Page 48 of Stormlost

Skaldi watched the Librarian rush into the steading, and as soon as he was gone, he settled to wait. His thoughts turned to Erann, and then Sereh, and then Emma, and suddenly, as with the wolves all those weeks ago, his thoughts weren’t entirely his own.

He saw all with the eyes of the Librarian. The space opened up before him, and Skaldi observed the Library. Like the Archive, it was filled with the means to tell the past of Erann’s kind. That much he’d understood from Emma and Sereh, and now he assumed this was the way of doing so. It didn’t, he thought, seem to be as effective as the Archive, and the presence of Naer-vera. He wrinkled his nose, surprised to find he could even perceive the smell of the Library. It was dry. Very dry.

He watched the Librarian’s hands, as he pulled a box towards him, the scent sparking a memory of home that unsettled Skaldi with its intensity and longing. It was not dissimilar to Sereh’s thoughts when she worried about Erann.

Skaldi sensed the Librarian retracing his steps and felt it a little rude to have intruded on his thoughts, but then he heard something, and the Librarian looked towards a woman, standing in an alcove. Having paused, he returned outside, without speaking. Skaldi found this curious.

Do you know you’re being watched, he thought.

‘Yes, it’s Freya and no doubt Ralf will join her shortly. It doesn’t matter. They’ve been my only companions for many years now and are used to my obscure behaviour. Don’t let it trouble you. Here, this is what I want to show you.’ The Librarian stood close to Skaldi, and showed the item he’d retrieved from inside.

Skaldi looked at it. It was small, and he had to narrow his eyes to be able to truly observe it. It seemed to be a flat piece of something. He sniffed and decided it was animal hide, that had shapes scratched into the surface of it.

Should it look like this? he queried, curious. The colours were strangely faded, even beneath the shimmering sun. In places, the scratchings were very faded.

‘It’s very old,’ the Librarian admitted, and Skaldi sensed his disappointment. At himself. And at the scratchings.

It will not show you what you hoped?

‘It’s more damaged than I’d hoped. I need to be able to see all the details, because the symbols I need to decipher are so similar.’ Again, Skaldi sensed his dejection.

And what do the symbols do?

‘The symbols are the means of using the prime markers.’

Is there another copy? Does someone else know of these? What of Emma?

‘No, no one. This was me. I did this. I had some help from the Second Speaker of drekkikind. I should have been more careful.’ The Librarian again sounded dejected.

But what does this have to do with Erann?

The Librarian bowed his head, dropping the script he held, and Skaldi almost bugled with alarm at the flood of images he experienced. Abruptly, the onslaught stopped and the Librarian stood in front of him now, green eyes blazing. Skaldi suspected, with anger.

I am sorry, Skaldi thought. It was overwhelming. I will not do so again without permission.

‘It is, I suspect, easier that I allow you to see. It will be better than explaining it all to you. And so, please, I give you permission to see what I’ve witnessed.’

Immediately, Skaldi saw a fresh image in his mind. Less hurried. More well-formed, and he watched.

Before him was a land like this one he’d flown over, and yet also, very different. It was filled with lush crops and many, many trees. And many, many more of Erann’s kind than he’d ever seen before.

And then, there was a fresh image. Skaldi almost felt himself leaning forwards to get a better look. Before him was an arrogant, old and tired drekki. His sapphire scales were fading to deep burnished black.

He watched now as the Librarian interacted with the drekki. He couldn’t hear any words of conversation, but he could understand what was happening. He sensed the Librarian’s pleading, and the drekki’s refusal to accede to his requests.

He saw scenes similar to his land now, and felt confused.

‘The Speaker warned me of what would happen,’ the Librarian explained. ‘I didn’t believe him when he showed these images to me, of harsh winters and short summers to come, when crops would grow stunted, if at all. He showed me nights that never ended. It all seemed ludicrous when the land was so fertile and rich. Yes, the winters were harsh but they were as nothing when compared to the tremendous crops we could grow, or the healthy animals roaming the lush green valleys and mountains, being herded home only when winter approached. As such, I convinced people to stay here, even when the Speaker demanded we leave.’

Then a fresh scene appeared. In this one, a strange green glow seemed to split the sea encircling the land, and he watched as ships set out towards the glow.

Where are they going? He had to query.

‘Home,’ the Librarian answered in a dull voice. Skaldi felt such sorrow as he watched the ships leaving. ‘My son,’ the Librarian offered. ‘But, I don’t believe the Speaker did send those people home. I suspect he simply sent them to their deaths. I’ve mourned the loss of my son ever since. And neither was that the end of it.’

Another scene appeared in the Librarian’s mind, and now this was one Skaldi had seen before. Or was it?

In the image he’d been shown in the Archive before becoming Skald Drekki, one of his kind had stood before a party of the Others outside his mountain home. Their faces had looked small and pinched. This new image was subtly different.