The Library of the Unwritten - A. J_ Hackwith Page 0,67

Uriel, gave a cry and stormed down to the shore. Bjorn flourished a longbow from the weapon stand on the sand.

“Does the old kook really think he can fight a . . .” Hero’s murmur turned to a squawk when the tip of the nocked arrow caught fire. “Wait. He’s going to fire on us! Us!”

Claire redoubled her rowing and kicked Hero’s ankle for him to do the same. “Technically, he’s only supposed to fire on the boat, but I suppose it depends on his proficiency.”

“You knew he was going to . . . to what end?” A yellow flare arched through the air, and Hero yanked Leto back with a grunt as the arrow struck the bow of the boat. The boy’s eyes widened, and he flailed away from the flames.

“At least there’s no kindling to . . .” Hero trailed off as the fire caught, leaping from arrow to boat hull with an unnatural ease. “I’m beginning to have a grievance with your plan, warden.”

“Duly noted,” Claire said. She shoved Leto behind her and grimaced as the fire began to lick around the edge of the boat. Cheerful green paint curled into smoke. “Just keep rowing.”

“You’re mad.” Nonetheless, Hero turned his back on the fire to pole his oar into the water.

“The logic of most of these realms is that the way out and the way in are usually the same.”

“Oh. A pyre at sea.” Leto paled.

“Someone was listening during history class. Yes. A Viking burial. Full marks.” Claire cast a quick glance to the shore. Through the smoke, she could see that the angels had waylaid Bjorn, and there was a furious argument under way.

Uriel had a great glowing sword out, and Bjorn stood, lean and proud, arms crossed over his chest. Ramiel, his squat and gray outline just barely visible next to Uriel’s incandescent form, appeared to be trying to keep the calm.

But Uriel’s shoulders were thrown back and even at this distance, the threat was visible and strumming. Claire had not expected the concern that gripped her chest. Be careful, old man.

“Will it hurt?” Leto asked.

“Hmm?” She pulled her attention back to the fire that was quickly eating at the sides of the boat. “Oh no, we’re not required to burn, necessarily. If we can reach the mist by the time the boat goes, and I can keep hold of that trace, we should theoretically—”

“Claire,” Hero interrupted. “Your skirts.”

“Bother.” Claire stamped her hand where scorched edges threatened to catch fire. The act scalded her palms, focused her attention. The heat was seeping through her shoes, and with a calm she did not feel she directed Leto to move toward the middle of the boat.

Hero eased his rowing as they reached where the fog grew thick at the center of the lake. “To think I’m beginning to miss the ravens . . .”

“What—” Leto’s question was drowned out with a rush of air.

The fire consumed the boat whole in a flare of magical heat. Claire had just enough time to squeeze her eyes closed before the wood turned to ash under her feet and glacial water rushed over her head.

And for the second time in a day, Claire began to drown.

19

BREVITY

A library without its librarian in residence is vulnerable as a bleating lamb. Librarians serve as the readers the unwritten books never had. It anchors them, quiets them, and assists in keeping them asleep in their binding. Walk careful in the long shadows of abandoned stacks, for you walk footpaths of restless dreams.

Librarian Ibukun of Ise, 991 CE

THE DOORS OF THE Unwritten Wing were not as foreboding as the Arcane Wing’s. The Library veered away from Gothic wrought iron, and instead toward polished brass and light oaks. Brevity hadn’t often had occasion to see the doors closed, though, and they loomed over her. Her hand hovered over the brass pulls, but she couldn’t quite bring it to land.

The ravens had deposited her in the transport office, startling Walter into nearly dropping a jar. He’d been too flustered, and too kind, to ask questions, but she’d seen the way his gaze shifted over her shoulder, searching for Claire to appear behind her. The real librarian, not the clumsy excuse for an assistant. Claire wouldn’t be coming—not for a while at least—and the tasks she’d hoisted on Brevity along with her books now felt like iron weights pressing on her ribs.

Brevity began to feel the cracks. Open the Library, run the Library, protect the Library. That’s what