Caste was as furious as a forge fire. He had requested, several times and been denied to speak with Cleric Severo and doubted his greetings were even getting through to the elderly officer of the Order of the Grail. Then, when he decided to forgo protocol and simply take himself to the library, the steward refused to show him the way or allow him entry.
“Only Cleric Severo and those he deems worthy are permitted within the library.”
“I am a cleric of the Order of the Grail, the same ‘worthiness’ as Cleric Severo! What more must I be?” Caste demanded yet to no avail.
So, with his stomach rumbling as angrily as his temper, he left the foyer of the fort, crossing the bailey, not even sure where he would go. He was muttering so furiously to himself that he failed to hear his name called twice and jumped out of his skin when his arm was grasped.
“Cleric Caste!”
“There’s no need to yell!” He yelped in response, pulling away instinctively from the hand of Emeri who let go and stood meekly. “What?”
“You have, as my mother would say, a face like thunder.”
“Thunder is a noise.”
“An angry noise.”
“What is it you want?” Caste demanded.
“You seem upset.”
“Of course I’m upset! I’ve been waiting all morning to speak with Cleric Severo who refuses to grant me an audience and now I’m denied entry to the library!” Caste was so livid that only in the deepest recesses did he recall that he didn’t want to talk to Maul people. He was in dire need to vent. “The only positive attribute of this knighthood quest of LaMogre’s is that I might be able to view the ancient libraries of Terra.”
“Is that all you want?” Emeri grabbed his hand. “Come with me!”
Caste yanked his hand out of hers and wiped it on his pants. “No thank you!”
Emeri sighed dramatically. “Well…you did say you wanted to see the library.”
He folded his arms. “And I suppose you know where it is?”
Emeri raised her eyebrows. “I do work in the fort…I have some…inkling as to where the library is.”
Caste was sorely tempted to follow Emeri as she walked to the servant’s entrance of the fort and looked back at him with a smile on her face and a question in her eyes.
“I’ve not…been given permission…” He faltered, his ingrained sense of adherence to the law reminding him that just because he was angry, didn’t mean he could do what he liked.
“Cleric Severo has a servant that you can ask.”
Caste couldn’t restrain himself any further and darted after her, cringing at the servant’s entrance, glancing around to make sure no one was looking and slipped inside. Emeri led him through the narrow corridor, around a corner and down a flight of stairs only to go up another in a labyrinth of servant’s passages that allowed them to access most of the fort without being seen.
“It’s dark…” Caste muttered, needing to stick quite close to Emeri who knew her way instinctively.
“Just through here.” She assured him, leaving the servant’s passage, emerging at the end of another narrow corridor, the door obscured by a very old tapestry. “These double doors are the library’s only entrance.” She explained, putting her hands on them and giving a push, the doors swinging open.
Caste craned his neck to see around her then gaped as she stepped aside.
The tales of Fort Omra’s extensive library had not been exaggerated. It was two stories high with stone pillars throughout to hold up the slanted, thatched roof. The walls were stone blocks but were almost entirely obscured behind the multitude of shelves that were lined with hundreds, possibly thousands of books, parchments, tapestries and wall hangings. Rugs lay on the floor, concealing the unevenness of the floor paving and keeping some of the chill away. Tables were arranged across the floor, some as podiums displaying certain volumes and others were worktops. There were chairs as well, chaise lounges and wingbacks, highbacked dining chairs and stools, all a little worn and threadbare yet Caste couldn’t see any dust on them.
Emeri closed the doors behind as he walked forward in a daze.
“This is…marvellous…” He breathed. “So many books…some of which are only found here.”
“This is the newer area where books purchased in the last century are kept,” Emeri explained, showing Caste the right side, “in the middle are the older volumes, the tapestries and the wall hangings that have historical significance and on the far left are the parchments, the animal skin documents…”
Caste was understandably drawn towards the left, a large wooden rack with crisscrossed struts, forming square holes not unlike a wine rack. But instead of holding wine, the rack held rolled parchments at the top and round tubes with leather ends at the bottom. It was eight feet high and just as wide, containing dozens of priceless, one of a kind parchments.
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“This is…” He breathed, his fingers trembling over the frayed and distressed ends of the parchments, not daring to touch.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Emeri nodded.
“You have no idea.” Caste rebuked gently. “Contained within these scrolls are some parchments that predate those in Astaril…there is knowledge here that cannot be found anywhere else.” He sighed, seeing the exposed animal skin and parchments that were deteriorating. “They ought to be better preserved.”
“That is happening, albeit slowly.” Emeri explained, coming close. “These tubes at the bottom contain some of the oldest documents in the library. They are made of metal, lined with leather and the caps at both ends are sealed with bees wax.”
“I do hope they are being replicated first.” Caste muttered.
“That is happening here.” Emeri tapped him to turn around where a slanted workspace was laid out. There were tools lined along the lip at the bottom and pinned around the edges, so as not to damage the document itself, was a very old parchment, wrinkled and faded, its edges split and distressed. Next to it was a much newer piece of parchment where the writing was being copied, one painstaking stroke at a time.
Caste peered close to the copying process. “I must congratulate Cleric Severo on his very steady hand. It is a discipline that even age has not been able to take.”
“That’s not Cleric Severo’s work. That’s his servant’s.”
Caste looked at Emeri in astonishment. “Truly?” She nodded. “Well, he has a talented scribe working for him. The attention to detail is very fine.”
“Thank you.” Caste blinked, the air evaporating from his lungs. He straightened his body slowly and turned to Emeri who just smiled at him. He was speechless which Emeri took advantage of. “It’s not been an easy task to transcribe the ancient works, especially when the writing is so faded. I was feeling a headache starting to threaten from constantly squinting so I went outside to clear my head before coming back in. That’s when I bumped into you.” Emeri sighed at Caste’s stare. “Say something…”
“You…are Cleric Severo’s…servant?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not possible.”
“I assure you it is. It’s not probable but…”
“No,” Caste walked away then turned to face her, “it’s not…it’s not permissible!”
“Why?”
“Because…” He flailed his hands at her.
Emeri looked herself over. “Because I am female or because I am Maul?”
“Both!” Caste exclaimed then lunged forward as she went to sit at the stool. “These documents,” he insisted, “are the foundation of Astaril’s history! They are priceless but even more than that, they are pure!”
“Pure!” Emeri laughed.
“Yes, pure!” Caste erupted. “You have no right to touch them!” She suddenly grabbed his face and rubbed her hands over his skin, showing her palms to him.
“I don’t rub off.” Emeri winked and Caste frantically wiped his face. “Now, I have work to do. Amuse yourself but don’t touch anything in that rack without telling me.”
Caste blustered and fumed, furious and speechless which only made his dithering all the more frustrating. “How can Cleric Severo permit you to do this?” He eventually wretched out of his strangled throat. “You…you have to be operating without his permission!”
“Cleric Severo hasn’t been down here in months, possibly years now.” Emeri stood with the ink well and went to a table where small bottles rested, a mortar and pestle stained from plenty of use. With a pair of scales she measured out grains against a tiny weight then put them in the mortar. She pounded them firmly with the pestle, tapping the powder into the ink well, mixing it thoroughly with water from a sealed bottle. “He says the dust plays havoc on his allergies.” Caste spluttered as she returned to the worktop and set the inkwell in its little metal brace. “He was all too eager for me to take over as the librarian.”
“Take over?” Caste gasped. “You operate with autonomy?”
Emeri rolled her eyes. “Of course not. But I am allowed a rather large degree of independence, especially when I make sure he signs off on all my transcribing work.” She paused and put her brush down. “Actually, you would do me a remarkable favour while you are here if you would verify the accuracy of my transcriptions.”
Caste gulped like a fish out in the air.
“Cleric Severo signs off on them…but I am becoming increasingly concerned that his age causes him to drop off while comparing them…that or the wine he drinks constantly…” She sighed. “I would hate to think a discrepancy in my transcription might lead to some erroneous interpretation hundreds of years from now.” She saw Caste pulling at his collar. “What is it?”
“Stop talking like that!”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re a cleric or deacon! You’re speaking as though you have been educated!”
“I have been.” Emeri tied her braids into a knot in the same way that Aalis was inclined to. “Look around you, Cleric Caste…I am surrounded by education.”
“But…you are not permitted to read!”
“No one forbid it and there’s no way to transcribe these parchments if I couldn’t read so, even if only subconsciously, Cleric Severo must know I can read.”
Caste felt weak at the knees. “You…you could merely be copying the brushstrokes…”
“That’s like meowing at a cat…of course I sound like a cat but I bet the cat is going, what did she say?” Emeri giggled then sobered at Caste’s expression. “You’d better sit down before you fall down.”
He stumbled onto a stool, feeling hot and sick. “You…this…can’t…”
“Have you eaten?” He blinked and looked at her. Emeri dug into the pocket of her apron and drew her roll out. “Here…”
He took the roll numbly, its scent making his stomach growl like an orthros. Without thinking about where it came from or his sensibilities, Caste bit into it, feeling waves of light-headedness roll over him. Emeri poured him a little wine and handed it to him. He watched as she sat down on her stool, dipping her quill into the ink and, studying the text at length, raised the tip to the parchment…and stalled. Caste stared at her as she faltered then sighed and put it down.
“You can’t do it.” He said with an element of triumph, thinking that she had been caught out in her lies.
“Not with you watching,” Emeri admitted, “I’ve never had an audience before. No one comes here. Fort Omra is all about weapons and armour and battle tactics, guards and soldiers…I am very much alone in this library.”
“Lonely?” He found himself asking.
“No,” she shook her head, looking thoughtful, “not lonely…after all, I have all these words to keep me company and plenty of work to do…but I have never had a visitor…certainly not one who was as giddy entering the library as a young man having his first drink.”
Caste sat up. “I was not!”
“You were. For a moment I thought you were going to start skipping about and clapping your hands.” Emeri giggled.
“I was just…overwhelmed.”
“I’m glad.” Emeri admitted. “This library could use some admiration.” She leaned back and gazed around the room that was so familiar to her. “She’s not the belle of the ball…but she has an ageless grace about her, rather like an elderly queen who has several generations to watch over…”
Caste looked around the large space, saturated with knowledge and forgotten heritage. “Regardless of her age,” he said quietly, “she needs to be treated with respect.”
Emeri looked at him and nodded.