Chapter 28
I curled up in a corner of the library as rain rapped its knuckles against the window.
I yawned, pressing the heels of my hands to my eyes.
I’d been startled awake in the early hours of the morning by a dream in which I set the tangled copse of trees outside my window alight with blue flame.
I pored over a tome on ancient symbols, searching for anything that could explain why I found the trees so unsettling.
Native to the lowlands of the Northern Kingdoms, the yew is closely associated with death and balance.
Its red fruits may be eaten by some woodland creatures, however the yew is poisonous to humans and most livestock.
This has perhaps bolstered its association with mortality.
Yew trees can oft be found in graveyards and are considered by some to be a gateway to the Underworld.
Ferinor, God of the Afterlife, has often been said to carry a yew branch in his pocket.
“Nonsense,” I muttered, as the chapter came to an end.
I flipped through the pages, pausing at the sight of something familiar: a pentagram. I traced the points of it with my finger, recalling what I had witnessed in the blacksmith’s cellar. My attention flicked to the passage below the image.
The earliest usage of the pentagram is linked to ancient magical sects that went extinct approximately six thousand years before the rule of King Daemon.
Some scholars believe that the five points symbolize the oldest deities: Letlas, King of Gods; Althan, his queen; Nerisa, Goddess of the Sea; Bialar, Goddess of Fortune; and Ferinor, God of the Afterlife.
Inextricably linked together, these gods symbolize power, balance, and invocation.
I cast the book aside, massaging my temples with my forefingers. Perhaps the murderous witch haunting Valnar was religious?
“Oh,” came a voice, startling me. I glanced up, catching sight of the balding vampire I had noticed the day before. In his arms he held a precarious tower of books. “I didn’t see you there.”
“You must be the librarian,” I said, coming to my feet.
“Sebastian Pellesby,” he replied.
“Pleased to meet you.” I held out my arms as the tower of books tilted precariously. “Here, let me—”
“Don’t!” he said sharply, recoiling.
I scrubbed clammy palms down my breeches. “My apologies, it looked like you needed some help.”
He blinked at me wordlessly.
“My name is Finn, Finn Erramun,” I offered.
The faintest pulse of irritation wafted off of him. I felt like a chambermaid again, one who had accidentally wandered into the path of a courtier.
His lip curled. “I’m aware of who you are, Miss Erramun. In case you haven’t noticed, there are no other guests at the university besides yourself and the prince.”
My cheeks warmed. “Of course.”
His eyes panned to the stack of books beside me. I had combed through a number of volumes since the early morning hours. “I hope you plan to put those back where you found them.”
“I will,” I said hastily. “I actually used to clean the library at Valnar Castle,” I joked in a pathetic attempt to ease the awkwardness that was festering between us. “So I certainly know my way around … shelves.”
His brow furrowed. “How marvelous for our institution. A chamber-maid come to paw through our renowned selection.”
My brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”
He smirked. “Just stating the obvious.”
“Do you have some kind of problem with me?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“Well, it goes against our entire ethos,” he said matter-of-factly.
“What does?” I shot back.
“You being here,” he replied.
I balked. “I beg your pardon?”
“The royal family is exerting their influence where they shouldn’t for the King’s gain.
This is meant to be a selective institution open only to the kingdom’s finest minds.
Yet here you are, come to be shaped into the king’s weapon.
It’s a farce.” He smirked. “People like you, are not meant for Hollybrook.”
“If I didn’t know better I’d think you were insulting me,” I bit back.
“Who am I to insult His Majesty’s highly regarded adviser-in-training from the Outlands?”
I fumed. “Just because you’ve never had a student from the Outlands before doesn’t mean I’m less deserving of a place here than anyone else.”
“The university does not discriminate based on class. Your implication is insulting.”
“Really? I’m insulting you?”
“You are, you common—”
“Now, now, Sebastian,” came a drawling voice. “Choose your next words very carefully.”
The librarian’s eyes widened as Enhart approached, his shadow trailing lazily after him. He leaned against the towering bookcase, watching the small man like he might pounce. After what I’d witnessed on the journey here, I wouldn’t be surprised if he did.
“My apologies, Your Royal Highness,” murmured the librarian, dropping his gaze to the floor.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” said Enhart.
“Of course not, Your Royal Highness.”
“I know how much you like to torture newcomers. Especially those who dare come from anywhere but Valnar.”
“I would never, Your Royal Highness.”
“Don’t lie, Sebastian. It’s unbecoming.”
“Yes, Your Royal Highness.”
Enhart leaned toward him, a wicked smile on his lips. “Run along now.”
The man didn’t hesitate, turning on his heel and fleeing from sight with his arms still full of books. I rounded on the prince. “I can fight my own battles.”
His smile widened. “I’m well aware of that, but you look and sound as if you’re about to spontaneously combust in the most flammable room at this school.” He gripped my hand and I gasped as my skin sizzled in his palm. “And here I thought you’d have a hard time accessing the Ealdorfyre.”
I grimaced, the heat draining from my skin.
“Sebastian is a horrible little man. Always has been,” he said calmly. “Don’t let him get to you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I grumbled.
I glanced up as Ivor appeared in the doorway, slowly making his way into the room. “I’ve just seen Sebastian running for his life down the corridor. Shall I assume it was something you said?” he asked Enhart pointedly.
“Assume away,” said the prince cheerfully, letting my fingers slip from his.
Ivor sniffed, settling into the seat I had just vacated. “Arboriculture certainly is a fascinating subject,” he said absentmindedly, thumbing through the chapter I had abandoned.
Enhart snorted.
“I dreamed about the forest last night,” I told the Chancellor, inclining my head toward the window. “I was trying to see if there was anything in the library that might point to why.”
“Dreams carry great meaning,” he replied. “They show us the things that haunt us, and sometimes can even show us what will come to pass.”
I was certainly haunted. Most of my dreams centered around the worst days of my life. “What will come to pass,” I repeated. “As in the future?”
“The ability to portend the future is uncommon, but perhaps one that you will come to possess. That skill, I fear, is not one you will learn from anyone alive today. You must instead let the instinct develop naturally.”
“In my dream, the trees whispered to me, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Do you think it means anything?”
He stared blankly out the window. “I cannot say.”
An uncomfortable silence passed between us. “Your Royal Highness,” the ancient vampire said finally. “What do you know of the Ealdorfyre?”
My heart sank. I knew that it was why we had come, but the dread that seeped through my bones was nauseating.
“Less than you, I’m sure,” said the prince, dropping onto a divan by the fire.
“Prince Enhart tells me that you’ve seen it before,” I said.
The chancellor yawned, staring out the window at the rolling hills shrouded in mist. “Indeed, although it was a very long time ago. Some arcane historians tell us that the first witch, Celene, created the Ealdorfyre. She lived on a lonely isle in the middle of the Great Sea at the beginning of time. It was during this period that the power of the old gods was at its peak and the polar night reigned.”
“Polar night?” I asked.
“A phenomenon wherein the sun does not show its face for months on end. Not because of the clouds, like one might expect in Valnar, but because it simply does not rise.”
My eyes widened. “That sounds awful.”
He blinked. “It was a harsh existence, surely, for Celene and her ilk. They faced a near-endless cycle of disease, famine, and violence, and so she turned to the gods for help. Kneeling alone in the isle’s only temple, she took an athame—a double-edged dagger—to her flesh.
As her blood spilled onto the altar before her, the gods, who usually paid little attention to mere mortals, were intrigued.
Appearing before her, they allowed her to make her request. And so, she beseeched them to bestow upon her the power to save her people from the ongoing famine.
She promised to use her gifts sparingly—only for survival, only when her people were in need.
The gods, being in a benevolent mood, relented.
“With their blessing, Celene became keeper of a new power. She used it wisely, caring for her people and helping their society flourish. The earth became fertile beneath her touch, the oceans swarmed with enough fish to feed armies. It didn’t solve everything, of course—magic never does—but it made a difference.
And so, the first witch came to be revered by many.
Some even erected monuments in her image, honoring her as a lesser deity.
The gods, for their part, were particularly proud of what they had created, and so they gifted her with the power to bestow her gifts upon others.
Her acolytes formed the very first coven.
“After some time, Celene summoned the Ealdorfyre to protect her people during the polar night.
It is said that the unrelenting darkness cast more than shadows upon the land.
It roused malevolent spirits of the dead from the underworld that would swarm human settlements and feast upon the old and sick.
The spirits feared the Ealdorfyre, though, much to the relief of Celene and her people.
Celebrations were held for many days in her honor, and the leaders of the time bestowed upon her the title of Flamebearer.
The gods, however, were wary of this new magic.
They warned her that to misuse the Ealdorfyre was to release a curse upon her kind.
She swore to keep secret the spell that had summoned it, upon pain of death at their hands.
“Although her people flourished for many years, there were, of course, a small few who resented Celene for her power. Some who wished to abuse the flame. A new sect formed, claiming that she had upset the natural order by wielding these gifts from the gods. It was rumored that they were encouraged by the Goddess of Chaos, Samarin, who had grown bored with so little misery in the world. Rage burned in the eyes of one man in particular: Alastair. He stalked Celene’s every move like a shadow, determined to defy her.
“One night, while Celene practiced her craft, Alastair stole the Ealdorfyre. He raced to bring it to the people, but they could not contain it. The gods grew angry as the fire claimed their forest, leaving the wilderness naked and vulnerable. Though Celene fell to her knees and begged them for mercy, they saw fit to punish her. They unleashed a curse, damning her coven and their descendants for all eternity.”
Ivor yawned, scratching the tip of his nose with a long fingernail. I glanced at Enhart who remained sprawled on the divan, eyes shut.
“Is that it?” I asked.
“That’s the short of it, yes,” Ivor replied.
“Well, is it true?” I asked.
“All legends have some roots in the truth.”
I frowned, leaning back in my chair. “Those monuments you mentioned, I’ve read about them. They exist, don’t they?”
“One does,” Enhart piped up. “On the Obscure Isle. They call it the False Goddess.”
“False Goddess?” I scoffed. “If anyone’s false it’s Alastair.”
“Some might praise him,” countered Enhart. “He sought to bring the power to his people while Celene meant to keep it to herself and her followers.”
“He damned them, you mean.”
A snore interrupted us as Ivor’s head slumped against his chest. His steady breathing filled the room. I wondered briefly if Mordric had sent me here as some kind of joke. Enhart grinned. “You’ve done it now. You’ve bored Ivor to death.”
I rolled my eyes. “Why are you defending him?”
“He’s old!”
“Not Ivor,” I groaned. “Alistair.”
“Perhaps I just like to irritate you.”
“And what an excellent job you do.”
“Or perhaps being king’s adviser means you need to see the story from the point of view of the non-magical folk or you risk getting a big head.”
I bit back a retort. Glancing at Ivor, I lowered my voice. “Is this story supposed to put me at ease about the Ealdorfyre? Because I can assure you it’s doing the opposite.”
Enhart swung his legs around, planting his boots on the floor. “Ivor is a historian. He probably thinks that this is integral to your learning.”
“It is,” said the Chancellor, his eyes fluttering open. I scowled. “One must always arm oneself with knowledge before embarking on a new adventure.” He stood slowly, reaching an arm out to me, which I accepted reluctantly. “Now, let us put our understanding to the test.”