14. What Awaits in the Depths (Patreon)

Aisling stepped forward. “I’ll go.”

“Wait, wait. I was joking. I’ll go first,” Oz said.

She frowned at him. “You’ve barely opened a meridian. If there’s any danger—”

Oz lifted his arm with the control marking. “I’m the new librarian. What if there’s something else that checks my credentials on the staircase? If I don’t go first, it might attack you.”

Aisling hesitated, then nodded. “As you wish.”

Linnea leaned out over the edge, peering into the shadow. “Hello?”

Her voice echoed down the stone staircase and out of sight, rattling against smooth, hard walls. It faded out, leaving nothing but the crypt-dark silence once more.

The other three stared at her.

Linnea blinked up at them. “What?”

“You’re shouting hello to… to whatever’s down there?” Roan asked, incredulously.

“I’m being polite,” Linnea said, a faint blush spreading on her cheeks.

Roan rolled his eyes. “What an airhead.”

“Roan! I am not,” Linnea insisted, pursing her lips cutely and propping her hands on her hips.

Unable to watch the display any longer, Oz stepped into the shaft. I’d rather get eaten alive than watch Linnea and Roan flirt. Ha. If she was really angry, we’d all know it.

Soft footsteps behind him. He turned back. Aisling followed at a pace and a half, careful not to let him get too far ahead. He nodded at her and continued, circling down.

Down. Down. Down. Darkness enveloped them. After the first two turns, no more light reflected down the spiral, leaving Oz to grope his way ahead in total darkness, one hand on the wall, groping ahead with his foot to find the next stair before he trusted his weight to it. Three blind steps down the stairs, the control marking began to glow silver, shedding just enough light for him to see the stair ahead of him before he stepped. Footsteps echoed ahead of him, rattling away over the stone.

At last, he stepped onto flat ground. Beside him, a torch lit with pale blue flame, then another, then another, the torches slowly illuminating a narrow passage. At the end, darkness unlike even the stairs so far yawned. An immense empty space awaited them, too dark and too large for Oz to make out the far side.

He glanced back. Aisling nodded at him. Oz nodded in return and strode ahead, down the hall. A low laugh rattled down the hall toward him. He shivered and pressed on. I’ve come too far to stop now.

Linnea grabbed Roan’s arm. In her most pitiful voice, she trilled, “Roan, I’m scared.”

“It’s okay. I’ll protect you,” Roan said comfortingly.

Oz glanced back, raising a brow. “You’re the one who greeted it ten seconds ago.”

“Shut up.” Linnea rolled her eyes at him.

The hallway came to an end. The last of the blue torches burst alight. At the door, Oz hesitated. One more step. One more step, and…

Purring, Sid wrapped around his ankles. She jumped ahead, bouncing out into the room.

“Ah, Sid!” Oz chased after her into the room. He caught the cat, then looked up, belatedly realizing he’d already stepped over the threshold.

The torches guttered all at once, blue light dimming, then resurging. Cold tones illuminated a man hanging in the room’s center, his wrists bound to the ceiling high above, ankles chained to the floor, draped bonelessly between the two. He took up the entire twenty-foot span of the room, looming hugely over them. Blue light robbed his skin of what little color it possessed. Dead, still eyes gazed at the floor. If not for a low grumble of a laugh as the four of them approached him, Oz might have thought him dead.

A heavy, musky smell filled the air, more like a stable than the rotten staleness of a human’s room. Two branching, bone-pale antlers thrust from the man’s forehead. They pushed out of a wild tangle of snow-white hair, all tousled and lank, as if he’d never seen a brush, much less a bath. If not for the man’s somewhat hunched posture, the antlers would have touched the ceiling.

Strange markings in blue blocked out portions of his eerily white skin. Parallel blue stripes ran from his eyes to his chin. Thin blue-black lips pressed shut, and in the light, Oz couldn’t tell if that was by the artist’s needle, or simply due to the man’s state. A series of triangles marched down his upper arms, a mysterious, pitchfork-like shape branching down his forearm to his left hand, while his right sported a sharp-edged sun.

The patterns vanished into the thick polar furs he wore around his shoulders and down his back, an emaciated, blue-tattooed stomach appearing for a moment before oversized raw leather trousers, painted moreso than dyed white, swallowed his legs. Red rope bound with a carved stone served as a belt. Too short to fit him well, the trousers fell away in tatters at the mid-calf to reveal more tattooed, pale flesh, before the ankle cuffs wrapped his bare ankles, resting on bare feet.

Untamed. Oz stared, unable to think of a better word. His eyes fell on the shackles, and his brows furrowed, but the descriptor stuck nonetheless. He’s bound, but he hasn’t been tamed.

“Oz,” Aisling cautioned him.

Oz jolted. He looked down. Inches ahead, a silver magical circle laid in the floor, carefully set into the stone itself. Startled, he jumped back. I shouldn’t cross that line.

The laugh petered out. Silver chains jangled. The man’s hands shifted, revealing lurid red marks where the cuffs dug into his flesh.

“We meet again.”

The man’s voice echoed in the chamber, so deep it rattled Oz’s bones. He looked up, bright blue eyes reflecting the pale light in such vivid cobalt that they seemed to burn. The chains jangled, slowly, the man pushing himself up just enough to look them in the eyes. “Librarian.”

“Hello,” Oz said neutrally.

Eyes dimming, the man snorted. Thick white lashes obscured his gaze. “No. We meet for the first time.”

“Who are you? How did you get in the library?” Roan demanded, drawing his sword.

The man laughed, the sound much more lively than it had sounded from the top of the stairs. He jangled his chains. “How do you think, child of man? Do you suppose I walked in?”

“Madame Saoirse captured you,” Oz guessed.

“All hope is not lost for man’s intellect,” the man rumbled, eyes roving over the four of them. His gaze locked onto Linnea, and he raised his brows.

Uncomfortable, Linnea shifted. She ducked out of his gaze, hiding behind Roan.

“Why? Why would she seal a demon beneath the library?” Roan asked.

“A jotunn,” Linnea clarified. She cleared her throat, still hiding behind Roan. “They live in the Northern Wastes.”

Roan brandished his sword. “I don’t care where the demon is from.”

“Mind your words,” the man grumbled, narrowing his eyes at Roan. A chill rolled through the room, emanating from the circle. The blue torches flickered again.

“They—they’re more fey than demon. They fought with us, against the demons, but…” Linnea protested weakly, her voice fading at the end.

“Then why is he tied up here?” Roan argued, gesturing at the shackles.

“Yes. Ask her.” The man chuckled, shaking his enormous head. For the first time, he opened his mouth enough for Oz to see his teeth. They jutted from his jaws, sharp as a wolf’s. “I’d tell you to ask your Madame, but she’s gone, isn’t she?”

Oz nodded. He looked at the man. “What’s your name? Why are you chained?”

He bared his fangs in half a smile. “Call me Fenrir.”

“Fenrir? That’s an ominous name.” The wolf that devours the gods, in a world where people ascend to godhood.

“Indeed.” Fenrir shifted, subtly adjusting his chains.

“And the chains?” Aisling asked, stepping forward.

“Named for ice, yet burns like the furnace. Beware, lest you melt yourself.” Fenrir’s eyes flicked over Aisling, and he smiled hungrily.

Unintimidated, Aisling stared him down. “Your answer?”

Silence. The chains clattered. Fenrir yawned.

He isn’t going to tell us, is he, Oz noted, snorting under his breath. “You know, I might unchain you, if you were imprisoned without reason.”

“Unchain a demon? You’re insane,” Roan snapped. His eyes landed on Oz, and he laughed. “Right, I forgot. I already knew that.”

Fenrir gave Oz a look. “Would you believe me, if I said so?”

“Not without evidence. But it would give me a starting point, from which I could research the rest,” Oz said, spreading his hands.

“Not merely a keeper of knowledge, but a seeker of it, too,” Fenrir said, mocking Oz with his tone. “O’ keeper of mine, this is an exercise I leave to the reader.”

Oz crossed his arms. He looks wild, so why does he talk like a haughty professor?

Wait. Don’t tell me. Madame Saoirse did this, didn’t she? I bet he picked this up from her, somehow.

“Why are you talking to the demon? Demons only deserve one end: a quick one. Give me one reason why I shouldn’t slay the beast where he stands,” Roan said, tightening his grip on his sword.

“Step across that line and try,” Fenrir goaded him.

“Roan, jotunn are born with the physical strength of a third-realm martial mage, and he’s no newborn. Do you really think you stand a chance against him?” Linnea asked, somewhere between annoyed and terrified.

Roan hesitated. Scowling, he sheathed his sword. “He’s a de… dangerous fey. It’s a natural reaction.”

Oz cut his eyes at Roan, startled. Is it?

I mean, the spider demons, sure, kill on sight. They’re monsters who directly threatened our lives. This guy is a talking, human-looking, rational, intelligent being who hasn’t done much more than mock us. He might be an asshole, but Roan’s an asshole, and no one’s cutting him down in the streets.

Hmm. Maybe letting Linnea think I’m a changeling wasn’t such a good idea. Oz sighed. Too late now. At least it’s wrong, and she’s unlikely to share it, given that I hold her secret, too.

“If you won’t tell us what led to you being chained here, then will you at least tell us why you’re chained here?” Oz requested.

“Ah. And not in a jotunn’s prison, I suppose, is what you mean?” Fenrir laughed. “Why would humans throw away a perfectly good tool?”

Oz blinked. What does that mean?

“Fey beings possess an enormous innate pool of qi. They’re often used to power long-running formations,” Aisling explained.

Linnea nudged Oz. She pointed at the circle, then at where metal lines from the circle vanished into the wall.

He’s being used as a battery. Oz frowned at Fenrir. “Don’t you hate that?”

“Do I have a choice?” Fenrir asked.

“I should let you out,” Oz muttered. The hell is this? He’s a living, intelligent being. It’s too much to leave him chained up here as a human… fey battery.

“Are you insane?” Roan asked, startled.

Fenrir smiled wordlessly.

Aisling looked at Oz. “Think for a moment, Oz. Long-term formations. Where have you seen one lately?”

Oz paused. He gritted his teeth. “The barrier.”

Fenrir clicked his tongue. “Too bad.”

“Madame Saoirse wouldn’t have sent him down here without good reason. Remember, he wouldn’t tell us why he was locked up here,” Aisling pointed out.

Roan shook his head at Oz. “Besides, he’s a fey. I can’t believe you’re even considering this.”

Oz stood back. He looked Fenrir in the eye. “I’ll figure this out. Whyever you were locked up… if you don’t deserve it, I’ll let you go.” No matter what, I’ll try to figure out a way to power this barrier without using someone as a battery. There has to be a way.

For now… for now, unfortunately, I have no option but to keep on using him. Doing away with the barrier is a death sentence for me and the library both… and probably Fenrir too, given Roan’s attitude toward him. If the rest of the mages think of jotunn the same way… Fenrir is powerful, but Madame Saoirse locked him here. There are mages more powerful than him.

Still, I’ll work on finding a new power source for the barrier. It might be slow going, but I want to see the future where Fenrir walks away, a free man… jotunn.

Turning away, Oz gestured for the other to follow. “We’ve found the person hiding in the library. If he’s not interested in talking, there’s no need to waste his time.”

“Ha! Waste my time.” Fenrir snorted in amusement. He jangled the chains pointedly.

Aisling turned away as well. Roan glared at Fenrir, then retreated. Linnea lingered a moment, gazing at Fenrir in silence.

“Scurry away, little one, lest you replace me in these chains,” Fenrir murmured, a dangerous grin on his face.

Linnea startled and ran after the others.

Oz glanced back, but said nothing.

Down the hallway and up the stairs. Linnea stepped out of the seal last. The second her foot cleared the plane of the floor, the disc lifted up and rotated back into place, hiding the secret basement once more.

Oz strode in front of them, hands clasped behind his back. After a moment, he looked up, catching everyone’s eyes. “I hope you all understand that you are not to speak about what you saw today? Not if you want continued access to the library, that is.”

Still rattled, Linnea nodded wordlessly. Aisling looked him in the eye and gave a firm nod.

Roan shrugged, twisting his lips. “What the hell was that thing? Why did Madame Saoirse chain a demon from the Northern Wastes in our basement?”

“A fey,” Linnea interjected softly.

“My basement,” Oz reminded him.

Roan flinched, then narrowed his eyes at Oz. “Right. Yours.”

Roan has a good point, though, loath though I am to admit it. Oz turned slightly to take in the crystal ball. I could try asking her, but I feel as though she’ll be as illuminating as Fenrir himself.

‘An exercise to the reader,’ was it? Perhaps I simply have to do my homework.

“In any case, Roan, you’re on the thinnest ice, so be sure not to ‘accidentally’ let it slip. Linnea, same to you,” Oz said, giving the two of them a once-over.

Linnea nodded mutely.

Roan threw his hands up. “There’s no need for these threats. I’m a man of my word.”

We’ll find out. It’s not as if I can keep these people here. For one, they can all kill me easily. I’m still at the starting line when it comes to being a mage. To put it in perspective, if I have a stick, they’ve all got pistols, if not better.

On the other hand, I suppose we’ll find out how gossip flows, if any of them decides to blab.

He nodded. “Then, if you would? I’d like some time to work on my magic. Alone.”

Aisling nodded. “Practice is important.”

“Ha, sure. Maybe in ten years, you’ll be able to reach my level right now,” Roan laughed. Nonetheless, he turned away.

Linnea nodded and fled.

Oz followed them to the door and saw them off. As he shut the door, his eyes lingered on Linnea.

Just like there’s more to my secret… there’s more to hers as well, isn’t there? I don’t know what, but the way she’s acting… He gazed after her for another moment, then shut the door.

Turning, he returned to the seal, opened it, and descended into the darkness. The torches, barely cold, lit once more. Oz hurried to the chamber at the end, where Fenrir looked up.

“Welcome back,” he intoned dryly.

Oz clenched his fist. He looked up at the massive man. “You know. How do you know?”

Fenrir laughed. “And what makes you think I would tell?”