“The Heralds are workin’ tae bring the old Gods back tae power. Take a look around ye! Us humans, we’ve tried leadin’ the way, but we’re makin’ a mess of it. Strangers from the islands are floodin’ in, the crops are failin’, unrest is brewin’, and folk are forgettin’ the values that once made us strong. We need tae act now—and we wantyouwi’ us,” he said.
“You are not making sense. The Gods are dead, they left this realm centuries ago,” I said.
Bogus leaned forward in a conspiratory manner. “That’s what theywantye tae believe! The Gods are alive, Nightpetal.”
It was only now that I took a truly good look at him. He had gotten older, sure, but something about the intense look in his eyes made me uneasy. He was wearing a crimson-colored shirt with gold buttons and matching trousers. A gold embroidered emblem on his chest showed a flaming eye crossed by an arrow. Some kind of cult, maybe?
“You are actually insane, Bogus, to think that I would ever use my heka in such a destructive way ever again. You know exactly what happened before. I don’t care about the Gods or your tiny army of lunatics. If you ever contact me again or I hear you spreading the news about my heka, Iwillfind you.”
With that, I shoved my way past him and into the hallway. I didn’t know what was happening, but I needed to quicklyget a grip on this situation before word of my heka made the rounds. Dr. Marris was surely looking for me by now and the whole room had seen me leaving with Bogus. It would take an enormous amount of magic to cast a memory erasing spell for this many people. The magical fallout was going to be disastrous.
Chapter 4
After coming home that night, I had spent the rest of the evening erasing everyone’s memories of what had transpired at the pub. The magic fallout that had followed had been intense, but I had made provisions in my room and after hours of struggling to contain my emotions, I had fallen asleep on the cold bedroom floor.
My dreams had been filled with memories of my life before. Before my father had died. Before my mother had gotten sick and I had had to return home to care for her. Before my body and thoughts had not been my own. Before my hands had been steeped in blood.
* * *
All throughout the following days I had felt the aftereffects of my actions. A mixture of trepidation, shame, and hopelessness washed over me whenever I remembered how glorious the magic high had felt. But life moved on and somehow didn’t care about my inner turmoil.
But there was something else playing on my mind. It irked me that not only Bogus, but also the strange man in the street had talked about the Gods as if they were real.
There was only one place I could think of that might have any information about the ancient Gods and I intended to find out what had stirred this renewed interest in the Gods.
Dr. Marris had already left the surgery, so I quickly wrote down the reports for the day and cleaned up the work bench. I closed the door behind me and fell into a sprint. The library was only open for another two hours and it would take me at least twenty minutes to get there. I nearly collided with a rider and its horse as I crossed the bustling main street, the clatter of hooves mixing with the shouts of the careless rider. The afternoon rain had left behind wide puddles that I tried to avoid, hopping between the slick stones like a child playing a game.
My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since my rushed lunch break, so I ducked into a familiar bakery. The warm scent of fresh bread and roasted coffee filled the air, offering a momentary comfort. The shelves were nearly bare, though, and all my favorite pastries were long gone. Sighing, I settled for a simple cheese sandwich and a steaming coffee. The cheese looked tired, wilting at the edges, sweating in the shop window. Me too, cheese, me too. Dr. Marris often called me softhearted, and moments like this made me wonder if he was right.
I ate it quickly as I strolled the last stretch toward the library, savoring the warmth of the coffee more than the sandwich itself. As I finished the last bite, I tossed the crumpled paper bag into a bin, watching the greasy outline of the cheese melt into the paper.Another small casualty of the day, I thought wryly, wiping my hands on my trousers before quickening my pace.
As soon as I entered the library, the scent of dust and moldypaper flooded my nose. The entrance was dimly lit and the carpet looked threadbare and grimy. Did the city council intentionally keep the library in such a bad state because they wanted to discourage people from setting foot inside the building? The smell in the air, the gloomy atmosphere, and the less than friendly looking librarian certainly gave the impression that visitors were not welcome. I cleared my throat, and the librarian finally raised her eyes from the book she was reading. She looked surprised to see an actual human being in the foyer and quickly shut the book.
“If you want to use our toilets, please pay a coin on the way out. The toilets are through the double doors to the right at the end of the corridor.” She was already averting her eyes again, opening the book to continue reading. I gently tapped against the glass, the dull thud muffled by a layer of grime. Smudges and greasy fingerprints crisscrossed the pane, leaving streaks that caught the light in strange, uneven patterns. Dust clung to the edges where the frame met the window, forming a faint, grayish border that only emphasized its cloudy state.
“Thank you, but I would like to visit the library if it’s possible.” The lady looked back up at me, annoyance flickering across her face. With a huff, she stuffed her book under her desk and opened a ledger next to her. Scribbling down the date and time in one column, she slid the ledger through a slit in her window over to me.
“Please fill in your name and sign over here. You are not to take any books outside the reading rooms, nor are you allowed to scribble into the books. When you are finished with a book, please place the books on one of the trays so the staff can sort them back onto the right shelves. Do youhave any more questions?” Her monotone voice tinged with annoyance dared me to ask a question. I finished with the ledger and shoved it back towards her. I quickly cast my eyes downward.
“No, I don’t think so. Thank you very much.”
I had mastered the art of appearing deferential. Her belittling smile told me she felt superior here, in her quiet office—a feeling she seldom had, and one I would keep in mind should I ever need her help.
The library stretched across multiple levels, and I had no idea where to begin. The history section seemed like the most logical place to start, so I headed up to the third floor and followed a dim corridor toward the reading room. The building looked like it had once been the pride of the town. The floors were made of expensive white marble with gold vines lacing through the stone. The rich wooden wall paneling was in need of some TLC, but the extraordinary craftsmanship was still visible. The heavy wooden doors were equipped with golden letters indicating the types of books being stored in the rooms and the golden handles shone in the scarce light of the small chandeliers along the corridor walls.
I didn’t meet a single soul on my way to the history section and honestly, it was a little creepy being here all on my own. As I opened the door to the history room, I could have sworn that dust fell from the door jamb, as if nobody had opened that door in quite a while. Not that it surprised me, history wasn’t exactly my favorite subject either. I had never understood why anybody would want to dwell in all of the mistakes of the past, instead of in all of the terriblemistakes of the present.
Making my way to a small sitting area, I placed my bag on the floor and heaved a big sigh. There were rows and rows of books and I had no idea what I was actually looking for. Maybe I should have done some research before coming here, but it was not like I could ask anyone if they knew about books of the old Gods. The mere mention of anything relating to religion could be reported to the authorities and I didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention, in case word got round about my heka.
I quickly walked past the rows of books to get an idea of where to start.
Tap tap tap tap, my mind started humming. On which side of the room should I start?
Red for the roses, white for the veil,
one to remember, one to betray.
I counted the rhyme twice, just to be sure and both times it landed on “remember”—so the bookcases to the left of the room it was.
