Alarick quickly forgot about Elissa and her books. She was merely another resident among a hundred or so who required care and protection. Alarick dedicated the rest of the afternoon to strengthening the protective wards that kept the Keep hidden from Ministry. They needed to be boosted once a month to ensure maximum effectiveness, and he was the only remaining wizard with the skill to do the job. Others could protect smaller things, but a castle occupying several acres was a difficult job.
He wandered from corner to corner of the castle, inside and out, casting protection spells and charming the runes embedded in the stonework. He didn't mind the work. It was quiet and meditative, the spells so automatic now he no longer had to think about them. Those spells had been one of the first things Master Hale, founder of the Keep, had taught Alarick when he'd arrived. Magical people could see through the enchantments, but others could not. Normal humans only saw a barren piece of land with some rubble heaped upon it.
The castle wasn't easy to access, even by magical people. It resided at the top of a small mountain called Dark Peak. Its rear bordered a rocky cliff that sported a full waterfall during the rainy season, or when there was significant snow melt. The land at the top of Dark Peak was barren and bleak, the weather often poor. Fog, mist, and snow frequently obscured the view, making it impossible to pick the castle out of the murk, even for those to whom it was visible. Still, were it not for the magical protections, someone would eventually stumble upon it. And so Alarick worked, alone, every month.
That evening at dinner Alarick occupied the high table overlooking the dining hall where the residents gathered for meals. He'd long ago made it known that he didn't appreciate small talk while he was eating and preferred to be left alone. He could have eaten in his rooms, but dinner gave him a needed chance to monitor his charges and learn of their fortunes and troubles from a distance. No one dared involve him in their dramas, so he simply observed without the added pressure of interaction.
Tonight, he looked out over the hall and noticed that Miss Stone had made it to dinner. She was dining with a blonde witch and her husband. He was certain the witch's name was Candace, but of the husband's name he had no recollection. Well, good, he thought. Candace was sensible and reliable. She would see to Miss Stone's welfare and help her navigate life at the Keep. Idleness was not permitted, so Elissa would have to find some way to be of service. Candace could help with that.
As Alarick was thinking about which jobs might suit her, Elissa looked up toward his table. She met his eyes and nodded once in greeting. He nodded back and quickly turned his attention to other diners.
It appeared the rumors were true, and Mr. and Mrs. Abbott were indeed expecting a child. Alarick sighed. One of two things would happen, as they always did. He'd either have another mouth to provide for, or the Abbots would leave. The ones who had children often did. Devoid of color, playthings, or other young people, the Keep was no place for children. Those with children often left to take their chances in the world. Sadly, most of them didn't survive very long. No matter how hard a witch or wizard tried to conceal their true nature, sooner or later something odd occurred and the wrong people took notice.
It wasn't his responsibility, he reminded himself. He provided safety, but forced no one to accept it.
Alarick finished his chicken and rose from the table, nodding his thanks at the cook who hovered nearby. He was almost out of the dining hall when he turned back. The cook stiffened as he approached.
"Was there a problem with the food, Master Brandon?" the cook inquired.
"No. It was quite good. However, I wondered if you noticed our new arrival. Miss Stone?"
"Yes, sir. I have not met her, but I saw Candace giving her the tour earlier."
"She'll need a job. Do you need help in the kitchens?" Alarick asked.
"Always, sir. It's a struggle to find people who can cook."
"You might see if she possesses any culinary talents."
"I will, sir. Thank you," the cook said, bowing slightly.
Alarick left the dining hall and retired to his apartments for the evening. Before entering his bedroom, he paused in the outer office to check the small, square metal box on his desk. The box had a hinged front door that could only be opened by inserting the tip of his wand into the keyhole. He did so and pulled out a small pile of letters.
Magical people didn't use the standard postal service. Instead, greater wizards than Alarick had long ago created a mail network. Each magical home or village had a mailbox like Alarick's into which letters were placed. The Keep had two mailboxes, the one in Alarick's office plus one in the Master of the Household's office.
Inside each mailbox, in an inaccessible and hidden compartment, lived a mail demon. To Alarick's knowledge, no one alive had ever actually seen a mail demon. Those who created the network also created the demons and those wizards were long gone. Alarick always imagined a tiny winged creature shaped like an envelope, possibly with fangs.
The demons retrieved the letters from the mailbox and delivered them to other boxes connected to the network. They were fast, too, usually delivering within minutes. Unless they chose not to be. Sometimes it seemed the little buggers held on to mail just to be annoying.
The demons always waited to deliver mail until the box's owner was not looking. There were stories of wizards staring into their open boxes for hours or days in the hope of sighting a mail demon. All that happened, however, is that the mail was never delivered. The minute the wizard fell asleep or walked away, the mail would appear. It was a strange system, but it worked.
Alarick flipped through today's correspondence. As usual, it was mostly updates from some of the few remaining wizards in the world. There were some, like him, who attempted to shelter magical people and they sometimes traded ideas and stories. Most, however, lived in solitude or small nomadic groups and attempted to elude the Ministry's grasp.
Hearing from friends and acquaintances always brought some solace to Alarick's soul. It was reassuring to know they were still alive. When he went months without hearing from them, he knew the worst had happened and mentally crossed another name from the ever-shortening list in his head.
Today brought a message from Master Marius Baines, a wizard originally from England who'd arrived at the Keep when Alarick was a teenager and left a few years after Master Hale died. Despite being older than Alarick, he'd been Alarick's only friend, the only person he could talk to about anything from his inadequacies with women to the crushing responsibility of operating the Keep.
Reckless and restless, Baines eventually met and married a lovely girl from a nearby village. Unfortunately, it wasn't too many years later when the Ministry attacked that village and killed Baines' wife and infant daughter. In the aftermath, Alarick had encouraged him to return to the Keep, but Baines refused. Grief-stricken and broken, he'd struck out on his own crusade against the Ministry.
Marius and those like him, broken men with nothing to lose, were the last remnants of the resistance. When the Ministry first rose to power, magicals fought back. They organized troops and went on the offensive against the Ministry. Unfortunately, spells and potions were little use against a well-trained fighting force that used guns, cannons, and swords. It didn't help that the Ministry grossly outnumbered the magicals, thousands to one.
The surviving witches, wizards, and shape shifters were eventually forced into hiding, either in their own villages and enclaves, or in the villages and homes of kindly humans who offered shelter. But the Ministry always knew who didn’t belong, and any human village found harboring magicals was razed as swiftly and thoroughly as any magical village. Even humans who were sympathetic to the plight of the magicals quickly turned their backs in the face of such retribution.
That left men like Marius as the last line of defense. It wasn't much, and never enough, but these men were brave, sometimes to the point of suicide. Marius joined them, channeling all his grief and pain into the cause.
"If the Ministry finds me, so be it," he'd said before leaving the Keep for the last time. "But until that time, I'm going to kill as many of them as I can. I'm a dead man either way. It doesn't matter anymore."
Alarick understood Marius' urge to unleash violence. Every single day he fought his own desire to go on a killing spree and take down as many members of the Ministry as he could. The only reason he didn't was his intense awareness of his own failings. He alone was not strong enough to defeat the Ministry. Even with the powers of all that resided in the Keep behind him, he wasn't strong enough. Any blow he could strike would be inconsequential.
Besides that, duty kept him tied to the Keep. He'd promised Master Hale that he would care for these people and so he remained, ineffectual and impotent while others fought the true war.
Master Baines was outside of Seville and full of the news that his band of marauders had destroyed a convoy of Ministry personnel on its way to sack a village. Alarick clenched his fist and pumped it once. Any strike against the Ministry was cause for at least a moment of celebration.
Seeing Baines' name scrawled in his neat, looping signature reminded Alarick of something. Baines was not only a wizard, but also a scholar. He was old enough to have finished his studies before the Ministry closed all universities, both magical and normal. If Alarick recalled correctly, he'd studied English and History at a normal human university, in addition to studying magic at the Université Magique Français. He was a learned man and if anyone had ever heard of an ability like that possessed by Miss Stone, it would be Baines.
Alarick sat down at his desk, dipped his quill in the inkwell and began to write:
Dear Master Baines,
How good it is to hear from you. I always worry you will enter a fight that you cannot win, but I am glad to see it has not happened yet. Congratulations on your recent conquest. I wish you all success in future.
Things here are as normal as ever. We remain undetected and life progresses. It isn't much of a life, to be sure, when compared to your adventures. We live here in suspended animation, going about the routines of life, but with no purpose other than survival.
I have no way to fight, only to hide. It is discouraging, as you know, but I continue to honor my promise to Master Hale. I only wish I felt the strength of conviction that he once did and which you share. To know you are doing the right thing, the best thing, must be wonderful knowledge. I have yet to feel that sense of fulfillment, only frustration.
Alas, I did not take up my quill to complain to you. We all forge our own paths in this life and this is mine. I mustn't lament what I cannot do, but learn to embrace that which I can. Which brings me to my reason for writing.
A young woman has come to the Keep today. Her name is Elissa Stone, although I don't expect that to mean anything to you. She is the sole survivor from Keldon, which the Ministry destroyed yesterday. At any rate, she is not a witch of significant talent. Her family only possessed small powers, certainly nothing like those you and I share. Her talent lies with books, of all things.
I do not know all the particulars, only that she insisted on bringing a library with her here. She kept it hidden in the forest and it is quite large, despite the Ministry's prohibitions on women owning books. She somehow believes that she is protecting these volumes for future generations. It seems to be a noble calling for her, one I neither understand nor share. There is more to worry about than mere pages encased in leather.
I do not know how she managed to acquire these books without getting killed. More than that, though, she claims to be able to enchant books so they may only be opened or read by certain people. This is not a talent of which I have ever heard, and I wonder if you might have any information. Have your studies ever revealed such power to you?
I certainly do not know what to do with her. I have inquired with our cook if she might be useful in the kitchens, but such work seems unlikely to satisfy her. We all know there is certainly no obligation, or even expectation, for happiness in this life, but as she has lost her entire family, I feel a duty to at least provide her with valuable, enjoyable employment.
The trouble is I do not know what that could be. With anyone else it would be a simple matter of assigning her to the infirmary or to the stables. But books… I confess to being utterly lost.
Any advice you can provide would be greatly appreciated. Do not rush to reply, as this is not urgent. Do not let it keep you from destroying any Ministry that should be unfortunate enough to cross your path.
Your friend,
Alarick Brandon
Alarick folded the letter and sealed it with a blob of wax pressed flat with his signet ring. His ring bore the crest of the Keep; a wand crossed with a blazing torch and the words Protector. Servio. Conduco. etched above it. Protect. Serve. Lead Forth. He placed the letter in the mailbox, stood from the desk, and picked up the lantern.
He carried the lantern into his bedroom, shutting the door on the office behind him. His bedroom was Spartan, containing nothing but a bed and a chest of drawers. Alarick had no need or desire for decoration and all the other nonsense that people crammed into their rooms. He changed into his nightshirt and blew out the light, but instead of lying down he went to the window and opened the casement. Cool night air rushed over him and he inhaled deeply. It was a rare clear night and the scents of early autumn were already on the late summer air.
Alarick sat on the windowsill for half an hour, watching the moon and stars circle the castle. This was the one time of day when he could simply be. He didn't have to fix, manage, or watch over. He didn't have to be a great wizard; he could simply be a man enjoying the night.
He smiled when a few of the shape shifters came out into the castle grounds to play in the moonlight. While not witches or wizards, they were nonetheless supernatural beings in need of protection from the Ministry. He'd resisted their presence in the Keep at first, but decided in the end to allow them, provided they not leave the castle grounds near their changing time. Like him, they could pass as normal humans for a short time out in the world, but not if they suddenly changed forms. Most were werewolves, although there was one woman who shifted into a panther. That was always fun when the dogs and the cat got into a fight during the full moon. It certainly kept the healers in the infirmary busy.
Alarick sighed and headed for bed. Before he got under the covers, however, he heard a metallic thump from the outer room, signaling the arrival of a letter. He went into the office and retrieved the paper, carrying it back to the bedroom window where he could read in the moonlight. He broke the wax seal from the folds, briefly noting that Master Baines had changed his signet symbol to a simple sword. It was fitting for his killing crusade, Alarick supposed.
You unbearable, ignorant jackass, the letter began. Alarick chuckled. Baines had a very clear, often cynical view of the world, and he was not one to spare anyone else that view, even at the expense of feelings.
If you have indeed been so fortunate as to find a Book Mesmer, you must do all that you can to ensure her happiness, for you do not want to lose so rare a talent.
A Book Mesmer can, as you noted, enchant books so that they may only be opened and read by certain people. More than that, however, she is likely possessed of an artistic talent for illuminating manuscripts (although she may or may not yet know of it, as your letter did not indicate such a talent).
Far from crafting purely ornamental drawings, a true Book Mesmer can bring those drawings to life. I have heard of Book Mesmers who could draw dragons that would consume unauthorized readers, or craft pits of Hell to ensnare a reader into a book forever. Their talents are not to be trifled with. If she is a true Book Mesmer, she may very well be the last one. I have neither seen nor heard of one in ages. They exist only in history books, now, I believe. (There's some irony there, I'm certain, but it's bleak as the cause is, as of all misfortune, the Ministry.)
As for what you do with her, you let her work with books. Cooking? Bah! You are mad, man! I know that you are in possession of a great library, as you've given me the tour often enough. Master Hale was quite the book collector, was he not? I realize that although you are a learned man, books are not your favorite items. School did not sit well with you, did it? On this point, however, she is right and you are wrong. (Sorry, friend. You know I will not lie to soothe your pride.)
If she is truly trying to preserve knowledge for future generations, let her. Help her. I know you do not see much of the world these days, but I assure you our kind is not long for this world. Any who somehow survive this purge will need whatever knowledge can be given to them to revive our traditions.
If your girl is truly a Book Mesmer, she may be able to craft a legacy that will outlast us all. Books are likely the only way to ensure magic will live on in this fractured world. Miss Stone could likely tell you this, as I'm sure she's read Spenser's The Faerie Queene, but I'll spare you having to ask her:
For whatsoever from one place doth fall,
Is with the tide unto another brought:
For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.
She may be the tide that brings our fallen, lost traditions ashore someday, should anyone remain alive to seek them. Treat her well, friend. As soon as I am able, I will pay you a visit. I have always wanted to meet a Book Mesmer.
Your Friend,
Marius Baines
Alarick refolded the letter and tucked it into the drawer of his nightstand. Tomorrow he'd turn Miss Stone loose on the library. Although, heaven help him, he still didn't see the point in protecting a bunch of books when lives were hanging in the balance. Cooking still seemed like a much more worthwhile occupation to him.