The Destruction of the Books

by Mel Odom

  “Where’s the food ye was talkin’ of?” one of them asked.

  Raisho sheathed his blade, then reached around for the burgeoning backpack he’d carried down. “Knew I’d be feedin’ dwarves. Brought enough to feed a small army.” He grinned and drew himself up to his full height. “Or a short army at the least.”

  “Human.” One of the dwarves jerked a thumb at Raisho as he talked to the other. “All that extra room from the neck up is just wasted space.”

  Grinning at them, Raisho knelt and opened the pack like a merchanter revealing his wares. “I’ll be sure to mention that to the wizard when he wakes. If’n he don’t remember it all on his own. In me travels, I’ve seen men what could remember somethin’ said around them while they slept.” He shrugged good-naturedly. “An’ a wizard? Somebody like Craugh? Why, I bet he’d come closer to rememberin’ somethin’ like that more’n anybody I’ve ever seen.”

  The dwarves exchanged nervous scowls.

  Raisho spread a feast across the landing, setting it all on a thin woolen blanket he’d brought, leaving the items on the cheesecloth wrappings. Fruits, breads, cheeses, and smoked meats emerged from the pack. He added two skins, one of water and one of wine.

  The dwarves, one at a time, helped themselves.

  Juhg took a square of cheesecloth Raisho had unwrapped from a loaf of dill limebread and cut portions of meats and cheeses, added fruits and sections of bread, and wrapped the food. He placed the makeshift bag back in the pack.

  “For Craugh,” Juhg explained. “For when he wakes.”

  “Ye’ll eat, too,” Raisho said. “I didn’t trek all the way up the Knucklebones, survive a handful of battles, an’ descend into the bowels of the earth in the middle of the night just to feed a couple of thankless dwarves.”

  The dwarves offered unkind and cutting remarks.

  “Raisho,” Juhg admonished, “these warriors fought long and hard. Don’t speak ill of them.”

  “Aye.” Raisho looked at the dwarves and nodded. “I know that they did. We all did.”

  “We?” Juhg repeated.

  “Aye.” Raisho cut a slice of limebread, covered it with firepepper cheese and topped that with a wedge of puckerpear so green and tart it would have dried the mouth all on its own. “Them Dread Riders an’ Grymmlings spilled down the Knucklebones, Juhg. They met the rescuers what come up the mountains to help out. Several of them would-be rescuers was caught unawares. I hadn’t seen the bodies ahead of me, I’d probably have gotten caught standin’ still meownself.”

  Juhg tried to digest that. “How bad is it?”

  Raisho’s eyes showed a haunting pain. “Bad enough, scribbler. Bad enough so that ever’body what took part in them battles ain’t gonna ever forget what they seen an’ done up here in these mountains.”

  “How many came?”

  Hesitating, Raisho said, “Enough. Enough to get the job done.” He paused. “Most couldn’t believe the bell was ringin’. Nobody ever heard it ring afore.”

  “Were the Dread Riders and Grymmlings stopped before they reached the town?”

  “Aye. Dead in their tracks, most of ’em. Heard there was more of ’em for a while, but they up an’ disappeared.” Raisho gestured to the food in Juhg’s hand. “Eat. Gotta get yer strength back up. Got a lot to do around here.”

  Juhg took a bite of the sandwich. The combination of flavors filled his mouth but didn’t take his attention away from the stories he knew Raisho had to tell.

  * * *

  Seated with his back to the wall, Juhg ate from the small store of food Raisho had forced on him while the young sailor talked. Eating, Juhg had learned, kept Raisho talking.

  “I was in a tavern when I heard the bell,” Raisho said. “At first, I didn’t even know what it was I was hearin’. But the tavern keeper, he knew what it was an’ he told ever’one.” He hesitated. “I got to tell ye, not ever’ person in that tavern took up arms to come a harin’ up the Knucklebones to spend their blood protectin’ the Library.”

  “No,” Juhg said. “I don’t think anyone here expected they would.”

  “Some of ’em, why, they didn’t believe what they was hearin’. But others, now, why, they wanted no part of it. Took themselves off to their own ships an’ homes an’ such. Some was confused because they’d always been told danger would come from the Blood-Soaked Sea.”

  Raisho continued talking and serving Juhg food. The young sailor told stories of the action he’d seen, describing encounters between the elven warders and their animal companions and battles staged by the dwarves as they’d hacked their way up the Knucklebones to join their comrades as reinforcements. The Dread Riders and Grymmlings had spilled down the mountainside quickly, overtaking some of the Librarians and running headlong into the arriving rescuers.

  There were no stirring tales of dwellers who had joined in the battles.

  “For a time there,” Raisho said, “it didn’t look like the arrivals from Greydawn Moors would be enough to hold the Dread Riders and Grymmlings back. Looked like the town was gonna get sacked. For ever’ one that was killed, seemed like two come runnin’ out of the Library to take the place of the last one.” He tore a piece of limebread to pieces in his hands and ate a chunk. His eyes glazed over in memory. “They was about to overcome the line what held the mountain an’ prevented ’em from goin’ on down into Greydawn Moors. Then a fierce wind seemed to draw up from outta the Library an’ pulled most of them back inside.”

  “That was Craugh,” Juhg said. “He broke the spell. He thought the invaders would be drawn back to wherever they came from.”

  “Well, it didn’t pull all of them back,” Raisho said. “But them what was left, why, they put up a decent enough fight, but they couldn’t stand. Them elven warders, they didn’t come up the mountain to get defeated. Fightin’ fair ain’t something they believe in, not like for a dwarf. For them elves, it’s all about survival. An’ dwarves? Why, they won’t back down from nothin’.”

  “That’s why dwarves were asked to provide protection for the Library,” one of the dwarven warriors said with a trace of pride.

  “Aye,” Raisho said. “An’ I’ll grant ye that, right enough. But there’s also a reason why so few dwarves sign up aboard pirate ships in the Blood-Soaked Sea. That’s for the humans what’s sworn to protect the Library. We all got our battlefields.”

  “How badly damaged is the Library?” Juhg asked.

  Raisho looked down at the rubble that had partially filled the stairwell below. “Like that. An’ worse. Don’t know how big the Library is ’cause I ain’t ever been here afore tonight, but from what I’ve seen, aye, it’s been damaged all over. Above ground and below.”

  Juhg couldn’t believe that. Images of the Library lying in ruins filled his head, but he couldn’t bring himself to believe that they were true. The Library had been built to last forever.

  No, he corrected himself. That is incorrect thinking. The Vault of All Known Knowledge was built to last long enough to give its treasures back to the world. That’s all. It was only meant as a repository, not a permanent place.

  But Grandmagister Lamplighter hadn’t felt that way.

  “Did you see the Grandmagister?” Juhg asked.

  “Aye.” Raisho nibbled at a bit of sweet honeydew cheese crusted in crushed walnuts and olives. “Talked to him meownself. Let him know I was plannin’ on lookin’ ye up, makin’ sure ye was all right. It was him assigned a Librarian to guide me till I could find me own way.”

  “The Grandmagister was all right?”

  “Seemed to be. Worn an’ a little ragged, mayhap. He was organizin’ salvage parties when I left him.”

  “‘Salvage parties’?”

  “To get them what survived up outta the Library. Some of ’em got trapped in places when the mountain come apart. An’ they’re savin’ the books, of course. Gettin’ all them books up outta places is harder than bringin’ up Librarians an’ dwarves.”

  Removing so many books fr
om the Library, Juhg thought, will be an awesome task. But where will they all be kept?

  Reaching inside his cloak, Raisho said, “The Gran’magister asked me to give ye something.” He pulled out a full-sized journal bound in cloth.

  Juhg took the journal and automatically searched for the title and author. Neither existed. He flipped the journal open and found page after page of the best paper made at the Vault of All Known knowledge. Only First Level Librarians got to use that paper.

  “What is this?” Juhg asked.

  Handing over a small leather pouch, Raisho answered, “The Gran’magister, he said to tell ye to make a record of ever’thin’ that went on last night.”

  “Last night?”

  “Aye.” Raisho shook his head. “It’s mornin’ already, Juhg. Didn’t ye know that?”

  “No. I didn’t.” Down in the bottom of the Library, there had been no way of keeping time.

  “Was well past mornin’ when I come down here,” Raisho said. “That’s why I knew ye’d prolly be hungry.”

  Juhg looked at the blank pages inside the book. He felt the weight of the task settle on him. For a moment, he felt inadequate. Writing something like this was a job meant for the Grandmagister. Not a Librarian who had willingly left the Vault of All Known Knowledge.

  “The Gran’magister,” Raisho said, “he said to be sure an’ tell ye that ye weren’t to hold nothin’ back. Put it all down like it happened. ‘Just like it happened,’ he told me to tell you. Said a lot of people would blame him for the Library gettin’ destroyed after last night, an’ he wanted it put down fairly. He also said he was to blame some’at. Told me he’d rather not have any Librarian other than ye to make that record. Because ye was the fairest one he knew. An’ ye was there when it all happened.” He clapped Juhg on the shoulder. “Ye ask me, Juhg, I’d say the Gran’magister’s givin’ ye quite an honor.”

  Grandmagister Lamplighter’s trust in Juhg brought tears to the young Librarian’s eyes. He hid his emotions in the shadows that clung to the stairwell landing.

  “I know,” Juhg whispered. “But you don’t know what he’s asking. I don’t think the Grandmagister knows what he’s asking.”

  Raisho took a deep breath and let it out. He was silent for a space. “All the time that I’ve known ye, I’ve known ye to be fair an’ honest. Mayhap that’s all the Gran’magister is askin’ for, too.”

  Juhg thought back over what had transpired, how evil had been set loose inside the Library. It isn’t the Grandmagister who’s to blame for this. It’s me.

  “Apprentice,” a weak, croaking voice said.

  Startled, Juhg looked over at Craugh.

  The wizard had managed to find the strength to roll his head to the side and gaze at him. “Wick charged you with a duty. He doesn’t give such things lightly. He finds it hard not to do things himself. He prefers to do them himself, rather than pass them along. He and I share that failing. Nor does he make a habit of asking people to do things they aren’t capable of. He knows you can do this, and he trusts you to do it right. To do it accurately and fairly.”

  “But this,” Juhg said, his voice so hard and thin it came out as a whisper, “this is my fault.”

  “No,” Craugh said. “We are all to blame for this. And even then, the blame can only be small. The trap was well laid and even better executed by those who made certain it fell into our hands. Don’t you discount the skill and canniness of those who created this vile business. That would be a disservice to your master. And to yourself.”

  “If I had not found the book…”

  “Sooner or later, the book would have been found. It was put out there in the world to be found.” Craugh grimaced. “When we learn the truth of everything, we’ll probably come to know that there were several books treated in a similar fashion.”

  That possibility hadn’t occurred to Juhg, and now that Craugh presented it, he felt even more vulnerable.

  “The gateway spell was disguised as a riddle within a riddle,” Craugh said. “Perhaps a human Grandmagister wouldn’t have been quite as quick to get to the solution, but the evil ones who put this attack together knew that they were dealing with Wick. That they were dealing with a dweller.” His eyes narrowed. “And they knew that they were dealing with me. They knew both of us would be here.”

  “How could they know that you would be here?” Juhg asked.

  “Think, apprentice. I know you are not that dense.” Craugh gave a small, doubting smile. “Tonight’s events, after all, could not have happened were I not here.”

  Understanding built a warm glow inside Juhg. “You destroyed the book’s illusion.”

  “Exactly. And were I not here tonight, one of those who had helped lay the magic on the Founding Stone, the gateway spell would have never been triggered.” Sadness touched the wizard’s eyes. “Only after I arrived in that room, as you recall, did the spell become active. You and Wick might have gathered the books they used to knit the spell, but my presence was the catalyst that activated the gate. Our enemies planned well.”

  Juhg remembered that.

  “We all have a part to play in the blame for this,” Craugh said. “Wick knew that you would be the best person he could go to, in order to best describe what happened.”

  “He could write the account,” Juhg protested, “and probably do it more justice than I can.”

  “The Gran’magister was pretty busy the last time I saw him,” Raisho volunteered.

  “Someday Wick probably will write an accounting of last night as he saw it,” Craugh said. “But for now he knows the risks of presenting his own material as the only explanation for the destruction of this place. Others will seek to write about it, concentrating on their own points of view, of course, but you and Wick and I were the only ones in that room.” He paused and shifted, as if to relieve a pain. “I can tell you now that no man will read anything I’ve written as long as I live.”

  The simple declaration challenged Juhg. From his association with the wizard through the Grandmagister, Juhg knew that Craugh—in his own way and pursuing his own interests—was widely read. Wizards owned collections of books. The Grandmagister had even risked his life to steal some of those books upon occasion.

  But to read the books that Craugh had collected over the years? Even just to see the titles of those that the wizard had claimed would be an adventure. Reading any of the journals that Craugh wrote, to follow in the wizard’s footsteps across the centuries, could add to the knowledge the Library already had.

  Juhg looked at the book in his hands and trembled slightly. He felt certain he couldn’t lay down a straight line or write legibly.

  “The people of Greydawn Moors won’t read any record I write,” Juhg stated. Although all of the dweller children were taught to read by Librarians in schools established for that purpose, few adults pursued an interest in reading. Every year, fewer and fewer dwellers came forward to become Librarians. There was a time, according to Library records, when applicants had been turned away. These past few years, especially when the Grandmagister’s penchant for roving to the mainland became noticeable to the public, the Library had taken to accepting the best candidates from a group of substandard applicants.

  “The book isn’t for the town populace,” Craugh said. “It’s for those who come after this event.”

  Perplexed, Juhg looked at the wizard.

  “Later Librarians,” Craugh explained. He shifted slightly in an effort to make himself more comfortable. “They will have more questions than the Librarians who survived the night. Those around you, Juhg, will have already assigned guilt for who was responsible for this. Including those people in the town. Wick wants you to write the truth as best as you can for the ones who will come.” He paused. “If they come.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Craugh hesitated a little, then obviously made some internal decision. “I mean that this isn’t the end of it, Juhg. The attack tonight was only the beginning. Wick’s enemie
s, the Library’s enemies, have found this place. After all these centuries, they have found the Vault of All Known Knowledge.”

  “Who?” Juhg asked.

  “No, apprentice. That story isn’t for me to tell. Taking on another to train in your life’s work is an important and binding decision. I would never interfere between two people who have made that commitment. You must ask your master for the answers to those questions.”

  Without another word, Craugh drew a deep breath and was once more asleep.

  Juhg stared at the wizard. What secrets do you have? What do you know?

  “Don’t let him rattle ye,” Raisho advised in a hushed voice. “Wizards, why, they’re always forecastin’ doom an’ gloom an’ such. Bad as an old sailor on his last voyage what gets the feelin’ he’s never gonna see his home port that final time.” He picked up another puckerpear. “Just ye do what ye does best, scribbler, an’ I’ll make sure these dwarves don’t go to sleep while they’re supposed to be guardin’ ye an’ the wizard.”

  The dwarves made disparaging remarks about Raisho’s parentage, but the young sailor only grinned at them. He hadn’t known his parents, so the accusations meant nothing to him.

  Juhg opened the journal to the first page and stared at the impossibly white expanse that looked amber-tinted in the lantern light. He took a deep breath and inhaled the soapy scent of the paper. Whenever he started writing a new book—even his journal of his experiences aboard Windchaser—he always got nervous, always grew afraid that his hand and eye and mind wouldn’t work together. Afraid that he would mar the book with indelible scars that other Librarians would ridicule him for, he always hesitated.

  So often in his studies, he’d noted that most historians and record-keepers were remembered chiefly for the mistakes they’d made. Sometimes it was a careful turn of phrase or a choice description that lingered in the mind’s eye or rolled off the tongue in a particular way. But those instances were in the minority.

  And to write a book that would describe the savagery that had taken place in the Vault of All Known Knowledge? Juhg knew that his name would live on forever in infamy. But he would be there twice because of his part in those actions and because he’d written the book detailing those circumstances.