THREE

Days passed and it was all Harpyn could do to stay out of Geor’s way. After his spell failed, he had thrown himself into creating ever more complex concoctions, sending Harpyn down to the store room and out to the market over and over in search of increasingly rare ingredients.

Naturally, the little town of Torg Uyen had a limited supply of these types of things. More often than not, Harpyn returned empty-handed, only to be faced with Geor’s unreasonable ire. More than once he had suggested going to the capital, where there were sure to be more vendors and better options, but Geor had merely waved him off and grumbled about high society.

Shaking his head, Harpyn left his master to his own devices and found every excuse to sneak away into the stacks of books to do a bit of reading on his own. If Geor was displeased with his apprentice’s new hobby, he didn’t often come looking for him. Once, he even raised his head when Harpyn emerged from between the shelves and asked, “What have you been reading this time?” In a tone that could almost be taken for genuine kindness.

That time, Harpyn was able to answer that he had simply been reading about the Empress Gzifa and how she had united the seven citadels in the time before the war. Geor grunted but seemed to approve of this subject matter and turned back to his work without another comment.

And yet, every time that Harpyn picked up a book about magic, Geor seemed to know, and was quick to snatch it up and deposit it back on its shelf, chiding him for reading too many fairy tales.

Harpyn knew that he would never make any progress at this rate. He was even beginning to suspect that there was a reason Geor was keeping certain subjects off limits, if only to keep his apprentice around a while longer to do his menial work.

But no matter how many times Geor confiscated books and shooed Harpyn away to a different section of the library, there were a few things Harpyn never forgot. First, that there was a secret vault in the tower that harbored some unexplained magic. And second, that there was once an abundance of magic flowing freely through Andrysfal, and its source was apparently a well called Ashamsikunu.

With those two bits of information floating around in his head, he was determined to learn everything he could about the old world. And he was going to find out why Geor was so secretive about his magic now.

After several long weeks of fruitless searching, Harpyn returned to the very first shelf he’d ever read from, looking for the burgundy volume that had captured his attention before. When he arrived there, however, he found that the book had been removed. In it’s place, a black volume filled the gap.

Curious, Harpyn attempted to pull the volume from the shelf, but it remained fixed in place, as if by magic. No matter how hard he pulled, the book would not come free.

From somewhere beyond the shelves, Harpyn heard Geor’s laughter ringing out, a wholly unfamiliar sound. It was like a flock of crows chattering, the raspy sounds bouncing around the vaulted ceiling of the tower’s top room.

“I knew you’d go back again sooner or later,” Geor said, appearing at the end of the row. “What did I tell you about those fanciful tales? No good. I took the liberty of disposing of that particular volume after what you said. You were right, after all. It was a mistake to have such a thing among a proper library where just anybody could stumble upon it without the wherewithal to know what was true and what was merely a story.”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Harpyn balked at Geor. “You… disposed of it? How?”

His heart sank, fear blooming inside of him. So far, that book had been the only place he’d found mention of Ashamsikunu, and he hadn’t even finished reading the entry about the old well before Geor had interrupted him. He needed to know more.

“Ah, don’t you worry about that,” Geor said with a smile. “It’s done now, so you can go on reading anything else you’d like.”

“But-“ Harpyn started to argue, but he stopped himself as Geor looked at him, arching a brow.

Whatever Geor was saying, Harpyn knew that the truth was not so simple. He knew that some parts of the library were off limits, and Geor knew that Harpyn had not been suggesting that they get rid of the book. The whole thing made his insides squirm uncomfortably.

“Yes, sir. Thank you,” Harpyn finally managed, offering Geor a grateful smile.

Geor accepted his thanks and then turned to go. As he went, he said, “You’ll have the floors mopped and the vials sorted before you do any more reading. And while you’re at it, the steps could stand to be scrubbed.”

Harpyn scowled at his master’s back. Now he knew the old man was punishing him. By the time he mopped the floors and sorted the vials, there would be no time for reading. And it would take days to get the stairs scrubbed. Worst of all, Harpyn had a sneaking suspicion that Geor could snap his fingers and have everything cleaned up in an instant if he wanted to. He simply enjoyed making Harpyn’s life miserable.

Harpyn looked back longingly at the place where the burgundy volume had been. Whatever Geor had done with it, he meant to continue his search. There had to be another book somewhere in this library that mentioned Ashamsikunu, legend or not.

“And don’t forget to dust the tops of the windowsills! I do hate when they get grubby,” Geor continued, adding to Harpyn’s growing list of chores.

Frustrated, Harpyn stopped at the last row of shelves and snatched the first book that caught his eye. With another glare in Geor’s direction, he tucked it into his robe and hurried away in search of the mop.

When he retrieved the bucket from the closet, he ran the water with the valve wide open, checking to make sure he was alone. With the sound of the water covering his footsteps, he snuck away to his room and tucked the book under his pillow, satisfied that he had found a way around Geor’s attempts to stall him.

He gathered the rest of his supplies and made his way to the main room, humming to himself as he swabbed the floors in a steady rhythm. When that was done, he went to the pantry and set about organizing all of Geor’s vials, alphabetizing them and setting them in perfect rows. He even made a note of the ingredients that were running low so he could search for them next time Geor sent him to the market. That was, after all, going to be a task that fell to him, and he wanted to make his own life easier.

He remained in the pantry until long after the sun had set, carefully lifting each vial and dusting beneath it before setting it back in its place. When he finished, he was pleased to find that Geor had retired for the evening and was nowhere to be seen.

Grabbing the feather duster, he darted around the high tower room, dusting the tops of the arched windows as swiftly as he could, careful not to make any noise that might wake the Mage Consul and ruin his plans.

When all of his chores were done, he stole back to his room, pulled the door shut, locked it and settled into bed with a sigh of satisfaction. Smiling to himself, he reached behind his head and dragged the book out, letting it fall open in his lap.

Sitting up, Harpyn examined the page. It was a sketch, somewhat faded, but no less impressive for its age. The sketch depicted a large ship, except it was not in water. It was flying through the air, somehow suspended above a vast city. Streamers and flags waved from every point, and tiny blurred figures stood atop its deck, waving to the people below. It was the most magnificent contraption Harpyn had ever seen.

Mesmerized, he spent hours poring over the image, studying its every detail, imagining how the flying fortress could keep itself airborne. But he hardly needed to read the book to know that it was a matter of magic. No doubt, when the magic was lost, so were the magnificent ships of the sky. Ever since, men had been relegated to horses and carts.