Sairina

*Sensitive Content Warning: Death of a Parent (off page, historical)

The candle beside me burned low as I flipped through yet another tome of citizenship records. The Great Library was quiet, the hour late. The scholars and citizens that usually filled the tables in the main atrium had trickled out long ago, leaving only those fully engrossed in their studies and myself.

I had tucked myself away in the aisle containing all of the citizenship records for Avillor, rather than carrying my books out into the open study area. I didn’t an audience for what I sought out.

In our class that morning on how to properly document an incident report, the professor had mentioned that the Great Library had records of all its citizens’ births, deaths, marriages, and last known addresses. There was a spell that had been cast centuries ago that, so long as a person was born in Avillor, the spell would record their date and time of death in these books no matter the circumstances. While the spell wasn’t powerful enough to know the cause of death, the date and time always appeared in these records.

After, while my classmates had roused themselves from the boredom induced slumber brought about by the lecture on formatting and dictation, I had rushed to the Library.

Finding my own birth record would be easy enough, and I then could cross reference to find my mother.

If she was still in Avillor, I could find her. Show her that I had gotten free of the orphanage and was becoming a palace guard. Maybe we could… I wasn’t sure… be a family again? All I knew was that these books held my best chance at finding her.

Cekanory…Celestia…Cennisty…Cenistya! Found it!

Sairina Cenistya, born 20th day of the 8th month in the year 905. Last known address - Palace Junior Barracks. P - unknown, M - Amile Cenistya, see 920.2291.712.1124.

Alright, section 920 for biographies, I was already there. Book 2291, chapter 712, line 1124.

After retrieving the correct book, I hurriedly flipped through the dusty pages to find her.

There!

Amile Cenistya, born 12th day of the 11th month in the year 885, died on the 13th day of the ninth month in the year 909…

Oh.

She was… dead.

Had I been able to feel my stomach, I am sure it would have dropped. Instead, I just felt numb, empty. Like all the hope that had been building while I searched the books had been flushed away and nothing had rushed into fill the vacuum left behind. Yet, despite being empty, I felt heavy, weighed down in my seat.

The 13th day of the 9th month in the year 909.

My gaze shifted to another book that I had left open on the table. The records from the orphanage, open to the page with my own record.

Admitted the 14th day of the 9th month in the year 909.

Alone, these dates made sense. Why wouldn’t I be admitted the day after the death of my only parent? The day I became an orphan.

But I knew more than these books. I knew the matrons at the orphanage had taken me from my mother because they suspected I would have magic.

“Her mother was useless too. Couldn’t even fight off the two men we sent to fetch the girl.”

Before anything more painful could settle itself in my mind, rage - boiling, blinding rage - rushed into the void left behind by that fledgling hope. A scream wrenched out of my throat. I grabbed the record in front of me a threw it aside, toppling another pile of books and, to my horror, the candle I had been using to read by.

The papers, dry and dusty as they were, lit immediately and the flames licked up the shelves faster than I could have imagined possible.

Part of me, the part still raging at what I had found, wanted to leave them to burn. Let the whole damned citadel burn to ash for letting this happen.

Luckily, the part of me that knew better won out and I ran for the end of the aisle. I slammed my hand down on the carved rune that would light an orb at the librarian’s circulation desk to alert them that a patron needed assistance.

Turning back toward the aisle, I saw the flames rise higher, licking up the shelves like waves. I spun around, looking for something I could do, but there was nothing.

I was useless, helpless to stop the damage being caused by my impotent temper.

Footsteps sounded in the hall behind me, steady at first then hurried once the person got close enough to see the smoke rising between the stacks. A small, hunched figure shoved past me, her librarian’s robes billowing behind her as she ran toward the flames. When she reached the shelves at the edge of the fire, she began tearing the unharmed books from the shelves. She waived her hand in front of her chest and an orb hanging from a pendant around her neck began to glow. She then waived her hands again, this time up at the higher shelves, and books began to float toward me at the end of the aisle.

Shaking myself from my stupor, I rushed to help her pull the books from the lower shelves as the others floated to safety over our heads. More footsteps sounded as other librarians ran to assist.

“What happened!?” One harried woman yelled to the one next me.

“I don’t know, it was like this when I arrived!” the first woman answered, gesturing to me at her side, “This one was here though, ask them.”

“Oh, um…” I started, realizing I’d have to admit what happened.

“Everyone out!” A louder, hoarse voice bellowed from the end of the aisle.

We all turned to see a tall, older woman standing with her hand raised toward the flames.

The librarians, obviously recognizing the woman, all sprinted out of the aisle, leaving me to stumble after them, my arms full of books.

Once we were clear, the woman began saying something under her breath and moving her hands in circular interlocking patterns I didn’t recognize.

The flames began to swirl in the air, pulling away from the shelves, leaving charred and smoldering books behind.

The great spiraling tower of flames filled the center of the aisle, growing as tall as the vaulted glass ceilings as it narrowed, no longer a threat to the books and wooden shelves. The sound was a deafening roar as air and fire swirled rapidly in the woman’s magical containment.

“I’ve been telling his Royal Highness for years now that we need to obtain witch’s orbs to replace candles and now look.” One of the librarians standing near me whispered to her colleague.

“Shush, here comes the Arephgil.”

Dread shot down my spine as I slowly spun in place to see that, yes, Navar was striding quickly toward us, his eye narrowing when they landed on me.

“Parmassons,” Navar greeted the women around me with a slight bow of his head, “I was alerted to an incident. What happened?”

“Good evening Arephgil,” one of the women greeted back, “We are unsure how the fire started sir, only this girl was here when Lusette first arrived and summoned us with her Call Stone.”

“Of course,” Navar sighed, “Junior Guard Rin, report.”

“Umm…” I glanced nervously around at the librarians surrounding us.

“Report to my office. I will be there shortly.” Navar said brusquely, turning to walk down the aisle toward the librarian, the witch I realized, that had put out the fire.

Ducking my head, I hurried away from the scene and out of the Library. I briefly debated fleeing the citadel altogether but thought better of it and made my way to Navar’s office.

I entered his office and sat in one of the chairs designated for guests in front of his desk. It was a large desk with reports and maps in well-organized piles. The whole office was clean and orderly, the only thing out of place was a single book, left open by the larger chair near the fireplace.

I settled deeper into my own chair, dreading Navar’s reaction when he returned. Would this be the final straw that got me kicked out? Navar had said that my failure to follow the rules would result in my being discharged from my duty. I had skirted that line, but would this finally push me over the edge? I leaned my head on the back of the chair, staring at the ceiling above. Perhaps it was best my mother was dead, so she couldn’t see me fail and be relieved of my position. Fail in the one good thing I had ever achieved because of a fit of temper.

Some time later, the door behind my chair opened and Navar entered. He circled around his desk and sat heavily in his larger, wooden chair.

“The damage was contained to the aisle where the fire began, but 167 books were destroyed or damaged.”

I hung my head, not saying anything.

“Luckily, 154 of them were recovered using the Library’s archival magic.”

My head snapped up and I finally met Navar’s eye. “Really?”

“Yes, magic systems are in place to restore books or records that are accidentally… harmed by a patron. The speed of the fire prevented the magic from being able to keep up, but most of the information was retained and re-recorded in new books.”

He leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxing but his eyes remained flinty and locked onto my own.

“Now,” he continued, “explain what happened.”

I sighed and broke his stare, looking out the window toward the training fields, “I was looking for records of my mother. I thought…I thought maybe I could find her address and…” I choked, hiccupping as I stifled the emotions crawling up my throat.

The numbness from before was icing over my veins. I didn’t even bother to wipe away the tear that tracked down my cheek.

“Rin?”

“She’s dead. They killed her and there’s nothing I can do about.”

“Rin,” Navar spoke softly, “look at me.”

I shook my head, unwilling to see the pity I knew would be in his eyes.

“Rin,” he repeated, “who killed your mother?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does.”

I relented, turning my face back toward him. I was surprised to see, not pity, but the same rage I had felt earlier. Unlike my own, which boiled and splashed and spilled over until I lashed out, Navar’s rage simmered, quiet in its intensity.

“I’m not sure, either the gangs or the orphanage, maybe both working together.” I shrugged as if this truly didn’t matter. Like the news wasn’t raking its claws across my soul. He sat quietly as I told him of the conversation I overheard all those years ago, the one that motivated my escape.

“So, you see,” I muttered, “even with my magic I can’t prevent anything. My mother, the other children at the orphanage, the books at the Library. I’m just as useless as the priestesses believed. I won’t even blame you for kicking me out of the Guard.”

Leaning forward, his hands clasped on the desk in front of him, Navar finally spoke.

“Rin, none of what happened is your fault. Well,” he paused, “the fire was mostly your fault.”

I glared at him and he smirked before continuing, reasserting his serious tone, “You couldn’t have saved your mother, you were a child, and the others at the orphanage made their choice. You did everything you could. Your magic is a gift.”

I didn’t respond. I knew he was right, but the guilt still clung to me. I could look at the situation logically and still, that aching, gnawing feeling that I had done something wrong, that there was something I should have done differently, better, sat heavy in my gut.

Wanting desperately to change the subject, I asked, “What is my punishment for the Library?”

Navar stared at me and, for a moment, I thought he might not let me drop the issue, but then he said, “You will volunteer at the Library for two months, re-shelving books, sorting returns, that sort of thing.”

I released a breath, the tension that had crept into my shoulders easing, he wasn’t kicking me out. “Alright, when do I start?”

“Tomorrow after your classes. You are dismissed.”

I nodded, standing and turning for the door.

“Rin,” his voice stopped me, “After your shift at the Library tomorrow, report back to my office. I am assigning you to apprentice with Captain Braern’s squadron. You will debrief him on everything you know about the Priestesses’ practice of selling children to the gangs.”

Captain Braern led the Guard’s relatively new unit that worked toward ending the gang violence in the Lower Side.

“Aye, sir.” I turned my head, but Navar was already busying himself with the paperwork on his desk.

Perhaps I couldn’t have prevented the fates of my mother or the others in the orphanage with me, but maybe I could help stop the same from happening in the future.

The thought thawed the ice that had formed over my bones and my steps felt lighter as I walked back to the Junior Barracks.