Page 11 of The Last Syphon

He chuffed and took flight, jumping into the air from four powerful legs. He flapped his wings, sending a tornado of dust right into her face.

Inara coughed, swishing her hand through the air. “Not cool!” she yelled up at him.

Humour tickled into her mind.

She shook her head, brushing the dust from her hair and clothes, and made her way to the librarium.

CHAPTER THREE

“Venerable Cias?” Inara lifted the dark cloth covering the entrance and ducked underneath it, slipping into his home.

It was a lot bigger inside than it looked from the outside. In the shape of a dome, it was a perfect circle, not a single edge in sight. Bookshelves had been built into the walls, each one overflowing with texts and scrolls. It looked like a damn mess, in her opinion, but the old man insisted there was a method to his madness. That each text, each book, and each scroll had a specific place that only he knew.

To the right of the entrance was a small cot, barely big enough for one person to rest in. At the back of the dome was a big, heavy wooden desk, crafted by Venerable Cias himself. The same went for all the smaller desks and chairs that cascaded outwards, two by two, with an aisle running right down the centre of the room.

It made Inara feel a little bad for the man. He’d gone to a lot of effort to create the space, and she knew for a fact that hardly anyone in Deadhaven attended his teachings. He was well-respected in the village—by most—but a lot of the villagers didn’t see the point in an education, knowing they would most likely live and die in Deadhaven.

“Come in, girl. Sit.” He was flipping through a mountain of books on his desk, light from the luminaries suspended above reflecting off his bald head.

Inara opted to sit in the first row.

“What do you know of the Guardians of the realm?” he asked, his back still to her, hunting for something specific in his textbooks.

“I know each kingdom has one. Even the Dead Kingdom, Tolanaa, though no one has seen theirs for over 2,000 years, since the Dark War.”

“And?” he prompted, looking over his shoulder and arching an eyebrow expectantly.

Inara didn’t know what Venerable Cias wanted her to say, what answer he was seeking, so she just stared at him blankly and shrugged.

He mumbled something under his breath in a language she did not understand. It was beautiful and lyrical, but she had a feeling that whatever he was saying wasn’t nearly as nice as it sounded.

“I have dedicated my entire life to learning everything I can about the soul-link between a Guardian and its Chosen.”

That part might as well have been in another language, too, because Inara did not understand a word of it either.

“Soul-link? Chosen?”

“You do not even have knowledge of the soul-links.” Venerable Cias groaned, his voice filled with exasperation as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “If you attended some of my teachings, you would not be in this position right now.”

“I was a little busy earning gold to pay for food and water for the village.”

“You mean stealing.”

“Same thing.” She shrugged uncaringly. “I earnt that gold with all the effort it took for me to steal it.”

He shook his head. “It does not matter. If you attended even one, you would know what a grave mistake it was to soul-link with that creature, and your life would not be in danger right now.”

What in the realm is he blabbering about?

Inara leant forward and lowered her voice. “With all due respect, Venerable Cias, have you been smoking Zave’s peace pipe? If you have, you can tell me. I swear, I won’t tell anyone.”

Anger flashed in his eyes. He clicked his fingers, and the chair she was sitting on broke apart, sending her crashing to the ground with a startled shriek.

“Feel free to leave your idiocy on the floor,” he snapped as she picked herself up.

“That was uncalled for,” she grumbled, moving to another desk.

Magic flared out around him in warning. “If you do not wish for it to happen again, I suggest you refrain from saying the first thing that enters your mind.”