25. Library Management #3
The panel of marble wall behind the statue also sank, connected to the statue through some unseen mechanism. It fell into place with a resonating thunk, and Lysanor climbed to her feet to approach the large marble door the disappearing wall panel had revealed.
“The relics of Lady Lyria,” Lysanor announced. “I saved them at the Fall of Tulyr, and they became my first collection. I keep them here, away from my patrons, where they are safe.”
“They weren’t yours to take.” Iseult stepped through first.
The glowing opal veins in the polished stone of the floor looked like lightning frozen against a black sky. The light from the stone caught the glint of metal at the head of the circular room where a suit of armor and matching helm watched over the exhibit.
A low table ran around the room’s perimeter, housing cases of jewelry, a chalice, and a metal longsword not dissimilar to the kind Iseult liked to create out of Skal.
Tapestries hung from the walls, depicting what I assumed was the creation of Skalterra.
Each tapestry showed a different part of the story.
In the first one, Four Magicians worked together to form land, sea, sun, and moon.
The last tapestry, meanwhile, showed the Saergrim encased in ice.
“Tulyr had been reduced to near nothing when I left.” Lysanor ran her hand over the tasseled hem of a tapestry. “These items would not have been preserved had I abandoned them.”
“You don’t know that,” Iseult said.
“No, but I’ve never been one for taking chances. There’s your journal.” She pointed to a glass case where a leather-bound book lay open to a random page in the middle.
Iseult, Orla, and I crowded around the case near the feet of the armor suit, but my stomach turned to lead when I tried to read the pages.
“This isn’t English.” Iseult paled and looked towards Lysanor. “Can you translate?”
“I’m afraid the language Lyria used to transcribe her most personal thoughts is not a language that made its way into Keldori. But I’ve shown you the journal. I kept my end of the bargain. Now you can leave Willow’s Grave.”
“No we can’t,” I insisted. “We still need the information in the journal!”
I scoured the dried pages, hoping there might be something there we could understand. The handwriting, looped and faded, was difficult enough to read on its own, but there was something familiar about the strange words they formed.
I had seen words like this before. I was sure of it.
I remembered a threadbare armchair, the low light of a lamp, and curling against my mom and tracking the movement of her finger across the page as she pointed to each word she read out loud.
They’d sounded so foreign but so familiar at the same time, and I’d loved listening to her read it even if I had no idea what she’d been saying.
“It’s old English,” I realized. “My mom, she studied it in college and translated old texts for her Masters thesis. She could translate this too.”
“But your mom is in Keldori,” Orla said.
“She is, but luckily, we know a nocturmancer who can call her to us.” I turned towards Lysanor and gave what I hoped was a respectful bow. “Lady Lysanor, please. If you let us take the journal, we know someone who can translate it. We’ll leave the citadel, like we promised.”
Lysanor’s tight smile quivered, and she kept her hands clasped tightly in front of her.
“That journal is one of the most precious documents housed here,” she said. “You’ll have to understand why I can’t let you take it.”
“We’re trying to save Skalterra,” Iseult pressed. “We’re restoring the Rift! Lyria would want us to take the journal.”
“Perhaps I’ll fetch writing materials?” Lysanor suggested. “We can transcribe an edition of the journal for you to take.”
“How long will that take?” Orla gave the journal an uneasy glance.
“I’m not sure,” Lysanor admitted. “But I suppose there’s only one way to find out. Stay here. Please don’t touch anything.”
She backed out of the circular room, and the marble door raised from the floor to slam shut.
“Grab the journal, and get out,” Ciarán barked in my head. “We’ll meet you at the bridge outside.”
“Right. Iseult, grab the book,” I commanded, but Iseult had already removed the glass case and was shoving the journal into her pack.
“What are you doing?” Orla hissed. “We can’t steal precious documents!”
“She’s a Lyrian, but so am I,” Iseult said. “I have just as much a right to Lady Lyria’s possessions as she does, and she never should’ve taken them from Tulyr in the first place.”
“The others are outside,” I said, turning back to the door. “If we hurry, we—”
I stopped, staring at the smooth face of the wall-like door. There was no handle, no lever, no indication of how to open it.
“Move.” Iseult shoved me aside to slam her hands against the door. “She locked us in. Why would she lock us in?”
“Maybe she figured we’d try to steal the journal?” Orla suggested. “She wasn’t wrong, if that’s the case.”
“Get out of there,” Ciarán said in my head. “Now!”
“Well, gee!” I snarled back. “If only there were a door for us to leave through!”
“Would you drop the sarcasm for once and listen to me? If you can’t find a way out, then make one. She’s not worried about you stealing. She’s turning you in.”