A Hackwith - The Library of the Unwritten

Leto bit his teeth together to stifle a whimper as Andras drew a thin line of blood on his neck where he pressed down. Leto worked his throat, holding himself still as he tried to speak around the claws in his skin. “You won’t win. You aren’t a librarian. You’re not even human.”

“Of course not. I have no intention of administering the Library. What would be the point?” Andras’s tone turned silky and dark. “But the court is always hungry. That will secure what I do want. I’ll have it all.”

“You can’t—” Leto cut off as a claw broke the skin at his neck again.

“Now, now. Lesson time is over. None of this needs to get messy if you remember your message for Claire. But I need to ensure it carries the proper… gravitas. It would be wise to hold still, child.”

The medallion in Andras’s hand burst into sickly orange light. Leto began to struggle, ignoring the claws sinking into his neck. And then he began to scream.

“MERCIFUL JESUS.”

The oath floated through Leto’s sluggish head. He couldn’t place the low feminine voice. His eyes fluttered open, and he momentarily panicked when he saw only darkness. Then a light flared, and it came back to him: the catacombs, the tunnel, Andras… the codex . Leto jerked, but a cool hand stopped him.

“Easy, Leto. Hero—give me a hand here. Help him up. We have to keep moving.” Claire’s voice hovered somewhere to his left.

Larger hands gripped his arm, and there was a grunt as he was hauled to his feet. “Up you go, kid.”

The movement brought the sensations of his body flooding back to him. Hot pain shuddered up his limbs, pulling a jagged sound from his throat, and Leto would have collapsed again without Hero’s support.

“ Gently help him up. Did I really have to specify that?” Claire’s voice was sharp even as a cool hand checked his cheek and ran down his shoulder, inspecting wounds. “Bea, a little more light.”

The flashlight swung around and seemed to pierce Leto’s skull. But he was finally able to make out the faces above him. Hero and Claire clustered to either side, and Beatrice was a tall, dark shape hovering behind them. Claire scowled thunderclouds at Hero, who was keeping him upright.

“You said we were in a hurry.” Nonetheless, Hero loosened his grip slightly and glanced at him. “You all right to walk, kid?”

“I think so.” After the initial wave, the pain faded to a bone-deep ache. Most of the pain, that is. Leto winced. “I think I broke my arm.”

Claire’s hand drifted to the injured arm. Leto managed to make only a mangled squeak as she probed it. Her voice was taut. “I doubt you broke it. You’ll be all right, just as soon as we get to the Library.” She hesitated. “Andras did this?”

Leto nodded. The glint of claw and gem came back, in a rush. The loss. The crush of codex pages in a jeweled fist. He found a lump had developed in his throat and he had to swallow hard. “He got the pages. I failed…. I—I’m so sorry.”

Claire started waving her hand before he even got the apology out. “Not unexpected. We can deal with it. I’m just glad you’re alive. We’ll just—” The earth walls around them lurched, showering clods on their heads. Baleful howls vibrated from afar—but not far enough. Without a word, Beatrice began shoving Claire down the hall. Hero hauled Leto into a stumbling pace.

“We’ll just run —that’s what,” Hero finished. He shot a grim look at Beatrice. “How much farther?”

“Nearly there.”

Every step made his arm shoot with electric bolts of pain, but Leto forced his feet to keep up with Hero. They turned another corner. Leto heard a strangled yelp, and Beatrice brought the flashlight up to show Claire backing away from a dark ledge. The tunnel emptied out onto an abrupt precipice. The light did not reach far, but wind whipped at the edges of Claire’s skirts. Leto could feel the enormous space in front of them.

Claire snatched the flashlight from Beatrice’s hand and craned her head. The light disappeared into aimless darkness above them, but when Claire swung the beam down, it hit on something white. Leto leaned forward as far as he dared to peer over the ledge. Far, far below them, the light bounced off dull ivory surfaces. Like seashells, an ocean of seashells.

It took Leto’s brain a moment to accept that the shells were, in fact, the human kind.

“A mass burial,” Claire breathed. She swung the light up into Beatrice’s face. “A dead end. Is there a way across?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Beatrice looked uncomfortable.

“What…” Claire’s eyes widened. “ This is the realm gate?”

Beatrice opened her mouth, but her explanation was drowned in another hail of dirt. A clear howl came from the depths of the catacombs now. Closer. Much closer. The Hellhounds had their scent, and though the ancient catacombs had slowed them down, it wouldn’t be for long. Leto edged nervously toward Claire.

Beatrice leaned over the ledge. “You have to jump. Right here.” She indicated a spot in the air square off the precipice and somewhere below them.

“The hell I do!” Claire muttered.

“It’s a burial rite, Claire. The path to the afterlife. The religion might be long dead, but still—we don’t have time to debate!” Beatrice practically shouted, and stepped forward as if she was going to push them both. Claire brought up her flashlight like a club, and Hero drew his gun. Beatrice stopped. “You have to trust me.”

Claire’s lip curled. “Oh no. I made that mistake once.”

“I’ll do it.” The words were out of Leto’s mouth before he thought them through. He could feel the immense weight of the Hellhounds as they materialized in and out of the tunnel, shoving waves of air and dust in front of them. He ached everywhere the air hit him, and he just wanted it to stop, wanted not to feel as broken, as useless as he did in front of Andras.

He wanted the fear to stop. And he wanted to make a difference. “I’ll jump first.”

“Absolutely not—” Claire reached out for his good arm.

But without debate, without fanfare, without even permission, Leto walked into open air.

And the darkness had him.

SAND CLOGGED HIS TONGUE and rasped against his teeth. He couldn’t breathe. Panic flared. The sand reached into his throat and threatened to draw bile. Leto came to consciousness coughing and then bolted into a sitting position. He doubled over, forcing a startling amount of silt from his mouth. When his eyes stopped watering, he found he was sprawled on a wide shore. Silty gray sand stretched in either direction as far as he could see, salted with a scruff of reeds and dunes that sloped down to a flat, strangely still sea.

Not a sea, Leto thought as his eyes adjusted to the light. The water was a dusty mirror, still but streaked with brown and algae. He squinted across to just make out a skim of pale gray that indicated land on the other side. A river. A dead river.

To his right was a particularly starved patch of reeds, and it was from this that Claire rose with a squawk. “No warning about that impact. I will murder her. I don’t care if she’s my own book. I will—” She stopped, frowning as she picked tiny seeds out of her skirts. “Can I not stay clean for one hour?”