kettle still on. But Kalai didn’t mind. He could lose himself in cleaning and organizing for hours, glancing at fascinating titles on worn book spines before placing them back on the shelves, saving the mysteries for later.
General Falka had left him with lax instructions. Settle in, get comfortable, then start translating the old texts into Kykarosi, and organize the ones already translated. At first, Kalai had feared he’d quickly run out of work, but he soon found there were hundreds upon hundreds of pages, scribbled notes, and entire books written in the old language all over the archive, as well as countless books in common Sharoani that the General assured him he was also more than welcome to translate.
Not every text seemed relevant. A few important-looking notes circled with red ink were nothing more than personal reminders to meet with an old friend or buy more milk. Kalai had no idea why someone would make the effort to write grocery lists in the old language, but it also upped his curiosity about who might have lived here before.
The guard General Falka had placed outside was a nice older man who had greeted Kalai with a smile and then otherwise left him alone. Kalai had been a little concerned he’d have the guard breathing down his neck until the trial period was up, but he hadn’t even come inside to ask to use the restroom. No books or papers could leave the archive, and Kalai was forbidden for speaking about their contents to anyone but members of the Sky Guard. They were easy rules.
Kalai spent all afternoon and evening among the books, only remembering the second floor when his vision grew blurry and the darkness made the book titles hard to read.
The archive was not done surprising him.
Kalai stopped at the top of the stairs on the second floor and took in the view. The living area was one large room with a bed in the center, and massive floor-to-ceiling windows taking up the entire eastern wall, lending a view of the city rooftops and the starry sky above. At the foot of the bed was a chest, and beside it stood a table-sized, smooth wooden box. The rest of the room was empty.
Walking to the windows, Kalai placed a hand against the cool glass and looked up.
The stars. Ever since he’d been a child, he’d dreamed of the stars.
Arrow had learned to fly while Kalai was still a toddler. When Kalai grew older, he had stood on the roof of his childhood home and watched Arrow ascend higher and higher, until the white of his scales blended with the clouds. He’d been sick with longing, with the wish to follow him up there, close to the stars, above the clouds, where everything was possible. It gnawed at his heart, even now, as if the stars dared him to reach out and join them.
But that wasn’t possible. It could never be possible.
Kalai retreated to the bed, sitting and testing its softness. He had no reason to be sad. Kal Valreus had welcomed him with open arms, given him everything he could have hoped for and more. His journey east couldn’t have turned out better. “I did it, Aunt Iako,” he whispered, letting himself drop back against the soft sheets.
Kalai had only just closed his eyes when hard slams on the door below startled him upright. Straightening his shirt, he took the steps down two at a time and landed at the bottom right as another slam shook the door.
“Who’s there?” Kalai asked, looking around for something either sharp or heavy to wield.
“The Sky Guard! Open up!”
Abandoning ideas of self defense, Kalai unlocked the door and pulled it open.
General Falka stood outside, flanked by two younger guards. He stepped past Kalai without a word, and for a moment, Kalai was certain he was about to be accused of murder and thrown in jail.
“Excuse the late hour, but I’m afraid we have an emergency on our hands.” General Falka gestured to the guards. They rushed inside and straight to the bookshelves, searching.
“What kind of emergency?” Kalai asked. He followed Falka into the main room.
The general glanced around at the floor-to-ceiling shelves and stacks of books on the floor. “How much have you read?”
“Hardly anything yet,” Kalai admitted. He stuck close to Falka as the general ran his hands over random books and picked up pieces of paper full of Sharoani texts he clearly couldn’t read.