Library of Absolution

by Jennifer Derrick

  He went from shelf to shelf, trying to decipher how things were organized. He finally figured out that the oldest works were on the highest shelves up on the third level. The Greeks were there, shelved before some smoky smelling works Master Hale had appropriated from the ruins of the library at Alexandria.

  Alarick combed through them all, seeking the small volume. He was beginning to despair of finding a copy when he finally located it, stuffed between two much larger volumes and almost invisible. He pulled it out and ruffled the pages. It was old, but it was a good copy. It would never be the copy her father had given her, but at least Elissa could hear the words again.

  Alarick tucked the book into the pocket of his coat and hastened to the infirmary. Before opening the door to the sick ward, he paused to smooth his hair, tug down his coat, and adjust his cravat. It wouldn't do to look disheveled. And then the shock tore through him: It didn't matter what he looked like. Elissa couldn't see him.

  He pushed the door open and was quickly met by Candace who was carrying a batch of clean linens. Alarick couldn't recall her being a healer, but she evidently was. She looked him up and down.

  "I'll tend to your injuries in a moment," she said.

  "I'm fine."

  Candace arched an eyebrow at that. "You don't look fine. You're bruised and bleeding." She pointed to blood seeping through his coat where his shoulder wounds had opened again.

  "It's fine. May I see her?" Candace followed his gaze to where Elissa rested in bed.

  "After I've dealt with your injuries, sir. She's been through enough without you bleeding on her. Come this way."

  She led him to a bed behind a screen and stripped him down so she could address his wounds. It didn't take her but a few moments to patch him up. A quick cleaning, a couple of healing spells, and a few bandages was all it took to have him feeling much better. It might have taken less time had he not kept fidgeting in his desire to see Elissa.

  When she finished, and he was dressed again, Candace said, "Wait here."

  He sat on the bed, fighting his urge to run to Elissa's side.

  Candace returned in a moment.

  "Elissa's awake, so you may see her," Candace said. "But please, do not upset her."

  "I promise," Alarick said.

  Candace didn't look convinced, but let him pass. He'd never considered himself to be a terrible person. Distant? Yes. Curt? Certainly. He didn't have time to suffer fools or deal with petty nonsense. But surely, he was not the horrible person everyone seemed to think would come in here and scream at an innocent, injured woman. He was too busy being grateful to whatever deities ruled the universe that she wasn't dead.

  Alarick sat down on the stool next to Elissa's bed. Her eyes were open, staring at nothing. At the sound of him sitting down, she turned her head in his direction.

  "Candace?" she asked in a voice hoarse with pain and fatigue.

  "No," he said. "It's Alarick."

  "Master Brandon," she began. "I'm so glad you made it back. Master Baines didn't know what happened to you, but he did tell me how you sacrificed yourself for us. Thank you, sir."

  The simplicity and sincerity of her gratitude floored him.

  "I'm hard to kill. Master Baines says I'm too stubborn to die. I think there's some truth in that. For you, as well," he added softly.

  She began to cry, silent tears tracking down her cheeks and spilling onto her pillow.

  "Hey, hey," Alarick whispered. "None of that. I promised Candace and Marius I wouldn't upset you."

  "I'm not upset at you," she said. "But at myself. You told me not to leave and I did. You were only concerned for my safety, but I was angry with you for not helping me. I wanted to prove that I could salvage books on my own; that I could do something useful. And it cost me everything."

  "We don't know that, yet," he said, ignoring her self-recriminations. "I understand that one of the healers has seen blindness like yours resolve in time. And the other injuries will heal, as well. I believe that because I trust the healers here. They've patched me up enough times for me to know how skilled they are."

  "And if the injuries are permanent?" she asked. "What if I can't walk? What if I'm blind forever?"

  "Then there are other ways of navigating the world. With help, you might still be able to be a Book Mesmer. The magic comes from inside you. I don't believe it's dependent on your being able to see, as long as others can help you with the mechanical tasks. I'm not ready to dismiss you so quickly."

  She groped blindly along the edge of the bed with her good hand until her hand bumped his thigh, then found his elbow where his arms rested on his thighs. She continued reaching until she found his hand. At first, he resisted her gentle tug, but then Alarick let her take his hand and place their joined hands on the blanket next to her.

  She didn't say anything more and Alarick grew comfortable in the silence. He wanted to ask her what the Ministry had done to her. Had they forced her to reveal the Keep's location, or had she accidentally let it slip? Were they even now bearing down upon them? Had they done worse to her than the injuries Marius had recounted?

  The thought of the Ministry sexually assaulting her was almost too much for him to bear. He hoped their religious dogma kept them from that last indignity, but he knew that zealots in the throes of religious fervor would justify anything. Even the unjustifiable.

  He asked none of these questions, however. It was up to her to tell him in her own time.

  Alarick simply enjoyed the warmth of her hand and the reassurance that she was alive. He stopped himself, though, when he found himself idly rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. She didn't complain, but the gesture was too intimate, too foreign to him.

  "Would you like me to read to you?" he asked, hoping to give himself another path down which to direct his thoughts.

  "Yes, please," she said. "It's too quiet here. Give me something to focus on besides my own thoughts."

  Alarick knew the feeling well. He pulled Phaedo from his pocket and began to read. At the first sentence her eyes began to water again.

  "Shh," he cautioned. "They'll throw me out if they think I'm upsetting you."

  "It's just… I know the Ministry took my copy. It's why they beat me so badly. Being a witch was bad enough. But when they found the book…" she shuddered and said no more.

  Alarick tried hard to express no emotion. She needed him to be strong and impartial, not the furious, raging beast he longed to be.

  "A literate woman is their greatest fear, Miss Stone," he said. "You had to be punished for your education and set as an example to any other woman who would pursue letters."

  She nodded. "Is that—" she began to ask, feebly gesturing for the book. He handed it to her, letting her feel its weight and soft leather cover. To take it, she had to let go of his hand, and the sudden coolness on his skin startled Alarick.

  "It is not your father's copy," he said in answer to her unfinished question. "I'm sorry. I do not know what became of your copy. This one came from Master Hale's collection. He loved the Greeks."

  "Don't be sorry," she said, caressing the book with her good hand. "I never thought to hear the words again."

  "You may have this copy, if you want it," Alarick said.

  "As long as you'll read it to me," she said, "A book does me no good any longer without a reader."

  "As long as you desire for me to read to you, I will," Alarick said.

  She handed the book back to him, and he resumed reading. She took his hand back in hers and listened intently to his words. Gradually, however, her hand slackened in his. He glanced at her and realized she'd drifted off.

  Just as well, he thought. He couldn't imagine the hell that being awake must be for her right now. Perhaps she could find some peace in dreams. He knew he would not.

  Gently, he removed his hand from hers. He placed Phaedo on the blanket next to her and laid her hand on top of it. Maybe it would give her some comfort when she woke.

  With no Book Mesme
r to keep him entertained, Marius left a couple of days later. He needed to get back to Spain, he said, and resume his attacks on the Ministry. Before he left, he stopped to visit Elissa with Alarick.

  "You're leaving?" she asked at his news. "I'd hoped you would stay."

  "No, I've got Ministry to antagonize. But I'll be certain to kill a few for you," he told her.

  "I'm sorry you never got to watch me work," she said. "You came all this way for nothing."

  "Don't be sorry. You gave me quite the thrill, nonetheless," he chuckled.

  She smiled, but it was cold and bitter. "Still, I do hope you'll come back if I regain my sight. I'd very much like your thoughts on my ability, assuming I still have any power left after this."

  "You can count on that," he said. "Alarick knows where to find me when you're ready."

  Outside in the hallway, Marius turned to Alarick and whispered, "I hope you haven't been filling her head with nonsense about a full recovery and regaining her abilities even if she can't see. The logistics are simply too improbable."

  "I haven't been filling her head with nonsense. But neither am I going to discourage her from salvaging whatever she can from the wreckage of her life. If she wants to try to use her powers in a different way, then I will support her."

  They walked down the steps to the main hall in silence.

  "Just don't get her hopes up," Marius said, embracing his friend at the castle's main door before going outside and changing into his eagle form.

  As he watched his friend fly away, Alarick felt unbearably old. He'd never shied away from responsibility, even when it was thrust upon him without his assent. But this was something else entirely. A young woman who should have had her whole life ahead of her was lying in his infirmary, facing the loss of the very thing that made her who she was. And this was on top of the great losses she'd already suffered. He had no frame of reference for how to help such a person, yet he knew it was his responsibility to give her back whatever self-sufficiency and mastery he could.

  The healers could only take her so far. Elissa would need the help of a stronger wizard if she wanted to learn to use her powers in new ways. And he fervently hoped she did. The alternative, giving up and waiting for the Ministry to find and kill them, was too depressing for him to think about. She was too full of life for that. He might be old enough to see the futility of life, but she wasn't. At least she hadn't been. He didn't know if this injury had or would render her as bitter and heartless as he had become. He hoped not, for the thought of her light being extinguished forever was too painful for him to bear.

  After Marius' departure, Alarick settled into a routine. Mornings were for work around the Keep and seeking survivors of village sackings. Afternoons and evenings were for Elissa.

  Every afternoon he shut himself in the library and combed through any volume that seemed likely to contain even the tiniest scrap of information about Book Mesmers. If he was going to help her, he needed more information about her power than he had. As injured as she was, he wasn't about to press her for the information so he delved into books.

  Unfortunately, there wasn't much information to find. Her ability was so unique that Book Mesmers were mere footnotes in magical history. He wrote to several of his wizard friends around the world, but they knew even less than he. Most were surprised, as he had been, to learn that such a person existed. Undeterred, Alarick ventured further afield in his research.

  He read art books and discovered the works of blind artists. They weren't Book Mesmers, but the principles were much the same. He learned how they drew and painted, despite having limited or no vision. Some used grids made from wood or wire overlaid on the canvas. Others used paints in different thicknesses and textures so they could feel the difference by touch when it was on the palette or applied to the canvas. Some received assistance from others who told them when it was time to change colors or move to different sections of canvas. Alarick believed all of these were possible for Elissa.

  For the drawings to come to life, she had to be the one to do the painting. But nothing he could find in the literature said that she couldn't receive assistance or use aids to help her with the work.

  As far as he could discern from his reading, it was her intent that imbued a drawing with its properties. If he understood correctly, she could draw a frog for entertainment, as she'd shown him, or she could draw it to be poisonous if she wanted it to hurt someone. Same frog, two different intents. That had nothing to do with whether she was blind or not. Her ability came from inside. The painting was merely a means of expressing her intent.

  As for the protection spells, she already knew those, and he was certain she could learn how to apply the ground hair and any other needed materials with time and practice. A brand new wand waited for her, resting in the center of her desk. The wand maker had outdone himself with a lovely wand made from ash. It was light in color and gleamed with polish. She'd make it her own over time, he thought, coloring it with her fingerprints as she had her old one.

  What he couldn't readily help her with was the acquisition of more books. The time he spent in the library revealed the extent of the work she'd already done. Nearly every book was protected. No wonder she wanted to go out and find more. For her to have work to do, she needed books. Unfortunately, there was little more he could give her here. And he feared that without work, the loss of her vision would lead to anger and depression. He couldn't let that happen. Alarick would not let her life be wasted, as he had wasted his, in bitterness and regret.

  The problem was, it wasn't safe for them to go out even if Elissa could see. Two people were much easier to spot than one. Two people doubled the chance of a silly mistake leading to their capture.

  With her blind and unable to protect herself or run in the event of danger, the risk doubled. To hunt for books, he would have to go alone or send someone else into danger. And that he was unwilling to do. Alarick might be able to find a few more books in the ruins of various villages, but it wouldn't be enough to keep Elissa busy for long. She needed libraries. And he had none to offer her.

  While research occupied his afternoons, he went to the infirmary every evening to read to Elissa and receive the daily update from the healers. The healers were pleased with her progress overall. The cracked ribs were healing nicely, the brands had been erased with spells, leaving only the faintest traces, and the broken arm was fully healed. The fractures in her back had been more challenging, but they believed she would walk again. Soon it would be time to get her on her feet and see how she fared.

  The blindness, however, continued to be troubling. The healers had tried spells to reduce potential swelling in Elissa's brain in the hopes that this would, in turn, reduce the pressure on her optic nerves, but no real gains had been made. The one healer still advocated for time, but the others had clearly given up. Alarick sided with the one who still believed.

  When his visits first began, he only read to her. They shared nothing but the most casual of pleasantries. Gradually, however, she opened up to him about what the Ministry had done to her. It was shocking to Alarick the brutality they inflicted in such a short period of time.

  "I believe if you and Marius hadn't arrived when you did, I would not have survived until morning," she said. "They kept saying they wanted to place me in the square the next morning as an example, but I believe they meant to put me there as a corpse."

  Alarick said very little as she recounted the abuse. There was nothing he could say that would make it better for her, or himself. Any sentiment he could express led to a fruitless desire to return to London and torture as many Ministry personnel as he could.

  He was proud of her, though, when she told him about their attempts to coerce her point of origin from her.

  "They kept asking me where I'd come from," she said. "They kept saying that they'd heard rumors for years about a hidden magical village. If I would tell them where it was located, they would stop torturing me."

  "Do you think th
ey would have let you go?" Alarick asked.

  Elissa laughed, but there was no humor in it. "No. I think they meant they would have killed me quickly. My reward would have been a quicker death, not freedom. Although at that point, a quick death seemed awfully appealing."

  "What did you tell them?" Alarick asked, fearing that she'd given in to their demands. If she had he would deal with it, but he resolved not to unleash his fury on her. Weaker men had caved under relentless torture.

  "Only that I came from Keldon, which is true. I told them I was the only survivor from that village and commented how proud they must be to have finally polished us all off. Especially since a literate witch and her books had eluded them the first time."

  Alarick choked on his laughter. "I'm sure they didn't take that remark kindly."

  "Oh, no. That's when the inquisitor stopped hitting me with his fists and instead bashed me in the head with a mallet and the world went dark. After I regained consciousness, the branding started. They made certain I was awake for that," she whispered, turning her head away and closing the conversation.

  Marius had been correct. She really had angered someone and that led to worse torture than she might otherwise have experienced. Still, she'd stood her ground. She was stronger than he'd believed.

  "I'm proud of you," Alarick said as he stood to leave. "It probably wasn't the best thing to say, but you let them know they wouldn't break you."

  She said nothing and Alarick left her to her thoughts.

  If he went outside and screamed his rage and frustration into the waterfall, well, that was no one's business but his own.

  8

  The next evening, he arrived to find the healers levering Elissa up in bed.

  "Ah, Master Brandon," Candace said. "You're just in time to see how our patient fares on her feet."

  "Should I go?" he asked, uncomfortable at witnessing Elissa's first steps. If things didn't go well, he didn't want Elissa to feel humiliated by his presence. Besides, she was clad only in her dressing gown. It didn't seem proper to him.