Chapter Twenty-Five. Eban
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
EBAN
Luwalhati leads us out of the dining hall and down a grand corridor, pointing out the sights along the way, the statue of a great king, a column commemorating a great battle won.
This is just a dream, I think. It’s not real.
It’s a memory in my bloodline. But it feels real.
At the same time, the life I knew mere days before—stealing, hiding, and relying on scraps—seems equally unbelievable and far away.
And Gin—I can hardly bear to look straight at her.
She’s already beautiful, but seeing her that way—in that long, body-skimming gown, with her hair flowing down her back in waves, is almost more than I can take.
I care for her, I realize, more than as a friend.
Will she ever feel the same for me? Will I ever be worthy of her?
I hope so. I’m filled with a kind of yearning I’ve never felt before—I never had anything to live for before.
I never thought I had much of a future; I assumed I would die young, like all of the thieves in the Sleeve.
But now, seeing Gin, I don’t want to die. I want to live.
The three of us stroll along paths paved with smooth pebbles, in shades of pale blue and white and gray and light purple. We come to a large, regal structure with swirling pillars in front. “This is our library,” Luwalhati tells us.
“Can we go inside?” Gin asks.
“Of course.” Luwalhati brings us inside.
The ceiling is domed in crystal like the first one, with a view of the endless sky.
Shelves stretch nearly as high as the ceiling, filled with withered scrolls and bound books in various sizes and colors, some plain, others with intricate designs on the spine, a few wrapped shut with thin silver chains that glow with light.
I point to them. “What are those?”
“Book guardians. It’s an enchantment to protect the Chronicles from harm. These are the last records of Ophir history and the magical arts. They are our testimony of the past, for our future.”
“House Eternal has a library, but nothing like this,” Gin says with awe as she spins around to take it all in. I watch her face light up, and at that moment I want nothing more than to give Gin her very own library, as close to this magical one as possible.
“I know you,” Gin says. “I’ve seen you in a dream.”
Luwalhati seems pleased. “You heard my call.” She clasps her elegant fingers in front of her and gazes off into the distance.
“I hope that one day the remaining Ophir will be able to resurrect the city in its entirety and return our people to their home above the sea. With the relics, that is possible. Without them…” She seems to consider her next words. “This all remains a dream. A memory.”
She glides down the middle of the room. We follow behind, still marveling at the towers of ink and parchment surrounding us. At one of the aisles, Luwalhati lifts her hand into the air, then chants something in an unfamiliar language.
The light spinning around the shelf speeds up, swirling around faster and faster, then halts in front of one of the volumes.
The book slides out from the shelf slowly.
Once it’s hovering in midair, it begins to descend, along with the light, until it lands gently in Luwalhati’s hand.
The light flies back up to the shelf and resumes its vigil.
Luwalhati carries the book to a slick wooden table, opens it up, and thumbs through a few pages. The book lies open on the table in front of us. “Show me your arms,” she orders.
“Our arms?” Gin says.
“I think she wants to see our marks,” I explain under my breath.
“Eban is correct,” Luwalhati says. She waits expectantly.
We both step forward and pull back our sleeves, revealing the birthmarks on our forearms. Luwalhati examines them both carefully. “Just as I suspected. Do you know what these are?” she asks us.
“In the Sleeve, they told me the image is a curse. They said it’s proof of being a descendant of those who caused the fall,” Gin says with a grimace.
“Is that what you believe?” Luwalhati asks.
“Not me,” I say. “My mother told me these are the marks of those who once ruled Ophir. Very few of us carry them. So it makes sense that those who don’t have one claim it’s something bad.”
“Your mother is right, Eban. These imprints are passed down from generation to generation,” Luwalhati tells us. She motions for us to look inside the book.
We both lean forward as she points. There’s a drawing that matches the symbol on Gin’s arm. Sigil of Matabagka, Warrior Clan of Ophir.
“I had no idea,” Gin says, her voice breaking with emotion. “It isn’t a curse at all.”
“Indeed not,” Luwalhati exclaims. “And Eban?” She points to the next page. There’s another drawing. This one matches my mark.
Family sigil of Ophir’s last ruler, the Duke of Chryse.
My face screws up in confusion. “I don’t understand. What does that mean?”
“I think it means you’re the heir to the Duke of Chryse,” Gin whispers.
“Gin is correct,” Luwalhati says. “You are both royal descendants of the lost city.”
Royals? Us? Thieves who have spent most of our lives scrounging and starving? I grew up in a gutter. My mother worked in a pleasure house, and not in the kitchen. I never knew my father. We could not be further from royalty if we tried. I’m too stunned to speak. Gin has tears in her eyes.
“When you found the relics, you were able to touch them, were you not?” Luwalhati asks. “The relics recognized your bloodline.”
I remember how I couldn’t touch the other bottles, but how the one I pocketed seemed to call to me. I couldn’t hear the spirit, but I was drawn to it nonetheless.
“Gineth, I understand you have already communicated with your spirit.”
Gin nods.
“Mine is silent,” I tell her.
“As you are not ready to listen yet, but you will be,” says Luwalhati. “Ophir needs you both to pass the bonding trials so you may have a chance to restore Ophir to its lost glory.”
Gin looks apprehensive. “What are the trials?”
“You must suffer a trial in order to bond with your ancestor spirit and tap into the strength of our gods. These are the traditions of our people. If you pass the test, your newfound powers will allow you to recover the remaining relics as well as serve a direct line to the gods. But the trials are quite dangerous, and while attempting to bond with a spirit can lead to great strength, it can also claim your life force instead of enhancing it. One must have a clear conscience to pass the test. Few survive it.”
I frown. I’ve led a hard life and have made many hard decisions. I’m done doing things I’ll regret. If, as Luwalhati said, one must have a clear conscience, I’m disqualified before I can even begin. I think of all the things I’ve done, the friends I’ve failed. Angel. Vergel.
Perhaps sensing my hesitation, Luwalhati puts a hand on my arm. “If you are not ready, perhaps this is not the time. We have waited five hundred years, we can wait as long as we need.”