Inkblots: A Tale of Magic, Adventure, and Romance

XXVI. Answers at Last

Kit swore quietly but fiercely, referencing body parts that Alia was pretty sure the Unnamed Gods didn't really have.

"Of course," he said. The Hero finally stood up from the wall, looking more attentive. "Liandra, when we found this, we thought we had found directions for restoring the Book, were it ever to be destroyed-as it has now."

The silver-headed woman's eyes narrowed. "Yet it is a guide for those who bear the old gift?"

Alia's eyes leapt to Kit, holding his serious gaze for a moment. He nodded slightly. "What if it was both?" she said, feeling almost breathless.

Proving her mind sharp yet again, Liandra thumped her stick against the ground. "You're saying that the Book was made by someone like my Khati?"

"Yes." "I don't know." Kit and Alia spoke over one another.

"What else would it be?" Kit asked, looking scornful.

"It's sacrilege," said Alia, uncertain.

"You can't deny that the two are connected."

Even Liandra nodded at that, and Alia realized the evidence was against her. "I'm not- I mean-" She stumbled over an explanation, trying to defend herself. "At the Librum, we are the priests of the Book and thereby the Gods. But we are also historians. I will not deny that we discuss the worldly origins of the Book. But it is one thing to say that the First Scribe may have been an ordinary man with worldly concerns, and a totally different one to say that the Book was formed by a person!"

Kit just stared with unrelenting skepticism. Alia felt set adrift, and she knew desperation for another answer was unconcealed on her face, but it won her no softness from the Hero.

"My dear," said Liandra, "There are many gods in this world. Here we have no unnamed gods, but rather our First Mother, who birthed the earth after taking the stars as her lovers."

Alia blushed faintly at the thought of such a conception and was suddenly glad for the dim cavern. "But-"

Liandra just shook her head gently. "Yes, such a thing sounds unlikely. Preposterous, even. I am not saying that I believe it myself. But I think you will find that for every person in this world who sees truth in your Unnamed Gods, there are five more who believe in a truth you've never heard of."

But Beldara was special. They alone had the gift of the magic. The Unnamed Gods were beyond understanding, but the Beldaran people had freed themselves from persecution and earned the Book. A million more defensive answers bubbled to Alia's lips, but she voiced none of them. In truth, she had never been a steadfast believer of the founding tales. She certainly rarely prayed. But it had always been comforting to think of the First Scribe, and how he might have been like her kind Master Rubart or any of the other wise Scribes who passed through the halls of the Librum.

"Does the philosophy of it all matter at this moment?" Kit asked, looking impatient. "It's the practical that I am more concerned with. We need information. Who has the capability to remake the Book? How was the Book made in the first place?" He sounded remarkably sharp and business-like, and Alia was too taken aback to venture an answer.

The Hero gestured at the placard still in her hands. "Alia, you ought to decode anything else you can pull forth from that. I need to dispatch a runner with a letter."

"A letter to whom?" she asked, puzzled.

He didn't answer, but instead spun away and headed back toward the main body of the cavern. Alia sighed, but made no attempt to follow him. It was clear that her company was unwanted, and there probably was more to be discovered on the small metal square. She tried her very hardest not to imagine a letter in the hands of the excessively capable, excessively beautiful Mirabelle Flamelocks.