12. Sybil

Chapter 12

Sybil

S ybil, you should rest," Cassara says as she sits in front of me, pours a cup of tea, and sets it on the table between us. The faint glow of the mage lights cast dancing shadows on the walls and shelves around us. Her blonde hair is braided and rests on her left shoulder. She is wearing a loose green tunic, which I have come to know is the type of outfit witches wear when they are off duty from protecting the library or aiding with research.

"Harnessing new powers takes time and energy. You've been training with Alexander and the high priestess for hours. No one expects you to learn how to defeat the queen in one day." A reassuring smile paints her lips and I'm grateful for her worry.

The pain in my lower back speaks volumes of the number of hours I have spent on this wooden chair. I roll my shoulders and stretch my neck, but my chest feels tight and the room is heavy with a sense of urgency. Sweat beads my forehead and my shirt is stuck to my skin from trying the exercises Alexander taught me over and over again.

"You'd expect a healer to take better care of herself, wouldn't you?" I say with a low chuckle, the shadow of exhaustion looming over me.

Just as I had asked, we had started with the training immediately. The witch had taken me into an empty room deep within the mountain and challenged me to let my power run loose through me.

"Close your eyes, Sybil. Feel your magic. Don't let that power only be part of you, let it become you ," Alexander had said. "You are the limits you impose on yourself, child."

For years, I had only ever seen my power as a gift I could access to heal people. I would channel whatever I needed to make people feel better and then tuck it back in the corner between my soul and my heart where magic lived. Almost naively, I had labeled and limited my magic, and instead of regarding it as raw energy cursing through my veins, I had limited its purpose. Now, it was time to unlearn something I had spent years inculcating to myself.

Whilst Cassara pours herself a cup of the steaming tea—black, from its pungent smell—I extend my hands toward the table and they start to tremble. I hold them out, reaching for the dregs of my power and calling forth the light until they take on an ethereal glow, feeling the surge of energy coursing through my veins. The cup wobbles for a moment, teetering on the edge of the table, before finally succumbing to the force of my power. It hovers in the air, suspended by an invisible force, and begins its slow journey toward my waiting hands.

As the cup reaches me, I can't help but feel a mix of excitement and trepidation. Bending the power I possess to my own will, beyond the realm of healing, is something I had never thought possible. Alexander and the high priestess had been delighted by my fast progress, yet this power is both a blessing and a burden. It's a constant reminder of the responsibility I carry and the knowledge that Tricella has had over a century to perfect and hone hers.

I take a deep breath, savoring the moment before taking a sip of the black tea. Its warmth spreads through me, invigorating my senses and sharpening my focus.

"Sybil!" Cassara exclaims, wide-eyed, making Lemon jump from a little nook in the shelf where he was napping.

"It's nothing special," I say, shaking my head. "I can't exactly defeat Tricella throwing cups full of tea in her direction, can I?" Lowering my gaze, I feel stuck between wanting to be proud of what I have learned and knowing it is not enough.

"But every little step will take you closer to it." She tilts her head and sets her cup back on the table. "I believe there's a reason why unicorn shifters have always been rare, ever since the time of the Goddess."

Cassara gently guides her finger along the edge of the porcelain cup, her brows furrowed, trying to put into words something she'd been trying to grasp for some time.

"It's because your existence defies the balance of magic. Most shifters tend to sit in a gray area. Our magic is influenced by the choices we make every day. Not fully light, nor fully dark, but somewhere in the middle." One of the mage light flickers and I wonder if it's the library urging Cassara to finish her thought—just as curious as I am about where this is going.

"We are told that unicorns are pure light. You were born out of the feelings of joy, prosperity and peace the Goddess felt after creating Craeweth. The goodness within you is encompassing, and I think you don't even realize that." Her blue eyes set on mine.

"We all thought unicorns were extinct, Sybil. We grieved that loss in Craeweth, yet here you are. The proof that light will always find a way to shine, even when the night is darkest." Cassara takes my hand in hers. They are calloused and the squeeze she gives me is exuding comfort. "You can do this."

My eyes sting from tears unshed. Being reminded that I am the last unicorn in Craeweth always feels like a punch in the gut, but the witch sitting in front of me is right.

With a gentle breeze smelling of pines and summer rain, a white silk handkerchief appears out of nowhere and lands on the table next to our bound hands. A laugh escapes my lips and with it a tear runs down my cheek. I look up to the cavernous ceiling of the room.

"Thank you," I say to the library and two chocolate truffles appear.

"You really know how to treat a lady, huh," Cassara says to the emptiness. We both laugh.

I set the cup down gently, the delicate sound of porcelain meeting the plate echoes in the room.

"I have to keep practicing," I whisper, the words laced with determination. I bury my face in my hands, threading my fingers through my unbound hair. "Every moment I waste, she gets stronger." Lemon jumps off the shelf and onto the table. He stands on his hind legs in front of me, sensing I am tired and overworking myself once again. He nudges his cold, wet nose against my cheek, his rough tongue scraping against my skin.

"I think it's time for you to go to bed, Sybil. What good will you be if you burn yourself out? Magic isn't limitless," Cassara says.

I fear she is right as exhaustion pounds through me again. The sound of my chair scraping against the floor echoes through the room.

"I will see you in the morrow," I say, picking Lemon up and allowing him to crawl into the pocket of my dress.

"Sweet dreams, unicorn."

I exit the room and take a right toward the main chamber of the library with the grand staircase I saw the first day. There's a handful of scholars still roaming the hallways, but I trust my feet and let them guide me to my bed as a pounding headache starts taking root.

"This is not ideal," I whisper to myself massaging my temples. When I lift my gaze again, I don't know where I am.

Somehow, I have walked myself into a dead end. The corridor in front of me ends with a blank wall made of dark brown bricks, as if placed there to hide something. Gone are the white doors I have come to recognize, and the air here feels damp and ancient. Slowly, I take a step toward the wall, but when I try to touch it, my fingers go through it.

"How stran—" The ground beneath my feet suddenly opens and I fall down a hatch door that was not there moments before.

My body contorts to shield Lemon in my front pocket from the impact. The harsh thud of my hands and knees hitting the ground reverberates through my body, while sharp pain shoots up my limbs. The acrid, metallic scent of blood and scraped skin fills the senses as the rough texture of the stone grates against my flesh. I cough, groaning at the stinging pain that lances up the left side of my ribs.

Pulling on the last of my magic reserves, my hands take on a dim glow so I can inspect my injuries. My eyes are drawn to the wall where the stones vibrate, grating against one another until a tall archway slowly opens. It's made of rough-hewn stone, different from the hand carved doorways I've seen in the rest of the library. There, in its distance, I see a staircase winding downward. Heart racing, I brace a hand against the stone wall, supporting the left side of my ribs as I push to a standing position and drag my bruised body toward it.

How wonderful, yet another dark tunnel.

Old Sybil would have run rather than approach a dark looming entrance. I have no such compulsions anymore. I have a queen to take down.

Lemon climbs out of my pocket, chittering angrily, and I gently stroke his head. As he licks at my palms, a soothing warmth spreads through the abrasions, hastening their healing.

"I'm sorry boy, are you alright?" I cursorily check his body for injuries, but he wiggles out of my grasp and climbs onto my shoulder, sniffing the cold air wafting from the dark tunnel. I glance up at the sound of tiny scurrying and tinkling and spot a small cluster of sprites staring down at me with their googly eyes.

I brush away the tears staining my cheeks with a sniffle before lifting a hand. Three sprites float into my awaiting palm. I bring them closer to my face and can't help but smile as their downy, soft fluff tickles my nose.

"What are you guys doing here? Do you have a message for me?" My heart leaps in my chest but then sinks as disappointment settles. Nero and Aramis wouldn't be anywhere near the library, let alone know about the sprites messengers.

They jump up and down on my palm, making tiny tinkling noises.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand you," I say, glancing around the empty stone corridor before gazing back into the dark archway. "Do you want me to go down there?"

Great, I'm lost and talking to tiny fairies. Maybe I hit my head too hard when I fell.

I frown at the stairwell as the sprites continue to bounce in my palm. There's only one way to see this through. Sighing, I will the sprites to move and I take Lemon from my shoulder. He stands on my joined palms, paws rubbing on his sleepy eyes.

"Lemon, I need you to get Marcelene, Thalia, and Cassara. Find them and bring them here. I... I have this feeling..." Looking down the tunnel, I know deep in my bones something is waiting there for me. Even so, I must learn from my mistakes and whilst I have to follow this feeling, it does not hurt to get back up too.

"Take them down this tunnel. You can do this, good boy." I lower my forehead to his and his whiskers make my nose tickle. After setting him down onto the rocky ground, Lemon sprints up the brick wall and out of the hatch door. I turn to face the entrance with a newfound familiarity of the darkness.

"251... 252... 253... 254," I count as I descend step after step and wonder if whoever designed the library ever asked themselves how many staircases are too many?

The step at the end of this tunnel feels... different. Its weathered steps are curved, eroded by time and those who have set foot in these ancient chambers before me. Shadows dance along the walls and the air is silent, as if the mountain itself is holding a breath, guarding the secrets that lay at the staircase's end.

I try to focus and ignore Aramis and Nero's voices in my head; they would be enraged if they knew I had embarked on a solo journey down an eerie tunnel that magically appeared in front of me. Nero would scold my recklessness and tell me I have no sense of preservation. Aramis would remind me that this could very well be a trap.

Good thing the boys are not here.

"Three hundred and seventy-five!" I exclaim as I jump off the last step and enter a compact room at what feels like the bottom of the mountain. The round stone wall holds torches that cast a golden glow on the only thing present in the room. A massive wooden door stands before me, fortified with iron fittings.

Before I go to examine the door, a whooshing sound above me anticipates the arrival of the witches in their mewl form. One of them even has Lemon on their back holding on for dear life. The sprites follow close by. Marcelene, Thalia, and Cassara shift into their humanoid forms and I lose a breath, happy to no longer be alone, but the relief is short lived.

"Goddess, Sybil! What happened?" Cassara exclaims, rushing toward me.

"Look at your dress, are you well?" Marcelene follows examining every inch of my body.

"How on Craeweth do you always get yourself into trouble!" Thalia chides, hands on her hips.

I smile at the three witches and at the irony of having found three more people to worry about me. Cassara places her hand where I clutch my ribs, the warmth of her magic seeping through my chemise easing the sharp pain radiating through my side."What is this place?" Marcellene asks no one in particular, eyes wide.

"I'm not sure. I don't remember there being an archway here before." Cassara looks toward her companions. "Thalia?" The third witch shakes her head and I can see her reflexes sharpening, readying herself for a potential threat.

"I got lost. There was this magical projection of a wall and then this hatch door appeared, and I fell. When I opened my eyes, the stones started moving until this archway appeared," I explain, hoping they have answers.

"I've never heard of the library creating passageways into the mountain before." Marcellene runs her hands along the hewn surface of the stone arch.

"This is strange," Cassara interjects, "but there's only one way to find out what's going on." She reaches for the door handle.

Before she can turn it, Thalia grabs her arm. "This could compromise the library's security. We should consult the high priestess."

"Thalia." Cassara's tone is firm but kind. "I say this with love: you have to live a little."

Marcelene's eyebrows raise in shock, and she bites her lip to stop her snicker. The tension is thick between the two witches, but Thalia eventually drops her hand and takes a step back.

The metal squeaks, rust sprinkling to the ground as though the door has not been opened in a century. Cassara pushes against it, the door groans and moves a sliver but doesn't open.

"Well it's not locked, but I'm going to need some help."

We line up, shoulders pressed against the wooden frame as Marcelene turns the handle.

"On my count. One–Two–Three!"

Together, we shove against the door. As it creaks and moans under the force of our shoves, anticipation and relief courses through my veins. With a sudden burst of energy, the door flows open, and we tumble out, a chaotic mess of limbs and bodies colliding on the dirty floor. The impact stirs up a cloud of dust motes, shimmering in the air like tiny stars, creating an ethereal atmosphere in the room.

"I thought the library cleans itself," I cough as I wave the air in front of my face. Lemon jumps to the ground, the sprites clinging to his back.

"It does, but I don't think this is part of the library," Thalia says, offering me a hand up and conjuring a mage light.

I stare around in wonder at the circular room with marble flooring and stone walls. There's twelve ornate pillars running along its circumference, one for each kingdom in Craeweth. A dark blue ceiling littered with golden carvings stands out in stark contrast. I stretch my neck attempting to decipher the drawings in the faint mage lights.

There's a woman at its center, standing in front of a towering mountain. She's wearing a long gown; a crown sits on her brow and her arms are stretched out. An open book sits on either side of her. There are carvings of shifters, symbols of elemental magic all around her and creatures hide in the darker corners.

"This is our history," Marcelene whispers.

I follow the Goddess's gaze down to the center of the room where two twin pedestals stand.They grow from the ground as if born from the mountain itself and as I walk closer to them, I feel energy pulsing off in waves, inviting me to have a look.

"Something used to be here," I say, running my hand across the smooth top of the pedestal on my right, which appears to be free of any dust or debris. Magical energy like the first bloom of spring, or crystalline water sings under my palm. It echoes within me and my magical well feels slightly more replenished. Curious, I move to the second pedestal, but as I extend my hand, I immediately draw back. Searing pain, suffocating hurt, and anger flood my senses, making me seethe.

"What is it?" Cassara asks, coming to stand by me.

"Can't you feel that?" I rub my hand, but the dark feelings seem to have seeped through my very skin.

"I don't feel anything," she replies, glancing at Thalia and Marcelene. They shake their heads too.

"I don't know if we should be here," Thalia whispers, her eyes on the door as if it'll close at any minute.

I look back at the pedestal and then up at the ceiling once again."I think there used to be books kept in here. Ancient, powerful books. I can feel the remnants of their magic when I touch the wood, like they were down here for so long they left an imprint."

Why did you show me this? I ask hoping anyone, the Goddess, the library, or the mountain itself will answer.

"Think, Sybil," I whisper under my breath.

The Goddess. Two books. elementals. shifters. Balance in magic. The library is told to hold immense power. Find the library of Harpalyke.

"Who created Harpalyke?" I ask the witches without glancing back. The clogs in my mind are turning at speed trying to solve this puzzle.

"No one really knows," Marcelene answers, taking a step closer to me. "They say the Goddess gifted it to the white witches at the beginning of time and asked them to protect it."

"What kind of knowledge could have been stored at the beginning of time in this library that needed protection?" I wonder out loud, the air electric. "Unless..."

"Unless there was more to it," Thalia continues, and I turn my gaze in her direction. Her eyes are now lit by the fire of discovery, and I can feel we're close.

"Maybe the library and this whole mountain were created to protect more than the books upstairs." I think back to the fairytales I read as a child about the Goddess. "The first gift the Goddess bestowed upon the people of Craeweth was magic. But raw magic was too unpredictable and chaotic for shifters and elementals to use, so she created balance by dividing it into light magic and dark magic and writing it all down into..."

My eyes raise to the ceiling once again and I feel the witches doing the same, the answer to our question above us.

"Someone must have stolen the books," I whisper, defeated. I was too late, again.

Without realizing, I lean on the pedestals. One hand on each and the rocky base of them starts to crumble.

"Sybil!" Cassara catches me before I fall forward. The tumbling rocks raise a cloud of dust that makes me cough and my eyes sting.

"What's this?" Thalia asks as she scoops down to pick something up from the rubble. I reach for the parchment and I flip the paper over where, drawn with hasty movements, there's a crude dagger stabbing a crimson heart.

"I think this is a clue to find whoever was originally here."