Remnar
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Chapter 44
🕑 Added 2025-03-05 17:40:16 +0000 UTCLater that evening, Otter was back in the Library. Archivist Dane approached him, her typically shrewd demeanor back in place.
“Mr. Bennett, I have a special job for you. Follow me.”
Wondering what the task could be, Otter did with trepidation. Usually, Dane ignored the student helpers, letting their immediate supervisors give them directions and assignments as needed. He wondered if the sudden attention had anything to do with what he’d shared that morning.
They passed Piper and he threw her a questioning look. She just shrugged.
Dane led them through the maze of shelves and up a flight of stairs. At the top, a number of alcoves were situated with tables and a variety of seating options. Some were quite plain—simple high-backed wooden chairs. Others were more lavish. One vestibule looked more like what one might find in an expensive lounge or restaurant with velvet-lined cushions adorning long benches.
At one of these alcoves sat a man Otter knew, Professor Quisling. As they approached, Dane whispered to Otter. “The Professor is doing research this week. He needs an assistant familiar with the library. You will be at his disposal during your shifts.”
Otter nodded.
When they were almost within arms reach, Dane addressed the professor. “Professor Quisling. This is Mr. Bennett. He is a first-year at the Academy but knows the library as well as anyone. I’m certain he will perform admirably.”
Quisling nodded but didn’t look up from his reading.
Dane strode off, leaving Otter standing there feeling a bit awkward. Should he say something? Should he leave the man to read in peace? For a few long moments, he stood there in silence.
“Sit down, young man,” the professor finally said, still without looking up. “Your hovering is making it hard to focus.”
Otter sat down across the table. “Sorry, sir.”
Quisling finally looked up. “None of this ‘sir’ business. I’m closer in age to you than I am to most of the other instructors at this Academy.” He smiled. “You look vaguely familiar. Are you in one of my courses?”
“Yes, si—uh, Professor. History and Theory of Kaos.”
“Ah. One of my favorites. Very good.” He slid a piece of parchment across the table to him. “I am cross-referencing texts for a dissertation I’m preparing. These books should all be within the Library’s holdings. I need you to retrieve them for me.”
Otter picked up the parchment and skimmed the list. The titles were unfamiliar, but he recognized the sections they likely belonged to—some in general history, others in theoretical magic, one or two in philosophy.
“I can do that,” he said, rising from his seat.
“Excellent,” Quisling said, already turning back to his reading.
Otter tucked the list into his pocket and strode off. As he wove through the labyrinthine shelves with practiced ease, he marveled—not for the first time—at the sheer breadth of its collection.
In one aisle, massive brass cylinders lined the shelves, their surfaces etched with impossibly tiny script. Chrono-scrolls, used by historians to store accounts in long, continuous ribbons of parchment wound tightly within protective casings. He paused, running a hand over one marked The Third Kaosborn War—Eyewitness Accounts.
Further down, he passed a section filled with alchemical charts, their vellum pages carefully laminated and stored within airtight cases. Each one contained intricate diagrams of ingredients and their interactions—powdered basilisk fang, dissolved emberroot, diluted specter’s mist—drawn with painstaking precision. Some were infused with faint magical properties, allowing images to animate at a touch.
Then there were the artifacts.
Tucked within reinforced glass cases, relics from bygone eras gleamed under the soft glow of enchanted lights. A sea-weathered astrolabe, its markings nearly worn away, still pulsed faintly with residual magic. A rusted gauntlet, its fingers frozen in a curled grasp, sat alongside a plaque that simply read: Recovered from the Catacombs beneath Frostmere—Caution: Reacts to direct contact. If this was on display in the public collection, he wondered how dangerous the items in the Restricted Section must be.
Otter forced himself to focus. He still had books to find.
The section on magical theory yielded a thick, leather-bound tome titled Entropy and the System: A Study of Order and Chaos, it's gilded lettering only slightly dulled by time. He set it atop his growing stack. Another, Celestial Harmonics and Their Role in Divine Invocation, looked like something Sage might enjoy.
Then he reached the history section, where the last book on his list should have been.
The Rivers of Kings: Trade and Conflict in the Five Realms.
A book about merchant routes and economic history. The first few books were simple enough to find, tucked neatly in their proper places. A heavy tome on pre-System civilizations. A treatise on Kaosborn manifestations throughout history. A dense, nearly crumbling manuscript about divine magic.
Otter scoured the shelf, crouching down to check the lower rows, then standing on his toes to peek at the top. Nothing.
He searched the return carts—just in case someone had recently brought it back. He even checked a reading alcove where a student had fallen asleep over an open book, half a pastry still clutched in his hand.
Still no luck.
Annoyed, Otter made his way back to Professor Quisling, arms piled high with the books he’d requested. The missing book nagged at him. It was just a book on trade history—nothing important. But now it was a challenge. And Otter hated that he’d lost.
The professor was still immersed in a thick volume, idly tapping a quill against the edge of a half-written parchment.
Otter set the books down carefully. “I found all but one.”
Quisling glanced up, looking mildly intrigued. “Oh?”
Otter pulled the parchment back out, tapping the missing title. “The Rivers of Kings. I checked the stacks, the return carts—everywhere. It’s not there.”
Quisling’s expression flickered with something unreadable. Then he sighed and leaned back. “Ah, that one.” He tapped his quill against his chin. “Not entirely surprising. It’s a rare edition. Most copies are long out of circulation. I had hoped the Academy still had one available.”
Otter shifted. “So… what now?”
Quisling stretched, rolling his shoulders before rising to his feet. “Now? Now, we check the Restricted Section.”
Otter’s stomach flipped.
This was it. A chance to see—at least partially—how someone gained entry.
“Come along,” Quisling said, gathering his notes. “You can’t follow me in, of course, but I won’t make you run all the way back here if I don’t find what I need.”
Otter nodded, trailing after him as they wound through the library.
The Restricted Section entrance wasn’t particularly grand. In fact, it was rather unassuming—just a solid wooden door reinforced with metal bands, tucked into the farthest wall of the first floor. No elaborate carvings. No ominous warnings. If you didn’t know what it was, you might mistake it for a maintenance closet.
But the moment Quisling stepped toward it, Otter noticed something—subtle, but important.
The air shimmered.
It was faint. A shift, like the difference between standing inside a warm room versus the threshold of an open door in winter. There was something there. Something unseen.
Quisling didn’t hesitate. He reached into his coat and withdrew what looked like a small, flat stone—a sigil, marked with a glowing rune that pulsed faintly in his palm.
He pressed it against the metal plate affixed to the door. The rune flickered once then the plate itself briefly glowed. A soft click followed.
Then the door swung inward, revealing only darkness beyond. Otter barely resisted the urge to rush forward for a better look.
Quisling stepped inside without hesitation, the door beginning to close behind him.
Before it shut completely, Otter noticed one last detail—etched into the metal plate was an inscription. Barely visible under the library’s dim lighting, but there.
A single word in an old, curling script. He had no idea what it meant.
But he was sure as hell going to find out.
After five minutes or so, Quisling returned, the door latching shut behind him. There was another almost indistinct ripple in the air as he held a tome aloft in triumph. “Do you still have time?” he asked Otter.
Otter nodded and they returned to the study alcove. Once seated, Quisling opened The Rivers of Kings to a section near the middle. He studied it for a moment, then turned it around so Otter could see and tapped a passage. “How’s your penmanship?”
“Fair,” Otter said honestly.”Legible.”
“Good. Copy that out for me, would you?”
Otter read the passage:
‘Even kings, with all their might and dominion, are subject to the flow of fate. Some wade in the shallows, content to let the tide guide them. Others fight the current, forging their own paths—but always at a cost.’
He frowned slightly but did as he was told, copying the words in his neatest handwriting.
“Interesting choice,” Otter commented as he wrote. “How does this add to your dissertation?”
Quisling smirked. “Oh, history is full of such fascinating ironies. Patterns, cycles. The things people call fate are usually just inevitabilities waiting to happen.” He tapped a finger against the book. “But this passage interests me because of what it doesn’t say.”
Otter paused, looking up. “And what’s that?”
Quisling leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Well, it mentions that fighting fate has a cost. But it doesn’t mention what happens when something disrupts the current entirely.”
He forced a casual shrug. “How do you mean? Fate’s kind of set in stone, isn’t it?”
Quisling chuckled. “Ah, but stones erode. Rivers change course. And sometimes, all it takes is a single shift—small, barely noticeable—to alter everything that follows.”
Otter wasn’t sure why, but the words stuck with him.
Quisling stretched. “Well, that’s enough philosophizing for now.”
Otter handed him the copied passage, then glanced at his wrisplay. His shift was over.
Quisling got the hint. “That will do for today, Bennett. You’ve been very helpful. I’ll be in every evening this week. I’l speak with Archivist Dane about clearing your schedule.”
Comments
Caleb Reusser
Well, Quisling certainly knows more about Otter than he lets on. Now is he a good guy or bad guy.
William Markham
Book titles aren’t nearly as hard as people names.
Anders Jensen
tyftc, it was enjoyable.. but i do wonder... isnt it hard to keep coming up with all those book names? :D also, they sound like they could be legit books in that world.
