Hurricane #6: The Library (Patreon)

Serrano looked around the library from Webb’s shoulder as the librarian paced through racks of books at her scale. The mouse had been right: the giant-sized portion of the library was small, at least for giants, maybe a dozen shelves. The Serrano-sized portion of the library, though, took up five high-ceilinged stories, with balconies that overlooked the giant portion. If “overlooked” could be applied when you could be on the fourth floor and still be looking up at people the size of Webb, Snep, and the couple of early-bird students who’d trickled in.

The magic Webb had referred to for managing the different sizes of books became immediately apparent, too. While actual giant tomes took up space on the shelves, they shimmered in and out of existence as the librarian and students perused them. Geared brass wheels and very analog dials took up the left end of each shelf; as students—and Webb—set the dials to new positions and clicked lever-liked switches, the books flickered out, replaced in a few seconds by a different set.

“This is incredible shit. I’ve been living here for a couple of years and—I mean, I did know there was a magic school right here, but I didn’t really understand what the hell that meant.”

“We keep as low a profile as we can, all things considered. The city government isn’t all that happy to have us, even with the tourism boost.”

“Tourism…huh, I guess people come here to see if they can see giants and wizards, huh. It’s weird that you’re, well, here, though. I’d think you’d either want a big city or the middle of nowhere.”

Webb had picked up a book, frowned at it, and reshelved it. “It’s my understanding that there were four locations under consideration for the school, all on the outskirts of medium-sized cities with comparable characteristics, and this is the one they could get.” She headed back to the gears, dialed in another number, and clicked the lever.

“Huh. What’s ‘comparable characteristics’ mean?”

The mouse walked along the new set of books. “A diverse population with a liberal political outlook, a mild climate, on a river but not an ocean, and good transit options for people your size. And no, I don’t know why all of those were important.” She picked up one book and started flipping through it.

“Got it.” She looked down at the massive pages. “That looks like a mythology book, not a magic book.”

“It is, Ms. Layotl. Neither Professor Snep nor I have heard of anything like this in recent memory, and I couldn’t find anything that sounded similar in relatively recent magic studies. So, I’m now checking more ancient stories.”

Serrano stopped herself from quipping wouldn’t true stories be better. Giants and magic had been stories from myths, too, until a few years ago they weren’t—at least around here. It seemed like the rest of the world wasn’t talking nearly as much about Mensura College as they should have been. The reappearance of monsters and wizards had been all anyone across the world could talk about for about a week, followed by everyone collectively forgetting unless something came up that reminded them. “Right. Uh, you can just call me Serrano.”

“All right.” The mouse’s huge, nimble fingers flipped through pages, past three contradictory creation stories, past the story of how some animals came to be separated from their wild four-footed cousins with the two gifts of hands and a common language (never mind that there were probably more languages than there were types of evolved people), past the stories of six-limbed people—bipedal from the waist up, quadruped from the waist down—whose rationale changed with each telling.

“I’ve always liked those,” Serrano said. “Are they real?”

“Taurs? Perhaps.” She paused a moment.

Despite the book’s dry, academic look, the reproduction of the illustration on the facing page was striking as hell: one of the six-limbed, rearing up on their hind legs, arms stretched out over their head, lightning cracking down into an outstretched hand from thunderclouds above. A woman. A coyote woman. It took a moment to realize that even though she took up most of the picture, she was in the background, towering over a meticulously drawn crowd of hundreds fleeing in panic from her. Another several dozen were held in her other hand, being casually poured into her tilted-back, open muzzle like pumpkin seeds.

“Holy shit,” Serrano breathed. “Whoever that is, she’s fucking awesome.”

Webb ran a finger along the text. “Ulohne, the original spirit of storms.”

“Original?” She followed Webb’s finger, reading. The folktale was about Ulohne passing the power of storms on to a mortal, another coyote woman, after she grew tired of holding the world’s weather system in her hands. “Huh. And this tells us…?”

“Other than telling us you have an attraction to terrifying goddesses, I can’t say. You haven’t dreamed of a mysterious woman offering you power, have you?”

“Afraid not. So far, I’ve been pretty damn powerless.” Her ears lowered. “Do you think maybe she’s trying to kill me?”

“If Ulohne were real and wanted to kill you, I doubt she’d need more than one try.”

“Ah, uh, good point.”

“I do suspect there’s something here given your dreams of storms, not to mention the actual cyclone. But in my experience, connections to myths tend to be more metaphorical than literal.” Webb pushed her glasses up her nose, then resumed page-flipping until she paused at a less interesting drawing: a wolf-person stepping out of a floating circle. While they were stepping into a dreary-looking room, a rolling landscape could be seen through the circle, as if it were—

“A portal.” Serrano’s ears lifted.

“This looks like a tale about a dream-walker; I’ve seen several variants in folk tales. The portal is between the waking world—our waking world, I should say—and the faerie realm from which one can walk to all possible mortal worlds.”

Serrano crossed her arms. “So you and Professor Snep are telling me there’s a magic door that leads to Faerie Land, and…what, when I’m asleep storms come through it, in both my dreams and my shower stall.”

Webb lowered the book and gave the coyote a sidelong glance. “Unless you have a better interpretation, Serrano, it’s a useful starting point.”

“I see why that’s dangerous to me, but how does it make me a danger?”

“The tornado? At my desk? Just a few minutes ago?”

“It came after me!”

“That would still be a danger to anyone near you, wouldn’t it. You’ve had no experience with magic or the supernatural before this?”

“Nope.”

“No one in your family?”

“No, nobody.”

“No rituals involving these older myths that predate your Trinity of Lords.”

She shook her head. “Not really.”

Webb’s brows lifted. “That isn’t a definitive ‘no.’”

Serrano sighed, shrugging. “Dad dragged us to church on holy days, but mom didn’t go with us, and she had necklaces and trinkets and shit that were callbacks to some of those myths.” She gestured at the giant book. “It felt pretty New Age hippy, you know, light incense once in a while, put up an inspirational poster with a quote that’s supposed to be from some wise tribal elder. She gives thanks to Ayanta in the morning—I mean, I guess she still does—but that’s about as religious as I’ve ever seen her get. No ritual sacrifices to Ulohne or anything.”

“I would hope not.” Webb closed the book and reshelved it, going back to the dials at the shelf’s edge. “Are you and your mother close? Have you talked to her about your nightmares?”

“We’re not. I mean, we’re not estranged or anything, we get along, but we don’t have much in common but blood.”

“It’s something to consider, since it only requires an email or phone call rather than experimenting with your portal yourself. Although that’s another next step to consider.”

“I…what? I want to close the portal, not go through it.”

The giantess started walking back toward her desk—and past it, over toward one of the balconies. “I understand, but you’re going to need to learn what the portal is to do that. The world-walker myth in that book describes the travels between worlds, through the faerie realm, as happening in mortal dreams.”

“If I’m walking between worlds, I’d like to find one that I don’t keep drowning in.”

Webb leaned forward, tapping her finger on the balcony to suggest Serrano should hop off. She did. “I’m going to have to get back to my actual work. I suggest you stay here and do some research on summoning rituals; I can arrange permission for you to check out general circulation books.”

She tilted her head. “Summoning? Like a demon?”

“Like a faerie, to ask about your storms. Assuming some truth to the world-walking myth, either the storms are starting in the faerie realm or passing through it.”

Her ears skewed. “Uh, okay. I guess faeries aren’t too dangerous.”

“That would be a very wrong guess.” She straightened up. “Good luck, Serrano.”