into Kalira's eyes as she threatened to turn the entire island chain into a string of Kalvas. It was up to her.
She dropped her spoon into her bowl with a splash. She was going to stop Kalira, no matter the cost. Even if it meant killing her own sister.
"You folks need another round?"
The gravely voice interrupted Jendara's thoughts. The server wiped her fingers on her grease-stained apron and reached for Hazan's tankard.
"Another ale?" she asked, and waggled the empty mug.
"Yes, please," Jendara agreed for him. "It's a fine brew you serve here. Do you make it yourself?"
The woman gave her a disbelieving look. "Ayuh. I make it up in the basement. Course soon it'll be too cold for ale. Have to switch to lager." She spat on the floor. "Piss-tasting stuff."
The ale wasn't much better, but Jendara wasn't about to tell her that. "We're traders, out from Flintyreach. We heard there's some kind of library out here?"
"That'd be the Basalt Liberry up the road a pace. Ain't never set foot in it, but once in a long while, one of them liberrians comes down here for a drink. Reckon he gets lonely out there."
Jendara exchanged glances with Hazan. "Him? Is there just one who drinks here?"
"Ayuh. Real nice fella. Likes the fancy fruit beers from the mainland. He was right broken up when he came in last week and we din't have any."
"I see," Jendara said. "Well, thank you for the information. We'll just take that second round and go visit him ourselves."
The server waddled away, and Jendara turned excitedly to Hazan. "The Iron Shields need to spend more time talking to the neighbors. It sounds like the librarians aren't only still on the island, they're regular customers."
Thudding footsteps announced the return of the server. She dropped two dripping tankards onto the table and then fished in the pocket of her apron. She held out a corked bottle. "If you're goin' to the liberry, you might want to buy one of these to take with ya. Like I said, Master Lomont is powerful fond of these soft mainlander brews."
Jendara took the bottle of fruit beer and beamed. "I reckon I could."
The chilled glass felt like hope in her hand.
∗ ∗ ∗
The dark basalt of the Battlewall cliffs reared up on their left. Jendara could hear the ocean beyond the ridge of stone, could even smell its brine, but the cliffs cut off the view. Overhead, a seabird shrieked, its voice high and lonely.
"This is a strange place for a library," Hazan grumbled.
"Well, it's secure. That's one thing it has going on for it."
"Lonely, if you ask me."
"Yes," she agreed. On this wind-scoured stretch of rock, without any trees or shrubs to soften the landscape, it was easy to feel cut off from the rest of the world. She knew that off to the southeast, the rest of the island supported the finest farms in all the Ironbound Archipelago. Tracts of forests grew lumber for the Halgrim shipyards. All of that existed, inland. Here, there was only wind and stone and the sounds of the sea.
Hazan was right about this being a strange location for a library. Wasn't the point of a library to make books available to people who'd want to read them?
"That's it."
He pointed at the structure ahead, a shape carved into the cliffs themselves. Jendara couldn't believe it had only been built a few years ago. Everything about the Basalt Library, from its sharp edges to its heavy turrets, suggested it had sprung up from the earth when the stones thrust themselves above the ocean. The library looked ancient—and impregnable. Jendara half expected an army to rush out of the fortress and put her in shackles just for daring to approach it. She found herself holding her breath as she walked.
A wall surrounded the landward side of the library, a narrow gate its only access point. Jendara laid her hand beside one of the heavy iron hinges. It dwarfed her palm and fingers.
"Nothing's cutting through this hinge," she said. "Not very quickly, at least. Do you think they used magic to build this?"
"Who builds a fortress for books?" Hazan asked.
"We do."
Jendara's head snapped up. A man stood on top of the wall, his black robe obscuring his face. He held a staff in his hand, an iron knob capping it. A staff like that could split open a man's head like a muskmelon.
"What brings you to the Basalt Library?" He didn't shout, but his voice cut through the wind. Jendara could feel his gaze upon her, picking out the weapons on her belt and the knife in Hazan's boot.
"We come seeking information about the islands' history," she called. "And we have a gift for Master Lomont." She raised the beer bottle.
"I am Master Lomont," he said. "I'll be down in a moment."
For a long series of minute
s, Jendara peered into the gloom and saw nothing. Then a flicker of movement announced Master Lomont. Without a sound, the gate swung open. The pair stepped forward and the gate eased shut behind them.
Jendara held out the beer. "We stopped at the local pub, and the owner suggested we bring this."
Lomont pushed back his hood and took the beer. "She knows me too well." He nodded at Jendara. "Come inside so we may speak."
The face beneath the hood surprised Jendara. She couldn't quite guess where Lomont hailed from—his tea-colored skin and black eyes could have originated from any number of nations. A few lines around his eyes suggested he was about her own age, although his shaved head gave no further clues. The full-length robe suggested monasticism; the way his cloak bulged along his hip warned he carried a sword. Curiosity pricked her.
She brushed her hand over the wall of the hallway he led them through. There had been no effort to polish or cover the raw stone. A few unlit lamps hung on the wall, and the sun's rays provided scarce illumination.
Lomont pushed open a heavy oaken door and they entered a room filled with cool brightness. The shock of the transition made Jendara blink. She immediately searched for the source of the illumination. This was not lamplight.
Lomont pointed above. "There are skylights on the roof. And mirrors on every level to redirect the light."
"Clever," Jendara said. She noted the mirrors dotting the room's perimeter. Tables and chairs clustered around the edge of the room to take advantage of the pleasant light. Four or five sat empty, although one had a thick volume sitting on it, a quill and ink resting on a metal plate at its side.
"What is this place?" Hazan couldn't stop staring. He walked into the center of the room with his head tilted back.
Jendara followed his gaze. Beyond using the clever system of skylights and mirrors, the library had been built around an open core to maximize light penetration. She could make out two floors above with careful railing around the light well, bookshelves extending away from the open space. She tried to guess how big the place must be and drew a blank. It had looked large enough from the outside, but much of its shape was indiscernible from the cliffs around it. It could be vast.
Pathfinder Tales: Skinwalkers Page 18
