The King's Library

The desert noonday sun is a brutal master. It demands every ounce of energy and returns nothing–no trees, no shade, no life. Here in the Dunes of Duranan it is relentless. It is a far cry from the icy shores of Agária from whence I hail, but such a journey is necessary if the knowledge I seek can be found hither. 

For any who should read these words, allow me to expound upon my quest. My name is Émata, scribe of the Dianoa, and student of wisdom. I was raised in the finest learning institutes the northern kingdom of Aglia has to offer, and for thirty-two years I have voraciously studied every book and scroll it contained. However, as I have advanced in age, I see that the Dianoa are not the lovers of wisdom they once were, but instead have fallen prey to their own haughtiness and pride. Their scrolls have many words but contain little. 

Three years ago, I departed from the port town of Agária and sailed south to the kingdom of Ûskal. Though they have been ravaged by war for generation upon generation, still a few keen minds can be found there, and I studied with my brothers and sisters in the humble abodes of the Western Woodlands. It was during this time that I discovered a tale which had all but disappeared from the world.

Ages before now, when the seven kingdoms of Helorím were one, a great library stood in the center of the king's castle. Books and scrolls were piled on top of one another endlessly. It was rumored that the first king of Aglia, Pagoma, once roamed those halls and read those parchments. Known throughout the ages as the Wise Hand of the King, Pagoma is considered one of the most brilliant minds to ever have existed, and such a collection of parchments would have most certainly forged such a mind. However, since the fall of the High Mountain a thousand years ago, the desert upon which the castle and the surrounding city of Tévos stands has slowly expanded and invaded, burying the castle and its contents. The thought of such great knowledge being lost to the sands of time stirred within me a passion I have not felt in many years, and that passion fuels my quest.

Ten days ago, I set out from the kingdom capital of Eftos and sailed to Khadûm, the westernmost city of the desert lands I now traverse. I will write to you at another time of the wonders of Khadûm, known as the Cliffside City, for it was hewn from the sheer escarpment by Earth Movers long ago, and such a magnificent sight requires its own parchment. What I can say is that since the beginning of the Second Age, as the desert has swallowed up the land, these two cities have become even more isolated, and my ears heard whispers of secession in the cliffs.

This ever-expanding desert is where I travel now. The Dunes are all but behind me, and I only pray that my water and provisions last until I can reach the once great capital city of Tévos.

I arrived at the western wall just as the sun peered over the eastern horizon. My shadow fell far behind me, and I saw the crumbling, white stone melting into the unforgiving desert. The once pristine masonry was cracked and afflicted by a black disease, and the wall, once towering above the sands, is now no more than the height of two men. Though I knew this place not, tales of the might of Tévos and its King have spread far and wide for generation upon generation.  

As I entered the city, the dunes gave way to long abandoned buildings of sandstone and clay, their wooden frames eaten away by bitter sandstorms. A cistern, once used by the locals for drawing water, had been filled in by the desert. My sandals crunched against the sandy cobblestone streets as the wind thrust my headdress about. Not a soul could be found there. Around midday I began to see signs of life in the city, and before long I came to the market square. Even this place was empty. I have seen the markets of Eftos where the Money Masters count their coin, and they bustle all hours, day and night. Here in the desert, however, the shops open late and close early. Goods are bartered, often for labor, and the currency is reputation. It is difficult to believe that this city was once the great capital of Ainíos, that long-forgotten kingdom where the peoples of Helorím were one. 

It was there in the markets I came across a woman, kind and generous, and quite pregnant, who offered to let me stay at her home while I searched for the lost library. She lived alone with her sister and had never been married. When I asked if I would bring dishonor on her for staying in their house, she said that dishonor already lay on her head, for she had never been known by another. It was obvious that her reputational currency had been used up. She told me of her sojourning from the eastern mountain province where her family had lived for generations here to the land of her ancestors. A strange man had come to visit her there in the bosom of the mountains, telling her to travel west to the kingdom of Bahar, where she would bear a son. When I asked about the man, all she could say was that he had been struck blind but saw more than the keenest of eyes. As for the child, she had kept him a secret as best she could, for there were people who would take him from her if they knew his true heritage. When she told me this, I knew whom it was she carried, for the writings of the Prophets spoke of such a child called the Son of the Earth. This I kept hidden from her, but you, my reader, should know.

From there I traveled north through the city to where the citadel of the old castle stood. It was pure, gray stone, strong and everlasting. White stone and marble lay around it as the sands devoured the mason’s handiwork. I came across what was once a courtyard where a large, crumbling throne, hewn from the rock, stood in its center. I climbed and clambered over the fallen stone and shifting sands until I came to an entrance, once barred with a large door of oak, now open to the elements. 

Hazy light poured in from the apertures of that narrow hall. A crimson rug stretched along the dust-covered floor and a few iron lanterns hung unlit along the wall. I proceeded further in utter silence until I came upon a great opening. It was a large room of fallen marble and white stone, for its ceiling and walls had collapsed in on themselves. I clambered over them and looked to my left, seeing a massive set of gray, wooden doors the height of ten men. I approached them, wondering if they were real. Such a material was only known to grow in a forest on a far-off island, now untouched by man. Running my hands along the wood grain, I felt an immense power emanate from them. It was true; these doors were made of Ironwood from the Isle of Tasak and had been imbued with a great magic. They are impenetrable; I did not attempt to open them. 

As it was, my search for the library proved unfruitful the first and second days. However, on the third I approached the castle from the east instead of the south. When I did so, I saw the tip of a great spire, colored like the walls of the city, her slanted roof and exposed arches protruding from the looming sands. As you may know, the Wise Hand of the King was an avid seafarer and charted the stars. Before the age of the compass, he devised a way to traverse the seas at night when the great lights were hidden. Thus, I concluded, such a man would have spent many nights close to the heavens. I tightened my satchel and head covering, preparing to traverse the dunes which had accumulated above the castle. Once inside, a long, spiraling staircase lead me down into the dark belly of the citadel. As soft light poured in from above, I was elated at what my eyes could see. There, on the threshold of the darkness, were rows upon rows of shelves lined with books, parchments, and scrolls. I had found Pagoma’s Library!

For hours I perused the contents with lantern in hand, stashing in my bag scrolls and books that I wished to study further. It was then that I heard a shifting behind me. I turned and saw an old man, dressed in a white robe adorned with gold, and a frosted beard which stretched down to his bosom. His face was pale and thin, but he spoke with authority.

“What are you doing in my library?” he asked. 

I stuttered for a moment, for my heart was terrified beyond my comprehension. All I could mutter was, “King Pagoma?”

The man scowled. “Fool! This library does not belong to Pagoma, for it was I who built it and who filled its halls with wisdom!”

I dropped my belongings and fell face down on the floor. “Who are you, King?” I asked tepidly, though I knew his answer before it was uttered.

“I am Amo, King of Bahar, King of Ainíos, the Greatest of Ancients,” he thundered. “I drew Helorím from the waters and raised Tur-Gadal to its great heights in the days before man. I am the everlasting Light which resides within all. Now, stand up, Émata, and remove your sandals!”

I did as I was told and kept my eyes to the earth, for they did not deserve to gaze upon such glory. 

“The time is upon us," he said. "You were called here to carry out my will, thus I beseech you listen and heed what I am about to say.” 

His words seemed to shake the very foundations of the earth, and inexplicably I began to weep. “Tell me, my King.”

“You will depart from this place the same as you entered. Nothing shall leave which was at rest here, and you will go into the city and declare what I am about to tell you. The King of Bahar is dead. Darkness is coming, and from the east the Son shall rise. Say these things just as I have told you, and the end of this age shall begin.” He stretched out his hand to me and caressed my face, wiping the tears from my cheeks. “My son, you have sought true wisdom, which is why I revealed myself to you. Take heart and have faith. Light will soon return to this world.”

As he said this, his body turn to luminescent dust, like a million stars floating off into the ether. I left that place, leaving behind the scrolls and parchments just as he requested. 

Sand dried to my cheeks as I descended the dunes and returned to the home of the woman. She had gone into labor in my absence, and her sister stood over her as she held her son. I told her what I had seen in the library, and she smiled; it was just as the blind man had said. She would need to travel east soon, for word of the King’s death would spread quickly. 

I packed my belongings and prepared to travel to the other kingdoms spreading this news. Before departing I turned to her and asked the child’s name.

“Celorím,” she replied. “Servant of the Earth.”

I smiled. Truly, this is the child who would bring Light back to Helorím.