Codex Born mel-2

by Jim C. Hines

  “I want to be certain Harrison hasn’t left any of his pets behind to eavesdrop.” He clapped the book shut. “Isaac, I’m told you had acquired one of these books when you and Lena escaped from August Harrison.”

  With his attention on me, he didn’t see the sudden panic on Guan Feng’s face, nor the desperate pleading in her eyes.

  “It was stolen during the fight,” said Nidhi. “While the dragon distracted Isaac and Lena, a second creature entered the library. A metal dog or wolf. It snatched the book and tried to attack Guan Feng. Lena was able to fend it off.”

  I had never been a good liar, but Nidhi was amazing. Perhaps a second and a half of real time had passed while I battled the dragon and moved people to safety. There was no way Lena had fought anything during that time. Yet as I listened to Nidhi, I almost believed her.

  “I see.” Gutenberg somehow managed to shove the oversized book into the back pocket of his trousers. Another trick I would love to learn one of these days.

  “Harrison and Bi Sheng’s students aren’t the only threat.” I told him about the Army of Ghosts. “They’ve infested Harrison’s insects, and they did the same to Bi Wei when Lena restored her. We’ve got to assume everyone he and his dryad restores will be similarly infected.”

  Gutenberg frowned. “Victor didn’t create his insects to house such things. Every documented encounter has involved human beings.”

  “He did make them telepathic, though,” I said. “When we spoke to Victor’s ghost, he said at least one insect had gone missing overseas. It was supposed to be seeking out magic.”

  “We’ll have to see about finding that lost insect,” said Gutenberg. “In the meantime, our priority is August Harrison. The Ghost Army is using him. They helped him learn how to build monsters for his protection, and how to restore the students of Bi Sheng, all as a way to provide vessels for their own return.”

  “Harrison knows where I live,” I said. “Nidhi, too.”

  “We have both places under observation. For now though, we’ll remain here.”

  “Here?” I stared. “But he’s already attacked the library once. If they return—”

  “Stop thinking so defensively, Isaac. Small and damaged though it may be, this library is our strongest fortress.”

  “Small?” I bristled, but held my tongue before I could say things I would regret. On a per capita basis, the Copper River Library had more books than just about any other library in the country. I watched in silence as he browsed the broken shelves, selecting a book seemingly at random. He fanned the pages, and Guan Feng dropped to the floor unconscious. Nidhi crouched to touch the girl’s neck.

  “She’s alive,” Gutenberg said, pulling out his gold pen once more. As he moved toward Guan Feng, understanding twisted my stomach.

  All libriomancers knew Gutenberg could lock books, sealing away the most dangerous magic. Only a few of us knew he could do the same to people, suppressing any magic they might possess. He had even been known to wipe people’s memories of magic, and to erase them from the memories of others. Gutenberg argued that it was the most humane way to deal with magical criminals, and he wasn’t entirely wrong. You couldn’t exactly send them off to a mundane prison, which meant the only other alternative would be to kill them.

  To most of us, death would be preferable. “She doesn’t have any magic.”

  “Are you certain?” asked Gutenberg.

  “What she does have is a connection to Bi Wei,” I continued. “A connection we don’t understand. Bi Wei appeared sane when we escaped. For all we know, Guan Feng is the one helping her to hold on to that sanity, and to resist the influence of the Ghost Army. Do you know what severing that bond might do?”

  He pursed his lips. “When did you learn such caution, Isaac?”

  “About the fourth time I nearly eradicated myself from existence.” I watched his pen as if it were a loaded gun. “Why did you try to wipe out the students of Bi Sheng?”

  Gutenberg slid the pen back into his pocket. “Do you think I was the first to attempt to build an organization like Die Zwelf Portenære? There were many guilds and circles of magic-users throughout the world. Some were only too happy to join with me. Others viewed the Porters as a group of impertinent upstarts with no respect for the laws of magic who threatened the proper order.”

  “It sounds like you threatened more than ‘the proper order.’” My throat was dry. Provoking Gutenberg was near the top of my list of stupid ideas, just below throwing snowballs at a wendigo.

  “The Archbishop Adolph von Nassau was the first to challenge me. He sent his soldiers to burn my press when he learned what I could do. Two of my apprentices died in the blaze. I would have been killed as well if not for the protection I gained from the grail. This was no ordinary fire, Isaac. The flames were alive, sent by magic. After five hundred years, I can still see the smoke pouring forth, like the black breath of hell itself.” He shrank inward. “I pulled Peter from the fire, but I was unable to save him.”

  He brushed his sleeves, visibly regaining his composure. “That was the first of many such attacks. We were at war. My discovery meant the mastery of magic was no longer limited to a handful of individuals. Hundreds, even thousands now had the potential to use such power, and to challenge those who once thought themselves untouchable.” He pursed his lips in amusement. “The great conquistador Juan Ponce de Leon took particular offense at my presumption, at least in the beginning.”

  “Your discovery?” I pressed.

  He inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Bi Sheng crafted a primitive form of book magic. I took libriomancy to its full potential.”

  “Bi Sheng’s ‘primitive’ magic preserved his followers for five hundred years,” Lena pointed out.

  He waved her comment off with a sharp gesture. “The original twelve Porters were under constant assault. Some campaigns were waged through rumor and gossip, seeking to destroy our reputations in both the magical and the mundane worlds. Other practitioners arrived to challenge us directly. The only way to prove the legitimacy of my art was to accept and defeat all such challenges.”

  “Bi Wei never challenged you,” I said quietly. “She knew nothing of Porters or European libriomancy. Her ancestor’s magic showed her the stars, and you sent your automatons to kill her.”

  “Did she tell you about the ?”

  The words translated to “dark afflictions.” I shook my head.

  “They were similar to Victor’s insects in some respects. The are small creatures of folded paper, made from the pages of books penned by Bi Sheng’s students. They stowed away on Portuguese trading vessels and eventually made their way to Germany. They came during the night, cutting flesh so cleanly their victims never even stirred. The wounds resisted magical healing. I watched five of my students suffer for weeks, their wounds turning septic.” He unbuttoned his vest and the top of his shirt, then pulled back the collar to display a thin purple scar over his shoulder. “Even I never fully healed.”

  “Earlier this year, a former Porter enslaved and destroyed vampires. Should the rest of the vampires retaliate against all Porters, like you did with Bi Sheng’s followers?”

  “It’s easy to stand in judgment,” Gutenberg said softly, “from the luxury of the magical peace and security I provided. And perhaps you’re right. Ponce de Leon thought as you did, and it’s true I’ve made mistakes. But while you stand there self-righteously condemning my choices and actions from five hundred years ago, August Harrison and his followers prepare for war. I suggest you reconsider your priorities, Isaac.”

  He righted a table and began gathering books. I waited without speaking until he vanished into the history section, then hurried to grab my things from behind the desk. I pulled Bi Wei’s book out of my bag and shoved it into a file drawer, behind a bulging folder of old library card applications.

  By the time Gutenberg returned with more books, I was standing at the front of the library looking through the ragged opening at the Porters tal
king to Lizzie Pascoe. As I watched, she smiled and invited them into the barbershop.

  “Whatever remains of Bi Wei’s mind now shares a body with the devil itself.” Gutenberg sighed, and for a moment, I saw not the most powerful libriomancer in the world, but an old man, exhausted from burdens he had carried for centuries. “This isn’t a war between Porters and Bi Sheng’s descendants, Isaac. Do you think the Ghost Army will stop with the Porters? You’ve felt their hunger. They will devour everything.” He pointed outside to the broken dragon. “And they will begin with Copper River.”

  18

  Every religion I’ve studied has laws or commandments against killing.

  Historically, humanity has shown tremendous creativity in finding every possible loophole, rationalization, and justification to ignore those commandments.

  Animals kill for food, and to protect their territory, which suggests killing can be a normal, natural part of life. But humans are civilized. They’ve supposedly moved beyond mere instinct. Yes, animals kill. They also eat their young, but if you suggest a human mother do the same, people tend to react poorly. Animals will happily interbreed with their siblings as well, but that’s frowned upon among humans. (Though some of them do it anyway, and many others fantasize about it.) The behavior of animals does not provide moral justification for human beings to do the same.

  Is killing ever a moral choice? What if the personal decision to avoid inflicting harm leads to a greater evil? Countless writers have penned tales of traveling back in time to kill Hitler. Would such a murder be right if it prevented millions of other deaths?

  Isn’t doing nothing while a vampire attacks my loved one a greater crime than destroying the vampire? Both choices lead to death. One choice stops a killer.

  In The Fellowship of the Ring, Gandalf praised the pity of Bilbo Baggins in sparing Gollum, despite Gollum’s evil nature. As it turned out, that choice saved all of Middle Earth in the end. But then, it’s easy to present simple answers to ethical questions when you’re the one shaping the story. What of those times when Gandalf rode his moral high horse into battle, helping to kill countless orcs and goblins?

  Gollum was a victim of the ring, corrupted and twisted. The vampire is diseased, driven by maddening thirst and inhuman urges. And I…given a cruel enough lover, I could become a creature much worse than any of them. Can I judge and kill others for acts I have the same potential to commit?

  I’ve killed before. To defend myself and those I love. Was that the right choice, or simply the easy one?

  The day Kawaljeet Sarna began teaching me Indian stick fighting, he began with a simple lesson: Prevent, Practice, Protect.

  Prevent conflict when you can. Avoid the enemy. Diffuse their anger. Take their mental balance, and search for peaceful resolution.

  Practice confrontation. Learn to deescalate the conflict, to dampen the flames instead of adding fuel. Seek peace, even in battle.

  Protect yourself and those unable to defend themselves. When possible, protect your opponent as well. Protect your physical self, but also your mental and emotional selves.

  If any of the words I’ve written here have the power to shape who I am, let it be these. If I’m unable to hold to these rules, if I become a monster like those I’ve fought, then I ask only that others not hesitate to end me.

  THE FIRST PORTER TO join us in the library was Antonia Warwick, who greeted us each in turn. She whistled softly as she surveyed the damage. “I’ve heard of giving an old building a facelift, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t what they meant.”

  Like Nicola Pallas, Toni was one of the handful of Porters who wasn’t a libriomancer. She performed sympathetic magic, manipulating small objects to create larger effects. I had once seen her summon a nasty ice storm with nothing but an old Snoopy Snow Cone maker. She lived in Winnipeg, but her talents were always in demand, meaning she traveled more than most field agents.

  She was in her early forties, with faint wrinkles by the eyes and a crooked nose. Dreadlocks hung just past her shoulders. She wore a black tank top, exposing well-muscled arms. Around her waist was what appeared to be the result of a one-night stand between a handyman’s leather tool belt and Batman’s utility belt. Gleaming silver studs decorated the black leather belt, which was weighed down by an array of pouches and tools of every shape and size. Additional straps rose over her shoulders for support.

  She had a mug of pop as big as her head, and sucked absently at the straw as she studied me more closely. “What the hell have you been doing to yourself, Vainio?”

  “The usual.”

  “That would explain it.” She climbed onto the desk and studied the broken ceiling beams. “Lena, you’re good with wood, right? How about you get up here and let’s see if we can keep this place from caving in any more.”

  Normally, I would have been fascinated by the way they worked together. Lena strengthened one of the cracked beams, giving it life enough to grow and heal. Toni spread that strength to the rest. The ceiling groaned, and we backed away as plaster and insulation snowed down, but by the time they finished, the exposed beams were visibly stronger.

  I watched the entire process, but my thoughts were elsewhere. “How much worse is this going to get?”

  “That depends on how swiftly we can find and stop August Harrison,” said Gutenberg.

  I had lost control of the situation the instant Gutenberg arrived. Not that I ever really had control. Harrison and his wendigos I could have dealt with, but the students of Bi Sheng and an Army of Ghosts? I needed help.

  I just wished I knew what the cost of that help would be. How much of Copper River would be left when this was over?

  One by one, the rest of the Porters gathered in my library. Most I had met, at least in passing. All were field agents, with the exception of Nicola Pallas and Gutenberg himself. The amount of active magic in the air tickled my skin. I dug my nails into my palms to keep from scratching.

  Every libriomancer carried his or her own arsenal of books. Some wore backpacks or messenger bags. Whitney Spotts had fashioned what looked like a makeshift skirt of books, each one clipped to a thick leather belt by a light cha in. John Wenger’s books simply followed him through the door in a self-propelled red wagon. I had no idea how it had navigated the broken steps.

  Then there were the weapons. I saw two different Excaliburs, a monofilament whip, some sort of electrified jumpsuit (in neon pink), a steampunk-style short rifle, and a pair of six-shooters that could have come straight from Billy the Kid’s holsters. Toni was one of the few who appeared unarmed, but in her hands, just about anything was a potential weapon.

  “Is the town contained?” Pallas asked.

  Maryelizabeth, a libriomancer from New York who worked for one of the major publishing houses, tugged a small black gas mask from her face. “Diluted spray of Lethe-water took care of most of the bystanders.”

  “Electronics are covered,” said John, waving a trade paperback. “Broad-field magnetic blaster. Anyone who tried to record this on their phones will have a very bad day. A few shots probably leaked onto the Internet, but we can track those down and discredit them later.”

  “I intercepted the cops,” said Whitney. “They’re back at the police department, writing the whole thing up as a nasty traffic accident.”

  One by one Pallas took their reports. In less than a half hour, the Porters had swept through the streets of Copper River and erased most of the evidence of our battle with the dragon. Even the dragon itself was no longer recognizable, having been carved into scrap. I didn’t know how the Porters meant to pass off the huge pile of metal in the road as a traffic accident, but I had no doubt they would find a way.

  “Good.” Pallas was rocking back and forth, snapping her fingers to a rhythm nobody else could hear. She was even less comfortable with noise and crowds than I was, and music was one of the ways she coped. I wondered if it would work for Jeff DeYoung, who was looking from one person to the next, trying to watch everyone at once
. He knew and liked me, but he was a werewolf, and part of his brain instinctively classified the Porters as potential predators.

  Given what I had learned, I couldn’t entirely disagree with that assessment.

  Pallas turned to Gutenberg. “We have between 90 and 95 percent containment. We can finish cleaning up later. Dream-manipulation should help take care of any lingering memories.”

  Without preamble, Gutenberg set the last of his books atop the pile and said, “As some of you know, when Victor Harrison died earlier this year, we were unable to control the scene before the police arrived. As a result, August Harrison was able to gain access to his son’s work, including a swarm of mechanical insects. He used those insects to break into the Porter network, as well as to access Isaac Vainio’s private research notes. He also discovered a cult called the Bì de dú ;, the students of Bi Sheng.

  “Harrison then tracked and killed a pair of wendigos near Tamarack, Michigan. Using the magic preserved in their skins, he attempted to create monsters of his own, soldiers who would be stronger and deadlier.”

  “How many?” asked Whitney.

  “At least twenty-four,” I said. “They’re not true wendigos, but they have most of the strength and temper. Depending on the amount of skin he used, the transformation might not be permanent.”

  “The wendigos are the least of our concerns. Harrison has also created his own dryad.” Gutenberg extended his arm toward Lena like a museum curator showing off an exhibit. “Unlike Ms. Greenwood, this dryad is new and untrained. However, she possesses the same strengths and weaknesses.”

  “What weaknesses?”

  I didn’t see who asked the question, but I cringed as Gutenberg began detailing how the loss of Lena’s tree could cripple her, how her skin would resist normal weapons, but not magical ones. She stood like a statue, her eyes fixed on the wall as Gutenberg verbally dissected her. I took her hand, offering what comfort I could. Nidhi squeezed her other hand.