Chapter Eighteen

Entry:

My family! We rarely see each other, and never talk. I can't even remember the last time we said 'I love you.' This wasn't what I planned- I didn't want them- No! This is what I orchestrated, it's your fault, you did this. Then why does it hurt so much? 

And why does seeing you make my dull heart sharpen?

Phoenix

--

"What is this?" Phoenix asked in disbelief.

"Some detective you are, even Talon found this when he was a teen," Roman said. 

She was too impressed with the passage to retort. They descended, Sadie's journal resting in Roman's hands, until Phoenix grew dizzy. Glancing at her feet she noticed her clean leather laced-up heels became pasted in mud, thick coats blanketing the stairs. 

"Don't mind the mud," Roman commented, reading her thoughts. 

He must have spent a lot of time going up and down these stairs if his shoes were so muddy it became his signature look. Soon, there were no windows, and the only light was the flicker of candles leading them down. Regardless, they kept descending. With each step, the space grew colder. With each step, Phoenix's curiosity reached a new high. With each step, she wondered if she'd ever smell fresh air again. 

"The catacombs," Old Man Roman uttered.

"What?"

"There were cities in the old world with catacombs underneath them, staircases that led people underground, where bones stacked on bones were kept for the public's eyes."

A chill ran down Phoenix's spine, either from the cool atmosphere or the idea of displaying bones decoratively, she didn't know. After two minutes of going down in a spiral, the only sounds were their footsteps, flames dancing in a windy draft, and the soft breath exhaled from their bodies. No signs of the warm day outside in the real world bled here. 

Upon the last step, through an arched door, and onto a long platform, Phoenix struggled to grasp the magnitude of what she was looking at.

This wasn't a part of the library. This was humanity's vault. It was a hollowed out cavern supported by large wood beams running from the floor to the rocky ceiling. As far as they went down, the ceiling went up. Large spiraling towers of books consumed the space; there was no organizational system in sight. Books upon books sat on top of each other, creating a maze with curved walls, disappearing from view, standing proud, laying on the floor, tucked into shelves, sitting on tables and acting as chairs, coasters, candle stands. 

"You could fit two train stations in here," Roman said as he continued deeper into the maze. 

Chandeliers draped with chains and lit candles hung at varying lengths. Wooden staircases took a reader up to higher levels and man-built balconies to reach books on the higher shelves, ladders to climb down and jagged rocks separating sections at random. 

"I lost my father at a young age. At the time, I didn't give it much thought. Not much thought indeed. But I really miss him now," Roman muttered as he impulsively scratched his left wrist. "But now I really miss him."

Phoenix tried to analyze Roman again. What was Roman trying to say that made him so anxious?

"You should stop itching yourself," she commented, feeling uncomfortable with the red rash appearing.

"Stop what?" Roman asked, pausing to face her. He looked down and was surprised at the dry skin being scratched off. "Oh, you best ignore that. I do that sometimes."

Phoenix gave him a questionable look. "Do you mutter to yourself when you're stressed?"

Roman flinched back and continued walking without answering. He practically hugged the wall to their right while darting his eyes from one area to the next, as though he were being watched. Phoenix followed him to a staircase which proved sturdy enough once Roman made it to the top. Reaching a nest carved into the wall he picked up a few books off a chair, placed them onto the ground, and gestured for her to sit. 

"These are all journals of survivors?" Phoenix asked him, sitting among pressed pages.

"Yes," he replied.

"Have you read them all?" No, that couldn't be possible. She couldn't even see how far this cavern went— where the memories stopped. How long would it take to read them all? 

"Yes." 

They sat in silence for a minute before Phoenix chose a journal by her feet and skimmed through it. She picked up three more and did the same thing. Every page bled. With ink, with red stains, with memories and tears. Some journals were just gibberish, representations of a broken mind. Some were simple memories of fashion from their native lands. Others were memorials to the ones they had lost. Phoenix looked at Roman.

"You've read all of these," she said in a statement of shock.

"Yes." 

"Why was the journal I read in third person?" 

Roman let out a heavy sigh. "That one is weird, it is. I can only guess, darling. To detach oneself from harmful memories but still record it. To walk through what Sadie might have been thinking before killing herself, to understand it wasn't his fault."

Phoenix nodded, it seemed to make sense, although it was all peculiar. Roman itched his wrist one, two, three harsh times before as he gasped and looked behind him. 

"You can hear them, can't you?" he asked with a pale and paranoid face. He casted his glance down to the floor.

"Hear who? Why would you read all of these, wouldn't it only bring you pain?"

"Let's go back to our game. You ask too much. Let's go back to our game."

"New game," Phoenix proclaimed. "You answer my questions, and if you can surprise me, I'll answer one of your questions, whatever it is, in full and complete honesty. No tricks."

He looked up to her and momentarily paused his itching. "Yes. Yes, yes, sure, yes."

A breath for her. For him, nothing more than another paranoid glance.

"When I come down here, I hear them all, all their memories and silent, sickening, screeching screams," Roman whispered. "I read them all. I didn't want to. No! I said to self. But I couldn't stop. Couldn't stop. I read them all. I read them all!" He checked Phoenix to see if her facial expression had changed. It was unmoved.

Roman paused his scratches and stared at the wall in front of them blankly. 

"I lost my father. I lost them all. I miss them. I miss them all," Roman rambled. 

Pheonix's eyebrows scrunched together. "Who's them all? When did they die?"

Instead of answering, he suddenly clapped his hands together and switched from itching his left wrist to scratching his right. "How do you act when you fail?" 

Phoenix's eyes widened and she was taken aback by the strange question. 

He smiled. "You are surprised by my question. Now answer it in full." 

Roman seemed different from any other person Phoenix had met before. Was he sane or not? He seemed to titter on that dangerous ledge. 

"I don't know," Phoenix said.

Roman stopped scratching his right wrist and propped his head in his hands, leaning forward in anticipation.

"When I lose my temper, I usually just apologize and walk it off like nothing's happened." Phoenix looked at him to see if that's enough of an answer. He gestured for her to continue. How did she react? "I can't communicate with my brother about our mother's death. I try and try again but fail every time. Usually, I tell myself to try again later."

"Have you ever failed so greatly there was no point in continuing?" Roman asked. 

"Continuing what?"

"Living."

"No," Phoenix admitted uncomfortably.

"Come back to me when you do." And with that, Roman stood to leave.

"That's it?" she asked in shock.

His feet ignored her, crossing the platform to the arched doorway leading out.

"I have one more question for you!" Phoenix asked, following close. 

His feet began to climb down the stairs. Phoenix reached out from behind and placed a hand on his shoulder in hope he'd listen. He paused. 

"I don't like to apologize and mean it," she said. "When I mess up or fail, I carry that weight, regardless of how small or large the burden is." 

He nodded and Phoenix continued. "What does the Queen have to do with the targeted earthquake?"

That question must have surprised him, because he busted out laughing and placed his hand onto the wall to steady himself. 

"How did you pick such a topic?" he asked.

Phoenix waited patiently for him to continue. 

"I must admit," he said after he was done laughing, "I am impressed. I do not know how much you know, but I will tell you this: she has control of the Burning Stone." 

"Is she Mr. Serva?"

Roman's eyes narrowed at her. "You really ought to be careful who you ask these types of questions to."

"Is she?" Phoenix pushed.

"No. The original Serva has ceased to exist," Roman answered seriously for the first time.

Of course Serva would be dead, it would be too convenient otherwise. She nodded, let go of his shoulder, and they continued up the stairs in silence. Her thighs burned with each step up, hand tracing the roughness of the wall to keep steady. New, fresh breath filled her lungs. 

Once they reached the top, Phoenix stopped in her tracks. "You're lying."

Roman looked back at her in confusion. "I do not lie, dear. I do not lie." 

"Serva Serva sat on a stone

Sat with the Burning stone

Serva Serva you're not dead

No you've bled

Your head has just been thrown."

After Phoenix repeated those last three lines, she looked to Roman for an explanation. He stepped toward her and placed a hand on her head as if she were a child. 

A wicked grin entangled his wrinkled skin and he looked down at her, warning, "You really must be more careful with what you share. If I were anyone else, you could be executed for being so clever. I did not lie. Clever, indeed. The original Serva has ceased to exist, but he has been reborn again and again."

"What? Is it like an object? An idea? Is Serva the Burning Stone?"

Roman patted Phoenix's head and smiled to himself. "No, my child. Serva was a man that many people loved. He created the Burning Stone, as you pointed out in that song. But he has been reborn so many times he has ceased to exist." A look of wistfulness and deep sorrow embodied the old man in front of her. 

"You knew him?" Phoenix asked. 

"He was a happy man," Roman replied. 

"Where is he now, can I meet him? What do you mean reborn?" 

"The Burning Stone has serious consequences. The Queen thinks she can handle it, but she cannot. She has tried to test the Burning Stone on innocents to see how strong its power is. Whenever she tests a new person, the ground shakes."

Phoenix's mind flashed to the earthquake and the man who'd gone into Lucas' room. Perhaps that man was Serva, or a servant of the Queen. And the violence of the earthquake, did it correlate to the violence inflicted on an innocent person? Shivers shook Phoenix's body. 

"I hope you find out everything before Amelia uses the power on herself," Roman patted Phoenix's head once more, turning to leave. 

"Roman!" she called one last time.

"Spit it out, darling," he urged, as if he hadn't been helplessly cryptic. 

"Thank you for the conversation and showing me the underground library. I hope to see you again."

"I have made that promise before, my darling," he said. "But this time I'll keep it. Talon was right, you are rather interesting." 

Roman walked out of the library without saying another word, leaving Phoenix behind with the dusty books and slightest sense of awe toward him. Roman proved the royal family was keeping secrets. They were testing some sort of power that the Burning Stone had on innocent people. 

Innocent people, like those in the Highlands. In the Lowlands, the Highlands seemed unattainable- wrong, even. But now living in the castle, the Highlands changed from cruel to reasonable. 

Now, Phoenix had experienced the Highlands. Cried over the Burning. Met the royal court and their less-than-wicked agenda. It seemed perspective could change the whole narrative, and things weren't as simple as they first appeared.