Chapter Eighteen of Many

Chapter Eighteen

Meilyr landed at a run, thundering to a stop in front of a large building that made me think of Grandpa’s mansion back home. It was bigger, and made all of gray stone, its windows stained purple. I could see ruined foundations around us, as though we stood in what used to be a village, or town. The solitary stone building was all that remained, as pristine as the day it had been built.

I climbed off, hurrying toward Bysgo, who waited by the door leading into the large building. “Bysgo!” I cried. “You’ll never guess what happened. I met a mage, and—”

“Now isn’t a wonderful time to retell your tale, Wallace,” the boatman interrupted me. “We have a more pressing matter at hand.”

He nodded at Meilyr, and turned to head inside.

I followed silently, a little upset that I wasn’t able to tell them about the strange figure of dark and fire.

I swallowed guiltily, a bit of relief passing through me when I realized that I was also spared the shame of telling them how I had lost the book that Dyn Twodd had given me.

We entered the strange building, the smell of dust and old books filling my nose. It was dark inside, a few torches lighting up a barren hall, the walls lined with bookshelves. There were rooms and stairs and ladders everywhere I looked, books on every shelf all the way to the ceiling. A set of four torches lit a table at the back of the building, against the far wall. A shape lay on top of the table, small, and still.

“Nos!” I cried, running toward him.

“Do not touch him,” Bysgo said quickly, stopping my hand. He stood by me as I stared down at my friend. “This is deep magic, Dreamer. Very deep, and very old.”

Nos’s eyes were wide, glossed in all black. There was no red, no whites, just glistening black orbs staring at the ceiling above us. His hands were folded peacefully across his chest. His shiny black shoes were just as shiny as ever, his tailcoat clean and unruffled. His skin was as pale as the face of the moon itself, unblemished and clean.

I looked up at Bysgo and Meilyr. “What’s wrong with him? He looks fine.”

“He has been struck into a deep sleep,” Meilyr explained. “Likely, he did this himself. Bysgo’s theory is that he almost died and had to preserve himself somehow.” He shook his head. “A mere Collector should not be able to harm someone such as Nos Awyr.”

“He is no mere Collector,” Bysgo said bitterly. “Only one Collector has managed to get through the beets and into the Gald. At least, only one before Seren attacked Dyn Twodd. Only one was powerful enough. He is Morgan Uren, the right hand of Lady Gloew and Edryd Uren’s brother. He is blessed by the lady herself, and drinks of her blackened magic.” He shook his head sadly. “How the mighty have fallen...”

“What do we do?” I asked hesitantly. “How do we wake him up?”

“If you are wise, you will not,” a voice entered the conversation from behind us.

I whirled around to see the white mage standing in the doorway. His staff was alight, bringing a soft glow to the dimly lit hall.

I frowned and almost yelled at him to give me my book back, then hesitated. There were more important things happening, and I wasn’t sure I wanted Meilyr and Bysgo to know I had lost it yet.

“And who might you be?” Bysgo asked warily, sidling in front of Nos.

“My name is Osian,” the mage replied calmly. “I’ve been watching over Nos since he returned, as well as dueling the beast in the Valley Torn. I trust you met my little friend?”

I glanced up at Bysgo and Meilyr, and saw that they, too, had met with the strange monster in valley.

“What is that monstrosity?” Meilyr asked, his tone curious. “I’ve never seen or read of anything like it...”

“There is no name for it, so I simply call it Arwel. To the best of my understanding, it is one of the original nightmares from long ago, that somehow managed to escape its bonds. But that is a story for another time,” he said, striding forward quickly. “We need to tend to Nos, first and foremost.”

“Do not touch him,” Bysgo said shortly, moving forward a step. He eyed the mage, his face holding an expression I couldn’t place. I decided Bysgo simply didn’t trust Osian. “Who are you? Why are you here? Why do you alone face the monster in the valley and no one else from your village does?”

Osian stopped, and smiled kindly. “Calm yourself, boatman. My story is for another time. I will tell you that I duel with Arwel because no one else can, or will. Should a beast such as that be released upon the Gald, the world as we know it will end. I alone managed to hold onto my powers when the Darkness flooded the Gald. I alone stayed true to my inner light, the radiance that guides us all.” He narrowed his eyes at Bysgo. “You should be familiar with this sentiment, boatman.”

Bysgo paled, and he drew back. He didn’t say anything, but simply stared at Osian with a strange light in his eyes.

“What do you suggest we do?” Meilyr asked. “We haven’t the faintest idea how to wake him.”

“Well, there you’re lucky, my friend,” Osian said, his teal eyes flashing. “I know just the thing we need to rouse Nos from his slumber.”

“I thought you said we shouldn’t wake him up?” I said curtly. I didn’t like Osian. I couldn’t say so now, because then Bysgo and Meilyr would know about the book, but the moment I got this mage alone...

“It is true that he shouldn’t be awakened in any standard way,” Osian said. “He must be awakened in a specific fashion that will be safe for him and his magics. Should you drag him out of a slumber that he placed on himself to preserve his being, you may well be the one that ends him. We cannot hope to know how close he is to healing himself, nor is there any way for us to find out.”

Meilyr nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on Nos. “You suggest that we heal him.”

Osian nodded. “There are not many things in this world that I know to possess the magical quality and quantity needed to cure a fatal wound of one of the Four Lords, but there is perhaps one thing...” He trailed off, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“Well?” I shot at him. “What is it?”

“Wallace, be kind,” Bysgo scolded me, seeming to have found his voice again.

Sure. Be kind to the thief.

“I must have a moment,” Osian said. “I must consult the pages of this library, to ensure that I am not mistaken. Should I be wrong in my theory, Nos would perish, and the Gald cannot afford a Lord at the moment. With only one remaining, dreams would almost certainly cease to be.”

I blinked, and looked back and forth between Bysgo and Meilyr. “One?”

Bysgo sighed. “Yes. Seren is the last of the Four Lords currently standing.” He frowned. “Though I do not know how you already knew of Dyn Twodd’s fall,” he added, glaring at Osian.

“I know a great many things,” Osian replied mysteriously. “I have a certain...clarity of the goings on of the Gald. But I need time,” he said, walking away and vanishing between the shelves. His voice floated out to us; “We must rouse Nos, or the Gald will be no more.”

I waited until he had gone from earshot, and then glared at Bysgo. “Four Lords? Library? What is happening?”

“Yes, Bysgo,” Meilyr said amiably, “what is happening? Did I not say that you should have told him of the Losgi Tywyll?”

Bysgo didn’t seem bothered. “It’s a lot of history to go into for a boy that simply wants his dog back. Don’t you think, Wallace?”

I didn’t know how to answer. It was true, all I had wanted at first was to get Dyn back, maybe take him home with me. Then I wanted to fix my body, so I wasn’t a ghost anymore. Now I wanted to fix Dyn Twodd and Nos, so that they were better. In fact, since we had arrived at the Losgi Tywyll, I had sort of forgotten about my dog.

I hesitated, then scuffed my shoe on the ground. “But...I want to know it,” I said slowly.

Bysgo shook his head. “I don’t see why. Don’t you simply want to go home?”

“Well, yeah, but...” I paused. It wasn’t true. I wanted to go home, yes, very badly. I wanted my body back to normal, and I wanted to not have to be chased by Collectors and fire monsters anymore. I wanted to just go back to being a normal boy, but...

I lifted my chin. “I want to help Dyn Twodd and Nos,” I said firmly.

Bysgo stared at me for a moment, then sighed. “This is no tale for a child, Wallace. And I don’t want to hear anything from you,” he jabbed at Meilyr. “You would tell everyone the flesh and bone details of the Gald’s history. Now is neither the time, nor the place.” He stared down at Nos sadly, his brow furrowed deeply. “Our Lords have fallen. We must help them.”

I felt an ache in my heart when I looked at him, his expression as sad as I had seen it. He looked hurt, deeply wounded in a way I couldn’t understand. For Dyn Twodd, I could almost understand his pain, but he didn’t even like Nos. Or Seren, for that matter. Why he was so pained was a mystery to me, though one that would have to take the back burner to the thief that had stolen my book.

Noticing that Bysgo and Meilyr were now talking in hushed voices, I knew that this was my golden opportunity, and slipped away from my two friends standing in front of the pale, still boy on the table.

I tried to keep my footsteps quiet as I crept through the halls and shelves and rooms of the library, determined to sneak up on the mage and take him by surprise. He might have fooled Bysgo and Meilyr, but he wasn’t fooling me, nor would he. I knew exactly what he was, however bright he may look.

My determination led almost immediately to my becoming hopelessly lost, bound and twisted up between the shelves of the ancient library. Books whispered at me from their places, their bindings glowing with strange symbols and scripts, the letters purple and white and green. They seemed almost as though they were alive, like the books at the Palace of Dreams, but I knew they weren’t. I didn’t know how I knew it, but I knew that these books were not in any way alive.

They were enchanted.

Enchanted, cursed, hexed, whatever other word I could attach to them, I knew that these books weren’t the same as the friendly talkative bunch that I had met in the Palace, the kind that turned into flying stags and joined you on your adventures. No, these books I could tell at a glance were very sinister things. These books were things that I ought not to touch, nor even look at too closely.

And so I didn’t. I did, however, notice that some of the shelves had dust on them in thick layers, some of it having been recently swept away by prying fingers.

Prying, thieving fingers.

My heart raced like a hound closing in on its prey, and I readied myself to pounce the moment I saw him, to take my foe to the ground in one fell swoop. I heard a sound around the next shelf, the whisper of turning pages.

Just as I bent down to creep around the corner, I stepped on something. Or in something, I wasn’t exactly sure. Either way, I let out a yelp as the something rose up around me and encased me in a giant green bubble. It seized my arms and legs and even my mouth, locking me in place, floating in the air. It smelled like candy, or maybe snot, or something in between, and was mostly clear, the books around me still visible through its emerald sheen.

The mage. He had done this. He had laid a trap for me and I had bumbled right into it like a fool.

A figure appeared around the end of the shelf, glowing white, barely visible as I craned my eyes to see him through the wall of goo. “Wallace? What in the Gald are you doing?”

The bubble suddenly evaporated, and I crashed to the ground in a puddle of green slime. I spat out a mouthful of the candy-snot and glared up at Osian from my ooze pile. “What was that for?”

He blinked. “Releasing you from that entrapment?”

I stared at him warily, trying to decide if he were telling the truth or not, or if he were making up some horrible ruse to try and fool even me into believing that he was as good as he looked.

He shook his head. “This old Library is full of old spells and traps. Some of them were laid by us before we fled our old home, while some of them simply escaped from the books that are no longer maintained, wandering the dusty halls and rooms of their own free will. It seems you stepped on one that was designed to apprehend thieves.”

“It’s a miracle you made it past it then,” I shot at him, trying to climb to my feet. I made it to one knee, but my footing in the slime was like trying to stand on oiled glass. When my second foot came up, they both shot above my head and I landed flat on my back. I heard the pieces of the ocarina in my pack grinding to dust against the floor. Scrambling back up, I stood with my feet spread, my hands prepared to break my fall.

“Whatever do you mean?” he inquired. “Are you saying that I’m a thief?”

“You took my book,” I said stoutly.

“What book?”

“I know you took it,” I said angrily. “It’s a very important book, and I need it back. Dyn Twodd gave it to me himself. He wanted me to take care of it.”

“Wallace, I did not take your book,” Osian said slowly. “But I wasn’t the only one there. Remember?”

I stared at him stupidly. Of course he was the only one there.

Wasn’t he?

I replayed the incident in my mind, from the moment Bysgo and Meilyr had left, to the moment he had shown up. No one else had come to my rescue when the dark things attacked me.

I felt my heart fall into my feet. “What were those dark creatures?”

“Loosed nightmares,” Osian replied. “But they can only be set loose by a Niwyl Mage. Someone in the Losgi Tywyll wanted your book, Wallace.” He shook his head. “And it wasn’t me.”