Chapter 4 #2
It was close to five by the time I stopped—and only did so then because my stomach was giving me a loud reminder that I hadn’t eaten lunch.
I arched my back to work out the kinks, then rose and went upstairs.
After investigating the fridge and the pantry for anything resembling a decent meal, I made up a couple of ham and cheese toasties, shoved them in the maker, then made myself another pot of tea as I waited for them to cook.
I caught up on the news—most of which involved yesterday’s heist—as I ate, then after doing the dishes, I grabbed the chocolate Mathi had given me yesterday and headed up the loft ladder.
When Gran had moved out, Mom had converted this area into a chill-out zone where she and I could read our books in peace.
Even though she was now dead, and this place was mine to do with as I wished, I didn’t ever intend to change it.
Her soul might not haunt the building or this space, but echoes of her presence nevertheless lingered.
It helped ease the ache of missing her and somehow made me feel closer to her, as impossible as that sounded.
Tears stung my eyes, but I determinedly blinked them away.
After placing my tea and the chocolate on the small table beside the cushion-adorned sofa, I walked toward the wood heater at the back of the room to retrieve the Codex, which was safely hidden in a special storage pocket in the back of the mesh surrounding the flue.
It was one of the first things Gran had done when she’d lived up here, though she’d simply created the space by slicing the mesh open and bending it inward to form the small shelf she’d used to hide her smaller valuables.
While it had been large enough to hold the Codex and the Eye, my knives were far too big to fit.
Cynwrig had solved that problem by not only replacing the entire length of decorative mesh but had widened the gap between the mesh and the flue and made an inner “pocket” between them that was big enough to hold everything.
He’d also added a door that, unless you knew it existed, wasn’t visible.
I hooked a finger into the hole that served as a handle, opened the door, then reached down for the Codex.
When I’d first found it, it had been nothing more than a worn and very plain-looking leather notebook, but the blood-bonding ceremony had changed its appearance, turning the old leather a glassy black.
The light that rolled across its surface at my touch echoed that in the Eye but generally held none of its dangerous electricity, though that didn’t mean it wasn’t dangerous.
The cost of using it was strength—linger too long in the library’s godly realm, and you could be drained unto death.
I made myself comfortable on the sofa, then called the knives to me. Once they’d thudded into my hands, I placed them on top of the Codex, then undid the Eye and put it on top of the knives. I closed my eyes, pressed all three items together, and said, “What can you tell me about Aamon’s Pectoral?”
For the briefest of seconds, nothing happened.
Then light erupted from the triune, forming a whirlpool that was so dizzyingly bright I could see it through closed eyelids; it swept me up and then swept me away, though it wasn’t a physical departure but rather a mental—spiritual?
—one. I could still feel the old leather sofa under my butt, could still hear the building’s gentle song, and the rattle of noise from staff and customers echoing up from the floors below, but it all paled in comparison to the howling wind being generated by my descent through the colorful maelstrom now surrounding me.
I finally came to a halt in a bright, open space filled with a multitude of different shapes.
Long and tall, thin, or thick, some round, but most square or rectangular.
They weren’t shelves. They were books that hovered in orderly rows in the nothingness of this place and glowed with an unearthly energy.
It is such a pleasure to see you again so soon, Bethany. What do you wish to know about Aamon’s Pectoral?
The voice was neither male nor female, and it not only exuded a deep sense of wisdom and knowledge, but also a hell of a lot more friendliness than the first time I’d stepped into this place—though the librarian had never, in anyway, been hostile toward me.
As per usual, Aasym, I’m after anything you can tell me about it.
Pleasure rippled through the brightness around me. From what I had gathered the last time I was here, few had ever even bothered asking its name. Which, to be honest, just seemed rude to me.
Aamon is a minor god of air and was most revered in humanity’s Egyptian period. He has long fallen out of favor and indeed moved on from this world.
And his pectoral?
Allows the wearer to attain invisibility via a vaporous form.
Is that all it gives?
Its amusement spun around me, as bright as the area in which I stood. It is ever part of human nature to want more, so yes, it also gifts the wearer the ability to use the wind to spy on others.
Which explained why our thief had been standing on that path rather than in the street itself. He hadn’t needed to risk going any closer, even in vaporous form, because he could hear everything that was going on, both outside and inside, thanks to the fact the front door had been propped open.
It didn’t explain why I hadn’t sensed his use of the wind though. Technically, I should have. Unless, of course, the pectoral used the wind in a manner way different to what the gods of storms and their by-blows did.
Have you got a picture of it?
As had happened on the previous occasions, the librarian didn’t answer, but the book blocks around me spun with dizzying speed for a few seconds, then one popped out of the rotation and floated toward me. It hovered in the air several feet in front of me while the pages flipped open.
There were no words in any of these books—or at least, in any of the ones I’d seen so far—only images.
I suspected Aasym believed me incapable of reading anything that might be written within them, and given I couldn’t even read Latin, let alone a language as old as the gods themselves, it was undoubtedly right.
The pages stopped flipping. The pectoral was made of gold, and had cloisonné inlays—an ancient technique for decorating metalwork objects with colored material held in place or separated by metal strips or wire, which in this case, was gold—of red and blue stones.
It was shaped like an eagle, its wings spread wide, and was clutching two cloudy white stones that glowed luminously in its claws. It was absolutely gorgeous.
I glanced up from the book. When Aamon departed, did he store his artifact in any particular place?
The pages flipped over again, this time revealing some sort of altar. It was made of the same white stone that the eagle clutched in his claws, and held a moon-like glow against the darkness in which it was held.
I don’t suppose you know where that altar is, do you?
This is a library of information, not maps. However, in this case, you are fortunate, because Aamon did provide a footnote to his book.
I take it most gods don’t bother?
Not when it comes to location details. Chaos, as you well know, child, is a pet project of many.
And don’t we appreciate it, I replied darkly.
Its amusement slipped around me again. The pages flipped some more, finally stopping near the end.
What it revealed were two rivers that flowed into one, a crumbling castle on a riverbank, and a doorway set in a dry stone wall, which would only open if you twisted a vaguely cross-shaped stone that was barely visible even in the drawing.
The book snapped shut and spun back into its spot.
That is all the information we have written down.
But not all the information you have?
You are quick, young pixie. Find the altar and you find the means by which to find the pectoral.
If our thief didn’t take it when he stole the pectoral.
Humanity cannot take what is little more than air. Only a god—or godling—can do that.
At least that was something. I hesitated, and heard in the brief silence the inner beat of weariness. I needed to be quick before the strength draining began in earnest. What about Bia’s Blade? Have you got information on that?
Bia is the goddess of force and compulsion. Her blade allows the holder to enforce his or her will onto others.
Which was what Beira had said. Do you have a picture of it?
The shelves once again did their spin thing, then popped out a book that sped toward me, its pages flipping open even before it had stopped.
The blade was an unadorned silver that looked translucent, but the guard was shaped like a snake, the grip was scaled, and the pommel was the head of a viper, its mouth open and eyes rubies that gleamed with a bloody fire.
I glanced up. Is Bia capable of taking other forms?
The snake is her preferred form, but she can take others.
Mythically, snakes were seen as deceitful, vengeful, vindictive, or sly creatures, so it was somewhat appropriate that a goddess of force and compulsion would take that form. Can anyone use her artifact, or is it restricted to those with an unscrupulous nature?
Few gods restrict the usage of their artifacts. It lessens the chance of chaos.
The fucking gods and their fucking chaos... I don’t suppose you have any record that would help us find her dagger?
Your supposition is correct—I do not.
I snorted softly, the sound running like laughter through the brightness. Then I thank you for time, Aasym.
It has been a pleasure, as usual, Bethany.