Chapter 010 - Guide, Not A Queen

  The red sand hung in the air, a silent monument to a catastrophe he couldn't comprehend. The words echoed in the profound quiet of the room, the devastating conclusion to a history lesson he had never asked for, never wanted. The reason it is known as a dead world, The Dead Earth. The scale of time, it was all… impossible…

  The logical part of Mark’s brain, the part that had successfully turned teams of chaotic childlike adults into functional teams, simply shut down. More questions of his existence, but was that a definitive end to his own past? In the void that was left, something else surfaced.

  A small, dry chuckle escaped his lips.

  It was a strange, out-of-place sound in the solemn atmosphere of the reading room. The laugh grew, not from humor, but from soul-crushing despair. It was the sound of a man who had just been told his home, his life, his entire world had been dismissed as a forgotten corpse for a millennium. The sheer, titanic absurdity of it was the only thing his broken mind could grasp. The laughter wasn’t a choice, it was the only sane way to let go of the screaming terror trapped within himself without feeling like a madman.

  “Mark?” Valerie’s voice was sharp with medical concern, cutting through his haze. He could feel her gaze on him, assessing and worried.

  Tori shifted uncomfortably in her chair, her expression a mixture of wariness and confusion, the mind that only recently was a fortress against her own intrusion. Even Jenny’s serene composure had been replaced by a look of gentle, professional alarm.

  He raised a hand, a weak gesture, forcing the hysterical laughter down into a series of ragged coughs. His ribs screamed in protest. “I’m… I’m alright,” he managed to force out, the words feeling like sandpaper in his throat. He wiped at his eyes, surprised to find them wet. “I’m not… It’s just… It’s a lot to process.”

  He took a slow, steadying breath, the cool, quiet air of the library a flimsy anchor in his sea of disbelief. Taking a sip of water from a glass he was sure wasn't at the table moments ago, his mind searching for something more.

  His gaze settled on Jenny. She was the keeper of these impossible facts, the one with the soft voice and the glowing Mark of Knowledge on her hand.

  “You said this Gateway was destroyed,” he began, his voice steadier now, stripped of emotion and focused on the facts as they had been presented. “And that’s why you call it the Dead Earth.”

  He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto hers, pleading for an answer that might, in some small way, make sense of the madness.

  “What happened on the other side? To the Earth? What do your records say happened after the collapse?”

  Mark’s question hung in the silence, and he watched as Jenny’s kind eyes filled with a familiar, ancient sadness. She opened her mouth to speak, to deliver the expected finality that would shatter his crumbling reality, but the soft click of the door latch interrupted her.

  Heads turned as the door they had entered swung open again. A woman stepped into the room, she wore the same simple, functional library robes as Jenny, but like the woman who had spoken with him in the children's section, she was unnaturally, impeccably normal. She was so perfectly ordinary that she seemed to vibrate with the effort of not standing out, a camouflage so perfect it became a beacon.

  The newcomer offered a serene, knowing smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. “It is a lot to take in,” she said, her voice calm and melodic. She addressed the room, but her gaze was fixed on Mark. “Especially for one who has been with us for such a short time.”

  The statement was so direct, laced with unspoken knowledge of his situation, that it sent a fresh chill down Mark’s spine. More questions.

  The woman sat down in one of the plush armchairs next to Jenny, giving her a small, appreciative nod. “You always do an amazing job of keeping it simple, Jenny. Foundational stories such as this are always the most difficult to tell.”

  “But as you can imagine, Mark, the truth is far more complex than a simple summary. That book,” she said, her eyes sharp and intelligent, “holds a great deal more. As do other resources available to us here.”

  Wiping his eyes once more, he blinked and, she was different, the robes gone.

  It was the woman from the children’s section. The same fashionably dressed young woman who had pointed him toward the books on Istos and The Ark. She sat there, offering him the same small, enigmatic smile, as if to continue a conversation that had never been had.

  It was Tori who found her voice first, her shock giving way to a familiar, indignant sharpness. She seemed to seize on the one aspect of this situation that she could categorize and judge. "Your attire," she stated, pointing a slightly trembling finger at the woman's strange shirt and skirt, "is not from Titan. And it seems... far too suggestive for a sanctuary of knowledge."

  Mark glanced at the woman's clothes again. By his standards, they were smart-casual, something you might see in a modern office on a dress-down day. To call them "suggestive" was a stretch, but perhaps the standards of this town were different from his own. Also, did the others not notice she was in robes just moments before, another layer of magic? Are there shapeshifters here?

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The woman’s enigmatic smile returned, laced with an unnerving amusement. "I find my attire to be perfectly acceptable, from Mark's assessment at least," she replied smoothly, her words sending a jolt through him. Coincidence or a good guess as to his thoughts? "Though I admit," she added, her gaze sweeping over her own clothes, "I had to tone it down some to maintain a respectable appearance for our meeting."

  She paused, letting the implication of a planned meeting hang in the air before delivering a punchline that the others would miss, sounding as innocent as possible. "The alternative, given the original naming of your capital, might have involved Olympians and togas, or less. I felt this was a better choice, for this moment."

  The air left Mark’s lungs. That thought, the fleeting thought he’d had in the children’s section, about what people might wear if the capital had been named Olympus, he hadn’t said that out loud. It was a ridiculous, internal joke, a point of sanity for an insane moment. Did she pluck it from his memory? To just say it aloud felt more violating than Tori’s dream invasion. The shapeshifting was one thing, this was a casual, complete invasion of his own mind.

  Every head in the room swiveled to stare at him. Valerie’s professional curiosity was now mixed with outright suspicion. Tori’s face was a mask of utter bewilderment, her accusation about clothing forgotten in the face of this new impossibility. They were all looking at him, their expressions demanding answers, clearly believing he was a co-conspirator in this bizarre display.

  Mark could only stare back, his own confusion and shock mirroring theirs. He shook his head slowly, a silent, helpless gesture. He had no answers. He wasn't part of this show, he was the main exhibit, and was feeling violated all over again.

  Just as the weight of their collective stare was becoming unbearable, Mark was saved by a sound that cut through the tension like a fresh breeze.

  The woman laughed. It was a warm, genuine, and deeply amused sound that seemed to fill the room.

  “Oh, my dears, don’t stare too much,” she said, her smiling eyes sweeping from Tori to Valerie. “He’s as much an involuntary passenger on this little journey as you are.” She turned her gaze back to Mark, a playful glint in her eyes. “I do believe in respecting a person’s privacy,” she said, her tone a gentle, disarming admission of her transgression. “But I also find that a little simple sharing can so quickly bridge a cultural divide. It cuts through the tedious parts of an introduction, don’t you think?”

  Before he could disagree with the casual stealing of his thoughts, and before anyone could respond, she rose from her chair with an effortless grace. The atmosphere in the room shifted, the air growing heavy with a new, profound significance.

  “Throughout the ages, I have been known by many titles,” she began, her voice resonating with a quiet power that seemed to hum in Mark’s bones. As she spoke each title, her form shimmered and resolved into a new shape.

  “In some texts, I am the Keeper of Lore.” Her form shifted into that of a stern-faced male scholar in a tweed jacket, his brow furrowed in concentration, voice deep of a commanding professor.

  “To others, the Silent Sage.” The scholar melted away, replaced by a stooped, ancient wizard with a long white beard, who peered at them over half-moon spectacles, cackling with amusement.

  “In the oldest stories, from the first days in First Landing, I was known as the First Librarian.” The wizard vanished, and in his place stood the serene, impeccably normal woman once more, her voice more of a choir of voices resonating together.

  She paused, letting the impossible display settle upon them. “But my true nature, my very being, I am The Oracle of Knowledge.”

  The revelation struck the room like a physical blow. Mark watched as the blood drained from Valerie’s face, her professional calm dissolving into pure, unadulterated awe. Beside her, Tori stumbled to her feet, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. She looked utterly horrified, not with fear, but with the dawning realization of her own monumental impertinence.

  “Lady… Lady Knowledge,” Tori stammered, attempting a clumsy, jerky bow that was more of a panicked spasm. “Forgive me. My… my words… my attire…”

  Valerie was right beside her, her own movements stiff with reverence as she tried to find a posture that conveyed adequate respect. “My Lady,” she managed, her voice barely a whisper. “We had no idea. Please, we offer our deepest apologies.”

  The Oracle simply smiled, a warm and patient expression that seemed to forgive all trespasses. “Accepted, but not warranted," she said, her voice gentle. “And please, you may call me Knowledge.”

  Mark watched the scene unfold, a fresh layer of confusion plastering over his shock. He understood power dynamics, a decade navigating them in boardrooms and on project sites and he could clearly see that this woman, this Oracle, held an absolute authority that dwarfed anything he had ever witnessed so far. But the sheer, groveling reverence from two otherwise proud and capable healers was something he couldn't process.

  “I’m sorry,” he interjected, his voice cutting through their whispered apologies. He looked from the bowing healers to the serene Oracle. “Can someone please explain what is going on? What's an Oracle in this context?”

  Knowledge turned her warm, patient smile towards him, seeming delighted by the question. The awe-struck healers fell silent, even breathing as quiet as possible while stepping back as if to cede the floor.

  “Such a simple question, with a wonderfully complex answer,” she began, her melodic voice washing over him. “In the simplest terms, Mark, I am the living embodiment of a concept. I am knowledge manifest.”

  She gestured to the room around them, to the endless shelves and the quiet hum of the library. “Every word written in every book, every schematic drawn in every workshop, every historical record taken since the first pioneers arrived on this world… it is a part of me. I know it, as you know your own name.” Her eyes twinkled with the memory of his recent embarrassment. “The thoughts of those who seek truth within my sanctuaries also… echo. It makes it easy to help them find what they are looking for.”

  The air seemed alive with energy, he could see it on the faces of Tori and Valerie as he glanced around, still she continued. “I stand opposed to Lies and Destruction, I walk with Secret and Safety. My sister is Wisdom and my brothers are Death and Leadership.”

  She clasped her hands gently in front of her, her expression becoming a little more serious. “Within my domain, this library and other sanctuaries, my power over my is absolute. I can find any piece of recorded information, connect disparate facts, and guide a seeker to the truth they need, or manifest a restricted book if the needs require.”

  “However,” she added, her voice taking on a firm, clarifying edge, “my power is not without its limits. I am bound to my concept. I am knowledge, not strength. I can reveal a path, but I cannot force anyone to walk it. I am a guide, not a queen.”