The God of Lost Words by A. J. Hackwith

Author:A. J. Hackwith [Hackwith, A. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2021-11-02T00:00:00+00:00

26

HERO

The hero’s journey is a real sonovabitch, on that much we can agree.

Librarian Gregor Henry, 1974 CE

Oh, fuck Joseph Campbell!

Apprentice Librarian Brevity, 2013 CE

Brevity, please refrain from swearing in the log.

. . . But yes, bugger the monomyth and all that tired nonsense.

Librarian Claire Hadley, 2013 CE

Claire staged her retreat to the tea cart, and Hero let her. He waited until she was at the far end of the giant lobby before turning and pinning his look on the others. “All right, what happened?”

“Something else went wrong?” Bjorn asked with weary resignation.

Brevity and Rami found spots on the floor in urgent need of examination.

Gods, this Library was full of terrible liars. Hero rubbed his temple a moment before snapping his fingers impatiently. “Rami scuffs his shoes like a schoolboy, and our dear librarian looks like someone kicked a puppy. Details, please. I’d rather stab whoever needs stabbing before Claire gets back.”

“No one is stabbing anyone . . . already tried that,” Rami said with censure. Hero just smiled.

“So there was a problem.”

“Malphas,” Brevity said in a mouse-small voice. She looked up with haunted eyes. “She caught me in a shadowstep.”

“We got her out,” Rami said hurriedly. “Well, she got herself out, but the damsels and I found her with Walter and brought her home.”

“The damsels are a formidable lot,” Hero agreed, reaching over to squeeze Rami’s arm. One part reassurance for the angel, one part reassurance for Hero himself, that Rami was still in one piece. It had been a harrowing tale, when Brevity proceeded to tell it. They’d been lucky. One day their luck would surely run out. The thought settled like ice in Hero’s stomach.

“Don’t tell Claire,” Brevity said, suddenly urgent. She leaned forward in her seat. “It was my own fault. She couldn’t have stopped it. And it won’t happen again.”

“We’ll see about that.” Hero exchanged a glance with Rami. Hero was making a concerted effort at getting out of the business of secrets. Out of the villain business. But old habits were hard to shed. He saw how Brevity’s brow crinkled. “But you’re not telling me everything either.”

“I . . . In the oubliette, I think I . . . saw something,” Brevity said slowly. When Hero nodded, the story emerged in halted bursts from the two of them. Brevity’s prison, Rami’s rally, and a brief, vast glimpse of Hell on the move. The ice in Hero’s stomach spread to his heart.

“Well . . .” He broke the ensuing silence with a sigh. “Nothing we didn’t already know, I suppose.”

“Shoulda stayed in Valhalla,” Bjorn grumbled.

“There were so many,” Brevity said in a small voice.

“And Malphas won’t wait forever,” Rami added. He had that old look on his face, the look Hero saw when he was remembering hundreds, even thousands of years in the past. Remembering the memories of Ramiel, Thunder of God, not Rami, the shabby Watcher of the Library. His arms were folded and his gaze was somewhere far away.

“How will it go?” Hero asked softly.

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