The work was an old collection of stories from Cyven. From short rhymes that Vhalla knew well, to long tales that she’d never heard. It was easy to read, and Vhalla found the pages slipping by one after the next. She allowed them to lull her into a quiet comfort by reminding her of the smell of wheat or of rain on her family’s fields.
It was such a subtle trance that she’d fallen into that Vhalla didn’t notice the one thing that began appearing in every other story—more frequently in older ones. The word suddenly lit up on every page. Vhalla stood slowly, flipping the pages quickly. The next random page the word was on. Again on the one after.
It was there in the story of harvesting the first grain. It was there in the story of a farmer defending his land from raiders. It was there in the tale where a man used it to scare away the clouds themselves.
Vhalla closed the book and returned it to the shelf as quickly and carefully as possible. She sprinted out of the archives and thanked the master with a panting breath before she was out of the library.
VHALLA!” GRAHM CALLED out.
She skidded to a stop. The man must be part psychic and part hawk to pick her out when she was nothing more than a blur up the Tower.
“Vhalla, do you have a moment?” He emerged from the Tower library where he had been sitting with Fritz before stepping into the main hall.
“I was actually on my way to see the minister . . .” Vhalla glanced upward. What she needed to talk about would keep. She knew it would, so she didn’t need to avoid taking time for Grahm. But the Eastern book had lit a fire under her, and now Vhalla had a lot of questions that she just wanted answered.
“Is it urgent?” Grahm asked, as if reading her mind. “I needed to speak to you about vessels.”
“Oh, well, if it’s that, could we do it another time?”
“I suppose.” Grahm rubbed the back of his neck. “It was something Larel asked.”
“Something Larel asked?” Vhalla repeated. That was the last thing she’d been expecting.
“What does this have to do with Larel?” Fritz joined them in the hall.
“This was something she asked me to do if . . .” The Easterner looked between them, a sorrowful expression overcame him. “If she didn’t make it back.”
“What is it?” One hand sought out the comfort of the watch under her tunic, the other gripped Fritz’s tightly.
“She came to me with a bracelet she had made for you. Do you still have it?” Vhalla nodded at Grahm. “She wanted to make a vessel of it, a vessel of words. She said she knew Fritz and I were close and she could trust me with this, as a friend of a friend.”
“Larel did?” Fritz jumped in.
Larel had seen it, Vhalla realized. She had seen Fritz’s affection for the other man. She had known Fritz would go back to this person and trusted him with her message. Because those were the kinds of things Larel had been able to see—the inner mechanics of other people’s hearts.
“Do you have the bracelet?” Grahm asked.
“I do,” Vhalla answered eagerly, thinking of the beautiful metal cuff Larel had given Vhalla for her birthday.
Her heart raced as they started for her room. Vhalla wanted to break out into an all-out run. The world was moving far too slowly for her liking. Larel, her mentor, her guiding hand, her sister and confidant—she had something more to give. Vhalla’s feet picked up speed, and the men silently followed.
The bracelet was exactly where Vhalla had left it when she had marched to war. Vhalla wondered when Larel had taken the time to spirit it away to Grahm, but Vhalla hadn’t been paying attention to much of anything in the days leading up to the march.
Retrieving it, Grahm led them down into a center workroom. Along the perimeter were a handful of small doors. A couple of men and women worked at stations littered with books, focused on the magic that sparkled around the tokens they were focused intently on.
“This is where Waterrunners learn about vessels,” Fritz explained upon seeing Vhalla’s confused expression, keeping close to Grahm as he led them to one of the doors along the outside.
Grahm flipped a disk hanging by the door, from black to silver. “You know what to do, Fritz.”
“You won’t come in?” Fritz blinked.
“No,” Grahm shook his head. “I think it’s better if it’s just the both of you.”
Vhalla’s curiosity silenced her confused questions.
“But, I always—” Fritz began uncertainly.
“You will be fine.” Grahm rested a palm on Fritz’s shoulder. “You have a problem recording to the vessel still, yes, but you should have no problem drawing out the words that are recorded within the magic.”
“I’d feel better if you were there,” Fritz insisted.
“Larel would have wanted you to do it on your own,” Grahm countered. There were no more arguments that could be put forward. “I’ll be out here when you’re finished.”