Iscah surfaced slowly at first from a deep sleep, consciousness rising in a crescendo that had her bolting upright as she looked around dazedly.
The library was empty, the steady light of her mote-lantern illuminating the bases of bookshelves that rose like columns into the darkness.
She rubbed at the wetness in the corner of her mouth and studied the streak of saliva on the back of her hand, panic cutting off her breath as she looked down. There was a little puddle of drool blurring the inscriptions that had been written over four hundred years ago on the tome she had unknowingly fallen asleep upon.
“Oh. Oh no, oh Gods.”
Hands fluttering uselessly for something to mop it up with she grabbed the hem of her dress at her wrist, attempting to blot the liquid and succeeding in only smearing it, and the ink, even farther across the page. She made a hitched squeak, and picking up the page by the edge flapped it in an attempt to dry it, which ended in the paper ripping at the binding.
The sound was thunderous in the silence.
Releasing the page, she clamped her hands over her mouth in horror as she leaned away from the book as if retaliation would be instant and merciless. When nothing happened and no other sounds of response to the unforgivable crime ensued she pushed the winged sheet back into alignment, wincing as the hurried motion resulted a paper cut. Flailing her hand to dull the pain she shut the tome, unaware blood had smeared across the cover before running to the nearest bookcase that her suddenly guttering light was illuminating and shoving it into an open space.
Out of alphabetical order, and in the wrong section. Athrioclites was probably roiling in his grave right now.
She paused to catch her breath that had risen significantly as the reality of her situation began to sink in: Destruction of a priceless artifact and knowingly hiding the evidence. If the Archivists ever found out not only would she be banned from the library but also removed from the University.
So that was it. She had officially committed her first crime.
“I am so, so sorry Athrioclites,” she whispered softly to the assaulted book.
As if in response, her light promptly died.
Groaning inwardly at her luck, she wondered if maybe this was Athrioclites threatening her with impending doom if she didn’t right her misdeeds. Retrieving the book once more she felt her way back to the desk and began gathering her things in the pitch black. She was going to have to repair the book. Somehow.
Had it not been for the library being what her family bitterly had come to regard as her second home she might’ve been lost in its cavernous labyrinth for longer. It was dark outside, the stars hidden by a layer of clouds when she finally emerged with an armful of books, including the assaulted historic record, and her spent lantern.
Iscah tucked her head down as if her crimes were written on her face, though on second glance the streets were utterly empty. Ahead and across the way from her The Kissing Korner, a local university favorite for drinks was dark and uninhabited, which was surprising.
If it was closed that meant it was closer to morning than evening.
Hefting the ever-heavier load of books she hurried down the gas-lamp lighted thoroughfare that linked the Research District to the University before turning down a street of thick tufted grass that was magically impervious to the foot and hoof traffic of the city. Here the gas-lights that illuminated the main cobblestone streets was replaced with the cool, unwavering mote light, painting the pale stones of the various shops and dormitories lining either side of her colors of blues, greens and purples.
Her pace quickened as a book began to slide out of her grip, doubling over slightly to try to keep its downward progression from continuing by catching it on her hip, causing her to hunch over and hobble the last few yards to the secured entryway of her dorm.
The drowsing private guard took a moment to assess the limping figure approaching before realizing who it was and jumping forward.
“Lady Iscah! Need some help?”
Iscah jerked in surprise, the books tumbling to the ground as she lost her precarious balance and stumbled over them. The guard caught her by the arm, standing her back up before she could go face-first into the grass. She looked up at him guiltily.
“I-.. uh…”
“It’s nearly four am, did you get lost in the library again?” The man teased, reaching down to pick up the books. She squeaked and flung herself on top of the stack before he could touch the evidence, gathering them back up into her arms and rising ungracefully to her feet.
“No! I mean, yes! I mean, I fell aaa- down the s-stairs and um…”
“Are you all right, Lady?” He asked, eyeing her behavior with a raised brow.
“Yes! Fine! I’m fine, just very tired and whatnot. Should probably get some rest,” she stammered, flashing a strained grin before running books-first into the locked gate. He cleared his throat to cover a laugh, retrieving his keys to unlock it for her as she stood as stoically as possible, grateful for the darkness that covered what would’ve been a maddening blush.
“Well, try not to tear into those books too much.” He held the gate open as she gaped at him, the fact he had cracked a joke finally sinking in.
Mumbling a response she shuffled past him quickly and into the arched passageway that opened up into a carefully manicured courtyard lit blue by the moonlight.
Blue?
She paused, looking up into the sky to stare at the alien azure orb that peeked out from an open gash in the overcast layer like a bright, giant eye.
A nagging memory clawed its way to the surface, the dream that had woken her up from her nap in the library suddenly crystal clear.
Floating in darkness, warm currents lulling, peaceful. A heartbeat almost tandem with her own rousing her. Beyond the darkened blur an outline of a male.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
A question. A response.
A name.
Behind her the guard whistled in appreciation.
“The Warlock's Eye,” he explained, breaking her out of her thoughts. Iscah half turned back towards him.
“You’ve seen this before?”
“Oh no, no one has in a real long time. You can bet the Astronomers and Mages are in a frenzy trying to decipher why it’s gone all blue.”
“Oh, that’s right, the fable about the Warlocks.” She scowled to herself, drudging through her memories of her studies. “That isn’t the right name for it though, it’s called Nuada's Moon.”
The guard shrugged, looking back to her when the scud layer of clouds hid it once again. “My Gran called it that. Said it was last seen on the Day of Darkness. She said before then, it was always blue. But that’s just stories my Gran told us as kids to scare us so we’d behave.”
He crossed the courtyard and mounted the marble steps, passing her to reach for the handle of the massive cathedral-style wooden door and opening it for her. “Don’t know what it means, turning blue like that, but I like to think it’s a sign of good luck. Goodnight, Lady Iscah.”
She dipped her head in reply and entered into the most prestigious dorm of the University built specifically to house the nobles offspring. Crossing the giant living room that rose over four stories. Furniture carved from exotic woods and gold-leafing decorated the empty social area, the chairs and tables set in groups of two to four for the students and visitors. On either side giant hearths that warmed the hall stood radiating heat from their tamped beds of embers.
In the daytime and evening, she could normally hand off her books or items to a servant to carry up to her quarters, but the area was empty, the servants just now waking in their quarters, which she was glad for once was the case.
Even if they had been up, she would not have passed the armload to them for fear of the abused tome being discovered, which would’ve raised questions. It was better this way, even if that meant lugging them up by herself. Eyeing the grandiose double stairway she adjusted her grip on the books and huffed out a breath before beginning the five story climb.
Two breaks and a scuffed knee later she arrived at the only doorway in the hall that marked her living space. Whispering an incantation the door clicked and opened quietly, Iscah all but tumbling in and dumping the books unceremoniously onto the bed as the wall sconces fitted with mote light slowly illuminated the room to a setting fit for the darkness outside.
She pushed her hair out of her face and set her hands on her hips, pursing her lips as she eyed the titles of her plunder. A few historic records of the Centarian War and Cambion War Era, Theory of Time Continuum and embarrassingly, Dreams: Sexual Repression Revealed.
It was literally impossible not to read the last title without rolling her eyes, but after six months of all but burying herself alive in both the University and the public library with no legitimate answers to the strange dreams, she was grasping at straws.
Her heart dropped suddenly, gaze jerking back to the pile again.
Athrioclites’ tome was missing.
She shoved the books apart, revealing a journal covered in shiny ebony pebbled skin. Pausing mid-panic she lifted it, not remembering having grabbed it at any point. Then again, it had been blacker than a cave and she was pretty sure she had been slightly dizzy from hyperventilating during her escape.
Cracking the book open she regarded the first page in surprise, flipping it upside down to read the title.
The Warlock Genocide
Genocide? The historians taught that the High Warlocks had all sacrificed themselves in an attempt to kill off the Greater Demon they had summoned but had been unable to control during the last great war with the Cambions.
She frowned, turning to sit on the edge of the bed as she began to read the beautifully scrolled, but very short entry on the following page.
Tenth day of the Third Waxing Moon, the year of our lord, King Janius, First of His Name.
I am Saraf Forsyth, High Warlock of the Seventh Level, and my death approaches. Given time between now and the end, I leave behind my memories of the Day of Darkness, if there are any of us left after this to see it.
The Lord Commander Isenius and our brother Naon have betrayed us all.
Enh ka Nuada erre tsu xerei.
Beneath the single entry, what could only have been imprinted in blood was a fingerprint, encircled in a complex pattern of intricate runes foreign to her.
She turned the page, and then turned another. Blank. Quickly flipping through the rest of the pages revealed the entire book was empty except for the title and short entry. Reading the entry once more she closed the diary, confused beyond belief what she had read.
Had this Saraf been killed before she could recount her experience?
At no time in her education or studies of the Warlock Sacrifice, better known as the Day of Darkness, was Saraf ever mentioned.
The supposed traitor Naon had been hailed as the Abyssal Prince, the one who had sacrificed his own life to become the conduit that had annihilated the summoned demon. Naon was the hero of the war, and a relic of the past; Warlocks no longer existed.
With his death their era had ended, science and elemental magic of the mages rising to begin restoring the humans to their prior glory. Warlocks had been more powerful than any mage could dream of, for they were not bound by the laws of balance that limited their peers. But that power had corrupted, twisting them in their greed until they reached too far.
The Warlocks had unleashed the demons into this world nearly a thousand years ago, and the human race had suffered catastrophically because of it. Advancements they couldn’t even fathom had been lost, and while some relics had been recovered, the memories of their use were forever lost.
It wasn’t until King Janius that the scattered vestiges of civilization were banded together under a single banner. With the help of the already dwindling numbers of Warlocks, the cambions were enslaved and deployed with terrifying efficiency to drive the demons south and create the realm of men.
As far as Isenius went, that was more personal. Iscah pulled a lock of hair from over her shoulder and tugged at the white strands, biting the inside of her lip.
Her genealogy traced directly back to him. The Day of Darkness had ended the Cambion War, and what was left of the Royal Army had returned, her grandsire Lord Commander Isenius at their head. But as the family story would have it he had not come back the same. His once mantle of black hair had changed to white as snow, leading to his new name Isenius the Pure. This, along with being one of the noblest families outside of the royal bloodline, was her family’s heritage.
The implication that Isenius had been a murderer instead of a war hero was unfathomable to her.
“Enh ka Nuada erre tsu xerei,” she murmured, testing out the strange words on her tongue. Another hint of Nuada, and a strange feeling that the language though incomprehensible was familiar. She nibbled on her lower lip for a moment before assuming the language could only be daemonic. After all, that’s what most of the warlocks summoning spells were spoken and written in supposedly.
But what did this have to do with her dreams?
She looked down at the book, tracing the pebbled leather. Nothing, that’s what.
Sighing she set the diary next to the other pile of books before crawling across the massive canopied mattress to the free side.
There was always tomorrow night to spend all of searching uselessly for answers that weren’t there.