Riddles in the Light
Kuhl couldn't fully tell whether the library interior was lit only from light through the crystal windows set in the roof high above or if a subtle ambient luminescence from the marble walls and ceiling themselves also contributed. Either way, the great room they entered possessed the same ethereal radiance as the eternal twilight of the Feywild outside. The mural in the ceiling even mimicked the sky, complete with star constellations and the moon. Several stylized moons in fact, representing her shifting phases. The air smelled of dust, parchment, leather, and must with a hint of animal musk - the half-elf could guess the source of the last scent, given what he'd been told before entering.
Rows of bookshelves, ends carved with woodland scenes and shelves crowded with tomes, stood arrayed throughout the space. Dust layering the broad tabletops attested to their long disuse. The clopping of the centaur's hooves and the clicking of those of his smaller satyr friend's on the stone floor broke what felt like a hallowed silence as they echoed throughout the chamber. Even the whispered conversations among the companions seemed overly loud.
"So, if Cendraine is ever restored," Takari said, voice hushed. "The pact between the dryads and the Bramble Queen would be broken?"
"Such is my hope," Brieanna whispered back.
"And my daughter's escape from this place would help with that?" the wood-elf said, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
"Stories will be the seeds," the dryad said. "As champion of the Maiden of the Moon she visits eladrin courts and Pyrite tells and sings of their adventures. Let the listeners hear of Cendraine, the shining city of their ancestors, and dream of reclaiming it."
"That might be long in coming," Takari said.
"It is a slight and reaching hope," Brieanna agreed. "Yet better a slight hope than none at all. And doesn't a seed germinate with the distant dream of its leaves someday reaching beyond the gloom of the forest canopy?"
"True," the wood-elf conceded, nodding.
"A vow of celibacy," Fargas said in a separate whispered conversation. "It seems a bit excessive."
"Not excessive, dedicated," Pyrite explained. "A bard must sacrifice to create art after all. So, I deny myself and take that primal, carnal energy and channel it creatively into my craft instead."
"Vow of celibacy," Byregos scoffed. "What about that naiad near Vaerve?"
"I couldn't deny a water nymph," the satyr said, face scrunching in apparent confusion at the statement. "Do you even understand the repercussions to satyr-nature spirit relations if I did?"
"The acrobat of the Witchlight carnival?" the centaur asked, with a sidelong glance.
"Contortionist, not acrobat," Pyrite said with a sniff. "Which, I assume, explains why an exception was made for her?"
"How about that eladrin queen then?" Byregos asked, with a swish of his horse tail. "Don't tell me she was also a contortionist."
"Eladrin queen?" the satyr asked, horned head shaking slightly in denial. "I never broke my celibacy vow with an eladrin queen?"
"Yes, you did," the centaur said. "I well remember because the king caught you in her bedchambers and I paid the price. I had to carry both you and Janestra on my back when we fled the castle."
He gave a shudder that started in his human shoulders and shivered all the way through his equine hindquarters.
"The point is, I kept my vow that time," Pyrite said, shrugging. "I'll grant you it was more fate than willpower, but that doesn't really matter, does it? Now, what were we discussing before Byregos started in with this nonsense?"
"Your commitment to your craft," Fargas said, rolling his eyes.
"Ah, yes," the satyr said, nodding. "An artist must make sacrifices…"
"From the sounds of it, a vow of celibacy seems to attract willing mates like the proverbial moth to the candle flame," Dawnbringer mused in Kuhl's mind. "Perhaps you should take one."
The half-elf pointedly ignored her and focused on keeping a wary eye out as they navigated their way through the library.
"So much knowledge," Surash said, staring about the room. "All within easy reach."
"Touch nothing," Kuhl ordered.
They'd been warned against such a temptation by Brieanna in the courtyard. According to the dryad, the library possessed a very powerful guardian, one who would know and be displeased if anything was disturbed without permission.
The wide walkway between the rows of bookshelves led to two very large and ornate crescent shaped desks positioned to form a semicircle. Open books lay strewn across the desktops along with dust covered quills in stands next to jars of ink, contents long ago dried to grit. A haphazard gathering of shredded cushions, straw, upholstery, and down was at the center of the desks. The smell of animal musk was strong here, stronger even than the otherwise pervasive smell of old books.
"That is a big body indentation in that makeshift nest," Dawnbringer observed in Kuhl's thoughts. "Very big."
It was a very large indentation. When Brieanna, Byregos, and Pyrite told of the guardian of the library he'd imagined something big, but the size of the indentation hinted at something even bigger.
"Acalos might be out hunting," Brieanna said after a contemplative look at the unoccupied space between the desks. "Or, more likely, sunning himself in the tower. This way."
She walked around the desks and led them towards one of the back corners of the library.
"How can someone sun themselves in a land of eternal twilight?" Surash wondered as they made their way past more rows of bookshelves.
"Forgive me," the dryad said. "My knowledge of this language comes from reading books and practicing with Acalos. I'm not sure if 'sunning' is the right phrase."
It turned out to be a relatively close approximation. How does one sun oneself in a land of eternal twilight? Apparently with a domed roof made of crystal atop a tower that gathered and bent the ambient light from outside and sent it cascading down its center. The hollow upper floors of the tower created a large central atrium and curving bookshelves, visible beyond upper floor balcony railings, lined the walls. But what immediately drew the gaze was the creature dozing in the middle of the crystal-created beam of light on the ground floor.
It was a sphinx.
A massive leonine creature with tawny fur and brilliant golden colored feathered wings folded on its back. Strangely, it cradled an open book between its two front paws, as if it had been reading and decided to lay its head to the side and take a little nap. Presently, it raised its great maned head, opened a pair of amber eyes, blinked a few times, then yawned - revealing a set of very long, very sharp teeth. Stories always described the head of a sphinx as humanoid, but in the half-elf's estimation the features were mostly feline - fully fur covered and able to open its jaws disturbingly wide.
"What sort of prey have stumbled into my lair?" the sphinx rumbled in a deep masculine voice, languidly closing his book with a clawed digit and setting it aside after folding the page to mark his place. "One barely morsel sized, the others at least meal sized, particularly the centaur, and a dryad as well?"
"Hello again," Byregos said with a half-hearted wave. "I know we weren't supposed to come back, but here we are."
The creature's face twisted in disgust.
"Dryads are inedible," it growled, ignoring the centaur. "Well mostly inedible, but it is too difficult to separate the strips of wood from the scant pieces of flesh to make it worth my while. So, I'll just kill you and deposit your body in the fountain as a warning to the others instead. Did you forget, little dryad, you are forbidden from the library by the agreement between the Bramble Queen and my patron?"
"I didn't forget, Acalos," the dryad sighed, voice exasperated. "That is only for pact bound dryads. I was bound after."
"The only dryad born after is Brieanna," the sphinx, Acalos, purred, a slight smile on his lips and amusement in his amber eyes. "And you can't be her. She is just a wee spout of a sapling with an adorable little squeak in her voice. You're full grown and your tone is nagging and grating on the ears."
"I grew up," Brieanna said, rolling her eyes. "As you well know. Now stop with your teasing."
She entered the glow of focused light under the crystalline roof and her golden foliage hair shifted to green, leaves broadening to absorb as much radiance as possible.
"Ah…" the dryad sighed. "If only my mother and the others could experience this."
"Allow me my fun," the feline creature said, stretching. "It's the least you owe me for waking me from my nap. I was dreaming of a gynosphinx I once knew. Her name was Enid."
"Ah, memories of an old flame," Pyrite said, wistfully. "They can still warm the heart, years later."
"Haven't seen her in centuries," Acalos rumbled.
"Or still warm the heart even after a few centuries," the satyr amended. "Not that I would know, mind you. Being still very young and virile."
"Never was a flame either," the sphinx grunted. "Look at these rippling muscles. These rending claws. This golden plumage."
Impressive muscles bunched under his golden fur as he flexed his shoulders and the claws he popped from an upraised paw were wickedly curved and sharp. Then he unfurled his wings to their fullest extent to show off feathers that brilliantly reflected the focused light he sat beneath.
"Did any of this impress her?" Acalos asked, continuing. His bushy, thick mane stirred in the air as he shook his head. "No. All she admired was intelligence. Which you have to prove by solving her damnable riddles. Round she is, yet flat as a board. Altar of the Lupine Lords. Jewel on black velvet, pearl in the sea. Unchanged but ever changing, eternally. Who could possibly ever guess the answer to that?"
"Moon," Kuhl said without thinking.
The sphinx's golden eyes narrowed dangerously as he stared at the half-elf.
"What did you say?" the creature growled.
"Um, moon?" Kuhl said, wincing and wishing he hadn't spoken. "I think that might be the answer?"
Moments seemed like an eternity under the weight of Acalos's unblinking stare.
"Moon!" the sphinx barked. "Moon! It fits! You're right! How did I never think of that in all this time? And how did you guess the answer?"
"I'm the paladin of a moon goddess," the half-elf offered, shrugging. "Sehanine Moonbow."
"Also, the word 'lupine' is in the riddle," Dawnbringer thought in Kuhl's mind. "So, a fairly easy one to solve."
"No wonder you knew the answer," Acalos said, sighing. "But for the rest of us non-moon-goddess worshiping paladins, it was all but impossible."
"It was a very difficult riddle," Pyrite said. "To be sure. Never would have guessed the answer."
His tone did not sound entirely sincere.
"I too was completely stumped," Fargas agreed, also sounding less than truthful. He cringed and amended his wording in response to a glare from the dryad. "Did I say stumped? I meant flummoxed."
"Well then," Brieanna said, expression calming and glancing at the sphinx. "You learned the answer to something that long puzzled you. Perhaps that puts you in a generous mood. I brought these visitors here because they would like a book from the library."
At the mere mention of the word 'book' Acalos sat more upright and his gaze slitted.
"A book?" the creature rumbled. "Guarding the library and its contents is my sacred duty. What sort of book do you want?"
"A book of alchemical recipes," Surash said. "One with a formula to brew a powerful sleeping potion."
"Or anything that will break enchantments," Takari added. "Or perhaps you could aid us in breaking an enchantment?"
"What enchantment?" Acalos asked. "Cast by whom?"
Quickly the wood-elf explained of her daughter's capture and enslavement by the Bramble Queen. The sphinx was already shaking his great maned head before she finished.
"Your cause is a worthy one," he said after listening. "Your daughter worthy as well. When I tested her and these others for the right to take the book they requested, she fought with such ferocity I wondered if sphinx blood flowed through her veins. I cannot, however, break an enchantment of the Bramble Queen. But during my time here I have perused most of the tomes within, and I know of one which holds the formula you seek."
"Will you give it to us?" Takari asked, chin lifting to meet the giant creature's gaze.
"I will," the sphinx rumbled. "If you prove as worthy as your daughter. But I give you a choice I did not give her. The trial of body - combat, such as she endured, or the trial of mind - riddles. Unlike our female counterparts we androsphinx do not hold an excessive fondness of riddles. Yet I have crafted a few in the event I ever encounter Enid again, and I would like to try them out on someone else before her."
"Oh," Brieanna said, clasping her hands together. "I think I have heard these before. Did you share them with me when I was very young?"
"I believe I might have," the creature said.
"Hold on a moment," the centaur protested. "You mean to tell me Janestra, Pyrite, and I fought until we were bleeding out on the floor when we could have answered a few riddles instead?"
"As you proved worthy, I reversed time which also reversed those injuries," Acalos said. "For such power is granted to me within my lair. And I did not give you this choice as I had not yet had my dream of Enid and remembered the riddles I wrote for her."
"Reversed time and took away the injuries," Byregos said, placing his hands on his stomach as though he tried to hold something in that was trying to spill out. "But that did not take away the memory of them."
"That's all I need to hear," Fargas said. "Riddles it is."
"Wait," Takari said, "What happens if we cannot guess the answer to one of the riddles?"
"The same rules a gynosphinx would apply," the sphinx said. "You can't answer correctly, you are unworthy, and do not get what you seek. And I will send you far from here, far enough to ensure you never make it back."
"It's too risky," the wood-elf said. "There might be one we cannot guess, and we gamble with my daughter's life. Trial by combat is the better choice."
"Then we gamble with our lives as well," Pyrite mumbled, almost to himself. "If time had not been reversed…"
He trailed off as his complexion paled and his eyes went distant, looking someplace other than his immediate surroundings, the past most likely.
"How many riddles, and can we collaborate?" Surash asked.
"Three," Acalos answered. "And of course."
"I'll fight if you want," Fargas sighed. "But look at the size of me and look at the size of him. I'll be more useful answering riddles."
"The trial of the mind is the better choice I think," Kuhl said.
His grandmother fixed him with a stare.
"You're sure?" she asked. "Janestra, Byregos, and Pyrite won the trial of the body and proved it is possible."
"We did not win," Byregos said with a haunted look. "Of that you can be sure. Only proved worthy. How or why, I don't know, and I don't know if I'll be able to do it again."
"It's probably a trial of bravery," Dawnbringer thought in the half-elf's mind. "I have faith you can pass it."
Kuhl appreciated her confidence in him. But he didn't like an abstract test where they didn't know the threshold for passing whereas a test of riddles was more straightforward. They either answered correctly or not. And judging from the reactions of the satyr and the centaur the trial by combat had been full of gruesome violence. He had no desire to witness such things inflicted on Fargas, Surash, or even his grandmother, capable though she was, even if it was reversed. And Pyrite and Byregos obviously did not wish to experience them again.
"I vote the trial of mind," he said.
"Very well," Takari said as if his vote decided for her as well.
The sighs the centaur and satyr gave made their thoughts known and Fargas had already made his preference clear. The sphinx straightened to his full height and when he spoke next the growling undertone of his voice was lessened as he intoned his riddle with ceremonial performance.
"The seed, the branches, the roots, and the leaves;
The warp and the weft by which one weaves;
While each becomes the other in the living crimson flow;
Forever shall I grow."
Once Acalos stopped speaking, the companions huddled together by some unspoken consensus to confer more easily.
"The living crimson flow is blood, obviously," Fargas mused. "Is that the answer?
"Don't see how blood is the 'seed, the branches, the roots, and the leaves'," Pyrite said. "So I doubt the answer is blood."
"It has to do with blood and trees," Byregos said. "The wood woads? Aren't they made by sacrificing people?"
"No mention of hearts," Brieanna called out from where she basked under the beam of light with Acalos. "A riddle about the woads would likely mention hearts."
"You," the sphinx rumbled at the dryad. "Have heard these before and are not part of this challenge. So be silent."
"Sorry," Brieanna said, clamping her mouth shut.
"The riddle says while each becomes the other," Surash said. "The seed becomes the tree. The answer is something to do with the flow of life."
"That also fits with the living crimson flow," the satyr said, nodding.
"It does," the halfling agreed.
"But branches don't become roots," the centaur objected. "Nor do roots become leaves."
"It's all metaphorical," Pyrite said. "So, it still fits."
"But are you sure of that answer?" Byregos pressed. "Because we need to be sure."
Satyr, halfling, and alchemist all shared a look before collectively shaking their heads.
"We can't be sure," Pyrite sighed. "It is just the best answer we have come up with so far.
"I knew this was a mistake," Takari growled, punching a fist into her palm. "I have never been good at such things. We should have chosen the trial by combat."
"We're still thinking," the satyr assured. He glanced at his centaur companion. "It's uncanny."
"They're so much alike," Byregos agreed. "Mother, daughter, same amount of patience."
"Little to none," Pyrite said with a mirthless laugh.
Then his brow furrowed in concentration, obviously puzzling through the riddle again. Kuhl focused as well. Their comparison between his grandmother and mother had triggered a thought. After a bit of consideration, he spoke it aloud.
"Family. The living crimson flow is family."
"Now you're on the right trail," Brieanna said.
A glare from the sphinx turned her expression apologetic and she covered her mouth with both hands.
"So, it has to do with family. But what does a family have to do with a tree?" Fargas asked. Then his eyes widened. "A family tree. The seed, branches when children are born, these children have children of their own and which become leaves off branches and so on."
"And as long as that keeps happening," Surash said, nodding with excitement. "Forever it grows."
"Family tree," the satyr called out. "That is the answer. And even if there is another answer, this one fits and should also be counted."
"It does fit," Acalos rumbled, the growling quality of his voice back. "And is the correct answer. Though you had a bit of help."
"Sorry," Brieanna said, shrugging in response to the sphinx's side glare.
"I also noticed it was the half-elf who gave the revealing clue," Acalos continued. "It makes me wonder if being a paladin makes one good at riddles beyond just moon ones. We shall see."
Once again the sphinx straightened and his tone became ritual-like.
"Alone I cannot be held;
In both hardship and joy I weld;
I bind tight;
Yet bring delight;
Am a boon in sorrow;
And give promise to tomorrow."
Moments of silence passed after Acamos stopped speaking as the companions looked at each other. They'd managed to guess the answer to the first riddle, with help, but now they had to begin the process all over again.
"A rope binds tight," Pyrite ventured, starting the discussion.
"But how does it bring delight?" Fargas asked, stroking his chin in thought.
"It can," the satyr said. "What, it really can."
The last part was in response to the raised eyebrow glances directed his way from all the group.
"I really want to know more about that," the halfling said. "But now we need to stay focused. And the answer clearly isn't a rope because a rope can be held."
"What cannot be held then?" Byregos asked. "Something really, really heavy?"
"It cannot be held alone," Surash said. "That is the key word there I think."
"Something really unwieldy then?" the centaur wondered aloud.
"Something unwieldy or heavy can be held if someone is strong enough," Dawnbringer said in Kuhl's mind. "They're thinking along the wrong lines. It is something that must be shared between two or more people."
"Is it something that is shared between two or more people," the half-elf repeated aloud.
"Moon paladins are good at riddles," the sphinx rumbled. "I wonder why that is?"
"Now you're the one giving hints," Brieanna said, throwing up her hands.
"Sorry," Acamos said with a shrug of leonine shoulders. "First time using riddles. Trial by combat is much simpler. Bite off a few limbs. Shred up some innards. Judge how they handled it. This riddling requires much more patience and waiting."
"Hey!" Dawnbringer protested in Kuhl's mind. "I'm the one who thought that it is something 'shared', but you are getting the recognition for it."
"It was Dawnbringer who came up with that idea," the half-elf said.
But the others had moved on.
"Something shared between two people that requires two people to hold it," Pyrite said. "A two or more person burden. Wait, people often describe duty as a burden."
"But a duty can be held by one person," Fargas said. "There are solitary dutiful people."
"True," the satyr agreed. "So not a duty. But how about an obligation? An obligation is usually between two or more people. Thus, it requires two people to have one. Alone it cannot be held."
Surash shook his head.
"An obligation is a joy in sorrow?" he questioned.
"Nine hells," Pyrite cursed. "I thought I was on to something."
Kuhl had thought so as well. And the term 'obligation' made him think of how he had found his way here. He was here to save his mother. Felt obliged to try the moment he learned she was in danger, despite her really being a stranger to him.
"Family ties are obligations," he said. "A person by themselves cannot be considered a family, so alone it cannot be held. And family ties can bring joy in sorrow."
But the alchemist again shook his head.
"Family ties can certainly bind tight," he said. "And they strengthen in shared joy and hardship. They also can bring delight, can be a boon in sorrow, and can give promise to tomorrow, but shouldn't those cans be a bit more certain with a riddle and not open to interpretation? And the answer to the first riddle is family tree and the second one is family ties? I don't think so."
Fargas snapped his fingers.
"What is like family?" he asked, excitedly. "The family we choose?"
He paused a moment before answering his own question.
"Friends," he said. "Or, more precisely, friendship. Alone it cannot be held, shared joy and hardship strengthens it, it binds tight, brings delight, is a boon in sorry, and gives promise to tomorrow. It all fits!"
"This is all beyond me," Takari said. "But as you promised, master halfling, you have proven up to the task. Well done."
Fargas looked at the sphinx.
"The answer to your second riddle is friendship," he said.
"Very good," Acamos said. "That answer is correct."
"Last one," Brieanna said encouragingly.
The sphinx again adopted his reciting posture and voice.
"I can't be seen, but linger in glances;
I span divides and give second chances;
Gentle and fragile, yet I conquer all;
To the forlorn and forsaken I whisper my call."
Silence once more followed the Acamos's riddle, but this time the looks the companions shared were confused.
"This has to be some kind of trick," Pyrite said. "The answer to the last riddle can't be so obvious."
"We should think about it and discuss it before we answer," the halfling agreed. "There is probably a riddle within the riddle."
But Kuhl's grandmother had other ideas. She gave a half-hearted laugh.
"Tell me, sphinx," she said. "Is this the order you plan to recite your riddles to this Enid you were telling us about?"
"It is," Acamos grunted.
"Then you are far more clever," Takari said. "And far more romantically gifted than you let on to us at first. I believe, by the way, your Enid will find favor with it. You were never challenged by the moon riddle, were you?"
"I may have been having a bit of playful fun," the creature rumbled. "You must forgive me. This place gets few visitors, so I must amuse myself when and where I can. But now, tell me elf, what is the answer to my last and final riddle?"
"The answer is love," the wood-elf said.
The sphinx smiled and nodded his great maned head.
"You," he intoned. "Have proven yourself worthy. And I owe you a book on alchemy. It is on one of the bookshelves on the upper floors."
With that, he unfurled his golden wings and Brieanna scrambled back out of the way. Kuhl and the others raised their arms to shield their eyes from the reflected light off his dazzling feathers. A buffet of wind stirred around the tower floor as he leapt into the air.
Okay, it is almost midnight and I want to get to sleep and tomorrow I need to get other things done and not think anymore about this chapter, so I'm posting it.
A few things. The title - yes, I know, someone like me should not riff off of Tolkien. But I decided to have a bit of fun. The riddles - I have a specific reason I chose to make up these particular riddles that should be covered in the next chapter. It is a bit of an experiment I thought up. The first one, the moon riddle, is from the gynosphinx in White Plume Mountain. She doesn't have a name in the module, but Paul Kidd named her in his novelization of the module, so I went with that.
I wasn't sure what to do with the library. I thought about making it abandoned, but I needed them to find the book quickly because I need to wrap this up quickly. Erin Evans had her characters discover an abandoned library and it was chapters and chapters of them searching out books. But I didn't have chapters to spare like her. So I went with sphinx. Then I got into lore on the sphinx. They are *very* powerful (I hadn't realized how powerful) with even the ability to control the flow of time in their lair. They can also send you off into another plane of existence. And that is even before we get into their claws, bites, and roars. According to the lore the gynosphinx is more intelligent and she likes to test people by telling riddles. The male androsphinx likes to test people's courage. Now The Legend of Vox Machina already had a sphinx battle to test the worthiness of the characters so I decided I wouldn't do that. Plus I just had an action chapter and wanted to try something new. So, why a male androsphinx that tells riddles when it says it is the female type who do this? I don't know. I got set on a male sphinx and who does riddles for some reason. Don't really have a rationale...