Inkblots: A Tale of Magic, Adventure, and Romance

V. Evening Light

The evening air was still and cool and pregnant with possibilities. Alia stood in a small courtyard, dustbin forgotten in her hand, and breathed deep, soul-quenching breaths of it, feeling almost dizzy with an unidentified hope. The sky was still faintly blue, but the color was warming every moment, and the first vestiges of sunset washed a magical peach glow across the shrubs before her.

"Alia!" The voice came faintly down the corridor. "Alia? They told me you were sweeping over here."

Alia turned, recognizing Darine's plump figure bustling forward, but stayed quiet. She had the curious feeling that speaking would somehow disturb whatever was brewing in the air--but this magical potential seemed to be flexible, because even when her friend stumbled out into the courtyard, breathing heavily, it stretched out to encompass even this ordinary moment.

"Oh wow," said Darine, momentarily sidetracked. "They need to let us go outside more. I'd forgotten how beautiful it can be."

Alia smiled at her friend, but still didn't speak.

"I had to come tell someone, and since we were just talking about it this morning..." Darine paused in anticipation, a faint flush brushing her cheeks, and went on with full drama. "He's asked me to go and walk with him."

Who? Alia's brow crinkled in faint confusion, and Darine spoke more urgently. "Bannick, the farmer's son! Were you even listening this morning?"

"I'm sorry," said Alia abruptly. So that was what Darine had been gossiping on about all morning. "It had just slipped my mind for a moment." Pleadingly, she added, "I'm exhausted," hoping that her friend would forgive the faux pas.

Darine relaxed, and Alia spoke again, feeling guilty. "That's wonderful!" she said with a smile.

Darine laughed happily. "Isn't it? And look at the evening, too! So romantic. I'm meeting him now--I just had to tell you!"

For a moment after she scurried back down the hall, Alia stood there feeling warm and happy. She didn't know Darine well, but to have the girl confiding in her now was surely a good sign for friendship. But suddenly the evening felt empty without anyone to share in its beauty, and she finished shaking out the dustbin before heading inside.

"Romance," she mused out loud, gathering up the broom and walking back toward the offices of the heads of staff. Was that the potential in the air? The restless allure of love? For a moment, Alia wanted that feeling--wanted it more than anything--but then her good humour got the better of her and she laughed at herself. It wasn't as though she was pining after a boy who ignored her. Surely there was a man in Beldara who'd be willing to walk with her arm and arm and bring her flowers, but she had turned away any offers. She remembered her first kiss, an awkward buss from a stableboy that had grown slimy when he'd tried to stick his tongue in her mouth. That certainly wasn't what the fresh evening had her longing for.

With cleaning supplies returned and freedom at her fingertips, Alia rushed down the hall toward the center of the Librum. There was real romance waiting to be discovered in the newly written Story, and that was the siren song that pulled her in.

This time, she brought a lantern just to be safe, although when she hurriedly traced the sigil onto the wooden surface of the door and pushed it open, there was still plenty of light. The dozens of window panels set into the stone ceiling were there to "let the glory of the Book spread outward and reach every corner of Beldara," if you asked the Scribes, but Alia had a suspicion they were also to help with reading.

She hung her lantern on a hook and softly swung the door shut, trying not to feel the Book. Surely it was fine. There couldn't actually be something wrong. But still, that sense of something being out of adjustment just wiggled at the back corner of her mind, much fainter now that she wasn't looking for it. It almost felt simple enough to be explained away by the Book's sitting on a crooked surface--but of course, this was the same marble stand that had held it for centuries, and when Alia picked the heavy tome up and sat down with it in her lap, the off-kilter sensation remained.

She banished it from her mind, instead indulging her worldly senses. The hide bound cover of the volume was soft and fresh looking, as always, with no sign of the centuries that had gone by. She opened its crisp folds, feeling velvety parchment of the highest quality under her hands, and then closed her eyes briefly, letting her Reader's intuition work. Sure enough, it did, and the Book fell open to the first page of the new Story. Alia smiled to herself, still charmed by the capacity of the Book to hold a neverending number of pages, and even more by the tiny little spark in her blood that allowed her to navigate it. This little magic wasn't uncommon, by any means--every pupil at the Librum had it as a requirement of admittance, and surely many others did as well--but it still made Alia feel as though she belonged there.

Her heart thrilled at the familiar sight of that graceful script--the handwriting of the first Scribe, given new life every time another adventure was documented. In the left corner of the first page, it read:

Year of the Book, 874

Concerning the Heroes:

Gavin Heartstrike

Caddock Strongarm

Mirabelle Flamelocks

Kitrell Silvertongue

She ran her fingertips softly down the column of names for a moment, picturing them again, trying to match faces to titles. Gavin and Mirabelle came to mind easily, standing there together in the shining sun, with Mirabelle's hair aglow and Gavin's strong chin lifted. Strongarm... She tapped the title thoughtfully for a moment, but this answer was clear as well. Caddock must have been the large, sturdy fellow, who stood with arms crossed and muscles bulging. That left the last, Kitrell--she remembered Mirabelle's voice passing in the hallway and saying "Kit"--as the man she'd collided with. A flash of his face intruded in her thoughts, with that sharp, crooked nose that spoke of fighting, and unreadable brown eyes. Silvertongue. It was an odd title for a Hero, but he must have been very charming at some point.

Imagination content with these depictions, Alia moved her eyes lower and began to read.