The Shard of Fire (The Chronicles of Gilgamesh Row Book 1) Read online

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  It was very late, closer to morning than evening and the castle was silent. Moonlight flickered in the halls, and in the silence its emptiness was great. Sela crept soundlessly, restlessly, and barefoot down the long hallway in the dark. She had been awake all night, thinking, wanting but stopping, needing but scared. The stone floor was cold, freezing against her feet, as outside snow fell, silent, slow and eternal. Drifts gathered at the shore, in the trees, and mountains, frosting the landscape with a glistening dust, cold, and white. At the lake, large icy flakes touched the water's surface, holding for a moment before melting to the depths below. Slush formed, here and there, in thick patches dotting the water’s surface. Sela paused at the hall window, watching outside, watching as the snows fell and the winds howled and the world turned cold. It was beautiful, peaceful, and terrible.

  Down the hall beyond the moonlight flickering at the window Sela stopped at a large wooden door banded in iron. She knocked softly, but only once. No one answered. She glanced nervously down the corridor, her eyes darting in the dark, searching for others, desperate, not wanting to be discovered. Sela bit her lip, hesitantly, then knocked again, daring a bit louder, daring, twice. Waiting in the hall, in the dark, was painstaking. Her thoughts rolled through her mind, yes, no, what if, why not, but still no answer. This was a bad idea. A mistake. She turned, defeated, to creep back down the hall, back to her own room, in silence and alone. But the door opened. A gust of warm air from the fire inside rushed passed her. Gil stood, half awake, half asleep. He stood bare chested, his clothes laid piled on the floor inside, his hair was messy, and he smelt of sweat and nightmares. She didn’t mind. She liked his smell. Gil stood, rubbing the side of his face, confused. He stared at Sela in the hallway, shoeless, wearing nothing but her coat, trimmed with bear fur, and beautiful.

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  Winter had come quickly to the castle. Lush forest, once green and dark with fir, and pine, now glowed softly, snow covered and cold. The sky was grey, always, and clouded, and even when new snows didn’t fall, the wind whipped dust from the bows, and the eves, sprinkling the air in ever present sparkles of light and ice. The lake, salty and deep and dark, couldn’t freeze, wouldn’t. Great ice blocks, with jagged lips and crisp cliffs of pillowy snows, floated about the lake, listless and free, wantonly, they shimmered inky blue-black at their edges, colliding violently, but rarely, smashing thunderously, echoing, their presence known, even in the silence of storms.

  Inside, warmth and fire lit pockets, the library, the lesser dining hall, and kitchen, and sleeping quarters. Wood was sparse. Magic imbued flames where possible, when possible, and when not, relics were burnt, antiques, cabinets, doors, even drapes. In contrast, food, the gluttoned larders of lavish magi now gone, was ample. Overly. Great stocks of wine, cured meats, pickled carrots, and honey, were ubiquitous, overt, and unnecessarily cashed. Stocks once grown for thousands, once used by hundreds, now laughingly, fed dozens. Those left, huddled in the warmth of each other, and purpose. Yet the winter was worse then any before, worse than any known, and like an omen not wanted, telling of things to come.

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  As in every night since that night, Sela lay in Gil arms, awake, as he was, staring, as he was, watching, and waiting, as embers glowed in the dark and silence crowded the night. Gil’s room was bare, empty, except for his bed, a chair, and a small desk where he wrote and read, but did much less since Sela. Even so it was comfort, and comforting, for both of them, and they all but forgot their troubles, even if it was, only in the dark. A small round window across from the bed showed brief glances of snow and sky, glimmers of light and shadow, playing, thin branches lapping at the window, thin and brittle and cold.

  “Gil,” Sela asked, a faint smile on her lips, a wrinkle of worry on her brow, “I wanted to ask … I know you told the others, that you couldn’t remember … but, I thought maybe … I mean, if you didn’t want to, I understand, but I thought, I was just curious … I’ve been wondering about it so long … no it’s OK, no, nevermind, don’t, you shouldn’t …” the faint smile faded from her lips as she breathed, softly.

  “You want to know how I took the shard from the statue?” Gil asked, watching Sela stare at the fire.

  “Yes …” she whispered. Gil paused, gazing at the snow outside, and thinking. Of course he remembered. He hadn’t told them how, he hadn’t told anyone how. He had thought of telling them, of explaining how, or showing, but he didn’t. Knowledge would only bring them pain and danger, like before, and they already had too much of both. Be cautious, be safe.

  “You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you …” Gil said distantly. Sela didn’t say anything, she only sighed, heavily, and drew her finger across his chest in melancholy. Gil took a long deep breath, “Don’t tell the others, not even Carmine, or Tarr, OK?” Sela looked up. There was little he could keep from her anymore, anyways. “It sounds dumb … but, I didn’t do anything,” he muttered, half to himself. Sela’s brow wrinkled as she lifted her head, looking into his eyes. “Growing up in Astal, I had seen so many people try to take the shard, fighting against it, using magic to force it, to steal it, but no one ever did. No matter how hard they tried, no matter how powerful they were, they couldn’t take it …” Gil’s voice trailed off.

  “So?” Sela asked in a curious, quiet voice.

  Gil smiled a bit, “So … when I was standing there, at the statue, I realised no one had ever taken it by force, not ever … so I asked for it,” Gil grinned a bit wider. Sela sat up. She couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. Gil shrugged.

  “You asked for it?” Her voice was wry, mocking, she didn’t believe him. He smiled.

  “Yea, in my heart, and in my head. I asked the statue if I could have the shard, I thought maybe it was a gift the statue gave, rather than something that could be taken, everyone was always trying to take it, to take something that maybe didn’t belong to them in the first place. I wondered if anyone had ever just asked. I didn’t really think much of it at the time, and I’m not sure that I even wanted it when I did, but I asked if I could have it, and if I could, I would just pick it up, a gift, no magic, no force, I asked and it did … like I said, stupid right?” Gil tilted his head to the side, grinning.

  Sela squinted at Gil. She paused, her lips pouting, pressing, she was silent as tension filled the room, Gil swallowed nervously, but then, she laughed. “Ha, ha, very funny …” Sela playfully slapped Gil across the chest, “you asked for it! … OK, sure you did …” Sela laughed a bit more shaking her head in disbelief. Gil opened his mouth for a moment to explain, but decided against it, and feigned a yawn instead. Perhaps it was better if she didn’t believe him. Sela slapped Gil once more for good measure, then stood, stretched, and walked to the small desk where the blank book they had found still laid. It was all but forgotten now, a moment of hope, that had become, nothing. The book didn’t do anything. No spell unraveled its mysteries and no mention of its magic lay anywhere, ever.

  Sela sat at the desk, pausing, playing with a tiny curl of her hair, it was growing longer in the cold. She was outlined, dimly, an edge of curves and shapes lit by the soft glow of a dying fire. Gil sat up, watching her, staring, and silent. Sela sat at the desk for some time, thinking. They shared many moments of silence together, the best moments, and Gil watched her with fondness, perhaps, even love. She sat for a moment longer, then gently opened the book. She lifted a quill, hawk feather, striped in red, and soft, and dipped it in the bottle black ink. She pause for another moment, biting the feather tip, tapping it against her lips, thinking as she did, with her eyes and mouth, as ink dribbled across the desk.

  “What?” Gil asked.

  Sela paused, the feather against her chin, she pursed her lips and stared into the flames. “I thought … I’d write down all that has happened to us. All that we’ve learn. In case we don’t make it … in case we do …” Gil watched her, but was silent. Sela turned, coyly, and smiled a devilish grin Gil knew a
ll too well. “You don’t mind do you?” He shrugged with confused approval, though he knew he didn’t really have a choice, not really, not, with her.

  Sela paused for a few moments more, tapping the feather, its beat quickening, its ink sloshing and slipping, running down the desk, at its edge, dripping, to the floor, to the stone, running in cracks, sliding at edges inked by the fire, warmed and cooled in the dark. Sela set the quill to paper, still grinning at Gil, speaking words as she wrote, playful, mocking, “There once was a boy name Gil, who happens to live on a hill …” she smiled, Gil frowned, she rolled her eyes, always so serious, “fine,” she huffed half heartedly upset, turning to the book, “I’ll be good …” she whipped her head back at Gil for a moment, and flashed a wicked smile, “for now …” she turned back, she didn’t need to see him, to know, he was smiling too.

  For a moment, the room was silent. Only the crackling of the fire could be heard, hissing in the dark. Sela stared at the page before her, speechless, thinking.

  “What?” Gil asked. Sela didn’t answer. She dipped the ink again, sloshing it, recklessly, and wrote. Gil sat up. Still silent, Sela did it once more, slapping ink to page, words to paper.

  “Gil …” she called. He was already at her side. Sela paused, then wrote the words RavensKeep Castle. For a moment the words sat on the page, inky and black, then slowly, softly, they disappeared. She dashed the quill into the bottle once more and wrote again, The weather outside is cold and windy, she paused, watching, as the words began to fade, I am in Gil’s room, again the words hung, but for a moment, deciding, then followed the others. Sela hesitated, thinking, she tried drawing a tree, then a rune, then a combination of everything she’d tried before. Each wrote, inked, etched in glossy black liquid atop the paper, each paused, and each, faded away. Sela set the quill down. She stood and wrapped her arms around Gil. They were both silent, in the dark, watching the book and the fire, and wondered a great many things.

  CHAPTER 19: STARDUST

  “What does it matter?” Tarr asked. Sela had explained their discovery to the others, the book, the words, but leaving out the how, and the where.

  “It’s something. A step forward at least …” She snapped back. Tarr was always so blunt, so simple. He only saw black and white, good or evil. To him, the book was still the same, useless. Sela frowned, upset. The four friends sat at a small wooden table inside the dining hall, warming by the fire, and watching the ice float in the lake outside. The dining hall’s window ran floor to ceiling, wall to wall, a panoramic view of the frozen world before them. Across the lake a large clump of snow fell from the branches of an old pine, weighted, unable to hold, falling, as a plume of snow dust engulfed the surrounding forest, glistening and silent. The sky was grey, as always, and it was midday. Light, soft and blue filled the air, reflecting snow and water and ice.

  “Have you told the archmages?” Carmine asked.

  “No.” Gil immediately answered. Carmine threw him a curious look.

  “Why not?”

  “Nothing to tell, nothing’s changed,” Gil mused staring outside, “the book still doesn’t do anything. No point to bother them with this until we figure it out.”

  Carmine stared at Gil, he was sure there was something more to it, something else Gil was keeping from them, but he let it drop. Carmine smiled half heartedly, “OK … but what now?” The four were silent. A kitchen attendant brought them hot cider, steaming, in copper mugs. “You’ve tried everything?” Carmine asked blowing across his cider to cool it. Sela explained again. She had tried many things. Drawing pictures, maps, symbols, and runes. She had tried writing sentences, descriptions, and spells. She showed them again, dabbing the quill she had brought, ink to paper, words wrote, and fading. They stared fascinated and silent. Carmine set his mug down and motioned for the quill and book, and Sela slid both towards him. He tried a dozen different things. Drawing runes, writing spells, poems, names, and pretty much everything else that Sela had already said, done, and showed. She rolled her eyes and stared out the window at the lake, as another plume of snow fell from a branch far off.

  “Let me try …" Tarr asked, motioning for the book. Carmine ignored him and continued to write. Tarr set his mug down and motioned with both hands. Carmine shook his head. Tarr sat back for a moment, pausing, then lunged over the table and snatched up the book, sliding it, the quill dragging, as Carmine snapped out his hands, reaching for the lost treasure and catching the edge of his mug in the process. Hot cider spilled across the table steaming and hissing and bubbling.

  “Shit!” Tarr yelled as the others jumped back. “Sorry …” he stammered, looking around for something to wipe up the boiling liquid, finding nothing, then without thinking he tore a page from the book and splat it against the puddle in the table.

  Carmine glared at Tarr, “Idiot!” both for the spill and the book. Tarr shrugged. A moment later, the table broke in half, split in two, as the boiling liquid fell to the floor and the page torn from the book, floated gently to the ground.

  “What in the hell just happened?” Gil barked. The four friends stood staring at the table. It was three inches of solid oak, split down the center, a crisp clean line dividing the table. Each part lay on its side as cider puddled around it. The page, and the book lay in the puddle, soaking. Sela dashed forward, crouched and snatched up the book. It was dry, completely. She paused for a moment, then picked up the torn out page, it was wet, soaked through, and blank. She glanced back at Gil, he shook his head, he didn’t know.

  The four sat down at a different table, watching as the attendant mopped up the cider, staring at the broken halves and glaring at them. “Two more ciders … please … when you have a moment …" Tarr smiled and waved at the attendant who glared a bit more. On the table before them lay a single torn page, the book and the quill. Sela leaned forward again and wrote in the book and on the torn out page. As before the words in the book held and faded, but on the page what she had wrote, stayed. It was just ordinary paper now. Gil snatched up the book and tried to tear out another page. He couldn’t. Carmine grabbed the single page on the table and easily tore it in half. They glanced at the broken table.

  “What were you writing when Tarr grabbed the book?” Gil turned to Carmine, as did the others.

  “I don’t know … nothing really … ordinary stuff, same as before, same as Sela,” he tossed his head side to side trying to recall.

  “Not the same …" She replied, “Whatever you wrote did that …” Sela pointed to the table broken in two. “Try to remember, what was the very last thing you wrote?” everyone was silent staring at Carmine.

  “Nothing really …” he paused, “I was … writing about the weather outside.”

  Gil leaned forward, taking the book and quill. “What exactly did you write?” Gil paused, the quill hovering.

  “I …” Carmine stared outside at the howling wind, “I wrote … snow is falling … I think …"

  Gil penned the words as everyone leaned forward watching intently. For a moment the words paused, but then as always they faded.

  “No you didn’t …” Tarr spoke up, “I saw it … only for a moment, but the page, you wrote, it was only one word … snow I think, you only wrote snow.”

  Carmine shrugged, “Well … I meant to write more …” He smiled. Gil shook his head, idiot, then wrote a single word in the book, snow. Again it disappeared. Gil threw down the quill, sighing, emphatically, frustrated. The other boys leaned back. Sela stared at the page, then at the broken table.

  “Try it again …” She whispered. Gil paused for a moment, then picked up the quill once more. “Slowly …” she breathed. He put ink to paper and began, the others leaned forward, “s”, the quill scratched against the book, “n”, tension filled the air, static and silent, even the attendant stood, watching, motionless, “o” but as he wrote it Sela nudged the book, nodding, and Gil continued, not “o” but “a”, the winds outside howled, turning up the lake, waves and whitecaps sloshing an
d slipping onto the banks, ice blocks barreling towards one another, “w” started, but Sela grabbed the book, sliding it towards her, slowly, still nodding, still writing, the quill dragging, as before, “w” changing, shaping, into a “p”. Outside two ice blocks crashed, as a thunderous boom echoed through the valley. She stopped. Gil lifted the quill. A single word was written. A moment passed, then another, and another. The word stayed, written, frozen in ink, waiting. They glanced at the page. Disbelief. They stared at the table on the floor, broken, halved, laying on its side, a single crisp clean line down its center, an impossible improbable break in three inches of oak. It was, after all, a snap.

  Gil picked up the book and turned it face down on the table. Everyone dashed forward, lifting their mugs, but nothing happened. Gil turning the book over. Snap, was still written on the page. For a moment he paused, then tore the page from the book. He held the page in his hand, staring at its inky words, still fixed, then set it atop the table. A second later the table cracked in half, like the other, and fell over in two parts, crashing, as the paper, now blank, gently floated down.

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  Gil ran down the hallway as fast as he could. Darting outside, through the courtyard, the others followed, yelling, nearly slipping on the ice and snow, Gil turned, steadying himself in the wind, then dashed towards the Cloud Tower, book in hand. Inside he stopped. Two men stood near the orb in the floor, the same two he had seen on the bridge months ago, the same two he had seen in the cavern just before Sama, and he was sure, without a doubt, he had met them before. Gil opened his mouth to speak, but then, the others caught up. Gil glanced at his friends for only a moment, but when he turned back, the two men were gone. Carmine, Sela and Tarr were standing just behind Gil, looking around the immense indigo lobby.