Lions Mane Branch Library.
While the others were off trying to find a guide, Paris moved off to the central keep to find the library of the local Duke. The town she moved through looked... normal. People going about chores, wagons loaded with grain being pulled by oxen. Driving one of them, a dirty faced girl, a few years younger than herself, smiling importantly as she guided the ox, her papa looking proudly at her as she led the gentle but, to her, huge beast. For a moment, there were tears in Paris' eyes, and then a motion of one of the Duke's banners, three golden lions on a shield of blue, caught her eye. She straightened herself and moved toward the old keep.
Inside the last wall, on the east side of the keep proper, were two small buildings, a chapel of the White Church and the library. She hated disturbing the old librarian, engaged in a game of checkers in the sunlight with the equally old chapel priest, but the odd old man was delighted when she produced the letter from Prince William. "Ah, bevel, bevel," the librarian said, his accent thick and unfamiliar. "Prince William. Such a good young lad, studious, willing to look at the books he was. Willing to work for answers, not just want them handed to him." Paris studied the man as he talked. He was slightly stooped, a long hooked nose and bushy grey eyebrows. His ears had wrinkled with age, to a point almost as sharp as the elves she had seen. There was a tonsure of grey hair about his head, and a fair amount springing from his ears, but none on his face. His wrinkled fingers were long and thin and, as he clapped her arm in greeting, still strong. "But you are not here to hear tales of young princes, are you? No, no. In you come."
Inside was dim and cool, one shaft of light through a glass window by a table for reading. An odd... clicking sound came from near the table. Behind, in great wooden shelves, several hundred books in neat ranks. "Now, what is it you came for, young student of the Prince?"
Paris answered, "If you please, sir, I am called Paris. If you would help me, I would like to learn of the lions -- the mountain formations -- for which this city is named. Stories about them? Any tales of those who have visited them? Perhaps a map of such a journey? The tales might be far-fetched or not -- I am interested in whatever information there might be."
His jaw went to one side, pursing his lips as he studied her. "Osh. There are tales of people them visiting, yes. But not for a long time." He moved into the stack, eyes closed, moving by feel along the books. Paris could not help but note that most of the books had no markings on their spine. He stopped, opening his eyes and pulling one book from the shelf. He blew on the top of it, and a million dust particles glittered in the sunbeam. "Here," he said opening it on the table. "Here is book. Three times copied by librarians when too fragile it was. Copy soon again, next librarian or next. Part of Liberation books."
Paris tilted her head, puzzled by the term. "I am still learning my history lessons, sir, and welcome what teaching I can get. Could you tell me, please, what you mean by 'Liberation books'? From what were they liberated?"
"Osh," the gnarled old man said with a cluck. "The youngsters, history they do not these days learn." He seemed to say that as almost a ritual, smiling a bit to take the sting out. "You are just arrived. History of Duke of Lions you are not expected to know. Seven hundred and fifty years ago, the first of the men of the Isles came here and conquered those who lived here." He gestured at the Duke's banner. "That when family of Lions named itself. Conqueror was hailed as the third Lion in town, a man with strength of Lion, so chose that as banner. Two lions on hill, one in town. The Book of Liberation Day recorded all the places and things that were found. Among the items numbered were three old books, which now the Liberation books are called." He shuffled over to his desk to pull out a piece of not very used paper. "The other two books, and the Book of Liberation, I sent to my cousin. North, in Dungeon, he had other books to study he wanted. I will give you a letter to meet him. Paris, said you." He scribbled for a few moments. He handed a completely illegible paper to her. "Here. This introduce you."
"Thank you very much," Paris bowed slightly. This letter would join the others in her history book. But there was a queer feeling in the pit of her stomach. Dungeon was a long way from home. She sighed silently. Prince William had given her until Fall Harvest Festival. He expected this to take time.
Paris set to studying the difficult to read text. Not only was the lettering old and faded, but the odd sentence construction was mirrored by the odd organization of the text itself. Verbs after all the nouns, rather than between them; the story of the people arrived in the valley before the tale of the journey. She skimmed the volume, looking for the lions, and saw a drawing of them. It was a sketch of the two lions, facing each other, but the larger one was on the right rather than on the left, as everyone could see they should be. On the page, it described the group "pause at paws, the stone was holde with ryddles." She sat up straighter at the next part. "And the inside colors home were bright as, brighter still, and the flowers inside, and the dogs and lions in the blink of an eye came, and our fortitude she did applaud. Among the flowers, Iravian was, we buried, after the dogs. Left we saddened, and the sky cried. After tears we follow, into hole safe and warm, and down after tears we follow. Mark of five on walls left, back way found if home ever return. Leave hole sky happy when, valley next arrive. Met first Eastman day next." Unfortunately, the text next started to describe Iravian's childhood and his mother. A talented young lad, but not particularly useful.
Paris looked up, gazing through the sun-dancing dust-motes, seeing in her mind the images that passage had conveyed. The brighter colours. Tarot? Tarot and Torat were mirrored in somewise, so the Magician had indicated. Was this picture how the Lions looked from Tarot? Is this a story of people 'slipping through the cracks" from Tarot to here? Or from here to Tarot? 'The stone was held with riddles?' Is that how it would translate? If they could reach the lions, would they find a stone -- doorway? -- that could be opened with a riddle? The other images seem jumbled. A burial. And Fortitude. She savoured the word. Vague proof that this was a trail to follow. Following a stream of tears? And 'hole sky happy' and 'Eastman day'? Those could be parsed in several ways. The rest of her friends would have a field day with this. Paris set herself to memorizing the passage -- copying it into her note paper to make sure.
Paris then looked around to see if the Librarian might have a better idea of what some of the sentence structures meant. The librarian had gone outside again while Paris was reading, so she sought around for the source of the clicking sound. She found it after a little searching, a box as big as two hands, the lower half with a pane of clear, smooth glass. Behind the glass, a stick with some ornate piece of metal on the end moved back and forth in a small arc, in time with the click. She was just noticing some odd cuts in the top part of the box when they moved apart, two tiny doors, and the head of a bird stuck out at her. She jumped back as the bird yelled at her, and it snapped back into its box as quickly as it came out.
The librarian was at the door. "Ah, you need break now. You like sweet tea? Padre and I share tea now."
As her heart started to settle down, she decided what to ask. "Thank you, sir. I would happily share tea with you and the padre. Perhaps we could talk a little about what I have read in this book?"
"Bevel," the librarian said, picking up some cups from the cluttered table. "Hard to play checkers with three. Youngsters with curiosity bevel talking."
Paris politely greeted the Padre, a round faced older man with a permanent twinkle to his pale blue eyes. His plain brown robe, with a rope knotted as a belt, covered a well-padded frame. "Ah, yes, Prince William, a fine young man," he said, sipping his tea. "And fine young men he now has working for him, I see. He sent you up here to see our Lions, I understand?"
Paris bowed politely. "He sent me on a quest, reverend sir, and what little I have learned on the quest so far indicates that I must learn what I can of your Lions and, probably, climb up to them to see what I can see. Before my quest ends and I may happily return to my prince, I must learn how to search for Truth. I would very much appreciate whatever of your wisdom you choose to share with me that can help me along on my quest."
The Librarian nodded, an odd little smile on his face. He nodded at the Padre. "Then right place you come. The wisdom of the aged he has."
The Padre pursed his lips, eyes twinkling back at the Librarian. "The pot calling the kettle black?" He turned back to Paris. "So, Truth is it now? When Will...sorry, his Highness was here before, he spent hours debating Right and Wrong. Well, that and trying to find a good place to ride his horse."
Paris would very much like to listen to them reminisce about Prince William. Somehow it feels very "homey" to know that he spent some time here amongst these two kind old men. But the Party would justly scorn that use of her time. *sigh*
"The Liberation Book you loaned me, sir," Paris turned to the Librarian, "indicates that there is a route from the lions to the valley. That is encouraging. I have already tried once to climb to them but was forestalled by a wall I could not climb. At least now I know I can keep looking and will eventually find a way." She lifted the volume. "The book itself is unique in my experience. I -- would like to spend time to puzzle it out, but I am not a very quick student. Could you tell me, were the other Liberation Books written in the same style as this one? With the chronology seeming to work backwards?"
"Backwards?" the Librarian asked, puzzled. "What mean you backwards written?"
"Well," Paris pointed out the sections. "Here, near the beginning of the book, it seems to talk about the exploration of this valley. Here, it tells of the burial of one Iravian near the Lions before his friends came down into the valley. And here following that seems to tell of his childhood and then some about his mother. To me, that seems to be a backwards chronology."
The Librarian shrugged. "How story storyteller told. Never been to a funeral, young lad? They tell story of what dead man done. Time is not the only way to tell story."
"Other books older even, very different," he continued. "Both other books nonsense were. A geography of some place fanciful, and a book of bad recipes."
Paris couldn't help but feel some excitement about the books so described. She had a feeling she knew exactly what her mage friends would say about the 'recipes.' It might be all she could do to keep them on the Lions part of the quest before heading north to Dungeon.
She asked, "What is the subject of your cousin's study, that he would ask for the other two Liberation Books and not this one?"
The Librarian shrugged. "Kept this one because local it was. Sent others because he asked for old books, a month ago it was. Some odd barbarians were attacking, he thought old books would have something they wanted."
Paris closed her eyes for a moment, dread pooling in her gut. "Have - have you heard back from your cousin -- since then?" she asked somewhat hoarsely. West -- and North. The directions of the orcs -- and of the Warlord. Had this cousin been seduced by black cards? Or was he holding out against the fell minions, having acquired spell-casting abilities himself? She could hope that; but that wasn't the way 'books would have something they wanted' sounded.
Librarian shrugged. "Few days ago. Note said odd barbarians had gone away again. Still working on books, though. Paris breathed a small sigh of relief.
Paris: "Were the early librarians able to study out what this book meant? It seems to be a tale of the first people who came into this valley. Was there any indication of where they came from or why?"
"Ah," the Padre interrupted. "You've been just skimming the book, haven't you?"
Paris nodded, a bit shame-faced.
He smiled at her. "I can tell you, young man, it takes three or four readings before it starts to make sense. The folks that wrote it have no sense of time, I'm afraid." He helped himself to another cup of tea with two more helpings of sugar. "You were reading the book of the Know Men, those who know. Supposedly, that book records their journey from a pleasant valley to this land. Makes no sense, though, if you just look west or east you can see that the mountains keep climbing." He closed his eyes, rocking slightly in the sunlight. "It's been a long time since I read that book, lad, but I recall that the weather changed and they had to move to lower ground. They had a lot of trouble on their journey, and finally showed up in this valley, where they met men living here already. Seemed they managed to be accepted; if you believe that book, they built everything worthwhile within two hundred miles of here. Cleverest artisans ever, they said of themselves." He opened his eyes and smiled at the librarian. "Some, it's said, could even play checkers poorly."
Paris: "Do you know what is meant by 'Eastman day next?' Next Eastman day, perhaps? But what is 'Eastman day?"
They were both puzzled until she reiterated the exact passage from her notes. "Ha!" the Padre laughed. "Eastman day! That's good, we could use another holy day. No, that's what they called the people already here, the men of the East we would say. 'The next day they met the men of the East' is how I would read that."
"What they themselves called, you mean," the Librarian interrupted. "Liberation book tallies houses, farms, cows, all either as East men or Know men. All brought under banner of Lion."
"I see," said Paris. "Thank you. I should read the sections on their travels from the Lions to the river more carefully. I have probably made many more such silly interpretations."
She consulted her notes. "Are there other histories or stories that associate dogs and the lions? Have you any idea why they had dogs at a burial?"
The Padre looked puzzled. "I don't remember any dogs." Again Paris pointed out the exact phrase, but it did nothing to jog his memory. "I don't remember dogs elsewhere in the book, at least not in any important way." The Librarian frowned, and shook his head in assent.
Paris said, "It probably doesn't matter. I suppose if the Know men were immigrating from their home to here, they would have brought their dogs along with them. I have never had a dog and so found it interesting that they were specifically mentioned." She paused for a moment then asked, "How does one get to the paws of the lions? Is there a path known?"
The Padre guffawed again. "Most want to stay out of the paws of the lion. Let me pause to think." The Librarian frowned at his friend. "Oh, come now," the Padre replied, his eye twinkling. "Could you come up with a better lion on such short notice?"
"Tea is done," the Librarian said in a huff. "He just ask for path, all need you do is on map lion draw." Paris noticed that it was getting late; her friends had surely found who they needed by now. And, she realized, she was not going to get much more out of these two. Nonetheless, she suppressed a smile. She'd never been much good at plays on words like the padre seemed to relish. "If I can find I map, I will draw a line, sir, thank you."
The Padre smiled at her. "Just make sure you take pride in your work, lad."
It was with a tinge of regret that she said, "I fear it is growing late and my comrades may be in a bit of an uproar if I am gone too long. Thank you so much for your hospitality and your counsel. I think it really will help me in my quest. I have quite enjoyed my time with you. God bless you both." Paris rose and bowed.
"Davarkan," the Librarian said. "Bevel fortune."
"God travel with you," the Padre said.
"Lions Library" copyright 1999 P.Shea & S.Knowles. The contents of this site are copyright 2004 Sheryl A. Knowles unless otherwise specified. All rights reserved.