Hungry Heart - Book 5 - Ch. 19 (Patreon)

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six / Chapter Seven / Chapter Eight / Chapter Nine / Chapter Ten / Chapter Eleven / Chapter Twelve / Chapter Thirteen / Chapter Fourteen / Chapter Fifteen / Chapter Sixteen / Chapter Seventeen / Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen – Stories of Old

The two librarians were walking quietly in front of him, carrying tall torches that threw shadows on walls heavy with shelves and books. It was very dark inside, even if the sun was generously bestowing its power over the streets of Coinvale at that very moment. Even so, Toru felt safer here than anywhere else in a city that was bound to be cursed for building its foundation on a shard like no other. The gatekeepers had been cryptic enough to annoy him, but he had enough to work with.

“There’s no shard here,” he called out to his hosts.

“Hush,” one of the librarians whispered. “No talking loudly in the library.”

“Then how am I supposed to learn what I need?” Toru mumbled under his breath but fell quiet. As far as he knew, old people who enjoyed spending all their waking moments surrounded by musty tomes were quite the sticklers for rules and regulations. He didn’t want to incur their wrath, not because he feared them, but because he needed them for what would follow.

He continued to walk behind the librarians through what seemed like a long, winding labyrinth with nooks and crannies of all sorts, all loaded with books, as if that was the only thing these people needed to survive. It wouldn’t surprise him if that were the case. The only problem was that he couldn’t help hoping for a late breakfast or a luncheon.

The librarians finally stopped in front of a tall wooden door covered with the carved shapes of flowers and leaves. Duril would love a door like that; Toru put it to his mind to learn how to carve wood so that he could offer his lover such a beautiful thing once they’d have a home to call their own. His longing for Nelsikkar grew stronger each time he began thinking of such things. But now wasn’t the time to waste on melancholy and sad thoughts.

Toru shook his head and straightened up. Whoever waited for him behind that door needed to understand that, despite his humble appearance, this guest was a powerful tigershifter.

“The Head Librarian will see you now.” The two monks stepped out of the way after one of them knocked and waited for an answer from the inside. Toru hadn’t heard anything, but it looked like the confirmation required had come straight away.

Unlike the rest of the library that seemed to prefer darkness even at noon, this room was airy and lit by tall windows on two sides. The rest of the walls resembled the rest of the place, with tomes loaded on top of one another in several rows, sometimes haphazardly, which struck Toru as odd seeing how the place until this moment had looked orderly and boring.

The carpet underneath his feet was thick, and a few paintings showing beautiful landscapes were present on whatever empty patch of wall the owner of the room had found by accident or luck.

Toru walked closer to one of the paintings. A river forked around a land between its open arms. A small castle rose in the middle of that island, and Toru frowned as his mind searched for a memory that eluded him.

“A stranger visits the library of Coinvale,” a decided voice pulled him out of his reverie and made him turn on his heel.

The owner of that voice was a very short old man who walked around a huge mahogany desk to welcome his guest. While his voice was strong, carrying the words he spoke to every corner of the room, filling it, the rest of his appearance pointed at his having been on the face of Eawirith for many decades, if not centuries. His eyebrows were white as snow and so thick that it was impossible to see his eyes underneath them. His beard was long and almost swiped the floor as the Head Librarian walked toward Toru.

His robe was cinched at the waist with a simple rope, making his attire seem too humble for the position he presumably held. Overall, the Head Librarian appeared to be the single most modest part of that large room, in which no comfort had been spared.

“I’m not a stranger,” Toru said, determined to cut to the chase. “I am--”

“Yes, yes,” his host said quickly and grabbed his arm with a force that didn’t match his frail body. “Come here, stranger, let me tell you a thing or two.”

Curious about the librarian’s behavior, Toru bent enough to let the old man whisper in his ear.

“Have you had lunch?”

Toru snorted and straightened up. “I’ll have you know that I am here on a very important quest, no, not just important, it is the most important--”

“No point in starting a quest on an empty stomach.”

Toru blinked. When he had looked earlier, the desk had seemed empty. And now, a large tray loaded with puffy pastry and tasty morsels of meat, shiny as if they had been glazed with honey, lay there.

“Are you using magic?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, hoping he’d been quick enough for his host not to notice his weakness.

“No, there is no shard here,” came the prompt reply. “We are keepers of the stories of old here, Toru. Your reputation is that of a healthy eater. I thought of sweetening the deal before you have to face the bitter truth. I can order the food to be removed--”

“No, I’ll have a little,” Toru said and moved brusquely toward the desk. “How do you know who I am?”

“We know many things. And I’m afraid what I have to tell you might damage the trust you have in yourself.”

Toru shrugged while he picked one delicious looking drumstick from the silver platter closest to him. “Just tell me,” he said while he began gobbling it down. He hoped Mako’s stomach wouldn’t mind the assault he was planning. It would not be fortunate to have a stomachache while confronting the evil nursing this place.

“I will, then,” the librarian said with a sigh. “You were looking at that painting, weren’t you?”

“Uh-um,” Toru confirmed while reaching for a large piece of pastry that smelled like spiced meat.

“Your birthplace, Nelsikkar,” the librarian said while walking around the room, his hands behind his back. He stopped in front of the same painting Toru had noticed earlier.

He stopped eating. “What do you know about it? Where is it?” he asked sharply.

“Closer than you think,” the librarian said in an enigmatic tone. “Provided that you always do the right thing and you don’t fall into the trap of your predecessors.”

“I was sure you were going to talk like that. None of your kind can say things straight out like they are, right?”

“I thought it was demanded of us to offer grand words to a savior of the world.” The old man even bowed.

Toru shrugged, feeling embarrassed. “I know nothing about things like that. I have my friends to help me, and I don’t want people to do that thing you just did. Like bowing.”

“Very well. Allow me to introduce myself, and I will tell you everything. My name is Amimi Kota, and I’ve been the Head Librarian for the last millennia.”

“That figures,” Toru said and surreptitiously took another bite. “I thought you must be old. Are you older than Demophios?” he asked, certain that he didn’t need to tell the Head Librarian who that was.

“No one is older than Demophios,” the librarian said sharply. “Let’s not be so formal. Everyone calls me Head.”

“That’s a bit weird. That’s like everyone would call me Belly.”

To his surprise, Amimi Kota laughed, holding the rope at his waist as if that were the only thing keeping him from coming undone from too much laughing. “You’re like none of the other saviors of the world, Toru. I should have given the rumors more thought.”

“Rumors? What do they say?” Toru asked.

“Eat, young tiger. Those about your appetite are indeed true.”

***

Varg stared at the large battlefield stretching out before his eyes. He knew this had to be a trick, that the shard was most likely trying to get him to accept the skullduggery it was presenting now for its prisoner to believe. At least, he tried to tell himself that because it was impossible to avoid the seed of truth offering itself to him in that unexpected shape.

The battlefield was covered in corpses. There were people of all sorts there, which told him that not everyone who had been involved in that fight had been a soldier. The worst part was the presence of shapeshifters, wolfshifters mostly, who lay there, unmoving.

“Why are you showing me this?” he asked, although his voice only rang in his head.

There was no reply. Varg continued to stare at the terrible scene, trying to make sense of it. A sound made him turn his head. It was incredible how he was now in control of his body while he knew himself to be immobilized inside the shard. As if he was present—

He looked down at his hands. His feet were planted firmly on the ground. The stench of the battlefield invaded his nostrils, filling his mind with dread that took him a moment to control.

Something whooshed by the side of his head. He had just enough time to dodge what seemed to be a direct attack. Varg quickly sidestepped and wobbled as he faced his attacker. The intelligent amber eyes of a wolfshifter were boring into his.

“Fight, wolf,” came the growled challenge.

“Who are you?” Varg asked, as all he did was dodged the impressive battleax the wolfshifter was wielding with the clear intention of hurting him.

“Don’t waste our time with useless questions. Fight, wolf!”

Varg found himself running to escape the unrelenting attacks directed at him. Trying to get the other wolfshifter to stop was useless. He quickly grabbed a spear from the ground and threw it at the one following him like a hunter stalking his prey.

The wolfshifter howled with laughter. “Is this the one standing in my way on the path of becoming the greatest?”

“What are you talking about?” Varg searched for another weapon, something he could wield. A short sword stuck up from the ground and he grabbed its hilt without thinking twice.

“Don’t you understand? Have you been living under a rock? The power is all mine.” The amber eyes burned with malice.

“Is this your doing?” Varg gestured at the piles of corpses around them. He parried a frontal attack with his puny sword and then pushed his assailant back by driving one foot right into the wolf’s hard chest.

As expected, his opponent stumbled and was forced backward a few steps. That was enough for Varg to put some distance between them and search for a better weapon. He had never been a shield bearer, in battle or outside of it, but he needed one now. If he wanted answers, he needed to keep on dodging the wolfshifter’s attacks, so he scooped one up.

“You are the only one left.”

“Did you kill everyone here?” Varg asked. A poleax happened in his hand as he ran around and this time, when he aimed for the other, he managed to graze a shoulder.

The sight of his own blood seemed to make the strange wolfshifter happy. “I thought you had no fangs. But it looks to me like there’s still some fight in you, wolf.”

“You don’t even know me,” Varg said. “Why are you fighting me?”

“Because I must kill all the wolves in this land. No, all the wolves in the world!”

Varg landed on his back, with his attacker on top of him. The blade of the battleax was dangerously close to his face and when the pressure eased, he thought that was his cue to get away. The wolf brought his weapon down hard against Varg’s shield, making it break into pieces.

The situation was becoming more dire by the moment. There was no way of telling how long he could keep going like this, but he had no intention of hurting this maddened wolfshifter.

“Why would you want to do that?” he shouted. As the other raised his battleax, Varg rolled away and threw another, smaller shield at his attacker, making him break his concentration.

“Stop running. You can’t avoid your fate.”

“For a wolf, the pack is his life,” Varg grunted as he hurried to put more distance between them. It was difficult to run over the corpses under his feet, and losing his balance could very well mean his demise seeing how relentless his pursuer was.

“I have no need for a pack!” the wolf yelled triumphantly. “I live my life for myself. All the glory is mine!”

“If you believe such a thing, you’re not a true wolf,” Varg shouted back.

What sort of madness could have overtaken this wolfshifter? Making a wolf believe that he didn’t need a pack to survive was no easy feat, not even for a witch. There had to be dark magic involved, an evil that was consuming the wolf with amber eyes from the inside. He had no idea that he was cursed, as the way of all such magic went, but there had to be a weakness somewhere in that enraged mass of bones and muscle hurrying after him with the same vigor as before.

Varg, on the other hand, felt that he was losing ground. Maybe the wolf stalking him was younger, and that explained his shortcomings. Or maybe the curse bewitching him gave him strength where there should have been none left.

“I’ve killed everyone who stood in my path,” the wolf growled. “Only you are left.”

“I’m not even from here,” Varg said. “Can’t you tell it’s dark magic making you lose your mind?”

“You’d say anything to escape your fate. Coward,” the wolfshifter spat at him.

“I do not wish to kill you.”

“As if you could!”

When had he managed to move so fast? Varg felt the hit coming from behind, a blink of an eye later than he should have. He fell face-first into the ground soaked in blood. He didn’t think as, at the last moment, he dodged the battleax aimed at his skull. His hand searched the ground and grabbed a dagger, short and pointy. When his attacker came at him again, Varg drove the sharp blade into the wolf’s side.

Could it be that he hadn’t expected to be attacked back? The wolfshifter staggered and the battleax slipped from his grasp. He grabbed his flank and stared in disbelief at his own blood. Then he fell to his knees, his eyes now full of hatred and surprise.

“Do you believe such a small wound will stop me?”

“No. You’ll heal.”

“Unless you kill me. Here’s your chance.” The sly glint in the amber eyes told Varg that the wolfshifter was trying to goad him into doing something.

“I won’t kill you. But you’re in a bad way and need to get that wound tied up.”

The wolf was about to say something more when Varg smacked the last piece of shield he was still holding into his head, making him drop to the ground. He hadn’t thought that it would work this well, but the wolf seemed unconscious now. Varg made quick work of finding some belts, ignoring how he needed to desecrate the dead to do so. And then, he hogtied his opponent properly and rested a couple of feet away, barely catching his breath. When the wolf woke up, he’d have to start explaining what this was all about.

“I’m not killing another wolf,” Varg said out loud to no one in particular. “You cannot make me.”

He would swear that mocking laughter drifted to his ears for a moment. It didn’t matter; he’d use this time to rest in case he needed to put that wolf in his place again.

***

“What can we do?” Sogou asked in a pleading voice while keeping a fair and healthy distance from the shard.

“If there is a way to get inside it, we will find it,” Duril hurried to assure him.

“If?”

“There has to be one,” Duril replied, this time with more assurance in his voice.

“Like when it grabbed me? Oh, no, Mr. Duril, what if I was supposed to let myself be dragged inside so that we could get in?”

“Don’t fret. I doubt it would have been that easy. Such things tend to be tricky to deal with.” He knew that he was saying whatever he thought would better put the young man’s mind at ease, so it surprised him that Sogou’s face went all white at his words.

“Do you mean that it really was trying to kill me?”

“We cannot know its mind,” Duril said. “So let’s not assume that was the case when we don’t know for sure.”

That appeared to give Sogou some reassurance, but it wasn’t going to work wonders for his morale. The young storyteller dropped to the ground and crossed his legs before him. “It looks to me like this whole place was built on a lie,” he said in a gloomy voice. “This thing must have been here for a long time.”

“I don’t have the ledger anymore, but I assure you that it has been here a long time.”

Both Duril and Sogou turned their heads to see Vetor rolling in through the door.

“Hey, get away from here,” Sogou warned him. “Do you want the shard to eat you?”

“I don’t feel it pulling at me now,” Vetor said promptly. “It must mean that its attention is all on something else.” He seemed to ponder over his own words. Duril couldn’t explain how he could interpret the round shape’s behavior in such ways, but he just knew.

“Do you think it is devouring Mr. Varg as we speak?” Sogou asked in an alarmed voice. “Then we must do something!”

“There is something I must remember,” Vetor said and as he rolled on the ground, he took the shape of a short old man. “When it was brought here, there should have been at least seven forms to complete to ensure that its registration was right and proper.”

“I mean no disrespect,” Sogou said impatiently, “but everything you say, esteemed curator, seems to be quite meaningless.”

Duril had to admit that he believed the same thing, but he had preferred to keep it to himself. Good thing he had Sogou, who in his naiveté was willing to speak his mind.

“Nothing is meaningless,” Vetor replied, holding one hand up. “Everything needs to be in order.”

Duril watched the curator as he moved around the shard, scratching his almost bald head from time to time. “What are you looking for?” he asked, curious and at the same time willing to hope that there might be something Vetor would be able to bring to the table to help them release Varg from the shard.

“I don’t know yet… ah, was this supposed to be here?” Vetor leaned over to observe something, but his face was now obscured from view, so Duril moved closer.

“What are we looking at?” he asked.

Vetor straightened up, holding a small object between his fingers. “Ha. A peg.”

“A peg?!” Sogou exclaimed. “Aren’t we supposed to be fighting evil? Why are we stumbling over a peg?”

Duril smiled. “It might not be an obstacle,” he said as he took the wooden peg from Vetor’s hand.

***

“A curse has followed those who have defeated Hekastfet before you, Toru,” Amimi Kota said, still pacing the room with his hands behind his back. “Power corrupts, as you may well know.”

“I don’t know,” Toru admitted, still busy stuffing his face. While everything the Head wanted to tell him was important, he couldn’t just neglect the opportunity provided by such a delicious meal. If he was heading for a fight, who knew when he’d be able to enjoy himself like this again?

“That is right,” the Head exclaimed, as if he had just realized something important. “You don’t know.”

Toru shrugged. “I really wish you’d get to the point, unlike Agatha and Elidias. And Demophios, of course. Especially him. Every time he says anything, he makes my head hurt so badly.”

The librarian laughed. “There might be a chance for us, then. Since you’re so untouched, Toru.”

“Untouched by what?” he asked. He let his eyes wander over to the painting of Nelsikkar – that is if what Amimi Kota said was true. “What about the other paintings? What’s with them?”

“They are the birthplaces of the other saviors,” the Head explained.

“Other tigers?”

The librarian shook his head. “No, other shifters.”

TBC

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