If there are any weird bits in here, I apologise. I was falling asleep while typing again. I proof read, but I'm still tired so there's no telling what's in there!

On another note, I'll be out tomorrow night at a work thing, so the next chapter will be due Wednesday evening, not Tuesday.

Episode 8: For the Ring, Chapter 2

"Please tell me you have something?" Baird asked a busy Cassandra and Ezekiel. The two had been skimming and scanning all the library's texts on the Douglas families for a connection between them and the Norse rune stone.

"Nothing," Cassandra shook her head. "We have that Archibald the Grim, who built Threave, was protector of the realm. That could make it his job to deal with anything like that coming into the country. We have details on their crest and shield..."

"There's a difference?" Baird frowned.

"The crest stays the same for all generations," nodded Cassandra. "The shield changes. Each Douglas has his own shield, so that he can be identified in battle, I guess."

"And what's so special about the Douglas' ones?"

"Well," began Cassandra. "Let's start with their crest. A green salamander in the midst of a fire, standing on a hat. The hat is called a chapeau. It was granted to Scottish feudal barons. The fire means zeal. The salamander, protection. The green of the salamander, if that's how it works, signifies hope, joy and loyalty in love."

"The motto is in French," chipped in Ezekiel. "It means 'Never Behind'. As protector of the realm, he was a bit of a big name. So was his clan's motto. It's engraved into many suits of armour and even more stone walls. How exactly the clan ensured they never were 'behind' is a mystery. The shield isn't much more help."

"Do you have any solid link with the Norse or the rune stone?" Baird asked sincerely.

"None," replied the thief.

"Okay," nodded Baird. "Go help Stone with the translations of our new palimpsest."

Ezekiel groaned. "Really?"

"You have a better suggestion?" Baird paused.

"It looks like our old friends, the Serpent Brotherhood, are coming out of hibernation," pointed out Jones. "Would this not be the perfect time to start putting into action my plan to get back all the stuff they stole the last time they attacked the Library?"

Baird sighed. He was right. Jones had been working out the details of the heist for long enough. If they didn't try out his idea soon, they may find the sinister movement of the Serpent Brotherhood had moved the stash to a new location, and any advantage they had would be lost. "Okay," she decided. "Work on that. Flynn and I have our own case to worry about. Jenkins can help with the finer details. Cassandra: don't let him do anything too stupid or illegal!"

"Would I?" Jones held out his hands with an expression of the purest innocence. Baird and Cassandra looked at him, then at each other and laughed. The Colonel turned and headed down the stairs without a second glance.

"Stone!" Baird called. "What have you got?"

"We're right about it being a palimpsest," the art historian replied. "These are all messages, at least all the ones I've translated so far."

He passed the notebook, complete with Cassandra's scribbled rune copies and his neat translations, over to the Guardian. She looked down and flicked through the pages. Each sentence was a warning of some type. Some cryptic and unclear, others direct. None of them wholly understandable out of context. Behind her she felt Flynn come up and read the book over her shoulders. She passed it to him and turned to Stone.

"Any way we can tell when each of these were written?" Baird enquired.

"I got nothing," Stone shook his head. "We're lucky we can even read these! There's no way we can tell when even the top one was written, let alone the ones that have been erased to make room for it."

"These might coincide with earthquakes," suggested Flynn, pointing out a handful of the most recent entries. "That one there could be when the dragons woke up and Ezekiel ran the conclave. This one could be the time they woke up before that."

Eve and Stone peered at the quotes in question. "The great lizards of Midgard awaken," read Stone. "Treachery causes the core of the world to tremble."

"Sounds about right, plus there are the right number of globe sized near-cataclysmic events in between," shrugged Flynn.

"Let's say that those two are the dragons waking up," said Eve. "That doesn't explain our level of the stone. Nor does it have anything to do with our trip to Norway. What have you found out there, Librarian?"

"Ah, well," began Flynn. "It looks like our winged ice-mummy was just a man, but he had built himself a pair of wings."

"Like Icarus?" Eve asked, thinking back to the familiar Greek myth.

"Actually, it was his father that built the wings, but more or less," said Flynn. "But we've got those wings already. Icarus' father's, not Icarus': they were destroyed as the story tells. These wings belong to another character from mythological history, entirely."

"And I just know you're dying to tell me which one," Eve smiled.

"Why yes I am, Guardian, how did you guess?" Flynn grinned back. "There was in Norse mythology a smith of the human race, although it was said that he had elf blood in his lineage. His name was Völund. He married the Valkyrie, Hervor, and for a time they were happy. Then she became restless and left him. In his grief he spent each day making a beautiful golden ring for her should she return. He strung the rings on a thread in his home, or forge, and one day some king's men saw the rings and took one back to their liege. The king decided he wanted Völund to smith for him, so he captured the man, ham-stringed him and imprisoned him on the island of Saevarstad. Völund plotted quietly both his escape and his revenge. Once he was sure of the latter, he put the former into play and flew off the island with the wings he had made for himself. He allegedly flew all over the world searching for his lost bride."

"Huh, how romantic," Eve raised an eyebrow. "Just so you know: I ever walk out on you, don't waste your time making rings to get me back. Get off you backside and come find me first!"

"To each their own," Flynn shrugged. "But I hope you know: if you ever walked out on me like that, I'd be too devastated to even make a paper aeroplane, never mind seven hundred lovingly crafted gold rings."

"Seven hundred?" Eve gaped.

"Apparently he counted them every day," nodded Flynn.

Eve took the bag Flynn handed her and they began to head over to the back door together. Flynn had just spun the globe when Jenkins and da Vinci finally rejoined the group.

"Da Vinci," Baird called. "I need you working with Stone down here on the rune stone. We know it's a palimpsest. We know what the phrases are that have been inscribed on it through the ages. I need you to try and use your genius to work out if there is any way we can date each of the layers."

The old master nodded and headed over to the desk and Stone. Jenkins shot Baird a warning look. He was not happy with Leonardo's interference at the best of time, but that morning has worsened his mood further.

"Jenkins I need you helping Jones out with his plans for the big heist," said Baird, nodding her head in the direction of the stairs. "We're moving up the timeline in view of our little warning there. He's going to need your help with a few things."

As the old man nodded and began to move past her, she shot out an arm and grabbed him. Flynn joined the two as they bent their heads together and lowered their tones. "I need you to keep an eye on Cassandra too," whispered Baird. "She sensed the Stone of Destiny while it was still under the ground, then used its magic to beat up a bunch of would be attackers."

"Actually," cut in Flynn, "the way you've described it to me, and Cassandra has described it to me, it's more like she used its magical field to manipulate objects within that same magical field. Like setting off ripples in a pond to move a leaf on the opposite side."

"Nevertheless," interjected Jenkins. "Colonel Baird is correct: a close eye should be kept on Miss Cillian at all times. She is just discovering these abilities, without tutelage. There is no telling what else she may discover she can do."

"Have you come across anything like this before?" Eve asked the Caretaker.

"Once or twice, he admitted. "The cases are few and far between."

"How did those turn out?" Flynn asked, his face deadly serious.

"Some not so good," Jenkins admitted. "But for the most part, it's almost certainly going to depend on her."

"Anyone you know that can help you?" Baird asked. "Flora maybe?"

"I will talk to Flora," sighed Jenkins, as if he'd rather be having all his teeth pulled. He leant over past them and re-spun the globe. "Norway. Off you pop. Please don't bring me any holiday souvenirs."

Christmas was just round the corner. Thanksgiving had not gone well with the addition of da Vinci. He and Jenkins went back too far. And now here was another holiday they could fill with their enmity. Baird sighed.

XXXX

In a corner of a candlelit room, an acolyte rummaged through a box. He brought out a set of chains with a small sigh of relief. Hurrying over to the circle in the centre of the room, he presented the chains to a robed figure.

"The chains of the wolf have been broken," intoned the acolyte. "The serpent stirs!"

"The serpent stirs!" Chorused the rest of the circle.

"And the world shall be made anew," finished a figure in an obviously superior robe. Instead of simple black and red cloak, this one was interwoven was knotted designs, black on the red, red on the black. Around the edges, gold thread picked out geometrical hems. Edges were important. Things happened at edges.

XXXX

Jenkins watched his two charges with interest. They stood looking down at Ezekiel's plan of the warehouse where they had found Dulaque's secret stash of Library items. They both seemed happy enough. Eve and Flynn were gone now, and no doubt would be a while before they were back. He left they two junior Librarians and headed to his lab. There was a mirror there, smaller than the full length one in the office, but easily big enough to use for faces. He muttered an incantation, then held his breath.

"Galeas," said the unsurprised voice on the other side of the mirror. "And what can I do for you?"

"Flora," Jenkins breathed her name like a prayer. "I think I need your help. One of our younger Librarians has developed magical ability. I think I know how, and why, but I need your skills to determine how best to deal with this phenomenon."

"Always to the point," the old woman cackled. She drew a breath and sobered, composing herself before looking up and into his eyes. "I never thought I'd hear my name spoken that way again, Galeas. The older the wound, the more painful it is to reopen, it seems."

"There were wounds on both sides, Flora," said Jenkins quietly. "Some have never closed."

"Be that as it may," the old woman waved the sentiment away. "None of this helps find out what is gong on with your Librarian."

"No," agreed Jenkins, softly.

"So begin at the beginning," ordered the Cailleach. "Tell me her story. As much as you know and as well as you know how to tell it."

"It begins as all stories ought," replied Jenkins. "Once upon a time there was a girl..."