Soul Bound

1          Soul Bound

1.2        Taking Control

1.2.4      An Artful Carnivale

1.2.4.28   The silence of libraries

Stage fight wasn’t quite the right expression. Stage terror? Stage petrification?

Bulgaria noticed: {Think, Kafana. He’s bluffing. It is taboo for followers of Rac to burn books or harm bards. You’re the one person who’s entirely safe. He’s feeling impotent, and wants a bit of respect. Let me handle the narrative; you just provide the musical interludes.}

Bulgaria stood forwards and addressed Ulpian: “And a performance you shall have. But a little respect for our poor bard, please. She cannot play if her fingers stick to the strings with cold.”

The spectre backed off and the cold diminished to the point where they were no longer taking frost damage.

Bulgaria turned to Wellington, Tomsk, Bungo and Alderney: “Listen well, honest pilgrims, for this is a tale of knowledge and ignorance, of love and hate, of loyalty and betrayal; this is the tale from the Age of Priests - a true tale, and one all must remember if it is not to be repeated….”

They squatted down like an audience of children, and Bulgaria spun a web of words with his playwright skill, including most of what Ulpian said but expanding upon it, making it live for those who could not see the ruin themselves just hear the words, drawing upon his memories of similar arlife events. Kafana started off with the thin notes of the final violin solo from Scheherezade, by Rimsky Korsakov, turning it into a spell that compelled a listener to keep listening for as long as the speaker still had stories to spin.

When he reached the part about the cart full of scrolls being sent away in exile she had him pause while she sang part of “Djelem, Djelem”, putting all the tragedy into the words that her sevdalinka trained voice could manage, thinking of the Lovari she’d met earlier. She put on her blue stole to catch Rac’s attention, and turned the song into a prayer for moving on, for regaining hope, to prepare Ulpian to accept her planned finale.

I went, I went on long roads

I met happy Roma

O Roma, where do you come from,

With tents happy on the road?

O Roma, O Romani youths!

Djelem, djelem, lungone dromensa

Maladilem bakhtale Romensa

A Romale, katar tumen aven,

E tsarensa bakhtale dromensa?

A Romale, A Chavale

I once had a great family,

The Black Legion murdered them

Come with me, Roma from all the world

For the Roma, roads have opened

Now is the time, rise up Roma now,

We will rise high if we act

O Roma, O Romani youths!

Sas vi man yekh bari familiya,

Mundardyas la e Kali Legiya

Aven mansa sa lumnyake Roma,

Kai putardile e Romane droma

Ake vriama, usti Rom akana,

Amen khutasa misto kai kerasa

A Romale, A Chavale

While Bulgaria detailed Ulpian’s capture and the desecration, Kafana brought the Wombles into a group performance so she could draw upon them, and had Wellington help cast an amplification spell, amplifying not the sound but her thoughts, like the one she’d used to contact the clouds. She played increasingly savage music, wild and destructive, as the flames in the tale rose higher, sending sound waves into the structure about her and the mound itself, setting up as strong a resonance and gestalt identification of it as she could. Bulgaria’s voice rose to match it and, when it reached him declaiming Ulpian’s vow to protect the library from beyond death itself, she cut the music entirely, leaving his words to ring out in complete silence.

Then, as though they’d rehearsed it a hundred times, she cast her spell.

Purify.

She let Rac himself speak through her mouth, and every word was as soft and quiet as drifting snow, yet weighty, as though the history of a kilometer of other snowflakes were piled on top of it - resisting or disbelieving them was unthinkable.

Rac: “Well done, thou good and faithful servant. Let all that is foul remain in my sight no longer.”

About them the charred remains rose, slowly at first, then faster and faster, high into the sky like glowing embers until they passed out of sight. Damaged marble statues melted briefly then reformed whole again, toppled columns righted themselves, carrying walkways back to their original positions circling the higher niches. Cracked flagstones snapped back into place and hundreds of years of bird droppings vanished, along with the broken scroll tubes. The only sign remaining that this wasn’t a new building awaiting its first scroll to store was the site of Ulpian’s funeral pyre, which slowly transformed into a mirror of obsidian, polished so perfectly that people standing upon it appeared to be standing instead upon a night sky full of stars.

Rac: “This place is purified, and thy vow is complete. You may choose to rest now, or to tarry a while; not with a duty to protect but instead in a new role - to teach and train a worthy successor. Last guardian of this place you shall not be.”

Ulpian: “While I can serve usefully and with honour I would do so, in whatever role you will for me my Lord.”

Rac: “Accepted. But we cannot have your pupils freezing or being accidentally drained, else none will dare learn here. Be thou transformed.”

She felt Rac’s presence depart her, and removed the stole, then turned her attention to Wellington who was appraising the much-surprised Ulpian.

Wellington: “Congratulations Ulpian. You appear to be a level 85 Spectral Lord now. You can consciously control who is affected by your powers, and they’ll work in daylight too, as long as you don’t stand in the full light of the noon-day sun.”

[Quest completed: “Survive the Spectre!”.]

[Title gained: “Usignolino” - the little nightingale.]

[Level gained. You are now level 38]

[Skill “Necromancy” has reached level 5.]

[Skill “Command performance” has reached level 23.]

[Skill “Buff” has reached level 23.]

[Skill “Group performance” has reached level 22.]

[Skill “Enhanced willpower” has reached level 8.]

[Skill “Purify” has reached level 13.]

[Skill “Holy Prayer” has reached level 15.]

*ding* [Your party’s reputation with sentient undead has increased by 200.]

*ding* [Your reputation with sentient undead has increased by an additional 800.]

*ding* [Your party’s reputation with followers of Rac has increased by 500.]

*ding* [Your reputation with followers of Rac has increased by an additional 2000.]

There was a burst of pleasure from the notifications, but what she mainly felt was a tremendous lightness. Not a light headedness from the rush of survival, nor a lightness of body. Having Rac speak through her, having been part of Ulpian's catharsis, had left her feeling drained but also filled in a way - uplifted in spirit. Had Rac, the subtle deity of secrets, purified more than just the building?