Sacred Kindling
The door opened wider, and Raven stepped through. He immediately threw up his hands, palms out. “I have no idea what that board would do if you decided to impale me, especially since I’m here only through the courtesy of a bond with you.”
I dropped the board. “What are we supposed to do next?” The words came out as barely a whisper.
Then the door behind him yanked open wide.
Two women in robes entered, each with a slightly different variant of the bind rune tattoo. Kerosene lanterns burned high in their hands.
“I told you,” one said to the other, “I thought I saw someone come in here. Can’t you feel him?”
The other nodded. “Them. Two presences, two energy signatures. As if we wouldn’t notice.”
I pressed myself against the rough wooden wall. These women weren’t members of the faction we’d seen earlier. Embroidered with symbols I didn’t recognize, their robes flowed loose around their ankles. The symbols were circles connecting to circles, like chains of light.
The taller one had pale hands that sparked faintly blue at the fingertips, while the shorter one had a streak of silver running through her dark hair that caught the lantern light like a mirror. They stalked through the shed with the confidence of predators.
“They’re probably part of Jaryx’s faction, Sister. Caught one of their wolves on the property a few nights ago.”
The lanterns swung in wide arcs as they searched. For the first time, I could see the interior clearly.
It was filled with old books.
Books upon books upon books. Their spines mildewed and charred in places, stacked in spiraling patterns that made no logical sense. The unmistakable smell of old paper, leather bindings, and something else—blood—filled my nostrils. The old scars beneath my cuffs tingled. My wrists woke up as if the books recognized me.
I spotted titles I knew should be impossible: The Chronicles of the Moonless Night, a volume I knew for a fact was locked in Dru’s most secure vault, sat atop a stack of untitled black journals. Next to it, a book bound in what looked like tree bark, its title written in a language that seemed to shift as I tried to read it.
Our very own hidden Library of Daegan.
Reverence and dread filled me. This was sacred ground—a collection that should have been protected, studied, honored. But these women moved through it like soldiers through a battlefield, seeing only threat and opportunity.
I didn’t recognize either of the women.
Raven’s voice reached me silently, something that happened between us on rare occasion.
Remain perfectly still. I have a protective bubble around you, but I can’t hold it for long. Just clear your mind and make your presence as small as possible.
“Hail, Caeryx,” one of the women muttered. Her voice had an edge like broken glass. She moved to a spot just inches from where I stood frozen. “Did you feel that? It was like one of them was right here. And now I can only sense one.”
Caeryx, the one with silvered hair, frowned. “I felt a presence. But was it truly a person, or just the reverberation of a spell?” Dust trailed behind her fingers as she ran them along a nearby shelf. “The magic in this place has been disturbed.”
“You’re too skeptical,” the taller one scoffed. “Always looking for rational explanations. The High Priestess didn’t elevate you for your caution, Sister.”
“And she didn’t elevate you for your blind faith, Merryx.” Caeryx turned suddenly. Her gaze swept across the shed, across me. Our eyes locked for one heart-stopping moment. She tilted her head, brow furrowing.
I stopped breathing.
She blinked. Her head shook slightly. Then she looked away.
A glance passed between them before they spoke in unison: “It’s bigger magic than either of us has. We should wait for the High Priestess to arrive.”
The sound of chain and padlock followed their retreat.
I turned to Raven. “Why didn’t you put me in a bubble earlier?”
He shrugged. “Didn’t think about it then. I thought leading them away would be better.”
In any case, we needed to hide somewhere else. We agreed on that much. The High Priestess would arrive soon enough.
“Raven, how much longer do you think we have? Before The Wards of Braided Light expire?”
Grave shadows played across Raven’s face in the dim light filtering through the slats. “Hours. Maybe less now. Every shift makes it harder to hold onto who we are, where we’re from.”
“What happens when it’s gone?” The question had been haunting me since our first shift. “Do we forget everything? Do we become part of this world?”
“You keep asking me that. I don’t know.” He pushed his hair back from his forehead. “I might cease to exist entirely. I’ve been erased here, remember? And you…” He couldn’t finish the thought.
“I might be erased too,” I said, completing what he couldn’t. “Or worse—I might become whatever version of me exists in this timeline.”
He let go of a long breath, and the extra layer of protective energy around me popped.
“I can’t maintain a bubble for long if they come back. Not while we’re under The Wards of Braided Light. I don’t know what a spell within a spell might do to the Wards. At this point, I didn’t think it could get worse, but I also don’t want to be proven wrong.”
I tested the walls, running my hands along the rough wood, searching for loose boards. Raven examined the corners where the foundation met the walls.
“None of these cracks are big enough,” I said, peering through a gap between slats. “We can see out, but we can’t get out.”
Complete darkness surrounded us inside—not enough light remained to see the books properly.
However, we could make out some of the cracks and holes in the wall of the shed, as long as the sun outside hadn’t completely set.
Or risen? The skies kept changing, but did that mean time was changing, too? I no longer had any idea if we were ending the day or starting the new one or something in between.
“Raven,” I pleaded, “we’ve got to get out of here—or we’ll run out of time on our spell before we figure out what to do next. I’m sorry to keep saying it. My anxiety is spiking.”
Of course, it was. I just didn’t usually say it out loud.
“Let’s wait a little longer,” Raven suggested. “See if they move on.”
“All right,” I agreed.
Huddled together for warmth, I found myself reaching for one of the books—a small volume bound in green leather that reminded me of one I’d studied with Emry. My fingers brushed the spine, and for a moment, I could almost hear Emry’s voice explaining the sigils etched into its cover.
A strange metallic smell filled the air. The light flickered, and my stomach lurched as if I’d stepped off a cliff. The book under my fingertips dissolved like smoke, replaced by something cold and cylindrical.
The cracks and remnants of sunset twisted before our eyes. We were still in the shed, but now half of it was missing, and none of the books remained.
My hand now rested on a jar of pickled green tomatoes. I stared at it. The loss hit me hard—not just books, but history, knowledge, power, all gone in an instant. The jar shook in my grip.
“The shifts are getting more abrupt,” I whispered. “And it’s making me sick.”
Only oversized cans of fruit and glass jars of vegetables remained.
“Come on,” I said. “Things have shifted again. We can get out of here now.”
We snuck out of the shed, but the compound’s fence proved too secure—reinforced metal with barbed wire. Raven and I approached carefully. A teen boy sat on the wall with a rifle, taking the night watch. Two large dogs prowled the perimeter, their noses in the wind.
A faint vibration hummed through the air as we neared the fence. The tiny hairs on my arms stood on end. The metal seemed to shimmer slightly, as if laced with dormant enchantments.
“There’s magic in it,” I breathed. “Can you feel that?”
“Old protection wards,” Raven confirmed, keeping his voice low. “They’ve adapted what they remember of the priesthood rituals to their survival needs.”
One of the dogs suddenly alerted. Its head swung in our direction. Hackles rising, it stared directly at Raven. A low growl rumbled from its throat.
“I thought they couldn’t see you!”
“The ritual protection might only work on human senses.” Raven didn’t move a muscle. “I’ve never tested protection spells with animals. Dogs and cats have always been more sensitive to the unseen.”
The second dog joined the first, both now fixated on Raven. The boy with the rifle noticed, peering into the shadows where we stood as the skies flickered between day and night.
“Time to go,” Raven muttered.
We slipped into an outer room of one of the larger outbuildings that was still mostly intact. The sound of voices grew louder—more arrivals. We ducked behind a stack of crates just as footsteps approached the doorway.
The shifting had stopped. For the first time in hours, the world felt stable around us. I exhaled slowly, allowing myself a moment of relief.
I hid in a closet. Raven slipped in beside me. Both of us peeked through the slats.
A group of the faction entered. One late-arriving member brought in a bottle of water, which made the room buzz with excitement.
The closet was cramped, smelling of mildew and leather. Through the cracks in the door, we could see a dozen people gathering in the candlelit room. The shadows made their faces look gaunt, hungry. Outside, boots crunched on broken glass—more arrivals.
A pre-adolescent girl asked if they might drink it or use it in a ritual, but the priest who carried it grunted. “We can still purify rainwater from the pool, but this? This bottle’s never been opened. It’s currency.”
The girl nodded solemnly. She couldn’t have been more than eleven, but her eyes held the wariness of someone much older. A thin silver chain glinted around her wrist—a smaller version of the binding marks the adults wore.
The priest pointed out something else they’d brought back in their scavenging—a bundle wrapped in cloth. He unwrapped it slowly. “Three books. Traded for two rabbits.”
The girl lit up. She couldn’t read well but lifted each one curiously. Before touching them, she lit a small candle. What sounded like a chant whispered from her lips, her small hands cupped around the flame. When she finished, she touched the first book with reverence that belied her youth.
The first was about agriculture. She asked if they needed it since she was already good at growing potatoes behind the barn.
The man laughed gently. “It may hold something we don’t already know. What we don’t use, we burn.”
“Burn?” The girl seemed shocked, despite her youth. “Even books with knowledge?”
“Knowledge can be dangerous,” the man said softly. “One man opened a book and forgot his own name. Another walked into the fire willingly. The books remember things we can’t afford to know.”
Celtic knots and mazes wound across the second book’s cover.
I gasped but clapped my hand over my mouth just in time.
The Lost Teachings of Dead Monks. The same book Dru had sent Charlie and me to retrieve from Ireland, on the assignment where Charlie had proposed to Rune. The same assignment where I’d met Raven for the first time.
The girl opened it. Her finger traced the lines.
“Don’t touch these books without permission,” the man said sharply. “They’re more than books.”
“Fire starters?” the girl asked, half-joking.
“That, too,” the man replied. “But they can be dangerous.”
The candlelight danced across the pages. The patterns seemed to move. Wax dripped onto the cover, sealing over one of the knots. I thought of Dru, carefully handling ancient texts with gloved hands, preserving them for generations to come. Here, these sacred objects were fuel for survival, nothing more.
She pulled out the third book. The cover was leathery, almost alive with embedded sigils. She flipped it open, but the man snatched it away quickly.
Raven whispered, “The Book of Time.”
I glanced at him questioningly—then gasped softly. In the brief moment I’d seen inside, the pages had appeared mostly blank except for a few basic drawings that made no sense—a crude sword, a simple tree. We watched the man tear out one of the blank pages.
He rolled it slowly into a twisting paper tube.
Raven’s voice was hushed. “It’s no use to us. That book only moves people backward—one at a time—within this timeline. Not across to ours.”
“They’re burning the future,” I said quietly. “The Daeganean books are the key to surviving what’s coming, and they’re burning the future just to keep the cold away.”
The man touched the rolled page to the fire.
The paper darkened, curling in on itself. As the flames consumed it, I saw—or thought I saw—a flicker of something in the fire. An image, there and gone so fast I couldn’t be sure: a child running through tall grass under a blue sky. A moment of peace. A tomorrow that would never come.
Then, nothing but ash, drifting into the darkness.
I pressed my forehead against the wall.
The wood was cool against my skin. My eyes burned with unshed tears—not for myself or even for Raven, but for these people—for what they’d lost and what they’d never know they’d lost. For a world where sacred books became kindling and the future was sacrificed for one more night of warmth.
There was no more magic in this room. Just survival.
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