A Path of Oak and Ash (15 page)

17

When most think of a library, it’s a large stuffy brick building with wall to wall shelves teeming with books, a quiet place decorated in signs about how learning is fun. A place where you could still rent vhs tapes and find old newspapers on microfilm.

This was not that place.

Nestled in the trees across the bridge towards the seat was the knowledge center of Dre’ien. The librarium was a rectangular building without doors or windows, open air access was available on all four sides via large covered decks filled with tables and benches. Heavy vines grew up the white stone columns that held up each of the four awnings, keeping nature connected to the manmade structure.

The inner cloister was two stories high, the walls lined with tome filled armoires arranged by author and subject.  Trees cut through the stone flooring at random, the building clearly being constructed around them. Their trunks hollowed in part, recesses home to many rolled scrolls.

There was no card catalogue, no computer indexing system. If one was looking for a topic or a particular volume, all one need do is ask Cormac Bablethun. The libra was a position of great respect, the person who served in this role also held a seat on the council. For it was assumed after one consumed the volumes of knowledge available within the librarium such a person would be an asset. To know history was to not repeat it. 

The librarium was fairly empty, only two other patrons were visible. Twin red headed girls sat back to back on a bench under one of the hollowed oaks, a thick bound book in each of their laps.  Neither looked up as his boots squeaked against the marble floor tile. The desk of the Libra was at the center of the librarium, a circular hand carved desk in a dark cherry color. The designs at the base were exquisite, carved druid youths, wolves, and stags appearing to hold up the desktop. A runic inscription along the lip of the desk read something about salvation and knowledge, Carrick didn't know all of the symbols yet to accurately translate it.  The Libra himself-assumed by his position within the circular desk-was hunched over a mound of papers with his back to Carrick. 

"Mr. Bablethun..." Carrick spoke softly, it was a library of sorts after all.

"Canna not see that I'm filin’?"  Cormac bellowed as he whirled around, his gray hair billowing in all directions. When he saw Carrick he squinted, adjusting oversized glasses with lenses so thick his dark eyes appeared as miniscule specs on his wide face. "Ah.  Apologies,  I thought ye were one of 'em."  He stabbed a thumb towards the peaceful looking twins with a frown.  "Bloody pests those two." 

Cormac scooped up the pile of papers and books, turning back towards Carrick he dropped the load on the desk between them.  His attention clearly still on his work. 

"May I ask you a question sir?"

The Libra did not answer, his eyes focused on several pieces of parchment that he was laying out side by side.  As the minutes ticked by, Carrick wondered if the old man had forgotten he was there.  Not wanting to be rude or get accused of being human again he debated on the least intrusive reminder of his presence. 

He settled on clearing his throat.

The Libra jumped, his glasses rattling about on his face. "Oh! Wha?" 

"May I-"

"No need for such formalities here my boy."  Licking his thumb, the Libra rolled the scroll in front of him, setting it aside. "Now, what can I do for Brannon's only son?"

It was Carrick’s turn to appear startled.  "You know me?"

"My little ones bring me all sorts of news."  Cormac waived a frail hand over his desk, the dark spots Carrick had dismissed as dust moved.  Spiders.  Massive amounts of arachnids spun a funnel shaped net, raising it into the air close to the old man's head.   "I've known the Slaine family well over the years, ever since Maev wed Osin under the Ash."  He shot Carrick a yellow snaggletoothed grin. "Yes...I remember when Erik and Brannon were but small boys.  Making noise, never putting things away.  Just like those two she devils." 

"I see."  Carrick managed to mutter, unable to take his eyes off the spiders. A shiver ran down his spine as he watched their intricate creation.  Of all the creatures in the world he had always hated spiders.  With their many legs, hairy little bodies and all those eyes.  It took every ounce of will power available not to scream, take off his boot and squash the lot repeatedly until nothing wiggled or squirmed.

"Well?"  The Libra prompted gruffly, his eyes still glued to the papers in front of him.

"I'm sorry?" 

"What is it you were needing?"  Cormac raised his left hand, the heavy cloth of his maroon robe pooling in the crook of his elbow as he placed a thinly wrapped parchment loosely into the spiders web.  "1513, regrowth theory."  The web closed around the document, hundreds of tiny legs pulling it up into the air.  It made Carrick's skin crawl.

"I'm looking for books, or anything really, on the forest's heart."  He managed to spit out while watching the scroll float down the hallway, carried by hundreds of tiny legs to its destination.

Cormac stroked his stringy white goatee, pointed nose wiggling from side to side.  "Hmm...I do not believe I have ever heard of such a thing.  Is it a lyrical work mayhap?  You young ones love your lutes and harps."  Carrick forced himself not to laugh at that.  Yeah that’s what all the kids were after, harps.

"No...An object of some kind."

"Manmade?"

"I don't know." 

At that Cormac appeared to lose interest, his voice shifting to a flat rehearsed tone. "All record of imbued items, runes and regents can be found in the north annex.  Histories, use of the likes, can be found to the east.  Feel free to research at your leisure."

"Thank you, Libra."

"Yes yes, anytime."  Cormac's right index finger readjusted the thin rimmed glasses balanced on the bridge of his nose, his attention returning to the piles of hand written papers on the desk in front of him.

Careful to avoid any webbing that may be lurking about, Carrick slowly navigated his way north through the halls.  Reading the runes carved into the marble floor he paused in the genealogy section, his eyes drifting to a large tome etched with his last name.  Curiosity overtook him as he diverged from his destination. Pulling the volume from the shelf he flipped through pages of stories, portraits of handsome men and women, sketches of weapons, a drawing of the Elderwood when it was barely a sapling with a small cottage beside it.  He flipped to the last page:

Odd, it had been torn almost in half.  His fingers traced his mother’s name, beautifully scripted besides his father’s, above his own.  A bitter reminder of his immediate goal. Carrick gently placed the volume back in its position and continued on down the hall.  He found his destination to be one less traveled, a layer of dust topping the carefully organized volumes.  Unfortunately, very few were written in a language he knew. Grabbing a few he could actually decipher and a few more he had to play Pictionary with, Carrick sat down at one of the oversized tables and put his brain to work.

Two hours later the only thing he'd uncovered was a headache.  In the vast listings of charms, runes, stones, grimoires, trinkets and other assorted items there was nothing that even remotely resembled a forest's heart, heart of the forest or any derived association of the two words. 

"Hello." 

Carrick looked up to find himself semi surrounded, by redheaded devils as Cormac had put it.  One sat across from him, the other had taken the seat to his left.  Up close their pale skin was freckled, adding a layer of perceived innocence to their smiling faces.  He wasn't sure why Cormac had referred to them as such.  Both were fairly pretty girls, maybe a little too thin, with upturned noses and large pale green almond shaped eyes.  Their fiery red hair had been intricately braided and woven with leaves in identical patterns, just like their matching ivory dresses.  Most twins he had gone to school with did their best to differentiate their appearance, these two appeared to fully embrace similarity. 

"Hi."  He answered softly, it was a library of sorts after all.

"What are you reading?"  The one across from him asked in a throaty voice, the hiss that followed broke any possible feeling of attraction he had for the girl.  Wrapped around her arm from shoulder to wrist was a thin striped snake.  He remembered well his uncle's words about the serpentine. 

Without speaking he held up the book so the title on the cover was visible.

She wrinkled her nose.  "Boring."

"Very Boring."  The other one's voice was just as deep.

"I thought humans were supposed to be-"

"Interesting?"  The other interjected.

"Pragmatic."

Carrick shifted in his seat.  "I'm trying to read.  Do you mind?" 

The one next to him giggled in high pitched short puffs.  "Mind?  We have many."

Across from him the other girl twirled a lock of her hair around her index finger.  "He is so very handsome sister, just like his father."

"And strong.  Clearly his human side was dwarfed by his fine druidic lineage."  Carrick clenched his jaw, he was damned tired of these people referring to him as though he were some sort of poorly bred show pony.

The one to his left touched his arm, her fingertips cold as ice.  "There's a bonfire tonight...by the riverbed.  Take me to it.  We can dance naked under the stars."

"No me."  The one across from him whined.

"Us."  Her sister nodded as she spoke, as though they had come to some territory agreement.

Carrick clenched is jaw, taking a deep breath.  While it was virtually every teenage boy's wet dream to get two beautiful women competing to strip and prance around for him, their kind had come with a strong warning.  In a land he only partially understood, warnings were something he was slowly learning to take seriously. 

After exhaling, he shut the book he was reading turning to the one next to him who was wide eyed, patiently awaiting his answer. "I don't even know your names, why would I do that?"

"Anna." One purred, tossing her hair over her shoulders to show off her delicate neckline.  A small emerald pendant hung between her collar bones.

"Ciara." The one with the snake chimed in, although Carrick did not turn to acknowledge her.

As kindly as he could manage he answered her.  "Well I'm a bit busy tonight Anna as you can see, maybe another time?"

"There is no other time."  She seemed confused by his answer, tilting her head to the side as though refusal was completely foreign to her.

"Then no.  I'm sorry."

"He's rejecting you Anna."

"He cannot reject you Ciara, you are of the finest blood.  A good mate for any highborne druid."

Carrick huffed.  "I'm not looking for a mate or a date or any sort of...that.  I'm just trying to read.  Please leave me be."

"You will regret this half breed."  Ciara practically spat at him, her snake hissing in agreement.

"Whatever."  Carrick grabbed another book out of his pile and flipped open the cover. His nose stayed buried in the pages until their light footfalls had long dissipated from his ears.

18

I need more scented candles.
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose, reaching for her favorite turquoise chenille blanket.  Her room smelled utterly foul, probably what had driven all of those horrid nightmares from last nig-

Her body was not on her plush bed, nor the wool rug it sat upon.  The material beneath her was hard and frigid.  Moreover, her entire body
hurt.
Back stiff, legs 'I just ran a marathon' sore, even her head felt like it went through a blender.  Just like that time last year when Sarah Martinson snuck a case of beer from her older brother’s apartment and they'd managed to plow through the whole thing while watching poorly written romantic comedies.  Except...this time she hadn't been drinking, running or really doing anything of note. She had been...kidnapped.

Her eyes flicked open, revealing nothing but darkness.  In those first few moments of realization her heart raced, hands shaking in the darkness as her mind accepted the truth of her circumstances.

Time passed, small rays of sunshine drifted in through the small barred window in the roof of the concrete tomb. In their soft minimal glow Liz saw the outline of a woman in the far corner, her legs tucked up to her chin, arms wrapped around herself, eyes closed, head resting against the wall.  What Liz could make out of her clothing was torn and dirty, skin likewise pale and streaked with all manner of buildup.

The metal beneath her creaked as she sat up, the sound stirring her cellmate.

"You're awake."  The woman's soft serene tone did not match their situation. 

"You're dead!"  Rude yes, but it was the first thing that came to mind.

She more cough than laughed.  "I sure feel like it sometimes.  Are you alright?"  Standing slowly with a stretch she came over to Liz, her bare feet making no noise along the floor. Likewise she lowered herself to the edge of the bed in a manner that could be construed either as graceful or ghostly.

Liz shook her head no.  Fighting through her sobs she managed to choke out. "They murdered my Dad.  Shot him.  He was standing right next to me and....and they SHOT him.  Shot him dead.  There was so much blood...blood everywhere..."

"Oh sweetie, I'm so very sorry."  Her eyes adjusting to the room, Liz was able to make out faded bruising on Mrs. Smith's face and arms as Rick's mother hugged her.

"Where are we?  What’s going on?  Where's Rick?"

"Shhhh..."

"I knew he didn't do it.  I knew...when we went...and saw the vines..."

"Calm down now...we have all the time in the world to sort it out."  Mrs. Smith stroked her hair, just like her mother had done to calm her many years before.  When Liz felt like she had her wits about her she pulled back, standing.

"Where are we?"

"I'm not sure."

"Where's Rick?" Liz was pacing from the door to the far wall.

"I was hoping you could tell me.  One minute I was making pizza's...then I woke up here."

"I don't know.  The police-the news-said that he blew up your apartment.  You were killed in the blast.  Every law enforcement agency in the country was looking for him."

Mrs. Smith tucked a vagrant strand of wavy pale brown hair behind her ear, nodding.  "I see."

Silence in the room was deafening, stretching out over an undiscernible amount of time.  Liz kept walking.  Back.  Forth. On her seventeenth pass she stopped, ready to ask the question she had put off since realizing where she was.  "What do they want with us?"

Rick's mom opened her mouth to respond but the loud metallic click of the lock cut her off. 

Someone was opening the door.

Liz scrambled to the back wall, while Rick's mom seemed to disappear into a dark corner of the room.

Three men in black suits entered the cell.  The middle-aged man in the center was smoking while the other's held guns trained on Liz and Mrs. Smith.

"Miss Waters I presume?"  The words flowed forth in a fog of smoke.  

"Where am I?"  She snapped, anger replacing pleading.  The wicked smirk that crossed his face terrified her.  It was the kind of omnipotent insanity worn with pride by those lacking compunction.

With blatant disregard for her demand he stomped out the cigarette on the concrete floor of her cell while his armed companions flanked her. "Come along, its time you and I had a little chat."