Death & Magic (The Barefoot Healer, volume I)

Death & Magic chapter 36

Chapter 36

Adramal started for the senior apprentices’ quarters, and then remembered the letter was still in her satchel. Of the places she regularly went to, where could she most easily hide a piece of paper?

She headed to the library and hung the satchel over the chair at a vacant desk. For a few moments, she pretended to consult the catalogue, and then picked a book at random from the bottom shelf of the history section. Opening it, she saw a page of familiar yet meaningless characters.

Lelsarin, she said, this is Salmarian, isn’t it?

So?

So why can’t I read it?

The girl-thing shrugged. You mean, why am I not bothering to translate it for you? Because it isn’t important? She sighed. The page shimmered, teasing with possibilities, before returning to its natural state. Adramal had time to recognise one word — Kalkarak. Myths and legends, Lelsarin said dismissively. Lies that became true by persisting over the generations.

Adramal sighed and took the book to her desk. She pretended to read a few pages. From her satchel she took two slates, with the letter between them. She looked around. The others apprentices were all busy with books of their own. She slipped the letter out of the slates and between the pages of the book.

For the sake of appearances, she turned a few more pages. She cleaned one of the slates and started to write on it, pretending to make notes. Her hand shook, and the chalk sounded very loud.

As she lifted the cover to close the book, she thought, Why does this book have Centadorian stories?

How can you tell? said Lelsarin.

I saw the name Kalkarak, and I assumed it referred to the ox.

Maybe these are translations of our tales. Go back to the first page.

Adramal obeyed, and a list of stories appeared before her. As she had thought, The Ox of Kalkarak was one of them. Another, halfway down the list, jumped out at her — The Downfall of Zorian.

Why is it called Downfall and not Death? Adramal asked.

Lelsarin hesitated. Words don’t correspond exactly between the two languages. The same word can mean “death” or “downfall” or “setback,” depending on the context.

But you know it means “death” here, said Adramal. Don’t you?

I suppose so. Lelsarin fiddled with her doll. Why does it matter?

It might be a different version of the story. It might answer Perinar’s question about the identity of that mysterious woman in the tapestry.

Lelsarin gave a patronising smile. I should’ve guessed.

Zorian, the story said, was a powerful magician who had ruled Centador thousands of years ago. The story blamed him for most of the ills of that part of the world. He had lived long — unnaturally so, many said. He resided in a tower, far to the west, so high that birds could not fly over it. Adramal had always found that hard to believe, as the tower would have to be taller than a mountain. One detail that was not in the version of the story Adramal had been told was that the tower was made of obsidian.

Obsidian is a glossy black stone, isn’t it? said Adramal.

Yes.

So is the ruin in the Marchwood Zorian’s tower?