A Hackwith - The Library of the Unwritten

“ You have no god? Or no god currently?” Claire asked. Pain jabbed Leto’s head with each answer. It was becoming the worst game of twenty questions he’d experienced.

BE LOST.

“Your god is the god of loss or… oh.” Claire fell quiet. “Your gods died with their believers. I hadn’t thought a realm could remain after that.”

Leto considered. They’d seen Valhalla, and the only things he associated Norse gods with were superhero movies and those racist assholes on the internet. But Valhalla survived by evolving into something more in line with the legend than with the religion. It existed, if skewed slightly by the pop culture fantasies. If Valhalla thrived and these gods had died, then this had to be a place older and more forgotten than he could imagine.

He swallowed nervously, and the very air tasted different on his tongue. Different from Valhalla or Hell or anywhere previous. No smell, for one. Not the anise and ash of Hell, nor the pine and stone of Valhalla. It felt… empty.

It echoed across the empty space inside Leto, and he shivered. He’d felt better, inch by inch, since talking with Claire. The time in Mdina had been a human time, for all its horror. He’d felt the empty blackness shrink, but it wasn’t gone. Perhaps it never would be. It was one thing Claire couldn’t protect him from.

But maybe he could protect her.

Claire tried again. “We simply need passage to Hell. Or the closest realm to it. We can leave you in peace.”

BE JUDGED.

“We are not in need of judgment! Some of us aren’t even human.” Claire flung a hand in Hero’s direction, but the crocodile did not so much as blink. Though it quieted a moment before responding.

BE PASSED.

“Yes, passage. Finally.” Claire crossed her arms. “I assume there is some price for passage?”

Waves shuddered up the beach as the head suddenly moved. Reptilian skin flexed, and the head rose slightly as its great jaws opened, sending them all backing up a step. Leto flinched, expecting great rows of teeth or even the bloodred spikes that filled Walter’s mouth. But the contents of the creature’s mouth made him blink. Suspended between its jaws, held by no support that he could see, was an oversized metal structure. It was dark bronze and consisted of two platforms connected by a lever. A tiny puff of white sat on one platform. A feather. A bronze chain shifted slightly with the sway of the wind, producing a tinkle that sent a shiver over Leto’s skin.

“Are those scales…?” Hero identified it under his breath.

Claire stiffened, staring at the construction as if she would have preferred a jaw full of teeth and snakes. When she glanced back at them, Leto saw that all warmth had drained from her brown face. She turned her head again and shook it hard enough to send the tiny braids in her hair flying.

“No,” Claire whispered. Then louder: “No. You have no authority to judge us. Our souls—”

BE JUDGED.

“No.” Claire’s voice couldn’t match the command of words in their heads, but the tremble in her shoulders said she was trying. Leto didn’t understand what was significant about the scales. They’d had to prove themselves in Valhalla, and Claire had been willing, if reluctant, to comply to gain entry, but this was different. It was a difference that unnerved Claire and sent a well of foreboding through him. There was no time to ask as Claire spun, heel digging into the sand. She scrambled back up the beach toward them.

“What—”

“Burn this place. We’re leaving.”

“And going where, exactly?” Hero asked.

“Back to Mdina. We’ll… get back inside the walls. Figure something else out.”

“Back to the Hellhounds’ teeth, you mean.” Hero’s voice was harsh.

“At least we have a chance with them. Better than— Piss and harpies .” The oath came out with the force of surprise. Claire jerked to a halt as they approached the black arch. It was no longer dark. The cavern they’d just left was lit by strange globes of light. The field of bones was now fully illuminated, like ghastly cobblestones. And at the center of the arch, just on the other side of the flat, dark surface, was the angel in a gray trench coat. Ramiel.

Claire, rather than concerned, was incensed. She accelerated, stalking up the sand, leaving Hero and Leto no choice but to follow. She got her nose up to the arch. Ramiel watched her expressionlessly, and Claire gave a mockery of a smile. “Trouble with the lock, angel?”

“Some.” Ramiel stepped to the side and motioned with his hand. “Perhaps you could come across and show me the trick of it.”

Claire cast a glance back at the waiting monster and the scales behind them before responding, “After which, I’m sure you would offer to hold off the Hounds and allow us to be on our way.”

He shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry, Librarian. Uriel… My superior acted in haste. But my duty is to ensure you do not interfere.”

“Do you always do your duty, Watcher ?”

Ramiel gave no reaction. Claire turned away abruptly to confer with Hero and Leto a few paces away.

“He won’t be getting through. Beatrice had me to pull Hero through, so if I don’t miss my guess, you need a mortal soul to enter. But we need a way past him.”

“I could challenge him,” Hero suggested, but Claire shook her head.

“He’s a Watcher, one of the originals.” She raised her eyes to the crocodile scales again. “Our last hero may have died getting us this far. I won’t have any more foolish sacrifices today.”

“What do the scales do?” Leto asked.

“They weigh the purity of a soul.” Claire’s face was grim. “This realm must have had influences from Egypt. Maybe a splinter cult, or even a predecessor. It’s not Duat—if it were, there’d be a bunch of other monster-headed creatures here ready to record judgment, and be much more sensible. There were rules about these things. But the symbolism is easy enough to assume. The feather represents goodness, purity of spirit. If your soul does not shift the scales, you can pass into their realm. If it’s heavier… the crocodile god will likely consume you.”

Leto frowned. “And you, what… die again?”

Claire shook her head. “I know this is a hard concept to wrap your head around, but there are worse states for your soul than death. It’s like the Hellhounds, or the words I told you I spoke to banish Librarian Gregor. I don’t know what the scales do, but it would be nothing good. A soul may not die, but cease to exist.”

“That’s not so bad,” Leto muttered before he realized he’d said it. He looked up to see Hero and Claire staring at him with matching alarm. “I mean, no! Not us, of course. I meant…” He stopped, not sure what he’d meant, but the terrible thought had come to him too fast to be one he hadn’t had before. An echo of a memory tugged at him, chalk white stars, exhaustion and despair. He’d made this choice before. Cold pooled in his stomach.

Claire scrutinized Leto before shaking her head. “It’s beside the point. I suspect the creature has no real interest in finding us worthy. Without a god to rule the realm or believers to nourish it, it likely hasn’t had a good meal in eons. It’s half-dead and starved. We are not going to be the ones to feed it. I’m going to go see if I can make the cursed angel see sense. Stay put, both of you.”

They nodded and watched the librarian stalk back to the arch. Hero clasped Leto’s shoulder and squeezed as he looked up and down the featureless beach. “We’ll figure something out, kid.”

“We will.” Leto nodded.

But his eyes were reserved for the dark bronze scales. He thought of the promise he’d made to Claire, the debt he owed her. The darkness in the pit of his stomach that would never quite be banished. He thought of the feeling of falling through the gate, the weightless way the world turned quiet. It had felt welcome; it’d felt familiar. He’d already made this choice.