Gadrill's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Gadrill had read the book of Aetheria ten thousand times, but this morning it would not open. He knelt in the roots of the great tree, the book heavy in his lap. One sealed chapter remained inside it, the last secret of this world. He needed to read it before his memory failed. Already he forgot the names of old friends. Soon he would forget the letters themselves. The book had grown cold. Its cover felt like river stone. Gadrill pressed his thumbs to the edge and pulled. Nothing moved. The pages held shut, as if a hand inside gripped them closed. His robes, woven from the soil and moss of Aetheria, hung loose on his thin arms. He had made those robes when his hands were strong. Now they shook. "Open," he said. "Please. I have so little time left." The book stayed cold. Gadrill looked up at the tree that sheltered him. Its bark glowed with pale light. Stars seemed caught in its high green leaves. Bright veins ran up its trunk like rivers of magic. Old people said this was the warmest place in Aetheria, where the world's first magic still lived. He had come here hoping the tree would help him read. Gadrill placed the cold book against a thick root. The root was warm. Warmth crept into the cover under his palms. He understood then. The book was not fighting him. It was empty. Years of reading had drained it, and the last chapter needed strength he no longer had. He pressed the book harder to the glowing root. "Give it what I cannot," he whispered. Light from the veins slid across the cover. The stone-cold surface warmed. The clasp trembled. Gadrill held his breath and did not move. The book opened. The pages fell apart to the final chapter. Gadrill leaned close, his heart loud. He saw the letters at last. But the words were not written in the common script. They twisted in a shape he had never learned, sharp and strange, older than his craft. He could not read a single line. Gadrill sat back against the root. He had freed the chapter, yet the words hid from him still. His memory was slipping, and now the very language stood between him and the secret. He ran one finger under the first strange line and felt it slowly grow warm, as if answering his touch. He needed someone who knew the old tongue. Somewhere in Aetheria, such a reader might still live. Gadrill closed the book gently, careful to keep the warmth inside. He rose from the roots on shaking legs. He would find that reader before he forgot why he searched.