| Jenya sneezed, sending still more dust flying into the air. The trapdoors were nearly cleared, though Jenya's left index finger may have been broken when his grip on some of the rubble slipped. Broken or not, it hurt badly though Jenya had been through worse and worse still was likely to come. It would heal, or Kelnai would make it heal when he returned home. He had hoped to be on a ship bound for Varikelle by the time the sun set the next day but that was seeming like less and less of a possibility. In any event, Jenya knew Kelnai and Shorin would be more than all right without him for a few more nights and this was definitely important. The old wooden doors did not want to open and Jenya was forced to bash away the thin - but amazingly strong - planks with a chunk of what had been the ceiling. Through all this work, the words that the Coranavayel had spoken rang through his head; in short, they unsettled him. Only in this world had Torankhayel - basically the Ultimate Dark, if Jenya could remember correctly - taken control. So he knew that much, and that it was well within the powers of the Taer'shal to take this world back. But that was all Jenya knew, and unless something, someone started spouting answers then this world's future would remain miserable and bleak. The Sun-Chylde grabbed a torch with his left hand, made sure his sword was secure, and used his good arm to swing down into the dark; if he stood before it thinking too much he might change his mind. The weak torchlight caught the walls well enough despite the thick cloud of dust that followed Jenya's less-than-graceful landing, but then it didn't have to throw itself far to make it. There was room enough for Jenya to stretch his arms out and turn about freely, but only just barely. A small bookshelf, only as tall as Jenya's mid-thigh stood in the corner to the right. It held only five books. Next to the shelf, crowded as closely to the wall as possible, was a small desk covered with maps and paper that had been scribbled upon furiously. The hand that had done the scribbling rested on the desk, still holding an ink-tube despite the lack of muscles anywhere on the hand's skeleton to make it move. At least the skeleton looked rather comfortable, in a very cushioned, high-backed chair. Even so, the sight slightly unnerved Jenya - had the man asked to be sealed in here? The Sun-Chylde could be fairly certain that the skeleton had belonged to a man; the structure of the bones was too thick and angular, tatters that resembled pants clung to the leg-bones, and on the ring finger-bone of the hand holding the ink-tube was the signet ring of the Monarch of Scholars. The title and seal were only awarded to men; there was a female counterpart to it but Jenya could not remember it. He turned his attention to the maps first, having to push the skeleton out of the way. The smell of ancient rot clung to everything, flooding Jenya's nostrils and sending waves of nausea crashing over his system. He had smelt worse, like the So'er Fehlas that had chased him four years ago, screeching and nipping at his skin once he had fallen and broken his leg. They had stunk of damp refuse and dog's breath, of rank marsh, fresh vomit and much worse. The tiny winged creatures had been incredibly fast, and incredibly ugly though it was difficult for Jenya to judge whether their stench or their disfigured faces had been the more terrible. The maps were of places that no longer existed, to the best of Jenya's knowledge, but he rolled them all up and placed them inside the satchel. Saerifahl, the strange woman who watched Shorin from time to time might recognize something; she knew more than she would let on to anyone. Kelnai might know some obscure facts about the maps as well - that woman was full of surprises. The five books on the small shelf had been bound in a slick, black material. Whoever had gone through the trouble of writing them meant them to survive much. One was simply a book of sketches, beautiful work but mostly useless. One was a translating book for Kaer'melthek, simple phrases mostly. Two contained information on the Rift, one full of pictures and the names of the Beasts that had poured forth from it once it had been opened, and one strictly covering how to kill them. Jenya smiled at the list of different ways to slaughter a Torankhayel-controlled Mage. His suspicions, and Kelnai's, now were confirmed. After becoming one of the Magi, a person could no longer be truly considered human; it was not the Jihann that killed the Mage, it was the tightening grip of Torankhayel. The mortal minds - most of them - crumbled beneath the effort of fighting off evil and Torankhayel forced a transmogrification through the stone, which the Mage claimed to control. The satchel was becoming heavy and Jenya wondered if the last book was truly important. The book was blank save for the first page and several in the middle. All had been scripted in Kaer'melthek, which was not Jenya's favorite language. All he managed to catch at first glance was the title of a single passage: Malan Ehnaret - Triune Entity. Beneath that were drawings of a few different people, one resembling the Acharya. Each drawing was split into three, with tiny script to the side of each. He couldn't make any of it out, and he didn't suppose that the Coranavayel would show up again to translate. So this world had a design to it, it was not all chaos… Here was a book, scribed in Kaer'melthek, containing what could be the most important information regarding the Acharya. Jenya himself could barely understand a word of it, but his son spoke the Dead Language fluently. As for his wife… she was a complete enigma; there was no definite way to know how much Kelnai knew. A slight smile crept to Jenya's face and he could almost forget the throbbing pain in his possibly broken finger. Shouldering the satchel, Jenya apologized to the skeleton for moving him, stealing his ring, and ransacking this chamber then pulled the desk beneath the hole leading back to the surface. A broken finger, 20 pounds of paper and still more weight in blades made it a little difficult to climb back out of the chamber, yet the Sun-Chylde was determined to return home. The sun was shining overhead. The stench of old death followed Jenya as he strode purposefully towards the entrance. The end of a whisper caught his ear as he passed through the arches. It sounded like a command, and Jenya turned to face the back of the Library. He started when he saw the floor smooth, the ceiling just as it had been before the Kael'adahn knocked part of it away. "Protect them…" These were the only words that hung in the air. Jenya broke into a run, eager to return to Kashan's camp nearby, and after that return home. |