At last, she made it to the Dawn Court. Ever since coming upon the island and Tempus' riddle, she wanted to learn more. Rumor had it that the Dawn Court had a vast collection of stories on all sorts of topics. If there was anywhere else to learn more about Tempus and Novus' gods, it was here.
Now inside Delumine, she walks north through the Viride Forest. The guard at the gate gave her vague instructions on how to find the Library, so she hopes she can figure out her way. Hāsta flies further ahead feeling nervous being in unknown territory. Corr had to constantly reassure her that it would be fine since Courts visit each other all the time. Raum was also gone, so there is less tension along Court borders. This doesn't seem to ease the crow's worries, so Corr gives up, not feeling it worth the hassle.
The surrounding trees suddenly change in shape and texture. They seem older and wiser. Even the air reminds her of something ancient - perhaps it's the magic floating about. She knows she must be getting close as the guard had said something along these lines. Then as the trees become walls and the branches twist and turn, Corr feels like she has to be on the right path. Hopefully, it's not too much farther now.
As the dappled mare travels along a path created by tree roots, the pair finally pass through the entrance. It splits into different rooms and the branches rise above them to form a canopy. Light filters through in a glorious speckled pattern which only adds to the wonder of the place. She feels partially jealous and wishes they had something like this in Terrastella. She'd visit it daily if they did.
After taking it all in, Corr finally goes down one of the paths. She really has no idea where she's going at this point as there are shelves among shelves of books. There are lanterns illuminating the titles, but she has no idea where to start. Were they categorized? Was there some kind of method to the madness? It's not her mess to organize so she does not know.
"Hāsta, help me find something with Tempus or Gods in the title," she calls to the crow who takes flight to land on one of the lantern posts. She ruffles her feathers and shakes her head. "You think I can read your language? Ha!" she squawks and does not move from her perch. Corr rolls her eyes and continues looking.
Out of the corner of her eye, she notices movement and looks down to see a cute little fox-like creature. Its pelt is of gray and brown with a pointed muzzle and bushy tail. It scurries up and reaches out to sniff her cautiously, to which Corr does the same.
"Hello there," she greets quietly with a smile. "Can you help me find stories on Tempus?" The creature stares at Corr as if they are considering her words. Unfortunately after a few moments, it takes off and disappears into the tunnel it came out of. The mare frowns and lets out a sigh. How is she going to get any knowledge if she can't even find the right books?
"Maybe we should've talked to someone first and come here with them. Perhaps the Library knows we're not of the Dawn Court so we're not welcome here," she guesses, looking back at Hāsta.
"I'm not sure it's that sentient, but who knows," she responds as she begins to preen. As usual, her companion is of no help.
Corr turns back to the shelves again, starting to feel at a loss when she hears a noise coming from further away. It sounds like footsteps.
"Hello?" she calls out, turning around to walk back out of the room. "Can you help me, maybe?" There is some desperation in her tone, but she very much wanted to research. The pull to learn was too great. Even though the island has since been destroyed, she's always felt so curious to learn more about Tempus and the Novus Gods. Perhaps there are things she can be more prepared for in the future.
"All you want to do is dance out of your skin into another song not quite about heroes, but still a song where you can lift your spear and say 'yes' as it flashes."
Andras returns to the Library because he doesn't know what else to do.
He had walked its halls for days in the wake of the meeting, whispering warden over and over, until all he can hear is his own voice, and not his blood singing yes, yes, yes! in a hymn to blood and bruise, bent at the altar of his rage. The library is hushed, as it always is, between its labyrinthian layout and the old forest that surrounds it. People have told him it's magic. People have told him it's ancient and sad and all-knowing. The forest is anxient, and all-knowing, but when he looks out the window and sees the rain slapping against the thick, rubbery leaves in the underbrush, Andras sees that it is anything but sad.
It is joyful. It is angry. It crackles with the same undercurrent of volcanic rage that he does. And so Andras folds himself into the shade of its tall trees, a ceiling that barely keeps out the cold of first frost.
Truth is, he had expected--something.
Maybe for Ipomoea to look him dead in the eye and say Warden, and he would feel proud and justified and dutiful. Maybe Warden and the ever-expanding fan of his rage would be funneled into a point that he could aim at the heart of Delumine, passionate and brave and protective. Maybe Warden and something--anything at all--would change. But the sky did not open up and call Andras warrior, protector, noble, and the bottom of his well of anger did not rise up to meet him where he is at. He does not feel different at all, really.
And this is why he flies back to the library in the wake of the meeting: because there is nothing else to do but hope, no defining line between the old Andras and the new, no morning in which he wakes up and says ah, yes, this is what I was looking for.
Probably because the word Warden was not what he was looking for at all.
There is a hush through the library and the fog outside chases him in through the doorway and gathers in the corners, swirling around his ankles like water. The only sounds, besides the clatter of his footsteps as he lands and tucks his wings neatly against his ribs, is the skittering of little paws and a voice, somewhere in the labyrinth of rooms, coming his way.
He is already steeling his nerves, already tucking away his chattering teeth and his racing heart and listening only to the churn of his blood, only hearing the sizzling that says yes and Warden in intervals, so loud that he barely hears her voice at all when it is addressing him directly. Can you help me? she asks, and Andras wants to say no, wants to turn his hard gaze on her and ask what she's doing here (as befits a warden, probably) but instead he says "Probably."
And this isn't to say that he looks approachable, or welcoming, or glad to be here. His mouth is a tight, firm line and his eyes behind those glasses are grim and dark.
"What are you looking for?"
This is fine, he thinks. He could use the distraction.
It's all fine.
The man is covered entirely in ebony, save for some white patches. Corrdelia almost doesn't see him in the dim lighting, but there is a reflection of the lanterns in his glasses. His approach gives her mixed feelings and she is not sure why.
"Probably" is all he says at first, and it makes her wonder if those within the Dawn Court don't actually like random strangers entering their library. She could understand since it would be like someone she's never met coming into her home and trying to peruse her own collection of books. But then again, she likes meeting strangers and would likely start them a cup of tea. Unfortunately, she has no tea here today.
"I wanted to learn more about Tempus. You see, ever since the island's appearance, I've been curious to know more. There was a riddle there about him and I feel like he's tied to the land somehow," she begins to babble on, her excitement to learn carrying in her voice. "I wasn't born in Novus, so I've only heard bits and pieces. He's got something to do with time, I think?"
She hopes he might be willing to help her, whether it's to tell her more or point her to where the relevant texts were. If he isn't the social type, Corr wouldn't mind, although it's hard for her to get herself to stop talking.
"Oh, I'm sorry, my name is Corrdelia!" she says with a bow, feeling a need to introduce herself. "Crow witch and resident psychic of Terrastella." She puffs out her chest a little, always feeling proud of her (mostly self-proclaimed) titles. The man is a hard one to read, so he may not give a shit, but at least he now knows who she is. Corr hopes he might feel obligated to tell her his name and a little bit about himself too.
"All you want to do is dance out of your skin into another song not quite about heroes, but still a song where you can lift your spear and say 'yes' as it flashes."
Andras wonders if she can see her own unease reflected in his glasses. He wonders if she knows that she looks like him - drawn in sharp lines and a smile so thin it can hardly be said to be a smile at all. Corrdelia begins to speak and Andras listens in polite silence, teeth closed tight around his tongue. His shoulders ache.
(I cannot imagine being an empath in Andras' company - he is all screaming hellfire and the crackle of electricity, all bricked-up pits full of clawing rage that dig at the grout and the stone day in and day out. And here he is, the firm line of his mouth softer now, not a smile but something less than the deep scowl he had been wearing... and it does not look like that bottomless anger at all.)
"That would be over there," he says, unfolding one black wing, the one with a shock of white at the elbow, to point up a shallow staircase and a terrace hung in soft red fabric, where a wall of shelves holds neatly placed books and parchment so old that it seems they might crumble to ash for their looking - and on its railing, one of the creatures is perched with a stack of books, filing them away.
Andras follows her wordlessly, listening to only the dark thrum of his heart and the off-beat click of their hooves against the floor and against the walls.
Crow witch and resident psychic of Terrastella. In spite of himself, in spite of the immeasurable weight of his singing heart, Andras smiles. It is one of those rare, genuine smiles that he buries in trying to slide a book off the shelf without displacing any of the others. "That's quite the mouthful," he says, turning it in his grip, examining the bent spine and the tattered binding. The cover reads Old Gods in Old Stories in print that was probably one black but now looks like a dusty brown. He does not miss the creature glaring at him from the railing, as if to say, then you do it.
"This might be what you're looking for. Or, part of it." Andras says, offering the book to Corrdelia. "I'm Andras. Just Warden."
Thankfully, it seems the man knows exactly what she's talking about and, even better, exactly where to find it. Corr follows him after he points to the section and looks on eagerly. The architecture here is astounding, she's even amazed by the staircase they walk up on to get to the section of shelves. There is another fox-like creature managing the items on the shelves as well.
As he sifts through one of the titles, she admires their ancient look. They had books back in Astreas, but only to keep track of the constellations and zodiac signs. There was not much on history since that was passed down through the generations as oral stories. They were at least good at preserving their history in that way, but having everything written down is useful too.
The man comments on how her title is a mouthful and it makes Corr laugh. "Yes, I suppose it is, but I have to make sure all the important information is right front and center!" she says, feeling satisfied with herself. Being the resident witch and psychic simply were her namesake, she wouldn't be herself without them.
He hands her the book he was inspecting and she reads the spine- Old Gods and Old Stories. Well, it certainly matched the look; the book surely had seen better days. The man- who introduces himself as Andras- seems content that this holds the information she needs and she begins flipping through the pages excitedly.
"Well, Just Warden," she begins to say, holding back a laugh at her terrible joke. "I appreciate your help. I would've been wandering in here for hours if you hadn't shown up! Thank you."
Corr begins reading, or at least starts skimming. Having others in the room makes it hard for her to focus. She gets a general start on Tempus right in the beginning section and is amazed at her findings.
"Wow, so Tempus created the land of Novus and can also manipulate time. The island makes a little more sense now," she says to Andras, or maybe more to herself if the man isn't paying attention. "I don't know if you visited it but at one point, the forest kept shifting through all four seasons within seconds. Then time completely stopped for most of the summer and the sun never set, both on the island and off. It was crazy!"
The woman reads a little further in, but still feels too distracted. She looks up at Andras with pleading eyes. "Is it… possible for me to borrow this? I promise to bring it back. I just want to study it a little more back home." Corr feels bad for asking, but hopes it might not be a problem. The last thing she wants is to offend anyone in the Court. She hasn't been acquainted with many from Delumine, so for all she knows it could be outside of their customs.
"All you want to do is dance out of your skin into another song not quite about heroes, but still a song where you can lift your spear and say 'yes' as it flashes."
She stifles laughter, and Andras hears his blood say something vague, not quite words as much as a feeling, like scalding water pouring down his throat. "No problem," he says in a way that suggests it is very much a problem after all, with a wolflike smile and a simmering stillness, before she folds open the cover and Andras decides it is better to busy himself.
He crosses the room again, up the small platform to the chattering creature that leers at him much the same way he leers back at it, pulling another book from the shelf, one that just says Legends of Novus in what looks like handwritten script, not quite as old but still dusty yellow parchment bound in leather. The pages crackle as he flips it open.
The word Warden still rides him, loud and heavy, like a war gong. He is not sure what to do with it. He is not sure what it makes him. (Warden, obviously--but what does that mean? Can it be quantified? Does he care?) Ipomoea had looked at him with some definite expression, at the fog of his glasses, at the rising sun in their reflection. He had seen something, in him. Something pragmatic, violent, tenacious. He is not entirely sure where it is supposed to be, or how he is supposed to find it.
He hopes, in a way that Andras hopes for very few things at all, that it will come to him when he needs it most.
He hears Corrdelia's voice, loud enough that it crosses the room with it but not quite directed at him. Ah, Andras thinks-- the island.
He levels a long, still look at her. To hear him say it, this obsession is impetuous at best and suicidal at worst. It does not do, to play with gods. Many of them are uncaring. All of them are far too cunning for their own good.
Of course, this comes from Andras, who has been holed up in the library for months, reading and re-reading books on magic, gods, and the relationship between the two. This is why he plucks the book so easily off the shelf. This is why, when he hands it to her, and she takes it, he feels something strange in him that he can't quite name, like b "I didn't," he says, from across the room. "I was still at home. Fortunately, it sounds like."
She tries reading, again, and the little black pegasus crosses the room back toward her, before she looks up, desperate. Andras sighs. "It's a library. You can take it." He offers the book he is now holding, also: Legends of Novus."This might be helpful, too. Seems you'll get through the first one in a hurry." It is a rare moment of kindness that is not begrudging, or carrying an undercurrent of tension. Though he is not very good at it, Andras smiles.
The man did not experience the island and she is slightly disappointed he won't be able to relate. At least still it seems he understands the knowledge she seeks. Perhaps he lived here most of the time and that's why he never ventured to the island. For that, she couldn't blame him. It's probably better he had been safe here instead of getting in the middle of a war with a god and a relic.
Corrdelia laughs at the man's sarcasm, but her expression is appreciative. She is thankful for his help and takes the extra book eagerly. It's been some time since she's read new books. Even though their words are fresh to her, they have that ancient text smell. It's a unique scent and one she could breathe in all the time. She could get lost in it. Maybe that's why Andras might spend most of his time in the library. If she wasn't so attached to her crystals and plants, she'd live in here too.
"Thank you," she says, smiling back at the man. "This means a lot to me, truly." As much as she wants to stay to immerse herself in the vibes of the library and listen to the pitter-patter of the fox-creature's footsteps, she needed to get back. She has a lot of studying to do and she also wants to ask the cards what they might expect. They hadn't been wrong before at least.
She dips her head, then heads for the exit while Hāsta takes flight beside her. Before she leaves, she turns back to the Warden again. "Maybe I'll see you around again, friend?" she suggests in hopes that she might. He seems like a good guy and she wouldn't mind having someone to chat about literature with. Some day, maybe. "Blessed be," she says in parting and then the crow witch is gone.
