Musty air moved around them, a rushing exhale, like a long-suffering sigh. The pages fluttered, as though annoyed at having been awoken from a deep slumber.
He glanced over at Lir.
His commander stood as still as death. Unmoving. Scarcely breathing.
“That book…” Lir’s harsh whisper sounded behind him.
“TheSyol Lorhr.” It had been created in the beginning, predating almost every being in existence.Almost. Tiernan gently turned to the first page. It was gossamer between his fingers, delicate and wispy. Nearly translucent.
Every story, every piece of lore, every history was told in this book. Each account imbued with sacred magic, the details meticulously transcribed in runes. The inscription was barely legible, composed in scarlet ink and made up of swirling lines and sharp, angular shapes. He couldn’t understand any of it. The name at the bottom, however, was perfectly clear.
Danua.
Not ink, Tiernan realized, as a shudder crept its way down his spine. Blood.
The blood from the goddess of life.
“Show me the knowledge I seek.”
It was a quiet demand, one he wasn’t entirely sure the book would grant, until the pages started flipping of their own accord. They fell open, stopping on yet another otherworldly sigh. A series of symbols and markings bled across the pages from top to bottom, but despite his best efforts, Tiernan couldn’t decipher any of the runes.
Lir leaned forward, his dark twists of hair falling in front of his face. “What does it mean?”
Tiernan shook his head, clamping down on the rise of frustration. “I’m not sure.”
“Who do we know who's capable of reading and translating runes?” Lir shoved his hair back, straightening.
Tiernan stared down at the book, idly tracing the markings with his index finger. The goddess herself would know, but traveling to Maghmell was extremely dangerous and he’d only ever done so once before—to beg for her help in purging Carman and the Furies from Faeven. There was no guarantee she’d be inclined to grant him assistance again.
“The gods only bestow so many favors before they expect something in return.” Lir’s statement was almost an exact mirror image of his thoughts.
“You’re right.” Tiernan nodded in agreement. It was a risk to ask for Danua’s help. He strummed his fingers along the text. “We need someone who knows the old ways, who’s familiar with the legends of the before.”
Lir’s brow furrowed in thought. “Someone who is ancient, then.”
“Who’s been alive longer than both of us.” Tiernan shared a look with his commander. “There’s only one.”
A long pause of understanding passed between them.
They spoke the name at the same time. “The will ó wisp.”
The double doors to the library exploded open and Merrick came barreling in, his eyes lit with panic. “My lord, it’s Ceridwen. She’s having another vision.”
Confusion clouded Tiernan’s train of thought. “She always has visions.”
“Yes, but not like this.” Alarming energy exuded from Merrick and his knuckles whitened around the handle of the door. “They’ve been more turbulent as of late.”
Damn it.
He knew he should’ve pressed Ceridwen for more information the first time she mentioned they were bothering her. He closed the book and tucked it under his arm. “Where is she?”
“Her rooms.” Merrick gestured to the hall behind him. “Brynn is there with her now.”
Tiernan strode toward the door, but the call of magic drew his gaze to the mural painted on the ceiling. The images shifted and moved, and the foretelling of the future blurred with events from the past.
The mural roiled, depicting a tumultuous storm brewing in the distance.
The death of a world.
