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Nyomae looked up from the scroll and rubbed her eyes. The melting wax from the candle had seeped into the cracks on the splintered tabletop to form what looked like a map. Nyomae traced the lines of red rivers meandering across the wide, wooden plain. She leaned back and looked up to the low arched ceiling of the vault. Nyomae had smiled to herself as she had stooped to gain access to the scrolls, finding herself in the same gait that had taken her across the realms while living under the shadow. But the shadow reigned no more. That had retreated, likely never to return following the words she had just read. Nyomae stretched. Draegelan was indeed a clever, most resourceful Archon. He must have been aware his physician kept a note of every word he uttered during his fever. Even in his debilitated state, he had devised a way to impart the location of knowledge he dared not take to his funeral pyre.

On arriving at the library of Neverdor, Nyomae had quickly solved the first clue in the test devised by Draegelan. The word he had inserted into the rhyme led Nyomae to a scroll beneath the West Window in Neverdor’s library. She simply had to count down the shelves, then along the partitions to find the one Draegelan wished to be found. His plan required trust in the archivists of Neverdor to maintain strict order. And mercifully, it was a role in which they took great pride. It had not taken Nyomae long to unlock the meaning of Draegelan’s misplaced word in the rhyme: Gwylmadoc. The age-old celebration took place in West Haven on the eighth day of the eighth month. And this turned out to be the shelf and scroll’s position situated under the West Window of the library. It was a remarkably simple code, too simple for many minds liable to overthink the conundrum and miss the solution.

Nyomae spent a moment reviewing what she had seen. The scroll did not reveal how Draegelan believed he could defeat Ormoroth, but rather referenced a renowned recluse named Aber. Nyomae was acquainted with the cautionary tale of Aber’s troubled life, yet she had always failed to locate the man’s Verses, sited far back in the Song before Draegelan’s reign. But Nyomae’s powers had grown of late. Whether it was her study of Draegelan’s scrolls, or the confrontation with the warlock’s kruul awakening her innate powers, she could not determine. It may have been due to sitting in the library where Aber spent much of his youth, but on entering the Song, she was astounded to locate Aber’s Verses with ease.

Nyomae observed the young man as he stood before Imaari seniors seated around a table in Neverdor. The vision was blurred by the passage of time, but Nyomae could sense Aber’s desperation as he pleaded with the Order to heed his words. He claimed to have found the last known Maidens’ Verse before their capitulation to the Evil One. Later to become known as Aber’s Verse, it appeared nothing more than an addition to the Song of Creation. The Imaari held it served solely to bring forth new lifeforms, including birds, and trees that held onto their leaves in the cold, northern climes. But Aber was not convinced. Nyomae watched him pacing the room, waving his arms, arguing it was out of place, situated much later in the Song than others of a similar nature. And despite his lowly status in the Order, he did not relent in the face of the stubborn Imaari. Nyomae listened to his passionate words as he explained the Verse must serve another purpose, and at the very least, required further scrutiny.

Finally, one at the table agreed. And as was the tradition of the day, one was sufficient to act. But if Aber felt his speculation was vindicated, he was wrong. His colleagues took up his challenge, but none came to the same conclusion. And to Aber’s protestations, the Verse was dismissed, and while not insignificant, it did not warrant taking any more of their time.

Nyomae moved to Aber’s later Verses. In frustration, he had abandoned his studies at Neverdor and headed north. Her heart lurched as she saw him hunched over a candle, shivering in a cave hidden away in the remote coastal mountains of Lunn. The walls were covered with writing, but she could not see clearly to read his scrawled words. Her vision faded as Aber himself weakened and eventually died. He had never returned, living as a hermit, absorbed on the Verse, unaware that it would one day carry his name.

Nyomae sat back. Would their plight be different if others had spent longer listening to him? Many years later, a young Draegelan, intrigued by the tale, had discovered the cave and Aber’s life’s work. On becoming Archon, Draegelan sanctioned the building of a new library named after the hermit. At that time, it was to recognize Aber’s dedication to a life of study and his willingness to question accepted wisdom. Later, Abernost became the Second Seat of Learning, as Draegelan came to appreciate the full implication of the man’s work. And from that day on, those inducted into the Order were set the task of exploring Aber’s Verse.

Nyomae recalled how the prose had seemed out of place compared to corresponding Verses. But she had struggled to find what secrets Aber believed lay within. When other pressing matters of the day demanded her attention, the Verse had been set aside. But now she understood what had roused the curiosity of both Aber and the Archon.

Draegelan had come to the same conclusion as Aber: the lines of the Verse had two meanings and served two purposes. The Maidens had hidden a message within the Verse. Aber named it the Maidens’ Cypher. Yet Draegelan wrote only of the accepted interpretation of the first line: the creation of a songbird. But what caught Nyomae’s eye was yet another supposed error. And the name out of place also referred to a childhood rhyme.

Nyomae knew this to be Draegelan’s second riddle; a test to ensure the hidden knowledge would not find its way into the wrong hands. She recalled singing the rhyme on her father’s lap. It told the tragic story of a bird tricked by her mischievous brother. Jealous of her ability to fly higher than other birds, he had convinced her that the sky was falling, and she alone could keep it at bay. All day, and all night, she hovered in the thin air above the mountains to keep the sky from crashing onto the land. And when she could fly no more, the exhausted bird had plummeted to the ground. When she awoke and all about her was black, she believed the world had ended due to her failure. But unknown to her, she had tumbled down a crevice and lay in a deep cavern. Thus, the bird spent the rest of her days alone in the dark, consumed by guilt, never to fly again. While the young Nyomae had felt sorry for the bird’s plight, she had learned the intended lesson. But Draegelan’s reference to the rhyme was not to warn of the dangers of believing the word of others without question.

Nyomae entered the Song and found Aber’s Verse. Her spine tingled as the Maidens voices sang the Verse familiar to all who had studied it. But she had not ventured so far back to listen to the accepted meaning. Nyomae whispered the bird’s name, Avisia. She held her breath as the Maidens’ voices changed to sing a different Verse. The new song was solely for the ears of Nyomae and her kind, hidden to evade detection from those determined to corrupt the Maidens’ words to serve their own ends.