I’m standing by the statue of Thomas Cass in Boston Common, frowning at the bangle around my wrist. I’ve avoided looking at it as much as possible, expecting to find it didn’t work and my arm getting zombified. So far so good, there’s no sign the poison is spreading.
“That’s an interesting choice,” Chiaki says, coming to join me at the hidden entrance to the market and staring at the monstrosity around my wrist.
“Ms Ito…are you throwing shade?”
“I don’t think I need to,” she replies. It’s true, meanwhile she’s always so presentable. Here I am in jeans that are a little too baggy, a shirt that’s wrinkled and my light jacket in need of a wash. Meanwhile, Chiaki’s black hair falls freely down her shoulders and I realize I never knew how long it was until today since she always wears it up in the office. She has a white blouse on beneath a dark blue blazer and dark jeans.
“It’s…a family heirloom. You just insulted at least fifteen generations of Averlines,” I insist.
She graces me with a wry look before ensuring we’re not being watched or noticed by anyone. Coast clear, she whispers the password to the statue and the hatch opens long enough for both of us to slip inside the tunnel. Before we go down it, I take the bottle and, unsure how much we need, enthusiastically spray us both until we’re uncomfortably damp in places. For added protection, Chiaki wraps a scarf around her lower face while I pull the neck of my t-shirt up over mine. Then we travel down the dark tunnel without speaking, coming through to Margadh Sióg together. Right away I see the changes that came over the market. There’s little activity in the streets winding before us, and many of the shops’ windows are shuttered. The bar carved into the nearby boulder is empty, a sign indicating it’s also closed, and what people are walking in the streets have their faces covered, keep to themselves, and do not wander, going immediately to their destinations.
“This is terrible,” Chiaki whispers.
There was always a sense of life in Margadh Sióg and not just for the streets that were once so busy. There were lichen and mushrooms that were once luminous with their own light, only now they are dull and withered. Like Boston above, there’s a large section of the market that is free of buildings and left for vegetation; a beautiful park where one can, as rumor has it, spy unicorns if they’re lucky enough. It’s all dead now. Greens turned to browns; vibrant colors sucked away to nondescript beiges and grays.
With no clear idea how dangerous it is for us to be out in the open like this, I urge Chiaki forward and head directly towards the Archives. I entertained the thought of going to Leander’s shop, or even Jack’s, to see if I could get more information, but after arriving in the market I don’t want to risk it.
I don’t want to know if they died in the blight. My chest tightens and my hand clenches into a fist…Why couldn’t I have gotten here sooner? If only I got here sooner.
We’re not accosted at all on the way to the Archives, and it’s a relief to feel the lingering dread left behind as soon as we step inside. Here, at least, things operate as normal. Except for the fact that instead of a Fae waiting to ask us what we need, the Head Archivist stands in wait for us. Vasilisa is someone I wonder about; about how much she sees and knows…Did she know about Henry and Erra? If she did, why didn’t she stop it? Her fine brow lifts minutely, a sign she hears my unasked questions? Or a reaction to my intense stare?
“Riley,” she says, her richly warm voice as soothing as a hot bath.
“Vasilisa,” I reply. “This is Chiaki Ito, a fellow Centurion. Chiaki, this is the Head Archivist.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Chiaki says with a bow, one Vasilisa returns.
“And you,” the dragon replies. “You need not worry of the blight here; I assure you the Archives are clean. Come, I’ve been expecting you for some time now.”
I exchange a glance with Chiaki, but Vasilisa is already walking away from us, towards the other end of the grand hall we’re in. It’s quiet in the Archives. Normally there’s not a whole lot of noise, but you’d still hear the whispered conversation of those seeking knowledge. Not so much today, today it might as well be a tomb. I do see others though, and that makes me feel better somehow. A few Fae filing heavy tomes along the shelves, a Fomorian here and there making their security rounds.
The private reading room we enter towards the back of the Archives is cozy. The lighting is warm, the armchairs look squishy, and there’s a few oak tables with highbacked chairs set at them. It is at one of these tables Vasilisa stands, waiting for us. I see stacks of heavy books on the table, between the pillars of these makeshift towers rolled up scrolls are balanced. There’s enough reading material on this one table to last a month. Beyond the immediate light illuminating the reading table, I sense more than see, the many bookcases in the shadows holding even more information.
“You weren’t kidding about expecting us,” I look from the table to Vasilisa. “I take it this is everything you have on Erra?”
“Yes.”
There’s something reserved about her, not that she’s ever completely forthcoming. Still, the note in her tone suggests this isn’t easy for her, and questions burst in my mind that I don’t feel comfortable asking while Chiaki is here. I force them to remain unvoiced and move closer to the table instead. There are books scattered across the surface with text I can’t hope to decipher. Chiaki’s good with languages though, so I’ll leave those to her. Even with that decided, there is still a heaping amount of reading set before me.
“I shall leave you to it,” the dragon says.
“You’re not going to help us go through it?” I ask.
“No,” she replies curtly.
I consider reneging on my decision not to ask pressing questions, but there’s something akin to danger in her eyes when they meet my stern gaze. Vasilisa has always been an ally, albeit of a different sort, I really shouldn’t risk changing that now. So, instead of my barrage of inquiries, I straighten slightly, holding my head up high. “Very well. Thank you for this,” I gesture to the items on the table.
“Fair fortune to you both.”
She departs from the reading room and only when we hear the door echoing shut does Chiaki look at me quizzically. “Is there something I should know?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “She’s always been cryptic, not the sort to hold your hand through a problem.” When I came here looking for information on the werewolf killer, Vasilisa told me a story rather than a linear checklist of facts. A story that echoed my own with Henry and Amelia, and made me hate the Head Archivist for digging up my pain until I realized she was speaking of Elena, Castillo and their daughter who was also lost.
“Well,” Chiaki sighs, moving to one of the chairs at the table. “We better get started then.”
I grunt an agreement and sit down across from her, grabbing the nearest scroll and opening the ancient document carefully. “How’s your Greek?” I ask, recognizing the alphabet, but that’s about where my usefulness ends.
“Let me see,” she says, taking the heavy paper from me. Her eyes scan over the text, and I see her lips forming around the words as she spells them out for herself. “This is about a…weapon, I think. Only, I don’t know what kind of weapon. And…” Chiaki shakes her head, like she doesn’t want to say it. I’m immediately reminded of the smart kid in class who doesn’t want to chance being wrong about something. “One forged by Hephaestus?”
“By who now?”
“Hephaestus,” Chiaki repeats.
“Yeah…that doesn’t help.”
“From…Mount Olympus,” Chiaki says. “The God of Smithing.”
“Come on,” I laugh. “That’s ridiculous. I know there’s a lot to the world we don’t know, but we’ll go totally off the rails here if we consider this as fact.”
“I’m having trouble with it myself, Riley,” Chiaki admits. “But that’s what the text says. Let’s see what else we can learn, but keep this one separated so we can go back to it. If it is about a weapon forged by a…a god, it may be what we need to fight Erra.”
“Yeah, but…” I trail off.
“I said fight. Not kill.”
I look across the table at her. “So, you…?”
Her expression softens. “If there’s a way to save Henry, I want to help you find it,” she clarifies.
“Thank you.”
She smiles and I feel my lips pull into a soft smile too. I didn’t count on her as someone who would help, but then this isn’t the first time I misjudged Chiaki. I need to give her more credit. The silence between us starts to feel a little awkward though, so I clear my throat to bring us back to the task at hand. We still have a mountain to get through, one that’s probably just as hard to summit as the fabled Mount Olympus that we’re now apparently supposed to consider real.
I’m not sure how long we sit in silence while we read until I eventually look up from dusty pages and stretch. I see Chiaki is totally absorbed in the tattered document she holds. “Something useful?” I ask.
“I’m not sure, but it’s certainly fascinating,” she replies. “It’s an ancient account, I don’t know who could have written it, but…well, let me read it. I think I’ve got it translated well enough by now. He took the children of All who fell from favor and made them his own. Cast from Paradise, —and then there’s a bit I can’t figure out…left to the wilderness something dangerous. These peoples wandered and grieved the loss of their All. But in the skies to the west there was a sign, not the light of All but a shadow. Smoke. Fire. The people followed the sign — something about the sunset, with great fear. In time they came between the two rivers and the air was very hot. The waters of the rivers boiled and they thought this, briefly, the work of demons. Until he came.
“It was a corrupted beauty that met them; big black horns twisted like a crown around a face so pale. Eyes measuring them as if he thought to eat them. Black robes covered his gargantuan form, like smoke, like shadow. His voice rippled like thunder, soothing as ocean waves yet carrying the danger inherent in the deep. He questioned the people who had come to him, and they told this strange being of their plight.
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“The broken divinity confessed he met the same fate and that he would claim the Lost Children. He promised to share secrets with them if they could bring him obsidian. I think it goes on to talk about specific obsidian, or they had to do something to it? I’m not sure, I couldn’t make it out.
“And the people hurried to do as he bid, for this was a creature they did not know and they wanted to be taken in even if the creature scared them. It took them forty-two days to find obsidian and they returned to the place between the rivers and presented it to the scorching sun.
“A great hand was held over the obsidian and ashen skin became red as flame came from beneath it to curl around his arm. It flowed from his palm and into the obsidian.
“‘It is the last of my flames,” the great being said. “It will give you knowledge. Take it into your bodies, it won’t cause death.’
“But it did cause pain. For seven days and seven nights the Lost Children writhed and screamed in pain as the blight of their new divinity burned at their flesh and blood and thoughts. And in that burning they had visions of the exquisite paradise of All, of the truth. Many of them could not bear this truth and dashed their skulls against the rocks to be free of it, but those who did remain were given enlightenment by He of the Light. They called him merciful, ignoring the wicked gleam to his eyes.
“And they asked their god how could they repay him for his gift and he said to build a great city in his honor. So began the construction of Akkad. Built to honor him, it was a spectacle. A marvel of architecture, a gathering of intellectual minds and all it took was a twist, a whisper, to put such minds to weapons and death. This would be the start of conquest, corrupting the Lost Children as he’d been corrupted, and leading them to war.”
I let the story sink in, not entirely sure how much of it was meant to be allegorical and how much was meant as historical fact. I can’t wrap my head around this vision of some great titan granting forbidden knowledge to ancient humans. Like Prometheus, minus the consequences. I fold my arms across my chest, thinking hard on everything Chiaki just read. “Akkad,” I murmur. “That’s a place, right? It could be a lead.”
“It was a city in Mesopotamia,” Chiaki replies.
“So…Iraq?”
“Yes.”
“Oh shit, Ulysses mentioned that at the Council! He said Erra sacked Babylon, what you just read must have preceded that.”
“It’s also indicative that Erra was seen as a deity too,” Chiaki adds with a frown. “These ‘lost children’ worshipped him as one, anyway.”
“Who’s ‘All’? That came up a few times,” I’m still not ready to think about actual ancient gods roaming around the Earth.
“I’m not sure,” Chiaki sighs. “I was able to make a quick codex for most of this, but I couldn’t find a better word for that.”
“All right. So, we’ve confirmed he’s ancient, had followers, and waged war. We don’t know why he waged war, but I guess it proves no one at the Council was lying.” I still feel frustrated given that our new, more in-depth perspective still doesn’t provide much in the way of helping Henry, or even stopping Erra.
“And what have you found?”
I ignore the snip in her tone. “I haven’t seen ancient Fae being immune to typical weaknesses, per se, but I did come across a bit about cold iron and ash. The combination of the two is either lethal or just…really bad.”
“Let’s be sure of which, we don’t want to kill Muir.”
“Speak for yourself,” I grumble.
“Riley.”
“I know, I know. It was a joke,” sort of, not really. “Wait, let’s go back to that first scroll. Maybe the weapon mentioned is related to this cold iron and ash thing.”
Chiaki shuffles some books and journals aside and grabs the first text she read. Her eyes move quickly over the parchment and she shakes her head. “I’m not seeing anything about cold iron or ash,” she says. “But there are some words I don’t recognize and can’t figure out. The roots are completely different even from Classical Greek.”
“Let’s see if we can’t find those unknown words in more of these texts,” I suggest. “Maybe with more context we’ll be able to figure out the meaning.”
Chiaki agrees and we’re back to scanning through books and scrolls again. We sit in silence for hours, and as time crawls by and my patience wans, I get distracted by the numbness of my ass and the restlessness of my legs. My eyes are burning, and I need to reread every other sentence as my mind starts drifting despite how much I tell it to focus. I’m falling into a sort of daze that I’m violently snapped out of when Chiaki slaps her hand on the table.
“Wh-what?”
“Wake up, I think I found something about it,” she says. “There’s reference to ‘iron cast by those who were found’ and its effectiveness against would-be foes.”
“Those who were found…Erra’s Lost Children?” I guess. “Queen Aine talked about how Erra wiped out the Tuatha De Danann, so it stands to reason the Fae and their kin stood against him. Makes sense, if he’s such a blight he’s pretty much the exact opposite of what the Fae stand for.”
“I’m curious what other properties this ‘cold iron’ has that regular iron does not. Plain iron is already dangerous to the Fae.”
“It probably has something to do with that forbidden knowledge,” I reply. “So, maybe we can try to find more information about that. We can also look to see if what they made is the same weapon that first scroll talked about, the one that mentioned that smithing god. Or, maybe that was something to counter the cold iron…fuck, this is really hard considering how much time has passed since then!”
“And most of the remaining texts we have here I can’t read,” Chiaki sighs, matching my frustration. “The language is too archaic; I don’t even know where to begin.”
We’re quiet again as we think hard of what to do next. “We could ask someone who was there,” I suggest. “Both the O’Ceallaighs, or the Fae queens…or Sheldon.”
“Sheldon?”
I think of Erra passing on his regards, and the fear on Sheldon’s face when he first laid eyes on Erra in the black market. I can’t shake that it was a fear on a personal level, not just because of stories he heard about the sunset king. “Yeah,” I reply. “I know it sounds crazy, but what doesn’t at this point?”
“True,” she agrees, not sounding convinced on my theory. “They may have a better idea of where we can find this cold iron, the ash too. There must be an additional property to it that makes it so much more dangerous to the Fae than the usual kind.”
“Which we can then use to get Muir to talk,” I add. “If we manage to capture him, that is.”
“Right,” Chiaki replies. “Although, I still think there is something to this other weapon. I suppose we can ask Mr. Sheldon about Hephaestus too.”
“It’s too bad Vasilisa is being so dodgy…I imagine dragon fire would be just as effective and a lot easier to come by since she’s right here.”
“You may want to find out about that,” Chiaki lowers her voice, looking around even though the door leading to the room hasn’t been opened since Vasilisa left. “It would be wise to know her angle in all of this.”
“Yeah. I mean, she did get all of this for us,” I indicate the table’s contents. “But that doesn’t mean there’s nothing between the lines. All right. You look through whatever else you can translate; I’m going to seek her out. Hell, if nothing else, maybe she can answer about the weapon or weapons and we can spare ourselves the torture of trying to get information out of Mr. Sheldon.”
I get up and leave the private reading room. The Archives are still quiet, the rows and rows of shelves seeming to hum in the silence. Fairy lights drift about, casting shimmering hues of the rainbows over the grand hall. I hear footsteps on the stone floor, dampened now and then when they cross ornate rugs. I strain my memory to retrace the steps I took two years ago, to where I know Vasilisa’s lair is. I half expect to be stopped by the few Fae I do come across along the way, but they don’t have orders to deter me even if some of them look like they want to. Between those cross looks and my own horrible sense of direction, I nearly call it quits when I find myself at yet another dead end after a long corridor. I turn sharply, throat tight, and startle when I see one of those fairy lights bobbing in front of my face. It takes everything in me not to lift my hand and swat it out of my space. It flits to and fro, then takes off in the direction I just came from. I watch it curiously, seeing the way it pauses and circles around as if waiting for me. It is waiting for me, because when I finally follow it, the fairy light continues onwards.
We take a few turns and go through some doorways I missed entirely on my own, and now the stone walls that form impressive arches above us look more familiar. The rustic scones along the walls holding candles wash the stone in a yellowish light, and the air is dry and warm, warmer still the closer we get to Vasilisa’s home. Not much has changed in the gargantuan cavern. There are the shelves with Vasilisa’s personal collection of titles, the chaise lounge chair at the edge of the precipice, a large bed with a crystal chandelier above it. Vasilisa is at a desk that wasn’t there the last time I came here. She’s mixing some kind of potion…or poison, dropping ingredients into a pot while vibrant liquids bubble and froth in nearby beakers.
“I could not stand to see your wandering any longer,” she admits, waving a hand to dismiss the fairy light.
“I appreciate your mercy,” I reply. “Can I ask you something?”
“I did get you here,” Vasilisa points out.
“Good point. So, any chance you can tell me about cold iron? Or ash? Or Hephaestus?”
“I shall not.”
I frown, considering her choice of words. “But you could.”
“I have done all I am willing to do,” she replies. “Your decision to ask others is the right one, but you shall not have more from me.”
“Because the stakes aren’t high or anything,” I say through my teeth. “This is the perfect time to be stubborn.”
“I do not expect you to understand, Riley. Just know that while I do not stand with Erra, I also do not stand against him.”
“Your inaction is his gain,” I point out.
“If you must see it so…”
“And you won’t tell me why. You won’t help me understand?”
“I know love because of Erra.”
My brow furrows. “What about Muir?”
“I was not in love with Erra.”
“But—”
“It is not pertinent to your quest, Riley. It would be a grave betrayal for me to give you more aid and I will not justify my reasons. Take solace in my neutrality, and go forth with the information you gained here today. Ask your questions, those you hold alliance with can answer them, but trouble me no more.”
What sort of bond did she and Erra have? I know Vasilisa is ancient, so it stands to reason she was around while Erra was first becoming a threat in Mesopotamia, but what did she mean? How could he teach her what love is if they were never in love? My mind spins with possibilities, none of which seem to fully explain what the answer could be. Yet, whatever it was that Erra did for her, it’s not enough for her to side with him completely, and I know I need to be thankful for that. In return, I won’t tell the Order about her private affairs with Erra, because I’m sure they’ll take her stance as one of hostility. The last thing we need is to make an enemy of the world’s last dragon. Her expression softens, leading me to believe, once again, that she can read my thoughts. Or at least my intentions.
“Thanks for the books,” I mutter.
“Thank you for your understanding.”
“Oh, I don’t understand, but I’m trying to accept that this is just the way things are going to be.”
Vasilisa nods, obviously satisfied enough by this compromise, and I turn to depart. She doesn’t stop me, and so I leave her without any parting words. Outside her lair, the same fairy light bobs up and down and I let it lead me back to the main hall of the Archives, where it then darts off to join its fellows while I return to the private reading room. Chiaki is still pouring over musty pages.
“Anything else?” I ask.
“Nothing I can make out,” she sighs. “And the Head Archivist?”
“Couldn’t answer the questions,” I reply. “But she did say that our idea to ask the O’Ceallaighs or the queens is a good one. I think Sheldon was included in that too, unfortunately.”
“The safe house is probably set up by now,” Chiaki continues. “We could arrange for a meeting there. That way we don’t have to keep asking the same questions, and…well, if Mr. Sheldon does plan to withhold information, he may be less inclined to do so with our allies present.”
“I like your thinking, Chi.”
Because we can’t make anything else out in the texts, we pack up our things and make ready to depart Margadh Sióg. Chiaki once again wraps the scarf around her face while I pull my shirt up again. We head directly for the exit, not daring to linger especially with the greenish haze that seems to have sprung up around the market while we were in the Archives. This is what the rest of the world can expect because of Erra. I know how important it is to stop him, and quickly, but every time we make progress, I am reluctant to continue forward. So far, no one has mentioned any means of saving Henry. I can’t say for sure if anyone even knows if there’s a way to save him. Which means I may have to find the means with nothing to point me in the right direction. The impossibility of that task weighs me down, the immensity of it so powerful in that moment I almost want to sink to my knees there on main street and let the blight take me. That won’t help Henry though, so I force my feet to continue forward.