by Sever Bronny
“Now prior to entering this sacred abode of knowledge, each of you must account for every wrong you have done—from birth.”
The friends gaped at her.
Leera whimpered. “Are … are you serious, Mrs. Stone?”
“No. It is an old Leyan jest,” and she winked again before entering. The friends guffawed, slapping each other on the backs and punching each other’s shoulders while accusing each other of falling for it, before they too entered.
Mrs. Stone led them forward at a slow walk, stepping onto a spacious curved stone balcony. What Augum saw beyond it took his breath away.
“It’s an arena-sized column …” Jengo whispered reverently, craning his neck skyward before looking all the way down to the floor far below them.
Each floor that ringed the towering structure was made of a giant balcony within which stood three graduated bookshelves, the foremost being about ten feet in height, the second thirteen, and the back one went all the way up the rear wall—about twenty feet.
“Forty floors at fifty thousand square feet per floor makes the library how many square feet?” Mrs. Stone asked, opening a palm questioningly.
While the others frowned, Augum quickly did the arithmetic and blurted, “Two million square feet.”
“Correct. And at twenty feet per floor, with two feet between each floor, we have a structure that is …?”
“Eight hundred and eighty feet high,” Augum replied, once more beating the others with the arithmetic, one of his strengths.
“Correct. Now and then a floor is added.”
Augum got the impression “now and then” meant every few hundred years or so.
Mrs. Stone placed her hands behind her back and looked out. “Two million maps, thirty million scrolls, forty million clay tablets, and fifty million books, tomes and manuscripts—approximate numbers, though we have detailed ledgers. Each floor is divided into four quadrants organized by subject matter, each quadrant managed by an ancient minder—think of Fentwick, but more intelligent.”
Augum felt a pang in his chest remembering Fentwick, the talking suit of armor confined to his castle that had been purloined and renamed by the Von Edgeworths, a suit enchanted with ancient arcanery in the time of his ancestor, Atrius Arinthian. He pictured Fentwick trying to teach those miserable Von Edgeworths how to spar and felt his blood run a little hot, before remembering that he was on a pilgrimage of the mind as well as the body. And so he forced himself to snuff the flames of his anger.
“The library is protected by arcanery more powerful than you can imagine and it is forbidden to remove objects from it without permission.” Mrs. Stone turned and indicated a series of display cases strewn around the jutting balcony. Augum had barely noticed the cases as his attention had been completely absorbed by the sheer enormity of the place. “Some of what you see before you are the remnants of the first Leyans. This is our history, and thus, in a way, yours.”
The group wandered between the different cases, the workmanship of which was unparalleled, for the Leyans had plenty of time and patience to get things absolutely right. Each case rested on legs carved of the same mahogany wood that wrapped seamlessly around the frame, with satin wood parquetry inlays depicting the Helix. The contents inside were protected by lids of glass discolored by time. Beneath one such lid was an ancient stone mortar and pestle labeled with a description in the old tongue. Inside another was a primitive bronze shortsword. Other cases held a crumbled basket, a worn-down basalt statue of an unknown god, a runic clay tablet, a scroll made from faded reeds, a stone offering tray, and so on.
Bridget placed a hand on a cabinet with a small beaded necklace resting on linen cloth. “Sabella the Midwife’s necklace,” she whispered.
“Yes,” Mrs. Stone said in a gentle voice, drawing near to glance over Bridget’s shoulder. “A portion of her work can be found here, though much of it was destroyed in the very funeral pyre that she was burned in.”
“Under the light of a full moon,” Bridget whispered, then whirled on Mrs. Stone. “Was she right? Was Sabella’s theory right?”
“That the first Arcaner, the founder of the entire order, was a woman?” Mrs. Stone strode past Bridget to rest her hands on the balcony railing. “It was one of the first things I researched upon stepping foot in this library,” she said, gazing out at the millions of books. “Alas, the answer does not exist here. The archives are incomplete. The knowledge is lost to us, likely forever.”
Bridget’s head dropped. She placed a hand on the display case and closed her eyes. Olaf laced a hand around her waist and squeezed her to him. She placed her other hand over his arm and leaned back against him.
The friends trailed off to give the couple space. Augum found himself wandering the balcony, and discovered faded portal etchings with corresponding runes running along the entire outer balcony wall.
Mrs. Stone noticed him inspecting them. “That is how we move from floor to floor, Great-grandson. Each quadrant has portal runes, among other things. But enough dallying. I expect a visitor any moment—ah, there we are.” She raised her chin toward the doors.
The group turned and saw a tall one-armed Nodian woman limping up the steps. Her skin, a rich metallic black that reflected the torchlight, was so shiny it contrasted her matte black eyes—eyes that stared without blinking. She wore a loose cream-colored sleeveless dress embroidered with wolves and elk and buffalo and a red bear, the traditional animal of the Nodian people. A single curved blade hung on her right hip, the side that lacked an arm. In her one hand she held an unfamiliar stringed musical instrument that looked like a thin lute. And she was completely hairless, even lacking eyelashes and eyebrows.
“May I present Akeya ‘The Blackest Howl’ Kessenga, former chief of the Nodian clan of Wolfhowl, now Librarian of the Library of Ley.”
Akeya shuffled through the doors with a pronounced limp, stopping to stand before them. She placed the instrument—shaped like a figure eight with a long neck and four strings—under her chin, her sole hand holding the neck. Just as Augum wondered how she would play it, a fine stick with what looked like hair attached to it floated up from behind her, as if it had been following her the entire time, though likely had been nestled in her belt. The stick pressed its taut hair against the strings and began moving, creating a harmonious and beautiful sound that made Augum’s heart constrict with sweet poignance.
It affected the others too. Bridget, Leera and Haylee practically swooned at the music, for it was a silken and tender sound, as if love had a voice. Olaf inhaled and held his breath. As for Jengo, a tear rolled down his cheek and his chin trembled. The music danced and echoed off the walls and beyond like a distant wild call from a lady long lost to time, forlorn by all.
Akeya played the piece to a melancholy end, the final note ringing throughout the library before dying a feather-soft death. Only then did the Nodian woman let go of the instrument. It and the stick floated to a standstill beside her.
“Many a year it took for The Blackest Howl to learn to play the vellay,” she said in a booming voice that was long used to giving orders, a voice that did not have the barest trace of the harsh Nodian accent. “But this clan chief has accomplished this feat, a feat she thought impossible upon first stepping naked onto the sands of the desert many score years ago.”
Augum couldn’t help but remember Naoki, who had gushed on about the beauty of the vellay and how much she missed playing it. It was as if her soul had been brought back to life, if only temporarily.
Akeya’s wide face swiveled as she examined the instrument floating beside her. “The vellay is an Ohmish instrument made of the finest old growth willow. The bow is taut horsehair, the pairing creating a tone of unparalleled beauty. One must be careful to always loosen the horsehair after each playing, lest the fibers stretch.”
The group looked on as a tiny nub on the back of the bow unscrewed a few turns so that the horsehair went limp.
“It is a marvelous thing to learn to expre
ss one’s soul. It is a marvelous thing to learn something new.” She bowed deeply, humbly, and flashed fifteen arm rings that swirled in smoke-like patterns, indicating she was an air warlock. The gesture came off respectfully rather than confrontationally. “I welcome the first visitors to this library in nearly two millennia with an open heart and mind.”
The friends bowed back and mumbled their greetings, all flashing their rings.
“The answers to your unspoken questions are as follows,” the woman said. “Yes, I am a Leyan, one of sixty-five remaining. Yes, I have been made young again, though I had lived eight and ninety years, much of those years as a chief, prior to accepting the sacred invitation, which came one hundred and seventy-eight years ago. Yes, I speak common Sithesian fluently, though I can speak eight other languages. Yes, much of the library’s knowledge is restricted. As for the leg, it is an old war wound. And as for my arm, I lost it in an act of great treachery by a rival chief, who ate it in a broth of snake blood and celery. Our clans went to war over the matter. As the victor, it was I who drank his spirit blood in the end. My howl of vengeance earned me my nickname.”
The Blackest Howl, Augum thought, almost hearing the echo of a primal roar of victory.
Akeya allowed this knowledge to settle as she limped past them, the vellay and bow silently floating alongside her. She stopped to rest a hand on the balustrade of the balcony beside Mrs. Stone and looked out at the library. “You may wonder how a right-handed woman transferred her rings to her left arm.” She looked back at them with a sharp-toothed smile. “Nothing short of hard work is the answer.”
She swiveled her head to look up at the cavernous tube-like library. “It was Takkus the Magnificent, a great Canterran thinker and early philosopher, who said, ‘Behold, for I have learned what many deemed unlearnable.’ This was echoed later by Theodorus Winkfield, founder of the Library of Antioc, who said, ‘Let my curiosity be the horse upon which my ambition rides.’ And then, of course, Omnio incipus equa liberatus corsisi mei—” She turned toward them and raised a hairless eyebrow.
“All begin equal but only the curious thrive,” the group of young Arcaners solemnly chorused.
“All begin equal but only the curious thrive,” Akeya echoed, smiling serenely with closed eyes as she savored the thought. When she opened those black Leyan eyes again, she focused on each of them in turn, only distinguishable because she turned her head from one to the next. “At long last, the knowledge I have been watching slowly decay like a steadily ripening apple shall once more serve a purpose. What I find most interesting is that the purpose of much of this knowledge …” She looked at Mrs. Stone. “… is war.”
“For the time being, yes,” Mrs. Stone replied. “But it is my great hope that when all is said and done the mere threat of force will be enough to maintain a long and perhaps everlasting peace.”
“A Third Great Peace.”
“That is our enemy’s argument,” Augum blurted, then cleared his throat. “Er … please pardon the interruption.”
Akeya looked at him. “With the exception of certain illnesses of the mind, no one truly believes themselves the villain of their own story. Nearly everyone thinks themselves doing good.” She turned her attention back to Mrs. Stone. “Since all parties supposedly seek the same outcome, one wonders why all that mortals know is war.”
“The reasons are myriad. Apathy. Greed. Vengeance. Malignancy—”
“—in search of the ultimate divinities—”
“—power and—”
“—eternity.”
The pair had traded words like old friends.
A smiling Akeya nodded. “Thus the return of Arcaners. How did that tune go again, Anna?” Akeya searched Mrs. Stone’s face as she softly sang, “ ‘Been this way it has before, begin we must not peace but war.’ ”
Mrs. Stone’s youthful brows furrowed. “Attyla?”
“In his honor, based on his words.”
“The only reformed necromancer.”
“There have been others.”
Mrs. Stone raised a single eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“Not many, but a few.”
“Then I look forward to reading about them.”
“Of time there is plenty.”
“How fortunate we are.”
“How fortunate indeed.” Akeya smiled and turned to examine the friends once more. She placed her arm behind her back and nodded at them. “So they have come as you had hoped, Anna, proving that your meticulous preparation has not been in vain. The others are glad for you, and for us all, for we have kept our own best company for too long—to our detriment, as many among us have argued. So it begins anew.”
“So it begins anew,” Mrs. Stone echoed.
“The other uninvited ones toil along on the hot sands in penance.” Akeya looked to Augum. “As your great-grandson will, it seems.”
“My shield dimmed asking the witch to open a portal to Ley,” Augum said, unsure if it was all right to speak. Addressing these two venerable women felt a little like speaking to Esha—he wondered whether anything he had to say was worthy of their attention.
“A witch, young mortal. Not the witch. A witch. Precision is important. Still planning on an introductory excursion, Anna?” Akeya asked Mrs. Stone without removing her unfathomably black gaze from Augum.
“I am.”
“Then you are a bolder warlock than I.”
“I have trained in preparation and hereby invoke oierta.”
Akeya focused on her. “Then I place myself at your disposal. The quadrant awaits dusted and eager, untouched by mortal hands in almost two millennia.”
“We shall return to it on the morrow.”
“And you shall not be the only ones. They will invoke ancro balan.”
“It is their central argument, it seems. A corruption of the forms.”
“Do you fear that you will have to aid them?”
Mrs. Stone raised her chin. “They shall ask for another.”
“He is most anxious to be relevant again.”
“And you will still argue on our behalf? I regret I will be occupied.”
“With logic and brevity.”
“I have more to add on the matter. News, courtesy of our guests,” and Mrs. Stone informed Akeya on what Augum had told her regarding the emperor. When she finished, Akeya briefly glanced at the group of friends.
“I shall research the precedents. Rest assured the arguments will be heard in whole. Only the invocations need be declared—and I know them all.”
“My gratitude knows no bounds.”
“Do you consider yourself ready, Anna?”
“Never more so. I have given it all of my focus and concentration. The pieces are on the board—”
“—and now they have to be played. So be it.” Akeya inclined her head.
Mrs. Stone inclined hers in return. “So be it.”
Akeya turned toward the center of the library and loudly stated, “Oierta has been invoked. The mortals standing on the entranceway slabs shall pass as guest apprentices. Acca privalego.” Then she turned back to the companions. “Standard apprentice privileges will apply. You will not have access to the higher floors, but then you would not want that access anyhow. Certain knowledge can destroy entire kingdoms. You cannot imagine what it would do to the delicate spiderweb of a mortal mind.”
“A youthful teenage one at that,” Mrs. Stone added with the slightest smile.
“The quadrant and I will be at your disposal, Anna. And I shall robustly represent your point of view at the council meeting.”
“Thank you, Akeya.”
“And rest assured, Dragoon Stone,” Akeya added, “your point that the emperor, father of one of the uninvited, wishes to gain entry to escape sickness, which is a base failing that is not permitted, shall be passed along to the council and weighed on balance.”
“Thank you, Ancient One,” Augum replied. “But please be careful, his son has a clever tongue and has no doubt prepared hi
s arguments alongside his even cleverer father.”
Akeya smiled. “Then I shall prepare most devoutly.” She hobbled past them, vellay floating alongside her, and exited through the enormous doors. They soon heard that sweet music start up again and listened until the last faint note faded away, with more than one cheek stained with tears, perhaps remembering Naoki.
“Remarkable woman,” Bridget whispered at last.
“Mmm,” Mrs. Stone replied, and led the group to a nearby wall etched with forty portals neatly divided into groups of four, a silver rune underneath each etching.
“Um, sorry, Mrs. Stone,” Haylee whispered, “but what does oierta mean?”
Mrs. Stone’s hand flared with lightning as she searched the ovals. “I will explain in a moment.” She reached for the lowest row and wordlessly tapped one of the ovals. A portal burst to life nearby, shooting wind and ruffling hair and robes. She moved aside and the group dutifully filed through it.
On the other side, they stepped onto a wide round space Augum quickly recognized as the very bottom of the library. Even here bookshelves lined the walls, except they seemed to hold only clay tablets. But it was the object in the center that grabbed everyone’s attention, for there, like a slice of giant egg, stood an enormous portal atop a wooden dais, blacker than anything nearby, as if a hole had been cut in the cloth of reality. The portal shimmered slightly and, unlike most regular portals, emitted no wind.
“Oierta is the fair access to knowledge,” Mrs. Stone said as she slowly led them toward the portal, allowing them time to appreciate its height and menacing quiet. “Since you will not be attempting to access the restricted quadrants of the library, it will not affect you. If you tried, you would be questioned by guardians to determine if you are ready to receive that knowledge. Even within those quadrants, certain books will not open their spines unless their questions are met with the correct answers. It is all advanced keylock arcanery, though rather academic if you think about it.”
She stopped before the wooden dais. “Endraga Ra is incredibly dangerous. Consider yourselves warned.”
