“Maybe I’ll just stay here, Corenn,” Bowbaq said in a shaky voice. “I don’t know how to read; I won’t be much help.”
“Not possible!” the librarian interrupted. “You should have thought of that before. Anyone could see you out here, and I would lose my head.”
Grigán agreed. “It would be best if we stuck together, Bowbaq. Remember Junine.”
The giant shivered, thinking of the Mog’lur that had attacked them in Séhane’s palace. He had no desire to be locked down there with ghosts, but it might be worse to stand alone, waiting in the foggy gloom for his friends to return. He griped his battle mace and nodded.
Hulsidor checked that the symbols he had drawn all over his skin hadn’t been erased. He took a deep breath, produced a feather and ink from his sack, and drew a complicated pattern on Léti’s hand, offering no explanation. The young woman obediently watched him draw. The man then put away his materials without any movement toward the others.
“Now be quiet,” he said, practically spitting the words. “And do exactly as I tell you.”
The librarian jostled a key in the lock and slowly pushed the door open, ready to close it at a moment’s notice. The interior was, of course, completely black. He grabbed his sword and swung the door open wide.
Two piles of manuscripts fell noisily to the ground, making them all jump. A whitish form slipped away with a malevolent giggle.
“They love to leave us little traps behind the door,” the Rominian explained. “Nothing too dangerous, once you get used to it, but be careful in the stacks.”
The heirs followed him inside, exchanging nervous glances. For the rest of the Upper Kingdoms, the ghosts of the Deep Tower were only a legend, right up there with the Bird of Truth, the Trusset Fountain, and the Halfblood-Moon. This didn’t feel like a legend, though. This was all too real.
The Rominian lit a few more lamps, handing one to each of the heirs. Gradually the entry chamber filled with light. The room had no walls, and the light from their lamps stretched the length of the Tower. The first floor held few books, acting more as an antechamber to the floors below.
The librarian sniffed the air like an animal, but said nothing. Grigán held his curved blade; Reyan and Léti held their rapiers. Yan thought about grabbing his own sword, but preferred to scan the rest of the room, letting his curiosity win out.
“It would be best to leave our bags here,” Grigán suggested. “And the cat too.”
Frog meowed from within his basket, as if he had understood. He was so small and discreet that it was easy to forget he was there at all. Bowbaq, who was in charge of the little cat, was guilty of just that.
“I’ll wait here then,” said Léti, who didn’t want to leave her animal. “With Bowbaq, if you don’t mind.”
“Yes!” The giant couldn’t agree fast enough.
“Fine,” Hulsidor said. “Don’t leave. And don’t touch anything either. Everyone else, follow me.”
The librarian took a small, serpentine stairway, which made its way along the Tower’s wall. Yan, Grigán, Corenn, Rey, and Lana followed the small man down the stone stairs.
Alone with Bowbaq, Léti let Frog go. He hastened to attack a Goranese navigation map already crumbling with age.
Hidden in the shadows, a white form sniggered, knowing it would be an entertaining night.
The steps in the Tower shone, worn slick from millions of footfalls over the centuries. This, along with the fact that three of the heirs held a weapon in one hand and a lantern in the other, made the descent itself quite dangerous. By some architect’s fantasy, the stairwell was walled off from the library itself. The heirs had made their way down six full floors before ever laying eyes on a single manuscript.
Between the sixth and seventh floor, a wall of books blocked the stairwell entirely. Hulsidor cursed, giving rise to a bout of jeering from behind the obstacle, which only served to anger the librarian further.
“It’s not funny! Not at all! You hear me? This is completely idiotic!” he yelled at the tricksters.
“I thought we weren’t supposed to provoke them,” Rey reminded everyone.
“Those aren’t dangerous,” the Rominian explained, still irate. “The moonshiners merely amuse themselves at our expense. What annoys me is that they take the material for their tricks from my floor. All of these works are mine!”
Rey couldn’t help but laugh at the ghosts’ prank. They shared his sense of humor.
The stairway was quickly cleared, the books carefully piled along the walls, which left even less room on the narrow stairwell. Finished cleaning, they continued to descend.
At great speed, a milky form rushed from the shadows. Hulsidor shouted, “Protect your lamps!” but too late, and three of the lanterns fell dark. The ghost disappeared as quickly as it had come, mischievous laughter following in its wake.
“I didn’t even have time to see its face,” Yan said regretfully as he relit Grigán’s lamp.
“You didn’t miss much. They are horribly ugly,” the librarian said loudly. He wore an alarmed look on his face, and his brow furrowed at the pace of the attacks.
“Do you not want to go into the ninth floor?” Lana asked as they passed the ninth-floor platform.
“Another time,” said the librarian. “Have you seen how active the moonshiners are? I imagine the others must be equally aggressive tonight. I will do you the honor of our planned visit and then we will climb back up. Only this, nothing more.”
“We’re not here for a simple visit, Master Hulsidor,” Corenn reminded him. “We need to do some research.”
“Are you joking? You can’t actually be serious! After everything you’ve seen already!” hissed Hulsidor.
Grigán responded, “We have seen far worse dangers than a pile of books and extinguished lanterns.”
“Very well, as you wish! After all, I only promised to bring you to the eleventh floor. Not to keep you alive,” responded Hulsidor.
No one said a word until they reached the door in front of the eleventh-floor stacks. Hulsidor unlocked the door and entered.
“Careful!” he yelled, suddenly panicked, as he saw a vaporous form detach itself from a wall.
Léti repeatedly walked over to the top of the stairwell, staring into the dark and listening to the silence. She knew that her friends had descended deep into the Tower, and that their research would take time. Several decidays, even. The waiting was unbearable, though.
Now she regretted not having accompanied them. She wasn’t worried about the cat, who seemed fine without her. The same could not be true for her friends, especially if there was a fight. Despite appearances, Grigán was still healing, and any conflict would quickly tire him. Rey was the only one who could effectively defend Corenn, Lana, and Yan, who had little idea what to do with the sword he carried.
She distractedly caressed the medallion Yan had given her. The words engraved within were still a mystery to her. At times Yan was gentle and attentive, but that might just mean he was a good friend. He could also be terse, as he had been since seeing Usul. Worst of all, even as they confronted an endless string of dangers, with each day possibly being their last, Yan had never asked for her Promise.
And yet, right under her feet, he was risking his life for her. As were Grigán, Corenn, and the others. She couldn’t just wait here, helpless. The cat could watch after himself just fine. She should have been where she was needed.
She approached Bowbaq to tell him she was going down. She was nearly close enough to touch him when she froze. The giant was immobile, bewitched by a feminine figure.
Léti squatted behind a heap of old parchments. Tears came to her face, but she cut them off as rage replaced fear. She was alone, and Bowbaq couldn’t have been entranced for very long; she couldn’t leave him to whatever agony he was facing. She would never again retreat from danger. She had to do something. She just needed to figure out what.
Grigán rushed inside the library’s eleventh floor, Rey at
his heels. A white form rose up in front of Hulsidor like a cobra, and from their vantage they could vaguely discern two arms that ended with long talons, and a face that was marked with three gaping holes: two for eyes, and another, much larger, for a set of enormous fangs.
“Whatever you do, don’t move,” the librarian whispered. “We surprised it, but it might leave on his own.”
The heirs stood immobile in front of the menacing ghost. Its form varied, seeming to dance in the air, growing and shrinking, but always larger than a man.
Suddenly, Yan smelled a strong, spicy odor. He remembered the librarian’s advice and stiffened. The ghost jumped at the weaponless Lana. It screamed like a bat as it attacked. Rey’s hands were too quick for it, though, slicing through the specter before it reached its target. The ghost fell underneath the actor’s blow, but as Rey drew back his arms, the heirs could see the deep cuts its talons had left behind.
The ghost gathered itself in the stairwell behind them, spitting like a cat. It hung in the air for a beat, considering if it was hungry enough to fight through all those blades. Eventually it recoiled and slithered deeper into the Tower, like a tadpole hiding in the mud.
“So they are vulnerable,” Grigán whispered. “They become flesh when they attack! That’s how we can fight them off.”
“And you wanted to take your time doing research,” Hulsidor, still pale, mumbled. “That there was a skinner. We named them that after we found one of our colleagues’ body on the fifteenth floor. This is the first time they’ve made it to my level.”
Rey pulled up his bloody sleeve and whistled quietly in admiration. The ghost had lacerated his arm with six talons, and the gashes ran from wrist to elbow. Grigán examined the injury and announced that it was nothing serious, which partially relieved Lana. The Maz felt responsible and insisted that she make Rey a bandage. The actor let her dote on him without objection.
Yan and Corenn started to explore the floor. Apart from the moonshiners’ tricks, the stacks were perfectly arranged, the books having been placed with care and dusted off regularly. The only discordant note was the piles of books that reached the ceiling. They created walls and dark corners in the already-foreboding labyrinth. Yan felt like a ghost would jump out at any second, and he advanced with caution and sword in hand.
“It must have taken centuries to gather all these books,” the young man commented.
“You’re right,” Hulsidor answered. “There was an ancient rule that anyone could visit the Eclectic Library if they donated at least one work not yet in its halls. In the last few years, that became impossible.”
“So there must be a kind of directory,” Corenn said hopefully. “A more or less comprehensive list.”
“The registers,” Hulsidor confirmed bluntly. “The moonshiners stole those long ago, long before Sapone hired me. What exactly is it that you are looking for?”
“Anything about a place called Jal’karu. Does that mean anything to you?” asked the Mother.
“No. My floor has mostly financial, commercial, and trade records. The only reason Sapone invested here.”
“That’s what I was starting to wonder,” Corenn said, sighing. “We won’t find anything we need here. We must descend farther.”
“Have you lost your mind!” shouted the librarian, his anger briefly overcoming his fear. “Or are you just idiots in the first place? You’ll get yourself killed!”
“Lady Corenn is a Mother of Kaul’s Permanent Council,” Grigán said through gritted teeth. “I suggest you give her the respect that title warrants.”
The librarian glared at the fierce-looking Ramgrith and swallowed loudly. Grigán had become incensed at their cantankerous and superstitious guide. He saw now that he would have to take control of the operation.
“Do you know each floor’s specialty?” Corenn asked politely.
“No,” the Rominian said. “The first fifteen only. No one has ever gone below the fifteenth. I mean, no one who has delved that deeply has ever returned.”
“Do you know where we could find history and theology?”
“History is on the third floor,” the man said confidently. “We can go there right now; the door is never locked.”
“And theology?” asked Corenn, her voice still calm in the face of the librarian’s vitriol.
He shook his head, confessing his ignorance. Theology must be lower than the fifteenth. That far down, the ghosts multiplied and grew in strength, and aggression.
Grigán said, “We will have to be quick then. We won’t have time to search more than one floor. We should split up into groups.”
The Mother agreed. Though the idea of diminishing their numbers further did not please her, she knew it was their best chance at finding anything.
“I’ll go down,” she decided. “Lana, I would like it if you would accompany me. Your knowledge will be helpful. Master Hulsidor, could you show Yan the third floor and help him search?”
“With pleasure,” the Rominian assured her, happy to have gotten an easy task.
Predictably, Grigán and Rey decided to accompany Corenn and Lana, to ensure their protection. Yan didn’t complain about his task: Corenn would hate to put him in danger again. She preferred that he stay closer to Léti.
They were about to separate when Hulsidor gave them a final recommendation: “Some ghosts will try to speak with you. Don’t listen to them. They are the sirens. They will bring you straight to the leech.”
“We have the same thing in Lorelia, but we call them barmaids,” Rey joked.
No one was in a mood to laugh. The parties split up, Yan and Hulsidor turning to rise through the levels again, while the rest continued their descent into the unknown. For those who marched deeper into the library, a strong, spicy odor followed their every footstep.
The third floor, dedicated to studying history, was in much worse shape than Hulsidor’s level. As proof, hundreds of books were simply thrown in piles that stretched from the entryway to the back wall, sowing anarchy in the room.
“We’ll never find anything in this mess,” Yan noted. “Or at least, we have very little chance.”
“I told you so,” the Rominian replied, happy to recover some of his battered honor.
Nonetheless, they got to work, Yan with much more vigor than the librarian. They were trying to find anything on Nol the Strange and his visits to the kingdoms’ royalty. The task wasn’t easy. To begin with, there was no classification system to follow. Secondly, the subject was so refined that it was hard to think of a general theme where it might be found. And lastly, Yan could only read Ithare. Little by little, their confidence eroded.
Hulsidor gave up first. Instead of searching, he started to draw more of the mysterious patterns on his hands.
Yan couldn’t help but ask, “Where did you learn about those symbols?”
“In a book, of course. The Exorcism Manual, by Jéron the Tender. It’s a rare work.”
“I suppose that it is some kind of protection?”
“It’s exactly that. These are magical runes,” he said, as he stared at the young man.
Yan stopped to more accurately examine the jumble of dots and lines that the Rominian had scribbled all over himself. Corenn hadn’t yet taught him anything like it. They could be real, for all he knew. Taking note of the intricate patterns, Yan began to see Hulsidor in a new light.
“I am Yan the Curious, specialist of the earth,” he announced after a moment, using the formal title that magicians used when presenting themselves.
The Rominian looked perplexed. Yan wondered if had made an error in assuming the librarian was a magician, which Hulsidor confirmed. “What do I care? I have no use for a farmer! What a strange thing to say!”
Yan blushed in confusion and buried his face in a book. He was relieved that no one else had seen the episode. Then he remembered that his friends were heading into mortal peril, and his shame burned a little hotter.
Bowbaq seemed hypnotized by the ghost that was
dancing in front of him like a flame devouring a candle. It didn’t seem to be aggressive, but Léti knew she had to act, and soon.
This ghost’s features were more precise than the others’. It had a human form, a woman’s body, which many would describe as beautiful. The only obvious illusion was her hair, which floated above her head as if she were suspended underwater in a calm wave.
The ghost moved her lips, but Léti could not hear anything. As discreetly as possible, she leaned in, hoping to be near enough to make out what was being said. She drew closer, but still no sound could be heard. If the ghost were speaking at all, it was directly to Bowbaq’s spirit.
The giant shook, and the young woman hoped he was waking. Her flicker of hope faded when she looked into the face of her friend. His eyes were dead, frozen over, and he seemed to twitch rather than move. From this alone she knew the specter still had him under her control. Bowbaq continued to stir, his feet now coming to life and forcing him into a few awkward steps toward a heavy, oaken wardrobe. His arms moved next, lurching forward unnaturally as he rifled through the wardrobe, emptying its contents on the floor. A small pile of dry papers pooled at his feet.
Léti grasped what was about to happen. Terrified, she knew she had no more time to calculate risks or make other plans. She jumped out from her hiding place and ran straight at the ghost.
She swiped at it three times with her rapier, but the milky shape had no consistency, and Léti’s blade cut only air. The spirit turned toward her with an evil smile. She felt it trying to penetrate her mind, but Léti rejected the intrusion with rage.
The ghost smiled, with a victorious expression, and Léti hesitated. It was her undoing.
She felt a violent blow to her back and fell to her knees, crying out in pain. Grigán’s training was the only thing that could save her now, and she rolled to her feet to face her new enemy.
Shadow of the Ancients Page 7
