7. Sybil

Chapter 7

Sybil

W hen I was a little unicorn, merely five years old, my father used to tell me a story. It was always the same, yet I eagerly awaited every sundown just so he could light a candle, tuck me in with the blue wool blanket my mother knitted, and tell me the story of a library lost through time.

Granted, my father was a healer—a man of science not words—so his stories sometimes lacked depth when it came to the heroes and villains. The protagonist was always a little girl with a Starmark above her brow, just like mine, and the villains were always nameless and faceless monsters wanting to destroy everything in their paths for no apparent reason. But there was always one thing in his stories he'd narrate with such care and detail, it made it all worth it: the library.

I remember often thinking what a dream it would be to see the library from my father's stories with my own two eyes. But alas, it was only fiction—or so I thought.

As we venture past the tunnel and into the vast cavern, the air becomes dry and heavy. A palpable aura of power and knowledge wraps itself around me like a cloak and I feel my own well of magic replenishing. Noticing the enthralled expression on my face, Marcelene and Cassara release their hold on my arms. Tentatively, almost afraid to break a spell, I step into the library from my father's stories. My lips part in awe and tears prick at my eyes.

A wide stone staircase carved into the mountain itself curves to connect the platforms above and below. Rows and rows of shelves line the floor, illuminated by bobbing mage lights that cast everything into a golden glow. I move to the edge of the stone railing and take in the sheer magnitude of the room. Hooded figures gracefully carrying stacks of tomes and scrolls walk through the labyrinthine shelves, and I imagine my father amongst them, learning how to save lives and contributing to the community of shifters he loved so much. Leaning over the railing, I peer below, observing how the stairs spiral further down the heart of the mountain. The area is broken into levels with reading areas stretching as far as the eye can see until the darkness engulfs them. Luminescent lichen adorn the entirety of the cavernous dome of the ceiling, resembling a celestial tapestry of hundreds of tiny stars in a vast expanse of stone.

"This is–" I gasp as a winged meowl dives from above to a lower level, a white feather floating in the air in their wake, along with the scent of old wood and well-handled parchment. I inhale deeply as I reach out and pluck the feather from the air.

I hesitate as my hands grip the smooth edge of the stone, polished from years of hands running along its surface. There is so much knowledge contained here within these walls.

There must be thousands of books and scrolls. My hands ache to feel the smooth parchment, eager to run across the velvety leather bindings, savoring the wisdom it holds within. All the questions I have about my ancestors and unicorn magic—questions I never thought I would find answers to—come rushing back. Why did the unicorn lineage end? What is the secret to my magic? How far does my healing power extend to?

I notice a young acolyte with long brown hair peeking from underneath her hood. She is sitting at a long walnut table, feather quill in hand as she notes something down from a big tome, lost in her studies. My hand rests on my chest as I realize it's almost as if I am looking at another Sybil from a different reality. One where she fulfilled her dream of continuing her training as a healer at Nova Esther. A wave of melancholy washes over me, the weight of lost opportunities heavy in my chest. I could have been her, I wanted to be her.

Not be stuck in a war, losing friends…

My breathing stills, chest tight as a silent sob racks my body.

Kela.

I brush away the stray tear running down my cheek. I can mourn her later. Rose sent me here for a purpose and I can't waste a single moment while more shifters suffer at Tricella's hands.

With renewed determination, I turn toward Thalia.

"Take me to the high priestess."

With a nod, Marcelene and Cassara take their posts at my sides again. We're quiet as we follow Thalia down the winding steps, each level slightly cooler than the last as we descend deeper into the mountains. We pass a few other scholars hunched over tables, engrossed in their work, their fingers delicately tracing the intricate text. The silence is broken only by the soft rustling of pages and the occasional creaking of the wooden ladders that lean against the bookshelves. It's a comforting sound, like the library itself is breathing, its vast knowledge pulsating through its veins. The warmth this place emits is a stark contrast to the pressing urgency to find the answers I seek.

I feel a profound sense of belonging, as if I have discovered a part of myself that was missing. The scent of the library fills my lungs and I feel at peace, yet at the same time, I know this is not where I am meant to be. If this were a different time and place, this could have been my home—the family I longed for. But now, my family has blue eyes, a bit of a temper and a golden heart.

We step onto a landing not of shelves but halls and doors, and Thalia comes to an abrupt stop.

"Wait here. Do not let her wander. I will inform the high priestess," Thalia says before knocking on the first wooden door.

"Enter," a voice calls. Thalia slips inside. There is deep murmuring in the room before the door opens again and Thalia gestures for us to enter.

The room, another cave carved into the body of the mountain, is richly decorated in teal and bronze. In the center of the room boasts a shallow bowl of beaten metal, filled to the brim with iridescent liquid, whose surface glimmers in the mage lights bobbing the perimeter of the room. Behind, a female sits, her body covered in flowing white robes stark against her rich brown skin. Her dark hair peppered with barely visible gray curls around her high cheekbones through her hood. It's her eyes that stand out to me as she stares toward me. Milky white covers her entire pupil and iris.

"Come, child," she says, lifting a hand and gesturing toward me with her long fingers adorned with silver rings. I feel the pull of magic in the command of her words, my feet moving on their own accord. I kneel before her and bow my head respectfully.

"I am Daniela, Clan Leader of the meowls and High Mother to the Coven of the white witches."

Moments pass in silence as she observes me. I can sense the power emanating from her and know that behind her calm and composed exterior hides a force to be reckoned with—a warrior, just like the other witches in the coven.

"Thalia says they've caught a thief–" she begins.

"I am no thief!" I cry in defense, pushing to my feet, but she lifts her hand. The corners of her lips turn up as her eyes lift to my brow. I consciously raise a hand to the faint star.

"We've been waiting for you," she says.

I look into her peculiar eyes and freeze, an odd feeling settling deep in my stomach. Ever since the night Aramis came rushing through my door in the middle of the night in my little cottage, I've felt as if I were a puppet whose strings were maneuvered by something I could not understand, something that scared me. And now, standing in front of the high priestess of the white witches, that feeling has returned, but I am not afraid. If they were waiting for me, it means I am on the right path. That whatever is pulling my strings—whether the Goddess or destiny itself—wants me here to save my people and destroy Tricella.

"What do you mean?" I ask and keep pace as she gestures to us to follow.

"Harpalyke was built by the first scholars of Shadowvale, as far back as our records indicate," coven mother Daniella says as we make our way down another spiraling set of stone steps. "Originally, it was a temple to the Goddess Alpheaia but was expanded to hold the knowledge and bloodlines of elementals and shifters throughout the centuries."

My heart leaps in my chest. Could they have records of my family? Distant unicorn shifter relatives?

"But, how did you know I was coming?"

"Rarely, meowl children are born with the gift of prophecy." She steps out onto the platform and lifts her hood back, revealing white hair plaited into a crown around her head. Smiling, she turns her milky white eyes in my direction.

"When I was an acolyte, training to follow in my mother's footsteps, the Goddess blessed me with a vision." She squares her shoulders and crosses her arms behind her back. "I was only a young witch at the time, but I knew it would change everything. I saw a war born out of greed, shifters and elementals brutally ending each other's lives, and then another threat, black and deadly, made of the darkest shadows on this continent. Mind you, Sybil Vandeleur, I saw this at a time of peace, so you can imagine how heartbreaking that must have been, knowing that peace had counted days."

I notice Thalia shifting uncomfortably on her feet in the corner of my eye. She had been shocked at the news of the looming war outside this mountain, had Daniela kept it a secret from the other witches?

"Nevertheless," Daniela continues, pacing the floor and coming closer to me. "The Goddess did not leave me drowning in despair because among that plague of darkness befalls the land, she showed me a healer." Daniela extends her index finger and lifts my chin in her direction.

"Young and beautiful, with a Starmark upon her brow, she will emerge with the light of Harpalyke and reunite the people."

At a loss of words, I mutter, "You think I'm that healer?"

She nods to my forehead. "A healer guided by Nordfeu."

"The northernmost star," I whisper, and a tingle of apprehension runs along my skin. "But–"

"You do not need to see, to know. I can feel the aura of your magic." She lifts a hand in an arch. "How can the library of Harpalyke and the white witches help you in your mission, Sybil Vandeleur?"

Why have I come?

I steel myself, my thoughts straying to the shifter families in the dungeons and Tricella's plans.

"I seek knowledge and training with the white witches of Harpalyke to help defeat the Queen of Shadowvale and free the shifters. The queen consort, Tricella, has the kingdom enthralled under her dark magi–"

"Dark magic is forbidden, child. Any records of it have long since been destroyed or locked away under our most powerful spells and constant supervision." She shakes her head, hands clasped before her. "It is unlikely Tricella has found a way to learn how to access the darkness in the magical balance. We all harbor a touch of darkness within us to ensure balance is upheld, as the Goddess herself wished it, but it's not enough to enthrall an entire kingdom"

"Then, how do I defeat her? What did the prophecy say? How do I triumph?" Frustration laces my every word. I throw my arms wide as I grit my teeth together.

"Prophecies are fickle things, child. They show you glimpses of the future with no knowledge of the how and the why of it all."

I slump in my chair defeated, feeling like I am going in circles. The thought of waltzing into these halls and finding all the answers I needed was na?ve. The exhaustion of the last couple of days dawns on me, and all I want to do is crawl into a bed and disappear.

"Yet," she continues, "you sought out Harpalyke. The library felt your intentions and let you in. Only those with true intent to learn, or brought by one of the scholars, can gain easy access. The library has its own defenses, but it is not impenetrable."

Her gaze, deep and unfathomable, lingers on me as she softly hums. "If you're here, it's because the Goddess willed it. We will offer you shelter and help you gain access to the knowledge contained in this library. That is all we can do. We are sworn protectors of the library, and as such, we have a duty to remain neutral in this conflict to protect the histories."

Shaking my head, I swallow the hysterical laugh bubbling inside me. "With all due respect, you live by a codex that allows tyrants to kill innocent children whilst you hide between the pages of books. Knowledge is useless if there's no one left to share it with." Desperation claws at my throat, my voice cracking and straining, a desperate plea for help. Daniela's milky gaze holds mine in an iron grasp, but I struggle to read her. Have I compromised everything?

"Sybil," Marcelene says, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder, and I feel my strength waver. "Even if we wished to give you the knowledge you seek, that is not how the library works, this place is... unique."

I stop myself from rolling my eyes, tired that everything is never as simple as it seems.

"Acolytes study for years before beginning their training," Marcelene continues. "Rest assured, we will do everything we can to find the answers you seek."

"I don't have time to read every book in this library. People are relying on me. Every moment I waste, she becomes stronger," I say, massaging my throbbing temples.

"How about we start by getting you cleaned up and fed?" Cassara says gently, looking to the high priestess for confirmation.

Daniela nods and goes to sit again. "I must consult with the coven leaders about what's to be done. Witches, take care of our guest, and Sybil, don't lose hope."

"You'll be sharing this room with Marcelene and me for as long as you're here," Cassara states, pushing open the door. She gestures toward the bed closest to the door before placing my bag on a small wooden chest by the foot of a bed.

"Thank you," I say, gazing about. The room is small but cozy, with stone walls and a soft glow emanating from the mage lamp on the nightstand. The beds are simple yet comfortable, each adorned with a fluffy pillow and a neatly folded blanket. The room feels inviting, a peaceful sanctuary after long days of travel.

"There is a large natural hot spring deeper in the mountain, study rooms, and a common dining area for main meals. Many of the scholars keep odd hours, so most of us just eat when we can," Marcelene says with a shrug.

"How do you get food delivered this deep into the mountain?" I ask, gently stroking Lemon's head in my pocket.

"We have a greenhouse where we grow most of our food and house chickens. We don't have a kitchen, though. The library is enchanted to provide necessities, but it can get peevish if you get too particular," she says as she bounds out the door and down the corridor, leaving Marcelene and me to follow.

"Oh," I whisper in amazement. "So when you said that the library is unique, it's because of the enchantment?" I stop in the middle of the hall and peer around.

"Exactly! I thought you'd caught up with that? How else would we have kept the location of this huge labyrinth a secret? Did that spider hit you upside the head too hard? Come on, I'm starving."

"So, how did you end up here?" I ask the witch tentatively, hundreds of questions on the tip of my tongue.

She laughs, the corners of her eyes crinkling up. "I was born here and have been here my entire life. My mother is one of the elder scholars, as was my grandmother before her. I am training in all arts of magic, language, and history to take my place on the council one day. My strength lies in the magical objects and my shifter abilities, so I often guard the tunnels leading to the library. This way," she says, gesturing to the left.

"How do you not get lost down here?" I ask, trying to keep count of the white washed doors set evenly spaced into the pale stone walls.

"You get used to it," Marcelene says with another shrug as we turn the corner that opens up to a large room filled with rows upon rows of shelves crammed with books. We come to a low set table clustered by plush chairs and couches. "Lunch first, then we will get cleaned up and search the library for more information."

"Thank goodness, I'm famished." Cassara settles into her seat. My eyes widen as a plate of sandwiches, a steaming pot of tea, and small cups materialize on the table.

"How–"

"The library," they reply in unison.

"Now, sit down. You look like you're one bite away from fainting, you're so pale," Cassara says around a mouthful of sandwich.

As I sink into the cushions, I take a bite, feeling the delicate bread dissolve against my tongue, releasing a harmonious mix of flavors. An involuntary groan of pleasure escapes my lips.

"This is delicious," I say, taking a sip of the steaming tea Cassara offers. "How does it work?"

"The library? All you have to do is ask for what you need, but it's often intuitive and picks up before you even know what you want."

"Well, color me impressed. I've never met an enchanted building before, let alone one who is such a superb cook." I reach toward the plate of sandwiches when a bowl of chocolate-covered strawberries and a plate of scones appear before me.

"Why, don't you look at that!" Cassara squeals, clapping her hands together. "It must like you. I've only ever gotten a treat on holidays and my birthday!"

Her words are lost on me as I stare at the warm scones. The tea goes cold in the pit of my stomach, and tears prick my eyes. I don't deserve to be here, surrounded by such friendly company and filling up on such good food.

"What's wrong?" Marcelene asks, concern etched on her face.

"I–" My throat constricts, and I push the plate away, burying my head in my hands. "I appreciate your hospitality, but I can't sit here, pretending everything will be okay. Tricella wants me. She wants my power, but she won't stop there even if she has me."

A stack of velvety linen napkins materializes on the table, their delicate texture inviting to touch. Overwhelmed by the gentle gesture, tears stream down my face.

"You've had a rough journey, Sybil, but you're safe here."

A hiccup escapes as I dab at the tears streaming down my face.

Safe.

I thought I was safe once.