ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD
The door of oak shut behind Zephyr, and the smell of books and ink made less haste before they were upon his pert nose, swirling and dancing about it. The library was a bijou haven of modest width and height. The ceiling, where a wagon wheel candelabra hung from, was supported by an arched pillar in the centre of the room, which was elegantly designed with the images of books and ravens filled with scholarly ambience; one of the ravens even had a monocle; Zephyr wondered why when his eyes met it. The image almost left him with a scoff, as he thought of the sort of alcohol the designers drank to give a raven a monocle.
At the wall at the end of the library, stood a wooden bookshelf blessed with leather-bound tomes and books and rolled up parchments. Some parchments that were too large and thick to fit within the bookshelf stood beside it instead, they were at least the height of a youngling; Zephyr looked at them in awe, he was sure they were maps, only such could stand as tall and glorious.
Around the bookshelf were wooden chairs of a single even number littered about, they were for the comfort of readers, but as Zephyr looked around the room, it was plain to him that not so many came. He would fill the library’s void, he told himself, he had now found a favourite spot for his needs, one he would definitely frequent.
“Your Grace, my prince!” A hoarse and shaky voice greeted from the corner on Zephyr’s right. It came suddenly and almost became a jumpscare for him, but it ended with him allowing his gaze to fly towards the wrinkled and grey-haired old man, who had crowned him on his first day in this world. He was the same as before, dressed in a large robe of white, and on his neck a large golden chain designed with the crest of a raven, only difference between then and now, was that he was presently seated behind a mildly wide ornate table as round as his chain, and he had a monocle on his left eye, just like the raven.
He was about to leave the comfort of his seat and stand to further his greetings, but the prince would not have it and gestured him to a stop with his palm out. “Greetings my lord Aelred. Please remain seated, your back is already weak enough as is. I’m sure my brother would not mind you honouring his presence from your chair.”
The grand savant turned his weak looking eyes which seemed to sag out towards the king, one of them hidden silently under his monocle, as if awaiting his approval, and that he got with a smile and a slight nod from Zephyr. He bowed his head with an exhale and remained seated, then raised his eyes to them one more time. “Your Grace and my prince Dante together in the room of books, a rare sight I must say. You seldom crossed paths with books before, Your Grace, yes, it is truly a rare sight,” Grand Savant Aelred began saying, and Dante had a smile on his face while he heard him speak, Zephyr as well, but his looked forced. “Oh. Pardon my manners, this old man must be slowly losing it. Have your seats, my lords.” He gestured at the empty chairs on the opposite of his side of the table.
“We were going to have our seats either way.” Dante smiled as he and Zephyr walked towards the grand savant, and each grabbed and sat on the chairs before the round ornate table. Zephyr saw what the old man was reading then, that was before they pried his attention away from it with their arrival. It was a large tome, one that looked to have at least a thousand pages, opened on the table. He looked at the wrinkles on the old man’s face and looked back at the tome, all the while his mind wondering why someone so elderly hadn’t finished the book yet. He was eighteen in his past life and he had read more than a thousand pages of books, and this man was not even halfway done with this one. Now that he thought about it, he knew not his age in this world. Was he still eighteen?
“Have you come for books?” Grand Savant Aelred asked them. “If so, I can promise you my recommendation never fails, your father was one to love them.” He wanted to chuckle after he spoke, but a smile came forth instead, a smile that was barely visible under all those wrinkles ploughing his face. Ravens, was he weak, he was so weak he couldn't even afford a laugh.
Dante chortled. “I know of your recommendations, my lord, I’ve read them all, remember?”
“Ah. Yes, I remember now. Pardon me, my prince, I must be getting old.”
You are old… Zephyr wanted to remind him, but the words made no escape off his lips.
“I accompanied my brother, he’s the one best fit to answer your question,” Dante said while gesturing towards Zephyr.
The grand savant turned his gaze to his king. “His grace came of his own accord? It is truly a rare sight.”
That wasn’t the only rare sight in the room, the old man himself was a rare sight to Zephyr. With every move of his limbs came a slight tremulous shake, it even came just by turning his head a bit, and Zephyr pondered how the man kept himself continually breathing, he looked like he would feed the crows anytime soon, but at the same time, the soon still looked so far ahead. How many years has he seen? Zephyr asked himself.
Grand Savant Aelred wheezed a short inside cough before saying once more to Zephyr, “Books, Your Grace? Recommendations aplenty, and none you shall be bored of. Or is it of something else you have visited?”
Dante left his eyes stuck on Zephyr’s face while he awaited his answer. This was why he was here with him. He wanted to know what could have brought a man lacking the love for books into a place teeming with the smell of such. He waited, all ears.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
It was not true though, this Zephyr loved books, but he was not here for them at the moment. He was here to feed his curiosity, and at the same time, his knowledge of this world. Afterall, he could only enjoy this world and all the good it had once he believed himself free from the shadow of death, and for that he needed light to be shed on all things unknown to him. “Your recommendations I might accept one day, but I’m not here for them now.” Dante’s brows twitched. Zephyr pointed to the tome before the grand savant. “But first, what is that?” His eyes had been on the tome at any chance he got, he wanted to know what the old man was reading. He had learnt that savants were men of wisdom, maybe if he understood them a bit, he would become wiser, even if just a little.
“Oh, this.” Grand Savant Aelred looked at the tome then back at Zephyr, his shaking unabating. “It is called: A Tale Of Red Steels. It was written by Grand Savant Morcant a long time ago during the bloody era, the era of your forefathers, King Aeron the first, and his son Daegal. It is quite a vast book, one I can never grow weary of. Taken a liking to it as I have, Your Grace?”
Sounds like quite a book… Zephyr thought to himself before answering the grand savant’s question, “Maybe.” He then turned to Dante. “Have you read it?”
Dante shook his head, his arms were over each other now. “No, brother. Too long for me, I prefer shorter.”
Zephyr dragged his eyes back to the old man. “Books aside, it is you I have come seeking, my lord. I have a question to ask.” Dante was overtly curious now, and he had found himself staring fixedly at his brother, as if the questions he intended to ask were written all over his face and he could see them. “It’s about a poison, the one called Moon’s bane. What do you know about it?” Dante’s eyebrows twitched again, it might as well have become his trademark at this point. Grand Savant Aelred’s brows must have twitched as well, but it no doubt went unnoticed, seeing as he seemingly lacked the energy to put enough force to make it noticeable.
The grand savant moved a slight movement of uneasiness on the chair he sat on, well as much as his weak muscles could allow. “Why would you want to know about that, Your Grace?”
Zephyr didn’t have a lie prepared for this question, so he chose to rely on something else, something that was as effective as lies if not more…
“It’s just a curious question, my lord, and I would prefer an answer for it, not another question.”
…His position and power.
Grand Savant Aelred sighed, a long but short sigh that seemed to go on and on for Zephyr, as his pale stormy grey eyes dropped to his hand of wrinkled flesh, flipping the tome to a close. Zephyr saw the cover of it then; it was of red leather with two long swords crossed over each other, which were dyed with crimson red thicker than the red of the book’s leather, that spilled from their points down to their fullers.
“Moon’s bane,” the grand savant began, pulling Zephyr’s wandering attention and eyes back to his ploughed face, “is a rare poison—”
“That much I know,” Zephyr cut in.
“That much everyone knows, Your Grace. But not everyone knows how it came about and why it is such a rare poison. It was first made by Grand Savant Morcant, he was a man of immense knowledge never seen before, he knew things no one knew, and made things that have never been seen, and the sole reason he brought this poison into existence was for the great king, Daegal Ravenswood, to take the throne by killing his father… Aeron.”
Dante’s face fell into a slight grimace, it was obvious he knew not the tale either, but now he was listening and now he would become a part of the few that knew it.
Grand Savant Aelred continued, “The recipe for the poison is only made known to us grand savants, passed down from grand savant to grand savant in every age serving the throne. We are the only ones that can make it, and we are strictly the guardians of such a dangerous thing.”
Zephyr’s heart was thumping in his chest now. “And why is it tagged as such a dangerous thing?” He asked. All poisons were dangerous, he knew that, so why was this one singled out so much that it sent shivers down anyone’s spine at its mention. He wanted to know that and how anyone could get a hold of it; he felt a clue lingered in the latter for sure.
“What makes it so dangerous is that there is no antidote. Once taken, there is no way to prevent the taker’s death,” the old man answered. “Whoever is poisoned by it loses their voice and all control of their nerves, all they are left with is their sight and hearing as they slowly await their death, which wastes no time to come. Do you understand why it is so dangerous now, Your Grace?”
Now I understand why he couldn’t call for help… Zephyr thought back to when he had transmigrated into this world.
“And I take it not anyone can get it?” Zephyr questioned.
“Yes, Your Grace. I am the only living person with the recipe, little wonder of that.”
Zephyr assessed the old man, blinked, and then asked, “Have you ever made any? Maybe not too long ago?”
Dante shifted his eyes quickly to the grand savant who moved slightly in his chair, his brow slanted in something akin to confusion. “None that I know of, Your Grace,” he answered. “Who could I possibly have made it for?” The old man pondered his own question as he asked, maybe he had forgotten, even he didn’t trust his own memories, but as of now, he remembered making nothing of such for anyone.
“And if I asked you to make it?”
The grand savant fell silent for a moment, but he knew the answer as much as Zephyr did, and he told him, “Then I would. I serve the throne, Your Grace, and anyone who sits upon it.” Dante watched, his voice not heard.
“That’s alright,” Zephyr said. It wasn’t though, deep down it wasn’t, it has never been alright. Nothing that would prevent his death came of this discussion, and this was not the first. It was always a brick wall, a dead end everytime he searched for answers, it was getting frustrating, so much he began to need something to cool down a bit, even if just for a moment. “I’ll take that.” He pointed to the red leather-bound tome. “If you please?”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Grand Savant Aelred pushed the tome towards him, and the next thing that touched it was Zephyr’s palms.
“The real danger is the user of the poison, Your Grace,” the man of plenty wrinkles began to tell the king, “it would not come to be if not requested. The poison is dangerous, but the user is even more of a danger.”