Thorns Exploration
â–¶
Heroes aren't born, they are forged in the maws of time, a creature of God, purely meant to enact His will.
I stepped out, boots squishing and thumping through the mud, cloak threatening to drag through it.
I let out a frustrated moan. It was NOT the day to dress up all fancy but I had no choice, the old man demanded I come in full official attire to the library.
I had been working for him since I was a kid, and as an apprentice at the library for almost two years now, but it had to be that day, a morning right after heavy rainfall, that he’d deem necessary for me to wear all of that.
The scent of baked goods broke my train of thought, it was slowly taking command of the air.
“I’m going to be late,” I muttered. Going through the meats market would've been faster and I would have taken that route if I had not been utterly convinced that wading through wet, faeces and urine laden mud would be a horrible idea.
I headed left in the opposite direction, planning to go by Batla’s bakery. Definitely not hoping to see Leisa on my way though…definitely, I thought.
I walked by the shop, eyes looking for something. I couldn’t find it. Dejectedly, I pressed on walking on the edges of the path where the mud was not so infuriatingly soft.
A few minutes later, the library’s unique stone roof broke through the rest of the housing, second floor windows uncharacteristically open.
I manoeuvred my way to the front entrance taking a breath and smoothing my clothing before stepping inside. The dank smell of shelves and books was almost overwhelming.
The front desk sat a good 3 metres away at the centre of the room, bookshelves lining the walls all around only broken up by windows.
Books littered the floors, the old man seemed to be cleaning up but he was nowhere in sight.
“Old man Oleg!” I called as I took a few more steps into the room.
“Stop bleating like a donkey and come upstairs you rascal!” The old man’s yelling from the back staircase sounded hearty. Good.
I went round the desk and made my way upstairs, the dank smell got worse. Books were almost exclusively on the floor and the old man was sorting through a few next to a window. Holding up the cloak to my nose, I attempted to make my way towards him.
“Stay there,” He said, raising up an arm.
“These here books are old and fragile, don’t want you stepping all over 'em”.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have thrown them on the ground?” I questioned.
“Worry not boy, I have a system.” His claim to whatever was happening being systematic brought a chuckle out of me.
“To what do I owe the pleasure sir?” I began, hoping he’d tell me that my promotion from apprenticeship is the reason for my summoning.
“You like books?” He started, flipping and scanning through the books on the window sill.
“Of course,” I chuckled. “It sure would have been a waste to spend most of my life around books if I hated them”
He looked up at me, quizzically.
“Okay then,” He looked back down to go through even more books. “Why do you like books?”.
He asked this question every once in a while and I always gave the same answer, 'I find the lessons and tales of previous nations and people fascinating', or something along those lines, but today felt different, like it was a test.
“Why do you like books sir?” I returned the question, praying to God that this was not a test.
He looked up and stared at me for a moment before dropping the book in his hand and heading towards an untouched shelf.
“Rascal, do you think yourself capable of greatness?” He obviously changed the line of questioning but he was backing me this time so I couldn’t judge his expression before giving an answer.
“I kind of do if I am being honest” I said flatly. I was already doing poorly on the test or whatever, so honesty couldn’t hurt.
“Good” He chuckled as he scanned the book spines on the shelf, “Very good”.
“As for why I like books” He continued, “It’s because I believe people and books are a lot alike”
“What do you mean?” I asked, genuinely wondering where this was going.
“I pick up unknown and poorly understood books for the same reason I pick kids like you off the street” He looked up at the row above to continue scanning.
“You never know...” He trailed off at the sight of a book. “Aha!” He proclaimed.
He spun and gleefully tossed it at me.
“You never know what they hold until you give them a chance” He stood, hand on his hips and a wide smile splitting his face.
When I flipped the book to its cover, I saw the title. ’Notes on the preservation of ancient knowledge’ by Doran Elkor.
The official handbook for professional scribes.