A Tale That Dawned [Book 4 of Selvina's Tale series]

Chapter 9: Life Stories

Raven Peak was a cone-shaped much like a volcano which it was not. As its name implied it was made of smooth, oily-black stone. The mountain itself was nearly perfect in shape with no ridges, crevices, or erosion scars of any kind to mar its surface, all except a long, zig-zagging stairway that disfigured its southern face. Surrounded by the Final Night mountains on all sides, which were grey and rocky, Raven Peak stood out prominently.

Deep within the mountain, a man walked down wide halls filled with stone bookshelves that rose from floor to ceiling. Rolling ladders rested on rails which flanked each bookshelf. Each bookshelf was filled with books laying flat on their sides, some newly opened, some reaching the end of their stories, and some closed and dusty.

The man eyed one shelf whose gold-encrusted label read, "Charming Family". At the top of that bookshelf were many closed books, many of which were damaged and crumbling. A few shelves below, some were reaching their end and at eye level were several books near the middle of their stories and beneath them were those that were freshly opened, two of which were still on the first page of their stories.

"More heirs for the Charming throne," the man said, watching as spidery letters appeared out of thin air on the books' pages, written by some unseen author. He shifted his attention to one certain book titled "Prince Florian Charming" and read the new words appearing on its pages. They detailed the rebuilding of Our Lady in the wake of the Black Knight's attack and how the prince would send reinforcements to the east, where ogre attacks were becoming more frequent.

On the shelf above that book was one titled "King Henri Charming" and this one was telling the story of the king rallying his men and defending one of New Alsar's walls from Swordenish invaders. Ladders were thrown down, siege towers were set aflame, and the king himself fought alongside his soldiers, boosting their morale and strengthening their resolve. The capital city of Frenis had been besieged for nearly two weeks now and the Swordenish army longed to capture it before the onset of winter. It appeared, however, that the city would remain Frenisian for another day.

The man reached into one of the pockets of the thick, black robe he wore and fingered an ivory quill he carried with him everywhere. If he wished, he could write his own entry into the story. Perhaps a piece of the wall would suddenly crumble or a Swordenish arrow found its way through the king's armour.

No, the man thought. It was no simple thing altering one's story and such a drastic change would be incredibly taxing on his body. Every altered word consumed a piece of his life force and thus if he was to influence someone's life story he would need to do it subtly and carefully. As enjoyable as it would be to read about King Henri Charming's valiant last stand the man needed his energy for someone else's story, one which he had been working on for years.

They call me the Writer, he thought with a sniff and a grin. Yet everyone here is writing their own story. I play no part in it whatsoever.

In truth, most of the stories in the gargantuan room were useless to him. Some were of simple farmers, others of bakers, cobblers, butchers, beggars, soldiers, nobles, and all manner of social ranking. The Writer was immortal but even he would be unable to read all the stories.

Yet, because of him, a certain name was beginning to appear in many stories. A Frenisian farmer was having a drink at a tavern and speaking of the Black Knight's attack, mentioning the name several times. A Kennish dockhand recalled the Black Knight's invasion of Kenmard to a visiting sailor, uttering that same name as well. In Midae, a noblewoman was speaking to her husband of the death of their king by the Black Knight's hand, mentioning the name of the one the demon sought.

The Writer paused at one book titled "Artemian Gastonius" and raised an eyebrow in interest as he read about a former crewman of Captain Hook drawing a map of possible islands the Pirate Lord Peter Pan may have visited. The crewman, named Cookie, was speaking about the pirate's appetite for fairy dust and that how he thought the most likely location was Skull Island.