by Lucy Smoke
“Your binding shall be unbroken unless blood is poured forth in sacrifice and understanding. Acceptance will deny you many years to come, Dragon.” The silent one’s voice rolls over the room like a thundercloud, crashing in every direction, booming with the force of her spell.
Obidian’s giant body hits the floor, the chains echoing against the hard surface as they slide off of him. He gasps for breath and though the metal has fallen away, I can feel the pressure on his chest and throat. He chokes, head bobbing, eyes watering the tears roll down his cheeks. He sees me. Our eyes connect and never was there so much sadness.
Obidian considers the question.
“It’s possible that these dreams are your spirit guide’s memories seeping through. What’s odd is the fact that he has them at all.” Luca rubs one hand through his hair, pulling the long strands away from his face. “He’s been reincarnated and after every reincarnation, we’re supposed to forget all memories of our past lives.”
“Do you think he remembers because of whatever he did?” I ask.
“Maybe.” Luca hums for a moment, thinking. “You have his first name and you said in one of your past dreams he was a dragon, right?” I nod. “Perhaps, while you’re at the library today, you will be able to look up anything in the historical section.”
“While I’m at the library?” I frown. “Aren’t you coming?”
Grimacing, Luca shakes his head and steps back. “I can’t today.”
“Where are you going?”
“Booker wants to gather some intel on Matric.” He won’t look at me even when I move closer and try and catch his gaze. Instead, he tilts his head, and nudges his chin in the opposite direction, avoiding me.
“In other words, he’s trying to decide how much danger I put everyone in,” I ask bitterly.
“Look at me, little daimon.” Luca’s palms warm my shoulders and now I’m the one avoiding his gaze.
“Nerys.” I huff, glaring up at him. I never realized how much I disliked hearing my name from him rather than the nickname “little daimon” until now.
“There you are.” He smiles, those full lips of his splitting to reveal straight white teeth. He really does look exactly like Booker, except for the ease with which he carries herself.
“I want you to listen to me,” he says. “There are certain events that are irreversible. The Oracle of Ragnarok says that even the most well-meaning clairvoyants cannot tell if what they predict is subject to change or already set in the stone of time.”
“I–”
Luca places a finger over my lips, cutting me off before I can say anything more. He shakes his head at me. “You have a gift, little daimon.”
I roll my eyes. “Some gift,” I scoff. I can talk to a voice in my head and burn someone alive. I flinch at the last thought, which makes Luca frown.
“It may not seem like much right now, but a spirit guide is supposed to advance your own powers. You have them, Nerys, locked away inside of you. All humans do. Humans are the most powerful of all magical beings.”
“If that’s true,” I protest. “Then why do we need spirit guides to unlock those powers?”
“Think about it,” he urges. “Untapped potential in humans can be a dangerous thing.” He shakes his head. “You already tap into it enough–humans flourish, invent, priestesses and shamans are human. Clairvoyants. Oracles. Seers. All human. It’s not that every human has need for a spirit guide—”
“But I do,” I interrupt. “Does that mean my magic is weaker than other humans, I’m not as good?”
“Having a spirit guide doesn’t mean you’re weak,” Luca says. “In fact, the presence of a spirit guide simply demonstrates just how special you are. Napoleon and Nova Eridani created the Holy Order—a system of charity that has lasted since their deaths hundreds of years ago. They were special and so was the first known daimon, Joan of Andromeda.”
I raise my eyebrow. “I may not have paid much attention in school, but I’m pretty sure she was burned at the stake.”
“By an enemy army that did not believe her claims of magic,” Luca replies. “In those times, no one believed humans to be magical. Human magic is strange and difficult to master.”
“Probably because humans are pretty boring and sucky to begin with.” Luca’s eyes sharpen on my features and he tilts his head, curiosity and sadness colliding in his expression. I turn away.
“Humans were among the first races to be created,” Luca says slowly. “They are, by far, one of the most creative and resilient races. Their magic is simply different. For most humans, magic is defined as science. Magic is often an illusion, it’s humans that bring things to the physical world. Do you not find wonder in who created the armored vehicle we traveled to Chelsa in? What of the train? Both are inventions of a human. There is said to even be a lower God of Invention that was once human.”
“No God was once human,” I disagree. “I’ve never heard of something so crazy.”
“You’ve never heard a voice inside your head that isn’t yours?” he retorts. I snap my mouth closed.
“Great, I’m special,” I deadpan. “Yay.”
“I don’t think you’re taking this seriously, Nerys.” He only uses my name when he’s upset with me or frustrated. I frown at him and shrug off his hands.
“I can’t do anything,” I snap. “And when I can, it’s dangerous or I mess it up. I get someone hurt.” I picture Holden on the ground under the bounty hunter’s fists, crying out as his ribs shatter.
“You cannot blame yourself for the actions of others,” Luca reminds me. “And I heard you did very well before you even arrived in Ragnarok.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Holden and Titus said something about highwaymen,” he waves my question away, moving on faster than I can keep up. “I digress. Not only have you proved yourself to be quick on your feet and willing to dedicate the effort you must in order to correct the situation you’re in—”
“We’re in.” I can’t let him forget that. “I’ve gotten you all into this mess with me. I’m not as special as you make me out to be, I’m just a chaotic twister tearing through your lives and I don’t even have the choice to dedicate myself to finding out what’s wrong with Obidian. It’s hurting me too!”
“Is that what you think?” His eyes glitter dangerously. “That you’re dangerous?” He takes a step forward and I back away, but nod defiantly despite my retreat. “Oh, little daimon, how wrong you are! You are not the cause of suffering or harm. You are simply a young woman, trapped in this mess.” Before I can open my mouth he shushes me. “No. No more.” He leans close, his minty breath warm on my face as he cups my cheeks. “You are an astonishing little human and the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met. You have a fire inside of you that overflows when you love someone. I can see it in your gorgeous eyes, little one. Despite that, I know you are scared. You’ve been uprooted from your home, you’re on the run for now. You won’t be running forever. Right now, you’re being smart. You’re regrouping. You’re gathering your protectors around you so that you may live to fight another day.”
“I didn’t call you all to me,” I protest. “That was Obidian.”
“You must stop thinking of yourself as separate from your spirit guide. His actions are yours. Yours are his. There’s a reason he called us. What do you think that might be?”
“You said it was for protection.”
“That I did.”
“You’re making my head hurt,” I say. A grin flashes over his lips and he finally pulls away.
“You should go grab Coen. The library will be opening soon.”
“That’s not going to make my headache any better,” I grumble. He touches my nose.
“I’m sure there are plenty of ways I can think of to take your mind off of your aching head.” He laughs when all I do is blink at him in response. “For now, though, I’m afraid you must hurry. We do want to find out how to help you and your spirit guide as quickly as
possible.”
Another thought jumps out of the swirling mass in my mind and splatters itself on the inside of my skull. The images of the four Gods trigger something. When I was a child, I learned that there were only three Original gods, The Sun God, Apil, the Moon Goddess, Queen Jiang, and the Earth God, Ticab. But, in my dream, there had been four. I voice my concerns and Luca tilts his head looking thoughtful.
“I have an idea who it may be. You said it was a woman, correct?” I nod. “Well, it’s true that there are only three Original Gods, but there has been some speculation on a certain priestess.”
“A priestess?”
“She’s very old,” he says. “But, she doesn’t look it. I believe that there are temples that worship her in the mountains.”
“Wait, Ngame as in the Consort of Ticab and Apil? I thought priestesses were human.”
Luca scratches his jaw. “They are,” he says. “We will discuss it later. I need to go.” He stops touching his face and leans over to kiss my forehead before gently urging me down the hall.
Coen opens his door looking bleary eyed as though he’s just woken up. He stares at us for a moment or two before his eyes widen and he snaps to me.
“What did you do? What’s wrong?”
I huff. “Why do you automatically assume that I did something?” I demand. Luca chuckles and nudges me towards him.
“I’ll leave you to it,” he calls over his shoulder as he walks away.
“Well, speaking from experience,” Coen says. “The biggest messes are usually yours. And when you wake me up before dawn, I’m assuming that it’s because you’ve made another one.”
“I always cleaned up my messes,” I defend. Now, it’s his turn to scoff.
“After one of the holy women told you to,” he says. “Repeatedly.”
“Well, this time, I haven’t done anything,” I assure him with a glare. “But it’s your turn for guard duty to make sure I continue to be my angelic self.”
“You’re more demon than angel,” I hear him mutter as he turns away. His tone gets louder as he tells me to wait while he gets changed. I roll my eyes, but continue to stand in the hallway while he slips into his new clothes. I glance down at my own and can only pray that we won’t be laughed out of the library before I find out how to fix my spirit guide.
Chapter 11: Running Out of Time
“What’s wrong?” I lean to one side and crack my neck as Coen sidles closer. Fat snowflakes drift down from clouds hovering in the skies. The whole city is blanketed in the white stuff.
“You sure this is the place?” I ask, looking up at the wide structure with marbled pillars stretching several stories up to the ceiling of the outside perimeter of the building. Coen shifts his gaze from me back to the map in his hand. Richard had given it to us along with a message from Booker—the same message Luca had delivered. Other than a still-healing Holden, everyone else was busy spying around for more information on Matric. Booker had thought of everything, considering that the map had come with a few charms to use in case of an emergency—such as an anonymity charm that would help us to blend in with the crowds and patrons of the library. I half expected the map itself to suddenly sprout legs and guide us directly to the Pharaoh’s library. It hadn’t.
“The map says that this is the Pharaoh’s Library,” Coen insists. I sigh at the double doored entryway. At least the clothes had, in fact, come in handy. It seemed like the women in Cephei enjoyed the somewhat revealing silken dresses over choking black fabric or tabards that men usually wore.
Tabards here. Tabards there. Tabards everywhere. The sleeveless tabard, buckled down the front over long-sleeved shirts is definitely more appealing than the clothes that women wear in Cephei, especially since halfway to the library a harsh wind blew through the street and nearly knocked me on my ass. The air grows colder with every day that passes. Sometime soon I’m going to demand another change of clothes, especially with something that has more coverage. The only possible way I can think that Cepheians can deal with this weather in their clothes must be because most of the population are either Phoenix shifters or a descendant of a Phoenix. Fire Phoenix shifters are probably always warm and Ice Phoenix shifters likely don’t mind the cold.
“Well, are we gonna go in or what?” Coen asks. I huff and gesture rudely.
“Ladies first,” I taunt.
He growls at me and practically lifts me up the stairs as I hiss at him. “You said ladies first,” he smirks, “so, after you.” With that, he opens the door and shoves me inside.
I can’t even be mad at him, though. I hadn’t realized how cold I was until the warmth of the library seeps into my rattling bones. I release a relieved sigh before I start to look around.
The outside had been so unassuming and plain. By comparison, the inside is a palace. Shaped in a similar fashion to a Cathedral, the walls on either side of the primary room boasts fireplaces every few yards. Bookshelves surround us and line the empty wall space, sticking out like pews pointing to the center of the room where long antique tables stretch from one end of the room to the other. When we move closer, I realize it’s one huge wooden face, unbroken and likely from what must have been the tallest tree in existence.
“Well, then,” Coen says. “Let’s get to work.”
Coen goes one way and I go another. It takes me the better part of half of an hour to determine who actually works at the library and who, like us, are just patrons. Once I’ve figured it out though, I plant myself in front of one of the library employees and beg for their help. The boy I’ve chosen as my victim and guide is only a few inches taller than me, making him much shorter than the mountains I’m used to. His name tag reads “Brian.”
I follow Brian up and down the library aisles as he asks me quiet questions on the subjects I’m looking for. Every so often he’ll stop in front of a bookshelf, glance over the titles on the spines, pull one and place it on the ever growing pile in my arms. When I’ve got a stack so high that it covers my face, he announces that the rest of the books I’m looking for are either checked out or walking around in someone’s hands. I gasp in relief, my arms shaking with the effort to hold up the heavy volumes. Brian leads me over to the long table bisecting the library in two and leaves me to my research.
Coen finds me buried beneath the pile I’ve collected with nothing more than two skinny volumes bound in old leather. I glare at him as he sits across from me. He flicks his finger towards a stack of books from the magical creatures section and the tower shifts. My eyes widen and I reach to steady it, knocking my elbow into another set from the Gods historical section. It teeters before the book on top slips over the side and into my lap.
“What’s all this?” Coen whispers as I place the book back in its original placement.
“I didn’t want to get up every few minutes to get a new book,” I reply. “Why do you only have two?”
“I thought you could use a dictionary and I found a book on Daimons,” he shrugs.
It takes several seconds for me to resist the urge to throw one of my book towers at him. While I do, he simply props up his feet and opens the first book in his hand. “Why is he my best friend?” I mutter to myself.
“Huh?” He looks up, gray eyes curious.
“Nothing,” I grumble.
The light wanes hours later, the large windows above each fireplace reflects the sun rising over the sky in the distance. People filter in and out from the cold, sitting down at the mile-long table, sitting near the fireplaces. I get distracted when people my age come in and sit nearby with their friends, talking with friends, laughing quietly. I wonder what it must be like to be them. No venomous king so afraid of losing the tight grip he has on his kingdom that he has to chase me down to destroy me simply because I present a possible threat. Not even an actual threat. A possible one. It’s enough to sink me into a deep wave of depression where everything looks hopeless. I can’t see an end to our troubles and when I let myself even think of one all I see is death an
d destruction, the bodies of Coen, Holden, Booker, Luca, and Titus strewn about, cold and lifeless.
Coen has already read through his only book and foisted the dictionary off on me. For someone who was so much better at schoolwork and studying than I was, he acts relaxed and unconcerned about our predicament—like the answer will come to him on a floating piece of paper pulled directly from a book without any work or hassle.
“How are you so relaxed?” I ask.
“We’ll find the answer,” he says. “Losing our minds in the process won’t help. Don’t worry about it, Ner.”
“Easier said than done,” I mutter. My head begins to ache, and doesn’t stop as the day stretches on.
Coen leaves, exiting so quickly and quietly that I don’t notice his absence until his chair scrapes again to herald his return. Something warm drops in my hands and I look down at the food he’s deposited there.
“You should probably eat something or next time one us picks you up, we might accidentally break you.”
I scoff. “Like I’d let you,” I say, but I shove the food in my mouth anyway.
By the end of the day, when there are no more patrons in the library and the staff urges us out of the front doors, I feel like I can recite the history lesson I’ve spent all day cramming in my head for more information. I have learned that the Fire Phoenixes are the descendants of the Sun God, Apil. I’ve learned that Ice Phoenix shifters are the result of the Moon Goddess making a long dead Fire Phoenix King her consort and mating with him. When the library doors close behind me, all I can see in front of me are pages upon pages of Phoenix history and the history of the Original Gods. Coen has to guide me through the snow-covered streets to the Courtyard once more.
Somehow, they’ve found a way to shield the courtyard garden from the snow, as I can see the lush greenery is just as vibrant as ever with not a single flake of snow lingering about. I crack my neck, feeling the rushing pop of relief. The thudding of steps causes both Coen and I to glance up as Titus comes running around the corner.
