In the back of her mind, Vera knew she should reach for her personal satchel where the shimmering piece of the retrieval shelf lay along with her quills, ink, and paper. That was the idea, the image she had played in her head again and again as she prepared for this journey.
The reality of the situation was much more grim. She couldn't move. Her arms were frozen to her sides, and her feet were frozen to the mud. Her mind screamed, but her blood had gone still. All she could do was stare at the sky and watch the scarbeak descend upon her.
It screeched once more, careening down, closing the distance inch by inch. That cry reverberated outward, whipping through leaves and branches. It took a moment for Vera to recognize what was so unique about it: it was a summoning call.
In less than a blink, three more winged monsters appeared on the horizon. Then there were five, then ten. Then she lost count. For one breathless moment, there was no sun nor clouds, only a squawking swarm of murderous beasts.
A flicker of movement to her side snapped Vera from her trance. The duke had produced a sword from somewhere and was gripping its hilt in one hand. Vaguely, Vera noticed that he wore no sheath for it. Had he summoned it from thin air?
She did not have time to ponder further. The flock of scarbeaks squeaked in unison, and finally she was able to move her feet. She secured the strap of her satchel with one hand, then dove to the side. Away from the clearing and into the forest.
The scarbeaks couldn't see her beneath the thick cover of wet leaves and claw-like branches. She fumbled to rip open her satchel, but her fingers shook so violently her hands seemed a heartbeat away from falling off her wrists.
There was a sudden flash of black in the corner of her eye. Vera halted her struggle long enough to stare. The duke's sword was engulfed in that same black flame he'd wielded the day he arrived at the Archive. It crawled up the length of the blade and up his arm until it enveloped him like a visible aura.
Oddly enough, his cloak did not smolder. Whatever fuel fed these flames was not of the conventional sort.
It took Vera only a moment longer to learn what it was. The duke faced the first scarbeak as it dove for him with its long, jagged talons. He aimed his sword upward and jammed it straight through the bottom of its foot. It shrieked in pain, furiously flapping its monstrous wings. The duke pulled his blade free of its flesh, blood spraying across the ground, then thrust it into the beast's abdomen as it attempted to reel back into the sky.
The scarbeak's cry died in its throat. It flopped to the ground, writhing as if some invisible parasite had crawled into its mud-orange feathers. Vera blinked in shock as those feathers began to fall off, one by one. Soon only pale pinkish skin remained. The beast's thrashing began to fade as its flesh morphed into a dark shade of ashen gray. Its small, glossy eyeballs erupted into black flames, then it stopped moving.
I see, Vera thought distantly. It's not wood or air that feeds blackfire. It's the living soul.
The realization sent spikes of ice shooting through her veins. She wasn't much of a magician outside of bibliomancy, but one didn't work a lifetime with volatile grimoires without picking up on some things. Such magic was of the rarest and most dangerous type. The Duke of Ruin was a fitting nickname after all.
Vera shook her head to clear it. Now was not the time to dwell on his power. She would be remiss to cower in the trees and let him do all of the fighting. She'd brought her bibliomatic implements for a reason.
This small spark of determination steadied her quivering fingers. From her satchel, she pulled out the wooden piece of the retrieval shelf, a slip of parchment, and a quill pre-soaked in a small container of ink. She squatted against the gnarled trunk of the nearest tree, balancing the wooden plank across her knee as her quill hovered above the paper.
The identifications of the chained books swam in her mind. There was no time to check the list she had made the previous night. Vera inhaled. One of the entries came to her an a fuzzy image. She didn't question it. She willed her damp fingers to keep their grip on the quill and began to write.
Grimoire: The Physician's Lexicon, Healing & Restoration, St. Etrea Monastery.
As soon as she dotted the last punctuation mark, the parchment vanished. In a blink, a large tome had taken its place. It was nearly as long as the wooden plank and twice as wide, so it began to slide from her knee and onto the ground. Vera scarcely managed to catch it.
She thumbed through the pages, her heart galloping within her chest. The shrieks of the scarbeaks were only growing louder.
No, she realized, mouth going dry. No, no, no. This is the wrong one.
She should've realized as she was writing it down, but she'd been too focused on retaining legible calligraphy. This was a tome for healing and support magic. It had appeared in her memory first because she had taken special care to remember it in case of dire injury. Right now she needed something that would create dire injury.
Vera took another breath. She set the book aside, slipped another paper from her satchel, and began to write once more.
Folio: The Astral Concordance, Celestial Invocation & Binding, Oridion Observatory Archives.
This time it was a smaller pamphlet that appeared on the wood. It was so worn and flimsy that Vera had to pinch the spine to keep the pages from falling out of it.
Even so, she flipped through it. This was a summoning grimoire of the celestial variety. Less likely than the demonic types to turn on its summoner. She hoped.
The first chunk of the folio had numerous hand-stenciled constellations. Some were labeled, many were not. It wasn't until around halfway through that she found anything resembling an instructional guide, titled SummoningThe Celestial Echo of the Second Sphere.
I. Preparation of Vessel
Let the tome be laid open to the Starward Folio. Inscribe the Seal of the Second Sphere in a circle unbroken, and mark the center with a trace of self. Ink or blood, either shall suffice, for what is written binds the breath to word.
Oh great, Vera thought bitterly. It's one of these.
In her experience, too many world-ending grimoires were written in the vaguest of language. She would have to interpret its uncertainty on the fly, as there was no time to cross-check other sections. In the clearing, the duke continued to drop the scarbeaks like flies, but the flock had not thinned. It seemed like every winged beast on the island had been called to this fight.
Vera spotted a stone a few paces away. Its surface was more jagged than one intentionally cut, but the book fit atop it, so it would have to do. She set the grimoire face-up. The instructions were on the rightside page, and another star chart was on the left. After a beat, the charcoal-sketched constellation began to glow. That was something, at least.
Vera wiped the ink away from the tip of her quill, then brought it down on the index finger of her other hand. The pain was sharp and immediate. Blood welled where the skin had burst. She held it out and let it drip onto the page. In response, the star chart glowed even brighter.
She trailed her eyes down the page to the next step.
II. Naming of the Form
Speak thus: "By the accord of the heavens, I conjure forth a vessel of light, bearing form and semblance of the valiant."
The name of the vessel is not thine to choose, but its visage shall echo what the mind recalls of strength.
Vera repeated the words, swallowing to keep her voice even. When she finished, the air above the book and stone began to shimmer. She waited for something more to happen, but it didn't. She moved on to the next instruction.
III: Statement of Charge
Commit to page the purpose of the summoning, that the Echo may act without deceit of silence. Write what is willed, and not what is feared.
It did not specify which page, so she dipped her quill into its inkpot to rewet it and began to scrawl beneath the guidelines:
Engage threats. Protect summoner.
She made an emphatic gesture at the end of the last word to indicate that she was finished.
IV. Opening of the Veil
At the last stroke of ink, lift thine eyes. The air will tremble as the constellations mirror below. A figure of radiance shall take shape.
Speak: "By my word, move."
The shimmer in the air shifted color to a faint purple. Vera narrowed her eyes, and something appeared in the air, as if it was stepping from an invisible door. First it was just the tip of a spear, then an arm attached, then the form of an entire person. Two broad, white feathered wings hung from its back, and it wore silver robes over skin that was nearly translucent and dotted with starlight. Its hair was shoulder-length and the color of shimmering gold. Its placid features were vaguely masculine.
Vera nearly lost her breath at its beauty. Celestial seemed too weak a description.
"By my word," she whispered. "Move."
The celestial figure stepped forward through the air. It flapped its wings once and began to drift through the trees as if gravity did not apply. Soon it reached the edge of the clearing where the sky still swarmed with scarbeaks and the duke was still alight with flames of shadow.
It raised its spear, and pointed it straight at the duke.
Vera's stomach dropped. "No, don't––"
It didn't hear her. Or perhaps just didn't care to.
The duke hardly managed to pull his blood-drenched sword from the belly of another scarbeak when the celestial being descended upon him, stardust trailing in its wake as it aimed its spear right for his throat.