Of Fire and Fury (Book 1: Light-Born Series)

Chapter 33 - Khaya

The great library of Amarinhom was vast. Larger than even the great hall of Khaya’s own home, it was buried deep within the sands of the desert. Underground, the cool earth protected the ancient scrolls from wind and heat damage. The room was full of shelves that were stacked to the brim with scrolls and books with some organizational structure you had to be Amarin to understand. Here is where Khaya had spent that last few days, buried in the dust and the scribblings of ancient history keepers.

At a short table with a lantern, inside the otherwise pitch black basement, she poured over various scrolls searching for answers. Across from her, Leilani sat perfectly poised in an emerald green dress that flowed around her. Her hair was a perfect mess of curls that sprawled over her shoulders and down her straightened spine. Even in the dim light, she seemed to glow. Khaya paused from her squinting to rest her eyes, and couldn’t help but glance over Leilani’s perfect form. She had been surprised by Leilani’s fire, and her kindness. Though her dress was more expensive than Khaya’s royal horses, she didn’t worry about getting it dusty when it came to studying history. The Amarin’s love for history truly knew no bounds. 

“I may need a break.” Khaya said, groaning softly against the ache in her back as she sat back away from the table. Leilani didn’t respond. Instead, her lips moved as she silently read over the scroll in her hands. Her blue eyes squinted in the dim light, seeming to drink in the words before her at an impressive speed. She flipped the scroll over and continued reading. Khaya drummed her fingers on the table and sighed, looking around at the stacked bookshelves. She stood and began to wander through the seemingly endless pages around her. Running her finger along the dusty shelf, she glanced half heartedly at the ancient scratchings.

As she wound through various stacks of books, careful to keep the soft glow of lantern light within eyesight, she ran her fingers over dusty spines that looked as though they hadn’t been touched in ages. The dust rose around her, filling her nostrils and making her sneeze. She pulled various tomes out of their place on the shelves, fingering through the first few pages to get the gist of the text.

“A History of the Nazir.” she read aloud, thumbing through the pages filled with the lives and deaths of hundreds of men and women. In the old times, the Nazir were a special people. Separated from common things such as wine and the dead, they were called to remain pure and undefiled. She paused flipping pages on the story of Sun Child, the strongest man alive who single handedly defeated armies, slaughtered enemies, made generals look like fools and brought wealth and peace to his family. It wasn’t just his physical strength that brought him great infamy among the clans around his people, but his cunning that made them look like fools. Khaya paused and read a few lines,

“‘Please, tell me the source of your strength!’ the woman begged, using all the command her beauty would allow. ‘I must know. I will die if I don’t know!’

‘Alright, I’ll tell you…’” Khaya closed the book and laughed to herself slightly. She found it amusing, how the strongest man in history, gifted with strength and cunning from the Great One himself, had been so easily broken by a beautiful woman. Khaya rolled her eyes as she slid the book back on the shelf and continued wandering. She pulled another book from a shelf, fingering through the myths and legends half-heartedly as she skimmed the pages. She paused on to read a few pages,

“One of the greatest warriors legend knows is an unnamed man who first was noted at the Battle of Cartheris. The unnamed man was thought to be a general in the army of the Cartherian King Tyrus, though little is known of his history. According to legend, the city was set to be overrun by Tarribo. The great sea-warriors had destroyed all the tower defenses, and the only barricade left was on the single bridge that led from the center of the city to the Castle of Cartheris.

“This great warrior appeared and stood between the Tarriboan army and the castle. Legend has it that with only a sword, he tempted the enemy onto the bridge, where he single handedly defeated them. It was said that the blood of the Tarriboan’s melded his blade to his hand.

“To this day, the man is unknown in name. He became known only as the White Warrior, due to his white hair and bravery. Though this story was widely accepted as fact during the time of Cartheris, we now know it to be fiction, as similar stories of a white haired warrior appear in many cultures lore throughout the region and over the next several hundred years.”

“Queen Khaya!” Leilani called, from her place back at the desk. Khaya shut the book and returned it to a shelf. She hurried back, hoping to return to some long lost knowledge that would help them solve all their problems. When she turned the corner of the last book case, an old man and two gaurds were standing with Leilani. 

“Greetings, Midrash.” Khaya said, nodding swiftly in greeting. She had only met the old man once, but he looked much older. He rarely left his quarters, spending years buried in books and conducting research. Though each Midrash had the duty of continuing the studies of their history and scrolls, this one in particular seemed to have a never ending need to search. She could see his skin was sickly white, from never spending time in the sun. 

“It seems there is something I may be able to help with?” the Midrash asked, bowing slightly, with his hands clasped behind his back. His shock white hair was oiled and combed straight back, shining as brightly as the reflections on his glasses.

“Yes, I’m so glad you made time for us.” Khaya smiled warmly, bowing back in reverence.

“My duties are first and foremost to my queen.” the Midrash said, his curious eyes piercing her as he waited for her questions.

“Tell me about the mighty men.” Khaya asked. A white eyebrow shot up in surprise.

“The mighty men?” he asked, grey eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Some say they were the spirits of the Angeni, dwelling in human flesh. Others believe they were the children of the spirits and mortal women. Either way, they were known to have certain… abilities. Extended life, strength, stature, shape shifting…”

“Were they truly immortal, or could they be killed?” Khaya cut in.

“Well,” he chuckled slightly. “It seems you know they are more than lore.”

“Is that a secret?” Khaya asked.

“Not at all, not at all.” the old man said. “It is not something most believe, however. We don’t like to trouble people with such knowledge, as it would only serve to frighten them. Now, as for the killing part. They were typically seen as immortals. There is no historical writings of their defeat.”

Khaya sighed, feeling defeated herself, and nodded.

“No. I was afraid of that.” she said.

The Midrash glanced between his guards and Leilani, then looked nervously around at the books as though they had ears. Finally he swallowed and said slowly,

“Perhaps we can continue this discussion in private, my queen? In my study?” he asked. Khaya nodded, discomfort growing in her at his secrecy. He waved and slowly made his way toward the door, his feet shuffling rather than walking out into the hall. When they were out of earshot of the rest of the group, Khaya asked,

“What is this, Midrash? Why the sudden secrecy?” she said.

“Now, my queen. I want you to know that I have only ever studied with pure intentions.” the Midrash started, as if he hadn’t heard her question. “I never had dark intentions. And I can assure you, I know the law better than anyone.”

“What are you talking about?” Khaya asked. They had reached the end of the hall and stood in front of a large oak door. The door was marked by two candles, both covered in a dome of glass, on either side of the door frame.

“When we get inside, please try to remember that.” the Midrash said, fumbling with a set of large brass keys. He slid the key in the lock and turned to look at her once more, his brow furrowed with worry. Then, he pushed the door open with a creak.

Khaya stepped inside the room, fully expecting to see some demon or monster that had the Midrash so worried. But inside the large room, lit with candles and sconces, it looked like an ordinary study. Khaya glanced around, examining each of the walls that were covered in shelves. Each self was packed to the brim with scrolls. More scrolls were sprawled across a large wooden desk on the wall nearest the door. There were crumpled papers in piles surrounding a large red armchair, and even rolls of paper stacked along the far wall. Just behind this stack of paper, there was a large statue. 

Khaya stepped into the room and moved closer to examine the figure. It had looked like an armored man, but as she stepped closer she saw the horns—she had assumed were a helmet—were actually protruding from the man’s temples. The man’s face was hardly human. Instead. It looked like that of a bull: with a longer snout, a rounded nose, and a fur covering. The mouth was open, and large fangs could be seen inside, like that of some great bear. The rest of the body had the shape of a man, with hands clutching a long curved dagger, and armor like that of the Hauk nation to their north. The belted trousers ended just beneath where the knees should have been, and instead of boots were the beast’s shins, covered in fur that ended in narrow hooves.

The statue made Khaya feel sick to her stomach. She turned away, looking back over the walls of scrolls and finally coming to the desk. She fingered through the papers, glancing over the scribblings in a language she couldn’t understand. She held a parchment up to the light. On it was a strange looking dagger, gold, with an orb of bands of gold at the top of the hilt and lined with gemstones. She looked over the strange carvings on it’s hilt, trying to understand what was on it, but none of the words were written in a language that she could read. She set it back down, taking a deep breath before she dared the question,

“What is all this?” Finally she turned back to look at the Midrash, who nervously wrung his hands in the doorway. He swallowed, hard, then adjusted the spectacles on the bridge of his nose.

“My queen.” he said, stepping inside the room and shutting the door behind him. “For some time now, I have been drawn to studying the dark arts. It started with the statue, it was found in an excavation sight. When I saw the symbols written along the base, I felt a consuming need to know more.

“Then, I began to dig. I learned that these were the writings of the Angeni. The first time we’d ever found their language written down. I had to know more, so I…”

“How long has this been going on?” Khaya asked, anger suddenly filling her at the Midrash’s actions.

“Long before the invasion, when Ademanu was killed.” the Midrash said, swallowing nervously.

“You betrayed your king?” Khaya breathed, unbelieving. 

“No! No, my lady. Never!” the Midrash said, holding up his hands to plead his case. “Ademanu was there when we found the statue. He wanted me to do this research, he understood why it was so important.”

“Pray, tell me, why is this so important?” Khaya demanded. The Midrash scrambled through his papers, holding a few up for her to see.

“This language, it is pure power. The power that brought all of creation into existence. We think of it as evil, but it wasn’t always. It was the first language in existence. I believe, your husband believed, that if we can use these words again, we could harness a power even greater than the one you possess. Imagine the possibilities of it! If we could carve the words of power into weapons that could rid the world of darkness, we could restore the world back to how it was created, before the Angeni tainted it!”

“You really believe you can harness the power of the gods? Of the Great One himself?” Khaya scoffed.

“Yes, my queen, I believe we can.” the Midrash sorted through his papers again and pulled one out. On it was a crude drawing in charcoal, a sphere with a line down the center, filled with gemstones. “With this device, I believe we can harness the power of the Angeni. Steal it from them, if you will.”

Khaya laughed out loud. She had no words. Her most trusted historian, the one who knew of the darkness more clearly than any other and had studied its effect on the world, had been breaking the law right under her nose. He was sucked into a fairytale, playing with darkness that would consume him. Worse than that, her own husband had sanctioned it. She felt betrayal twisting in her gut.

“How could you? You know studying the dark arts is against our laws, against everything we stand for. You were the top of your class, the best of your peers. You know history better than anyone. This is why we made you the Midrash! But this is treason! Treason!” Khaya yelled, her hurt and anger fueling her.

“But my queen… please, try to understand. The Angeni were angels, once. Good spirits that served the Great One. They all spoke the same language. These words,” the Midrash pleaded, picking up some of the papers as if to show her they were harmless, “they are not only of darkness. They are the language of the Great One himself!”

Khaya refused to hear it. She didn’t like the zealousness in his eyes, the hunger for knowledge she saw there. More than that she couldn’t unlearn of the direct disobedience that had led her husband and him to this discovery. If he had gone this far, she feared he wouldn’t know when to stop toying with the darkness.

“Speak of this no more.” Khaya said, holding up her hand to command silence. “I will not play with darkness in the hopes it will bring good. I order you to stop all this research at once.”

The Midrash opened his mouth in dismay, but one look from Khaya and he snapped it shut again.

“Now. Because this was sanctioned by my late husband, I will not have you removed of your position and imprisoned. But, you will destroy all of this at once. I am returning to my duties as queen, and I will hear no more of this treason.” she said. Without giving him another chance to protest, Khaya left the room, slamming the door behind her.

Out in the hall, the two guards rushed forward.

“My queen, we heard yelling, are you alright?” one asked, his eyes wide under his silver helmet. 

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. It was just a disagreement. Go back to the library.” she said, waving the away. They eyed her warily before nodding and walking back down the hall. When they had disappeared through the door, Khaya leaned against the stone wall, taking a slow, deep breath.

Against the wall, she felt her body trembling with rage and pain. The memories of her husband had always been confusing. His professed love, but constant disappearance, his secrets, his hiding. Now she understood why. He was sucked into the darkness, like so many kings before him. He had fallen, and it had cost him his life. A tear slid down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away. She would not be sucked down the same slippery slope as so many before her. She would not be consumed by the darkness. This was not the way they would win.