The Chaos Balance

XLIII

Turning his head from the dusty book, Nylan sneezed. Then, after rubbing his nose, he looked toward the high windows above the shelves, also dusty. The Great Library contained perhaps five hundred volumes-the older ones in scrolled form, the more recent ones in handbound volumes. He shook his head. Five hundred volumes for the greatest collection of written knowledge in the entire land-and most of it was history and myth, rather than an attempt at hard science. The books had been arranged by size and shape, not in any deeper order, and that meant at least thumbing through each one.

The engineer rubbed his forehead, and stifled another sneeze.

Ayrlyn had a pile of books beside her on the table and Weryl on her knee. Before long, Nylan reflected, he should reclaim his son.

The engineer’s eyes went back to the title of the volume in his hand-Concerning the Red Shield of Rohrn. From what he could tell from a quick skimming, the volume centered on the reputed exploits of Rohrn-whose small round shield had turned permanent red from the blood of various miscreants who had attempted to eliminate Rohrn without success.

Nylan’s only problem was that Rohrn seemed to have been a thoroughly disagreeable fellow, who killed people if they even suggested that murder was hardly useful or noble or even, in one case, because an old woman had suggested that the ancient Ceryl might have been as great a warrior as Rohrn. There, Rohrn had been relatively merciful-he’d only killed the old woman and raped her daughter, rather than slaughtering the entire household in the name of his honor as a great warrior.

“How’s it going?” he asked Ayrlyn as he lifted another volume, half-nodding as he saw the title-The Founding of Fyrad and the White Lands.

“Slow. Very slow.” She set down one volume and rubbed her nose. “And dusty. No one’s read some of these in years.”

“Probably not since they were shelved.” Nylan flipped through the opening illustrations, faded into pale outlines, and began to read.

“Some couldn’t have been read before they were shelved,” answered Ayrlyn. “Listen to this.” She cleared her throat. “‘So when the time came, and that time was in the summer in the first year after the death of Ceryl, that being also the first year after the winter when the goats’ milk froze in their udders, Dos betook himself down to the marsh, and he saw the five times five white-legged cranes, and each crane had a silver chain about its neck, except that the mesh of the chains was so fine that it be like spidersilk, and so strong that not even the chisel of a smith might break it, not even the hammers of Clueuntaggt…’” Ayrlyn smiled. “This is one of the more readable ones.”

“I know.”

“Wah-daaa?” asked Weryl.

“In a moment.” Ayrlyn reached for another volume. “Do you think we’ll find anything?”

“I don’t know…hmmm.” Nylan paused. “This is interesting.” He coughed, cleared his throat, and began to read. “Before the white ones crossed the mighty western peaks, all the land was covered by the Great Forest, even unto the Western Ocean.”

“So what’s unusual about that?” Ayrlyn frowned, trying to juggle Weryl on her knee, as she studied the faded ink of the book before her. “Most places are either covered with trees or grass or something. Here it was forest-pretty standard for planoforming.”

“…and few indeed of the first white ones survived the Great Forest. And those who followed were wroth indeed, and turned their mirrors of fire unto the mighty trees that covered the skies, and there were ashes, and much of the Forest died-”

“That does seem odd,” Ayrlyn admitted. “Burning an entire continent, or even a section of it after someone went to all the effort of planoforming it in the first place.”

“How about this?” Nylan cleared his throat again. “Then the White Mightiness wrenched rivers from their courses….” He kept reading. “In time, there were ships without sails, and wagons that rolled themselves from one end of Cyador to the other along the white stone ways that linked Fyrad and Cyad, and the multitude of cities raised from the ashes of the Accursed Forest.” His eyes met Ayrlyn’s.

“Anything about how they worked those wagons-or the ships-are we talking biotech or plain old steam?”

“It doesn’t say. It does say-” He stopped as the library door creaked open.

Zeldyan, carrying Nesslek on her hip, stepped into the dim room.

“Greetings, Regent,” Ayrlyn offered.

“Greetings.” Zeldyan inclined her head to each angel in turn. “Greetings, young Weryl.”

“Daaa…” answered Weryl.

“…oooo…” suggested Nesslek.

“Have you discovered what you sought?” asked the blond regent.

“Perhaps.” Nylan held up the slim volume. “I just found this one, and it talks about the White Mightiness and great wagons that move by themselves, and some mighty weapon that leveled whole forests. The writer calls it the Accursed Forest. So far, it doesn’t say much more. Have you heard of an accursed forest anywhere?”

Zeldyan frowned. “I do not think so. I will ask my sire Gethen. If anyone would know, he might.” She shifted Nesslek to the other hip. “How long might your search through these volumes take?”

Ayrlyn shrugged.

“We can sift through the books today, and find the ones-if there are any-that might help.” In turn, Nylan shrugged. “I couldn’t say how long it would take to study any that have detailed information. No more than a few days, I would guess.”

“A few days?”

“It does take time to read them in detail,” Nylan explained.

“I see.” Nesslek lurched in her arms toward Weryl, and the regent swung her son onto her shoulder before continuing. “I would appreciate your letting us know of what you may discover.”

“We will,” Ayrlyn promised.

After Zeldyan slipped back out of the dusty room, Nylan picked up Weryl.

“Thank you,” said the healer. “It’s hard to concentrate.”

“I know.” Nylan licked his lips. “There’s another thing…you remember that tree dream?”

“What tree dream?” asked Ayrlyn.

“The one where the trees were mixed with both the dark flows-the order fields-and the white chaotic stuff?”

Ayrlyn nodded.

“Well…I had it again, and it seemed really important, almost urgent, but I couldn’t possibly say why.”

“You think the things about the Accursed Forest are linked to your dream? That seems far-fetched.”

“I don’t know. Just keep it in mind. We still haven’t found anything very helpful. If this account is true, Cyador has-or had-higher-level technology, but I can’t tell if it’s myth, order-control, chaos channeling, or steam-powered low-tech.”

“Myth and steam technology, with a bit of that white magic stuff,” suggested Ayrlyn.

“Probably, but let’s keep looking. It can’t take that long to peruse five hundred volumes.”

“It seems that long.” Ayrlyn shook her head. “Most of this is awful. Awful,” she repeated.

Nylan nodded.