Secrets of the Stonechaser (The Law of Eight Book 1) (22 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

THE GREAT LIBRARY of Orrigo was situated in the west end of the city among the extravagant homes of the well-to-do. Surrounded by a brick wall with a wrought iron gate at the entrance, the building had long been a source to draw upon for scholars from all sorts of universities and schools, as well as being available for anyone with the ability to read. A cobblestone path with a well-trimmed verge led to double wooden doors of polished wood.

“This brings back memories.” Remembering library rules, Nerris kept his voice down as they entered. “When we were at Gauntlet, we had to come here often for additional study.”

“I thought Gauntlet was a fighting school,” Len-Ahl said.

“Not entirely,” Jhareth supplied. “It began as a way for nobles to train their heirs in the art of combat and command, but over the years the headmasters attracted all sorts of instructors, and the school expanded. Those enrolled in a healing intensive schedule went on to become great doctors. Those with a combat intensive schedule, like us, became great warriors and high paid mercenaries.”

“They also gave us basic education,” Nerris said. “The written word, history, geography, arithmetic. My mother taught me to read when I was small, but Dist and Jhareth never learned until we came to Gauntlet.”

Professor Borrel sat in the same spot Nerris had left him at the evening before, at a long table in the library common room. The space was a wide expanse of tables and chairs. The walls of the building were lined with shelves of books, broken up occasionally by a window sill. A stained glass dome towered above, illuminating the ceiling with a depiction of Saint Lorpe, the priest of Clystam. Hundreds of years ago, he had made books and writing from the Marble Sanctum available to all the folk of the city.

Borrel was writing feverishly on a piece of parchment as they entered, the Stonechaser Prophecy spread out in front of him. Piles of books were stacked close by and the candles he had been using were now wax nubs.

Nerris had been quite irritated when he and Len-Ahl had caught up with him the previous day. Borrel explained his repute was so widespread that he got too many questions to handle. He had devised a goose chase around the city in order to deter all but the most serious querents. When Nerris showed him their copy of the scrolls, however, the delight shone on his face and he vowed to get to work on them right away.

“Have you been at it all night, Professor?” Nerris asked.

Borrel looked up from his work. The man was quite young by scholarly standards, somewhere in his mid-thirties. His tall frame and thin face gave him a bug-eyed look, and he did not choose to adorn himself in the pretentious scholar’s robes and wig. He wore a silk doublet over a white shirt, untied at the neckline with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. It was a fashionable look currently in Orrigo. His short brown hair parted on one side and was fashioned into a quiff in the front.

He flashed a grin. “Ah, Nerris, is it morning already? Once again, I have to thank you for bringing me this gift. I’ve wanted a look at these original runes for my entire career, but I could never get the Klaidons to part with them.”

“Were you able to translate them?” Jhareth asked.

Borrel jumped to his feet and hurried to clasp hands with him. “You must be Jhareth Kanave,” he said. “Of course, I’ve heard all about the Thrillseekers. Is it true you used to study in this library?”

Jhareth gave him a mocking bow. “I was the very soul of academia, my good professor.”

Dist snickered and Nerris smiled.

“More like the ghost of academia,” Nerris said. “We never knew if you were coming out or not, and you only moaned and groaned when you did.”

“I must confess I found the accounts of your exploits to be nothing more than fiction,” Borrel said, “but since you were able to get your hands on this prize, I’m curious as to where that fictional line truly begins or ends.”

“We’ll have to save the tales for some other time,” Nerris said. “It’s very important we know what the Stonechaser Prophecy has to say.”

“Right,” Borrel said, organizing his notes. “It’s simple enough when you get down to it. The language of the Xenea is not incredibly difficult to fathom. Very structured, and almost musical in quality.”

“How does one learn the language of the faeries?” Dist asked him. “From what we understand, faeries and humans haven’t mingled in several thousand years.”

“That is true for the most part,” Borrel said, “but in my studies of language, I often sought out ancient and obscure dialects and a year or so back, I managed to track down a Nateus of the Earth Clerics. I had to go to the far western reaches of Yagolhan to find one, but it was worth it in the end.”

“Yes,” Len-Ahl said. “The orders were established by the kings of the elements themselves. Those at the top of the hierarchy passed down the language from generation to generation, but the orders have all but vanished in recent times.”

Borrel brightened at that. “The lass did her research.”

“Wait, you learned an entire language in a year?” Dist asked.

“As you may have heard, I’m somewhat of a genius,” Borrel said without a trace of conceit. He was not bragging, but merely stating fact.

“Then I take it you’re familiar with the story the Stonechaser Prophecy tells,” Jhareth said.

“In times of doom impending, seek out Stone of Worth in veiled fetter,” Borrel quoted. “An excerpt from Augury of Angelica, prepared by Sachias Limme in the year 2302, New Tormalian. Every boy who ever dreamed of adventure knows the story, Master Jhareth. The problem is the prophecy has been filtered through so many languages throughout the centuries that much of its meaning has been lost entirely.”

“We figured that was the case,” Nerris said.

“More like
I
figured that was the case,” Jhareth said.

Dist rolled his eyes. “Yes, Jhareth, we’re all very impressed.”

“In Limme’s time, doom was a word which was used in place of destiny, for example,” Borrel said. “The phrase Stone of Worth is what has caused much confusion. Worth was a synonym for power at the time.” He gestured toward his parchment. “I have long held a theory that the quest Angelica spoke of was not an invitation for every adventurer under the sun to search for the Exemplus, but instructions to a specific group at a specific time. This version you have brought me has validated that theory.”

“How so?” Nerris asked.

“Listen to this passage,” Borrel said, clearing his throat:

Stonechaser and companions will come

A catalyst to guide and others to defend

Go forth and walk xenea dolchin

When the threat is imminent

Dist scratched his head. “What the hell?”

“Cryptic, yet it tells us much,” Borrel said. “Stonechaser is singular, not the plural more commonly heard. It refers to one particular person, who will be joined by others to go on a journey. The Xenea Dolchin.”

“What does that mean?” Nerris asked.

“Literally translated, the Faery Footpath,” Borrel said. “Though it sounded a bit trite to my ears, so I kept the original term. It sounds more... majestic.”

“Is the whole thing like that?” Dist asked.

“Much of it recounts the history of the faeries,” Borrel said. “Nothing we weren’t told as children. How the faeries breathed life into the world, how Angelica was born out of a flower created by the elemental kings, that sort of thing. It may take a while to sort it all out into something useful.”

“I’m afraid we don’t have long,” Nerris said. “The threat referred to is upon us. Do you know the name Eversor, Professor?”

“I’ve... come across several mentions of the name in my studies,” Borrel said tentatively. “It’s a name which appears throughout history, usually spoken of with fear and loathing. I grew curious a number of years back and devoted myself to tracking down the origin of that name. What I found was revolting, and I resolved never to query it again.”

Nerris nodded. “Then you know more than most people. If we don’t find the Exemplus, Eversor or his agents will. And that would be disastrous for the world as a whole.”

Borrel gulped. “You speak of the Rebirth Cataclysmic?”

“What’s that?”

“There was a man who lived about a thousand years ago,” Borrel said. “He stated this Eversor would one day find his door into our world, and when he did, the world would be remade. Everything destroyed, to be rebuilt in his vision. A fragment of the man’s testimony had survived, in an obscure collection of works called the Black Prophecies.”

The sky outside the library windows seemed to darken, though it was most likely clouds passing under the sun. A few other patrons browsing the shelves caught his eye, and Nerris gave them an apologetic smile. A lot of noise emanated from their table, not the least of which was Professor Borrel, whose voice tended to rise the more he talked.

Borrel noticed also. He looked to Len-Ahl and lowered his voice to a whisper. “The Stonechaser Prophecy uses the word
aem
to describe the One of Destiny. All translations have reverted it to the default masculine, but
aem
in Xenean has female connotation. Are you telling me you’re—”

“I believe so,” Len-Ahl said.

“And I have been called the Catalyst by a man much more knowledgeable of these events than any of us,” Nerris said, remembering his dungeon conversation with Rade. He looked Borrel in the eyes. “The forces of Eversor are already moving, and if we don’t do something we’ll be too late. Is there anything in there about where we go from here?”

Borrel’s eyes fell to his parchment and his finger drifted down the page to stop at a passage near the midpoint. He lifted a hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead and read:

Perilous will be the xenea dolchin,

The road to Exemplus

There shall be beacons to light the path

Attracting those with the desire

To aid and hold

So I shall say no more except to seek

The first in high land

Let the breath of Paral be your guide

And lead you to the path’s beginning

“Why does it sound so choppy?” Jhareth asked.

“Nuances of language,” Borrel said. “I wanted to make as literal a translation as possible to avoid the flourishes which corrupted succeeding copies of the document.”

“The Road to Exemplus,” Nerris said.

Len-Ahl nodded. “We are in for a much longer journey than anticipated. The text spoke of beacons to light the Faery Footpath. This was meant to guide us only to the first beacon. Each will in turn lead us to the next until we reach the end of the road.”

“And then what?” Dist asked.

“Exemplus.”

“There are other characters following that passage.” Borrel took one of Jhareth’s copied parchments and laid it in front of them. He pointed to a few lines toward the middle of the page. “I have not seen those letters before, if that’s what they are. I don’t know what they mean.”

“The answer is there if we can but see it,” Len-Ahl said.

“What’s the breath of Paral?” Jhareth asked.

“Paral is the King of the Wind,” Len-Ahl said. “It is said when the world was young, Paral created the wind and air from a single great bellow. Perhaps it is telling us to let the wind guide us to our destination.”

“This is northern Agos, Len-Ahl,” Nerris said. “The wind can blow four directions in a single day.”

Len-Ahl frowned, staring intently at the parchment with the unknown markings. Each was uniform in its construction, with tiny variations and elevations on the page distinguishing them. Jhareth began to peruse the rest of what Borrel had translated, but Len-Ahl put a hand on his arm to stop him. “There is no need, Jhareth. We have the information we seek.”

“How do you know?”

“I can feel it, the same force which guided Angelica’s hand when she wrote this prophecy is here now. It speaks to me.”

“What does it say?” Nerris asked.

“It does not speak in words,” Len-Ahl said, “but in feelings. Deep feelings that have no name or logic, and—” Her eyes went wide. “Of course. The Spiritual Elements: thought, reason, knowledge, desire.” She snatched up the parchment with the mysterious letters and held a finger in front of them. She moved the parchment up slightly, then down. Finally, she set it back on the table and laughed.

“What is it?” Borrel asked.

“You were about to ask me if I was the Stonechaser,” Len-Ahl said. “I said I believed so because in spite of everything I was told and everything I have seen, I was never fully sure. How could one such as I hold a world’s fate in her hands? I wield no powerful weapons, my magic is rudimentary at best, I have no knack for leading men or armies. But now I see the truth before me and it is so simple. Any doubts I had are now gone.”

“Then you know what those letters mean?” Nerris said.

“Not letters,” she said. “Notes.” She lifted her fipple flute to her mouth and played. A triumphant, uplifting tune emerged, and gained speed as she went on. Several early morning book browsers cast an annoyed look in her direction, but she continued to play.

When she reached a crescendo, the windows of the library burst open. A stiff wind blew in, extinguishing all candles and whipping Len-Ahl’s hair about her. Books fluttered open, and parchments blew across the wide room as the library patrons ducked behind wide stone pillars to avoid the gust. Even Borrel dove under the table, a wild-eyed look on his face.

Len-Ahl pointed in the direction of her billowing hair. “That is our destination,” she shouted over the howling wind. “We follow the Faery Footpath and complete Angelica’s hope. Let all clouds of doubt flee before this mighty wind, for the world shall be mended and Eversor denied. I say this as the One of Destiny. I say this as the Stonechaser.”

Nerris watched her with one arm shielding his face. With her billowing hair, raised chin and shining green eyes, Len-Ahl looked almost a queen herself. Her newfound confidence filled him, as if blown into his senses by the wind around him.