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Can Kuon sense my discomfort? Is he trying to calm me down?
"Oh no reason. I heard of some palace visitors discussing it." Please don't call me out.
Please. I plead into the unknown.
“No worries my dear.” He smiled, taking another swig of his tea. “Kuon, lay down,” Ov commands. Kuon reluctantly abided by the order. I watch the dog hunker under a nearby willow tree. Taking in what little shade the garden had to offer. “There are some established paths through the Veil. These passageways tend to be safer and more reliable. Although this isn’t a guarantee, then again only the truly desperate would risk entering the woods.”
Raising an eyebrow, I reply, “Why is that?”
“The forest of the Veil is as dangerous as they come. Even for deities. Restless spirits live in the woods. Older than some of the primordials themselves, the Oneiroi.”
“The who?”
“Ghosts attempting to lead the weary traveler astray. Take them off the path, right into the clutches of monsters. Pouncing on them, killing them. Humans are especially susceptible to the Oneiroi and the monsters. So don’t get adventurous on us, understand?” He watches me. Eyes cool and calculating.
“Fine. I promise.”
Delighted to have finally been allowed in the library without any sneaking around required, I stride in through the front entrance.
Though part of me craves the excitement from ducking and dodging the guardian of the library.
Not having a shadowy guard tracing my every step felt delightful.
The space from the guards is a great relief. When I approached the tall arched doorway, I smiled already at the entire multi-story structure filled with books. My entire town could’ve fit in these rooms and then some. Birds fly through the domed glass and stone above our heads. Plants, mostly as dead as the others, coil around the columns of the magnificent room. Looking up, at least three floors high, then the dome on top. Squinting, up at the ceiling, it looks as though the marble sections of the dome contain yet more books. At the center of the doom hands long chandeliers dropping down to each flower. Convenient resting spots for the main birds soaring through the room. Stone steps are obscured behind shelves. This room may also be the most well-lit room in the palace of the Sun God. One can't walk five steps without passing a torch, a sconce, a fireplace, an oil lamp or other means of keeping the light.
Following Athena’s directions, I came across the circulation desk. She recommended that he be the first person that I talk to here. “If there’s something to be known, Marsyas knows it,” according to Athena. High praise which isn’t something normally in her nature.
Turning to the Keeper of the Record, a middle-aged satyr looks down at me over his thick round spectacles. Frizzy black hair juts out of his head in unpredictable curls with a gray strip flowing across his right side.
Seeing the satyr, my stomach drops. The man who pursued me through half of the library. Oh boy. Please don’t recognize me. “Are you the Keeper of the Record?”
The satyr rolls his eyes, “Pray tell who else would be the keeper?” He gestures to his official looking desk. A placard lay on the desk.
Marsyas, Keeper of Records
Off to a great start, “Nice to meet you Marsyas, I’m--”
“Pandora, yes, I know. Also goes by Pandy or Pan, but don’t you go asking me to call you the later,” flares the satyr.
Hmm. I think he may recognize me. Otherwise, why would he have such a sour demeanor? I thought satyrs were supposed to be less doom and gloom. They’re told to be more trickster and the life of the party.
“O- okay, why?” Stammering, I watch the satyr, my consciousness full of concern.
“I'm a follower of Pan, the God of the Forests and the wilds,” he states sternly. “And I'll not be comparing a lowly mortal such as yourself to him, a god with all of his glory.”
I fidget awkwardly. Shifting my weight from one side to the other.
“Pandora is fine then,” I replied. Gaia helped me. “Interesting you follow the God of the Wild but work in a library.”
Marsyas shoots me a look that screams that he’d harm me if he could get away with it. Thankfully, he knows that he won't get away with it.
He narrows his eyes in my direction and growls, “How may I assist you.”
“I'm looking for a map. A friend of mine was brought to Mount Kazbek.” I request, “Can you point me in the direction of where I can find that.”
“No.”
“No?” Some keepers of the records, “Why not?”
