(Skeleton Key) Into Elurien

by Kate Sparkes

  After a few wrong turns, we found the palace entrance. We stepped out into an empty street, though I heard voices from farther away. The sun beat down hard and hot as we walked, and I kept my eyes open for doors that looked as out of place as the one in the attic had.

  “Thank you for asking to keep me,” Auphel said as we walked toward the square. “I wouldn’t want to work for Kringus.”

  I was about to respond, but the words disappeared as we rounded a corner and I stepped into a puddle. Not water, but thick, dark blood. I gasped and jumped to the other side, and Auphel pulled me away. She put her body between me and the spiked boot on the other side of the puddle.

  I turned away, but not before I saw the thin, shapely leg sticking out of it, torn off at the knee. I gagged, and spots appeared in front of my eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Hazel,” Auphel said as I leaned my face against a cool stone wall and caught my breath. “I expected they’d have cleaned up.”

  I waited until the spots cleared before I tried to walk away. “This is what they were doing last night?” I was glad that Auphel had been with me, but felt sick thinking she’d known about this.

  She picked at her rough fingernails and bit her lip. “I suppose. I mean, I didn’t know exactly, but I knew they were still hunting down a few important people. Personal enemies. Slavers.” She glanced up at a nearby storefront. “A garment maker who…” She looked back. “Hazel, he kept imps tied to his machines and cut their feet off if they tried to escape.”

  “That was a woman’s leg.”

  “Maybe it was his wife.”

  “And what did she do?”

  Auphel looked away. “Nothing.”

  “I see.” And I did. These humans had invited their fates with their actions or lack thereof. I couldn’t say they didn’t deserve to die. Even if I’d never suffered as these monsters had, I understood why “an eye for an eye” would be so appealing.

  And yet an old quote about that leaving the whole world blind wouldn’t leave my mind.

  I clutched the skeleton key tighter and walked faster. I didn’t want to see. Didn’t want to have to think about it.

  This has nothing to do with me. I’m going to find a way home. Soon.

  We continued on and entered the square where the angel had been executed—if, in fact, he’d been alive to begin with. I wanted to ask about that. Zinian said Verelle had created them. Did they think or feel? Or were they empty shells?

  I would have asked Auphel if my train of thought hadn’t crashed and derailed at the sight of the pile of books in the middle of the square, a mountain of paper and leather that rose higher than Auphel’s head. She urged me on, but I couldn’t stop watching—not only out of curiosity over the books, but out of fascination with the three giants who were dumping more onto the top of the pile as fast as the books slid down. The creatures stood at least twenty feet tall, clothed in rags that could have at one time been boat sails. The closest had one massive eye in the centre of his deeply lined forehead. The other beside him had two, in the same glacier blue shade. Their hair matched as well, fiery red from head to hairy toes. Behind them, a massive woman who sported impressively thick black hair turned toward me as she dropped more books onto the pile. She had three eyes, the third set in her forehead just above and between the other two.

  The ground shook under their footsteps.

  “What are they doing?” I asked Auphel.

  She looked around. “Clearing out the library. I’m guessing we’re to have another bonfire tonight.”

  “To celebrate again?”

  “General Grys has permitted the destruction of the human things.” Auphel moved toward the pile, gave a friendly wave to one of the giants, and picked up a book. I did the same, selecting a beautiful volume with a gilded blue cover. The pages inside had been hand-printed and gorgeously illuminated. I’d practiced my own handwriting plenty over the past few years—another calming exercise, one that filled dozens of notebooks and planners. These books put my work to shame.

  “They can’t destroy these,” I said.

  Auphel sighed. “I know. We’d do so much better to save some for winter, when we’ll actually need them.”

  “I mean that they’re irreplaceable. Once these burn, they’re gone. An entire culture. Right?” From the way Grys and his council had spoken of the villages, it sounded like there probably weren’t a lot of other libraries holding similar collections.

  “Not all cultures deserve to be saved,” Auphel said.

  “But what about their knowledge?” I climbed up the pile to reach a book that lay open to a picture of a tree. Each page held a similar image of a plant, all labelled and marked with medicinal or culinary uses. “What about the things they’ve learned that would be good for everyone else to know?”

  Auphel’s brow furrowed. “We’re fine on our own.” But she sounded doubtful.

  “What about magic?” I asked more quietly, and my chest tightened at the realization of what might be about to go up in flames. “What if my answer is in there, and they burn it?”

  Auphel didn’t answer.

  “Are you sure this is what Grys wanted?” I searched the faces around the square, as though someone in authority might suddenly appear. “Is he even in charge?”

  Auphel tossed her book onto the pile as another load skittered down, dumped from above by the giants. “He’s the leader we have. He’s not a king or a mayor. We don’t have that yet. Right now we’re to be free, to do as we see fit, and to get rid of the human things. That is an order.”

  “This is a mistake,” I said, more to myself than Auphel. Even though I didn’t adore all books, even though I knew Auphel might be right that these weren’t all valuable, I felt a deep and instinctive revulsion at the thought of them being destroyed without question. And maybe the books weren’t mine to save, but there was a good chance that the information in them could be my only hope of ever getting home.

  “Even if you’re right, no one will listen if you try to stop them.” Auphel nodded toward the giants, then at a small group of gaublings that stood in the shadows of a nearby building who watched us with sharp and mistrustful eyes. “Maybe where you come from, these things are important. Maybe people listen to you there. Here, you’re a human. If you try to save these books, it’s only going to get them burned faster. And maybe you with them.”

  I clutched the botany book to my chest and backed away. The gaublings stepped closer. I couldn’t help but notice their sharp teeth as they raised their lips to snarl at me.

  “Hazel, put it down,” Auphel said. “Let’s just go to the palace and rest. You can look at the books there. You can’t stop this.”

  Something Zinian had said the day before came back to me.

  “I know I can’t,” I said. “But I might know someone who can.”

  I turned and ran.

  Chapter Seven

  Auphel’s heavy footsteps ran close behind me, the uneven silences between filled with the pitter patter of the gaublings’ smaller, quicker feet. One of them shrieked right behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to see Auphel grab a gaubling by the scruff of his neck. She held him until we passed a soft-looking pile of discarded human clothes outside of a cottage, then tossed him into it.

  She reached for me. I darted around the corner, and she missed. The palace came into sight, all white spires and shining gold, and I ran harder. A stitch formed in my side. I hadn’t been a runner since I’d quit track and field in sixth grade. Still, I kept ahead of the lumbering ogress and the short-legged gaublings, racing to find Zinian.

  The wrong turns we’d made earlier fouled me up, but I found the corridor to the meeting room. The door opened as I approached, and Jaid stepped out.

  I slid to a halt before I ran into her. She closed the door tight.

  “What’s all this racket?”

  “I need to speak with Zinian,” I gasped, pressing a hand to my side. “Please.”

  “He’s busy. As are we all.” One f
eline ear twitched, and her tail cut sharp arcs through the air behind her. She glared upward as Auphel approached, breathing hard and limping worse than she had before. “You were supposed to keep an eye on her.”

  “Sorry, Lieutenant.” Auphel looked at me, appearing more hurt than angry. “I don’t know what got into her.”

  “I have information that Zinian will be interested in,” I said.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “Tell me. I’ll pass it along.”

  Something told me that no matter how I phrased it, Jaid would see no point in preserving the books. And maybe she would be right. This was stupid. I had no connection to the people of this city, no reason to care if their knowledge burned. Except that I did. Libraries and bookstores were safe places. Rich places. Dusty and quiet and predictable places. At least, they always had been for me. Havens full of knowledge.

  It wasn’t my city. It wasn’t my library. I didn’t care. I couldn’t watch it burn, and I couldn’t let what might be my only chance of ending this nightmare go up with it.

  This is too risky, objected the part of my brain that usually controlled my emotions and my actions. Back down now.

  Not this time.

  I clutched the book to my chest and straightened my shoulders. “I need to speak to him myself.”

  “No. In fact—”

  The door opened behind her, and Zinian stepped out.

  “What’s going on out here?” He frowned at me. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Please,” I said. “They’re going to burn all of the books from the library.”

  “As they’ve been ordered to do,” Zinian said quietly. “This is not a situation you want to involve yourself in, Hazel.”

  “But so much could be lost.” I glanced at Jaid and wished she’d leave. Her eyes seemed to cut me every time she shot me one of her disgusted looks.

  Zinian took the book from me and flipped through it slowly, as though absorbing the images. “Better to make a clean start.”

  I took a deep breath to steady my nerves. “With respect, there’s no such thing.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “No?”

  Think, Hazel. This was basic negotiation. I couldn’t ask them to save the library because I wanted to see whether it held my answers, or because I wanted to keep a familiar place where I would feel safe while I learned how to escape from this strange world. No, I had to think of what they would get out of saving it.

  I forced myself to ignore Jaid’s glare and Auphel’s hurt expression, and focused on Zinian. When I looked into his eyes, it was almost possible to forget how monstrous he was. They’re reasonable people, I reminded myself, protecting themselves from the real monsters.

  “What if the answer to Verelle’s disappearance is in those books?” I asked. “What if they’re about to burn your only chance at finding and finishing her?”

  Jaid hissed. “She has no idea what she’s talking about, Zin. Verelle is gone, and Grys has called off the hunt. For your own sake, forget this. You said you would.”

  Zinian gave her a sharp look. “I’m well aware of what I’ve agreed to.” When he turned to me, his eyes remained hard, but there was no anger there. I’d never been good at reading people, but I thought I read interest in his keen gaze. “You may be correct, Hazel. And I imagine you’ve considered the fact that the books may contain answers regarding your own journey home. But I can’t walk into that room and say we have to restore the library for the sake of one human or my own lingering…” He paused, searching for the right word.

  “Obsession,” Jaid offered. “Think of your reputation. If you stand before Grys and show any weakness toward a human or their culture, it will confirm everything your detractors say about you. If anything, you should stand in the square tonight and drop the torch that starts the fire. Seal your position. Claim the victory, remind them who made it possible. You’ve been too quiet since Verelle disappeared. Too absent from the streets.”

  The relief I felt at hearing he hadn’t been out there ripping off people’s legs hit me hard. It doesn’t mean he’s safe, I reminded myself.

  Zinian rolled his shoulders back and flexed his wings. “You see the problem, Hazel?”

  I didn’t think I saw all of it, but it gave me an idea of what he was up against. He’d mentioned how his human aspects had set him apart from other monsters, but I suspected it went deeper than that. Zinian’s position seemed to be nearly as precarious as mine.

  “You can’t ask the general to save the library for my sake, or for yours.”

  Jaid flicked an ear. “She can be taught. Incredible.” She leaned against the wall and tapped her claws against the dark stone. The casual pose did nothing to make her seem less dangerous. “Go back to Verelle’s rooms, human Hazel.” She glared at Auphel. “And stay out of the way, this time.”

  I ignored the claws, my trembling heart, and the sweat that had formed on my forehead in spite of the cool air. Zinian was still listening, so I focused on him again.

  “There’s a saying in my world that those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it,” I said. Jaid narrowed her eyes, but didn’t interrupt me. “The history of your world seems as cold and cruel as mine, but surely forgetting isn’t the answer. At least make sure you’re not throwing the baby out with the bathwater.”

  Zinian’s brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

  “I mean…” I shrugged. It seemed my ability to speak and understand their language didn’t extend to idioms. “Maybe a lot of what’s there in those books is bad. But maybe there’s some knowledge that should be salvaged. And maybe it’s better not to forget where the humans went so wrong. If we—if you, I mean, could learn how they thought, what they believed, how they became the horrible creatures they were, it would benefit your new society so much.”

  “We won’t repeat their mistakes,” Jaid growled. “We’re nothing like you.”

  I forced myself to look at her without flinching. “Then let it be a monument to their foolishness. Build your new city in the remains of the old, and let the library stand as a reminder of what you overcame.”

  “She has nothing to do with any of this,” Jaid reminded Zinian.

  “I know,” Zinian said, but one corner of his mouth had turned up slightly as I spoke. His reaction pleased me, and I told myself it was only because it gave me hope for the library. “But that doesn’t mean she’s wrong. What if Verelle found a way back? What if another enemy rose some day? We’d be better prepared to fight if we had this knowledge.”

  Jaid’s ears lay flat against the smooth curves of her skull. “This is insanity.”

  “No. It might be the first sane idea we’ve heard in days, since the destruction and killing began. I’ll speak to Grys.”

  Jaid’s lip lifted in a snarl. “Fine. But be sure to discuss the punishment for a human’s insubordination when meddling in the affairs of monsters. We need to set a proper precedent.”

  Zinian nodded without looking at me and returned to the meeting room with Jaid close behind.

  “What does that mean?” I asked Auphel. “Punishment?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Auphel, I’m sorry. I didn’t think about this getting you in trouble. I shouldn’t have run, but you see why this is important, don’t you?”

  She let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know. I’d just as soon see the books gone, myself, but Zinian seems to understand.” She twirled the hem of her shirt around her fingers. “I thought we were going to be friends, you and me.”

  “I want that, too. Would it help if I promised not to run from you again?”

  She nodded, but I supposed I had a lot of work to do if I wanted to regain her trust. I hoped Zinian would be persuasive, that I hadn’t just hurt Auphel and pissed Jaid off for nothing.

  We walked back to Verelle’s rooms.

  “Auphel, what did Jaid mean about punishment?”

  She shrugged. “When humans kept us as servants and slaves, we weren’t allowed to talk back or h
ave ideas unless they asked us something—and then our ideas became their ideas. If you didn’t follow the rules, you were beaten. Or killed, if you weren’t useful enough. Guess things are flipped upside down now.”

  “I’m not a servant or a slave,” I said quietly.

  “You’re a human, and it’s not your world. Why do you think I tried so hard to stop you when you ran?”

  My stomach clenched. Speaking up and risking confrontation had been terrifying, but it had seemed worthwhile. I remembered the massive axe that Auphel had wielded the night we met, and a chill came over me.

  This is why I never stick my neck out, I thought. You never know when it’s going to end with losing your head.

  Chapter Eight

  Auphel came out of the pantry covered in flour. She sneezed, sending a cloud of white dust into the air. “Is this enough?”

  “Should be. Enough to give it a try, anyway.”

  She’d agreed to take me to the palace kitchens that afternoon to find my own meal. In spite of my current anxiety over my future, my stomach kept insisting it needed to be fed. The squashed tomatoes Auphel brought me weren’t keeping me full, and I suspected I should keep my strength up.

  The kitchens were better stocked than I’d expected. No refrigerator, but there was a deep pantry with a cold storage room containing pickled vegetables in clay pots. I couldn’t find any meat, but there was butter and a few eggs. Any food that might have been prepared before the attack on the palace was long gone, but I could work with this.

  I hoped.

  Auphel, who had no experience with cooking, seemed surprised that I might be willing to eat such things. She helped me build a fire in the stone oven that covered a wall of the kitchen. I had no idea how to control the temperature, but we had the place to ourselves. Trial and error would have to work out eventually.

  The kitchen became hot enough that my dress stuck to my sweaty body. I tied my hair up, but the shorter locks at the front kept falling down as I kneaded my attempt at bread. I brushed the strands aside with dough-covered hands, and they stuck in place.