Chapter 6 #4
Around a corner, there was a small golden shrine, eight feet or so in height.
It was nestled in the stacks, almost as if it had been moved in there fully formed, the shelving adjusted to fit around it.
Carved into the columns were decorative scroll work, in a language I couldn’t read.
The air grew heavy with age, as though the centuries were weighing it down.
Our footsteps, which had echoed through the stacks, were now muffled.
Wards shimmered around the shrine. Undeterred, Finn took my hand and pulled me through.
As I passed the entrance, there was a zap of power as the wards drifted over me, judging me, and then blooming in welcoming warmth.
I felt like it recognized me as feelings of rejoicing combined with a sense of finality hit me one after another.
In the center of the shrine, on a pedestal, was a book, bound in some ancient material, painted in gold. There was a subtle glow, an inner light coming from the pages themselves.
As we approached, it flipped open on its own, the glow strengthening.
“We try to not touch it with our hands,” Finn explained softly, “lest the oils hurt the pages more than they already have.”
I approached the pedestal slowly, my shoulders tensing as I sensed the power emanating from the book.
The inner light softly illuminated words written in flowing black script that shimmered atop pale cream paper.
As I started to read, it made no sense. It felt off, like a tune played slightly off key but you couldn’t quite put your finger on how to correct it.
I couldn’t explain it, just knew there was a wrongness present.
When I got to the end of the segment on the page, it flipped over automatically.
The more I read, the more the wrongness presented itself, my shoulders tightening even further.
I pulled back to look questioningly at Finn. “Is it missing a page?”
Finn shrugged. “I’ve gotten the sense over the years that it may be incomplete. But it’s all we have to work with.”
I went back to the beginning of the passage and started reading again.
The lines were oddly spaced throughout the page, as though parts had been removed.
Random words were obscured with a faint flicker of flame-colored light, as though whoever had written it had dropped ink blots in just the wrong places.
“What word is this?” I pointed at one of the ones under the ink blots, careful not to touch the page. The more I stared at the ink blot, the more it pulsed with a suppressed heat.
Finn came up alongside me, his shoulder brushing my arm as he bent down to look closer. “It is a little hard to read, but I think it’s power.”
A little hard to read? Were we looking at the same thing?
I squinted at it, and if I narrowed my eyes and turned my head at the right angle, I could see the vaguest form of “power” written there.
It still didn’t seem right, but this was my first time viewing it.
Finn had significantly more experience with it, so I was sure he knew better than I did.
Right?
I started reading it through for a third time.
When power and earth at once combine,
There shall come the true bloodline.
Hold true, hold on, hold in faith,
For one shall come, the name Orlaith.
With thunderous cry, she’ll do what must:
Rejoin the peoples, build the trust.
Only with her voice will light reign bright,
To heal her land, her people’s plight.
Do not confront the foes of dark,
Until Orlaith has found her spark.
Okay, well that one was pretty on the nose direction-wise: No one should do anything until Orlaith—me, supposedly—showed up, did some things, and found my “spark,” whatever the hell that meant.
I continued reading.
The one who came before grows weary,
Soul’s blinding light answers the query.
When darkness blots out the sun,
Her story has only just begun.
There was one of those random spacing sections, then it continued on with:
Orlaith comes when the sun goes dark,
Arriving home to find love’s mark.
Brightest light paves the way,
The protector rests where flowers lay.
Guard well the child unborn,
Lest all known to man be forsworn.
Another section of random spacing.
Flames of the forefather bathe her bright,
Start now the end of the fight.
When fire lights up the night sky,
It shall be time to reunify.
With a roar of thunderous cry,
Power’s might brings the last goodbye.
When souls torn asunder reunite,
That is when—the obscured word came next, but I filled in “power”—burns bright.
It really just seemed to say a lot about waiting until Orlaith had power—my channels, I supposed—and could use that power to push back the forces of darkness. There was suspiciously nothing about fixing the Veil. As a set of instructions, this was pretty lacking.
How was I supposed to figure out how to fix the Veil and stop people from dying if this was what everyone had put their faith in?
I spent some more time staring at it, trying to make sense of the wrongness I felt, as if a layer of intent had been gently, carefully, placed upon this document.
Intent for what, however, I had no idea.
It had been protected over the centuries; maybe all I was sensing were those that had come before.
That night, as I fell asleep, an image of a woman came to me. Her hair was dark and curly. She leaned her hip against a desk, fixing me with turquoise eyes. “Find the truth, kiddo. The whole truth. Find it and save us all.”