Chapter 12 Trapped
CHAPTER TWELVE
TRAPPED
ADELINE
“Wait… wait.” I glance from Roane to the lioness and back. “Nobody can leave this library?”
“There you go again, repeating what I say,” the lioness grouses.
The fact that these animals are sentient, speaking creatures is doing my head in, but I’m refusing to succumb to madness. After all, I have a talking book in my hands and I’m inside a cave in the mountains that isn’t only a magical library but so much more.
Speaking of which… “What did you mean when you said I’m not in my world anymore?”
Silence stretches. Roane is marching through the city with his pet friends and I have to run to keep up.
“Well,” the raven says, flying overhead, “it’s a question of whether the books are mere doors into other worlds or contain those worlds inside them, like self-contained universes, isn’t it?”
“Is it? That’s pretty philosophical for a bird.”
He squawks. “Hells, girl…”
“Sorry. I’m just unprepared for this.”
The lioness laughs. “You could say that again.”
“I didn’t have much information about the Areon before entering.”
“A common problem which can be solved by researching your destination before setting off.”
“Very droll,” I mutter. “Bringing Olm’s book here was an urgent matter. I could hardly take a few weeks to visit other libraries or storytellers to find out more.”
“Urgent? Did this dusty little book unleash any horrors on you?” The lioness’ tongue lolls.
“Laugh all you want,” I grind out. “But Olm here has the power to convince anyone holding his book to take him wherever he wants.”
“That’s some strong magic. Olm, huh?”
“Can you hear his voice? Olm, say something.”
“Shall I perform a somersault like a monkey in a circus?” Olm hisses. “No, thank you.”
“Why are you so sensitive?” I glare down at the book I’m lugging along. “At least be nice.”
“I’m insulted. Is there a law saying I can’t have feelings?”
“No, I can’t hear him,” the lioness says. “What has he told you?”
I sigh. “That he doesn’t remember much of his story but really wants to go to the royal library.”
“And you believe that he has lost his memory?”
“Well, most of the pages are blurred. So it’s possible he doesn’t have a record of his story.”
“A blurring spell?” The lioness slows down until she’s walking beside me, and I try not to flinch. She’s huge. Her shoulder reaches mine. “I should take a look once we stop.”
“No, don’t let the beast get her teeth into me again!” Olm wails.
“Take a look? What for?” I ask. “I’m about to leave the book in the library anyway.”
“Simple curiosity. I know a few things about magic. This is, after all, the realm of magical books.” She turns her head away. “Many things are possible in here which are impossible outside.”
“Tell her to stay away from me,” Olm insists.
“Lioness, what about him?” I ask softly.
“Him? Roane? What exactly are you asking me?”
I cast about for a specific question. “Why did he change his name?”
“Who says he did?”
Baffled, I slow down and the lioness produces an annoyed growl. “Didn’t he? He’s Ersil Davara. Why call himself by another name?”
“Roane is the name I’ve always known him by. And you should be careful,” the lioness goes on.
“With him?”
“With this world. You saw the snake and the griffin. This is a library of monsters. Can you fight?”
“It was never a part of my education,” I say drily. “I was trained to recognize herbs and their uses and learned stories.”
“Pretty useless, then,” the lioness dismisses me, ambling along as if going for a stroll through this ruined city. “Regardless, be on your guard. Got a knife with you?”
“No.”
“In an emergency, throw the book,” the raven croaks, swooping back toward us, and it sounds as if he’s laughing.
“You’d never,” Olm says.
“We’re not friends,” I remind him.
“Yet you like me.”
“I’m not sure I do. You’re whiny and don’t make sense. You—”
“Watch out!” The lioness shoves me aside and I go sprawling with a surprised oof on the broken street, skinning my palms and knees as the raven flaps his wings, croaking.
Meanwhile, Roane pulls out two curved swords. Scimitars, I think, that’s what they are called, and I’ve never seen anyone use them in my life.
Until now.
“What are those creatures?” I scoot back on my ass as the lioness prowls before me, pacing back and forth, tail swishing against her hindlegs.
“Goblins. Sometimes armies of them roam the city.”
“Goblins, as in… lesser fairies?”
“If by lesser you mean misshapen by magic, yes. If you mean small, no, these are large specimens.”
“You talk like a librarian,” I mutter. “Educated. Well-read.”
“Large vocabulary,” she says. “Wise beyond my years. I know.”
As it turns out, the lioness is right. These don’t look like the small, lesser fae we get on the plains, occasionally raiding markets and destroying our vegetable patches, sneaking into our houses to steal food or torment animals, the children or the old.
These are tall, taller than Roane, skeletal and horrifically twisted, with horned heads and hooves and partly furred or scaly. They are how I imagine the dark fae to be when they lean into their magic, turning into monsters.
And they run at him en masse. There are at least fifteen of them, and there’s only one of him.
Horror rises in me in an icy wave.
“Stay here,” the lioness says and lopes toward Roane. The raven is already there, attacking the creatures, a blur of dark feathers and wicked claws, and I…
What am I doing, sprawled in the dirt, holding this haunted book, with no way to defend myself? The lioness was right. This is awful. I need to do something about it.
“Let’s leave this horrible place,” Olm instantly agrees. “Let’s get out of here!”
“Shush. I need a weapon.”
“Weapon? What, you imagine yourself a warrior now? You’re an herbalist and a storyteller!”
“That reminds me of a story,” I whisper. “Kiara and the Well of Longing.”
“What about it? Hide yourself before you get killed!”
“She wasn’t a warrior but when the time came to defend her family, she used any object she found lying about as a weapon, any sharp or heavy object.”
“This isn’t your family. Save yourself!”
Bending, I grab a stone and weigh it in my hand. “Yeah, this will do nicely.”
“What? No.”
The melee looks like an eddy, a maelstrom at sea that swallows boats and ships, with Roane at its center. Running toward them, I pull my hand back and throw the stone at the goblins. “You, ugly face! Over here!”
“What are you doing?” Olm hisses. “Run and hide! Don’t draw attention to us.”
Casting around for another stone, I locate a broken piece of pavement. I heft it in my hand and throw that, too. “Here! Come and get me.”
“Oh, lords, she has gone mad!” When I put the book down by the street, he shrieks. “Don’t leave me!”
“You’ll wait for me here.”
“As if I have a choice! You’ll die and I’ll be left here forever!”
Damn, I feel sorry for him, in the same way I sometimes feel sorry for trees because they can’t uproot themselves and move.
No time for that, now, though. I throw another stone, and another, and the goblins finally take notice of me.
Three of them turn, snarling, hulking beasts with gray hides, animal eyes, and grins that split their grotesque faces from ear to ear. They rush toward me on cloven hooves.
“No!” Roane roars, “Stay back!”
Too late.
I back away down the street. I can’t see any more stones to throw, but there is Olm’s book where I left it. Quickly, I grab and lift it.
“Finally, you’re back,” Olm says, sounding breathless, “I honestly thought you’d abandoned me here—”
“Shush.” I weigh the book in my hand. “The raven was right, you’re heavy.”
“Thanks. I have a lot of backstory.”
“You’re also a magical book,” I muse, “so practically indestructible.”
“What? No. What are you going to do? You wouldn’t throw me like—!”
“A perfect weapon.”
“No, that’s not true! I’m actually very vulnerable inside, easy to offend—”
“Gods, Olm, shut up!” I throw the book at the closest goblin and it hits the creature square on the head. “Yeah!”
Eiras always said I had good aim. He knows from experience, as I’ve often practiced on him during our many arguments growing up.
The goblin falls back—but that leaves two of the enraged brutes glowering. They fall on me before I can draw breath to scream, and a fire tears through my side. Gasping, I shove and kick at them, a thunder cracking inside my head, telling me I’m about to die when all I want is to live—
The weight of the goblins is torn off me, and then Roane’s face fills my vision, blood-spattered, his eyes dark with anger as he demands, “Did you come here to become the bane of my existence?”