The Bane of the Empire

Chapter 9.2

"Yes."

Using the desk as support, the woman walked around to stand in front of her. She extended her withered hand and Dawn watched as she dropped one of the small golden bells in her palm.

"The Library is honoured to have a Rentradie grace its walls again. Use this bell when you need assistance and a scholar will find you."

The woman walked to the stone wall to Dawn's right and pushed against one of the onyx fragments. She watched as the stones began to shift and a door opened. The room beyond was massive with dozens of torches lining the aisles where parchment scrolls were arranged on shelves carved directly into the stone.

"The castle was built above the Library centuries ago by the first families that ruled over Ilaburn."

She looked at the woman standing beside her. She barely reached her shoulder, but Dawn suspected that she was a force to be reckon with in her youth.

"Rentradie is a powerful name. Don't use it so carelessly."

She turned to ask her why when the door shut behind her sealing her among the scrolls.

She looked at the shelves closest to her and saw that they were city records of this year. As she moved further the dates began to get older. The tome she carried in her satchel did not look new by any means. So, Dawn ventured further down. She saw the occasional scholar dressed in long beige robes, but the Library was eerily quiet. She only had the shadows on the wall and the clink of her boots to keep her company.

Tracing her finger on the stones as she walked by, she noticed that the scrolls only went back five years. Turning down another aisle she found it to be the same. Nothing dated further than five years. The old crone had said that the castle was built above the Library centuries ago. It was impossible that the scrolls would only go back half a decade.

Ringing the bell in her hand she waited for a scholar to come find her. She looked around for a familiar beige robe, but it was only her in the aisle. She rang the bell again but still no one appeared. She walked further into the Library until she met a wall. Looking to her left and to her right all she saw was aisle upon aisle of scrolls. She looked up but the glow of the torches did not reach high enough to discern how high the roof of the Library was. It looked like the night sky without any stars. As if the light that illuminated the world had been extinguished and only darkness remained. She shuddered at the thought and turning around she saw a mousy girl standing behind her.

"You rang?"

A girl, no older that sixteen stood behind her wearing a green dress. She was not dressed in the beige robes of the scholar she had seen coming in. Disregarding that small detail, she asked, "Where can I find scrolls older than five years?"

Smiling, the girl gestured her to follow as she stepped around Dawn. She led her deeper into the Library. Dawn felt the decline in the stones beneath her feet.

How deep did the Library go?

"All original texts are a floor below." The girl handed Dawn a torch from the wall near her, "when you get down there, light the torches."

She nodded and the pair of them continued down the narrow path behind the aisle until it opened to a small antechamber. Two stone statues stood tall on either side of an archway with a mandala made from gleaming black onyx arranged in interlocking petals on the floor. An iron gate covered in cobwebs separated her from what lay beyond but it was the statues that Dawn examined. The armoured figures were carved into the stone, wings extended out on either side of the gate with their hands clasped in front of them. When she stepped closer she noticed their delicate pointed ears.

"What are...?" Dawn began but when she turned around to direct her question to the girl, she was already gone. Shrugging, she brushed aside the webs and found the handle of the gate. Lifting the lever, the strain of opening the ancient metal gate echoed around her.

Stepping through, she held the torch up as she descended the set of steps down into the Library.

The musty scent of water and stale air grew stronger. Reaching the bottom of the steps she lit the torches as instructed. Once lit, she surveyed her surroundings. There were desks in the centre of the room but all around were leather bound books, neatly arranged on floor to ceiling shelves.

She walked around the desk to the shelves and held her torch close as she read the spines of the books. They appeared to have single names on them.

Grabbing one off the shelf she opened the delicate pages to see handwritten notes on each page. Carrying it back to one of the desks, she swept the dust away from the top and settled into one of the old chairs. It squeaked underneath her, and the sound bounced off the walls. Opening the book, she held the torch close to read the script.

Today I watched a man die and a mother give birth to her first son. Gabriel says that death is a part of life. I hope to one day be as well versed as him, but for now, I must practice gifts on the wounds of soldiers.

It was dated eighty years from now. She flipped to the next page and it was another brief entry on the fire that raged within a soldier after his arm was amputated. She continued reading and all entries appeared to be written by a young apprentice to, what she assumed as a physician named 'Gabriel'. Dawn returned the book to its spot and walked further along the wall. There were more personal logs of physicians. She stopped at one that read Gabriel. Flipping it open she read the first entry.

I have taught my pupil all that I can. There has been a decline in those with the gift of healing. But those that have come to the Library will be great mages. My power is fading and with it I will fade as well. But there is danger lurking in the castle. The King must be warned.

Great mages? She looked down as the page again, my power. The owner of the log had used the words "power" and "gift" in the literal sense.

A rhyme young children would sing came to mind.

Don't hurt yourself,

you will not heal—

the mages have all disappeared.

Looking up at the logs, she drew in a sharp breath.

All of these logs belonged to mages. The mythical beings that were thought to have healing abilities. All the names on the spines of these journals were names of mages and the words written on the pages documented their lives in the Library.

Where were they now? 

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