A World Without Heroes (6 page)

Hands on his hips, Jason weighed his options. Wherever he was, dying of exposure in the wilderness seemed like a real possibility if he didn’t take action. Considering all the people he had seen at the waterfall, he concluded that there must be a town in the vicinity.

With a gnawing hunger growing, he struck off toward the rising sun. He soon came upon a brook narrow enough to jump across. He figured if he wanted, he could follow the brook downstream to the river. The crowd should have dispersed by now.

He crouched beside a place where the water splashed off a little stone shelf. The water looked clean, but he resisted the urge to drink, in case it would make him sick.

He decided to follow the brook. Then if he started dying of thirst, he could always risk waterborne bacteria in order to preserve his life. But he would head upstream first, since the river had been bad luck.

Jason did not travel far before arriving at a pool from which the brook originated. Surveying the area, he was startled to spot a huge building through the trees, constructed entirely of speckled granite. A frieze depicting men at war surrounded the top of the building—foot soldiers armed with spears and shields confronted armored warriors in chariots. Windowless walls of snugly joined blocks hid behind numerous grooved columns. A series of broad stone steps flanked by massive stone figures granted access to a brass door recessed in an arched alcove. The overall effect was that of a fancy museum. Except that the immense structure stood in the middle of a forest without a discernible road or path to grant access.

Relieved to find evidence of civilization, Jason hurried up the stone steps. He hesitated at the door. Maybe it was a huge tomb. The thought froze him momentarily. Did he really want to enter a mausoleum in the middle of nowhere?

He grasped the brass handle and tugged the heavy door, relieved to find it unlocked, because who would leave a tomb unlocked? He pulled it open wide.

An old man wearing a purple hat shaped like a limp mushroom
looked up from a great wooden desk as Jason came through the door. A large pair of wire-rimmed spectacles rested on his bony nose, the lenses segmented into bifocals. He tilted his head back and stared at Jason with magnified irises. The skin below his eyes drooped in curved seams.

“Great Mother of Knowledge,” the man whispered.

“Hello,” Jason said, relieved to have found an actual, nonfurious person.

The man arose and came around the desk. His purple knickers matched his hat and ballooned at the thighs. Bright buckles gleamed on his shoes.

“Welcome, Seeker of Knowledge,” he intoned importantly. “Surely you have traveled far and endured much hardship to earn the right to study at the Repository of Learning. Few have the courage to come here, or the skill to find this remarkable edifice.”

“I’m from far away, I guess. I’m definitely glad to see you.”

The old man rubbed his hands together. “You are the first valiant adventurer in a decade to win through to these hallowed corridors of enlightenment. Truly, you must be an explorer driven by a profound appetite for knowledge. I have been too long without new companionship. Pray, regale me with tales of your journey.”

Jason blinked and scratched his cheek awkwardly. “You never get visitors? I just saw a bunch of people at the waterfall not far from here.”

The old man scowled thoughtfully. “Locals rarely come as close to the repository as the falls. There must have been some special occasion.”

Jason was not eager to recount his accident with the raft. “I guess. You said you wanted my story? Well, I was swallowed by a hippopotamus. Except I didn’t go into the hippo. I ended up in a tree. Then I sort of wandered here.”

The eyes behind the spectacles narrowed. “You choose to speak in riddles. Very well, you have earned the right to be cryptic. I am the loremaster Bridonus Keplin Dunscrip Garonicum the Ninth. I am custodian of the knowledge hoarded here. How may I be of service?”

Jason regarded the old man thoughtfully. “Nobody has come here in a decade?”

“You are the first in ten years.”

“What do you do all day?”

He cocked his head. “I manage the records. I tend the lore. Every volume is catalogued in my mind.” He tapped a long finger against his temple.

“So you’re a librarian.”

His eyes shifted back and forth. “I prefer loremaster.”

“Look, my name is Jason, and I stumbled across this place by accident, although it sounds like some people go out of their way to find it. I can see why it takes them a while, since you’re located in the middle of nowhere. Can you tell me where I am?”

The loremaster seemed at a loss. “You are in the Repository of Learning,” he explained hesitantly.

“No. I mean in general. This world. Does it have a name?”

The loremaster leaned forward, eyebrows twitching upward. “This world?”

“Have you ever heard of Colorado?”

“I have not.”

“But you speak English.”

“Naturally. Most speak the common tongue.”

“Do you know where English comes from?”

“From the Beyond. You ask suspicious questions, traveler.”

“Do I?” Jason chuckled. “You would too, in my shoes. As far as I know, you’re a hallucination, part of a crazy dream that won’t quit.”

“I see,” the loremaster said. “You are a philosopher.”

“No, I came out of my world somehow. I ended up in these woods. I’m from the same place as English.”

The loremaster’s expression became guarded. “A Beyonder?”

“Maybe, if you say English comes from the Beyond. Do people often visit from my world?”

“Not any longer,” the loremaster replied skeptically.

“Do you know how I can get back?”

The loremaster gave Jason a sad smile. “Say no more. Did you journey to this sanctuary simply to mock me? Who put you up to this? My son, perhaps?”

“You think I’m kidding?”

The loremaster placed his fists on his hips. “You would like me to believe that the first Beyonder to visit Lyrian in many decades happened to wander into the Repository of Learning? I may be notoriously gullible, young traveler, but even I have limits.”

Jason raised his hands to his forehead. “I don’t believe this. You seem like someone who could help me if you believed me.”

The loremaster’s smile warmed, as if enjoying the absurdity that Jason was remaining in character after having been unmasked. “Enough nonsense. Surely you came here for more than a prank?”

“The name of this world is Lyrian?”

The exasperated loremaster made no response.

“Where is the nearest town?”

The loremaster removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “As you well know, there is no settlement in the immediate area. The nearest town is two days east of here.”

“Then why were dozens of people watching musicians float off a nearby waterfall?”

“I seldom concern myself with local events beyond these walls.”

Jason dug in his pocket and pulled out his keys. A small laser
pointer dangled from the key chain. Pressing a button, he shone a red dot onto the wall. “Ever seen a laser pointer?”

“What a curious instrument,” the loremaster remarked, genuine interest returning to his voice.

Jason pulled up the blue pant leg of his coveralls. “Look at my boot. Based on what I noticed people wearing at the waterfall, you’ve never seen shoes like these.”

The loremaster leaned down, squinting. “Most uncommon workmanship.”

Jason patted his pockets. “I left most of my things in my locker. But I’m guessing my outfit isn’t typical either.”

“Agreed.”

“Well, I’ve never seen a hat like yours. I’m telling you, it might sound as strange to you as it feels to me, but I’m truly not from around here.”

The loremaster clasped his hands together, extending his index fingers and leaning them against his dry lips. “The arrival of a Beyonder would be momentous news. I would be a fool to believe it was possible. An old fool who should know better. Yet you give me pause.”

“Good. You say you have books. Are there any books that can tell me where I am?”

“Certainly.”

“How about a book that will help me get back to my world?”

The loremaster gave Jason a suspicious glare and lowered his voice. “You should not request imprudent information. Whether you are a prankster or a lunatic, we both know that the emperor forbids open discussion of such topics.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Jason said, backing toward the exit. “I don’t know the rules around here. I’m not trying to offend anyone, but I seem to keep stepping on toes. I don’t know about
an emperor. If you don’t want to help me, I’ll take off, no big deal. Sorry I bothered you.”

“Wait.” The loremaster studied Jason shrewdly. “As I mentioned, visitors have become scarce. Are you really so eager to turn your back on the greatest store of learning in all the land? Suppose I humor your delusion. You claim to know nothing about this world. I know just the volume to provide some background.”

“Could it help me get home?”

The loremaster stroked his chin with a liver-spotted hand. “I’m not sure that information could be located in any book. But if you truly are a stranger to Lyrian, this will supply some context. Perhaps the Hand of Providence guided you here. Come.”

Jason followed the loremaster out of the entry foyer, past fluted pillars and bearded busts housed in oval niches. They strolled down long passages walled with tall bookshelves. Some held rolled scrolls, others engraved tablets. Jason noticed one shelf laden with books bound in iron. Another shelf showcased miniature books the size of thimbles.

After winding about in the book-lined labyrinth, the loremaster gestured for Jason to take a seat at a wide table of dark cedar. Grunting, the loremaster selected a heavy blue volume almost as tall as his waist, with silver letters embossed across the front in fancy script. He heaved the book onto the table. Not only abnormally tall and wide, the book was several inches thick. Jason read the title.

An Abridged History of Lyrian.
The writer was identified as “Author Unknown.”

“You’re kidding,” Jason said, fingering the huge tome.

“This book can provide background regarding our world,” the loremaster explained.

“It’s enormous. Abridged history? Is that a joke?”

The loremaster shook his head. “Lyrian is an ancient land with a long and complex past. Much of the oldest lore is irrelevant today, but I can guide you to a couple of pertinent passages.” He opened the volume and turned past the majority of the pages. The book was in excellent condition—either new or very well preserved.

After leafing through several pages one at a time, the loremaster indicated a florid heading. “You can start here. Each section of the history features a summary at the outset.”

“‘Decline of the Age of Wizards,’” Jason read. The words were written in large black calligraphy. “You guys have wizards here?”

“Once there were many. Only one remains.”

“Wizards who cast spells?” Jason verified incredulously. “Who use magic?”

“Most call it magic. Wizards speak Edomic, the language of creation. Words comprehended by all matter and intellect. You’ll see it mentioned in the history. Read the summary.”

Jason sighed softly. The handwritten text was fancy but legible.

The three major figures at the end of the Age of Wizards are universally regarded as the only true masters of the high Edomic tongue. While Eldrin and Zokar pursued their ambition to engineer the perfect race, Certius withdrew from the civilized world, content to populate the southern jungles with his creations. Eldrin famously labored in solitude, refusing to share his discoveries. Zokar allied himself with the other notable wizards of the era, taking on Arastus, Orruck, and Maldor as apprentices.

“These guys have weird names,” Jason complained.

“Read on,” the loremaster prompted. “You needn’t absorb every detail.”

There can be little doubt that over time Eldrin’s mastery of the nuances of Edomic surpassed the abilities of Zokar. Not long after Eldrin created the Amar Kabal, Zokar declared war.