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The velvet of the chair softly creaked in protest as I sank into it, a rude suggestion that maybe I should've ordered the short stack and laid off the bacon. Breakfast was delicious though, so whatever. The warm weight of contentment sat in my gut, and I felt like I was going to nod off at any given moment. No matter how much I wanted to get more sleep, I fought against the heavy weight of my eyelids and willed myself to stay awake.
Mirko Soloviev had his morning meal delivered to him, wrinkled old fart that he is. A plate of half-eaten toast and an empty cup of coffee sat beside him on the table, along with a small bowl of strawberry jam and a dull knife. Hyperion opted to wait until lunch was being served before she'd eat anything and resumed her spot by the window, absorbing the warmth of the morning sun through the plate of glass separating us from the endless hills of the Salvic countryside. We were getting closer and closer to Tirel, and with that the warmer climes of the eastern regions. I could make out blades of grass poking up from the thinning layers of snow as we sped past, and the occasional raptor circling overhead in search of prey in the fields below.
"Would you like to take another look at it?"
I arched an eyebrow at the elderly bookseller. "Sorry?"
He motioned towards his cabin. "The book."
Ah, of course. As much as I quietly enjoyed the calm of the train ride halfway across the country to Knife's Edge, it had been a business trip first and foremost. I was on assignment to secure the acquisition of a very particular book for the inter-dimensional stacks of my employer, Maladim Karunungan. Mirko had the book in question, but refused to let go of it unless I met a very specific list of demands.
First, he wanted to browse my personal collection and select something that he considered of equal value. A simple book swap, which was fine with me. I already transferred any important information I may need from them into my Archivist's Notebook, anyway.
Second, he wanted a little information that was more private and personal. He learned some time ago about Maladim and his ever-growing archives that picked and stored knowledge from every dimension and every possible timeline through Archivists such as myself. He learned about how people like myself also facilitate the transfer of knowledge from the demon's library to those who, quoting the instructional handbook I was given, "require it to facilitate events as written by the Fates". As Mirko was a bibliophile from birth, obsessed with the various ways knowledge was collected and recorded for future generations, he wanted to know more about Maladim and what he did. The only problem was that he--how do I put this--was a little too precious and pure to contact my employer by standard means.
Apparently some of us are more okay than others with slaughtering a scholar and sacrificing their quivering thinkmeats to summon and make pacts with demonic librarians.
Anyway, I explained the situation to Maladim, told him that Mirko simply wanted to meet him and confirm that everything he'd read was real, and then he'd give up the book in question.
Maladim said something along the lines of "whatever makes that nerd happy", and that was that.
Mirko rose from his seat and shuffled off to his cabin in the car, reemerging a minute later with a pristine leather-bound volume. For how old it was purported to be, it was in exceptional condition. The pages were as white as the day they were bound, the brass latch that kept it shut still lacked even the smallest amount of corrosion.
Catching me staring at the book, he said, "To think that these pages are hundreds, if not thousands of years old."
I took in a sharp breath as he set it down on the table in front of me. Deep in the darkest recesses of my soul, something stirred. The faintest echo of laughter rang in my ears.
No. Go away.
"There are many in Salvar who would kill you on sight if they caught you with this," Mirko muttered between pursed lips, his own gaze locked on the tome. "Based on what it's alleged to be and who the Church claims penned the words inside."
I fought to suppress the swirling darkness inside me. "How did you come to possess it?"
"That is a secret," Mirko replied with a wink. And with that, that particular line of conversation was closed off.
The bookseller shifted talk back towards me and my business with it. "I trust that your, erm, employer is certain of the authenticity of the volume and its contents?"
I nodded. "He would have not sent me if he had any doubts."
I took a deep breath, still desperately fighting against this bout of dizziness that had come over me. "Besides, I can confirm it right now, just looking at it."
With a thin finger, I traced the golden Ethereal Sway iconography that was pressed into the soft leather of the cover. The laughter was quickly extinguished, replaced by a second voice I did not recognize. She whispered to me of events that had been, and times yet to come. Softly, she sung of fire and destruction such as the world had never known. She painted a promise of my future with the blood of my--no, our enemies.
I ripped my hand away. I bit down on my tongue to keep from screaming.
I am not your puppet. I am not your chosen. Not Pode's, not Xem'Zund's, not yours.
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