The birds are flying in circles, pale and elegant, with long necks and wings, white plumage opaque and pearly.
“Holy Gods,” Ardruna whispers. “You did it.”
Yet it nags at me. I gave them back their name, or at least I think so. A name I think might have been theirs. Was it, though? Did I change their nature by mistake? And even if it was… what else can I do? What if I chose to give them a new name? Another name? What if I changed them into sparrows or doves?
I could turn those birds into nightingales. Imagine flocks of them passing through, then filling the hedges at night, singing to the stars…
What if I could do that with every creature? Every single thing in this world? A malleable world, a plaything in my hands. The rush of power is enticing. Addictive. Ardruna was right to feel uneasy about it.
“We should get going,” she says. “Before they change into something else.”
Her words feed into my theory, and I want to give it a try, change them over and over again.
No,I tell myself and reluctantly I let the thought go.It’s not important right now. Ardruna is right, we should get going.
Go back to the sanctum and check the books there. Find clues and understand the downfall of this world. The fall of the Library of Areon.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
BESOTTED
ADELINE
In the mad race to escape the metal birds, I lost all the herbs I gathered. Like an idiot, I hadn’t realized the satchel was open. The cut I got from their wings during our first encounter burns. Together with the painful bruise and still-healing wound in my side and the scrapes from escaping various predators over this past couple of days, I’m ready to return to safety and rest.
I have nothing to show for today’s troubles and my push for independence.
Although that’s not entirely true, I realize, and I’m not talking about the calendula I found on our return road to the library. No, I think I’ve started to figure out how this world works and how I can bend it to my will, even if I don’t feel I've gotten any closer to figuring out its sickness.
Ifit is a sickness, after all, and not evolution, not a cycle of life. This world fascinates me way too much for the horrible hell that it is.
“Itishell.” Olm’s voice echoes inside my head. “You should have listened to me. Then you wouldn’t have been trapped in this place.”
“You didn’t know I’d be trapped,” I point out. “So this conversation is pointless.”
“You have to escape.”
“And you’re becoming repetitive and tedious. If I knew a way out of here, I’d have gone already.”
“Would you have?”
Reluctantly, I say, “In all honesty, I’m not sure. This enigma is calling my name. I want to fix this world.”
“So it has nothing to do with the library’s pretty guardian, huh?” Olm hisses. “Do you think me stupid?”
“… okay,” I admit, “so Roane may also be a reason.”
Ardruna laughs. “Roane is the reason for many things.”
She has insisted I should ride her all the way back, and I don’t argue. My body is exhausted, my mind racing. I bow low over her neck as she lopes with that easy animal grace through the meadows and the city.
“Did you know about the book Roane has in the nest? He said it’s his diary. It has to be his librarian’s log that every library guardian is obliged to keep.” I sigh. “I’d love to read it.”
“Good luck with that. I’ve never even seen him write in it.”
“And yet it’s almost full,” I whisper. “Strange. He must have written in it a lot before you came along.”
“Hold on,” she says and runs up a steep path.
