What a strange tableau.
Wait a moment…I let my arms drop to my sides. Am I in the presence of the library’s legendary warrior guardian? I mean, who else could it be?
“Ersil,” I say. “Are you Ersil? Ersil Davara?”
The man’s gaze swings to me, and I feel my jaw dropping as I get my first good look at him. This is the library’s guardian who has been here for a hundred years? Buried in the mountain with tons of dangerous books—and okay, also a city and meadowsand hills, but still... This is him? I’d expected a ghoul, a muscular orc-like creature, or else a bent old man with a goatee and a gold-rimmed monocle. A warrior or a librarian. My mind can hardly combine the two concepts and yet here he stands, straight and proud. Not orc-like at all. And not old, either.
This man is muscular but not too much, just... perfectly put together, and his face is what draws my gaze the most. You wouldn’t call it beautiful but it’s... arresting in the shadow of his hood. A scar runs down one cheek, distorting the edge of a generous mouth, and the eyes… They blaze under his dark brows, pale gray like a wolf’s.
The lioness at his side licks her chops.
Slowly, I get up, back still pressed to the rock. “Cat ate your tongue?” I whisper. My limbs are shaking. This entire journey is crashing down on me. “Aren’t you Ersil? What are these animals…?”
Black spots crowd my vision.
“Aline!” Olm hisses. “Pick me up! That lioness will piss all over me, or chew me to pieces. Pick me up!”
That’s kind of funny, but my knees can’t straighten, can’t hold me up, and the darkness spreads like a sea, swallowing me.
The lioness’s deep growl is the last sound I hear before my hearing goes, too, and then I fade into unconsciousness.
Someone is crouched over me. I feel the warmth of a body and the scent of old books and leather, underlaid by a whiff of peppery spice.
For long moments, I feel comfortable and cozy. Safe. I’m home, on my pallet, my parents and Eiras hovering close by in our little house in Siris.
Then it hits me that I can’t hear the crackling of the fire or any voices. It’s eerily quiet. So who is crouched over me?
My eyes fly open in alarm, and that someone scoots away, soles scuffing on rock.
Rolling my head to the side, I blink into the dimness. I realize I’m lying on coarse fabric, but the space around me coalesces into… a grove. Tree trunks rise around us like pillars and here and there the ground has sprouted tiny white flowers.
Where am I? This place has the feel of a fairytale or a dream.
It takes me long moments of confusion to piece together what happened, to remember entering the cave, seeing the world inside the cavern, the lioness leaping at me and a voice stopping the beast from tearing me apart.
The man. I make him out now. He’s obviously the one who carried me here, the one who stopped the lioness. He’s crouched beside the animal, petting the pale fur, his eyes gleaming.
Fixed on me.
Pushing myself up on an elbow, I lick my dry lips. “Ersil,” I whisper. “Are you Ersil, the warrior librarian of Areon?”
He’s frowning at me, face shadowed by the hood, dark brows drawn into a knot. Abandoning the lioness, he straightens his tall body and gazes down at me.
“Are you or aren’t you?” I demand. “Answer me.”
Finally, he gives a reluctant nod.
“Okay. All right. We’re getting somewhere,” I whisper. “Can’t you speak? Or can’t you hear me?” I tap one of my ears. “Nod if you can hear me.”
Another slow nod.
“That’s a relief. Makes things easier.” I push myself to a sitting position, my head spinning. I’m thirsty and hungry, and… “The book. Where is it?”
I scan the ground around me, panic gripping me. Would Olm unleash a dragon if he thought I’ve abandoned him to oblivion?
With a low sound, almost like a growl, the guardian crosses the short distance between us and points at something behind me.
The book. Relieved, I grab it and clutch it to my chest. “Thank you.”
