Chapter Twenty-Three: Old Books
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The early morning sunlight filtered weakly through the curtains of the hotel room, casting pale stripes across the worn wooden floor. Jace sat hunched on the edge of his bed, his shoulders weighed down by thoughts far heavier than the flimsy excuse he’d given the others. They’d left in a flurry of laughter and anticipation, their voices echoing in the hallway, bound for the fair. He’d murmured something about needing more rest, but the truth was harder to share. The revelations from the night before clung to him like shadows, every unanswered question pressing like a stone in his chest.
He wasn’t going to find answers at a carnival.
Jace stood, pulling his cloak tightly around him as he slipped into the town’s bustling streets. The air was crisp, the faint chill of early morning biting at his cheeks. He moved with purpose, his boots striking the cobblestones in a steady rhythm. The hotel receptionist’s casual mention of a library tucked away in the Merchant District had lodged itself in his mind. A quiet place, rarely frequented by Travelers. That suited him just fine.
He needed answers—about Roandia, about his mother’s kingdom, about the intricate, invisible threads that bound Terra Mythica together. Roandia was just one thread in the tapestry, but it was a noose tightening around his neck.
The streets of the Merchant District felt alive, but the wrong kind of alive. The hum of enchantments prickled at his senses, faint but constant. Merchants called out in bright, rehearsed tones, their wares glittering under illusory sunlight. The aroma of spiced pastries and roasted chestnuts mingled with the metallic tang of magic in the air, but the cheer felt brittle, like porcelain painted to hide cracks.
Then he saw it.
The building loomed at the end of a narrow, winding street, stark and defiant against the warm morning sky. Its spires jutted at impossible angles, crooked and sharp like bones breaking under their own weight. Dark stone walls pulsed faintly, as though alive, and the iron door knocker, shaped into the grotesque visage of a smirking man, seemed to sneer at him.
Jace froze, unease prickling his skin. He knew this place.
The White Raven Ring. The name alone carried the weight of memory—his first major artifact, the one that had felt more curse than gift. He hadn’t given the shopkeeper much thought back then, swept up in the rush of Terra Mythica’s treasures and the giddy, ignorant thrill of discovery. But now, the memory resurfaced with sharp edges, every detail stained with suspicion.
He stepped closer, his hand brushing against the iron knocker. It shifted beneath his touch, its smirk twisting unnervingly. “Welcome back,” it rasped, its voice a grating scrape of gravel against steel. The sound made Jace’s jaw clench, but before he could respond, the door creaked open on its own.
The air inside hit him like a physical force, thick with the damp, earthy scent of decay, mingled with the dry sharpness of ancient parchment and the faint metallic bite of old blood. Shelves stretched endlessly into the gloom, crammed with artifacts that glimmered faintly in the dim light. They seemed to watch him, their shapes uncanny and wrong in a way he couldn’t quite define.
From the shadows emerged a figure, thin and angular as if carved from pale wax. The man moved with unsettling precision, his deathly pale skin and sharp, hollow features unchanged since their last encounter. His eyes, the color of frozen ponds, locked onto Jace with a familiarity that sent a shiver down his spine.
“Well,” the man said, his voice soft and smooth like silk over steel. “You’ve returned. And here I thought you’d forgotten all about me.” He tilted his head, his thin lips curling into something that might have been a smile but felt far closer to a threat.
Jace stiffened, his hand instinctively brushing the edge of his cloak. “I didn’t plan on coming back.”
The shopkeeper’s pale hands folded neatly in front of him, the movement deliberate and unsettlingly calm. “Ah, but plans change, don’t they? The winds of Terra Mythica have a way of blowing travelers exactly where they’re meant to be.”
Jace’s fingers itched to reach for his blade, though he knew it wouldn’t do him much good here. He forced himself to meet the man’s gaze, his voice steady despite the unease curling in his stomach. “I need answers.”
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The shopkeeper chuckled softly, the sound like dry leaves crumbling underfoot. “Don’t we all? But answers, dear boy, come at a price.”
Jace’s jaw tightened. He stepped further into the shop, the door creaking shut behind him with a finality that made the hair on his neck rise. “I’ve paid before,” he said, his voice hard. “You’ll find I’m not afraid of the cost.”
The shopkeeper’s smile widened, and for a moment, it felt as though the shadows themselves leaned in closer, eager and hungry. “Then let us see,” he said, gesturing toward a low table shrouded in deep green velvet. “What truths you’re willing to bleed for this time.”
Jace hesitated, his breath catching as the shadows deepened around him. Somewhere, faint and distant, he thought he heard laughter—soft, brittle, and unmistakably cruel.
“Ah,” the shopkeeper said, his voice a rich, deliberate purr that seemed to settle into the shadows around him. “The boy with the ring returns. How is it treating you?”
Jace stepped inside, his shoulders squared. “Depends,” he said, his voice tight. “How much of what happened when I bought it was manipulation?”
The shopkeeper’s lips curved faintly, his spindly hands folding together with unsettling grace. “All of it, I’m afraid,” he said, almost regretfully. “Though I’d call it necessity, not manipulation.”
Jace’s jaw tightened, the weight of the admission gnawing at him. “The blood pact?”
“Binding,” the shopkeeper confirmed, his tone measured, almost apologetic. “But not malicious. The ring is a powerful artifact, and power always demands a cost. You were... unprepared at the time, true, but I saw potential.”
“Potential for what?” Jace snapped, frustration bleeding through his words. “You could have warned me.”
The shopkeeper tilted his head, his glassy eyes catching the faint flicker of light from a hanging lantern. “Would you have listened?” he asked softly. “You were new, hungry for strength. I gave you what you needed to survive.” He hesitated, a shadow flickering across his pale features. “And what your father would have wanted.”
Jace froze, his breath catching. “You knew him?”
The shopkeeper nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering. “We were... acquaintances. Allies, once. Before his fall. The ring belonged to him.”
The revelation hit Jace like a blow to the chest. His gaze dropped to the slender band on his finger, the faint hum of its power suddenly heavier, sharper, like a blade pressed to his skin. “What was he like?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “Before...” The words caught in his throat, and he left the thought unfinished.
The shopkeeper’s expression darkened, his voice lowering. “Before the Dark One?” He exhaled a long, slow breath. “He was a force of nature. A king, a warrior, a scholar. And a fool. But even fools can love, and he loved you, Jace. Enough to leave you something that might save you when the time came.”
Jace swallowed hard, the knot in his chest tightening. “I don’t want to destroy him,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But if there’s no other way... I’ll do what I have to.”
For a moment, the shopkeeper’s gaze softened, a flicker of something that might have been sympathy crossing his face. “I don’t envy your path,” he said quietly. “But I’ll give you this—there are still pieces of him worth saving. If you can find them.”
The words lingered in the air between them, heavy with possibility and pain. Jace turned to leave, but the shopkeeper’s voice called after him, halting him in his tracks.
“My shop,” the man said, his tone shifting to something almost whimsical, “people find it when they need it. It is both a cure and a gift. And you, boy—you need something. What are you searching for?”
Jace hesitated, the instinct to deny the question rising to his lips. But then he thought of Roandia, of the questions that haunted him, unanswered. The truth of his place in the tangled web of its history. “Do you have anything on the history of Roandia?” he asked, his voice steady, though his heart raced.
The shopkeeper’s smile deepened, as if he had been expecting the question all along. Without a word, he turned and began rummaging through the towering shelves, his pale hands moving with a surprising deftness. After a moment, he pulled a massive, dust-covered tome from the shadows, its cracked leather cover embossed with faded gold script.
Jace raised an eyebrow. “Price?”
The shopkeeper chuckled softly, a dry, rasping sound. “This is no artifact,” he said, brushing a speck of dust from the book’s surface. “And so, the price is mine to set. For this one, we’ll consider it paid for you giving an old man a bit of hope.”
Jace blinked, surprised, but he took the book without another word. He left the shop with the tome tucked under his arm, the strange building seeming to fold in on itself as he walked away. The streets outside felt colder now, the cheerful hum of the town’s festivities clashing against the storm that churned in his mind.
He moved on autopilot, his feet carrying him to the edge of town. Spotting a low rooftop near the gates, he vaulted upward with practiced ease, settling into the relative quiet of the spot. The carnival lights flickered faintly in the distance, their warmth a stark contrast to the chill seeping into his bones.
Jace opened the book, its thick pages crackling with age. As he read, the weight of the shopkeeper’s words pressed heavier on his chest. The history of Roandia unfolded before him, each passage laden with truths he wasn’t sure he was ready to face. Yet he kept reading, the words pulling him deeper, the storm within him finding a focus.
For now, the world fell away, leaving only the ancient tome and the questions that demanded answers.