A Branch of Silver, a Branch of Gold by Stengl Anne Elisabeth

Author:Stengl, Anne Elisabeth [Stengl, Anne Elisabeth]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Rooglewood Press
Published: 2016-03-15T04:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-FOUR

In the depths of the Wood . . . beyond the golden forest and the silver . . . beyond the edges of imagination . . . in the vaulting chamber of green growth and solid stone ever changing, always true . . .

. . . the Dame of the Haven slouched in the middle of an enormous pile of scrolls and growled, “Dragon’s aching teeth!”

“Where?” said the sylph, and wafted about her with interest, looking without eyes into the various corners of the library. It could see the Dame’s invisible helpers. Having no eyes can be a great advantage when it comes to spying invisible beings. They ducked away from the sylph’s gaze or made faces at it, but it wasn’t particularly interested in them. “I don’t see any dragon teeth.”

“No, no,” said the Dame, rubbing her forehead. Realizing how bad her posture had become while sitting cross-legged on the floor, she drew herself up straight. Her back clicked painfully. Just like a mortal’s.

Heaving a sigh, she pulled her feet under her and stood. They had, of course, gone to sleep while she sat, and she swallowed a few more curses as the blood rushed down through her veins, tingling uncomfortably. While waiting for both numbness and tingling to subside, she cast her gaze upon the mess littering the floor around her. Scrolls and volumes and missives galore.

But not a single written word about the Family of Night.

That was the problem with Faeries, she thought. Or one of the many problems. Because they did not die, they felt no need to write things down. Anything important they would either remember or get someone to remember for them. All the rest . . . well, what did they care? If they forgot it, it couldn’t have been that interesting. Thus there were few scribes to be found among Faerie folk, few who would bother themselves to learn the difficult language of pen and ink and parchment.

She frowned suddenly. Pen and ink and parchment . . . or perhaps . . .

Stepping carefully over her various piles, narrowly avoiding crushing priceless documents beneath her heel, the Dame hastened to a far corner of her massive library. She climbed a staircase that spiraled up a tall, proud elm, pushing aside branches as necessary and peering into the grooves and crevices of the trunk. But not until she neared the top did she find what she was looking for.

Tucked away in a deep hole in the elm’s trunk was a stash of wax tablets. They were bound in wood and closed to protect the delicate wax inside. They contained some of the oldest writing to be found in all the worlds, Near, Far, or Between.

The Dame selected one bound with a cord of blackest midnight. Indeed, the cord itself might have been spun from strands of the Black Dogs’ own hair, so absolute was its blackness. She carefully slipped the cord free and, hefting the heavy tablet to support it on one arm, used her free hand to open it.

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