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“What have you brought me?”
Elias stands in the centre of the gallery, his hands gripping the railing surrounding the wide ventilation shaft. His head is inclined upwards as if staring into the vast expanse of the Library’s honeycombed layers. Jon wonders what he is truly looking at.
“Not much,” He steps further into the hexagonal gallery, joining Elias at the balcony.
“A few pages, the rest is just the usual nonsense. Nothing you’ll be much interested in, I imagine.”
Jon keeps his eyes fixed to the older man, preferring the sight of his master’s harsh, unsmiling face and sightless silver eyes to the dizzying view above or below him. He lives the reality of the endless, unfathomable nature of the Library every day, he doesn’t need to be reminded of it here, in the one place that passes for a home.
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
Elias looks pale beneath the tawny-brown of his skin, the dark circles under his eyes and strands of silver in his hair seeming to have multiplied in the weeks since Jon saw him last. His Sight took a toll on him, just the same as Jon’s own abilities did for him and as much as Jon may resent the burden of being the Reader and the harm it puts him in, he doesn’t envy Elias his role. To hold the entirety of infinity in the balance in a single, fragile human skull… it had to be exhausting.
Elias holds out a hand and, wordlessly, Jon hands him the books he had just risked his life to find. Like all books in the library they were identical, four slim, leather-bound volumes, the titles picked out in black on the cover. As with almost all of the Library’s collection, the titles were nonsensical, a brief string of word-shaped letters. Elias runs his fingers over the raised leather of the first book’s title, flipping the pages with a practiced air. He paused on a page, seemingly at random, and handed the book to Jon.
“Read it for me.” It is not a request.
The first half of the page is nothing but a random combination of letters and punctuation, like all the pages before it, but halfway down the text breaks into meaning, a handful of pages of clarity before chaos takes over once more. Jon has long since ceased to wonder at how Elias is able to do this. It is not much different to some of his own powers, and hardly the most incredible gift their god has bestowed upon him.
Jon kneels at Elias’ feet and bows his head over the open book. He shivers as Elias’ hand comes to rest on his head, his fingers twining through his hair. Jon starts to read. The weight of the words washes over him instantly, lifting him up and pushing him down at the same time. Elias’ fingers tighten in his hair and the gentle pull against his scalp is grounding, like a lifeline in an ocean storm. The text feel foreign against his tongue- Jon suspects it may be Ugaritic, or possibly Aramaic, but he has long since given up worrying about such things. No language is a mystery to him any more, no matter how ancient or forgotten it might be to anyone else. These days, it is a struggle to even recognise when something is written in a language he doesn’t speak.
When he is done he closes the book but doesn’t move. He can feel the words settle inside him, carving out a space inside his skull next to all the other fragmentary scraps of knowledge and power that Elias has had him seek out over the last few years. With each book he reads he is slowly being transformed into something he knows he will not be able to recognise but he has no choice but to keep going.
“Well done,” Elias’ voice is low and there is a softness to it that Jon so rarely hears. “Thank you, Jon.”
“Do you want me to read the rest of them?” He doesn’t bother trying to keep the exhaustion out of his words. Elias was the one who made him like this; Jon has no problem in reminding him just what a toll it takes on him.
Elias is silent for a while, considering. “Not just now,” he says at last. “They can wait until you’re more rested.”
Jon nods, suddenly very dizzy. He lets his eyes fall shut. He fights the urge to rest his head against Elias’ thigh and loses. Elias strokes his hair, his fingers massaging the back of Jon’s head. His latest batch of injuries ache but the pain fades to the background next to Elias’ reassuring warmth and solidity. He is safe here.
He doesn’t know how long he stays like that, in the halfway haze between sleep and waking, his mind filled with dreams of six-sided chambers, of endless spiral stairways and neat, black letters spelling out every secret that ever existed and all the ones that never could. When Jon finally opens his eyes again the light in the hexagon remains unchanged as ever, a low amber glow, always illuminating too little and far too much at the same time. He is still kneeling by Elias’ side but the older man betrays no hint of impatience or discomfort. Jon’s own knees are aching but he feels remarkably well-rested in all other ways.
He pulls away from Elias, rearranging his legs and letting them hang over the ventilation shaft, between the gaps in the railings. If he were to kick off one of his shoes it would fall forever, he thinks. Perhaps he would find it, centuries from now, falling towards him from the other direction, if what the ancient heretics said was true.
“How are you feeling?” Elias asks him. He crouches down and sits, cross-legged, on the floor next to Jon. His silvery eyes are fixed on Jon’s face and, despite knowing better, Jon can’t escape the feeling of being closely scrutinised. “Better?”
Jon nods, before remembering. “Much,” his voice is scratchy, as if from long disuse. “Thank you.”
Elias just nods but Jon thinks there is a suggestion of a smile on his face.
“You seem more worn out than usual,” he says. “Did anything unusual happen when you were away?”
“A bit late for you to start developing concern for me, isn’t it? You sure our master would approve?” The accusation is an old habit now; it slips past his tongue before he can stop it but there is no real heat to the words and he knows Elias can tell.
“I found a book belonging to the Desolation a few levels down,” Jon tells him. An ugly look passes over Elias’ face, bringing back memories of the battered body of that heretic Librarian Elias had left for Jon to find. Elias was dangerous, Jon could never let himself forget it.
“It… called out to me. I shouldn’t have opened it, I know. But I did.”
“What happened?”
Wordlessly, Jon reaches over with his right hand, letting Elias’ fingers run over the ruined skin. The burns were healing well but they still sting as Elias touches them and Jon has to force himself not to pull away.
“It burned me as soon as I started to read it. I managed to pull out the words from it before it destroyed itself, though. I’d recite them to you now but I don’t know what that’d do, to either of us.”
“Very good, Jon,” Elias murmurs. “I’m proud of you.”
He presses a kiss to the back of Jon’s hand, and another to the tips of each of his fingers. The touch of Elias’ lips is like a lightless flame, like fire from an impossible book, but Jon has long since given up on wondering why he is drawn to things that will hurt him.
“Don’t worry about the words for now. The Desolation are... repugnant, but their reach is limited currently. We have far more pressing concerns on our hands right now. The Stranger and their allies grow stronger every day and there are no Librarians alive that can defeat them.”
Jon sighs. “Except us, I know . But I haven’t found anything in months, no matter how hard I search. Sometimes I wonder if you’re not just sending me on a wild goose chase for your own, obscure amusement, you know.”
Elias laughs and the sound echoes out into infinity. “I’ve missed you these last few weeks, Jon. No one else here dares talk to me like that.” He lets go of Jon’s hand and runs his own hand through his hair, his brow furrowing. “But no, unfortunately, I can assure you that is not the case. The Stranger has always been hard to See, and the more books it corrupts, the more true this becomes.”
He stands up and holds out a hand, pulling Jon to his feet. “But don’t be too disheartened. You’re making startling progress. At this rate, I’ve no doubt this will all be over much sooner than you think.”
“It’ll never end,” Jon replies, unable to keep the sourness out of his tone. “This place is infinite, remember? We might defeat the Stranger, somehow, but there’ll never be an end to all the things that need to be Seen.”
Elias laughs again and this time there is not even a hint of warmth to it. “Oh, Jon, I never forget that, I assure you. But just because the Library goes on until infinity doesn’t mean that all this won’t come to an end. One way or another, everything does.”