103 – Dumries

Quills were already outdated when he was but a young boy learning to write, but Alfred always thought there was some panache to etching words on a page with a feather. He dipped the tip in his ink pot, only to find it empty.

He paused, then put his quill down on his desk, beside the unfinished book he was writing. He opened the drawer to his left.

“Hmm.”

He was out of ink.

“It should be enough.” The centennial of the summoning was behind them. The closest followers of the Magus had planned festivities for that occasion, and even had the gall to request his presence. Even Raymond didn’t care enough to attend.

Those bootlickers didn’t understand him.

He stepped toward the door of his office. Taking a stroll would help him think. There were still a lot of issues in his book. It was intended as a deeper research manuscript on the apostles, but information about them was truly scarce. Alfred suspected the Magus knew something, but the man wasn’t keen to share. A shame.

He opened the door, and out of habit, checked the mailbox attached to it. He’d only been in seclusion for four months. How much could have happened?

He pulled the latch open and paused.

The mailbox was full. Letters upon letters, the latest ones crammed inside with little care for the paper they were written on.

Alfred frowned. Then, he gathered all the letters and locked himself back into his office.

Using a simple spell to straighten the paper, he got to work reading them. In chronological order.

The first letter was an invitation to the centennial celebration. He didn’t bother reading it.

Then came a reminder of the birthday of one of his third great-grandchildren. He checked the date. It had passed.

The third letter was more concerning. A member of his faction had sensed a breach in the dimensional barrier. He couldn’t place where it had happened, but he claimed it was brief, and that the barrier had recovered almost instantly.

Alfred lived through two types of dimensional breaches. Neither was good. The way this one was described…

He skipped the routine letters and homed in on the latest ones.

Another hero had arrived.

He read everything and leaned back in his chair.

“Tash, why?”

His goddess didn’t answer. Not that he expected her to. Direct communication with the gods was rare and only happened on the divinity’s terms.

Alfred sorted the letters as he formulated his response. Alexandra Ward, through a quirk in transdimensional timeflow, knew the existing heroes. She was already within the Iron Library.

Raymond had acted fast.

He opened another drawer and pulled out his communication bead. “Heber, come to my office. Bring…” he sifted through the letters. “Bring Willow Dumries with you.”

*

Willow was a ball of nerves ready to explode. She was walking behind Elder Heber. Even if Goodpeak was more open than the library, she’d never interacted with a Diamond rank, much less with someone of the stature of the person they were going to see.

She couldn’t help but worry that a Keeper had reported the missing books she stole. Alexandra said the Magus knew, and that it was fine. But her new friend wasn’t the most reliable when it came to reading people.

Elder Heber stopped in front of a nondescript wooden door and knocked. The knot in her chest tightened. They were already there?

“Come in,” a voice said from inside.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

Elder Heber pushed the door open and gestured for Willow to follow him in. The office was small, and the walls covered with shelves full of books. In the center, next to the window overlooking the sea, an old man sat at his desk.

When they came in, he looked up from his papers.

“Heber.” He turned to her. “And you must be Willow. Sit.” He pointed at the chairs placed in front of his desk.

Heber bowed slightly. “Alfred. I assume that you’ve read our letters.” He sat and pulled out the other chair for Willow.

“I did.” Elder Alfred sighed. “What a mess.”

Willow sat and made herself small. She was in trouble. She wasn’t sure why. But she was in trouble.

“Willow,” Elder Alfred said. She flinched. He paused and softened his voice. “Willow, no need to be so tense. We may have never met, but we’re family. You’re the daughter of one of my fifth-generation grandchildren, is that right?”

She nodded. “Yes, Elder.”

He shook his head. “Grandfather.”

Willow’s breath caught. “Yes, Grandfather.”

Alfred leaned back and looked at her for a moment.

“You didn’t report her.”

Willow opened her mouth. Closed it. “I—What?”

“Alexandra. You didn’t report her to us.”