44
Heartless Lesson
Bopei’s second lesson of the day was more subtle. He guided Lottica and Nick into the stately building next to the remarkable fountain. It was the town hall, a good portion of which served as the library and government archive for the province. He sent them off to explore the maze of book stacks in the library filling an entire wing of the building while he did some official business connected to his return.
As the siblings walked down the library aisles heaped with heavy leather-bound tomes, many of them centuries old, they figured out their grandfather’s lesson: Lebreima had been around a long time. Its heritage, traditions, customs reaching far back into history. Most of the books were in Lebreiman and unreadable to them, but the act of hefting one off a shelf, feeling the thickness of the paper and almost amateurish unevenness of the typesetting, was like time traveling.
Many pre-dated the American Revolution. And it didn't matter that they might be stale volumes of land claims, or merchandise inventories, their brittle pages recorded a history long before Lottica and Nick’s country had even been founded. It made them feel even younger than their young years.
Twenty minutes later, Bopei found them nestled at the base of a shelf that held tomes half the size of Lottica. Another gentleman was with him. He seemed to be much older man than their grandfather, his white hair thinner and shoulders more stooped, but his eyes were alive and merry. Lottica could see in the smiles the two men exchanged that they were long-time friends.
Grandfather Breima’s friend leaned over the children and asked in fluent English, “What are you reading there?”
“The biggest book we could find,” Lottica answered. “We can’t actually read Lebreiman.’
The older man peered at the book cover and chuckled. “I cannot read this book either. It is in Latvian.”
Bopei bade his grandchildren rise and then introduced his friend. "Nick and Lottica, please meet Weirhamatt. He is great teacher. He is master of these books."
"No, no, Nickeillatus," Weirhamatt chuckled quietly, "I am their servant. You see, they still stand straight and I do not."
"We’re pleased to meet you, sir," Lottica said
Weirhamatt’s stooped shoulders straightened a bit. "Nikeillatus, she is just as Lotteika those many years ago."
Once again, a thrill electrified Lottica. That strange recognition of ancient connections. She felt herself blushing, but she didn't try to hide it. Stepping forward, she gently took Weirhamatt's hand. "Thank you for the compliment."
"So, very polite,” Weirhamatt said. “Now, come, come. I have promised your bopei a special lesson for such far away visitors."
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Weirhamatt ushered them out of the library wing of the building and into the central hall where the cupola rose sixty feet above them. He stopped on a sunburst design inset into the marble floor directly below the cupola. He pointed upwards. "As Breima, you, of course, must know the story of Hawk."
Lottica, her neck craned back, saw the dark form of Hawk, his wings spread wide, suspended in the golden light of the gilt dome. She suspected this was another part of the schooling Bopei had promised. Weirhamatt led them through a large outer office bustling with officials and secretaries many of whom nodded with respect to Weirhamatt and Grandfather Breima and smiled at the children. At the back of the office, Weirhamatt opened a rather nondescript door and bowed his head deferentially.
"Please accept Lebreima's humble hospitality," he said ushering them in.
He waved Lottica in first and her eyes almost popped out. Beyond the staid oak door, a chamber of supreme majesty greeted them. The room was two stories tall. Immediately to Lottica's left, filling one entire wall, were ornate bookcases filled with elegant volumes, sparkling with gilt lettering on their spines. Two finely polished brass ladders rested on high tracks. A grand fireplace and mantle anchored the wall directly opposite the door they entered.
Two massive chandeliers of filigreed brass and crystal hung above and served to divide the room. Under the chandelier nearest the massive hearth, finely upholstered chairs and small tables were arranged. Beneath the closer of the two chandeliers, a gleaming desk of finely inlaid wood was positioned to face the outer wall.
Here, simple wonder gave way to sheer awesomeness. The entire outer wall of the chamber was a monumental stained glass depiction of the sculpture they’d seen in the plaza fountain. Though more stylized, almost primitive in form, it represented the prostrate form of le Breima his hands clasped above his chest with Hawk perched on his fingertips. And, of course, the brilliant form of the Kareima, dead center in the window. The intricately pieced glass created an underwater vibrancy of light and color. The sky above le Breima's form subtly changed from the brilliant star-light quality of the heartstone to the deep purples and indigos of cavernous space.
The stained glass was breathtaking. A marvel to behold. Lottica studied the glass mural, its beauty and craftsmanship. Yet, her eyes kept being drawn to a strange emptiness directly beneath le Breima's prayerful hands. There was a blank pane of glass approximately six inches square. She was about to ask Weirhamatt about it when Nick called out.
"Lottica, you gotta see this!" He stood with Bopei and Weirhamatt next to an ornate bookstand placed between the two chandeliers. As she joined them, Nick stepped aside and let her see. On the lavish stand, a medieval manuscript rested. The left-hand page of the soft vellum was covered in carefully scripted writing, all of it in Lebreiman.
The right-hand page glowed with color. Divided into four quadrants, the page held illuminated drawings of the Kareima, the Fareima, and the Astreima. Lottica’s attention was drawn to the mysterious image of the Astreima, the one gemstone of the legendary lifestones that no human had ever beheld. She was about to ask about the Astreima, when her eyes tracked down the manuscript page. Her eyes almost popped out again.
The drawing in the lower right corner seemingly depicted two children, a boy and a girl. Each had their hands raised above their heads. In their hands, they held a heart emanating fiery light. Beneath their unclad feet, a dark bird spread its wings, the wingspan growing ever thinner until two thing lines curved up to touch the brilliant rays flowing from the boy and girl’s hands.
Lottica sucked in a deep breath, mesmerized. And also disconcerted. In the richly inked image of the boy and the girl there was a void, a heart-shaped blank. The void in each of the children bothered Lottica. It spoke of such desolation, of something vital missing. It raised so many questions.
What did the image represent? Who were the children? Why were their hearts so empty?
Despite the warm features of the majestic room and its amazing collection, that last question sent a deep chill down Lottica’s spine.