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I don’t hesitate and set to work before she can bark out another command.
I glance down at the first book in my arms. ‘The Origins of Medeicus, the Arcane Language of Magic, by Alward Brayton’is scrawled onto its cover in cursive script.
I scurry over to the right wing of the library which contains books concerning the languages of Imyria. Besides Medeicus, the Grand Library is home to books on the different Elvish dialects of Lumaria, Alanor, and Fenyr Forest; the human languages of Selynis, Valka, and Tirith—though the latter’s is also known as Common; and the Orcish tongues of both Jektar and Dromgar. Even the holy language of the Selynian Priestesses is featured in our books.
The only language which can’t be found inside the Grand Library is Abyssal, the dark tongue of demons.
But long ago, our shelves would have been filled with grimoires of forbidden magic. Over a thousand years ago, when Nolderan was first established, the original magi hadn’t shied away from practicing dark magic.
That was until the Lich Lord arose, a former Archmage of Knowledge. His quest to eradicate all life from Imyria almost succeeded.
Since then, Nolderan has strictly forbidden all forms of dark magic.
Or at least, that’s what my History tutors have spent the last two years lecturing me about.
I scan across the nearest bookshelves, looking for where this one on Medeicus is supposed to go, but I only find books on Orcish and Elvish here.
My search takes me deeper into the Grand Library’s right wing, and I pass a book with beautiful illustrations painted onto its cover. It depicts the shadowy trees and ever twinkling stars of Lumaria, the land of eternal night where the moon elves dwell.
I set aside the three heavy books I’m carrying, and my fingertips trace over the artwork. Even my mother would be jealous of the artist who painted this cover. With how lovely these illustrations are, I can only imagine how breath-taking Lumaria is itself.
Unfortunately, I have yet to visit. The Magi of Nolderan have little to do with the elven continent of Belentra, despite the moon elves having taught the first magi how to wield the aether in the air and in their blood. Our broken relationship with Lumaria is because the Lich Lord was once an Archmage of Nolderan and they blame us for his crusade against the living. My History teachers mentioned that the relationship between Nolderan and Lumaria became strained after that.
While my father receives ambassadors from all over the world, including even a few orcish Stormcallers who come from the lands beyond the three human kingdoms, I have only heard of him meeting one Lumarian ambassador.
It was five years ago, shortly after my father banished Heston for practicing necromancy. I suppose that’s what Lumaria wanted to discuss, especially since they distrust us after what happened a thousand years ago.
I sneaked inside the Arcanium—a bold move considering this was long before I became an adept—and waited outside my father’s meeting room all day for a glimpse of the Lumarian ambassador. She stood so tall that she dwarfed even my father. Her dusky purple skin shimmered like crystals, and her long silver hair billowed like streams of moonlight.
And her eyes were nothing like ours. Her eyes shone much brighter, her iridescent irises glowing with blues and purples. Her appearance captivated me so greatly that I forgot I was supposed to be hiding. My father scolded me for sneaking into the Arcanium, but I didn’t regret it. Glimpsing a moon elf for the first time was more than worth suffering his fury.
Footsteps sound from behind, snapping me from my daydream. I glance back, but I can’t tell whose they are. Nonetheless, I retrieve my stack of books from the nearby shelf. Just in case it’s Erma, already checking on my progress.
I peer at the books in my arms. The cursive letters of ‘The Origins of Medeicus’stare back at me.
I swallow. I’ve not yet returned a single book, and there are dozens to work through. If I don’t hurry, Erma will soon be informing my father of my idleness. And then I will be granted a punishment far worse than assisting Erma or being suspended for a month.
Whatever that might be.
The books on the history of Medeicus, the language of magic which magi speak to invoke their spells, lie at the far end of this aisle.
I tilt back my head and examine the highest shelf. The books are arranged alphabetically, and authors with surnames beginning with ‘A’ and ‘B’ can be found at the very top. There’s a gap between two tomes which looks the same width as this book’s spine. Since I can see no other such gaps, that must be where this book lives.
I lift ‘The Origins of Medeicus’in one hand and balance the rest of the books in my other. “Atollo.”
Violet light envelops the book and raises it to the very top shelf. The magic fades as the book slots into place.
I watch it for a moment, hoping that my spell was accurate enough and that the book won’t lose balance and come tumbling down.
It doesn’t.
I turn on my heel and continue on, traveling to the next section of the library.
Though I return the next two books faster than the first, I soon realize a more efficient method is required. Or else it will take until midnight to tidy away all the other books.
I return to the Grand Library’s main chamber and set to work with categorizing the stack of books. The steady thud of Erma’s stamp sounds behind me. I half expect her to complain that I’m wasting time, but she doesn’t.
When I finish organizing the tomes, I gather as many geographical books as I can carry and hurry over to those shelves.
