Book, Part 2

Malcinson smirked, knowing what Morne was thinking. "No, I'm not an Anointed, nor a cultist. Though I do have a trade relationship of sorts with Jiklok's servants.

"I know what you did because of the book," he said simply, pointing at the book in Morne's hand. "I lied when we first met. I didn't buy it off of some merchant, it was entrusted to me by the Coltha.

"As payback for a favor he did for me years ago, I was to guard the book until someone fulfilling certain conditions came for it.

"The book can only be read in full by someone who had Traded for it from Brej-N'Ha-Frikt and passed its trial, and the smell of the Trade's cinders on you led me to believe that you were the person I was waiting for.

"After I watched you disappear into the book and my suspicions were confirmed, I started to keep watch in the place you left for your eventual return."

Morne took a few seconds to process this information. He wasn't exactly surprised or confused by anything Malcinson had said, except for the last part.

"I returned to the same place I left?" Morne asked. Then why was there a building there now?

"You did," the old man nodded. "But you started the trial two years ago."

Morne blinked.

He wasn't angry. Far from it, actually. If two years had passed, that meant that the Ilnchan cultists had almost definitely given up and might have forgotten about him altogether.

That didn't matter that much considering he had skipped town and was days away from their lair, but he'd take what victories he could.

And it wasn't like he had any relationships tethering him to this world that would be disrupted by this change. He had no wife, no job, and no friends. He might've gained little from this, but he lost nothing.

He shook his head. Getting back to the matter at hand, he asked Malcinson a question.

"Then why are you here?"

If this man's only responsibility was to safeguard the book until the "inheritor" arrived, why had he saved Morne from a few days in jail and brought him here?

Malcinson smiled. His looks were dashing even for someone Morne expected to be nearing his 80s, and this smile was enough to make many women swoon.

"I never said that was all of my responsibilities," the Mage said after a while. "Just that it was my responsibility to do so. A subtle, yet important distinction."

The old Mage approached the map of Xryn on the wall, studying it.

With a grunt, Morne joined him. He hoped all Mages weren't this eccentric.

The two stood in silence for several minutes. Morne took this time to examine the map.

A red star marked where they were, drawn around a dot with the word "Untelneb" under it.

All known land masses were recorded on this document.

Morne saw Ondethale and Bedrend to the east; Vadnerben northeast of the first; the Treth continent across the waves to the west of this continent, the Endel continent; the Grentazath continent to the south of the other two; and everything in between.

This being the first time he had ever seen a map of the entire world, it was slightly overwhelming.

He remembered the first time he had been in a big city, shortly after being sold into slavery. The tall buildings, the sturdy walls, the sheer amount of people, it was all far more than he had seen before.

And now, to learn that the city of Untelneb was just a speck on the map of the world was awe-inspiring.

But that awe swiftly became bitterness.

All these people, all this land, and it was his village that was destroyed, his people that were put to the sword. It was like finding a needle in a haystack, only to snap it in half.

Oblivious to Morne's thoughts, Malcinson spoke.

"That book you have is only the first of six. I have information on where to find the second, but the others are up to you."

He raised a hand, tapping Ondethale on the map.

"The next is somewhere in this country. I'm unaware of its exact location, but I can tell you that it's not being sold in an open market. I've checked. My guess is that it's either in the hands of a private collector, or buried in some forgotten ruin.

"You have no obligation to seek it out, or the other fragments for that matter. I'm just fulfilling my obligations by telling you where to start."

Straightening his shirt, the Mage nodded to Morne and made his way to the stairs.

"You're free to stay here for as long as you like," he said as he left. "There's a week's worth of food in that pantry there; after that's gone, you're on your own."

He stepped on the first stair before he turned back, his brown eyes serious.

"Oh, and please don't get give away this hideout's position," he warned. "Jiklok's followers tend to react rather poorly to such things."

With that, the Mage left.

Morne ran a hand through his hair, eyes returning to the map and Ondethale.

He tore his eyes away with a sigh, plopping down on the bed.

For the first time since passing the trial, he opened it, flipping to the first page.

He was glad to see that the letters weren't changing to incomprehensible nonsense anymore, and started reading.

He stopped only three minutes later, his eyes drooping with fatigue.

He suddenly became very aware that he hadn't slept in over two years. Or well, he had, but judging by how tired he was, his sleep in Selkseb wasn't enough.

It made sense. Four weeks had taken two whole years. He didn't know how long that hot-and-cold torture lasted, but doubted it was more than a few hours. Just that was enough to leave him mentally exhausted, much less everything else.

He tucked the book under his pillow and laid down. The mattress was firm, but passable.

Sleep came like a wave, washing away all other thoughts and leaving only a blissful oblivion.