Chapter 8 Prince Sloth
EIGHT
Prince Sloth
LIbrARY, I HAVE need of your services.
I waited for it to deign to respond and enjoyed the momentary peace. This chamber was my favorite section of the Library—the tree soared up, the branches reaching across the vast expanse of the room.
A handful of books hung from some of the branches like ornaments; those were the tomes the Library was currently reading.
The leaves on the branches were all different colors—some deep greens, plums, blues, golds, and silver.
I’d had a glass dome installed to allow the light to trickle in, but the stained glass had been coated with a special film to keep the light from harming the books.
Form meant nothing if the function wasn’t ideal.
I glanced up at the towering shelves, filled with my most prized books on magic, myths and legends of the old gods, and the histories of the many realms in this universe.
While I waited for my ornery Library, I inhaled deeply, wishing I could actually smell the worn leather of the texts located in this section.
I was no more solid than an apparition—when I projected this way it was closer to what mortals thought of as remote viewing or astral travel.
My body was solidly in Somnia, but I didn’t need to be physically present to utilize the knowledge found in my House of Sin.
Since my entire library was enchanted, I could mentally call upon it to do my bidding. The tree’s magic rivaled my own, and most of the time it behaved itself. But like all sentient beings, it had its petulant moments.
I felt when the Library finally took notice of my presence and waited for me to address it again.
Bring me all the texts I have on the Trials of Unbinding.
A beat passed without any movement or acknowledgment. I held my tongue. The Library was in a pissy mood.
I braced myself for the sass.
This century would be nice, Library.
I felt its indignant huff and knew better than to comment now.
Perhaps I would be more motivated by a simple show of manners and respect.
Something akin to “Please, most perspicacious of Libraries. Grant me a favor of grand proportions with your unmatched perception. Pull forth the spellbinding knowledge only someone as magnanimous and erudite as yourself can achieve. O master of fate, wizard of wisdom, pull back the curtain of my inadequacy and let me swim across your sea of enlightenment.”
“Swim across your sea of enlightenment” was a rather inflated self-description, which indicated I was in for a lecture, but I kept my frustration locked deep inside where it couldn’t sense it.
Forgive my insolence, O self-important one. Xavier stole the Liber Noctem, managed to get a dreamweaver into Somnia, and I am currently trapped here. If the Goddess of Night’s power is restored, I believe that would be disastrous for all. Snap out of your mood. I need those texts.
The Library sniffed.
Xavier was a sniveling slug.
You disliked him because you wanted the title of master librarian.
And now it seems there is a job opening. How fortuitous for me.
It would pull the wrong texts, or flat-out ignore his solicitations, just to make him work harder in his role. Xavier would storm into my private study, furious to be thwarted over the simplest requests.
I need information now. There’s not much time.
What is time? It is but an infinity loop where the past, present, and future all collide. This moment has already been, has yet to occur, and is happening now.
I mentally growled. Save the philosophical musings for when I’m home and the realms and our own court aren’t in danger. I need those Unbinding texts.
You’re just upset you misjudged the slug.
You do realize if House Sloth falls, you will also cease to exist, correct? And you don’t like anyone. He showed no deception, or I would have sensed the lie.
I tolerate you well enough. Even when your attitude leaves much to be desired. But I suppose I can look beyond your shortcomings to save the realm this once. I am but your most loyal of servants.
Loyal, yes, humble, no.
I heard that.
Without further argument, the Library pulled three texts and placed them on a long table set up in the corner of the room.
I stood over them, scanning the pages it flipped to.
The first text outlined the druid binding spell.
I’d provided it to the old gods when I came up with a plan of action for them to take, and they’d insisted they would enact it on their own.
Without the Book of Nightmares to study, I had no idea what conditions they’d woven in, though.
I only knew with certainty the outcome was the creation of the Trials.
Punishment from the old gods could be anything.
The Library sensed my need for more information and set another book down in front of me, flipping until it paused on a more detailed theory of the Trials.
Legends suggest that once the Trials of Unbinding are enacted, Somnia will lock itself down from anyone who attempts to leave.
No magic, no object, no sacrifice, will lift the spell that erects the wards. However, it is important to note, the wards won’t stop travelers from coming into the realm via portal stone only.
That confirmed why I couldn’t use my magic to get out of the realm. Just as I’d suspected. I tamped my frustration down; it was a useless emotion right now.
The Library flipped to the next page.
Most scholars who’ve extensively studied the old gods and their punishments believe the Unbinding will consist of five rounds, or chapters.
In this instance, the tests are thought to be tailored to the individual dreamweaver based on the tales they spin, but there are strong indications each round will in part be designed to test the dreamweaver’s strength and spirit in a way befitting the god they champion for.
If keeping in line with the old gods’ favored punishments, each test will attempt to strip the participant down to their baser fears, not only to test them physically and emotionally, but also to test the very fabric of their soul.
Folklorists argue over whether the dreamweaver is in total control of the story they tell, or if Somnia itself plays a larger role in determining which scenes come to life since the land toys with dreams and nightmares.
Others believe it is the Liber Noctem itself that reshapes the tests.
I straightened from where I’d been leaning over the book, letting the information soak in. It was odd that I hadn’t recalled these details on my own, but with the amount of knowledge stored in my head, it wasn’t too surprising some information was hazy.
The Library thumbed through several chapters and paused.
Myths collected from former Temple Knights claim that the Liber Noctem and Somnia itself will do all they can to ensure the dreamweaver doesn’t succeed in winning the Trials of Unbinding.
Not much is known why. Most think it’s because the Liber Noctem wants to protect its stolen magic.
This wasn’t giving me anything to work with. Just conjecture and theories. Neither of which were concrete areas for me to analyze.
The Library suddenly pulled another book from one of the highest shelves and set it down, flipping through pages until it landed on what it had been searching for.
I glanced at the title before it opened the book.
PHILOSOPHY OF SACRIFICES THROUGHOUT THE AGES
A case study of points and counterpoints in the quest to determine if good versus evil exists beyond theory in mortal trappings.
Is a monster born or created? Some posit that if such a vile thing can be made, then it should be granted the power to be unmade.
Who decides fate, redemption, or the concept of being deserving? The gods? Some other higher source?
Surely it is not up to us but rather the individual being tested.
What is evil without the chance to be good? In turn that begs the question of how good can be measured if it’s not tested for evil and emerges triumphant. Can either exist without their inverse to challenge them?
It’s a philosophical question asked throughout the realms.
But to deny evil’s potential undoing would be to deny that dreams and nightmares cannot begin as one only to end as the other.
Who are we when we’re stripped to our core? When our fears are laid out for not simply others to see, but for ourselves to see as well?
It felt like there was a connection I was hovering near.
Somehow it tied into the Trials and the dark book and the Goddess of Night, but how remained a mystery.
Library, pull the most recent legends surrounding the Goddess of Night. I want to know—
The book slammed shut.
In the next instant I was suddenly wrenched out of my library.
I blinked at the cave, disoriented by the unexpected shift, my senses on high alert. I’d never been torn from my projection before. I slammed the wall on my emotions down so I could think clearly.
It took another moment for me to be grounded in the physical. Lore still slept soundly; there were no indications we’d been discovered.
All seemed well.
Still, I listened and waited. Something had yanked me back here. Several moments passed and nothing crept out from the shadows, no nightmare creature attacked. I must have simply run out of time.
I considered the information I’d learned.
The Library was sentient, but it also was attuned to my subconscious. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know more about legends surrounding sacrifices, or if the Library thought it would be beneficial.
The part concerning dreams and nightmares was certainly intriguing. But I was still troubled by the actual Trials themselves.
If the dark book could take control over them…
I exhaled slowly, not wanting to consider how bad things might get. The book was Nyantha’s essence, for all intents and purposes.
All the dark, twisted things she was had been transferred to it.
I wasn’t sure of everything a dreamweaver was capable of, but as soon as Lore woke up, I’d start teaching her how to create a mental shield. It would be a way for her to keep the book out of her mind and maybe prevent or mitigate any damage it could do by manipulating her.