Through Stack and Squall

[Zook Murnig]

Through Stack and Squall


[ Dramatis personae ]

Caduceus Grimaldi
Gavrila Endora
The Librarian
Paralda

***

“The spiritual eye sees not only rivers of water, but of air.”




John Muir

[Zook Murnig]

Ankhas. The Library of Ettermire. The greatest repository of knowledge in the known world. And for that very reason, it was one magician's worst research nightmare.

Nearly two weeks of combing the cramped stacks had gleaned only rudimentary information on the Queen of Sylphs. Paralda, the Air Queen. Paralda, who so favored the musky-leafed anemone as to give it the name "windflower." Paralda, whose voice carries the breeze. Paralda, who taught the changelings their illusions. Paralda, who rules the four winds.

"Paralda, about whom nothing interesting gets written," muttered Caduceus, slamming closed another book, drawing another glare from the fair-haired librarian. He smiled sheepishly, eliciting a scathing roll of her icy blue eyes. Attractive as she was, she had refused thus far to be of any assistance. The frustrated young mage had begun to wonder if she worked at the library at all.

He roughly shoved the book aside and, as he reached for the next in his gathered pile, a shadow fell over the oaken table. "No luck, Caduceus?" asked the dark-haired girl standing over him. Gavrila had been a godsend through this whole affair, providing encouragement, reminding him to leave for the inn at night, and, most importantly, bringing food and companionship at almost every meeting. Alas, no nourishment this time.

"I should think not, with the wonderful help they've hired," he replied, nodding in the direction of the already retreating blonde as she rounded a shelf, disappearing from view. "And I suppose it's time again to let this dreadful place have its leave of me?"

Gavrila turned to follow his gaze, staring for a moment before speaking again. "I'm beginning to wonder if you've made this woman up entirely. You always complain of her, but I have yet to see anyone like her." Finally, she pulled a block of wood from under the table, marked Do Not Disturb, and balanced it atop the mountain of pages and hardcovers.

With that, Caduceus gathered his notes and they left into the polluted evening air of Ettermire, remarking, "Sometimes, dear Gavrila, she haunts my dreams."

[Zook Murnig]

Deep was his sleep that night, his mind cast into the world of dreams. For a magician, dreams can take on their own kind of reality, a conglomeration of symbols and the wills of other dreamers-- wild imaginings at best, perilous traps for the spirit at worst. And sometimes, if you were very unlucky, you fell into the grasp of something more powerful than simple mortal whim.

He dreamed that night of clouds. Walls of fog surrounded Caduceus as he walked slowly between them. Stopping, he pressed a hand to one of the misty barriers, and before his fingers sank more than an inch, he felt the wall pushing back. Not stopping him, exactly, but resisting strongly.

Glancing about, he could go one of two ways. The young magician picked one and trotted along. Not a sound reached his ears but the crunch of his boots on the snow-like ground beneath. Finally, he came to a break in the left wall. Taking the new path, he jogged a little faster.

Hours it seemed he travelled this cumulus maze, more turns and forks appearing with ever increasing frequency, and his pace had quickened steadily to a run as he frantically sought the exit. Left, right, left, left, straight, right, straight, right, right...

Breathless, he stopped and fell to his knees. There was no end to the labyrinth. No path he took seemed to lead anywhere except back to the beginning. His own footprints in the snow had crossed more times than he cared to count. And the eerie silence made this hell no more bearable. He kneeled there, praying, begging, for a way out. Finally, he slumped against a nimbus, closed his eyes, and listened to the whistle of the wind and the soft feminine notes of a wordless song.

[Zook Murnig]

His eyes flew wide. Wind? Singing? Gilded silence had assailed him since his arrival in this dream-world. Who sang? From where did the wind blow? When did it start? Why? A thousand questions exploded to the forefront of his mind as he pushed himself to a stand and focused on that ethereal voice. It's faint, but I think it's coming from over there...

He set off once more, eyes closed, listening intently for the siren call. His every step was more certain, more confident than the last. He rounded a turn, and it grew louder. Crossed an intersection, and the voice quickened, beckoning him.

Finally, a sharp gust pressed him to a stop, and he opened his eyes to find a wall. "Dead end?" he said, his frustrated voice stark contrast to the steady alto filling the air around him. He sank his fist elbow deep in the soft wall before its resistance pushed him out again. This time, however, it left a hole, smaller than the fist that made it, in the wall of fog.

Thinking quickly, he grasped the small knife of prevalida at his hip, drawing it with a wry grin. He carved a circle first in the mist, focusing his will into the blade. Then, he proceeded to detail a five-pointed star within the circle. Finally, he drew back the dagger and thrust with all his strength into the center of the pentagram, his arm sinking to the shoulder in the cloud as he hissed "Shaddai el Chai!"

He poured his power steadily into the spell, holding it as long as he could as a blast of wind pressed against the barrier. Slowly, the mists parted, and disappeared completely as his spell faltered and the gale fell into small eddies describing circles and spirals in the ground and walls on either side. Before him, a spiraling staircase led upward, into the dark grey nimbus above.

With every step he took on the stair, he felt himself slipping from the dream realm, into a drowsy half-consciousness, and he threw his hand up to guard against the bright sunlight lancing into his weary eyes.

[Zook Murnig]

Caduceus yawned groggily as he set about the usual morning task of replacing all the books he'd gone through the previous day. Rubbing his eyes, he thought back to the evening prior, and still couldn't fathom why he should be so tired today. A full night's rest, and yet he could hardly stand on his feet. Just at the edge of memory, a strange dream of clouds. A dulcet voice. Stairway to nowhere.

He shook himself mentally, opening his eyes once more and placing the 'Sylphan Dyalogues' back on its shelf. The book had proved to be little more than a series of discussions and interviews with the faeries native to the distant and tropical nation of Dheathain.

As he turned to plod back to his pile, he nearly walked into the blonde locks and chillingly azure eyes of the reference librarian he'd been dealing with, albeit reluctantly, for the past several days. She sneered at him as he paused to catch his breath from fright. "Not what you had hoped, wizard?" she asked over-sweetly, her melodic voice feigning interest. "Perhaps if you knew what you were looking for, you might be able to find it. Just looking for sylphs and some sorceress with no last name or title will not avail you."

For most women, Caduceus had all the patience in the world. He was a chivalrous sort of man, and saw to it that the women he met were treated with the respect he felt they deserved. But this librarian had pushed him beyond the normal bounds of his kindness. "And what might you suggest, madame?" he snapped back. "Perhaps I might find it easier to search the entirety of the largest library in the world? That I should even page through books of poetry, hoping for some hint of the Queen of Air? No, I should think not. Such would be naught but an even greater waste of time, I should think."

She grinned smugly at this. "I was just coming to recommend a poet, in fact." She roughly grabbed the magician's hand and thrust a scrap of paper into it, before smiling more broadly and toothily as she tossed her long golden hair about, and leaving him, she clearly thought, dumbfounded. "Heed my advice or no, I do not care," she called over her shoulder as she stalked away down the aisles.

Caduceus looked down at the scrap, and the name scribbled across it, confounded by her sudden assistance, however coarse. It was then that the much more welcome countenance of the dark-haired Gavrila rounded the corner. "There you are, Cad! I probably wouldn't have found you if I hadn't overheard your yelling." She glanced around, up and down the stacks. "Who were you talking to, anyway?" she asked. "Your ever-elusive librarian?"

"Yeah," he managed, still staring at the scrawl.

"Page, James Patrick. Book IV, piece no. IV," it read. "The Stairway to Heaven."

[Zook Murnig]

After some time rummaging among the unfamiliar shelves of poetry, Caduceus at last came upon James Patrick Page's IV. It was a slim volume, and one of the paperbound works so rare among large libraries, much less Ankhas, because of their tendency to succumb to the wear and tear of such institutions. This copy, however, appeared to have been recently re-penned by one Lillian Sesthal, as the original had been destroyed in some bibliographical disaster several months earlier.

Stifling yet another yawn, the magician settled down across from Gavrila, who had busied herself with a combination of breakfast and studies of her own. Leafing through, he quickly found the fourth piece, The Stairway to Heaven.


There's a lady who's sure
All that glitters is gold
And she's buying a stairway to heaven.

Dizziness and confusion washed over the young mage as glimpses of a world of clouds and snow came to mind, and a wrought-iron spiral staircase. Shaking himself free, he continued down the page.


In a tree by the brook
There's a songbird who sings.
Sometimes all of our thoughts are
Misgiven.

A wordless song carried on the lost wind assailed his mind's ear, and he struggled against the sweet lullaby.


And it's whispered that soon,
If we all call the tune,
Then the piper will lead us to reason.

A new wave of exhaustion broke against Caduceus' thoughts. Visions of a chase through a labyrinth of fog rose to the surface.


Your head is humming and it won't go.
In case you don't know,
The piper's calling you to join him.

Dear lady, can you hear the wind blow?
And did you know...

The magician's will broke against the tide of sleep, and as he lolled backward in his chair, the last thing he remembered was seeing the upturned, and now shining-eyed and smiling visage of the librarian hovering over him, and hearing her whisper, "Your stairway lies on the whispering wind."

Lyrics taken from the song "Stairway to Heaven" by Led Zeppelin. Referenced bibliographical disaster can be found in Ataraxis' "Study in Black (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=3716)."