Purpose Kills

Chapter Twenty

   The sound of thundering hooves was all Desarae was able to hear for the entire ride returning to the Jade Heart. The pounding was beat into her skull, and she was relatively rattled. When they came to an unsteady halt at the gates, both horses were panting, covered in sweat, and throwing their heads. It was night, and they had rode fast and hard. The gate had torches held in sconces on posts to light the gate. They had only made stops when they had to. Abraham was at the gate, waiting for them. He had a small smile on his face. It made her tighten her grip on Bijesan's reigns.

"You knew," It wasn't a question. He had known all along that she was this... Thing.

"I did," he answered simply, tilting his head to one side. She jumped off Bijesan, walking towards him. She felt a simmering rage build up inside of her. She had had no warning of what she was, and he had known all along. She could've killed all those townspeople. Luckily, she hadn't, but it was a very real possibility.

"Why?" She asked, deadly calm as she stopped in front of him. He merely smiled at her again, before beckoning her to follow him. He turned his back and began to glide away in a swirl of tan robes. She grit her teeth but obediently followed, her hand clenching into fists at her sides. Orange firelight danced on her skin. Oliver strolled up beside her, his face blank. She felt like an unstable toil of emotions. Since her transformation, her rage was becoming harder to keep in check. She guessed it was a result of the new-found power- and what she could do with it. She quickly schooled her face into a blank sheet of stone, before she remembered he was able to read her mind. She gave up her attempts and scowled. He merely gave her yet another gentle smile, before leading her down a set of stone steps to their immediate left once they entered the temple. She had more questions, but she kept her mouth closed. Despite the fact that he could probably hear them running rampant in her mind. The stone steps kept winding down until they reached a stone landing. Through the open arched stone doorway, the faint glow of lamps lit the room. A soft red rug woven with golden thread in the same design as she had seen on the banner in the dining hall lay still beneath their feet. The owl's piercing eyes bored into the stone ceiling. Rows of bookcases towered above them and cast shadows that were fended off by the occasional lantern that gave off a warm glow in their steel and glass cages.

"This is our library, as you may have presumed," Abraham explained, gesturing a gnarled and wrinkled hand about them. The bookshelves were stacked full with books, and it seemed as if there were many more levels to the library. There was a stone staircase that led downwards, and she could see that faint glow of more lanterns. She nodded quietly at Abraham.

However, her senses became distracted as she felt a piercing gaze on her back. She slowly turned- it was a librarian. Spectacles sat low on his hooked nose, his strong hands folded on his desk as he watched her.

"Kayn, there's no reason to watch our young guest like she's going to set fire to these dusty old books," Abraham chuckled quietly, and Kayn took one last glance at her before returning to the piece of parchment in front of him. He dipped his quill into an inkwell to his left and continued to write. When he got to the center of the parchment, he switched to his right hand. When he got to the end of the parchment, he switched back to his left. Fascinated, Desarae leaned as subtly closer as she could. The writing was in a language she couldn't decipher, the words elegant and swirled. It was not in the common language of the people in this region, nor any she knew of.

She quickly tore her gaze away, looking back at Abraham, who was watching her observations. He nodded as if to tell her that she was correct. He gestured with his wrinkled hand for her to follow him once again. He led her down the set of stairs that she had previously noted, which led down to the next landing. To her left was a massive hole, which became darker and darker as they continued down the staircase that followed the hole. To her right was even more stacks of bookcases on each level. The farther they went down, the more the books looked more worn, and of different, less modern materials. On a stone pillar erected from the floor of each landing, a different marking was carved. It was also followed by several translations in different languages. She found that the next pillar she saw, the books on the landing were Ukian literature. She read two translations that were beneath the marking, they were in Ukian and Asherian, both were languages Desarae was fluent in.

They kept making their way down. It slowly got darker and darker, until they were on one of the lowest levels. The bookcases were in disrepair, the bindings of the books was made of some odd material she didn't recognize. The spines were cracked, and many of the letters on the books were faded. The translations and marking on the pillar were worn and dusty. The Asherian and Ukian translations read: The Lomatskans. When she looked down at the list of other translations, she wasn't surprised that she couldn't read them.

She almost passed it by. But the shock snapped her eyes back. She stared at the bottom translation, and slowly knelt down beside the pillar. She traced her fingers over it. "Us," Desarae whispered, so soft that she was almost certain the old man would be unable to hear it.

"You are correct, Lomatskan Dragis," Abraham answered. The breath rushed out of her lungs. Not once had she seen this before- not once in her lifetime had she seen writing like this. "The Lomatskans inspired the language, and alphabet, of many. Especially the Asherians and Ukians. The Ukians had relations with the Lomatskans. They adapted to their language, and created something similar, but not quite the same. Then, when the Asherians took over, they too adapted to the Ukian language." He smiled at her.

"I have never been exposed to this language in my life. It is not possible that I can read this," Desarae shoved down her shock and awe and put her mask of calm over her face.

"It is said that anyone with Lomatskan blood pulsing through their heart and veins can recognize any part of the Lomatskans. Language included," He explained, watching her stand. He cut her off before she could even open her mouth, "New discovery awaits. Discover it." He pointed a finger towards the stacks of books. Her eyes traced up and down one in particular. A man dressed in armor, ready for battle, had a fainter image of a dragon head over his own. Desarae allowed her feet to take her towards the bookshelf, silent as the cat that watched her from behind another bookshelf farther off, before melting into the shadows unfought by the candles set in the walls.