Free Compendium by Alia Luria Page A

into stark relief. The room was a silent refuge from the bustle of the busy Compound. Over the past fifty cycles, Melia had painstakingly collected books from the rubble and decay of Lumin’s civilization. From forays into the cities fraught with danger, to ventures far and wide, each book had been excavated carefully and protected from the Druids in a battle for knowledge. Other volumes had come to Melia from the personal collections of the great families and lineages, scraps gleaned from the splendor that once had been her glowing planet, cherished beyond measure.
    The Druids had expanded their limited mission of restoring the Network to an entire belief system, one that had them at odds with the Order on more than just the Network. The Druids now styled themselves as preservers of the old ways, keepers of Lumin, and restorers of peace and prosperity. The tune sounded similar to Melia.  The Order had equivalent mandates for its membership. Thus, the constant tussle over knowledge, whether in the form of books or in relics of pre-Fall Lumin. It amazed her how cycles of bad blood had further divided those that strived toward the same goal.
    If she had anything to say about it, and a glance at the wrinkled, gnarled hands resting on her armrests signaled that perhaps she didn’t, Lumin would rise again. Melia had done all she could to protect its future. There was just one thing left. She reached into the sash of her robes, her aching hands fumbling. She pushed aside her white braid of hair and pulled the ornate leather volume from her sash. She gently rubbed a rigid thumb over the medallion on the cover, which was bright as the day Minister SainClair had first thrust the book into her much younger hands.
    “I’m sorry,” she whispered to the dead. Hans was certainly spinning in his alcove in the Catacombs. “I know this isn’t what you want, but I can’t, even after fifty cycles, shake the feeling that this is the best place for it. I know you will forgive me.”
    Melia struggled to her feet, holding on to the table for stability. Everything and everyone she loved was long gone—and with it the oaths she had sworn. She had outlived them all. But this was just the beginning. Lumin had a much longer journey ahead, and all histories started somewhere. She tottered over to the shelves of the Archives and slipped the ornate book into a space between two others. Its binding held no title, and the small tome instantly disappeared among the other volumes, blending into the body of words surrounding it. With that addition, the Archives now held the collected knowledge of pre-Fall Lumin. She leaned over the table and fetched the gourd from its center. With cane in one hand and gourd in the other, she foraged her way to the stairs and gave the dim room a sigh and one backward glance before proceeding back down the narrow stone steps, disappearing into history with the Archives itself.

 
    10 The Archives
    Lumin Cycle 10152
     
    Of all the jobs. Mia Jayne looked around the massive, dim room with endless rows of shelves that led back into the darkness and up to the ceiling. Cedar hadn’t exaggerated when he’d described the Archives. It was huge. And this chamber was only the ancient texts chamber. The main chamber was down a set of stone steps behind her.
    The main chamber was better lit, but the dull amber of the special orange gourds that Brother Cornelius, the Archivemaster, specially cultivated for the Archives was engineered to minimize light damage to the old volumes contained in this room. Mia had been surprised by the agility of the old brother’s mind, despite his decrepit body. He looked at first glance to be so frail that a strong breeze could break his leg. His hands were bony, almost claw-like. His beard was long and shaggy and a mottled mix of gray, white and yellow. His hair was long and unruly but tied back with a leather strap. But these trappings of age fell away instantaneously when Brother Cornelius