Quest The Zenith

[Elysium]

e
’Your pardon, sir? I was wondering if you could help me...does the Library have anyone skilled in Nader-canoch I might speak to?’

The young man who’d been busily transcribing a long piece of parchment nearly spilled his inkpot in surprise. There was an angelic, ivory statuette standing before him. He gaped for a moment, drinking in the exotic sight of shimmering scales and fertile green eyes before springing into action. ”Yes, of course,” he stammered, blatantly disarmed. ”My name is Wendel and I’d be more than happy to help.”

There was an element of comedy as he scrambled to his feet. The chair scraped clumsily across the floor, making random passerby wince. Standing stick straight, he bowed gracelessly before walking briskly to the other side of the room and into one of the library’s narrow corridors. Many watched with faintly amused expressions. His officious, awkward manner gave the impression of a primary school hall monitor. Even the orientation of his body was wrong - gangly and uncoordinated, as if not fully grown. It was obvious this was an apprentice, a youth that had not yet passed his initiation.

The hall was gleaming and creamy marble, yet another testament to Lhavit’s opulence. As they rounded the next corner, he stopped dead in the middle of the hall and gestured to a door on the right. It stood slightly ajar, the mouth of a dimly lit office. There was a woman inside, her raven hair luminous in the warm glow of candlelight. ”She can help you,” he said before quickly clearing his throat. The nerves were evident in his voice.

”Come in and close the door behind you,” called a voice like honey. Wendel took this cue and bowed again before scurrying off. He nearly broke into a run toward the end.

The space was uncluttered save for the mahogany desk, which nearly overflowed with paperwork. The woman regarded Alses with unsettling golden eyes, clearly lupine in nature. She was stock still, a great contrast to Wendel’s anxious skittering. ”Take a seat.” With a blithe hand, she gestured toward the adjacent chair. ”My name is Shara. Wendel is brand-new to us, so you’ll have to forgive him. What have you come for today?” Her eyes were immediately drawn to the leather-bound journal. ”Have you come to make a contribution?”

Yet somehow, she knew that was not it.

There was a strong scent of roses about the girl, mixed with the light odor of dust and wind. Nothing too unusual, yet there was tightness about the eyes, a sense of anxiety. Whatever she was after, it would be the acquisition of knowledge rather than the contribution of it. And if this she-wolf had to guess, she’d venture it related to the pulsating book in her grasp.

Her expression was impassive, thoughtful. ”If I may see that, I might provide you with the answers you seek. But first… You must tell me how you found such a powerfully enchanted article.” Shara extended her hand.
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[Alses]

Even tensed and worried as she was, straining all her senses for the merest hint of anything untoward, Alses had to smile wryly at the reaction she'd got. She'd got used to the occasionally-stupefied reactions in both forms – although for very different reasons, naturally.

She was about to reassure him, extend some explanation for her foul appearance, but he seemed to recover quickly enough, sketching an ungainly bow to her that caused her to fear for his balance and cover an involuntary smile with one hand.

He – 'Wendel,' Alses reminded herself - seemed to be made of knees, and controlled by a novice puppeteer who hadn't quite got the hang of it yet to boot; she watched his quill jerk across the snowy paper and his inkpot wobble dangerously with a wince that only intensified as his chair screeched back across the marble, the noise bouncing around the grand antechamber to the Library proper. Heads turned at the sound, but the other Seekers showed true devotion to duty, continuing with their copying or answering queries without pause or let, rather than rebuking him.

Alses thought – briefly – that that showed a responsible approach; she'd been in Wendel's position often enough herself, after all, and anything anyone said to him wouldn't be half as bad as the scolding he was doubtless subjecting himself to in the privacy of his own brain.

Regardless of how much like a marionette with tangled strings the young Seeker acted, he was still fast, shooting across the marble floor without so much as a by-your-leave, leaving Alses to flounder helplessly in his wake before she collected herself and hurried to catch up, fulminating in her brain against her stumpy legs and the general inadequacy of being a Konti.

She rocked for a moment under the scrollworked archway in the middle of the barricade of desks, the gateway to the rest of the library and its manifold wonders of paper and ink, but not for long – Wendel was getting further ahead and she'd have to hurry if she didn't want to lose him in the library labyrinth. Not that that would be entirely unpleasant, true, but the weight of the journal in her hands recalled her to her purpose – and to the events surrounding Arture's death, and the mystery of it all.

Hopefully there would be opportunity to come back to Bharani – and, with any luck, as a Reader rather than a simple private citizen, as now. Wendel's staccato footsteps, booming loudly on the floor, led her down one of the many smaller corridors branching off the main artery, sheathed in intricate marble and elaborately-carved woodwork as with most of the rest of the building, leading into what was evidently the administrative heart of the Library. Discreet double doors, mahogany and brass glowing darkly against the snowy stone and skyglass, lined the corridor, and as they turned the corner her guide stopped, so abruptly she almost cannoned into his back.

Alses blinked for a moment at the sight in front of her, battered by the nervous roiling waves pulsing and rolling through Wendel's aura, flashing and flaring even in her passive Sight. She tried not to thin her nostrils against the phantom soured-sweat stink of fear and apprehension – what, after all, did Wendel have to fear in the Library? The Library was – surely – safe, a store of knowledge nonpareil in this post-Valterrian world, guarded by the Shinya and the Seekers both, as well as by its thick, thick walls and doubtless many more, subtler defences.

Perhaps, then, he was simply afraid of whomsoever had the office they'd stopped in front of – the doors were slightly ajar and through it warm candlelight lanced, limning part of a figure in a shimmering glow. It looked rather cosy, actually, a paragon of order and civilisation – for where else could one find academics and administrators?

Even so, there was nothing wrong with a little caution.

“She can help you,” Wendel gulped, nodding towards the door even as every fibre of his being stood poised for flight. Alses didn't need to be an aurist to see that – it was evident in the tensed muscles and the flitting movement of his eyes, perpetually assessing and reassessing the surroundings, the flaws, the clues, the angles and, most critically, the avenues of escape.

Evidently, the woman – Alses was fairly sure it was a female figure she could see – had far sharper senses than was usual. That, or she hadn't been working at all and instead had nothing better to do than listen out for potential visitors, a hypothesis Alses thought extremely unlikely.

Wendel sketched what Alses charitably decided was a bow and then took off like a shot at the mellifluous voice emanating from the office he'd led her to, even before Alses had taken so much as a step towards the entryway, moving at a pace only just shy of full tilt as though all the hounds of the Unforgiving were nipping at his heels.

'What in Syna's name is so frightening about this lady?' Alses asked herself, senses straining as she moved into the office proper and, as per instructions, allowed the door to whisper closed with a near-inaudible click that got swallowed up in short order by the listening silence of the Bharani Library.

Elegantly minimalist perhaps best described the office, a fusion of Lhavit's own cultural style and an organized mind, but the centrepiece was a mahogany desk that would have been an object of desire had it not been half-buried beneath alpine mounds of paperwork. Framed rather nicely between two mountains of documents, in the valley between, presumably, 'In-tray' and 'Out', was the main focus and owner presumptive of the office, looking up from her work with direct – and unsettling – golden eyes.

There was something odd about her steady regard, some facet that didn't quite fit the box marked 'usual'...it took Alses a rather embarrassingly long time, long enough that she was waved into a seat, to pinpoint what it was – the eyes, somehow. Perhaps a little too deep-set, maybe just a little too sharply-angled, echoing the blueprint of a predator just enough to set off warning bells in that ancient part of the brain which dealt with the most primal of emotions, hotwired straight into the spine.

That fierce impression was, however, rather mitigated by the fact that the slightly predatory woman was holding a ink-brush, seated behind a desk overflowing with paperwork, and in a library to boot. It was rather hard to feel afraid under such circumstances, although Wendel had effortlessly managed it – then again, perhaps he knew more than Alses did. In fact, that was a near-certainty; perhaps she was his superior? Useless to speculate.

“I go by-” that split-second pause, as her true name screamed up her throat and turned to ashes “-Sela here,” Alses replied, in response to Shara sharing her own, accompanying it with a deep bow.

Courtesy and flattery didn't cost her anything, after all, and often paid dividends far in excess of the effort she'd expended. Manners opened doors and greased the wheels of social interaction – an important lesson for a half-there Ethaefal. “I shan't hold his actions against him; my form is not the most...” Alses cast around for a suitable word, and eventually settled on: “...reassuring, after all.”

Even as Alses' smile of demurral formed, ready to refute Shara's assumption, the Seeker proved herself penetratingly astute, cutting right to the heart of the matter in mere seconds, sharp eyes locked on Arture's Glyphed journal, still securely cradled in Alses' arms.

Alses slowly released the book from its protective cradle of flesh, placing it carefully into Shara's outstretched hand. “It was a bequest,” she replied, after some deliberation. “A last will and testament, if I'm reading it correctly.” A heavy, frustrated sigh, at her own lack of knowledge. “Unfortunately for me, all the text is in Nader-canoch, and whilst I can hold a passable conversation in the language, reading all of its intricacies - at least without a proper lexicon - is quite beyond me.” She shrugged, helplessly. “Which is why I came to the greatest repository of knowledge in Lhavit, perhaps in all of Mizahar. I confess, I'm rather surprised to have got this far.”

Alses paused, for just a moment, before a further thought struck her and she reached for the journal once more. “Please understand I don't wish to be rude, but I'm not certain the book will give up its secrets to you – the obscuring ward is...keyed, for want of a better word...to me and mine, if you take my meaning.”

[Elysium]

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”Greetings, Sela.” Shara replied sedately. The pale woman opposite her had some trouble producing a name – a hallmark of omission or worse. What was more, she referred to her outward appearance as a ‘form.’ Konti were very rare outside the White Isle and Shara had the feeling that wasn’t all. Wendel clearly had asked very little in the way of details. Typical. She quietly made a note to reprimand him for such haste. Still, her face showed no bemusement or ire.

The book itself was not the source of Shara’s discomfort. As she thumbed through, the pages appeared conspicuously blank. ”I see no script, here..” She mused, frowning. Reading nader-canoch was a strangely specific request and uncommon at that. There was only one way to truly divulge the journal’s secrets and so closing her eyes, she activated the mark emblazoned across the back of her neck. It glowed with gentle fire. Suddenly, a welter of images sprang forth, nearly blinding her in their intensity.

She froze for a moment, her lips parting. ”By Eyris…” She breathed, turning the item over in her hands. ”Enough with the fallacy. I will have the truth.” Her features turned stern, unforgiving. ”A man wrote this, pouring all of his hopes and fears thus. The last time his quill touched the page, he feared he would die…” Her fingers caressed the leather. ”You say this is keyed. I can sense that much as truth. The author was a very powerful mage.” So many impressions, all leading to dead ends.

She looked this strange woman over once more, trying to glean some insight from her exterior. ”I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. But first I must know your true name and face. Otherwise, there will be no aid from me on this day.” Her look was pointed and there was no escape, no matter where the eyes could roam. ”Now then.. This person clearly suffered from mental affliction… Perhaps even neuroses. There is such terror in the essence of this book to begin with, that I have difficulty feeling much else.”

Realizing her mistake, she clarified. ”I have been gifted with Eyris’ favor. Lykata gives me the ability to sense the essence of any one thing. It’s very useful for relic hunters such as ourselves, though it can always be applied in other fields of expertise.” Something compelled her to speak a great deal – inexplicably, at that. Something about Sela’s presence loosened the lips.

”Now speak.”
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[Alses]

"Now, speak.”

Shara's pronouncement, order, command, instruction – call it what you will – hung in the air between them, long after its physical sound had been swallowed up by the listening shelves all around.

Alses flinched as she dared to look up, seeing Shara's eyes taking on hard fire and narrowing, predatorily, at the waif-like Konti. She closed her eyes, replaying the slices of time as the woman's words sluiced over her, relating the final days and bells of Arture's life – and of how important the journal was to him.

It helped bolster her resolve. Sel'ira had told her to be careful about whom she revealed herself to, but there seemed to be no other way – and Shara's aura didn't taste wrong or foul or in any way duplicitous or unduly acquisitive. Mind you, there was always the possibility of being wrong, of facing someone much more skilled in deception and magic than she...but if you went down that route, she admonished herself, it trapped you as surely as Arture's mind had trapped him, forever in fear of phantoms.

“What I truly am?” she replied, rising and half-turning to check the doors were securely shut. They were, of course – she'd pushed them closed herself, but old habits died very hard. “I don't suppose there's any other way I can convince you to aid me?” she asked. It was mostly rhetorical, playing for time; one look at Shara's eyes had been enough to tell her that no weasel words, no artful dissimulation or sly elision would work – the woman would probably run rings around her or, worse, simply refuse to help. That would never do; she had a duty – by Syna, by Sel'ira, and by Arture himself - at least in her own mind - if the fragments she'd been able to translate herself in any way held true.

Distasteful as it was, there didn't seem to be any other reliable way of moving forward with her amateur investigation of Arture's demise. “Please understand this is...difficult,” she managed, eventually, turning to face the uncompromising woman and her stare. She summoned up a smile, intending it to be wry, but it probably came out watery, at best, instead.

“If you want to see what I truly am, we'll have to wait for the dawn. I'm Synaborn, Shara,” Alses qualified, seeing incomprehension start to bloom. “One of the fallen Chosen, a Daughter of Syna, if you wish to be dramatic. One of Lhavit's favoured Ethaefal. And you're right – Sela isn't my name. Nor is Alses, for that matter, but since there is no one singular word for the slow dance of the sun and the moon overhead, the bright glory of a sunbeam and the spectacular brilliance and fury of a solar prominence in any mortal language...Alses will do. Or Sela, if you prefer. It makes no difference, really.” A pause.

“A pleasure,” she added, tonelessly, tiredly, her eyes glittering rather more than they should have.

“Most of us with...less-than-pleasant mortal seemings, shall we say? try to keep them hidden and separate from what we really are. I'd appreciate it if you didn't judge me too harshly on this corpse-pale chain – my half-ruined state, and the forms I take, were ordained by a higher power than you or I.” Alses sighed, dropping back into her chair.

“You're right about the owner, by the way. His house shrieks of fear and unhappiness, his own insecurities burned into the skyglass over the years. Fear of everything outside his four walls, of life itself in some way. I've some small skill in auristics,” she added, by way of explanation. “Although it takes me far longer to find things out than yourself, it seems. The grace of Eyris is a wondrous thing – I need to rest and calm myself and weave tapestries of djed to lay the hidden mysteries of the world before my eyes, yet you – you simply look at an item and see all that it is and has been. I-” she caught herself, turned away from the tantalising tangent and forced herself back to the task in hand.

“And now the gentleman is dead,” she continued quietly, tapping the journal “And I will know why!” She held herself back from thumping the desk for emphasis, but only just. Concern for the alpine piles of paperwork, and what would happen if their order were disrupted, stayed her hand.

“Providing, of course, I can find someone whose knowledge of Nader-canoch is greater than mine. Will you help me, if I write out his words?”

[Elysium]

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Her eyes were hard and cold as agates. Sela’s vacillation did nothing to improve their trust, her weak smile making little to no impression moving on. Shara set both hands into a steeple, resting them thoughtfully against the flesh of her bottom lip. Still, the ivory-skinned Konti seemed to be steeling herself, as if the truth were a painful thing. She merely observed, the picture of neutrality.

For as far-fetched as it was, Shara seemed satisfied with the explanation. There was something unbearably familiar in her way, something now explained by the revelation of her dual identity. The Dusk Tower had intimate dealings with their organization, always eager to drink from the fount of wisdom and knowledge everlasting. She’d heard of Alses the Ethaefal, both a talented aurist and magecrafter. Dialogues with Chiona had yielded a great deal of information on the bright young woman.

”It is a pleasure,” she replied with an encouraging smile, loosing her fingers to extend a hand. ”Chiona has spoken very highly of you, though she did not mention this obvious distaste for your mortal seeming.” Her expression turned maternal, though she said nothing further on the subject. ”I will help you – with stipulations, of course.” This was a grand opportunity. There was always the misconception that wisdom and altruism went hand in hand. It was a laughable notion. ”In exchange for both my aid and my silence regarding it, I would ask a favor of you...”

Shara shifted through her daunting stacks of paperwork. ”I reserve the right to consult you on a matter regarding a very important object, the nature of which I’ll reveal at a later time. This matter should be resolved first. Look for my word when the Watchtowers turn.” Satisfied with this exchange of services, she smiled. The frost around her eyes melted. ”Here.” Retrieving a blank page and an inkpot, she then placed them on the opposing side of the desk. ”Scribe it to the best of your ability.”

Assuming Alses took heed, she assumed a more relaxed pose. ”Tell me more about this person and the nature of what he wrote. To know the script’s language of origin is to imply a background with it. Nader-canoch is nearly dead to the common man. I would have you explain just how you happened upon such a thing.” There was still much to be revealed. ”I’m not sold just yet on why you have to uncover such a mystery alone. Why not deliver it to the Shinya?” There was clearly a good reason. Why else would an apprentice mage waste time?
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[Alses]

“Chiona?” That wasn't a common name; indeed, there was only one person with that name she could think of who might conceivably have any relevance to her, but still...“Do you perhaps mean Lady Dusk?" she hazarded. "I don't think I've ever even met her...” Alses tailed off, confused. That was new, that was odd – why on earth would one of the Family, of laurelled House Dusk, powerful and wealthy, know about her? Beyond a name in a ledger, of course. Perhaps the Patriarch might remember, thanks to her service to him last season, though they'd never met face-to-face, merely exchanged a few letters. Maybe this Chiona wasn't a member of the Tower at all, merely someone who watched Ethaefal, for whatever reason. Who knew? Still, a mystery for another time, perhaps. Cautiously, Alses accepted the outstretched hand and shook it, quickly. Kissing it, as she'd seen some do, probably would have been too much.

“I take my lessons at the Tower during the day,” she replied instead, letting go with some alacrity, although the hard, predatory eyes had gentled considerably and there was even a small smile on Shara's lips now. “As a courtesy to a Synaborn, much as one of the Lethaefal might enjoy theirs at night, in the same position. Our distaste of this particular body is a private matter that's never impacted on the Tower, and I intend to keep it that way. To the best of my ability, at any rate.”

Then came the inevitable, what she'd been bracing herself for ever since she'd set foot over the threshold of the Library. An eye for an eye, a favour for a favour, as the saying went. Or possibly didn't, in point of fact – it had to be said that Alses wasn't particularly au courant with expressions and aphorisms. In a few decades they'd all doubtless change anyway, so what was the use in trying to memorise them?

A groan, but only an internal one, since she knew the cat's-cradle of request and favour, obligation and requirement which had carried her this far to be eminently reasonable. Knowledge – of any sort - was power, after all, and only the foolish didn't know its value. Naturally, the Bharani Library was the very last place one expected to find a fool.

“Agreed,” she murmured to Shara's conditions equably enough, curiosity piqued by the verbal dancing the librarian – well, probably rather more than a librarian - was doing, pussyfooting around the subject with the greatest of care, careful not to reveal – well, anything. Which meant the item in question was either hugely valuable, vastly dangerous, deathly secret, a complete mystery or perhaps all four rolled into one.

“I'm a formally trained sorceress, Shara,” Alses replied, in response to the interest in her passing familiarity with the near-dead wizard's language, alien to the masses of Mizahar. “I've been among wizards and academics for most of my life – first at the University of Zeltiva, and now here. If you want, or need, to help a research wizard with their work, you learn at least the rudiments of Nader-canoch. I've been kicking myself ever since I left Zeltiva for not packing a lexicon to continue my studies; I rather naively assumed it was much more common than it seems to actually be. A flaw of the environments I found myself in when I first returned to this mudball.” That flash of irritation against herself and the world, suppressed too late. “Sorry, to Mizahar.”

There was a pause, then, as Alses accepted ink-pot and paper, arranging them to her satisfaction and ordering her thoughts, carefully positioning the ledger for maximal readability as she began to write, one finger kept on the page to maintain the release of the ward – at least to her eyes.

“The author – his name is, or was, Arture - was a mage, obviously,” Alses murmured as she began to scribe the curve of the first letters, frequently consulting the pages of the journal that were, to Shara, completely blank, exactly tracing the shape of the letters and words. Painstaking and quite slow, but better that than producing something riddled with mistakes and blottings.

“Although I don't think he was affiliated to any of the Towers. A skilled glypher,” she continued absently, most of her being focused on the writing, “And at least a competent aurist, although his primary calling was the art of Summoning. He was powerful and quite proficient at it.” That last she'd taken from Sel'ira's appraisal, rather than her own understanding of his writing or her impressions of his abode – there had been no summoning-chamber she'd been able to discern, after all, no room or space reeking of alien djed and complex chaining magics that she could examine and wring that little bit more of his personality from.

“He didn't get out much; he was plagued by the cargo of past lives every Ethaefal carries, and afraid of life, of people, although I don't know why. I'm not even sure it had a basis in any sort of threat – until near the end of his existence, anyway. Compulsively neat, tidy to the point of obsession, the sort of person who scrubs the backs of wardrobes and makes their bed with the aid of a ruler.” She looked up, then, green eyes dark and direct. “As to the writing, I freely admit I can't read the majority of this, but I believe it's his will. Or, at the least, a relevant message.”

A sigh, recalling Sel'ira's warnings and how best to avoid mentioning her, a slowing in her writing as she thought. No expert in elision and distraction, her avoidance was perhaps not the best-crafted, nor the most subtle. “As to the Shinya...we've had to rely on others in our little investigation, too, just to get this far. Some of those remember the darker times before the Day of Discord, and all that the Shinya sanctioned – or at least ignored - back then. They don't trust our protectors as far as they could throw Koten Temple, even now, and in any case, officially speaking, I understand the case is closed, cold and dead. They smell a rat – I believe that's the expression? - and while I think there's another reason for that outward lack of interest, I still have obligations and favours to those who've helped me. Much as you've a condition to your aid, so did they, and that was not to go to the Shinya.” A shrug. “And what use is our word if we break it at the first opportunity? Or because it's convenient?” Alses shook her head briefly, still focused, engrossed, in her work.

“Besides, for all our apparent power and favour in the city, it's all smoke and mirrors. All it would take are some...inconvenient revelations...shall we say?...to bring the position of the Ethaefal in Lhavit crashing down; if there's anything truly embarrassing or inconvenient uncovered about one of our own, the image of the wise and gracious Ethaefal lies in ruins." A pause, as she squinted at the dense text and tried to copy it out to the best of her ability.

"If it were humans," she remarked, voice deceptively light, "That wouldn't be so bad – there are hundreds upon thousands upon thousands of you in Lhavit alone, whereas the Ethaefal...we number forty-nine, now, all told. People will start to wonder...what of the rest of them? What lurks behind the shine? And thus, the tide of opinion turns. The government are stepping very carefully, I think; if his death turns out to be something more sinister than what it appeared to be, or if he was involved in something dubious, then I doubt such information will make it to the general public, for fear of the damage it might do. And I would then be left, wondering and wondering and never knowing the truth.” She was on the last paragraph, now, carefully inking the swirls and angles of Arture's possibly-final words.

“I want to know what could make an Ethaefal, one who survived his first night here, afraid and alone and utterly bewildered by everything, kill himself. If that's what happened, of course. If you can survive that first, deadly insult, everything else is...put into perspective. Nothing is ever quite as bad as that first moment, that first morning, that first day, and most of all...that first night, when you lose the last vestige of your link to the divine and become completely...” her voice tailed off and she gestured at herself. “Mortal. Or so I thought, anyway. Arture may have proven me wrong – but therein lies the problem: I don't know about that. Not for certain – and I very much wish to be certain. For closure, catharsis, call it what you will – and also so I can guard myself against making the same mistakes.”

Work done, task complete, Alses carefully proffered the page back to Shara, the drying ink glistening in the even light.

[Elysium]

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Shara steepled her hands as Sela spoke, the words a melody to the rhythm of her skittering quill. It scratched across the paper and resisting temptation, the Kelvic merely continued to gaze forward, seemingly lost in the verbose explanation. So, there was far more to the tale than first said. The overwhelming detail to it, still riddled with omission and purposeful silence, was enough to confirm what she’d suspected all the while. This was correlated to the dying Ethaefal and this woman was not the first to try and figure it out.

However, she had turned up more evidence than all who came before her. Shara arched a brow in silent admiration, then snorted. ”Mudball.” Lowering her hands, she shook her head with a smirk. ”How supercilious. You can’t think very much of the life you live, granted that it lacks such divine splendor. Still, we’re grateful. Those of us used to this lowly mortality like to think we’re blessed with such eternal beings among us. It lends perspective, you see. We all tend to lead short, violent lives.”

Still, she didn’t appear displeased. To the contrary, the woman bore an earnest grin, making her look distinctly lupine in the flickering light. ”Arture, you say?” Amusement slowly faded as she considered this. Her theory was correct, then. A Summoner too, which fostered distrust in more official circles. How convenient then, that he’d lose the will to live after years of citizenship and contribution. Arture frequented the library and Shara knew him by name. Not comfortable revealing this little detail however, she allowed her Ethaefal friend to move the conversation along.

The mention of the Day of Discord clinched a nasty suspicion, already taking root in her brain. ”You did the right thing,” she said gently, eyes suddenly far away. ”I can’t fathom what would make an Ethaefal do such a thing, but for you to say the same… Well, there is clearly something more at work here. You mentioned yourself as a formally trained sorceress? Well, it will not save you.” Her amber eyes were penetrating. ”Clearly, as you speak so highly of this friend Arture.” Friend being the easiest word to choose.

There was a long silence after Alses slid the paper to her. Shara studied the characters single-mindedly, showing no emotion until she seemingly reached the end. A sinking, putrid feeling began to eat away at the bottom of her stomach. Without warning, she began to read:

’I am afraid. Not as I have been before – indeed, the outside world has troubled me despite my insatiable appetite for Syna’s glory. No, I am afraid for my life. I see shadows where there should be none. I sense a presence watching, always. They give the sense of brown and red and I can taste their murderous intent. They leave a trail, you see… Wider than an ox-cart and colder than ice. I can tell you that I may lose this unending life soon. I cherish it now; I have cried to think that despite my life’s work, I will soon meet my end. It slips through my grasp like the endless grains of sand. My only regret is that I did not realize soon enough.

Heed this, reader. I do not know who you are, but you must be versed in the tongues of old. You must be as I am – an Ethaefal, having plummeted from the divine realms in blind fright. Please listen to my end. My last request is to take my notes from the chest. It is in my bedroom. There are very sophisticated wards glyphed on the underside so as not to be detected by the naked eye. The trigger word is love. That is what I have lived and died for. I loved this bittersweet life. There are notes detailing my summoning and glyphing research, compiling both failure and blessed success.

I have left you three scrolls. With them, you will know what to do.

- Arture’

Aside from a few conjugation errors, the true message was clear. ”I do believe we should take a trip, don’t you agree?” The unspoken – ‘I’m coming with you.’ Shara rose, resolved to follow along. Whatever danger laid ahead, they'd be best off sticking together.
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[Alses]

“Ha.” The word, rather than any real expression of mirth, a reply to Shara's echoing of 'Mudball'. Then: "Supercilious? I've been told it's the arrogance of the Ethaefal, heads in the clouds and clutching at the divine that ignores all mortal provenance and dismisses all mortal affairs, but supercilious is a new one on me." A brief shake of the head, a retrenchement of purpose back to the matter in hand.

“Sorry for that: the night brings out the worst of my compound soul, just as the sun makes me hale and whole again. There's wonder and joy in this life, I know, even if it's harder to see it when Syna doesn't shine on the sky.” A wry flash of a smile flickered across her china-white face as she drank in Shara's gentle rebuttal, a new insight into the reason Lhavit honoured her eternal race.

“Arture, yes,” Alses confirmed, with a slight note of surprise in her quiet, lilting voice, letting the presumption of friendship pass for now – very few Ethaefal kept acquaintances amongst their own kind, let alone friends, but that was an unimportant nuance just now. The flickering candlelight, even with the steady undertone of the skyglass glow, made it difficult to read the pattern of muscles and expressions on Shara's face, now appearing distinctly wolf-like, the slight echo of 'predator' around her eyes spreading, without any real change, to engulf her entire face. The touch of her aura, too, that had the sense of predatory intent every now and then, as though the fierce librarian was a hunter on occasion – an unusual hobby for an academician, to be sure – and there was – Alses' nose wrinkled, instinctive; was that a smell of wet dog, of all things? Perhaps she was fond of dogs – there was a definite sense, somehow, that this was not a cat person in the least.

Alses shook her head to clear it of unproductive musings and to conserve her powers both – using them without stint and without need right now would only come back to haunt her, probably at the worst possible time, too. “That was his name.” She was curious about the repeat of something she'd thought perfectly obvious and reinforced by the copied paragraphs she'd handed over, but the librarian didn't take the bait, the angling hook inserted into the inflection of her speech: no reply, Shara having directed her prodigious attention to the copied text and her eyes scanning rapidly left-to-right across the dense lettering, heart and head seeking out the meaning there.

Without warning, Shara's mouth opened and she began to speak, a deeply impressive running translation all the more significant for the lack of a lexicon or written reference.

Alses listened, restive and appalled by turns, as Shara continued to read out her translation, the librarian's voice surprisingly measured and calm despite the desperation and fear that uncurled from the words.

“Murder, then,” Alses breathed quietly, absently reclaiming the message copy and feeling rage and fear begin to rise from the depths of her soul. “Hunted and stalked and in mortal dread for a life that shouldn't have ended.”

Alses winced at Shara's blunt assessment of the enemy – and there was an enemy, of that she was sure – capabilities, and her own chances, even as a Dusk Tower-trained mage. “Much as it pains me to admit it, I think you're right. My magic isn't fireballs in the night or turning fingers into claws – not yet, anyway. Now that I'm looking, I can find this...this trail of red and yellow, this flash of murder and ice and the phantom stink of murder, but that's where my usefulness ends.” She sighed, seeing the end of the road looming large in front of her.

Under normal circumstances, she'd have taken things straight to the Shinya and used every scrap of influence she could muster to see things through, but she'd promised, given her solemn word to Sel'ira. The only other option was finding guards or mercenaries in the city, and that possibility rankled too.

She was interrupted before the spiral of self-defeating schemes and thoughts grew too great, however, by Shara herself, decisive and humming with a dangerous, pent-up energy. Definitely not just an academic, this one, not content to sit in Bharani and read all the time.

“I do believe we should take a trip, don’t you agree?”

Alses blinked stupidly at the woman as she casually, blithely inserted herself into this unofficial investigation. Her brain raced as she tried to find something politic to say. “I certainly have to go back,” she replied, choosing the words with care even as she also stood up and made towards the door. “And I'd not be averse to help, Syna knows, but – well-” as she splutteringly tried to articulate the thought that this was suddenly a very dangerous endeavour and while she was grateful, what concern was it of a librarian, and what use – again, no offence intended, truly – could she be, her brain raced into action, providing answers and a conjecture that just would not go away.

Shara's gnosis magic, that envy-inducing ability, could very well prove variously useful, and more to the point... “Forgive me," she began suddenly. "Did you know Arture?”

It was the only other reason for the sudden engagement of an otherwise-detached librarian that she could think of, having picked up on the oddity of Shara's earlier question about his name and her sudden, subsequent involvement.

[Elysium]

e
Her hesitation was to be expected. Most people thought of the Seekers as a group of bookworms, cloistered in their skyglass library, poring over ancient tomes and the like. It was partially true but they were also relic hunters, archaeologists, very often being forced into danger. Shara pursed her lips, pondering her next course of action, when Alses hit her with the question.

Reluctantly, she began. ”I knew him.” At first, it seemed that’d be the only reply. But abruptly almost, she continued. ”He came here often. I remember his contribution, actually: ’Kelvic Factor and Summoners of the Suvan Empire,’ by Arture Synaborn. His surname was lacking in originality, but the book's content was fascinating. Apparently, in some divine discourse with Syna herself, he managed to obtain choice information of pre-Valterrian summoning research.” Clearing her throat, she glanced sidelong at the ethereal beauty.

”We spoke extensively of it. Certain people in this world, Kelvics, resemble animals so closely that they can seamlessly change from one to the other. It’s caused by a hereditary factor introduced through the art of Summoning. Some scientists fused mimic-like beings with animals, creating a original race not truly of this world.” Shara was staring fixedly at a piece of lint on the collar of her robe. ”It is a little known fact that I have inherited this selfsame factor.” Looking up, her eyes were gentle. ”I am a Kelvic. A wolf, to be precise.”

And to that, a lopsided grin.

”Trust that I am more than capable of protecting you, if that’s your concern. I’ve spent a great deal of time in the Unforgiving and I’m no slouch in a fight. Between our combined talent, you’re more than safe.” Her spirit was unyielding. In the auristic sense, she was solid mass of dark colors – a cohesive tapestry of will. It would be near impossible to dissuade her.

”I’m sorry, but he was a friend. Perhaps not a dear friend, but close enough. I rarely keep others company and his findings allowed me some inner peace. I’d like to repay that act, if I may.” She flashed her a tentative, melancholy smile.
e

[Alses]

“Truly, Bharani is a wondrous place,” Alses declared, voice almost reverent with appreciation of the rare knowledge stacked all around. “The Kelvic were made?” she breathed, eyes wide in wonder and thought, only half-noticing Shara's fixed discomfort on the topic. “An entire race was made? By mortal hands? Syna above...I can't even conceive of the mastery you'd need to do something like that – I thought it was well within the exclusive purview of the divine.” A shake of her head, wondering and sorrowful in equal measure. “The Valterrian destroyed so much.”

'Kelvic Factor and the Summoners of the Suvan Empire.' Alses committed the name to memory, fully intending to devour every word the instant she could, her face lit with the hunger for knowledge. Especially knowledge received from the hand of Syna Herself.

Armed with the new information, the surprise of a Kelvic librarian clear on her face for all she tried to hide it, Alses re-examined the sometimes-severe woman, taking the predatory cast of her features, the fading hunting-arrowheads of purpose unfurling through the upper reaches of her dark and determined aura, in a whole new light. Alses tasted, wondering, the bright coil of shivering power that seemed to twist and jink around her soul, the rough prickle of fur on the skin ghosting across her arms and face, and everywhere, the subliminal, hitherto-ignored sense of teeth and swiftness. Perhaps it was closer to the surface now than before, perhaps she was simply alerted to it, looking for it. Either way...

“Fascinating,” she breathed, bringing herself out of the half-there, sense-drenched world. “Truly, that they had the will and artifice to see it breed true even now.”

To Alses, there was an unspoken covenant hanging in the air. Shara's shapeshifting - a facet of Mizahar Alses had only really been aware of in the case of Twilight Tower Morphers - was something she held close to her heart, for whatever reason, just as Alses tried to hide her Konti chain. Almost like a shared secret, it bound them both, in a way.

Shara seemed happy enough with her lot, though – 'How could it be otherwise?' an idle part of Alses' brain demanded, ruthlessly applying logic to the situation - especially as her thoughts turned towards the matter in hand. A lopsided smile saw the librarian's red, red lips curling back from teeth that were perhaps a little too long, a little too curved: a set of gnashers perhaps more suited to a lupine form than a human mouth...if you were looking for it, that was. There was anticipation thrilling through her body, now, too, a tensing and bunching of muscles against bone, every bit of her subtly poised and ready for the off.

Shara was perceptive, too, lancing straight to the heart of one of Alses' concerns with that wolfish grin – Alses felt justified in calling it that, now - still in place. There was much more to the Seekers than simple librarians, everyone vaguely knew – adventurers, delvers and the like who kept knowledge, relics, trinkets and so forth flowing back to the sprawling palace of information that was the Library, but Alses had always rather assumed they were brought on as mercenaries or otherwise held separate from the more civilian guardianship of Bharani itself.

Shara, though, was causing her to revise those opinions. A warrior academic, it seemed, an example of a supremely rare breed, equally at home in the library as she was in the Unforgiving – the truly untamed wilderness beyond the Misty Peaks, where even the Shinya would surely fear to tread. Perhaps the other form, the result of an otherworldly mimic-creature, and otherworldly it had to be, if Summoning was involved, surely – helped with that, being able to run as a powerful wolf through the untamed forests rather than stumbling along as a human.

Soon, too soon, before she could ask more about this proactive side of the Seekers, learn more about the mysterious Kelvic race, the conversation swung back to Arture. Alses reined in her irrational irritation with a firm hand – time might be of the essence with the matter currently in hand, but Bharani would stand for seasons and years to come. There would be ample opportunity later, especially given Shara's condition for her aid – although that didn't much help her impatient brain.

Shara's soft, slightly sad words, concerning her friendship and, yes, understanding with Arture, someone who had evidently helped her, did, however.

“Now that I understand,” Alses replied quietly. “We don't have many we'd call 'friend' in this city, either. No need to apologise to me; I shall be very glad of your company – and your lupine teeth, if it comes to it. I know the way,” she added, making for the doors.

Presently, they were in the maze of corridors, heading back towards the entryway of the library and the city beyond, never truly sleeping, even in the bells of rest.

“I know next to nothing about the Kelvic,” Alses announced quietly as they padded down the deserted marble and skyglass hallway. “Does it – is it difficult, being in the city? As an animal, I mean – do the Shinya not worry about a wolf on the streets, for instance?” Alien – and therefore interesting - to the eternal Ethaefal, Alses had little conception of how a shapeshifter saw the world, how they experienced life from one tick to another.

OOCQuick question, m'dear - I note that in the Atlas there's reference to a group called the Servants of Eyris - is that the new name for the Seekers, perchance, or something else entirely?