Page 51 of Potions & Pints
“What you’re saying holds some truth to it,” he admitted, looking down at the ornate stone floor of the Library for a moment. But then he raised his head. He was sorry for a lot of the things he’d done of course, but that was no reason not to look these men in the eye.
“Yes, I am a scoundrel, yes, I am a thief, and yes, my connection to the truth has been tenuous at best,” he said, his voice at once confident and sorrowful. “But when the people you care about are involved, then the truth becomes much more important.”
The words felt as though they were coming out of their own accord, as if he didn’t know exactly what he was going to say until he was already saying it. But it felt good. It felt like a cathartic release. It felt like all the turmoil within him was finally finding something steady and true to cling to.
“I’m not terribly proud of some of the things I’ve said and done,” he continued, his resolve growing with every word. “For a long time I just did what was best for me because I didn’t have anyone else I cared about. But I do care about Pili, and Vir, and Dania. I even care about some of the people I left behind in Sunfall and I know I need to make amends to them.”
Again, the truth of it hit him even as he spoke. He knew he’d been running, been hiding, from this his whole life, terrified that if he truly cared about someone else that it would somehow destroy him. But to his immense surprise, he was finding the opposite.
Standing there in the Library, putting himself on the line for the sake of Pili and his people, he finally recognised that caring about others hadn’t made him weaker. Not at all. There was a strength in him now that he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt. It was strange and foreign, but it felt right.
The Librarian was still staring at him, apparently interested in Tan’s sudden confessions and the elf took the opportunity to make the point he’d been coming around to the whole time.
“I know, Librarian, that you must care about your people. Of course you do — otherwise you wouldn’t be here,” he said firmly but gently. “If you care about them, then you know that the only way to help them is with the truth. To do anything else would be against your own principles.”
The Library fell silent for a second and the cool current of the waters brushed lightly against Tan’s skin. His heart, however, was still on fire. He only hoped his words would have the same meaning to the Librarian as they had to him.
The old man stared at him for a moment, apparently pondering the speech until finally he sighed, a small spray of bubbles emitting from his gills.
“Have you read the great poet Soranim?” he finally asked and the question caught Tan off-guard.
“Uh, I’ve skimmed his stuff,” he said, vaguely remembering being forced to read the famous poet’s works for the few short years he went to school.
“Mmm,” replied the Librarian, giving Tan a quick glance up and down, as if disapproving of his answer.
At least it’s the truth, Tan thought to himself.
“I gathered as much,” replied the Librarian. “Well, if youwerefamiliar with his works you’d know that he once said that only liars know the real value of the truth, since they encounter it so rarely.” He gave Tan a pointed look. “He said to them it is a jewel kept grasped tightly in the fist, rarely shown, but fiercely guarded. Perhaps you and he share some of the same sentiments, even if you’re not especially acquainted with his words.”
The Librarian looked thoughtful again, and exchanged a look with the Assistant, who nodded almost imperceptibly. He then turned back to catch Tan’s eye once more and Tan felt something rising in his chest at what he hoped he was about to hear.
“I do care about my people, as you said,” the old man mused softly. “We need to confront the chieftain. As you said, Librarian magic is the most powerful in all our realms. If anyone can stop this madness, I suppose it’s me.”
Tan’s mouth spread into a wide grin. He could scarcely believe he’d actually managed to convince the Librarian to help. The truth, he was quickly discovering, was more potent than he thought and if he could manage to harness it himself, he might actually be able to figure out some of the things that had been plaguing him.
Not that it sounded easy, but maybe it was possible and that was more than he’d had to go on for the longest time. For now, though, he had to focus his efforts on helping the people of Laeve Taesi. Everything else would have to wait.
“So what do we do?” Tan asked, looking between the Librarian and his assistant. “How can I help?”
The Librarian looked at him again and smiled. This time it wasn’t so cold.
“You’ve done plenty already, but I suppose there might be a call for your magic in just a moment. Do you think you can handle that?”
“Uh…” Tan uttered, unsure how exactly to answer that question. Without a moonstone to aid him directly, his magic was pretty much worthless. “I mean, I’ll do my best.”
The look of uncertainty must have been plastered all over his face because the Librarian immediately looked disappointed again.
“I suppose that will have to do,” he muttered, turning his eyes away from Tan. “We need to summon the chieftain here,” the old man continued.
He strode over to a desk and pulled out a sheaf of seaweed parchment and a squid-ink pen, scribbling something rapidly on the paper.
“Take this to the chieftain,” he said, rolling up the scroll and handing it to his assistant. “Beyond that, only the goddess knows what will come of this.”
He turned back to Tan as the Assistant Librarian hurried off to deliver the message and summon the chieftain.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I see you care for this place, for the exiled prince. And against all odds, I can see you do have a good heart. You’re not the most likely ally to this city, or to anyone for that matter, but somehow I trust that you’ll do right by my people.”
Tan choked down the emotion that welled in his chest at those words. Now was not the time for that, he knew. Instead he bowed his head slightly to the old water elf.
