The Name of Names

𝔽𝕆𝕌ℝ

Ismira pored over the books, taking everything in. Most of the books were old information with new application, but they were more interesting than anything at Carvahall.

The librarian was snoozing in the corner peacefully. Ismira had put him to sleep sometime before the library was supposed to close, so he wouldn't tell her to get out. Not that he could make her, but he could call the guards to remove her, and she didn't want to make a scene.

And he had his uses while sleeping. She could draw on his energy while in that state, keeping herself awake enough to keep reading.

She stood up, taking a stack of books she had finished skimming to their shelves and putting them back. That was the end of the books she had picked out from this room, but it grated on her nerves that nothing truly new was held here. She walked around the room, studying its contents one last time.

Dipping into her magic, she could feel the lives outside the library moving around. She guessed it was early morning, but didn't know for sure. The librarian's life burned brightly, as well as another life, close to the walls of the building. She watched it move, almost as it it were... pacing. On the street?

It stood still for a moment, and then moved perpendicular to the wall. Stopped. Then turned a right angle and walked for a few more steps. Stopped. And stayed there.

Ismira opened her eyes, gazing at the wall in front of her, and idea sparking. Taking a few steps away from the wall, she scanned it thoroughly. Nothing escaped her gaze. Including a book that looked newer than the rest of them. She grasped it, pulling it out of its place. Behind it, gleaming in the torch light, was a keyhole.

The librarian was a few steps away, and it only took her a few moments to find his ring of keys. Matching one of them to the keyhole was a minute or two's work. She removed the key from the ring, replacing the rest of them.

Anticipation buzzed, setting her senses on edge. The key slid into the lock and she turned it. With a push, the bookshelf moved inward, and Ismira smiled her victory. Now for the life inside.

She darted into the room, and as soon as she saw the figure, she snapped, "Slytha."

The figure didn't stand a chance. They hit the ground, fast asleep by the time Ismira even registered it was a female with dark hair. Closing the door behind herself Ismira walked over to the girl, now sleeping peacefully. A book was sprawled in her hand, and Ismira picked it up, setting it on the table nearby.

The room was small, considering it had to fit within the library without someone questioning where all the space inside the library went. The walls were lined with bookshelves, making it appear as though they were the walls themselves. The table Ismira had set the book on was small as well, maybe two feet square. A burning candle sat on it.

Ismira could tell at least some natural light was getting in. Turning her head up to look at the ceiling, she could see it was pocketed with small, one inch square holes. Enough of them to let light in, though not very much.

"They certainly went through a lot of trouble to keep this place hidden." Ismira murmured. The holes for light were small enough that no one from above should be able to look in and get a good look.

Ismira looked back down, focusing on the book she had just set down. On it, a black dragon was inked, small and in the right hand corner. She picked it back up, flipping open the cover page. A tale of the black dragon and their fight against the queen.

Recent, then. Or very, very old. Judging from the book itself, though, it was new.

Her eyes fell to the words underneath the title. Volume II.

She studied the rest of the books on the table, eyes falling on one with a similar pitch black cover. Picking it up gently, she could tell this book was old.

Volume I? She wondered, flipping open the cover page. The black dragon and their fight for the king. Too similar to be coincidence, although nothing on it stated Volume I.

She slipped into the one chair that sat at the table, turning the next page. The first page was cleaner, newer than the rest, as if it had been added later. The rest of the pages were yellow stained, and the dim lighting made the faded words hard to read. With a breath of impatience, Ismira blew out the dancle.

"Garjzla," She ordered, and a sphere of pure light formed, hovering around her, illuminating the pages with a bluish light.

She began reading.

This account takes place in the reign of the great king Galbatorix. Recorded and collected by Aeneas.

Ismira frowned. She had never heard of the name before.

Before we begin this tale, we must begin with previously undisclosed information. The reasonings of the mad king. Powerful magicians witnessed it in the minds of those who brought about the king's downfall.

The king's destiny was to bring about a controlled world of magic. A world where magicians and non-magicians could live together in peace. Without having unworthy handlers of magic, the whole of Alagaesia could be complete and whole. Perhaps even more than Alagaesia. Perhaps the world.

With that in mind, the king was a strong man, able to take whatever measures were necessary to achieve this end. Whatever measures.

Here it seemed the writer paused with his quill still on the parchment, for a large blot of ink obscured the last few letters of the word measures. But then the script continued on, without any more blots.

What followed was an account of the war, from a new perspective. From the Empire's. From this mysterious writer's. An account of terrible deeds, done to achieve an end. Ismira read on, absorbing as much information as possible. This was fresh and untouched by the bias of victors. The bias of her own uncle and parents.

Ismira couldn't have told how much time passed as she read. The account was fascinating, and she finished the first volume before the figure on the floor began to stir. This is not the place to read.

She stood, tucking the second volume under her arm. The shelves were lined with ancient books, and the sheer volume of them sent shivers down her arms. Her magic stretched out towards them. It wanted to learn.

Taking a few of the books, Ismira slipped out of the room, closing the bookshelf behind her. Setting the key on the table, she slipped out of the library, the librarian still dozing. The sky was light still, or perhaps night had turned into day. Time slips away within closed doors.

Ismira weaved through the crowd, going to the stables where she had left her horse. Giving the stable boy a coin for the keep of her horse, she went to the stall. The books she placed into the satchel, and mounted her horse. While she doubted the librarian would call for the guards to report the theft of illegal books of dark magic, she didn't want to leave anything to assumptions.

Guiding her horse out of the stables, she rode down the street, coming to the gate. She turned the books invisible as the guards looked within her satchel, closing it when they only found a piece of bread, a jar of water, and some clothes.

As soon as they were past the gates, Ismira released the spell. She twisted her head around to look back at the city. Gil'ead had not changed, yet Ismira felt inside herself that there was a change. Of perspective, of purpose. She had been gifted with a great gift of magic. Should she not use it to achieve a greater cause?

Haha, this writing is pretty old considering the fact that I forgot some of this happened 😂 But I'm really enjoying reading this over and seeing what I would have done differently if I had been writing it now!