Analindë (The Chronicles of Lóresse) (29 page)

The library was a magnificent place. It filled four floors, faced a courtyard, and the welcoming smell of paper wafted in the air. Practically every type of book that you’d ever want to read could be found here. Three floors were dedicated to the three separate disciplines of Healing, Earth, and Mage studies. The fourth floor housed many old and dangerous books and manuscripts and was restricted from general use. The staircase leading to it was enforced by wards and shielding that even the most powerful mages would not have been able to circumvent. Only the librarians and a chosen few ventured forth.

“Third floor, front-right corner,” Analindë repeated to herself as she headed for the stairs. She’d rarely explored the library since a stack of books had accompanied each class she’d taken so far. Those she’d kept in her room in the student’s quarters. She felt a gentle tug as she reached the landing and turned toward it. “Over in the corner,” she said to herself as she wound her way through the maze of bookshelves that lay in front of her.

She passed towering bookcases on either side, filled from floor to ceiling. The occasional pillar marked a new area. Some sections were brightly lit, others were dim. She turned and walked between two shelves that were narrowly spaced apart and shuffled down the long passage wondering if she’d ever reach the end. The row finally emptied out into a dimly lit corner of the library where the scent of old parchment hung heavy in the air.

She walked close to a set of shelves in front of her and crouched down to run her fingers along the spines of a particular set of green-bound books. Dizziness assaulted her and she clutched at the shelving to keep from tipping over. Her head cleared, air whooshed, and she frowned. Clear headed, she stared at the shelved books in front of her. “These aren’t what I need. How in the Realm did I end up here?” She craned her neck around, searching for something that would tell her where she was. Carved into a pillar near her was the glyph for two. “Second floor!”

She lurched to her feet and strode back toward the stairs. At least that’s what she’d meant to do. Upon taking her first few steps away from the shelf, an insistent tug had immediately pulled her left arm back toward the shelves. Every hair on her body stood on end and her palms became clammy. Scared, she swung her head around searching for danger. Nothing but books on shelves and dust motes floating in the air. She switched to magesight.

Nothing.

Curious, she turned back to study the shelves nearest her and retraced her steps to where the compulsion had left her. The second floor was dedicated to earth energies; the pull seemed to come from a few green-bound books that looked to be at least a few millennia old.

She scanned the titles in front of her, “
Caves and Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Them
;
Rocks and Stones
;
There is More to Dirt Than Meets the Eye.
“These are not what I need.”

Analindë stood up, turned on her heel, and walked swiftly away from the back corner while holding her left arm tightly against her body. The tugging finally ebbed away as she neared the stairs. She shivered. It reminded her of when she’d been a child and how a set of fairytales had followed her around their home until her mother had locked them up. “The lengths some authors go through to make sure their books get read! It’s unnerving!” She shivered again and climbed the steps to the third floor.

She found the section of books Master Therin had assigned her to search just where the librarian had said, in the front right-hand corner of the third floor.

Exactly opposite from the dark corner in which she had recently been. It was happily situated. Windows filled one of the walls and mild sunlight bathed the area. Analindë plucked a few books off the shelves at random and chose an empty desk near the windows. Students, quietly studying, filled most of the other tables and study areas.

She skimmed through the first two books. They covered basics she already knew. Sighing, she picked up the third and glanced back at the shelves and the endless rows of books. This was going to be a long afternoon.

Analindë sat reading until the late evening sun slanted through the windows, lighting the room in dusky oranges and pinks. Engrossed in the latest book she’d pulled from the shelves, she hadn’t noticed the passage of time. The book she studied was a large tome, its worn leather binding was cracked with age and its pages were yellowed and tattered.

Written in one of the old elvish dialects, the book had taken her a long time to decipher, but it had been the most enlightening of all the ones she’d searched. An elven mage named Lindariel—one of the first to recognize her source and name it—had written the book.

According to the short biography in the back of the book, Lindariel had been a powerful mage of her time. She had discovered much about the workings of Energy and how the different fields of study fit together. She had spent her life studying the complexities of power and was the first to realize that a source became distilled, more pure and powerful with age.

“It darkens and compacts, bringing forth even ten times the amount of power it had previously been capable of bringing.”
Another line,
“The capacity for power continues to grow through the years, even when one believes the full extent of power has been reached, a year later a greater capacity is measured.”

Analindë thought back to that moment in the mountain cave weeks ago when she’d ripped all the remaining fragments of Energy from her body, enlarging the boundaries of her reservoir. She’d absolutely known that her capacity to find more Energy or hold it would never increase after that moment, but it already had thanks to Mirëdell’s source. Was this what Lindariel meant?

She vowed to measure her source the following year to see if the cavern itself had grown bigger. A tap on the shoulder startled her. A stooped librarian stood at her side.

“Pardon, my lady, but the library now closes.”

“My pardon,” Analindë looked at the scattered books that lay across the desk in front of her.

“May I assist you in returning them to the shelves?” he asked.

“Yes, and thank you.” They both gathered a stack of books and moved to put them in their proper places. Working in companionable silence, the books were quickly shelved.

“So may I ask which book you found most interesting?” he said, eyeing the large leather tome and a couple of slim volumes she’d returned to collect.

“A book written by Lindariel, a Master Mage who lived long before the Elven Wars,” she said as she slid two volumes back into place.

“Ah, that book seldom makes its way to the shelves. I had wondered, but now I see that it recognized in you a need.”

“What do you mean, makes its way to the shelves?” asked Analindë.

“Why, exactly that. Look and tell me what you see,” he said pointing at the shelves of books she’d been reading from.

She glanced and saw rows of books; she shrugged and looked back at the librarian.

“What don’t you see?” he asked patiently.

Analindë scrutinized the shelf. Neat rows of books lined up in even rows. Their bindings gleamed in the last bits of light thrown through the windows.

“Perhaps you might put it back on the shelf for me?” asked the librarian gesturing toward the shelves.

Analindë looked from the book she held in her arms to the full shelves to which it belonged. There was no more room. Analindë blinked, “But I remember pulling it off the shelf right here.” She said patting the shelf where an empty spot had once been.

“Yes, you would have, but it does not belong here.”

Analindë looked at the shelved books again; they looked practically new in comparison to the one she held. Its age distinctly marked it as belonging to the fourth floor.

“How did it come to be here?”

“Books have a way of making themselves known when there is need. Particularly that one,” he said nodding toward the book she still held.

“It seemed to answer the questions I had the best.”

“Yes, it would do that. You may keep the book for the interim. It will make its own way back here when you no longer have need of it.”

“Thank you very much.” She gingerly cradled the book in her arms.

“Yes, now off with you. You will want to return that book to your room before you go to dinner.”

“Yes, thank you,” she said with a quick curtsey in his direction.

She grinned as she thought of her unbelievable luck as she made her way quickly out of the library and back to her rooms.

Master Therin and Andulmaion were waiting for her when she arrived. Dinner lay upon the table. They would be eating in tonight. Good. She had a lot on her mind, and not having to go down to the dining hall would give her more time to think. Master Therin glanced toward the book she held in her arms; his eyes looked satisfied.

“You knew I would find this book?” she asked.

“I had my suspicions and had hoped, but could not know for sure. They only come when they want to. Which one is it?”

“There are more than one?”

“Oh yes my dear, there are many, and cover more subjects than you can even begin to imagine. Which one?”

For a moment Analindë thought of the earth books she had found in the back corner of the second floor, their old green leather bindings showing their age. She shook herself out of her reverie. “Lindariel, the first elven mage to find her source and name it.”

A smile twitched at the corners of Master Therin’s lips. Andulmaion looked . . . covetous. “Ah, good. Now put that away for a moment and come join us for dinner. It has just arrived and smells delicious.”

The Eighteenth Chapter

A
nalindë slipped down a side
hall that would take her from the section of the school where Master Therin’s tower was situated to a building near the students’ dormitories where most of the classrooms were located. It was her third day back in class and her second time to attend advanced healing. Now that she was attending classes again she felt nauseated and clammy, mixed with moments of the lighthearted freedom of normalcy. Only things hadn’t been normal. The other students glanced at her furtively when they thought she wasn’t looking, and the events from several weeks ago still weighed heavily on her heart.

The hallway she traveled was rarely used. It was dimly lit by occasional mage lights, no windows graced the walls. Like the other secret corridors she’d discovered last year, it was slightly musty from infrequent use. According to Erulissé’s sources, Mirëdell was riddled with passageways, but most students couldn’t find them so they were rarely used. Analindë had found six of them so far, including this one. She descended five steps then rounded a corner as the hallway veered right.

She hoped to arrive in class just in time to slip into her seat before class started. Not too early, definitely not late. She hurried her pace. She rubbed her empty hands absently against her robes. If she was following the normal course of study she wouldn’t have taken the advanced healer’s course for another ten years. As a result, the other students viewed her as an interloper and hadn’t been very welcoming.

Analindë hoped Master Harwyn hadn’t forgotten to bring an extra book for her today. The professor had said the required book was unavailable at the market down in the city so she’d spent last night in the library studying for today’s lesson and hadn’t had enough time to commit the day’s lesson to memory before the librarians had ushered her out.

Analindë neared the end of the passage and slowed down. She peered through the illusionary barrier covering the exit, making sure no one was just outside, then she slipped through the ward into the empty hallway. Shoulders back, head up—you never knew who could be watching—she glided up the hallway with a grace that would have made her mother proud. Determined not to let the other students get the best of her, she wiped her hands against her skirts one last time, took a deep breath and entered the classroom.

Ah, just-in-time. Quiet murmurs moved through the classroom, papers rustled. She sank into a chair at the back of the room and rested her hands on the desk. Grateful that this time she was sitting next to the wall, she settled down to wait.

Moments later, the tall professor rose to her feet; midnight blue skirts swooshed as she strode around the classroom passing out chalk. Bewildered, Analindë watched anxiously as Master Harwyn approached. Silvery blond hair was piled atop her head in simple braids. Some elves used their hair as a subtle demonstration of power. Either the healer preferred simple designs or she didn’t have much strength. Remembering the lesson with Andulmaion about illusions, she realized perhaps hair styles weren’t the best gauge of ability. She stifled a sigh.

“You will write an outline of Section Four from last night’s reading on the board,” said Master Harwyn as she handed Analindë a piece of chalk. “You will also add any insights you gained and discrepancies you noted.” Then she walked away.

“Section Four?” Analindë’s mind raced; the professor ignored her question and was already speaking to the next student. She looked around; most of her classmates had already begun to form outlines on the chalkboards that lined the walls. She’d curiously noticed the boards during the last class but hadn’t realized what they meant.

Analindë approached the nearest board where there was space, but the other students edged over to block access. Without a word, Analindë moved to another board. A different grouping of students edged her out this time. It took four tries to find space to write, and even then the students continued to ignore her.

By then her hands were shaking and her confidence was shattered. The only thing that kept her from falling apart were her mother’s drills in comportment. The other students would never know that she’d been affected. Analindë gripped her piece of chalk and began to write
Section Four, Ways to Stop a Poison.

She peered around the room hoping that someone else might have been assigned the same section. She couldn’t remember if the section was about antidotes or actions. She noticed that all of the other sections of the chapter had been assigned more than once except hers. Some students were even working together. She took a deep breath, stood taller, and made her writing as neat and concise as possible given the tremors shaking her hand.

She finally finished, hoping that she’d covered all the points in the section, and moved to take her seat again. Most of the other students had already regained their seats, and only a couple students remained at the boards.

Classmates quietly chatted with each other while Master Harwyn circled the room scanning their efforts. She stopped to read each outline in turn, then moved to the next. When she reached Analindë’s she stared at it twice as long as any of the others. Analindë’s breath quickened, she willed her hands to remain still.

At last Master Harwyn harrumphed and turned away to circle the room once more. She finally sat at her desk at the front of the room, took out a fresh piece of paper and began to write.

She eventually set her pen down on her desk and the chatter in the room stopped, filling the room with an expectant silence. “I have recorded your scores; the next quiz will take place in two days time. Study well.”

A quiz? Why hadn’t Master Harwyn warned her? The other students had obviously known and been prepared. The anxiousness she felt turned to anger. Of all the–

“Now, let us discuss the different types of poisons and their symptoms. You’ll learn about them generally elsewhere; let us talk about specifics.”

The class dragged on forever. Surprised and hurt, Analindë didn’t understand why she’d been singled out. She’d never known a teacher to spitefully exclude anyone, until now. Maybe if she’d tried harder? Perhaps she just needed to prove herself to the professor over time? Or maybe she should ask Master Therin for advice, but she quickly dropped that idea. Master Therin didn’t like it when she brought problems to his attention, and she didn’t want to upset the delicate balance they’d just arrived at.

When class finally ended, she slipped out of the room as quickly and unobtrusively as she could manage. Master Harwyn had
somehow
forgotten to bring Analindë an extra book, which meant more studying at the library. She decided to try the market anyway. Maybe Master Harwyn had been wrong and the booksellers did have a copy.

Analindë shuddered as she stepped down the hallway. Hopefully the next class wouldn’t be so bad. She wandered along, searching for the hidden corridor. It was around here somewhere. Why couldn’t she find it? She counted five arches down from the classroom door and looked closely at the opposite wall.

“Sorry about that.”

Analindë jumped, then spun around. She’d been so intent on finding the hidden passageway that she hadn’t noticed the student trailing behind her. It was one of the girls from class. Blond hair was swept back from her face, tied in intricate braids emphasizing blue eyes colder than any winter morning.

“Pardon?” said Analindë.

“You know, most of the students resent that you jumped ahead. And Master Harwyn’s more prickly than usual.” The other student spoke softly but kindly.

“Oh.”

“You can’t risk being on her bad side, or she’ll . . .” The girl quickly turned away from her to study a mural on the wall; her face cleared of all expression as a group of students approached. After they’d passed, she quickly turned back and whispered, “Study hard. For some reason she’s decided not to like you.” And then the girl was gone, striding down the hall to catch up with her friends.

Her classmate’s half apology wove its way insidiously through her mind. A tingle of unease ran up Analindë’s spine; she spun around to search the hall behind her and caught sight of a door closing. Who’d been watching them? Frightened, she turned to face the wall again, searching for the corridor. Where was it? Her heart raced, knees shook, her breath came faster. There it is! She pressed her hand over the glyph and slipped into welcoming grimy darkness.