The Snow Queen (19 page)

This room was twice the size of the throne room, with no windows at all. Instead, the entire ceiling was a skylight that poured light into the room by day. And by night, hundreds of lamps provided light to anyone who prowled the shelves.

Hundreds. Because the room was easily ten floors tall, and it had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. In order to have access to the books, there were beautifully crafted wooden walkways circling the room on every bookshelf level. There were roughly two levels per floor, and the sensation of standing down on the floor and looking up at all those books was of seeing all the knowledge of the world in one place.

While this was probably not true, it
was
true that there were treasures here that existed nowhere else, because this was the repository for all of the books and scrolls rescued from what could have been a terrible disaster hundreds of years ago.

It had happened that the Kings and Queens of a desert kingdom now no more had decided that the capital city would house the greatest library in all the world. Because their land had been rich in gold, their wishes were commands. Within the lifetime of the first King to make this command, it had become a scholar’s pride to send a copy of his work there. By the lifetime of the tenth Queen, there were very few books in the literary world that were not preserved there.

Then, disaster. Despite clever negotiations, despite using her own beautiful body as a bargaining tool, her Kingdom was invaded. And the invaders, caring mostly only for warfare, did not care about learning. So when during a riot, someone set fire to the Great Library, nothing was done to save the books.

But fortunately for the world, the Godmothers
did
care. Not everything was saved, as Godmother after Godmother worked magic to pull the books from their doomed homes into her own, but most were, and those that were not, had copies elsewhere.

Eventually all those books, either the originals or copies, found their way here.

Here, where thirteen Godmothers and thirteen Fae—who also cherished learning—worked together to create the perfect home for them, protected from fire, water, worm and rot. And then they worked a further magic, so that any one of the Godmothers and great Wizards who needed to consult one of the books here had but to go to his own library and look for it. And there it would be—a copy, perfect in every detail. Thus, over time, they ensured that none of these books would ever be lost again. What was more, the library continued to grow, with new books added to it daily. This was not just the past being preserved; it was, insofar as possible, just what the Kings and Queens of that long-lost land intended.

The room had that special scent of a good library: old paper and parchment, a hint of dust, the smell of aged leather. Aleksia had an appreciation for it, although she was not the book lover that some people were. She had had one of those as a visitor once, and he had stood in speechless awe for a good hour, then broke down and wept with happiness. He had been a very easy visitor to care for; she scarcely saw him except at meals.

Needless to say, Kay was not permitted here. If he had known such a place existed, it might well have erased Gerda from his mind.

It would take someone who devoted himself or herself full-time for several lifetimes to learn all the books here. Fortunately, the library had such a person.

Well, “person” in the broadest sense of the term.

“Citrine?” she called.

From somewhere up near the top of the room there came a rustling sound. “Up here, Godmother!”

A moment later, something unfurled itself and descended through the air in a tight spiral.

The tiny dragon—tiny by draconic standards—landed next to Aleksia neatly and precisely. Citrine was a Book Wyrm, one of a rare breed of dragon whose treasure consisted of books, rather than gold and gems. They tended to be small, but Citrine was exceptionally small, being only double Aleksia’s height when she stood on all fours. She was a gorgeous little thing, golden yellow shading to deep gold on her extremities, and deep rose-gold eyes with a kindly look to them. She was, in fact, a dwarf. As such, she was easy prey for dragon-hunters.

But the Godmother who had been in residence four generations ago had been quick to offer the young dragon a home in the library and to officially designate it as Citrine’s “hoard.” Citrine had been in charge of the library ever since.

“I need to know how I can get into the Underworld and back out again,” Aleksia said carefully.

Citrine cocked her head to one side, and regarded Aleksia thoughtfully. “I could be flippant and say that it is easy to get
into
the Underworld, but very hard to get out again…but more to the point, I think, would be to ask
which
Underworld. There are a very great many.”

“The Sammi one,” Aleksia replied, after a moment of mentally placing where the villages destroyed by the Icehart were.

“Tuonela, hmm? Give me a moment.”

Citrine flew up to about the middle of the room, and landed on the railing, her long neck extending as she scanned the shelves. After some time, she selected one book, and then another and finally a third. She pushed herself off the railing and glided down to the floor again.

“Here you are!” Quickly she leafed through the first book and marked a page with a slip of paper, then did the same with the second and third books. She handed all three of them to Aleksia, who took them with a nod of thanks.

“Don’t forget to bring them back, Godmother!” Citrine blinked owlishly, then bared her teeth in a draconic grin that Aleksia knew was friendly, but would probably look horrifying to an outsider. She nodded her head and flew back up to the top of the room where she had been when Aleksia entered—probably reading another of the new books that had arrived.

With a faint smile on her face, Aleksia took the books back to her study. She was not at all sure that Citrine knew her name. The Book Wyrm was entirely focused on the books and what was in them. She might not recall what the information was, but if you told her what you were looking for, she could find the book it was in, and probably the page it was on.

With all that to remember, it was probably not surprising that Citrine could not remember the name of the Godmother-in-residence. That, after all, was irrelevant. Well, it was, right until the moment that the Godmother in question did something worth remembering and putting in a book. At that point, Citrine would know the Godmother’s name and what she had done. She still would probably not
recognize
the Godmother if she saw her, but by all that was holy, Citrine would remember her name and in what book she had resided.

And truly, what did it matter what the name of the Godmother here and now was for what Citrine did? Godmothers came and Godmothers went, but Citrine would be here for several more centuries at least, growing slowly with the library, learning the books and what was in them, and serving as the living index to all of them.

No open flames were allowed anywhere in or near the library, but here in her study, she had a cozy fire and scented candles filling the air with the aroma of cinnamon. She settled down with her books, first to determine what languages they were in.

The Sammi were not ones for writing things down, depending mostly on their oral traditions. So all three books were in different languages, but—much to her pleasure—one was an account by one of the Great Wizards, one was a Godmother collecting the first-person accounts of Sammi Shaman and the last was of collected tales passed down in the oral tradition—which, to be fair, was a source much less reliable.

It pleased her even further to learn that all three were fundamentally alike.

So she had a good account. She also had evidence that The Tradition would also give her some protection if she stuck strictly to the guidelines these tales offered. She closed the last book to find one of the Brownies at her elbow, tugging at her sleeve.

“Godmother, you must eat,” the little man said insistently. “You have not eaten for hours, and the cook is furious.”

She looked down at the worried face with amusement; both at his concern and at the idea that the cook would be furious because she had not eaten. It wasn’t as if the food would be wasted. She insisted on eating the same things as the staff, and the leftovers, if they were things that did not store overnight well, kept a very healthy flock of Ravens fed. But she was touched as well as amused.

“If you will say that I beg the cook’s pardon, but I was deep in studies, I should very much like soup and bread if he would be so kind.” She smiled at the little fellow. “You would help me immeasurably if you would return these books to the library. I shall go to the sitting room to wait for my soup.”

“Don’t go wandering off and forget you have food coming, Godmother!” the Brownie replied, insistently. She did her best to repress a laugh. Whoever he had been talking to had evidently impressed him with the need to keep an eye on her, which was rather funny. She might not be the kind of rounded and odalisque-like creature often depicted as a fertility goddess, but she was not going to pine away in half a day.

In fact, he lingered, books piled in his arms, until he was sure she had settled herself next to the fire in her sitting room.

Once safely there, she picked up her hand-mirror and waited for Godmother Elena to answer her call—which was almost instantly.

“If you must know, I am keeping track of you,” Elena told her with a wry smile. “You worry me right now.”

Aleksia felt her eyes widening. “Why?” she asked, astonished.

Elena sighed. “Because you have never personally had an adventure,” the other Godmother said reluctantly.

“Excuse me?” That didn’t precisely make sense. “I think I have had an adventurous enough life! After all, how many girls become Godmothers?”

“But you, personally, have never had an adventure,” Elena repeated. “Think about this. Yes, you and your sister had adventures happen around you before you became a Godmother, and, yes, you
almost
became a jealous sister, and, yes, you were whisked off by Veroushka to become a Godmother, but you, personally, have never done anything that would risk your own life. You go out and make
other
peoples’ lives adventurous, but what do you do? You rarely leave your Palace, and then it is generally to go only to a gathering of other Godmothers rather than to thwart someone evil. Now, well, I sense that you are about to leave your shelter and go and do things that will put you in personal danger.”

Aleksia felt a surge of resentment. “You had adventures!”

Elena nodded vigorously. “Yes, I did, and I think I am all the better for it! But the one thing I did that was very, very stupid was that I did not keep the other Godmothers apprised of what I was doing. Of course, I was not aware that I could do that at the time, but you are. And I was just a little worried that in the excitement of being able to go and do things, you might forget—”

After listening to that astonishing speech, all Aleksia could do was laugh. Elena looked relieved.

“Prickly, I might be, Elena, but I also prize honesty. And I am very touched that you are worried about me. However—” she wiggled an admonishing finger at the the mirror “—you, of all people, should know me better than that. I am going
nowhere
without a mirror. And I am not too proud to ask for help if I need it. Now, this is what I have found out, and this is what I plan to do….”

She slowly outlined her ideas to Elena, who agreed that it seemed to be the best course of action. “And you can leave from your own Palace?”

“So it seems. Tuonela can be reached from anywhere. As they say, ‘Death is universal.’ There seems no great difficulty in getting in.” The Brownie bustled up at that moment with a tray with a bowl of thick soup and a small loaf of bread, broken open and buttered already, still steaming from the oven. Aleksia’s stomach growled, and she hoped Elena had not heard it.

“No indeed,” Elena replied. “Traditionally, there never is. It is always leaving that is the difficult part. But you do have a sound strategy. Good luck, Aleksia.”

“Thank you, Godmother Elena,” Aleksia replied.

She had, very carefully, avoided the undeniable fact that if she did get in over her head, it was unlikely that anyone could reach her in time to be of any use.

Then again, so had Elena, who probably was just as aware of that as Aleksia was.

The way to almost every Underworld was through a cave, and there was a cave in the cellars of the Palace of Ever-Winter for just that purpose, at least, according to the notes of Godmother Riga, who had been the fourth back from Aleksia. All one had to do to enter a
particular
Underworld was to set up a spell that invoked that culture.

As familiar as Aleksia was with the Sammi, it was the work of no more than a half an hour to establish the cave-mouth in her cellar as sacred to the Sammi, to invoke a variant of the All Paths Are One Path spell, and to add the twist that linked this cave with the actual entrance to Tuonela, wherever
that
was.

She took a very deep breath before she entered the final fragments of the spell that would open the way. Carefully, she took inventory of herself. Her shroudlike, enveloping white gown should pass muster. She had spent hours whitening her skin and hair in a way that would not obviously be due to magic. Her hair was encircled with a wreath of dead flowers, and if anyone was to touch her, her skin would feel icy.

She was as ready as she was ever likely to be.

She stood before the cave, and sighed the last words of her carefully fashioned spell.
Passing from the world of men, shadow-bound, then back again.

The ground trembled, and the cave-mouth glowed with blue light. She stepped into it.

She paused for a moment to take stock of her surroundings on the other side. This was a strange land, in perpetual shadow, with no discernable horizon. The air smelled of chill and damp, with a faint hint of mildew. The land was flat and unremarkable, covered with brittle, dead grass and leafless bushes. A pall of gray covered the sky, and there was neither sun nor moon.