Aithne’s eye followed the path inscribed on the floor, though she had long since memorized the parts of the pattern that were within her view. After all she had been through, standing behind a desk with nothing demanded of her while wearing a basic but comfortable college robe and shoes was a welcome circumstance, but it was not without its own discomforts. Her feet and back ached, neither helped by the stone floor nor her growing belly.

 

Not that she would ever say anything, of course. If her Master wanted her to stay there, that’s what she would do.

 

She had grown used to the temperament of the library, the ebbs and flows of its daily routine. She knew when it was about to become busy and when it would grow quiet. She also knew that both things would bring an inevitable array of gripes from Eleanor, the student Urag had grudgingly allowed to help after an impressive daily (sometime hourly) barrage of pleading and cajoling for the job.

 

“Why can’t these milk drinkers put away their own damn books?” Eleanor muttered as the last of the seven-bell students filtered out, leaving stacks of books, scrolls, and parchments scattered in their collective wake.

 

Urag didn’t even look up from his desk. “You know why – they won’t put them where they belong.”

 

“It’s not like that’s hard! They had to get them from somewhere, why can’t they just put them back where they found them? Half of them don’t even use the books they pull!”

 

Urag turned away from the paper he was holding to give Eleanor a stare. “I seem to recall a particularly large stack left by a certain someone just a year ago. Most of them had not even been opened, just taken ‘just in case.’”

 

“That was different! I needed those books! I was trying to…”

 

“I don’t care.” Urag turned back to his desk. “You wanted this job, so go do it.”

 

“I know, I will. It’s just a lot. You know?” Another brief glance from Urag. “Oh. Um. Yes. Of course you do. Look, can I at least have some help? Maybe her?”

 

Aithne was startled to find Eleanor’s finger pointed in her direction. Urag seemed equally put off.

 

“No. She wouldn’t have any idea where any of these go.”

 

“I know, but maybe she can carry some of them for me so I don’t have to waste time walking back and forth. That alone would save me…”

 

“Fine. She’s probably bored out of her mind anyway and I haven’t thought of anything else for her to do.”

 

“Really? Noth…”

 

Urag’s head snapped to Eleanor with a look that sent a trill down Aithne’s spine but caused Eleanor to blanch. “Um. Never mind! Thanks!” The girl motioned at Aithne. “Come on! Can you read?”

 

“Yes, ma’am.” Aithne pushed away from the wall as her Master turned his attention back to his desk.

 

“Ma’am?” Eleanor laughed as she led the way to the nearest table. “Divines, don’t call me that! I’m Eleanor. We’ve all been dying to know about you since you showed up with Colette. I know you’re old Urag’s slave girl, but do you have a name?”

 

A name? She did, although it had been so long since she had uttered it or been called by it that the word felt foreign to her lips and tongue as they tried to create the correct pattern.

 

“I…uh…yes, I’m…Aithne.”

 

“Aithne? That’s unusual. But there aren’t a lot of Redguards here. Your kind usually does sword stuff, right? What happened to your eye, by the way?”

 

Aithne tried to give the question some thought but she didn’t actually know how to answer it. Not that it mattered, because Eleanor swept the conversation right along.

 

“Here, take these. And these. We’ll save those for the next trip. Come on, over here. This is the arcanum diaspora section. It’s one of the smallest sections, so I usually start with them. Let me just…”

 

As her external load lightened, Aithne’s emotional load increased. She had a million questions, but she knew she shouldn’t talk without permission. But things were so different in this new life. Many of the rules ingrained by Borkul, both explicit and implicit, had been proven to be no longer applicable. She had been forced to learn the old rules by association, by painful trial and error. Borkul and Urag had very little in common apart from their species, but one of those commonalities was a frustrating inability to be forthcoming about what in Oblivion they wanted out of their slaves.

 

Aithne took a deep breath, fought through the panic that screamed throughout her body, and, for the first time since the blur that had been her lost life Before Borkul, spoke without prompt or permission.  

 

“What does ‘arcanum diaspora’ mean?”

 

As soon as the words left her lips, she felt a sense of impending doom. Her mind yowled in fear and she clung to her waning discipline with every fiber of her being to stop her feet from running. She expected Eleanor to hit her or yell or at least look shocked and run to Urag.

 

The last thing she expected, in fact, was the outcome she had hoped for, that had prompted the test in the first place, and the one that she received: Eleanor scrunched up her nose and tapped her chin and answered.

 

“Um…it has to do with translocational apexes? Or something. I’m not sure, actually – I’m only in my tenth year, so it will be a while before I get to this advanced stuff. Here, these go here, and then this goes on this shelf.”

 

The relief that swept through Aithne’s body was immediate. It blocked out all other senses for a brief second, only to be replaced by a moment of panic because Eleanor had said something. The relief returned a moment later once Aithne determined her chatty new…friend? associate?...had not been expecting a response and was off on some other topic.

 

That was, in fact, the main thing Aithne learned over the course of the next hour as they went from table to bookshelf to table to bookshelf: Eleanor liked to talk but never seemed to expect any kind of response. Which was both frustrating, as it forestalled Aithne’s numerous questions, but also a relief, since none of the prattling turned back toward personal questions aimed at parts of Aithne that she was not ready to think about, say nothing of verbalize.

 

When the job was completed, Aithne made her way back toward her spot behind Urag’s desk but slowed as she approached it and doubt crept up her spine and polluted her mind.

 

Eleanor had not responded to the question the way Aithne had feared, but Eleanor was neither her Master nor an orc. Perhaps the student just didn’t know or think about the proper response. Perhaps the “no speaking” rule was still in effect with her true Master.

 

Aithne’s fear returned tenfold as the thought percolated. Her test had not been valid – she could see that now. Which meant she would need to do it again.

 

She had to force her feet to carry her the last ten steps to the desk. He looked up as she approached and she found she had to lick her lips twice before she could make them work.

 

“Sir…” With the first word out, Aithne realized she didn’t have an actual question prepared. As panic flooded through her again, she blurted out the same question she had asked Eleanor. “What does ‘arcanum diaspora’ mean?”

 

Her Master studied her for a moment, then stood and walked away. Aithne began to quake inside, though she held herself still. This was it – she had finally done something wrong. The test with Eleanor had been invalid after all! She wondered what kind of punishment her Master would mete. Maybe he was getting a whip. Borkul had just grabbed whatever was nearby or, more often, just used his fist. Had it been he instead of Urag, she would already be on the floor covered in her own blood.

 

Her Master appeared again, rounding the row of bookshelves to Aithne’s right, and Aithne sank to her knees and bowed her head, ready for her punishment. It was a relief, in a way – she had been waiting for weeks for Urag to yell at her or hit her or show any signs of the anger she was certain was bubbling below his stoic demeanor. Knowing punishment was coming but not knowing when or what might trigger it was nerve wracking. Now, at last, she had learned the first line not to cross. Whatever else she might do, she would never…

 

“What are you doing? Get up.”

 

Aithne kept her head down as she rose to her feet, inwardly bracing herself for the blow, in whatever form it would take. Hopefully it would be something that didn’t cause a lot of bleeding – she would surely have to clean up the mess she made from her punishment and blood was hard to clean completely. Also, hopefully not a blow to the stomach. She unconsciously covered her swollen belly with her hands at the thought.

 

“Why are you staring at the floor? Here.”

 

She had grown soft in her time in the library – she actually flinched when something entered the zone of her peripheral vision. Such a lack of discipline would have added another layer to her punishment with Bork…

 

“Did you fall asleep or something? Here, take it.”

 

Aithne blinked and looked up. Urag was holding out a thick red book. She fought through a wave of confusion even as hers hands moved of their own volition to take the book as he continued.

 

“I could tell you what arcanum diaspora means but you wouldn’t understand the answer unless you were well versed in temporal physics, and you won’t be able to understand that without first learning at least the first three pillars of granular magika, although really all five would be better, along with Eaidn’s Corollary and maybe Woisan’s theoretical principles, although there is still some debate about his findings. To grasp even the first pillar, you need a solid foundation on the building blocks of magic.”

 

Urag tapped the book. “This is very likely the most boring book ever written. Shelinng was a powerful mage but a terrible writer. How he is able to take the subject of the arcane mysteries of the universe and make it sound so dull is a feat unto itself. But it will give you the most basic information. If you can get through it and still somehow want to know more, let me know and I will give you the next book to read.”

 

Aithne clutched the book to her chest as Urag turned back to his desk. It took several breaths before her mind stopped spinning. Of all the things she might have expected…the book was in her hands yet she still didn’t quite believe it.

 

“Thank you. Sir.” She said the words in a tone barely above a whisper, or so it felt, but he heard.

 

“You’re welcome. This is for me as well, just so you know – if you are going to help Eleanor with her chores, it will help if you know something about magic. At least enough to know which sections the books belong in.”

 

Aithne nodded, then realized his back was turned to her, so she added a verbal, “Yes, sir.” She shuffled back to her spot, book clutched in both arms as if it was a lifeline. Which, she supposed, in a way it was.

 

Next Chapter

 

Previous Chapter

 

Start at the Beginning