85 Ashan 716
The last afternoon light drifted in through the windows. It caught on the dust that filled the air and showed up the particles as flecks of gold, dancing through the long long room. Shelves jutted out from all the walls, lined with parchments, papers, bound books, maps and a few oddity’s. Elyna was amazed that the University Librarians were able to find anything, but they did seem the only ones capable. She was half-suspicious that they purposely hid books, just so she would have to ask for their assistance. Not that she dared. Her last few days had been filled, as was normal, but with different activities. She had taken her warning from the Captain, and also with respect for the pain Malcolm had removed from her, she had only participated in the standard amount of training. She was surprised at how refreshed she felt, and how much energy she had. Restless, dangerous energy. Flying through the night, circling the city or accompanying the Major to local points of interest as she got to grips with the Lovaraean along with other fresh Skyriders. She would return to her rooms, sleep, rise, train and then instead of training some more, or seeking oblivion in some grubby corner or bar, she had taken to visiting the bath houses.
The first day of her new routine had been blissful, she’d felt calm settling over her skin and she’d breathed easy. But true sleep hadn’t found her. Instead she’d been haunted by the memory of her night with Malcolm, and the crushing ache that followed. She could relive the moments all she liked, but there would be no repeat. The Skyrider was well and truly aware that she had burnt her bridges. At first she’d been hopeful that he would follow her advice and find her one morning on the training ground. But after the trials started passing, the hope had faded. Then she had been angry, at both the Captain, herself, Vanessa and herself again.
Head bowed over a book, the Skyrider pushed her fingers into her dark hair, massaging her scalp as her eyes drifted over the page. It didn’t make any sense. She frowned at the words and lent back, scanning them from a distance. They still didn’t make any sense. The weather outside was bright, a promise of the next cycle to come. Sunshine baked the streets with only a few clouds drifting overhead. The city smelt of grass and spring flowers and she was here, inside, surrounded by piles of discarded books. Not that they’d been much help to her.
The second day after she’d bathed, she’d wandered through the city until standing in front of the University. The young woman had hesitated before making her way inside. She’d attended lectures and lessons at the place, but it was far from her natural habitat. It had only been through a vague knowledge and memory that she found the library at all, and once admitted she’d wandered without a clear idea of what she was searching for. She’d ended up sat on the floor, books piled as high as her head as she flicked through, caught up in the mythology of the Immortals. The names swum before her eyes and she tried to commit them to memory. It had grown dark before she’d remember her duties and fled, arriving in time for the next flight, but only just in time.
It had taken days of searching and returning to her growing collection of scrolls and bound texts that she’d found a painting, rolled up in one of the ancient scrolls. A depiction of the immortal, Vri. Elyna tilted her head to one side, studying it. This trial she had come prepared, her work with the Skyriders wouldn’t pull her away and the night was her own. She’d bought a small bag of dried fruits which she surreptitiously nibbled on and she had dressed for the warm weather outside, and the stuffy, airless atmosphere within. Her boots kicked off, her legs were cross at the ankle and tucked beneath the chair. Her shirt sleeves rolled back to the elbow and her hands shifting as she fidgeted, restless but determined.
The sentence still didn’t make any sense. Existential metamorphism, embodying physiological functions…what? What did this have to do with the Immortals? Scowling she flipped the book shut, keeping her finger in the page and looked once more at the cover. It was definitely a text about Immortal Mythology. Or it should have been. She returned to her page with a sigh.
She couldn’t seek Malcolm out; she wouldn’t. This was the only way she would learn anything about him, about what he had tried to tell her. It was warm though, and quiet at her table, hidden away between the stacks.