Chapter 24 #2
I breathed out a short laugh, but then stopped because I realized I couldn’t hear the singing anymore.
“Just can’t sleep,” I offered.
“I never can either. Not here at least. Not really my scene.”
“Not mine either,” I mumbled.
“I prefer the surface, under the stars.” He nodded toward the ceiling, and I realized he most certainly would have hated living in The Tower if he thought down here under Chapel was uncomfortable.
He took a deep breath and crossed his arms over his chest when he looked back down at me.
“I’m not one to tattle on those breaking the rules, but I am curious why you decided to wander down this corridor.
A-Block is certainly not on your permissions, Ms. Eliana. ”
My eyes did that roving everywhere thing they did when I tried to invent a lie. I licked my lips, and the book in his hand caught my attention.
“I was studying? Just trying to find a textbook that Professor Katlin said I could borrow?”
“You realize your sentences sound more like questions, right? And neither of those questions sounds very convincing.” His eyelids narrowed halfway, then snapped open again. “If you’re interested in studying something more riveting than cattails, I might have something you’d like.”
I followed him into the room he’d just come out of to find a cramped office lined with books on every wall and loose paper stuffed haphazardly between them. He pulled a book from the shelf behind the too-large-for-the-room desk and handed it to me.
The cover featured a tree carved from real wood, with breathtaking detail.
“I’ve seen that before!” I gasped. Lowering my voice, I stepped forward until my hipbones pressed into the glass atop the wooden desk. “I’ve seen this tree before.”
It was identical to the bottom tree on the door of the Upper Room at Hearth Haven.
“This is the Knowing Tree,” he said, handing it to me and lifting the other book tucked under his arm. It looked identical, save for the spine, which was green instead of black. “And this is the Living Tree.”
He held up both covers side by side.
“It’s the same tree,” I said.
He shook his head. “Look at the bevel at the center of the trunk. The Knowing Tree has a serpent on it.” Sure enough, a serpent slept nestled in the heart of the tree.
“Okay. And the other tree?”
We traded books.
I looked where he pointed and whispered, “It’s…”
“A sprouting scepter,” he answered. “The Mark of the Scepter. The same as your mark.” Onezimuth observed me and spoke with caution.
“No one’s told you about the trees, yet?
You Tower folk probably don’t know nothin’ of it, but I figured your guild friends would have mentioned it. Professors? Not even Ezra?”
I flipped through the pages of The Living Tree, shaking my head in denial at all of his questions. Somehow, this guild held more lore than any organization could reasonably contain, and despite them claiming how essential I was, they refused to explain most of it.
The illustrations in the book were vivid: vines, fruit, and leaves, along with these magnificent creatures. Feathers and eyes, and heads of different animals. It was wild. A loopy, indecipherable script filled every page.
“What is all this?” I asked a question of my own.
“Unfortunately, we aren’t sure. No one has been able to translate it. But perhaps if you’re the one who’s gonna bring back the Anointed, you’ll be able to figure it out.”
I frowned at the mention of the Anointed again. “You want me to study a book I can’t read?”
He chuckled and switched books with me.
“Maybe you should start on the easier one. The Knowing Tree is written in another ancient language no one can read anymore, but there are margin notes in this one. Translations. It tells the story of all the good and all the bad in the world. If you take good care of it, you can borrow it until you think you’re ready for The Living Tree. ”
The pages shimmered gold at the edges. Besides sketched images of some pretty horrific and some equally sublime beings, and a more angular script I had never seen before, the gilded pages had notes in English, penned with several different colors and handwriting.
“What’s it about?” I liked knowing that my questions might actually get answered while speaking to this professor.
“Some say there’s a god out there, angry at humanity for stealing from the Knowing Tree, and so he’s punishing us by hiding the Living Tree. I think he’s jealous that people can now create things as he did.”
Onezimuth rounded the desk and made his way to the door. “I’ve got somewhere else to be, but you hang onto that book. Maybe you can read it instead of wandering the halls and gettin’ lost down here…or worse. That’d be a real shame.”
He gestured toward the open door and nodded with an overdone wink. “And, if you want more answers, you should head for The Red Room one day when you finally break out of this place. There’s a hidden space underneath that I’m sure has something for you.”
I stepped out into the hallway after him and turned to ask what he meant, but he was already gone.
Dropping my gaze to the book in my hands, I studied the cover once more, my finger tracing the carved lines of the tree.
The singing started again.
And it was further down the corridor.
I glanced at Onezimuth’s office door, still ajar, and decided I would come back to search it for a key to the armory after a quick little stroll to find the singing. If he was careless enough to leave his door open, perhaps he’d left a keycard lying around, too.
I followed the haunting melody for a good thirty doors until I found one cracked open and labeled Ezra.
The voice was coming from that room.
I paused, listened for any other sounds—other voices, footsteps, rustling.
Nothing.
With two fingers, I nudged the door open.
The singing stopped.
The room flickered with firelight from at least thirty candles, all lit and scattered haphazardly around on every surface they could find. It smelled of wax, faint smoke, and something putrid like rotten eggs or burnt wires.
No one was there, but it felt as if someone had just been there a moment ago. As if someone had been in the middle of something just before I interrupted them.
A gust of wind swept through the room. The flames trembled. Papers rustled on the desk.
The temperature plunged so fast I witnessed my next breath in a plume of condensation.
“Hello?” I called softly, a puff of wet exhalation clouding in front of me with my voice. My fingers strained to pull the blanket tighter as my shoulders quivered in the cold.
Another gust of wind took out at least half of the light this time, candles extinguishing under the impact of the element. A second door in the room slammed open, revealing a set of concrete stairs leading up into darkness. I stepped toward it, but something on the floor caught my eye.
I bent down and picked up the yellow paper with curled edges.
I flipped it over.
It’s me.
A stunningly detailed sketch of me. I was exquisite with blood pouring from my neck, and The Tower burning in the background.
I gasped, sharp and breathless.
Under the image, a line of intricate cursive:
As for those who disobey, show them no mercy, but deliver them up to slaughter.
—J211
My breath caught again. Shorter. Shallower. Edging toward hyperventilation.
In the bottom corner, in letters so small I almost missed them, were two more words in capitals:
YOU’RE MINE
A hand pressed against my shoulder.
I screamed and twisted away, dropping both the blanket and the book Onezimuth had gifted me.
I tripped over them and was caught by an arm around my waist.