Chapter Twenty-Five: Duty Fulfilled.

  I cannot leave without at least saying thanks and goodbye to him…

  Selriph knocked on the familiar wooden door before him. The hiss of? his breathing the only sound within the still confines of the library. The familiar smell of parchment, leather, and polished wood bid forth memories of the time spent here during revelry nights—the only time outside of the Solhallow that trainees could leave the compound for respite.

  The door opened with a click, the same face that had greeted many times at sundown during those nights of recess—spent here in this office, buried in books, passionate exchanges on topics from myths and legends to the dangers lurking in the world of Aerathyn.

  “Selriph”, his brow furrowed, despite his raspy voice coming with an intonation of approval, “come to say goodbye to an old geezer before you do a repeat of your disappearing act?” Gerey said as he ushered the boy into his quarters.

  Selriph’s features softened into a warm smile, an expression so seldom seen it seemed to awaken long-dormant muscles in his face. “I never got to say this to you yesterday, nay—before I left,” he paused, his gaze landed on the familiar couch in the corner, his memory flashing the image of a stack of books standing, like a tower of stories.

  “Thank you, not just for yesterday, but for all these years. I am… sorry. I wasn’t able to give a proper goodbye before I … vanished.” Selriph looked at the man, their eyes, subtly different shades of blue, met.

  Gerey chuckled, a cough escaping his throat as he paced over to the fresh beverage on his table, the aroma of coffee wafting from the still steaming cup. “You’d have been a fool if you had done that. Your disappearance gave quite a shock, stirred up your former associates, and a couple of lackeys even came here inquiring about your whereabouts..”

  “Didn’t know my absence would cause that much of a commotion. Hopefully, it did not cause you any trouble.” Selriph sat on the couch, taking in the comfort of the worn leather.

  “Curious that you speak of it. Because there is trouble,” his voice intoned lower, a seriousness rolled in like fog obscuring plains.

  “What do you mean…? We are going to be gone by hours end. Long before the library is due to open. There should be no trouble? I apolo—” Selriph’s voice withdrew, concern building.

  “The trouble is simple: you are acting like a fool.” He placed his cup down on the table, the thud acting as punctuation to his statement.

  Ah… he must mean the act of returning itself…

  Gerey sat on his chair, his body facing away at a ninety-degree angle from the boy, his eyes staring blankly at the shelf before him. “You are a bright one, far brighter than the pompous noggins that stroll these walls daily. What the devil brought back here? Especially after pulling off such an escape? Divine intervention? Did a goddess appear in your dreams in her undergarments and offer you salvation or something?” the voice came with genuine befuddlement, more so than reprimand.

  Selriph’s lips curled in, unsure of how to answer. Gerey’s statement cut deep. In his head, he had rationalised it — payment for Hagan’s hospitality, a responsibility to see Relia to safety.

  Most of all, an obligation to free Vickthar, the old man, the mentor he abandoned in the tunnels.

  From beyond the veil of pretence, the answer came out of his lips before he had time to inhibit it.

  “I don’t want to be here.”

  The words hung in the air, like a stone falling into an impossibly deep well.

  A brief silence settled. In Gerey’s eyes, understanding dawned as fragmented details coalesced to form a coherent picture.

  “The woman or the woodsman?” His voice was brief, yet firm. Clarity through the rasp.

  “Woodsman, saving his friend. One that I encountered in the tunnels,” the boy’s voice came, plain, yet with the slightest edge of bitterness.

  “The one who gave an inquisitor a black eye? Said to be burnt at the stake, come Makfnus? Tomorrow?” His eyes flickered as the final pieces slotted into place.

  Selriph nodded, sensing the comprehension of the man seated before him.

  “Ah… the folly of repaying the light cast by the sun. The same thing led to Hanuk’s fall.”

  Selriph perked up in recognition, mixed with embarrassment. Hanuk’s Folly, the doomed ambition to repay the sun’s very light—a ludicrous notion. Though they had long erased it from Eldorian literature, only told through the mouth of the elderly man who sat before him.

  “Look, it’s not the same. The man taught me magic there. I left him to that blackguard and the inquisitor. I could have…!”

  “What you could have done would have been foolish,” Gerey said, his voice devoid of emotion, as if stating a fact as plain as the rising sun.

  But with my magic, I could have… Was I wrong? No... was I right? Hagan… Relia…

  Selriph lowered his gaze, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts, like a courtroom devolving into chaos.

  One reality stood out even in the turbulence of doubt: he had committed to his; he had attached the responsibility of not only seeing Relia to safety but also to the impossible task of breaking Vick with only the vial of invisibility, no feasible point of entry, no plan-midday tomorrow.

  Even if he wanted to run now, he was now bound by these invisible chains.

  “I can’t... I have to try,” he muttered. “As foolish as it sounds.”

  He clenched his eyes shut, bracing for a storm of harsh, well-meaning admonishment from the old man.

  Instead, silence.

  Then the slow shuffle of footsteps.

  Now he expected the worst. A slap to the back of his head was sure to come.

  It never came; at least not yet. What came next was the distinct thump of wood against leather.

  Is he going to hit me with a book...?

  No book came; what followed next caused the boy to jerk up from his cushioned seat.

  A sudden mechanical click. Wood scraped against stone.

  Selriph’s eyes flew open. The shelves were moving as if animated by some hidden force.

  Gerey stood before him, a book in hand. Selriph recognised the title: The Path to Obscura.

  The bookshelf drew back like a curtain in the Kalaris theatre, revealing a narrow stairwell descending into blackness.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “Come,” Gerey said, gesturing downward. “If you’re going to be a fool, at least be equipped with the greatest tool.”

  “Knowledge…” Selriph’s voice came like a whisper in the wind.

  Beyond the dark steps, something awaited—something he could wield with his gifts.

  It could not save him from the path already forced upon him.

  But when that final, desperate moment inevitably came, it would allow him to avoid paying the toll of his folly.

  “I apologise for this, Relia. Hopefully, this is the last time we will need to plod our way through these tunnels…” Selriph said, his voice softened with sympathy.

  “It’s okay, Selriph, better than landing you in trouble up there. Besides, you have more than enough. I could have gone there myself,” her muffled voice came from behind the linen cloth.

  Selriph paced ahead of the woman; even in the still air, he could smell the distinct scent of the ointment-laced linen that the Relia held to her mouth, courtesy of Gerey. Behind her was Hagan, once again acting as rearguard.

  Selriph heard the feminine voice behind echoing into the tunnels. “And you, too, Hagan, I fear this detour might delay you from your mission to rescue Vick. I apologise.” Softly spoken, almost hesitant.

  “It's no trouble, Lass. Hardly a good idea to waltz into the prison in broad daylight. The lad and I will come up with a plan once we settle your business,” as a reassuring pat came from the woodsman.

  A plan? We are going to need far more than a plan to break him out. Even with….

  Selriph’s gaze fell to his pack, imperceptibly heavier from how he left it the previous night, filled with the items that Gerey gave him.

  He had expected some secret document detailing a secret route into the prison complex, or perhaps some incantation that could allow them to phase through walls—anything that would overtly aid their endeavour.

  Instead, the two additional items that lay in his bag were nothing of the sort. One was for the worst-case situation: if he found himself gravely wounded and somehow rendered immobile because of injuries, a much-needed precaution if he found himself mauled by anything greater than a giant rodent, ingrained on parchment in runic glyphs.

  The other item was similar, holding a barely contained warmth of mana that he could feel even through his pouch.

  However, its immediate utility eluded him. The magic ingrained in the runic language of the arcane held immense raw power, far beyond what the boy had ever dreamed of attempting.

  There was a simple problem: they didn’t need that much destructive power, not if they intended to be covert.

  The only conceivable use he could conjure was to breach the walls of the compound—only necessary if all avenues of clandestine escape were exhausted. In all other cases, the magical display would just draw unwanted attention, something that he and Hagan were keen to avoid.

  Selriph’s thoughts distracted him as he obliviously passed the ladder, his eyes jerking up in confusion as he found himself at an unexpected right turn, one he had not intended to take. The boy doubled back, his cheeks warmed imperceptibly with embarrassment.

  “Sorry, strolled too far,” Selriph said, gesturing to the ladder they had just passed.

  Selriph grabbed onto the rungs, the cold iron like ice against his skin as he climbed up. The sound of his ascent echoed through the humid, fetid tunnel far below.

  There at the top was a manhole. Selriph carefully lifted it with bated anticipation, almost half expecting another scene of chaos to meet him from the Tollerton district above.

  To his relief, there was no chaos, only the occasional footsteps from early risers. Merchants and artisans, no doubt, were preparing for the day’s business despite the events of the previous night.

  Selriph beckoned with a finger as he focused his gaze on the streets, waiting for an inconspicuous moment to emerge. From above, the footfalls came and went. From below, the vibration of his companion’s ascent; each shudder of leather on iron travelled up from the ladder below into his hands.

  The moment came, Selriph could see no visible feet. He swiftly lifted the manhole and vaulted himself out onto the waiting street. Relia and Hagan followed in quick succession, helped up by the boy who was waiting above, his eyes darting up and down the cobbled paths.

  “C’mon, let’s get cleaned up before we visit this friend of yours. Don’t want to give them a bad impression,” Selriph gestured for them to follow into a side alley where they could wash off the filth and stench that clung to their garments. They paced off, leaving behind shallow imprints of mud on the ground in their wake.

  In their haste, they left trails on the ground, the only evidence of their exit from the manhole. An unavoidable mark, one that would be dried by the sun and trodden over by the footfall of the coming day.

  The trio found themselves in front of an unassuming establishment. Sheray’s General Goods, as common a name as any in Caer Eldralis—it served its purpose well enough. Customers entered and exited, albeit at a glacial pace, like water seeping from stalactites.

  The trio stood just a stone’s throw away, outside an unassuming residence—the sun cast golden rays that framed the streets before them, like a natural portrait.

  “Was nice knowing ya, lass,” Hagan grunted, a flicker of genuine sentiment softening his gruff tone.

  “Yes, who knew pulling you out of that river would lead me back to the city?” A soft chuckle came from Selriph.

  His attempt at humour fell flat, met by a tepid response from Relia. “I … thank you, Selriph.” A small wave of unintended dawning washed over the woman: she had been a catalyst, a cog, an unwitting instrument compelling his return to the city.

  Selriph jerked his hand forward in a placating gesture. “No! Sorry, that’s not what I meant. Your company meant a lot to me, especially when you...”

  His memory pulled him back to that quiet scene by the hearth, stripped of his belongings many nights ago.

  Relia’s features softened into relaxation as the two of them shared a gaze of mutual understanding.

  “I meant what I said then. You are the bravest and kindest person I have ever met. Selriph. Never forget that, no matter what or who you encounter on your journey.” She reached out, placing a comforting hand on the boy’s left shoulder.

  Selriph had expected the wound to ache on contact, but to his surprise, all he felt was the cold but reassuring touch of Relia’s hand through his garments.

  Selriph could hear the soft footsteps behind him. He briefly reached out with his arcane senses—he could perceive the life energy of the people partaking in the slow buzz of the morning—his magical senses confirmed what he had already suspected; Hagan had given his two younger companions some distance. Mere years separated them—a trifle compared to the gulf in their lived experience and the greater divide in their respective futures.

  The woman before him, overcome with sentiment, blurted, “You could stay here, you know, Sheray would not tell on you. Keep your head down until we can return to my village. You can live a quiet life…” her grip on his shoulder tightening slightly.

  She stopped herself. “Sorry.”

  Selriph’s voice remained calm, consoling. “If it’s any assurance, that is what I am going for—a quiet life sounds nice.” As Selriph gently placed his hand over hers, a subtle smile appeared on the boy’s lips.

  “That? is good to know. Stay safe,” she murmured as she gently withdrew her hand from the boy’s shoulders. She backed away slowly, turning to face the shop, Sheray no doubt waiting within.

  As Selriph turned to leave, Relia called out, “Selriph, wait!” She produced a small, intricately carved wooden pendant, strung by a leather cord from her belt-pouch. “Here,” she offered, “this was my mother’s. She gave it to me on Natalhallow—the day I was born twenty-one cycles ago.

  Selriph, pondering the offering, muttered, “Relia…”

  Relia’s voice, calm, and soothing, accompanied her outstretched hand as she presented the pendant. “It’s said to bring ?luck and protection. You should take it. You need that more than I ever would.”

  Selriph hesitated. “What...? I can’t take something so important. It’s a keepsake from your mother.” His mind raced, not just from the unsettling mix of flattery and acute embarrassment at being presented with such a personal item, but also from his deep-seated protest against the very notions of luck and protection.

  “Look, that is from your mother. You should keep it with you when you return. Safely.” His palm extended, a gentle wall of refusal.

  Relia’s eyes widened, disappointment flickering across her face. She clutched the pendant, then lowered her hand. “I... I understand, I just hoped to give something to remember by. Something that would help you,” she said softly, sadness evident in her voice.

  Sensing the woman’s sadness, “Look, maybe … I don’t…”

  Selriph scanned the woman in appraisal before his gaze landed on her bundled hair, a piece of metal glistening in the sunlight behind her.

  “Your hairtie.” His voice came, curt.

  “What…?” She reached up, her fingers brushing against the simple metal wire holding back her deep black hair.

  The same object she used to pry open the sewer grate.

  At first, her face betrayed genuine confusion at the unexpected item Selriph wanted in the charm’s stead. Gradually, as the sun peeked above her hairline, a wave of understanding washed over her features.

  With a gentle tug, she loosened it, letting it fall into her palm. “Here,” she offered, her fingers trembling slightly. Her silken hair hung freely, framing her fair brown complexion.

  Selriph stepped forward as he accepted the outstretched hairtie, cupped with care. “Thanks, that is more than enough to remember you by,” as he gently pocketed the hairtie into his satchel, resting safely between the pages of his Tome.

  “Take care.” With a smile on his lips, his voice quivered a little, an unexpected emotional reaction to this parting—the first person close to his age that did not treat him like the trash-–the label he bore for years.

  Relia’s eyes glistened as she nodded, a small, grateful smile touching her lips. “You too. Sel.”

  A swift puff of air escaped Selriph’s nostrils, his face plastered with approval at the unexpected truncation of his name.

  Then the boy turned with finality—his vision immediately fell on the woodsman resting against the stone, arms folded.

  Behind him, he could almost make out the intoned voices of unexpected reunion and meeting, no doubt coming from the woman he had just parted with.

  Now in the care of someone who would ensure her safety.

  A duty, a promise, a responsibility. Fulfilled.