CHAPTER 818: AN OLD LIBRARIAN

The air in the chamber was a heavy, suffocating blanket. Wizlen stood before the council, all eyes, hard, unforgiving eyes, fixed on him. A bead of sweat traced a cold line down the side of his head. He swallowed, the sound loud in the silence.

"Captured, your Holiness?" Wizlen croaked.

"Your report states the prototype sun cannon managed to wound and displace several of the invaders. It prevented them from fleeing with the others," the Pope said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. He leaned forward, his eyes narrowed to slits. "Are you saying you failed to capture them?"

Wizlen shook his head, but his words came out as a desperate scramble. "Your Holiness, we weren’t in a position to pursue. The city was a mess, our forces in disarray. I thought it better to secure the city first. Besides, they were badly wounded. They couldn’t have gotten far." He trailed off, the last words a weak mumble.

"You allowed the Oracle to slip away," the Pope said flatly.

It wasn’t a question, but Wizlen frantically shook his head. "No, Holiness," he insisted. "The ones who remained were two demonkin. The Infernal Wolf was gone, and I’ve heard it never leaves her side. It was just a red-haired girl and the...apostle," he said, glancing at Father Ithris.

The Pope sighed, settling back in his chair with a heavy groan. "You’ve never seen the Oracle, have you?"

Wizlen still shook his head. "I can assure you, Holiness, even if she was one of those who fled, we’ll track her down in no time."

"It’s not that simple," Soltair broke in, a snort of contempt on his lips. "Xiviyah is impossibly frail, but she can’t resist a chance to help her allies. If she could have used magic during the battle, she would have."

The soldier who’d spoken earlier nodded gravely. "Given that teleportation requires tremendous amounts of mana, and her lack of participation, it’s safe to assume she used her power to bring them here and send them back. You may very well have missed our only chance to confront the Oracle when she was incapable of fighting back. A few hours of rest will allow her to recover her mana, and then their wounds will be as naught. Are you certain you’re capable of fighting them with your forces as is when they’re rested and healed?"

Wizlen bristled. "He’s only a seventh-level apostle, and arrogant. Benjamin might have fallen to their assault, but even without him, it’s insulting to imply I could lose. One against one, I am still eighth-level. I’m far more experienced. The Sun Seeker will be prepared for combat within the hour, and we’ll set out after them from the sky as my forces scour the land."

"Assuming you can even find them," Soltair retorted. "I’ll go, Holiness. Just give me a ride and I’ll kill the filthblood and bring Xiviyah back."

"That won’t be necessary, Hero." He looked up at Soltair, eyes gleaming. "My scouts have already located their whereabouts. A few minutes before this council, reports came in from a village on the fringe of Vesna territory. It’s a small village deep in the mountains, and by their report, ’The stars flowed over the mountains like the spring melt, whispering the secrets of coming days to all who listened,’ or so they say."

"You knew all that and yet you wondered whether the Xiviyah was there?" Soltair muttered, rolling his eyes. "Stars are a dead giveaway, you know."

Wizlen raised his head, meeting the gathered council with a defiant gaze. The note of bitterness in his voice was sharp and unmistakable.

"Perhaps for you. But the church, forgive me for saying so, Your Holiness, isn’t exactly known for spreading information about the Oracle. The only thing my men and I have received is rumors and hearsay. Perhaps, given her importance in this war, it would have been appropriate to share her appearance and power with those you expect to fight her."

"You go too far," the grizzled soldier said, glaring at him. "It’s not up to us to determine the will of the Divine."

"I mean no disrespect, Commander Truethorn, but you of all people should understand the role information plays in war. Where little is given, little will be gained. And you have given us, and the rest of this world, nothing."

The room erupted into voices, but the vision scattered, plunging me into the starry darkness of my soul space. I collapsed to my knees, reeling from the vision, shivering uncontrollably. Not just from the imminent danger we were in, but from...everything. Being so close to the Pope, to Soltair...

Tears welled up in my eyes. Now, more than ever, I wanted to follow R’lissea’s advice, to unload the burdens I carried alone. There was much I wanted to say, so many feelings I had to properly feel, but there was no one I could turn to. But she’d promised I could always talk to her, that she would always be there for me.

"Liar," I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut.

It wasn’t fair, I knew that, but I needed her. I needed Fable, and Korra, and Fyren. I needed someone. Someone who wasn’t Gayron, at least.

As my mind slowly calmed, I looked up, startled to see I was already inside another vision. The last few ribbons of light wove together, completing the scene of a place I knew by heart.

I huddled in the middle of an alive, surrounded by tall, orderly bookshelves. The air was heavy and warm, whispering with the groan of leather and the crinkle of ancient pagers. The stark white walls were lit by soft yellow crystals, growing brighter as they led down the hallway outside the alcove.

I rose slowly, barely daring to believe my eyes. The Library of Light. The only place in Radia I could ever have called home.

Reaching out, I touched one of the ancient tomes, my heart sinking a little as my hand passed right through it. Right, this was a vision.

Even so, I couldn’t resist sitting on the couch, curling up with my legs tucked beneath me. The warmth and comfort of the cushions was little more than a memory, but just behind here was soothing, giving me a chance to catch my breath.

A shadow fell over me, and I looked up, gasping softly. A girl slipped into the alcove, sitting on the couch right next to me. I watched enviously as the cushion sank beneath her weight. She sighed, resting her head back against the cushioned backrest, eyes closing. Her long, golden hair framed a beautiful face. She wore a long-skirted yellow dress with darker gold highlights, with soft white boots. Everything about her was familiar, and as I studied her face, her tired, worn face, my eyes widened.

"Verity?"

The word slipped out before I could think better of it. I clapped my hand over my mouth, but she didn’t stir. After a tense second, her shoulders sank, and she opened her eyes, staring listlessly at the wall.

"Why?" She whispered, biting her lower lip. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she sniffled, but let them trickle down her cheeks, one after the other.

I let out a pent-up breath, but didn’t relax my grip on my skirt. She should have noticed me. Her soul didn’t seem damaged in any way, and I knew for a fact she was sensitive enough to know when I was watching, so why?

"Are you here to mock me?" Verity asked, looking up sharply.

I stiffened, tail going rigid. "V-verity, I, um–"

"No, child."

My heart skipped a beat as a voice spoke behind me. It was warm and heavy, wrapping around me like a blanket. Slowly, barely daring to breathe, I turned toward the entrance of the alcove. An elderly man with a kind face and many wrinkles stood in the hallway, hands clasped together, hidden within the long sleeves of his dusty brown robe. His face was stern, but his eyes were as warm as his voice.

"Thron?" I whispered, tears springing to my eyes.

I rose slowly, barely aware of my movements, and took a few, hesitant steps toward him. My hand rose, shaking as I was overcome by an urge to embrace him. I yearned to feel his arms around me, to breathe deep and take in his familiar scent of old paper and ink. And, as much as I tried to ignore it, to feel his hand on my head, rubbing between my horns.

But I couldn’t. I wasn’t really there. How cruel a vision, to taunt me with the first one who had comforted me without pretense or guile in the time I needed him most.

I took a long, shuddering breath, sinking back onto the couch. Verity straightened, dragging her sleeve over her eyes. But as soon as her hand returned to her lap, she was sniffling again, eyes glistening wetly.

"May I sit down?" Thron asked, breaking the tense silence that had risen between them.

"You really haven’t come to mock me?" Verity asked, voice trembling.

His face softened, and he sat on the couch opposed to us, resting his hands on his knees. "I could never mock one who seeks the answers, no matter who they are or what they’ve done. And I have a feeling that you, hero, have many, many questions."