A Hackwith - The Library of the Unwritten

If you did not look down and see the jagged holes that had been carved through her thin cotton jumpsuit and the tiny chest beneath. If you did not see the flurry of shredded, ink-stained paper that littered the character’s body. If you were not a muse who could see the absence of light where color should have bloomed.

Brevity knelt and picked up a scrap of paper that eddied by, rubbing her thumb over it. She tried to catch her breath, to hold on to the idea of how they’d gotten here; the fall had been so fast.

Not all the damsels had chosen to fight. Some had retreated into their books, but enough had decided to stay that Brevity and Hero felt they could mount a proper defense. Hero had a mind for fighting dirty, and Brevity had been surprised at his fierce, determined plan. He’d moved swiftly between damsels, helping one locate books on swordsmanship and combat before moving on to the next one.

“Why in damnation aren’t there any unwritten guns in this place? Or unwritten grenades, flamethrowers?” Hero had complained early on.

“First of all: fire. Library. No. Second…” Brevity shrugged. “Weapons stopped being art. Fickle human progress.”

Hero had grunted and bent to help with another barricade.

They moved the damsels into position, loose groups of three that at least gave them a fighting chance. They readied a stockpile of weapons and projectiles—pilfered, again, from anything in the collection that was not nailed down—around the reinforcements.

And they had waited. Tension strung through the Library in different ways. A princess with cropped raven hair cried quietly, even while holding her sword up with a determined grip. The moll in the flapper dress had cracked jokes and produced a pack of smokes from nowhere. (Not allowed, but Brevity hadn’t had the heart to confiscate them.) A severe nonbinary mechanic with overalls and greased hair had surprised Brevity by moving quietly from group to group, shushing the teary and comforting nerves.

Instead of feeling anxious, Brevity felt moved to help. Hero found her at the front barricade when he came to kick her out.

“He needs you.” Hero emptied his hands of the last of the weapon supply. Brevity’s eyes wordlessly drifted to the door as it shuddered again, and Hero fiercely shook her shoulder. “If Andras wants to take the Library, he’ll need to confront and defeat the acting librarian, yes? That means you.”

“But—”

She should have protested harder.

“The best way you can defend the Library is to not let Andras’s men get a hand on you.” Hero was firm. “They don’t have the Library if they don’t have the librarian. I don’t care how this fight goes. No matter what happens, don’t let them see you.”

“That’s not—”

She liked to imagine she’d fought more than she had.

“It’s what Claire wanted.” Hero’s jaw was hard. He winced, closed his eyes, and took a sharp breath to correct himself. “It’s what Claire wants . You have to stay free long enough for her to get here, right? Or this is all lost.”

And she’d agreed; of course she had. She told herself the flighty, trembling feeling in her heart was nerves, not relief, as she retreated to the stacks, behind the barricades. By the time the second ward fell, they’d thrown together what Brevity felt was a reasonable stand. Perhaps they wouldn’t even need her.

And then the final ward began to shudder. Hero had cast Brevity a grim glance full of warning before moving to his position at the front of the barricades. Brevity positioned herself adjacent to the damsels guarding the rear, at the entrance to the stacks. This group was composed of the youngest damsels, including Aurora. Unsteady, they looked to her. She sought for something encouraging to say, one last performative act of bravery. But the moment passed.

The final ward fell.

There was no fanfare, no horns. The final blood black light above the desk merely died. The doors fell open, and a moving shadow swept into the Library. A legion of teeth and ambition. Brevity caught a glimpse of Andras at the back, flanked by the largest of the eldritch Horrors he called apprentices.

There was no chance to surrender. Whatever had transpired above, Andras evidently had no illusions about the Library’s agreeableness. He would accept nothing less than total submission.

The damsels rushed to meet them. They came out swinging. Trained by unwritten war books, they spun and struck in precise, disciplined units. Brevity felt her heart swell as they engaged with Andras’s demons and Horrors. It was a chance. They would take it.

Brevity offered a coward’s assistance. She had an advantage as a muse. She could fade-step in the Library, flickering from one shadow to another whenever a demon or terror drew too close. She retreated to the top of the Library’s great stacks and stood on top of the long rows of shelves, flinging whatever detritus she could at demonic heads.

But it hurt every time she stepped back while damsels rushed forward, and watched them fall on dark creatures their authors couldn’t have dreamed of. Even in the dust-clogged corners of a Library at war, Brevity could make out the shadow play of books as they died. It was the flare that got to her: the last, furious struggle of purple, red, green, blue, white, before they finally dispersed like smoke. And each time she left another person—another unwritten person, her books, irreplaceable and in her charge—to fight in her place, she dug another grave in the back of her mind and put herself in it. Her only comfort was that she couldn’t argue with Hero’s tactics. They were pushing them back. They would win this.

And then the wyrm appeared.

Andras’s voice was a charged command in the air, and a wave of granite scale flowed in from the hall. It was not the largest of Hell’s serpent servants, but it was large enough to create a solid wall as it slunk, lightning fast, around the back of the damsels’ line, shattering barricades in its wake. Its body glinted with armored charcoal scales, and it opened a darting mouth to loose a spray of acid that destroyed an unwritten rug on contact.

Brevity was frozen, hidden and too far away. She could only watch with her heart in her throat. The damsels, already engaged with Andras’s forces, had no way to retreat. The wyrm threaded through the Library’s defenders. It didn’t even need to strike; it simply constricted, breaking the lines and driving the damsels on to waiting claws, teeth, and blades. It didn’t take long for Andras’s monsters to find their weakness.

Their books.

The damsels who stayed to fight had chosen to carry their books. The damsel suite might have been safer, but with so much at stake, damsels were stronger staying closer to their books. It freed their movement, allowing them to strike and maneuver like dervishes, but it also left them vulnerable.

Carrying the means of their existence like hearts in their hands.

Aurora had given Brevity a shy smile as she’d patted the breast pocket of her jacket earlier. Her pocket had shimmered a happy, vibrant teal. It made a perfect target for the claws of the Horror that tore through her with less than a thought.

Brevity saw her fall. Saw the shock and terror and the fade from teal to gray to hollow air. She flickered, just once, as if trying to return to her book. But her body flinched back into the ink-soaked carpet, corporeal and agonized. Brevity waited, like a coward in the shadows, until the Horror turned away to seek a new target.

Brevity fade-stepped, flickering from one shadow to the next, until she reached the girl’s side. She was already fading, violet skin seeping to gray. Her body was drifting to paper and ash before her eyes. A book turned into a grave. Brevity instinctively reached out and tried to press a hand to the wound, but more of her disintegrated under her fingers. Brevity’s hand came away black with ink and ash.