“But Jarl saw what happened to Morrigan, and he’s no longer quite so willing to become the White King. And they obviously don’t have enough of the White, yet, to make the transfer. That’s why they needed the book, to find the missing pieces.”
“So we’ve got to stop them from finding those pieces,” Gog said. “And save Jarl from becoming the White.”
I made a face. “I wouldn’t refer to it as ‘saving Jarl,’ ” I said.
“But that’s what we’d be doing, Jane,” Anyan said. “He’ll face another sort of justice, if we succeed, but we do have to save him from Morrigan.”
“Why don’t we just kill him?” I suggested, unapologetically and ruthlessly.
“I doubt Morrigan actually needs to use Jarl for the White, although she obviously wants to. If we kill him, she’ll just find another vessel. We need to focus our energies on finding the missing pieces, using the book, rather than waste energies on vengeance,” Blondie said, in a voice that brooked no argument.
I grumbled internally, but I also understood that she was right.
“So let’s get to it,” I said, trying not to pout that we didn’t get to go ahead and kill Jarl. “Let’s go over those pages and see what there is to see.”
Blondie pulled them out of her backpack, where she’d been keeping them, and spread them out on the table.
“And you’re sure she hasn’t gotten to act on any of this, yet?” the Original asked Hiral.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “She got back to the estate, and there was some trouble with Jarl. He’d killed a few of his guards and she was very irritated with him. She spent most of the time I was there ‘punishing her naughty boy,’ ” Hiral finished, punctuating his sentence with air quotes.
I made a face, even as I bent low over the table to examine the papers.
It wasn’t hard to find the bits we were looking for as they were marked off by that subtle spacing difference, which was obvious if you knew what you were looking for. I read the spaced-out selections for my friends, ignoring the rest of the text as it was nonsense. It was fun to read, if a bit challenging, as the language was still written in an archaic style even though the spelling had been cleaned up to modern standards.
“The original one did loft the weapon that made her champion… and did use that weapon to cleave the beasts in twain… after which she did hew through their necks… and their limbs… and then continued to dissect them until nothing was left but those bits too small to cut… until those in attendance saw the bits reforming… all of the body drawn together as if by a greater power… its parts surging towards one another…”
I made another face, not enjoying the idea of “surging parts.”
“… Cyntaf did continue applying her blade… yet the parts would not cease their movement… and her own wounds were grievous and deep… as her strength faded our wise ones knelt in prayer to the Elements… and were blessed with the idea to travel forth with the pieces of the White and the Red… dispersing them throughout the lands… None would know where the others went… their hiding places were secrets unto themselves… the only place they would be shared would be here, in this secret volume… compiled by the scribe whose mind, as is traditional, would be cleansed… and whose body, again as is traditional, would become a prisoner of this text…”
My words trailed off as I realized who they were talking about. “The librarian!” I shouted, feeling so angry with the Alfar for ruining another person’s life out of their own greed for knowledge they knew they shouldn’t use, anyway. “The dopplegänger, Sarah. She’s the one whose brain they cleaned out, isn’t she? And she’s trapped in that library?”
Blondie’s face was sad as she nodded her head.
“I realized long ago she’s trapped in that library, and why. She’s not the first, either. There have been many other librarians before her. I knew they kept Alfar secrets, but I didn’t know how they did it. I didn’t know about the books they wrote.”
“Does she even know why?” I asked.
Blondie shook her head. “She just feels like she has to be in that library all the time—she was reconditioned to believe it’s her great task. She never truly questions her duty. Her mind isn’t capable of doing so. Even if she read this, she’d forget upon turning the page.
“What happened to the other librarians?”
“They ceased being useful.”
I grimaced at Blondie’s words, grumbling about the Alfar as I found the place I’d stopped my reading. Then I continued, although my words held an edge of bitterness.
“… the Red is hiding in places unseen, places much seen, and places not to be seen…” I made a face, but continued through the short but totally confusing little riddle that followed. The riddle was obviously meant to give us a clue as to where the Red was hidden. None of us paid too much attention, however, as we were too late to stop cobbling together the Red, anyway. It was the White that mattered. When I started in on his section, I slowed my reading so we could take it all in.
“… the White, the male force, was ever more its mother’s son than it’s father’s…” I read, from the very first section of spaced-out commentary.
“So the White was more Air than Fire,” interpreted Blondie. We all nodded in agreement as my eyes sought out the next section.
“… it was believed to speak less quietly than the Red, who reached out even to those whose mission was to hide it…”
“Meaning the Red could communicate better than the White, which makes sense,” said Anyan. “It was able to get itself put mostly back together on its own, before Morrigan showed up. They were both always good at seducing humans and supernaturals to do their bidding, but from all the old stories the Red was always the talker.”
“… and yet many of those sent away with the pieces of the White disappeared themselves, or were found hoarding their treasures… keeping what should be lost… and there was even murder and mayhem enacted amongst the bearers… and many lives were lost… my own orders to continue recording these newest locations were made despite my protestations… I think even my own leaders are infected…”
I looked up, startled, to see Blondie frowning, and then looked down to read more. The language changed, here, as if Sarah were writing it herself rather than recording the words of another.
“…. they demand this knowledge be recorded, and I have neither the strength of magic nor will to negate demands made to me by magic… but words are open-ended… they hold many meanings… and I may record without revealing, if I am clever…”
My heart beat faster, liking Sarah more and more. She’d suspected her leader might be under the Red and the White’s spell, and had tried to keep concealed the information they wanted revealed. She’d done everything she could against beings far stronger and more ruthless than she.
“… there are whispers… that the White, although silent, speaks as loudly as the Red… already that which was purposefully lost has disappeared, found although that should be impossible… So I will reveal less than I was bid, under the assumption that those giving me the commands are lost… recording only something, rather than everything, knowing that should this knowledge be needed, or wanted… that one piece will be as good as all pieces… hide a single piece and hide them all… or find a single piece and find the rest…”
I frowned, confused. “What’s she saying?” I asked.
“She’s saying, I think,” Blondie replied, “that she’s going to fulfill the rules of her assignment by giving the information she was bade. But she’s only going to say where one piece is buried, and she’s not going to make it easy.”
“So she fulfills her assignment, but not really,” Anyan said. “But what about the stuff about the single piece?”
“That’s easy,” I replied, having just figured it out. “That’s how she fulfills the letter of the spell. If one piece is found by those who want to keep the White from being resurrected, then that piece can be hidden again so that it can’t be assembled. But if the people searching for that piece are doing so to put it back together, that piece will probably lead them to the other pieces, on its own. It wants to be reassembled, remember? Just like the Red. So having one piece means that the one piece can help find the rest, so she’s doing what the spell asks her to do, technically. But it also means people like us can find the piece and hide it again, like Sarah wants. She has to reveal something, as she’s been commanded, but she’s trying to reveal as little as possible. Now let me finish this.
“… the heart of the White is buried with the proof that even those who kill kings fall themselves… their progeny no more immortal than they… the pure of soul as vulnerable to worms as those they murder for corruption… And that’s it,” I said, after carefully scanning the next few pages. There was nothing more written.