A gusty breeze blew through the cabin as Cove tossed open the door. The wind caught the pages of the journal, tugging them at my hands. Rather than risking damage, I let the thick pages slip from my hands as they arched up above the cover. There was a thud as Cove shut the door behind him, the pages sinking gently into place.
His footsteps echoed throughout the room, followed by the sound of rustling papers as Cove began picking up the scattered contents of the room. To our favor, in our room, it was mostly papers that had been tossed over during the battle. His gaze was a solid weight on my back, his curiosity palpable as he kept pausing as he walked by, glancing over my shoulder.
A dark smudge of charcoal on the page beneath drew my attention, and I carefully drew the pages apart, opening the curtain to a deceptively beautiful drawing that differed greatly from Setare’s horrendous handwriting. It was stunning, far better than any of the images I’d drawn so far.
All of those observations were secondary to the very large reality staring back at me. There, depicted in her journal, was a stunning sketch of the glass ceiling, pictured pillars, and the dusty books of the library from my dreams. My fingers burned as I resisted the urge to trace the familiar shapes. Instead, I trailed them over the letters on the page next to it.
41. 14. 7.
Last night, I dreamed of a beautiful library full of wondrous stories–
The last threads of Setare’s story fell into place, and the connection between her, my dreams, and Shahrazad suddenly as clear as the glass ceiling of the library.
I gently closed Setare’s journal, catching Cove’s attention. He pattered over. “Discover something?” He asked too casually.
With no little scorn, I glanced at him. “Of course.” He stared at me, gesturing for me to proceed.
I drummed my fingers along the spine of the journal as I spoke as if I were drawing in the proper words through my fingers with each rhythmic tap. It was difficult to decide where to begin. “Setare–the writer of this journal–” I clarified, upon seeing Cove’s raised eyebrow, “has the other fragment.”
“I thought one of the rooks had a fragment?”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t–oh,” he frowned, the logistics striking him. He reclined against the edge of his desk, arms crossed. “You think transform will work?”
This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.
I shrugged. “It did on the Ilbis. Presumably, it’ll work against djinn magic as well.”
“...Sinbad’s still giving his rousing public speech.”
“We’ll inform him when we get the chance,” I waved his concerns off, unworried.
As sand crunched beneath my feet, I mused that we never ended up getting that chance. A fresh, warm breeze cut around the small landing party, consisting of Sinbad, Cove, Eliza, and me. After the kraken incident, most of the crew had been left behind to sort out the ship. Sinbad had ushered our small crew out, confident we could handle it alone. Ani and Ranch, too, had decided to stay behind, curling up on our beds and not so much as blinking when Cove and I stormed out the door, ushered by Eliza.
I wasn’t quite so sure, but the idea of using transform was preferable to having no plan at all.
Sinbad gave us the universal signal to hush, motioning toward the dense jungle ahead. He shepherded us forward, shushing us each time we tried to speak, wary of being caught out in the open. The shrubbery guardian the entrance to the jungle loomed before us, thick and impassible looking.
Metal twanged as Sinbad drew his machete, hacking through the barrier in a few smooth moves before vanishing into the thrush. I exchanged a glance and an uneasy shrug with Cove as the cracking branches and stems heralded the path ahead, the other party members vanishing into the brush ahead. I switched over to the explorer class and followed, pushing past the other members of the party until I was on Sinbad’s heel. Frustrated, I snatched his shoulder, ttugging him around to look at me. “Hold on a minute. Cove and I have been trying to get ahold of you for hours.”
Eliza plowed into my back, bumping me to the side as I glared. She raised her hands in surrender. “Sorry,” she said, not sounding very sorry. Our travels ground to a halt as I explained what I’d discovered in Setare’s journal, the looks of confusion clearing into understanding.
Eliza tossed her hands into a careless shrug. “So ya want our lot to distract the beastie–” Sinbad raised an eyebrow, and she corrected herself “sorry, her–while ya collect this fragment or somethin’?”
“Or something.”
“Easy enough.”
We fell back into line, hacking and plowing our way through the dense jungle. When Sinbad grew tired, Eliza took his place at the front as he fell to the rear his machete never leaving his hand. The duty of clearing the path ran down the line in such a manner as we made exhaustingly show progress through the brush, having to carve our way through every inch we moved forward. If it wasn’t a monumentally stupid idea, I might have been tempted to burn the entire jungle to the ground. As it was, I seriously debated the merits of teleporting forward. If the rooks weren’t such deadly creatures, perhaps I might have.