A Hackwith - The Library of the Unwritten

Leto grinned despite himself, but there was a groan behind him before he could respond.

Hero rolled up and with grim distaste retrieved his boot from a puddle. He shook it out and glanced toward Claire. “At least a nap seems to have returned someone’s sense of spirit.”

Claire was getting better at ignoring Hero, it seemed. She turned a critical eye on Leto. “Everyone all right?”

“I think so.” Leto rubbed the back of his head. The moment when he hit the invisible gate had been a queer jumble, rattling his senses around like pebbles in a can. His arm was still broken, protesting movement, but he could wiggle his fingers, and his aches were less painful in this realm. Bodies were distant things. “Where are we?”

“Very good question.” Claire stopped fuming over her dress long enough to survey the area. “Not a realm I’m familiar with. River, sand, reeds… an old pagan culture. Not Greek. Egyptian? Oh, please let it be Duat. We’ll have fast passage back to the Library with help from the librarians there. And they have an excellent poetry collection….” Claire’s eyes lit up, and she began to mutter what sounded like a bibliography to herself as she inspected the waterline.

Behind them, a strange dark arch loomed across the interminable sand. It was as if a circle of obsidian had been buried there by a wayward giant. Leto approached and leaned closer to inspect it. A flicker of white in the black material made him jerk back. The interior of the arch wasn’t opaque, he realized. It was the darkness of the underground chamber they’d just left. The other side of the gate.

Leto ran a hand experimentally over it, but the surface was solid and unforgiving. The sound from the other side was muted, but he could still hear the howling of the Hounds. Nothing stirred in the dark frame, though. No light, no gleam of Beatrice’s aluminum bat.

Leto said lowly to Hero, “Beatrice?”

Hero winced and shook his head slowly. Leto’s stomach did a flip-flop. He cast a nervous glance back. Claire turned her head down. The curtain of her hair didn’t hide the injured curl of her shoulders.

“Dead?” Claire’s voice was hollow.

Hero hesitated. “I don’t know. The Hellhounds… should have stopped when you dragged us through.”

The distant sound of barking from the other side of the arch said they hadn’t gone back to Hell, at least. Claire stared sightlessly at the sand a moment, then nodded slowly to herself.

The pinch of concern on Hero’s face deepened. “There’s a chance that she…”

“Enough.” Claire cleared her throat and straightened to look toward the water. “Let’s figure out our way across, then, shall we?”

Claire wasn’t heartless. Leto knew that well enough by now. But as unflinchingly practical as she was to everyone else, she reserved the tightest reins for herself. Leto wondered if anyone else bothered to look closely enough to see the strain. He could see it now, the tic in her jaw, the way her shoulders trembled, just a flicker, before setting themselves hard against the world.

She’d been taking care of Leto all this time. Caring for him like a lost child. He ached to do something to ease the way for her. Something. Anything.

Hero exchanged a long look with Leto before following her down through the reeds. “Not to put a damper on the day at the beach, but what happens if we do manage to return to Hell? Andras already has the pages and a head start on… whatever.”

Leto remembered Andras’s words. “He wants the Library.”

Claire seemed unsurprised. She crossed her arms. “He wants more than that, I suspect. He wants the court.”

“The court?”

“Hell’s court of demons. Dukes, princes, the whole pit of vipers.” Claire made a face of distaste. “Andras was a duke of some influence, once. He was overthrown in a coup centuries ago. Infernal politics. I thought time had healed that insult, but I was wrong. I knew he was unusually interested in the codex. I thought it might lead to some pissing match over its curation. But I could deal with that easily enough when we got back. I never thought…” Claire kicked a reed, abusing it with the toe of her sneaker.

“But why the Library?” Hero asked.

Claire frowned down at the plant. “I’m not certain.”

“He said something about… ah, you know who,” Leto said.

“Lucifer’s our ruler, not a dark wizard, Leto. You can say his name,” Claire muttered. “He said he wanted to use the books as collateral, to buy his way back into power. But he has to assume that Lucifer will not tolerate that. Even if he has the codex, I can’t see—unless he knew something he wasn’t telling me—” Claire stopped with a growl in her throat. “Demons, angels… politics ruins everything.”

“Right. Sorry. I just…” Leto waited until Claire left her tormented reeds behind and met his gaze. “Andras had something—a soul gem, he called it. He said he could have used it but didn’t. If we stay away.”

It hung in the air a moment—the possibility of retreating. Leto saw that twitch again. That strain under pressure ignored. Claire shook her head and his chest ached. “The old man never did understand.”

“Leto might have a point,” Hero spoke up. “He could already have won and have something unpleasant waiting.”

“He won’t have the books. Brevity is there, and the Library is not without its own humble defenses. I won’t risk the books—or Brev—to Andras’s plans. We’ll get back the pages.” She kicked a broken reed into the water. “Assuming we can leave.”

The reed barely cleared the surface when a froth of sound drew their attention. Claire leapt back from the bank as the water churned, turning from slate to muddy black. A knobby, elongated skull the size of a small island broke the surface. Green and silver veins mottled the skin, contrasting with the flat, black, bulbous eyes embedded at the top of a long snout. It reminded Leto vaguely of a crocodile, but he didn’t remember the creatures on Earth being so monstrous.

The creature regarded them, the only movement coming from the filthy water beading down its snout. Claire glanced at Hero and Leto before clearing her throat and stepping forward. She drew up her dignity, and it almost obscured her bedraggled hair and sand-caked legs. “Greetings. We are envoys from—”

BE JUDGED.

Leto nearly startled off his feet. It was not so much a voice that had spoken but an assault of concept. Something had ripped open his skull and shoved the essence of the words directly into his brain, jumbling all thoughts of his own. The words had no voice, no tenor, no personality. Just the power of age and a hunger that was never refused. They pulsed through his head for several breaths until finally easing into a thudding headache.

The shudder that whipped through Hero and Claire said they’d received the same treatment. Hero’s hand flew to his side, where his gun had returned to its form as a fine sword. Claire shot him an alarmed look and shook her head until his hand dropped away again.

Claire straightened into her librarian demeanor: shoulders back, spine straight, chin tilted so she could fix her gaze on whatever held her disdain. But she eyed the crocodile creature with new caution, and Leto caught her fingers making nervous little taps at her skirts as she tried again.

“You mistake me. We are not the dead seeking judgment. I am the head librarian of the Unwritten Wing in Hell’s Library. We happened here while on Hell’s business. Can I know what realm we’ve entered?”

BE REFUSED.

Claire flinched. “Then may I speak to your master?”

BE REFUSED.

“Then what god or pantheon rules this place?”

BE LOST.