I wanted to believe him, but the way they parceled out information like I was a dog getting treats made me a tad distrustful.
Damp, musty air clung to my skin as we descended into a darker part of the castle. Halfway down a dimly lit hallway, we came to a small, unceremonious wooden door.
Despite it looking considerably less opulent than the rest of the castle, I still expected the library to be an expansive room filled with numerous shelves of books. Instead, the space was actually similar to my father’s personal dining hall—warm and cozy with a hearth off to the left. The only difference was that luscious rugs covered most of the wood flooring here.
What surprised me the most, though, was the lack of actual books. I figured a palace this size would have a library with tens of thousands, yet the few shelves on the right wall held a couple hundred at most. The rest of the room was filled with small tables, upholstered chairs and a desk in the back buried under a mountain of scrolls.
I moved further into the room, and another ceiling mural unfurled above my head, this one composed of interconnected scenes that appeared to tell an overarching story.
“This is what King Verren wanted you to see before he spoke with you,” Dey said as he moved up beside me. “He thought it might make your conversation a bit easier.”
“How?” I asked, studying the mural. “I don’t know what it means.”
“I can help with that,” a voice chimed in as a door at the back of the library opened. The male looked to be about my father’s age with extra gray peppered throughout his short and neat wavy brown hair. He crossed over to the desk, his brown robes making a slight swishing noise as he moved.
“You speak English.” My mood perked up at having someone new who could understand me.
“Of course I do, Raynella,” he replied cheerily. “Who do you think taught everyone else?”
“Oh, so you’re the scholar. The one who can impart knowledge.” His robe fit what I’d envisioned in my mind, but that was about it. For some reason I had pictured a Gandalf-looking guy with a white beard down to his waist who leaned on a twisted staff clutched in gnarled and shaky hands. This guy looked more like my high school algebra teacher.
He sketched a little bow and said, “My name is Corym, Princess, and I am at your service.” He walked over to a group of three chairs and gestured for us to join him. “Now, would you like to know what the mural is depicting?”
At last, someone eager to answer questions. “Absolutely,” I replied. “Dey said it was going to explain some things.”
“I imagine it will, yes.” Leaning back in the chair, Corym rested his head on a small pillow attached to the seatback that supported his neck as he gazed at the ceiling. “This is the origin story of Vitaea.”
I took in the first image depicting islands with glittering orbs underneath. Above the planet, three humanoid beings were encased in a glowing nimbus of bright yellow light. I found myself sinking into the chair, a feeling of relaxation settling into me as Corym’s melodic voice washed over me.
“In the beginning, the Gods created many worlds and bestowed upon these worlds a source of power that granted the inhabitants unique abilities. In creating Vitaea, they gifted our planet with healing so we could live long lives in a peaceful paradise. Each island was given its own Source, buried deep underground with hundreds of ley lines distributing the power throughout the land so all could bathe in the gift of the Gods.
And for a time, there was harmony in all of Vitaea.
Then the World Walkers came. Fleeing their own dying planet, three of these Walkers escaped to our island of Rivella through a rift, each bringing with them their retinue of non-magical slaves they had stolen from other worlds over the years. Their humans.
The Walkers sensed the pure strength of the Rivellan Source and knew that it could hold so much more power than this planet was born with. Each Walker ripped a hole into an uninhabited world and funneled the magic from that planet's Source directly into the Rivellan one, flooding our world with new abilities. The first to a world of elemental magic. The second to a world of mind magic. And the third to a world of creation magic.
Believing they had now created a perfect existence, the Walkers built a black stone palace over the Source and sent their humans to live among the Rivellans to tell them of all the Walkers had done for this world.
There was no peace in Rivella, however, because the creation magic began to overload the ley lines. It filled our people with power we could not control, many being driven mad or harming others with their unbridled abilities. Our populus began aging faster, unable to heal the damage from this raw new magic. Many attempted to flee to other islands, but the Walkers created a thick mist to encircle Rivella and filled the waters with terrifying sea creatures to prevent them from abandoning their utopia.
As the Rivellans began to slowly die off, the magicless humans thrived, their children unaffected. Rivellans feared that soon the humans would overpower them by sheer numbers alone. So a king from the Diamond Court traveled to this Onyx Palace to beg the Walkers to close the rifts and save his people.
Two of the Walkers were offended that their gift was being shunned and refused to address the king's demands. They believed, given enough time, Rivellans would adapt and grow to handle the power.
The king did not believe they would survive long enough to evolve, so he turned to the third Walker, the one who had opened the creation rift. This Walker actually sympathized with the king, believing no one should have to watch those they care for suffer. So he offered a solution: He was unable to close the rifts as they had grown permanent from remaining open for so long, but he could condense the hundreds of small ley lines into three central lines that would connect to each of the three Rivellan courts. A cascade of power would emanate directly from their palaces, the strength of the magic fading the further away one got, allowing weaker Rivellans a safe place to live.
The solution was only meant to be temporary, as he believed the Rivellans should all have their full magic again once they adapted. He told the king that one day a powerful Rivellan would be born, one that was strong enough to hold all four types of magic within them. And when that happened, they would be able to separate the ley lines and restore the power of the Source to all.
And so the Walker created a terrible forest around the Onyx Palace, filling it with vicious creatures to protect the Source until such a time as the child was born. He told the other Walkers of his plan and begged them to leave the castle, to protect his slaves and watch over Rivella. Once alone, the remaining Walker merged the ley lines and allowed himself to slip into a death-like sleep so he could hold tightly to the condensed power for as long as needed.
It is rumored he still slumbers deep within the Onyx Palace, waiting for the chosen one to restore the ley lines and release him from his prison.”
I sat quietly, taking in the final image above me of a black castle with a figure sleeping below.
“Okay… “ I said, trying to figure out how to respond and landing on what I egotistically considered to be the most important thing. “What exactly does all that have to do with me?”
“Actually,” Corym said, standing and walking over to his desk, “it has everything to do with you. The mural depicts what is believed to be the full story. That we are all forced to wait here until magically a person appears with all four abilities. A somewhat fruitless plan since creation magic has all but died out over the millennia.”
