It wasn’t that I didn’t trust the librarian, it was that I didn’t trust anyone beyond my close circle of friends to know just how important it was to keep this secret. We’d have to be very careful how we approached this.
The rest of the two-hour period dragged by at a glacial pace. Once he finished his introductory lesson, Librarian Tanoki provided us with very specific information about what he liked and didn’t like (we could use pens as long as the ink was black; otherwise, our work had to be in pencil; he preferred unlined, loose-leaf paper instead of bound notebooks) and went through his syllabus in painstaking detail. It was all very thorough, and very, very boring.
Finally, when he reached the end of his prepared material, our instructor straightened up, looked each of us in the eye, and thanked us for our patience. The rest of the students fled the classroom, nodding to Tanoki as they hurried out. He seemed dejected at their rapid departure, and I found myself hoping what I had in mind would raise his spirits.
“Did you have a question, Jace?” he asked when he realized that we were still in our seats.
I was surprised at how different the librarian was outside of his domain. When I’d worked for him over the summer, he’d been a stern and relentless taskmaster who kept me so busy I’d scarcely had time to think. In this classroom, he was quiet and tentative, his hands fidgeting with one another. I couldn’t help but want to set him at ease.
“Yes,” I said. “I thought we’d learn more about ancient Empyreal history. Like the first cultivators.”
He leaned forward on his lectern and dangled his long, ink-stained fingers over its lip. His eyes were watery and lined with pink behind the thick glasses he always wore, and I wondered if he suffered from allergies. He considered my question for a moment, looked down at his syllabus, then blew out a gusty sigh.
“I should have included some of that in the lesson plans,” he said grumpily. “But there were so many things the School required me to teach, I’m afraid there wasn’t any time left over for that.”
There was a spark in his eye as he said that last sentence. The librarian liked to do things his own way, and the fact that Cruzal or someone else on the School’s faculty had told him what he could and could not teach clearly grated on his nerves.
“Oh,” I said, dropping my eyes and letting a note of disappointment creep into my voice. “That’s too bad. I was hoping to learn more about that...”
The librarian raised his index finger, then walked to the classroom door and closed it. He peered through the narrow window set into its center, looking left, then right, and finally locked the door. He grabbed the rolling chair from behind his desk, whipped it around to face us, and took a seat. Before he said another word, he removed his glasses, breathed on them, and polished them on the soft fabric of his robe.
“You should know that the most ancient of Empyreal history is not about Empyreals at all,” the librarian said. “Those early cultivators were not team players. If you want my honest opinion, they were petty tyrants who guarded their knowledge jealously and enforced their will on those who had not yet mastered the sacred arts. Some even conquered the tribes of lesser cultivators and yoked them to their cause by violence. I could tell you stories about the things that happened in those days that would curl your toes.”
I was sure the librarian was right about that. Some of what he had to say on the subject might even be interesting. The origin of the Empyrean Flame was even further back than the time period he’d discussed. I considered how best to phrase my question to avoid having him figure out what, exactly, I needed to know.
“I’m interested in the times before even that,” I said. “Back when the first cultivators were just neophytes, or even initiates. It would help me get a better handle on what’s going on with my core.”
The librarian’s eyes widened slightly, and sparks of curiosity flickered in his gaze. He rubbed his stubbly chin with the index and forefinger of his left hand, then leaned forward and lowered his voice even more.
“What you’re looking for is rarely discussed,” he said. “The Church of the Grand Design doesn’t like to talk about what came before Empyreal society was cemented, and they really don’t like us learning about the good old days of demons and minor gods trying to extinguish humanity. Not even our library has any books on that period.”
Disappointment pulled my spirits down to Earth. I’d felt like the librarian was on the verge of telling me everything, only to have him yank the carpet out from under my feet. I tried to keep my face stoic, though, because it wasn’t his fault he didn’t have the information I needed. Maybe no one did.
“Thank you,” I said. “I am honored that you would even discuss this much with me. If there are no sources of information on this period, I suppose—”
The librarian raised his hands and shook his head. I thought he was coughing, but it turned into a deep chuckle that set his ample belly to jiggling.
“No, no,” he said. “I didn’t say there were no other sources. I said the Church doesn’t want us to discuss them. But just because there are no books about this period near at hand does not mean there is no information. The School is littered with secret places and lost chambers filled with information they’d rather we forget. I believe you may have encountered just such a place during your first year.”
With that, the librarian rolled his chair backward into position behind his desk. He pulled a book off the shelf next to him, plopped it open, and began to
