Raven's Strike (Raven #2)(90)

Only then, when the first shock of fright had passed did she realize what her senses had been trying to tell her: this was not a human.

"Illusion," she said, reaching out to touch him lightly. His skin was soft, warm, and gave beneath her touch as if he had been a real boy and not a magical construct. The magic felt very familiar - just like the mermori. "Hinnum made you."

"Indeed," he answered her politely. She found it impossible to look at the illusion and not designate him as male, though she knew it was foolish. "May I help you find something? You seem to be searching."

"I need to find out about the Orders," she told him. "My husband's has been damaged, and I need to repair it."

"You have many Orders," the Scholar said neutrally.

"I am Raven," Seraph said confused.

"You carry many Orders."

Her hand went to the bag where the gems the Path had created lay. How had an illusionary construct sensed them? She narrowed her eyes at him. "I do. There have been many Travelers killed, and their Orders bound to gemstones so that solsenti wizards could use them. I have them here. I hope that if I find out enough to help my husband, then I can see these Orders are properly released as well."

The boy said nothing, just waited in silence. His small smile was unchanged, and she suspected that she'd been mistaken when she'd thought it had widened earlier.

"Why were you left here?" she asked him.

"I am here to help others find information from the library."

"You know what information is stored here?" Seraph felt a stirring of excited hope that the first sight of the library full of books had extinguished. If she and Hennea had to sort through the books for ones they could decipher, then read them, Tier would die of old age before they finished.

"I know what is in the library," he answered.

"Good," she said. "Do you know where Hennea is? My friend who came in here with me?"

This time the answer didn't come immediately. "I know where the Raven is," he said at last.

"Take me there," she said. This was better than a notebook full of the scribblings of wizards.

Hennea had chosen to explore the basement. They found her seated at a table, a magelight hanging over a loose-bound sheaf of papers. Her hair was mussed, as if she'd spent time crawling under tables.

"Raven," said the Scholar, before Seraph could announce them. "You are welcome here."

Hennea marked her place with a finger and looked up with an expression of mild inquiry. She didn't look at all surprised to find a stranger addressing her. Seraph had never admired her aplomb more.

"This is the Scholar," Seraph said, wondering if Hennea would see what she had seen.

Hennea frowned and set the papers aside, shifting her weight in her chair as she stared at him. "You look familiar," she said at last.

"No," Seraph corrected her gently. "He feels familiar."

Hennea straightened. "Hinnum," she said.

"The Scholar is here to help people find information." Seraph smiled. "Phoran said that wizards tend to be very well organized."

The Scholar led them back to the main room, the first room they'd been in. "This is a good place to start," he told them. "What would you know?"

"Tell us about the Stalker," asked Hennea.

He bowed shallowly. "Pray have a seat, Raven."

He was talking to Hennea as if he no longer noticed Seraph was in the room, his eyes locked on Hennea's face. As she sat on the cushioned bench beside Hennea, Seraph wondered if it was some aspect of his creation that he paid attention only to the one who questioned him.

"There were once two brothers, twins born of the Eastern Star and fathered by the Moon. They were mirror images of each other, the light twin and the dark. We called them the Weaver and the Stalker, though those were not their names."

"Why not call them by name?" asked Hennea.

"Do you know this story?"

"No." But Hennea frowned and rubbed her forehead as if she were trying to recall something.

"I've never heard of the Weaver," said Seraph. "Only the Stalker."

"Names have power." The Scholar's voice was as polite and even as his small smile. Seraph was finding that the Scholar's expression, which had first been almost welcoming, was starting to make her uncomfortable.

He continued in that same quiet voice. "To speak the names of the twins is to call their attention to you, and it should not be done lightly."

When neither Seraph nor Hennea commented, he continued. "The Weaver held the power of creation. Whenever he spoke a word or had a thought, he created. The Stalker held the keys of destruction. Whatsoever the Weaver created, the Stalker numbered its days so the Weaver's creations did not grow to such an extent that the All of Being was made to Nothingness."

"I remember that," said Hennea. Her hands were on her temples as if they ached. "I remember that. If creation was given no limit, ultimately everything would cease to exist."

The Scholar's focus on Hennea was starting to bother Seraph. Though his expression never changed, his body leaned toward her, just a little. Seraph could see no magic passing from him to Hennea, but she watched him closely.

"One day the Stalker was walking when he came upon a woman washing her clothes. She was more beautiful to him than any other thing his brother had ever made, and so he took her to wife.