Young Writers Society

Author's Note: I was expecting this chapter to be a cute exploration of the room Orpheus led Cass to, but it looks like my book decided to surprise me once again. This chapter should finally touch on what's up with Orpheus and Kartiel magic-wise, and also explain why Ikach is so important to the plot of the novel.

I hope you enjoy reading it as much I enjoyed writing it!

Words: 1,607

Last Line(s): And then she gasped.

The room was easily the largest that she had seen so far—even the throne room was dwarfed by its sheer size. It was so large that it likely took up two floors instead of one, a little staircase leading to the second level beside the entrance. But it wasn't the size that filled her with delight; it was what was contained inside of the beautiful room that made a smile begin to stretch across her face.

For as far as her eye could see, bookcases filled the room.

They lined the walls, crossed from one side of the room to the other in broken lines, and even were present on the second level. The bookcases in the center of the room were at least twice her height. The ones lining the walls were even taller, at least three times her height or maybe even more. The books all had a variety of sizes and designs—they made the shelves look like uneven rainbows.

And above it all was a ceiling painted to look like the night sky. When Cass managed to tear her gaze away from the beautiful array of books, she realized that the ceiling wasn't just a regular painting. It moved, the stars slowly making their way across the sky in vaguely familiar constellations as the occasional shooting star shot across the sky.

“This is the library,” Orpheus said from a short distance ahead of her. Another shooting star shot across the ceiling; this one burned a brilliant shade of blue. Even though she was occupied with watching the ceiling and couldn't see his face because of the hood, anyways, she could hear the hint of a smile in his voice. “It's one of my favorite places in the entire castle.”

She finally looked back at him.

“I've never been in a library like this before,” she said. Awe filled her voice as she took a hesitant step forward. She wanted to learn all of its secrets—did Telorum's libraries have a different cataloging system than Earth's? What would their fiction be like? Did they have stories about heroes and knights in shining armor, or was their fantasy more akin to her realistic fiction?

“You like reading, too?” Orpheus asked.

She gave an eager nod, eyes already scanning the shelves. “I've loved reading since I was little,” she said. “I checked out so many books from the town library that my mom had to put a limit on how many I could get—we couldn't carry them all in the bag we brought.”

Orpheus followed her as she started to wander through the center aisle. “Reading was my escape,” he said. He said something underneath his breath that she couldn't fully make out. When she turned, she saw that he had extended a hand up. She didn't want to come off as intrusive and ask why, but she didn't have to. A moment later, a book floated off of the nearby shelf. She watched it gently float across the air with wide eyes. Its journey stopped when its spine reached Orpheus's hand.

“...Do all of the books do that?” she asked.

He lowered his hand and slipped the book in between his chest and his other arm. “They don't.” He looked back up at the shelf. “It would be cool if they did.”

“Then how did you do that?”

He glanced back over at her. “I used my magic.”

Now she looked over at the shelf, trying to figure out how he could have possibly used it without her noticing. There hadn't been the same warmth that she had felt whenever Lira used her magic, and there hadn't been any visible signs of darkness. But then she was suddenly struck by a pang of guilt; she shouldn't have been getting so excited over darkness magic. Her shoulders slumped, and she hurriedly turned back to Orpheus.

“I didn't see the darkness,” she quietly said.

“I don't have darkness magic,” he said, his tone now soft and hesitant. She stared—Lira had told her that he had magic just like hers. Why would she lie about something like that? “I...I know you do. It's not a bad thing. But the rest of the Partex...”

“They think it's a curse,” she whispered.

“...Yeah.” His shoulders slumped as well, and his gaze dropped down to the carpeted floor. “It's been like that since before I was born. I...Kartiel and I are people they don't like. They're scared of us. It would make sense for us to have the magic they fear the most.”

She curled her hands into fists, digging her fingernails into her palms—maybe the pain would stop the tears starting to form in her eyes. “You're a general magic user,” she guessed. “You cast spells.”

He gave a small nod. “I do.”

“That's useful, right?” Another nod. “I-I remember Lira telling me about your magic.”

Orpheus didn't say anything for a moment; he just curled his hands into his fists and continued to stare at the ground. When he finally did speak, his voice was much quieter than before, and it almost sounded like he was on the verge of tears.

“People like me are enchanters,” he said. “We create the minor things that let entire kingdoms run—the lamps, tools, and even little charms that help you with household chores. I'm still learning, but...”

She hesitated. She wanted to ask him what was wrong, but they barely knew each other—he didn't even seem like he wanted to address it. Maybe he wasn't as good at his magic as he wanted to be, and he couldn't be as helpful as he wanted? She tried to change the subject in the hopes that it would diffuse the situation without her having to actually address the cause for Orpheus's suddenly somber tone.

“Kartiel has healing magic,” she said.

Orpheus looked up.

“...I never heard about that when I was learning about the magic in your world,” she continued.

Orpheus started moving down the aisle again; Cass wasted no time in going to his side and following him through the towering bookcases. “Healing magic is rare—humans don't have it.” When he looked over at her and seemed to notice the confused expression, he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “Your souls can't handle it. Healing magic is a connection between one soul and another. When he heals someone, Kartiel is channeling his magic into their soul, giving it the energy it needs to heal their body.”

There was a pause.

“My sister was a healer, too,” he softly added.

“...Oh.”

He awkwardly cleared his throat. “So, uh, what do you want to read about? Not now, but later? Or it could be now, if that's what you prefer.” The cough he gave a second later sounded suspiciously forced. “I can recommend some good books on how magic works here, but I can also find you other ones if nonfiction isn't your cup of tea.”

She looked at the shelves, then back at him. “Can you show me where the stories are?”

“I can.”

He abruptly took a turn down a new aisle, and she hurried on after him. Though the library's aisles were simple in design, the room's size made it a seemingly unending maze. They eventually came to a stop on the other side of the library. The shelves didn't look any different than the ones that she had seen in the other section of the library, and none of the books looked particularly different. She couldn't even see a different label. But this had to be the right place—Orpheus was leaving her for a nearby armchair, his book in tow.

She looked back at the impressive shelf.

“All of the nearby shelves have stories in them,” he said from his seat. When she glanced over at him for a brief second, she saw that he already had his head in the book. “Telorum values all kinds of literature, fiction or nonfiction. If there's something you're looking for, you can find it here—it just might take some time to.”

She stared at the vast array of books before her. As she read the spines in the hopes that a title would jump out at her, her mind wandered back to the earlier part of their conversations. She waited a few more minutes before gathering the courage she needed to address the topic.

“You know who Lira is,” she said. She had heard him flipping a page before she spoke; now the noise suddenly ceased, as if it had been so surprised by the comment that he had stopped in the middle of the action. “How do you know her?”

There was a brief moment of awkward silence.

“She's Ikach's daughter,” he finally replied. “Everyone in Telorum knows who the two of them are.”

Hand resting on a book, she turned to stare at him. “Why would everyone know who the mayor of Rey is?”

Now Orpheus was staring at her from underneath the shadows of his hood. “He wasn't always a mayor,” he said. He straightened in the armchair, the book forgotten in his lap. “I...I've heard that he likes to talk about his time here as an adviser.”

“He does-”

She suddenly fell silent, understanding dawning on her. Everything began to make sense—the impressive mayoral palace, his position as mayor, his interest in the lockets compared to everyone else in Rey, why she felt like Kartiel never made it past the palace's front gates, and why she felt such a feeling of betrayal whenever she had looked at Ikach.

He was the adviser who had killed the last king.