19 Mongrel Clues

THE IMPERIAL LIBRARIES of Icarthya were numerous enough, although a few had suffered during the coup three years earlier.

There was one Threadfin sometimes liked to visit. It wasn’t the scent of stained, musty paper or papyrus, or the clouds of dust among unordered piles of books bound in old skin. Neither was it the cold stone floors, or the thick columns holding up an overly ornate ceiling, nor the wooden doors thick enough to withstand a Nephilim assault.

No, it was none of those things.

Stood within the centre of it all, Threadfin shut his eyes and listened to the ruffling of paper, the mumbling of paytors, the unintelligible chirps and growls of the mongrel scribes, their feet slapping on hard stone as they went about their business, whatever it was they did.

He felt her there. More than in any other part of the palace. His late sister, Aiyana. He knew her spirit was elsewhere, held captive by the Librarian, otherwise known as Orthrus, but he could still sense her echo. Maybe that wasn’t the right word, but it didn’t matter. The feeling was real.

She had spent most of her short existence within these walls, reading, studying, learning, all the things he’d never cared for, but for which he’d admired her. He returned sometimes to stand there amid the silent noise only a library could produce and he felt her. Eyes shut, he saw her at a desk, studiously ignoring his presence, as she poured over some ancient text or image.

‘You has fallen asleep again?’ asked a voice right in front of him, and Threadfin leapt back in surprise.

Tezcat Licolo stood there wearing a black dalba in imitation of the elder virals, a habit it seemed she had yet to kick.

Threadfin did not understand what was so important about Beezer that Tezcat needed to emulate him. Of course, it wasn’t her worst habit. Topping the list was scaring friends three-quarters way to full-death, or visiting them when they were in the bath.

‘Don’t do that,’ he snapped followed by a growl, hitching his own red robe, feeling quite the fool. He wore red today, precisely to separate himself, rather than blend in and become forgotten. He was still a mage, damn it all to Hell’s Teeth and back. It must’ve been a right sight, an imperial undead mage, standing alone with eyes shut, then jumping ten feet in the air with a girlish squeal. Hardly did much for his reputation, although that was already on shaky ground.

‘You was dozin’ off,’ she said with a giggle, eyes full of mischief. At least some things stayed the same, for which he was grateful.

‘I was meditating,’ he mumbled. ‘It’s something us senior mages do from time to time. You wouldn’t understand. I’ve been trying to figure out a way to find out where Rajax is. That was all.’ It turned out that losing Rajax was all his fault. Everything was these days, it seemed.

‘Nah, you was sleepin’,’ she insisted with a dismissive wave of one hand, as she turned away. ‘I heards yours snores from half ways across the library.’

Threadfin had to fight to remain calm. ‘I was not snoring. I never snore. Virals don’t snore, Cat.’ Or well, at least he didn’t think so.

‘Asides, you won’t finds Rajax whiles sleepin’. Yours head is too empty for medicatin’, anyhow.’

‘The word is meditating, Cat.’

‘What I said weren’t it?’ She walked towards a small wooden desk, which was smothered in old manuscripts and a dangerous number of lit candles. How the place never burnt to the ground and the palace along with it, he would never understand. ‘You knows, you isn’t half as clevers likes you thinks you is. Ralan’s read thousands o’ books.’

Threadfin felt his calm fracturing. ‘Well, he has been around a lot longer. Bit of an old timer, in fact.’

‘I bets he knows lots o’ stuff what you nevers heard of.’

‘What’re you doing here anyhow?’ he asked, not liking the turn this conversation had taken. ‘You found out anything about Rajax?’

‘I is studyin’,’ she announced with pride, as she sat down on a worn and flimsy looking bench. There was a large tome opened in front of her. The cover was made of a scaly type of hide he didn’t recognise, but which made him uncomfortable. He absently rubbed at his own rough skin. ‘I is learnin’ lots o’ stuff,’ she continued, ‘like us virals were meant to destroy all them worlds. I didn’t knows that.’

‘What book is it?’

‘I dunno. A book. I comes here for readin’ and stuff. Lyrin says I gots to get back to my studies. I weren’t learnin’ much while I were stuck in the in-between place. Yours sister read lots but I were often too bored to pays attention. Asides, she didn’t always lets us see what she saw.’

‘Did you learn anything that might help me find the paladin?’ His irritation was growing, but he knew better than to lose his cool with her. She’d just mock him for it, and he’d get nothing out of her.

‘I did learns something ’bout mongrels.’

Threadfin began turning away. ‘It’s alright Cat. I’ll leave you to it. I doubt there’s much to learn about Nipper’s family tree which would interest me. A lot that might give me nightmares, I’m sure.’

‘Volcanus mades ’em. Mongrels, I mean.’

Threadfin halted his exit, bristling with disbelief. He whirled around. ‘He did what now?’

Tezcat hefted the tome up onto a stack of books, turning it so he could see the page. She pointed out a section written in overly ornate and tiny script. He walked back to her desk, and had to peer close to read it.

From the bones of vanquished worlds

With the blood of wounded stars,

The Son of Shadow gave them life.

Of the fabric of darkness,

And with threads of light,

The Despoiler veiled them

But when wisdom opened their eyes,

and darkness malformed their flesh,

The despoiled children of Volcanus

Forever vowed requite.

Threadfin read the words a second time. ‘I don’t get it. Who are the despoiled children supposed to be?’

Tezcat picked up a piece of yellowed paper from the desk. ‘This were markin’ the page. Otherwise, I’d not have founds it.’

He took it and opened it. Inside was a scrawl he recognised. Aiyana’s handwriting. There was one word though it was faded.

Mongrels.

‘I don’t understand,’ he said, but his mind was connecting the dots. ‘Are you saying Aiyana marked this page with this bit of paper?’ His late sister had not been one to write a note like that for no reason. She would never have defiled such an old tome by writing in it, hence the note. No doubt, she had planned to return to that page later.

Thoughts of Aiyana were difficult to avoid, at least while he was in the capital, and whenever he thought of her, he also couldn’t help but remember Lorn and the pain of losing her too. Two women in his unlife stolen from him.

Tezcat nodded. ‘I knows it might just be incidence, but what’ya think?’

‘The word is coincidence, Cat.’

‘Yeah, what I said weren’t it? You know I is learnin’ words now. Lots o’ stuff. Lyrin says my talkin’s gettin’ better too.’

He examined the piece of paper as though it might hold more secrets. ‘You’re suggesting my sister was searching for the origin of mongrels, and discovered this poem? It’s not exactly concrete proof. Vague at best.’

‘Yeah, but what’s if it were the truth? She mights have found somethin’.’

Tucking the paper into a pocket in his cloak, Threadfin took the book and reread the passage, and the rest of the page, and the page before and after, but there was nothing else useful. It appeared to be a collection of ancient Icarthian poetry from some obscure author. Slim proof, but he knew Aiyana had marked it for a reason. She’d spent half her existence studying books. Instinct told him she’d been on to something. ‘Cat, do you realise what this might mean?’

She shrugged. ‘I just thoughts you’d wants to see it. I knows it for Aiy’s scribbles, and she were important.’

‘Yeah, she was.’ He smiled at her. ‘Thanks Cat. The last line. It suggests mongrels are seeking to repay Volcanus. I don’t think it means in a good way either.’

‘Revengeance on Volcanus?’ She said it too loud, and several of the mongrels ceased their scurrying and lifting and scribbling to stop and stare. Several dozen to be precise. If the library had been quiet before, it felt like a grave now, and who better to know than two undead mages.

He closed the book slowly, and put it back on the table. ‘You know, I’ve never seen them behave like this. They never act in unison.’

Tezcat frowned at the scribes, as though daring them to do something, but then that was Licolo. Always on the attack. ‘Mayhap that’s why they has been thievin’ gold and stuff. They’s been prepping for something. I has been searching for my brooch everywheres. Were a gift from ... um, long ago.’

Threadfin felt his knees go weak as he realised the implication of her words. Nipper filling sackfuls of palace gold and silver, hiding all sorts of jewellery and trinkets in his pockets. What if it wasn’t just some random mongrel oddity? What if there was a reason for it?

The scarred and mashed-up faces of the mongrel scribes continued staring at them, not one blinking those beady eyes of theirs. It was eerie, and who better to know eerie?

‘You know,’ Threadfin whispered, ‘I think you might have just stumbled on something. I also think we shouldn’t talk about it here. We should go.’

‘I’s not scared o’ stupid scribblers,’ she growled, but grunted as Threadfin grabbed her and pulled her after him. He didn’t run, just walked at a quick pace. He’d grown fond of Nipper over the years, but one mongrel he could handle. Dozens was an entirely different prospect especially with his magic unavailable to him. Tezcat had her magic, but she would just murder the lot of them, which would take some explaining to his sister afterwards. Better to beat a hasty retreat.

‘Maybe you’re not,’ he whispered as they reached the library doors, ‘but I’ve always been wary of them. Trust me, there’s something about mongrels that’s always worried me. I’d rather not test out my assertions today, if you don’t mind.’

They had just stepped outside of the library into a broad colonnaded corridor, when someone confronted them. The doors shut behind them with a heavy thump echoing among the columns.

Ralan offered a slight bow and smiled at Tezcat, who grinned back like a fool.

‘Hi, Tave,’ she cooed, before checking herself with a wary glance at Threadfin. ‘Oh, I’s sorry for forgettin’. Yours name is Ralan, these days.’

‘Oh?’ said Threadfin. He felt irritated, and not being certain why, also grew annoyed. ‘You weren’t always named Ralan?’

The Son of Grim wore a pained expression. ‘Oh, I’ve had different names. Several in fact, though you could say I was just born with two. A long story, which I’m sure wouldn’t interest you.’

‘Sounds complicated.’

‘It was.’

‘I don’t like complicated.’

Ralan stood there for a moment, and then gestured at the library doors. ‘May I?’

‘A bit of light reading?’

Tezcat stood frozen looking from one to the other, confusion on her face. ‘What’s goin’ on?’

Threadfin stepped aside to allow Ralan pass by. ‘Nothing, Cat. Nothing at all. Just getting properly acquainted with this old friend of yours.’ To Ralan he added, ‘We should spend some time together, you and I. Get to know one another properly. You know where to find the Tower of Wept, don’t you?’ Threadfin was all too aware that before Tezcat had died in the purges, she and Ralan had been close. All too aware.

Ralan frowned back at him and said, ‘I understand you’re looking for Paladin Rajax. You should visit the Pantheon, speak with the paladins. It might be you will find some answers there.’ Then he pushed open the doors to disappear into the dusty den of books, parchments, and over-sensitive-quite-possibly-murderous, mongrel plotters.

‘Fine then,’ snapped Threadfin after he was gone, ‘I bloody well will visit the pantheon, and if those bastards don’t give me answers, I’ll throttle every one of them.’

Tezcat followed Ralan back inside after a strange look for Threadfin before the doors shut. The imperial mage turned and stalked from the library, leaving them together, his irritation growing with each second. Tezcat had always been his friend. He knew it was stupid, juvenile, and unworthy, hence his irritation, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t like that she had another friend from another time of which he knew almost nothing about. Besides, they’d been growing closer these past few weeks.

It was irrational, but feelings often were. Knowing it almost never helped. He vowed to get control over his feeling one of these days. He’d have Nipper add it to his list of things to get done. It was a rather long list.

A squirming feeling in his gut made matters worse. The Grim haunted his soul, and learning Nipper and his kin were up to some dark plot had him on edge. Not to mention Tezcat making moon-eyes at the Grim’s son. Is that what this is about? I’m one half of Rasnal Nalrost soul. Does that then make Ralan half my son? Did it work that way? Tezcat was like a sister to him. All he knew was he felt protective of her, and resentful at Ralan’s presence. No doubt being possessed by his father didn’t help.

I must be losing it, he thought.

‘Oh, you are,’ said a voice in his mind, followed by laughter.  ‘Oh, yes you are, Todder, and I’ll be there waiting when you finally do. Our son could do a lot better than an undead wench by the way.’

Watch your tongue, thought Threadfin with a mental snarl. You’re treading dangerous ground, and so is your son.

Several mongrels exited the library and stood staring at him, their dark scarred faces partially hidden within their hoods.

The viral mage uttered a squeak, and hurried through the palace corridors, glancing over his shoulder at shadows and half-imaginings, not for the last time wishing he’d never become a bloody mage in the first place.