Bonus Short Stories
Involuntary Book Club
“Here.” Aura thrust out the Black Chronicle, flushed with insistent excitement. “Read this.”
Scáthach looked back with resignation. “Please, Lady Aura,” she said. “I only just read it yesterday.” She wiped off the sweat she had worked up during training. All the while, the Black Chronicle’s cover jabbed into her ribs.
“I thought the withdrawal symptoms might be setting in.” Aura tapped the side of her nose conspiratorially, her eyes gleaming.
“I have noticed no such symptoms.”
“Don’t be silly. The Black Chronicle is the most addictive drug there is. Read it once and you won’t be able to sleep until you read the word ‘Mars’ again. That’s why it’s gotten so hard to find.”
“If that were true, would Lady Liz not also be addicted?”
Aura had thrust the Black Chronicle on Liz just as often as she had on Scáthach. Liz had given in more than once, but she had never come back to it of her own volition.
“She said she couldn’t risk it anymore. What a shame something so wonderful is only safe for a chosen few.”
“I wish I’d thought of that,” Scáthach muttered under her breath, trying to think of a similar avenue of escape.
When it came to the Black Chronicle, the normally levelheaded Aura became uncharacteristically enthusiastic. Scáthach had turned her down, only to wake up that same night to Aura reading it aloud by her bedside, refusing to leave until she took it for herself. She had even been forced to compile an extensive essay on her impressions, with Aura looking over her shoulder to ensure the task was done.
Aura’s proselytizing was so notorious that even ordinary soldiers and townsfolk barred their doors when she had the Black Chronicle in hand. Her position was high enough that none of her victims had the courage to refuse her, but they made their grievances known in anonymous complaints to Liz, which had grown so numerous that Liz had confiscated the book. Aura had immediately begun avoiding meetings, missing meals, and abruptly bursting into tears. Yet when Liz relented, she had snapped back like a rubber band and grown worse than ever. Faced once more with mounting complaints, Liz had turned to Rosa, only for Rosa to take Aura’s side, publicly declaring that anyone who didn’t want to read the book could simply refuse to. The letters had finally ceased, and Aura walked once more with the Black Chronicle proudly in hand, preaching its virtues in every spare moment. Scáthach privately cursed Rosa’s name.
“I was just about to wash myself,” Scáthach said. “Perhaps this could wait until then?”
“Wait?” Aura’s eyes widened in surprise, then slowly filled with tears, as if she were a lost child who had finally found their mother.
Scáthach hung her head and took a seat beneath a tree. Who could refuse a face like that? “Very well. Perhaps you could read it to me.”
Aura’s face lit up, and she opened the Black Chronicle, beaming. “If you really need to have a wash, I’ll start from Meteia and Mars’s great escape.”
Scáthach frowned. “Did that not happen in the prologue?”
“The time will fly by. The Black Chronicle is special like that. It starts with the ending.”
“The sun will have set by the time you are done. Would you not start from a little further in? From Meteia’s battle with Hydra, perhaps?”
Scáthach didn’t have time to marvel at how the contents of the book seemed to have sunk in. Aura immediately turned her suggestion down.
“No. You can’t understand Meteia’s appeal without starting at the beginning. Once they knew how she tried to uphold the first archpriestess’s last wishes, anyone would weep.”
“All right,” Scáthach said with no small amount of resignation. “If you say so, then that’s what we’ll do.”
Further resistance was futile. Once Aura started on the Black Chronicle, no one in the world could stop her.
“And I want another essay. Your last one was superb, but I’m sure you can do even better this time.”
“I’m flattered, I’m sure.” Scáthach could do nothing but laugh.
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