The Avium
19. August 2020
After another two days of hiking we reached an ornate gate in the path topped by a wood stained plaque: The Avium. We had arrived.
The great stone tree towered imperiously at the end of the road. It was carved out of light-grey rock which glimmered slightly in the afternoon light. Unnatural branches reached up from the trunk toward several large floating stone platforms that orbited the tree in leisurely circles.
But the eerier sight was at ground level. As we walked down the well-tended track to the entrance of the Avium we saw skeletal figures moving in the grounds.
I kept one hand on my axe. The skeletons appeared to be from Birdfolk and I had no intention of joining their ranks. Still, they didn’t seem to bear us any ill will. They barely noticed us at all. It seemed each of them had some sort of menial chore to take care of: carrying boxes or trimming the grass alongside the path.
Naturally, Crispin went to disturb them.
“Hello!” said Crispin loudly to a nearby skeleton.
The skeleton had been carrying a box and it stopped in its tracks and turned its eyeless sockets on Crispin.
“I, err, fancy myself a bit of a box carrier myself,” said Crispin, amazing us with his silver tongue.
The skeleton did not blink. Obviously. After a few seconds of silence it hefted the box and scuttled away.
At that moment we heard a screech from above and a Raptor wearing glasses and elaborate robes glided down from above the Avium entrance. She landed gracefully before us.
“The Heroes of Humblewood?” she asked and inclined her head.
“Defenders of Alderheart, actually,” I corrected and bowed back.
“Oh! Of course,” the Raptor blushed. “My apologies. I addressed you above your station.”
“Not at all,” spluttered Crispin through a mouthful of rations.
“My name is Rhys Birchwalker, Professor of Conjuration. You must all come inside: the Dean is waiting.”
Rhys held up an amulet which glowed brightly and the Avium gates responded by swinging open. We walked through the entrance hall and noted many other robed Birdfolk and Humblefolk carrying parchment and bustling down corridors.
“Are the robes important?” I asked Rhys.
“Of course,” she replied. She opened her mouth to explain more but noticed my muscular build and the great axe on my shoulder. She reconsidered. “It’s a mage thing.”
“A bit like the ones at my monastery,” added Crispin. “Except ours were all brown and scratchy. Not as fancy as these.”
“Was that where you went when you didn’t get into this place?” I asked Crispin.
Crispin bristled. “I… just chose another path, thank you very much!”
Rhys managed to disguise her amusement behind her wing with a rather convincing cough.
We reached a raised stone circle at the end of the corridor and we all crowded on top of it. Rhys raised her amulet again and the stone beneath our feet lurched upward and began to ascend. We rose rapidly to the upper branches of the Avium feeling the air cool as we moved higher and higher.
The view from the top was spectacular. All around us we could see the tidy grounds like green patchwork, dotted with tiny bird skeletons hard at work. The stonework of the branches was now clearly visible and the rugged angles of cut rock gleamed in the light.
Hanging in the air, now beside us, were a variety of stone platforms covered in large glass domes. They orbited the central trunk where wooden bridges jutted out to meet them as they passed.
“As I say to my students: be careful not to miss your bridge,” said Rhys.
She motioned for us to follow her off the stone platform and onto a sturdy wooden walkway. We arrived outside the Dean’s office and Rhys bowed once more and took her leave.
“Right, you first Olive,” I said, smoothing my feathers down to look presentable.
“Oh,” mumbled Crispin, nibbling on a carrot. “I don’t do well meeting people of importance.”
We knocked on the door and entered the office in size order. Crispin immediately coughed up his carrot.
“The Defenders of Alderheart! You are very welcome here at the Avium.”
Dean Gabe Windsworth was a small Luma with quick eyes that darted to and fro as he waved us in to his office. Books covered his desk and, in fact, all available surfaces. He pushed some of them aside so we could still see him as he sat down in his chair.
“I know why you’re here of course: to conduct research into the Aspect of Fire.” Dean Windsworth got straight down to it. “We will aid you in your hunt for knowledge. I am confident you will find something useful here. The Avium is built upon a great library with all manner of ancient tomes. Just beware and listen to the advice of our librarian. Some books stored below are a bit deadly.”
“What do you mean, deadly?” asked Crispin.
The Dean paused for a moment. “Well, some will fundamentally change your outlook on life. Some will whisper strange secrets in your ear. Others will melt your face.”
Crispin looked strangely excited.
“But do not fear. The librarian will take care of you,” said Dean Windsworth. He opened his desk drawer and rummaged inside. He took out three amulets that matched the one Rhys had used earlier.
“Are these like hall passes?” asked Crispin.
“Yes, you could say that!” said the Dean with a chuckle. “Everyone here is busy and we don’t have time to accompany you everywhere. These amulets will give you full access to the library during its opening hours: 9 in the morning until 11 in the evening. Don’t forget!”
“We won’t forget,” said Olive.
“Now, I suggest you begin work immediately. You have a lot to cover and, while I don’t encourage you to rush, time is of the essence.”
“Haste makes waste,” said Crispin sagely.
“Ah! A good one!” said Dean Windsworth, jotting the aphorism down in a notepad.
But Crispin wasn’t finished. “And I thrive in waste!”
We took lunch at the cafeteria and left our adventuring gear in a dormitory prepared specially for us. It turned out that we could speak the name of a place into the amulets and a small glowing dot on their surface would direct us wherever we wanted to go. After a brief respite we descended to the library.
Our footsteps echoed on the stone staircase and soon we entered the first of a cavernous set of rooms cut from the rock in the roots of the Avium. There were bookshelves galore. We gazed in awe at row after row of stone bookcases covered in varying levels of dust. Olive and Crispin squeaked in excitement.
A Strig sat at a desk to our left, engrossed in his reading. He didn’t look up as we approached so I coughed gently to get his attention.
“Who—?” he began, then his quick mind gave him the answer. “The Defenders of Alderheart, I presume?”
“That’s right.”
He nodded slowly. “Professor Mordane Swiftgale. The Dean has asked me to assist you.”
“We need to know everything there is about the Aspect of Fire,” I said. “With particular focus on how to banish, bind, or defeat it.”
“Obviously it is not feasible to read everything in this library,” said Mordane gravely. “If only. But I shall make you a map of the likely places to start.”
Mordane sketched out a map of the library and labelled areas for us. He also added some foreboding red circles around shelves that were best left alone. I shuddered at the thought of a danger that no axe could defend against.
“I’ll start on the geography of the Scorched Grove,” I said with more confidence than I felt. While I knew a lot of practical details about the Wood, I wasn’t sure how well I would understand ancient texts on the subject.
“Then I’ll begin with its history,” said Olive.
“And I’ll help Olive,” said Crispin.
Crispin bustled about fetching books for Olive as fast as the little Jerbeen could read them. He initially stuck closely to the safe areas marked on the map. He trundled up and down the aisles but soon realised he could save a bit of time if he would take a shortcut or two, just skirting by the edges of the red circles.
It was when he was passing one of these that he first heard the whisper.
Hey.
He stopped. “Plume?”
Hey you.
Was the sound just in his head?
Unlimited wishes.
“Wow,” said Crispin. “Imagine how many burritos I could get with unlimited wishes.”
Yes. Unlimited tacos. Ad infinitum.
Crispin scrunched up his face as he tried to comprehend the incomprehensible.
Many.
“I’ve got to tell my friends,” said Crispin. “They’re going to be so happy when I tell them I found a recipe book!”
We were getting toward the end of the library opening hours when we gathered at a large table to discuss our findings. Olive and Crispin were halfway through the shelves in the ancient history section and I had completed my review of the tomes on the geography of the Scorched Grove.
“Listen here,” I said to the others. I read aloud from the book which had seemed most helpful to me. “It theorises that the Scorched Grove has some connection to powerful Conjuration magic: likely from a nearby plane of existence!”
“Good job, Plume,” said Olive. “We’ve found something strange too.”
“More accurately, we haven’t found something,” said Crispin helpfully.
“There are pages missing from these books.” Olive showed us an example. “Every time it looks like we are getting close to something relevant, it’s a dead end!”
“Crispin?” I stared at him.
“It wasn’t me!” he said.
“What wasn’t you?” asked Mordane Swiftgale, appearing silently beside us.
We all jumped.
“Nothing!” said Crispin. “Nothing at all!”
“Do you know who was the last person to read this, Professor?” I asked, gesturing for Olive to hold out the book for inspection.
Mordane took hold of it and peered at the inside cover. “I couldn’t say,” he said. “Many in the faculty have access to the library. Our role as librarians is to assist when required, not to monitor the moves of our fellow academics.”
“But this book has been damaged,” I said. “Pages are missing which are important to our investigation.”
“Pages missing?”
“They’ve been torn out,” added Crispin.
“Torn out?!”
“Apparently not by him,” I said, really hoping that Crispin wasn’t behind this.
“Thank you for bringing this to my attention,” said Mordane grimly. “For now I have to ask you all to leave. It’s now 11 o’clock in the evening, and I’m sure you haven’t forgotten our opening hours?”
“We’ll never forget,” said Olive.
When we arrived back at our dormitory we saw a curious sleeping arrangement set out for us. It was a bunk bed with three tiers which tapered up from a large bed at the bottom to a tiny cot at the top.
It was clear to me that only one of these would fit me.
“I call bottom bunk,” I said, collapsing onto the firm mattress. Today had been an exhausting day for my mind, and it looked like the next few days would be no different.
“Good,” said Olive. “If someone comes into the room in the night they’ll murder Plume first.”
“Murder me? Hah!” I clucked at the thought. “Good one, Olive.”
“Looks like the top bunk for me, then,” said Crispin victoriously as he heaved himself up the rickety wooden ladder and squeezed into the tiny cot on the highest tier. His legs and arms stuck out over the edges. He flailed a little in a futile attempt to get comfortable.
Olive waited a few minutes to confirm that the structure could support Crispin’s weight before she reluctantly took the middle bunk for herself.