Chapter 26
Chapter
Twenty-Six
Tristen
Everett! That prick is like sunlight; he seeps into the smallest of cracks, bending and refracting, sneaking his way into all layers of life, both past, present, and future.
Chills cover my skin.
I want to shave them off. Wipe the slate clean.
The old librarian leans over and drops his head into his hands. “You pompous prick, you fool,” he mutters through his dry, cracked lips.
“Stop calling me that!” I aim my sword at his liver.
In the end, we’re all the same. If we bleed too much or can’t heal fast enough, we’re dead. It makes fighting simple. Whether you have fae magic, vampire, shifter, mage, or human, we’re just thin flesh wrapped around bone. It cuts open easily; if you can’t heal in time, then you’re done.
Humans have proven that point time and time again. We’ve killed so many of them, but they survive. Heck, they even manage to defeat us in battle with their machines and tactics.
“That’s what you are!” the old man snaps. His fists raise as they shake with small tremors.
I can’t help but feel bad for him. I lower my sword and let him grab me by the collar. My eyes zero in on his inflamed white knuckles, which he can’t fully curl closed.
I don’t know why we fight so hard to live long lives.
Time is the cruelest master; it makes you crave more of it, yet the longer it grants you, the more it slowly devours you.
First, your smooth complexion, then your stable lungs, each stride you take as you age becomes as unbalanced as a flag being held as it’s charged into battle.
It’s an abusive relationship. I just want to enjoy my youth. If time doesn’t slowly eat me, a battle will consume me.
I pick the battle, dying fast and young over this man’s poor state.
But I can’t die until I know my brother is safe.
“You could have ruined everything! Everything because you’re pompous. You were supposed to come here and wander aimlessly; then I was to find you, bring you here, and give you this.” He shoves me into the damp stone wall, then rummages through the trunk at the foot of his bed.
He grabs a small piece of paper, rolled tightly, and then swats me over the head with it.
“Hey!” I fuss as I snatch it from his hand.
“Leave. I did my part.” He waves his hand dismissively in the air.
“I’m not a fly you can so easily swat away!”
“More like an imbecile who needs a kick in the ass,” he heckles as he slams the trunk shut. “Do you comprehend only the moans of women? I said, leave.”
“I’m not leaving!” I snap as I unravel the paper. It’s clearly been ripped out of a binding. “What is this?” I demand.
“It’s called parchment. You use it to write on.” Turning his back, he slowly strides to the opposite corner of the room, where the single chair is. I’ve seen thicker toothpicks than the legs on that chair.
“Stop being an asshole!” I fire back.
“It takes one to know one,” he grumbles as he crosses his arms.
“I might be a pompous prick, but you’re a petulant child.” I practically shave off a layer of my teeth as I grind my jaw. As I smooth out the paper, some of the ink flakes off. Tavern tables are less stained, and the smell… let’s not comment on the scent.
“It’s a map,” I state.
“Wow, he knows pictures.” He claps. “Can he do one plus one?”
I give him a dirty look. “You really want to die, don’t you?”
“Yes. I do. I’m tired.” The wood moans and aches as he adjusts his position.
“Not soon enough,” I hiss under my breath, tracing my fingers over the old parchment.
So many of the borderlines are faded, and the kingdom’s names I can make out are not known to me. Most have been conquered and claimed, their history rewritten. Maps this old are usually held in Ishmor.
“Where did you get this?” I ask, voice low.
“I didn’t get it. It was given to me.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Pulling teeth out is easier than conversing with you.”
“I feel the same.”
“Who gave it to you?” I demand.
“Who do you think?” He grins.
“Everett,” I hiss. “Where did he get it?” I mumble as I look back at the map.
“That doesn’t matter, but he got it from a book he stole from Ishmor.”
My head snaps up. Click! Answers slide into place. Tristen told me that Selene had told him Everett had stolen a book from the Great Library of Ishmor. This paper must have been ripped from a book.
“Why did he give it to you?”
“Because he needed me to give it to you,” he deadpans.
“Why not my brother?”
“Stop asking and start looking, boy.”
I roll my eyes. Looking back at the paper, I memorize it. There, that mountain line looks familiar. “It’s the land of Blackthorn, Galen’s kingdom,” I state. Only on this map it’s called… holy shit.
“Caldara,” I whisper. Blackthorn is Caldara!
“No one alive knows the Kingdom of Blackthorn was Caldara,” he states with a gleam in his eye.
“It’s had many other names since then.” His spine curls in like a snail seeking the walls of its shell as he exhales and leans back in the chair.
“Don’t you find it so frustrating that we can never remember a name?
Details haunt us, but a name is like water; we don’t value it until we need it. ”
My heart slows, my ears open, and every hair on my body stands. The pressure shifts, as it does when a storm is coming. Everything cools down. I raise the paper closer as if a new angle will reveal hidden details.
“The mountains surrounding us provide more than a barrier to our enemies; they are loaded with minerals.” He stands, wipes the sweat from his brow, and unbuttons his cloak.
Glancing back at the map, I notice an error. The mountain to the north was drawn twice the size it is on our maps today, and the western entrance into our land was significantly smaller.
“Shall I continue?” he asks as he tosses his cloak onto the bed. Small clouds of dust billow in the stale air.
When’s the last time he washed that?
I step back an inch. Who knows what plagues linger here? He’s never cleaned the surfaces, of that I am certain.
“I never asked you to start,” I dispute. “You’re like a pipe leaking water. You’ll drip regardless.”
“It’s irritating, but it alerts you to what is broken. Perhaps that is why Everett picked me.” He lowers himself back into that old chair and crosses his arms. Now, instead of looking like mite-eaten wood, that chair looks like a throne.
He holds power, and he knows it. I have to play his game if I want answers.
“I’m listening.” I dip my chin.
“When I mention Everett, irritation prickles over your skin like fire. Why?”
“Fire burns,” I bite out.
“Everett did nothing to you.”
I stride forward, grinding the soles of my boots into the stone floor, hoping it scuffs. “He stole my brother from me!”
His eyebrows furrow like a rabbit raccoon’s tail. “Maybe you’re looking at it wrong. Perhaps he saved him.”
I look down my nose at him. “We don’t see eye to eye. Continue your tale about Caldara,” I order.
He crosses a leg and steeples his fingers. “Some people find the drip-drop of a leak annoying; others find it soothing, like music. Remember that. Your perception is like the hands of a sculptor. It shapes everything. Regard Everett’s actions as beneficial, not detrimental.”
He takes his time settling into a comfortable position, knowing I must wait if I want answers.
“Caldara’s king was wise. He built his castle along the northern mountains, offering him a bird’s-eye view of his surroundings. If an enemy marched through the narrow strait, he’d be first to know. The problem is that we forget to look at the enemy hiding under our noses or, rather, under our feet.
“The king allowed his people to mine, digging deeper into the mountain. What happens when you continue to remove the foundation of your house?” He looks at me knowingly.
My stance widens. “It crumbles.”
He nods. “The mountain to the north is only half as grand as it once was. The land caved in; the mountain swallowed the king’s castle, along with his people.
Those who survived lost trust in the land.
They said that a curse had befallen it. For the king built his castle in the mountain’s shadow; he should have assembled it within the light so that the gods could see and judge him. ”
A smirk ghosts his lips as an uneasy shudder snakes down my spine.
“Humans spin such beautiful tales, don’t you think?
Instead of saying the king was a fool, they tried to appease the gods.
But,” he lifts a finger, “by labeling the land to the north as cursed, it made it so no one would dare to enter. Fear is like the wind.” He huffs out a heavy breath to emphasize his point.
“We cannot see it, but oh, how we feel it. Aren’t you going to ask where they rebuilt? ” His brow nearly meets his hairline.
My gaze sweeps toward the ancient stones that enclose us. “Here,” I mutter. The mountains still act as a border that is only a short horse ride away, but Galen’s castle is bathed in sunlight; thus, his black roses grow so dutifully.
“Yes,” he taps his foot, kicking up more dust.
I’ve never had allergies, but all the soot is going to test my limits. Raising my hand, I wipe my nose.
“Right here. The old castle of Caldara had become a skeleton, long dead and buried. However, bones take a long time to weather away and return to the earth. If one knows where to look, they can still find a passage through the old mining caves that survived. The hidden tunnels the king built deep in the heart of his castle, a heart that’s not dead, but slumbering. ”
Thump! Boom! Thump! Control your breathing; consider this a battle where your tongue is your sword and your mind is your shield.
His words feel like the tip of a sword that gently glides over my lashes. Each statement takes one of my senses. My sight. My hearing. My ability to move.
I planned that once Titus found the Vitalis, we’d just burn it or sell it. I just want him free of this shitstorm. That look in the old man’s eyes tells me we’re all stuck in this terrible web Everett weaved. There is no escape.
“Why would we want to find the heart?” I ask as dread coils through my muscles.
“Because it gives life, and life is what evil seeks. It thrives on it.” He stoops, pulls his shoes off, and flexes his toes.
“Then it’s best to let it sleep.” I inch back, map in hand. Titus is starting to control the time-weaving. He can live with it. There’s no need to find this book.
“You think you are the only one with a scent in the air? Others know; they have been looking. Why do you think Everett sowed so many seeds? He needed to ensure that we all developed in a certain way. So sit your ass down, yes, right there on the stone floor, and listen because I’m tired and want to sleep, but I promised I would retell a tale. ”