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Three Come Together
by Sean Michael
It was dark and quiet in the Old Library. Musty and
warm, dry.
The old carpet was worn under Sorsha's ass, but it was still softer
than straight concrete or wood.
The chairs and tables in here had suffered worse than the books and
had slowly been dragged off to the dump, most of them while he was
still little, when the only ones who came to the Old Library were
his grandmother and a few other humans of gypsy decent.
Sorsha was the only one who came here now. He suspected he might be
the only one who knew this place existed.
The building looked normal enough from the outside. It was in the
heart of the rundown buildings the human's inhabited and looked,
from the outside, to be little more than a crumbling pile of rocks
and stones. Some glamour, long put in place kept it that way.
But if you walked through the door and into the first half-broken
arch on your left, you found yourself in an enclosed building,
filled with shelves and thousands upon thousands of books. They were
all older than his grandmother had been, some positively ancient,
from a time before the great wars, when all the species lived
together, shared the land and the magic among each other.
There were a pile of newer notebooks in one shelf that had always
been half empty. Those were his notes, his work.
Sorsha was studying, searching through all the books, reading the
prophecies and the stories of the ancients, looking for a way to
bring Haven a peace that hadn't existed in millennia. And he needed
to do it before his kind, the humans, were utterly destroyed.
The vamps, the ghosts, the magic wielders and werebeasts, the elves
and ogres, they all survived the wars, they were tougher, each had
their own protections. Humans were vulnerable. Easy to kill and
lacking any sort of magic to help themselves along.
They'd made pacts here and there with the others, acting as
go-betweens and couriers, spies, in order to curry favor and keep
themselves from being annihilated by one group or another. But when
push came to shove, they were on their own.
Which was why their territory looked like hell and was often overrun
by one faction or another.
It was quiet in the Old Library though and Sorsha spent a lot of
time, warm and safe and enjoying himself. He read one book after
another, taking notes and cross referencing stuff, trying to figure
out what was fact and what was myth, trying to figure out why the
diversity had worked for his ancestors.
He suspected a lot of the current warring had as much to do with
long-ingrained cultural biases and prejudices as it did with
prophesies.
His lamp flickered and went out, leaving him in darkness, telling
him it was time to call it a night.
He put away the book he'd been reading by feel, and walked with
confidence to put his notebook on its shelf. He knew this place by
heart, could easily walk through it in the dark as he was doing now.
His footsteps were silent on the old carpet and the lantern was
exactly where he'd remembered leaving it. He packed it into his
backpack along with his pencil and headed out. He should be able to
see once he was out on the streets -- the moon wasn't quite full
yet.
It was bright enough to leave him blinking though, as he stepped out
of the Old Library, and he reminded himself that he wouldn't be able
to stay so late the next few days -- the full moon brought all the
werecreatures out en masse.
He walked quickly southward toward home. He was unlikely to run into
anyone magical this deep into human territory, but he kept all his
senses on alert.
A thin figure turned a corner, pushing a dilapidated grocery cart
filled with bags and boxes, laughter bright and unreal as it bounced
along the street. The moon cast odd, sharp shadows, making the
figure appear mottled -- a study in black and white.
A shiver went down his spine and the hair on his body stood on end,
vibrating. What was someone magical doing this far in, and in a
disguise like that?
His heart started beating and he tried do decide whether to speed up
and get past him or to slow down.
One long thin arm appeared from the dark, draped clothes, sigils and
shapes inked into it. The air began to shimmer, shake, a gate of
some sort opening, right in front of Sorcha.
He gasped and took a half step back. Something was going on! Right
in the middle of human territory.
They were going to get clobbered.
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Taste Test: Broomsticks and Stones |
