Chapter Thirteen #3
“These are Velas's personal journals.” She produced a key from one of her many cardigan pockets.
“They are not part of the general collection.
They contain his private observations and research.
I have a feeling that you should start here.
When you're done, you'll find the kelpie section in the fourth standing bookshelf within the Scottish Collection.” She pointed in that direction.
“Yes, Julian pointed it out to me before. Thank you, Agnes,” I said.
“Of course.” She opened the cabinet doors to reveal rows of leather-bound notebooks filling the shelves, each one labeled with dates and subjects in neat handwriting. Agnes ran her finger along the spines until she found what she was looking for.
“Kelpies. Written between 1522 and 1536.” She pulled out a slim volume and handed it to me. “Please handle it carefully.”
As Agnes returned to her desk, I carried the journal to a nearby reading table and turned on the little brass lamp in the center. áedán sat beside me, close enough that our shoulders touched. The journal was old but well-preserved; the leather soft under my fingers.
I opened it carefully. Elegant and precise script flowed across the pages in faded brown ink. The first pages detailed observations about kelpie behavior, their relationship with water, and their role as guardians. There were sketches of horses rising from lochs and celebrations with humans.
I turned the pages slowly, reading about Velas's first encounter with a kelpie clan and his theories about their connection with the water.
He found it strange that the Scottish people, whose imagination had created kelpies, had come up with a guardian that was a horse who lived in the water.
He posed a few theories on how the myth came to be, including one in which a normal horse saved its rider from drowning by pulling him out of the water with its reins.
If that had happened, people would view horses as guardians, and the water connection could have led to the kelpie myth.
áedán leaned closer, reading over my shoulder.
Then I reached the final pages. Or where the final pages should have been. The last ten pages had been cut away. Not torn, but cut cleanly with a blade sharp enough to leave the edges smooth. The binding showed where they'd been removed.
“Agnes!” I called.
She appeared immediately, as if she'd been waiting in the stacks nearby. When she saw the damaged journal, her expression turned cold. “That's impossible. No one in the Velasca would damage a book, much less one of Velas's journals.”
“When was the last time someone accessed the journals?” áedán asked.
Agnes went to the cabinet and pulled out a ledger tucked into a nook at the top. She flipped through pages, her finger tracing down columns of names and dates. “Three months ago. Dr. Hassan Al-Masri requested access to research Velas's notes on fire spirits.”
“Then you should speak to him.”
“I can't imagine him doing anything to the journals.” Agnes's jaw was tight as she looked further back in the ledger.
“I'd trust my life to every person on this list.” She looked up at us.
“Which means someone accessed the collection without authorization. Someone who can pick locks.” She pushed the door shut and examined the lock.
“I don't see any sign of the lock being picked. But there are only two keys to this cabinet. One I wear around my neck and the other belongs to Caelum.”
I lifted the journal carefully, intending to examine the binding more closely. As I did, something slipped from between the remaining pages—a small piece of parchment, folded once. It fluttered to the table.
áedán reached for it first and unfolded it for all of us to see. There were only four words written on it, in handwriting that didn't match Velas's elegant script. The ink was newer, darker. Recent.
Truth yields to the tale most often told.
I stared at the words, trying to understand what they meant, truly meant, and why they were in Velas's journal.
“What truth?” áedán's voice was quiet.
“Maybe this is Caelum's note? It could be how he developed the Velascan technique of preserving myths.” I looked at Agnes hopefully. “That's how we stop a myth from fading, isn't it? We tell their story to the world, over and over.”
“No, that isn't Caelum's handwriting, nor is that our policy. Saying the truth yields to the tale most often told is akin to calling that tale false. We spread the original tales, not lies.” Agnes shook her head.
“I need to inform him immediately. And Julian.” She looked at us.
“Don't leave the estate. Not until we understand what this means.” She set the journal back on the shelf, locked the cabinet, and snatched the paper from áedán's hand.
As I watched her leave, my mind spun with questions. Truth yields to the tale most often told. It sounded like something the Velasca believed in, but it didn't feel right. Especially not when combined with those removed pages.
áedán stared at the cabinet holding Velas's journals, his expression grim.
“áedán?” I laid a hand on his shoulder.
He looked at me. “I'm glad you brought me here, Ethan.”
“I'm glad you're here too, but this has been a long day. Maybe we should call it a night.”
“Yes, I could use some sleep.”