by Kyle Olson
A crack of a heavy grimoire falling shut echoed across the stone. Yf was here, somewhere. Sophia put the book back and let her feet guide her towards the noise, counting as she went.
34, 35, 36…
The rows of bookcases seemed endless, and they stretched on for what appeared to be miles. A library like this should be teeming with custodians and librarians. It had to be, didn’t it? Who tended the candles and kept the dust off the floors and shelves? Yet other than the crack, the loudest thing had been her breathing.
42, 43, 44…
There, a break in the rows. A desk of rich mahogany, and seated at it, reading one of the grimoires, was Yf. Unlike Sophia, however, Yf had clothing—her white robe.
Sophia was sure she’d been as quiet as a mouse, but apparently, that was still too noisy. Yf perked up, glancing at the girl from the corner of an eye.
Sophia froze up, expecting some kind of outburst. She’d stolen into the goddess’ room and snuck through a portal, after all.
And yet, the way Yf looked at her. It wasn’t anger, surprise, or anything like that. No, if anything, it was… concern. The silence between them lasted only seconds, ending as Sophia became increasingly aware of herself.
“Uh. Hey!” Sophia said, attempting to cover herself up with her arms as she lurked behind a bookcase.
Yf’s countenance of concern faded away, replaced by her usual smirk. “I’d ask why you’re here, but that’d be pointless, wouldn’t it? Probably should’ve put the portal in a less obvious spot.”
“So you’re not mad?” Sophia inquired, creeping from the shadows of the bookcases like an unsure cat.
“Not at all, my dear. It’s not like there’s anything here forbidden to mortal eyes or whatever,” she said, making a face and dropping her tone at the forbidden part, “Just dusty shit cataloged by a god who died long ago.”
Sophia made her way to the desk, looking over the tome Yf had opened. More circle and star language floating above the pages. A lone candle, like the ones burning in lamps overhead, stood on the corner of the desk, its blinding light damped by a shade.
“Which god?”
“Lorithyl. He was a clever cookie, knew all kinds of shit. Decided to write a bunch of it down. Of course, him being the bookish-type and all, he thought it’d be great if he created his own language for it,” Yf said, slamming the tome shut, “Bookworms, am I right?”
“Yeah, I guess… Uh, I’m guessing he taught you how to read it?”
Yf stood with the tome in hand and began walking. “Not at all, but I’ve managed. A little. Hey, follow me.”
The pair meandered through a few dozen bookcases until they came to one with a gap in its books, about halfway up. Without a shred of hesitation, Yf scaled the case and slid the book home, snatched up the one next to it, and jumped down.
“I can make out some of it, but he’s always referencing some other shit. It’s like half of these damn things just tell you to go to another book to get the info you want. Incredibly annoying, let me tell you.”
“Lorithyl… I don’t know that name,” Sophia said, following close behind Yf, coveting her robe. Her arms and legs were all goosebumps and no amount of self-hugging was going to make them go away.
The goddess of cats came to an abrupt halt. “Here,” she said, proffering her garment at the same time as she shifted into a form somewhere between a fluffy cat upon two legs and a person. Raking her fingertips through the material of the robe, Sophia got a pretty good idea of what, or rather who, the robe had been spun from.
“Thanks,” she said, relishing the lingering warmth.
“No sweat. All this stone can make it kind of chilly, I know,” Yf said, each word tinged by the rasp of a sandpapery tongue, “Anyways, yeah, he was small-time. Kind of. God of knowledge and wisdom. Also a sphinx. So, of course, him being mostly cat and all, I got to know him.”
“How come he died?”
“Murdered. He knew too much, you see. Loose end for just about everyone. He did what he could to stay out of everyone’s shit, but eventually, someone got too paranoid. Shame, we got on well,” Yf said, wistfully.
They’d gotten back to the desk and Yf tossed the tome open and began searching through it.
“Oh,” Sophia said, for lack of anything else to say. Looking around, she asked: “Guessing magic maintains this library?”
“You got it.”
“I’d ask how, since he’s dead, but…”
Yf laughed and shot Sophia a wink. “Magic. Great, isn’t it?”
“I guess, but what if it… I don’t know, goes wrong?”
“Who knows? That’s magic for you.”
Magic. Or, maybe from a god, it should be considered a miracle?
Either way, an easy solution to a problem, but how did it work? Yf had told Sophia it was a bit like her phone, or anything else. They could use it, but no one really knew how it worked. It could mean that eventually the how and why could be explained. Or it could mean it was just… magic. She’d never given it much thought until now, but she’d decided she didn’t care much for the stuff, mainly because it didn’t make any sense. Of course, she was vaguely aware there was a lot that didn’t make sense to her that wasn’t magic, at least by the common sense of the word.
“What’s gotten you all deep in thought?” Yf asked, rousing Sophia from her rumination.
“Oh, what? Sorry, was thinking about all this,” she said, gesturing to the ‘everything’ around her, then to the page of the tome, “Like the magic that makes all that text blue and floaty.”
Yf’s head tilted and tracked to where Sophia was pointing, “Blue and floaty, huh? How about that. Mysterious, isn’t it?” Yf said, her permanent cat-smile subbing in for the human thing.
“Yeah,” said Sophia with a tone that indicated she wasn’t too keen on mysteries, but perked up as her eyes fell across the star-language pages in the tome. “Do you mind if I ask what you’re reading about?”
A human face had some tells, but a cat face may as well have been trying to read a stone wall. “This and that. It’s nothing I’d call interesting, but when you’ve been alive as long as I have, you do what you can to keep yourself occupied.”
“You’re bored? When you can do… all that you can do?”
“Oh Sophia,” Yf laughed, which coming from a cat’s throat sounded like, well, a dying cat.
“What?” Sophia pouted, face scrunching up, “Why’s that funny?”
“Because someone who has been alive, what, 20, 30 years, hasn’t even scratched the surface of what life has to offer. When you’ve lived 2,000 or 3,000, however...”
“Uh-huh. See, I’ve been told that a lot. Well, not being 2,000 years old, more like 40. Or 50. It’s all the same thing, really.”
“Is it?” Yf said as she flipped through a few more pages, eyes skimming through the text line by line, “You probably find yourself on the verge of going crazy if you’re bored for a day, let alone a year, or a hundred years.”
“I don’t really think there’s any person that could be bored for a hundred years,” said Sophia, “I know I’d probably kill myself after ten.”
Yf’s good cheer vanished and her page flipping slowed to a halt. She flipped one more page, treating it like the most delicate thing in the world. “You’re not too far off the mark…”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing,” she said, ears flicking and tail swishing. She cleared her throat, and just like that, her somber mood vanished and her usual self returned.
“But you! To be so blessed,” Yf sighed wistfully, “Say, you want a story about how boredom can change the world, ask Tarkit to tell you about how he gave dear old mommy something to do. Don’t worry, he’ll know exactly what you’re talking about.”
Sophia felt a little like she was being asked politely to make herself scarce. Coming from a god, it was quite the interesting experience—the politeness, that is, not being told to sod off. The library and its wealth of informatio
n, unreadable it may be, was something she wanted to explore, but she decided against testing Yf. It’d taken her a year to figure out Sejit’s boundaries. She wasn’t about to tempt two week’s worth of time.
“I’ll think about it. Oh, want your robe back?”
“No, I’m good. Just leave it on my bed on your way out,” Yf said, needling Sophia with a blue stare.
Not pressing the issue had been the correct choice, after all. Sophia excused herself and ambled off in one direction, only to be corrected by Yf how to reach the portal again. Once she’d gotten back into Tarkit’s home and her clothes, she wasted little time in seeking him out.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Sejit?” Tarkit echoed, bowl in one hand and whisk in the other, “Some three years you’ve been with her and you still have questions?”
Sophia had buzzed straight for him, finding him in the kitchen preparing dessert for later on that evening, or perhaps something for tomorrow. Ingredients of all sorts littered the counter-top, from a bag of flour and another of sugar to empty wrappers that once contained bricks of cream cheese. Another bowl contained hunks of chocolate, ready to be melted, and still another had assorted nuts.
“I know her, but I don’t know her,” Sophia said, hoisting herself up onto the counter-top for a seat, next to the caramel cubes, “She’s kinda… Not chatty.”
“Hmmm, I suppose. She can be reserved, but her heart is still big as can be,” Tarkit said, whisking away at what was to be the filling.
“What? No way.”
“It’s true! Though, I suppose I may have a bias,” Tarkit chuckled, “But I know she cares more than she lets on.”
“Still not buying it. But that’s why I ask, since you’re her son and all. Figured you might have a story or two…” Sophia’s eyes twinkled, full of hope and curiosity.
“Careful about how far you dig into their lives,” Tarkit said, glancing around, “Now where did I—Ah. Sophia, in the cabinet under you, could you grab me a spring-form pan?”
She hopped from her seat and clattered around in the cabinet. A big circle with a clasp on it, if she remembered right—and there it was, buried under a selection of other cookware. Despite a careful tug the whole tower collapsed with bangs and booms, one circular pan found its way to freedom and rolled away.
Sophia sheepishly stood up and handed Tarkit the pan, who took it without a word as Sophia reclaimed the escapee and stuffed it back in its prison alongside its compatriots. Once everything had been reorganized to how it was, mostly, she continued.
“I don’t want to dig up everything. Just, you know, I’m curious what she’s really like.”
“Fair,” Tarkit said, as he fished out dough from the fridge and began to roll it out, “Did you have anything in particular in mind?”
“Earlier I was talking to Yf and she said something about how Sejit was bored and you gave her something to do.”
“Ah,” Tarkit said, academically, “That.”
Sophia scoot forward on her seat. “That?”
“Where to begin… Oh, I know. To start, you know I’ve been around some time, yes?”
“Well, yeah, I mean, no offense, but all that gray…”
Tarkit smirked, “You know I fought in the Endless War?”
She shot him an incredulous look, “That’d make you at least, what, 120 years old?”
“A little older than that, actually, but not by much! Being the son of a goddess has its perks,” he laughed. Having rolled out the dough into a suitably thin sheet, he lined the bottom of the pan with the dough, cut away the excess, and slid the pan into the oven to bake the crust. Once that was ready, he’d fill it in with the cream cheese mixture.
“You look good for someone in their hundreds,” Sophia said, slightly envious.
“Why, thank you. Not too often I get complimented by young ladies such as yourself these days,” he winked.
“You’d be surprised,” Sophia said, nonchalantly, “But first you’d need to get out more.”
“Hah! True enough.”
“So, go on, I wanna hear!”
“Because this all takes place about a hundred years ago, I’m a little fuzzy on some of the details,” Tarkit said, rubbing at his well-groomed, salt-and-pepper beard, “And I’m still not entirely sure what she was thinking at that time. All I know is years after, I feel I helped avert something. Now, this takes place about mid-way into The Endless War…
There’s a saying among infantrymen the world over: “There are no atheists in a foxhole.”
Tarkit relaxed as much as a man could relax given the circumstances. He was in a shallow hole scratched from the frozen ground, a sheet of canvas his only protection from the elements, and that wouldn’t stop the enemy push he expected at every moment. Or perhaps they’d just lob more artillery.
At least his rank afforded him a foxhole some distance back from the perimeter, which, while in the grand scheme of things didn’t mean much, was still a luxury as it fooled one into thinking they were somehow safer.
He shifted the canvas roof of his home away from home and peered up into the inky sky at all the stars twinkling in the distance. Just a few days ago the view had been obscured by the skeletal limbs of wintering trees, but Topian artillery had given his position some free landscaping and tree trimming. Though, Tarkit noted, they’d left ragged stumps. Just like them to do a half-assed job.
Star-gazing and daydreaming were about the only diversions afforded to him, given his present situation. When he looked upon those distant, twinkling points, his mind was invited up to them, to dance and meander through the heavens and he could leave behind the cold and weary resignation of reality. Made for good thinking material, too.
There were a handful of books making the rounds, but he was keen to let his men have the lion’s share of what little entertainment there was. Besides, he’d already read all six of them twice in the three weeks since they’d taken up their position near the river bank.
He shifted his thick woolen blanket and sighed, sending a plume of steam into the air.
So much for fighting the good fight, he thought, here I am, stuck in the sort of impossible scenarios they loved to cook up at the academy. Two battalions of Topians, probably, across the river. Another few companies to the East and West, and just last week the Topian Fifth Armored cut off the only road leading in and out from the south.
In one of his pockets, his fingers squeezed a handful of rounds for his rifle.
And I’ve probably got the most ammo of any one man…
Despite being an officer, he was still far and away the best shot of any of the 50 or so remaining men. The best shot, the fastest runner, and the strongest. In the relatively short span of six months, he’d become something of a figure within the 9th Infantry. Just like his last unit.
They look at me like I’m some kind of god. What would I tell them? “No, no, I’m no god. I’m the same as all of you. Just a demigod among men!”
He had to chuckle at his own line, maybe he should actually try that for a morale boost.
“Major! Major Reith!”
Through a stand of trees, insomuch as some trunks with their limbs blasted off could be called a tree, a man in dark green fatigues dashed in and dropped to a knee at the edge of Tarkit’s burrow.
“What’s wrong, Sergeant?” Tarkit asked, his rich, baritone voice exuding a warmth that eased the chills of the man.
“Private Wilson saw movement on our left flank, Sir. Thinks it might be a scout. I’d like to send a small squad to check it out.”
“Were they already across the river?”
“Yes, sir. Don’t know how they got across without us hearin’ or seein’ nothin’. Maybe they came up from way to the east?”
“It’s possible. How much ammunition can you scrounge?”
The sergeant paused to count in his head and a little on his fingers. “Probably enough to make sure we all have a full round in our guns, but that’d be it.”
Any fire
fight is going to waste what little we have, but the Topians can’t learn just how hard up we are. They’d swoop down on us in an instant.
“All right, take a few men, I’ll leave the picks to you. See what you can find. If you find someone, try to bring them in alive.”
“Yes sir!” Said the sergeant, then darted back off through the same set of trees.
“And Kipman!”
The sergeant stopped short, turning back in a crouch, “Sir?”
“Don’t leave your foxhole without your overcoat! What are you gonna do if it gets blown up by a lucky shell?”
Kipman saluted by way of response, hurrying back to his squad. He was a good man, a good leader. He’d probably make company sergeant if they got out of his mess alive. Although, that meant he’d lose one of the few good platoon leaders they had left. The needs of the many versus the few.
Tarkit resumed his star-gazing for a few minutes before retreating under his canvas roof for a respite from the chill. He huddled into himself and thought on the infiltration issue. Were his pickets spread out too thin? He knew there was a lack of depth to his lines, even with this prepared position. A matter of too few men. The problem really was when the Topian’s probing attacks would discover those weak spots. If they hadn’t already. He’d increase the amount of patrols to give himself a bit of breathing room, but there just wasn’t any ammunition to spare. There was also the state of the men’s boots to consider.
Hopefully Kipman would return with a prisoner they could extract some intel from. If the sergeant was right and they came down from the east, well, there was nothing he could do about that. But if they’d found a gap in his lines, he’d need to reshuffle his pickets, for all the good that’d do. He’d just be making the men shift into new, cold, foxholes and creating a new gap in his lines.
At least it’d keep the men occupied, give them a feeling of movement and action rather than hiding and waiting to take it up the ass from artillery. Not even Yf got pounded like this.
He laughed at his own joke, then sighed.