A Banner Torn (Book 1 Complete)

Marta:

She watched Kaelid disappear into the cramped storefront of the gem-cutter, a place that smelled faintly of scorched metal and polishing dust. He was fetching the second of the crystal necklaces. Rannek already wore his, a dark shard against his tunic, a constant, visible reminder of the strangeness that had attached itself to them.

She herself felt the subtle weight of her own small, unadorned piece, tucked securely away. Their caravan was due to depart High-pass at first light the next morning, and this was one of the last loose ends.

She leaned against the rough stone wall of the adjacent building, arms crossed, observing the flow of the street. High-pass was a city of too many people, too much noise, and too many opportunities for trouble, in her estimation. Still, it had provided… revelations. The library, chief among them. An entity of that power and intelligence, hidden in plain sight, was a factor that could shift balances she hadn't even known existed.

Kaelid emerged a few minutes later, a small pouch in his hand. He paused on the threshold, and she saw him draw out the necklace.

The jeweler, a wiry man with eyes that seemed to magnify everything, had apparently done a competent job, encasing the shard in a simple bronze bezel on a leather cord. Marta noted the faint, almost imperceptible tightening of Kaelid's jaw as he listened to something the man said from the doorway, then his quick, polite nod before he turned away. Guarded. Good. These stones were not mere trinkets, and the less attention drawn to their unusual properties, the better. He fastened it around his neck, the dark crystal settling against his collarbone. Another secret worn openly, yet still a secret.

Their return to the inn courtyard was met with the controlled chaos of imminent departure. The air, cool and carrying the scent of damp earth from an overnight shower, was alive with the sounds of creaking wagon wheels, the stamping of impatient horses, and the low murmur of voices discussing loads and routes. Aelrik, the caravan master, was a steady presence during it, his commands concise, his gaze missing nothing. She approved of his efficiency. A well-run caravan was a safer caravan.

A minor commotion near their allotted wagon drew her attention. One of the larger supply barrels, containing preserved foodstuffs, had shifted, its lashings clearly inadequate for the rough roads ahead. A younger caravan guard was struggling with it, his efforts more enthusiastic than effective. She sighed internally. Incompetence, even minor, was an irritant. She strode over, her voice cutting through the guard's flustered apologies. "Secure it from the base, then cross-tie it. Use a tension knot, not that… whatever that is."

Kaelid and Rannek, who had been checking their own meager bundles, came over. She directed them with crisp commands, "Kaelid, check the other barrels on this side. Rannek, fetch that spare coil of rope from our supplies." They moved without question, a welcome change from their earlier, sometimes hesitant, responses to her directives. The city, the library, perhaps even the weight of their new necklaces, seemed to have instilled a measure of maturity in them, or at least a greater understanding of practical necessities. The barrel was soon secured, solid and unmoving. She gave the lashings a final, critical tug. Satisfactory. Such small moments of order amidst the larger uncertainties of their lives were, she found, disproportionately reassuring.

Later, as the afternoon waned and the bulk of the preparations were complete, they found a measure of privacy in the small, sparsely furnished room they shared at the inn. The sounds of the city were a muted hum beyond the single window. Rannek, perched on his cot, was still buzzing with the aftereffects of their library visit, recounting his favorite riddles with an energy that even the day's labor hadn't dampened. Kaelid, quieter, sat with the large, blank-paged journal resting on his knees, his expression thoughtful as he listened to Rannek's chatter.

Marta watched them, her own mind sifting through the implications of their encounter. The library was not merely a collection of books, it was an intelligence, ancient and vast. Its methods of communication, the materialized books, the self-writing journal, were beyond any magic she had ever heard of, though 'magic' felt too crude a term for its precise, almost scholarly, interactions. "It wasn't just answering questions," she found herself saying, more to solidify her own thoughts than to enlighten the boys. "It was assessing us. Testing us. The riddles, the paradox I posed… that was a dialogue, not an interrogation."

"It knew so much!" Rannek exclaimed, his eyes wide. "About healing, and the slimes, and even that map riddle I got! How could it know all that?"

Kaelid finally spoke, his gaze fixed on the journal. "It felt… connected. Like it could see more than just what was in front of it. When it wrote about the slimes, it was like it understood what I was hoping to find out, not just the words I used." He looked up, meeting her eyes. "Do you think it's dangerous?"

She considered this. Dangerous? Potentially. Any entity with that level of knowledge and unexplained ability could be. But its interactions had been… measured. Curious, even playful, during the riddle exchange. "Powerful things are always dangerous if mishandled, or if their intentions are misread," she said carefully. "But it offered knowledge, not threats. It shared, it didn't seek to control. For now, I'd call it an enigma, one we were fortunate to encounter. And one we should be very discreet about."

Her gaze fell on the journal in Kaelid's lap. Another piece of the enigma. He had been idly tracing the cover with a fingertip, lost in thought. As she watched, a faint, silvery sheen seemed to ripple across the blank page under his touch. Kaelid started, his eyes widening. He lifted his hand, and the sheen remained, slowly coalescing into fine, elegant script.

She leaned forward, her own breath catching. Rannek scrambled off his cot to peer over Kaelid's shoulder. The script flowed across the page, forming words, sentences. It was a description, concise and unnervingly accurate, of Kaelid himself. It noted his approximate age, his dark hair, his observant grey eyes. Then, it went further. possesses a strong innate affinity for telluric energies, currently nascent but developing. Physical resilience notably above average for his age cohort. Mind inclined towards intuitive understanding and spatial reasoning, less towards rote memorization.

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The three of them stared at the page, the silence in the room profound. She felt a chill despite the stuffy air. The library, or this extension of it, hadn't just recorded Kaelid's appearance. It had analyzed him. It had seen qualities, potentials, that even Kaelid himself was likely unaware of. This journal wasn't just a passive recipient of information. It was an active, perceptive tool, its blank pages a deceptive veil over a startlingly acute awareness. The implications of that were… extensive. And, she admitted to herself, more than a little unsettling.

Kaelid :

He watched, fascinated, as the silver script described him on the page of the journal. It was strange, seeing himself outlined like that, not just his appearance but things inside him, things he was only just beginning to feel. Affinity for telluric energies… intuitive understanding…< It made the tingling he sometimes felt when near his crystal, or the way he'd just known things in the forest, seem more real, less like imagination.

"Wow," Rannek breathed, his eyes wide as he finished reading over his shoulder. "It knows all that about you? Just from you holding it? Let me try!"

Before he could say much, Rannek had eagerly taken the journal. He settled onto his cot, holding the book with a mixture of reverence and excitement. He watched, curious to see what the journal would reveal about his friend. A new page, previously blank, began to shimmer. Silver lines flowed like quicksilver, forming words that painted a picture of Rannek.

He leaned closer to read. The journal described Rannek's boundless, restless energy, his quick, inquisitive mind that darted from one thought to another like a hummingbird. It mentioned his fierce loyalty, a quality he had experienced firsthand. But then, the script delved deeper, noting a surprising capacity for empathy beneath the boisterous exterior, and a latent talent for recognizing patterns, not just in games or puzzles, but in the flow of events, in the way people spoke or acted. A mind that seeks connections,and finds them in unexpected places.

Rannek read it, his usual grin softening into a more thoughtful expression. He traced one of the silver lines with his finger. "It… it says I'm good at seeing patterns," he murmured, almost to himself. "Like with the riddles in the library? I just… saw how they fit, sometimes." He looked up at him, a new understanding dawning in his eyes. "It's like it sees things we don't even see in ourselves."

Kaelid nodded, feeling a fresh wave of awe for the journal, for the library that had gifted it. It wasn't just a book, it was a mirror, reflecting not just their faces but something of their inner selves.

Marta had been observing them both, her expression unreadable as usual, but he saw the keen intelligence in her eyes. "My turn, I think," she said, her voice calm, though he sensed an underlying tension. She reached for the journal, and Rannek handed it over, his earlier excitement now tinged with a respectful curiosity to see what it would say about their formidable guardian.

Marta held the journal firmly, her gaze fixed on the blank page that awaited. he watched, holding his breath slightly. What would this ancient, knowing intelligence make of Marta, with all her guarded strength and hidden depths? The silver script began to flow, perhaps a little more slowly this time, as if the journal were taking careful measure. The description that emerged was concise, almost stark, yet powerful. It spoke of exceptional physical prowess, honed by rigorous discipline and adversity, highly analytical intellect, capable of rapid assessment and strategic thought. And then, a line that made him shiver slightly: A spirit tempered by loss, yet unyielding; a shield for those deemed worthy of protection.

Marta read the page, her expression unchanging. But he saw the faintest tightening of her lips, a subtle shift in her posture. The journal had seen past her tough exterior, acknowledged the warrior, but also hinted at the burdens she carried. She closed the journal without a word, handing it back to him. The silence in the room was heavy with unspoken thoughts. The journal hadn't just described them; it had, in its own way, understood them.

The next morning, amidst the final flurry of caravan preparations, Rannek's restless curiosity sparked another discovery. He had picked a bright yellow wildflower that had defiantly pushed its way up between two cobblestones in the inn yard. "I wonder what the journal would say about this?" he mused, more to himself than anyone.

Before they could comment, he had opened the journal and playfully tucked the small flower between two of its blank pages. They both watched, half-expecting nothing to happen. To their astonishment, the facing page, which had been empty moments before, began to fill with the familiar silver script.

He leaned in, Rannek practically vibrating with excitement beside him. The script identified the flower by a local name he didn't recognize – Sunpetal – and then went on to describe its properties. Commonly found in disturbed soil and along roadsides. Petals can be steeped to create a mild, calming tea. Crushed leaves, when applied as a poultice, can soothe minor skin irritations. Blooms most prominently in late spring and early summer.

"It knows plants too!" Rannek exclaimed, carefully retrieving the wildflower. "This is amazing, Kaelid! It's like having Elder Myra's herb book, but it writes itself!"

He felt a thrill course through him. The journal wasn't just for understanding people, it could understand the world around them. He thought of all the strange plants they'd seen on their journey, the things Taelwen had gathered. What knowledge might the journal unlock? The possibilities seemed endless, stretching out before him like an open road.

The call to assemble echoed through the courtyard, pulling him from his reverie. It was time. The great gates of High-pass loomed before them, a stone maw preparing to release them back into the wilderness. A chill wind, carrying the scent of distant rain and the sharp tang of woodsmoke from the city's thousand chimneys, whipped around them, a tangible reminder of the approaching winter. The mood in the caravan was more subdued than it had been upon their arrival, the initial excitement of reaching the famed city now replaced with the grim determination of a long journey ahead in uncertain weather.

Kaelid, Rannek, and Marta found their places with their allotted wagon. He clutched the journal, now tucked securely in his pack. It felt like a source of inner warmth against the encroaching chill, a tangible piece of the wonder and mystery High-pass had revealed. He looked back one last time as the caravan rumbled forward, the massive gates beginning to recede. He saw the distant, hazy outline of the Great Library's spire, a silent, knowing sentinel. He thought of the power held within its walls, the secrets it guarded, the brief, extraordinary connection they had forged.

High-pass, with its marvels and its dangers, was now behind them. The road to Aldermere stretched long and arduous. But he faced it with a new sense of himself, a new understanding of the world, and a journal filled with the whispers of ancient knowledge. The necklace with its crystal shard rested cool against his skin, a constant reminder of the changes within him, of the path that was just beginning to unfold. Winter was coming, yes, but so too, he felt with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, were more adventures.