The Ever Lord: Jhod and the Librarian

In the Hall of Record, the lights burned low.

The Librarian’s many eyes darted around the shadows, searching for signs of movement. There were none. The Quill-servants had all returned to their cells, the doors shut tightly. It was only the Librarian now, with their pile of scrolls, books, papers, letters, documents, rolls of pens, and stacks of ink vials.

Completing their circuit, the eyes of the Librarian landed once more on the single letter that had occupied their thoughts for the whole evening. A single letter, written and sealed with a special mark; the one mark the Librarian held in any kind of esteem.

In the distance, the Darklin’ Hour rang. The Fiveworlders called it Eve’nbell. Such a silly name for the coming of darkness.

For the first time in…was it years? Certainly not. Months at least, but years? Well, it was possible, but still…when was the last time the Librarian had crawled out from behind their desk? What had they done? That’s right, they had been looking for a lost Quill-servant, to administer punishment for his — or was it hers? — laxity in their duties. They had found the poor thing huddled in a ditch on the outskirts of the inner Palace, pressed against the Palace Walls and begging for mercy. Poor thing.

The Librarian grabbed the edge of their desk and heaved, uncoiling their body from their stable pose. Over the centuries, the Librarian had learned there were certain positions of the body that, after a suitable length of time, hurt. It had taken many years to find a posture that was both agreeable to their work and their comfort.

The Librarian felt its muscles and bones stretch and shift underneath its skin. Gentle and vaguely pleasant aches rippled down their back as their arms reached out into the shadows, long fingers splaying like a fish’s fin.

They didn’t yawn. The Aspanighoraji couldn’t yawn.

As silent as a snake, the Librarian picked their way through the large room towards the gigantic doors. The floor was perfectly clean thanks to the efforts of their eager little flies; always flitting to and fro, toiling away to keep the Hall of Record working properly. The Librarian wanted to whistle in delight but silence was the watchword this evening. Silence, until they learned precisely what the Trusted wanted with them.

With the deft and delicate hands that had touched every parchment that passed through the Hall, the Librarian opened the giant doors, slipping through the crack as quickly and as quietly as their massive bulk allowed. The door shut again as quietly as it had opened, dipping the Librarian in the lonely darkness.

They looked up into the dark sky. It had been a long time since their eyes had soaked in the dark purple of the Velvet. They could remember, so many centuries ago, the skies of all the Myriad Worlds and their glittering lights. Now these skies, the skies of the Fiveworlds, were so dull. Skies beyond the Aspectured Wall, they had blue and green and silver lights twinkling away, each a world of its own. Here, the Fiveworlds shone lonely in their black sea.

The Librarian licked their sharp teeth with a forked tongue. They had made their deal; to not see the glittering jewels of the Velvet was a small price to pay. How often did they see the skies anyway?

With a final glance and gentle snort, the Librarian slid their way towards the Immaculate Hall.

The Guardsmin that wandered the Palace grounds either did not see the Librarian, or did not believe that they had. Or perhaps they saw, and believed that they saw, and still wisely decided not to intervene with the massive figure’s evening stroll. Few had ever seen the Librarian out and about, and even fewer dared suggest that their orders or duties superceeded the Librarian’s own. Even if they had, the Librarian had the letter, clutched tightly in the thin fingertips of its rear-left hand.

Most had never even seen the Librarian before.

At long last, gliding along the stonework like a silken shadow, the Librarian reached the doors of the Immaculate Hall. It paused only briefly to note the absence of the otherwise ubiquitous Doorsmin. Any other soul in the Empire would have been astounded to see the sacred doors slightly ajar, but the Librarian paid little heed; the sacred had long since lost its luster to their shadowy soul, and so they nudged the door open to allow its massive bulk entry.

There sat Jhod, First among Trusted. It amused the Librarian to no end that the poor soul had no other titles, no names nor honors. In an Empire so concerned with honor and prestige, to grace the most powerful soul behind the Aspectured Wall no more than a single moniker was amusing. Uncharacteristic, to say the least, and the Librarian’s life was devoted to charting the predictable.

The room was giant, comparable to the Hall of Record — or at least its entryway; there was no matching the giant library’s stacks and cubbyholes. The Immaculate Hall looked smaller, however, thanks to the gigantic table that occupied the middle of the oblong room. It was a respectable table, the Librarian remembered, having seen it several times before, many years ago. It was a sturdy size, good for striking when making some salient point or resting ones limbs on when listening.

The chairs — all useless for the Librarian — were carefully arranged equidistantly around the table. Five large fireplaces gaped into the room, all still and cold save the first, which burned bright and hot, coating the room in its warmth.

Jhod stood at the Librarian’s entry and placed a fist over his heart in the manner of all fiveworlders, saluting the Ever Lord by way of greeting. The Librarian smiled its fang-filled smile, fingers waving in the warmed night-air. “Jhod greets as fiveworlder. No fiveworlder, I. Waiting for I, head in hands? Poor Trusted, first among few. Sent letter to I?

Jhod swallowed before answering, his hand slowly falling back to his side. “I must thank you for coming after Eve’nbell. I trust you have kept our meeting a secret?”

“Trust and secrets,” the Librarian whistled in delight. “Foolish child. Trust or secrets I should think. Yes I answer. Love secrets, I. So many, have I. Always room for more in the dark behind. Come, whisper new secret to me, that I may sing it silent!”

Jhod swayed back and forth like a snake. The Librarian had spent years learning the Fiveworlders and their movements, and still their odd swaying movements rarely made sense. Sometimes it was out of a strange awkwardness, other times a kind of excitement. Was Jhod nervous, or eager? The Librarian had no idea.

At last, Jhod spoke again. “You have been summoned by your… the Lord of Ever and Always, to undertake a task of great import to the Empire.”

The Librarian trilled their throat in thought; “rrmm…” Then, its eyes darted to Jhod’s, a fiendish grin splitting its palid face. “You think I fool. Did I not know? Knew I did for yearsandyears. Silly Trusted, first among few. Know the truth better than most children do I. Ever Lord is gone and done. Missing for hundredyears.”

Jhod’s eyes sank. “Yes, I should have known you would have guessed.”

“Guess?” A long thin arm shot out from the Librarian’s side and gripped Jhod fiercely by the shoulder. “Know I everything that happens in these walls! Little spy-flies flitter about, write down everything to make it real. Make stone out of water, I. Knew I Ever Lord gone before fortnight passed!”

“And…and you kept his secret?” Jhod pulled away, rubbing his arm. “For a hundred years?”

“Hundredyears, thousandyears, what is time to I?” The Librarian coiled its body, circling Jhod like a hungry vulture. “Do not mistake, first among few, that care I aught for your little Empire. Agreement was made. Only one of my people, I, to sit behind the Wall. Only I choose to sit and stare, to read, to watch. Did this not for Empire, I.”

“And…your agreement?”

“Agreement made between Ever Lord and I. Written down, caged in parchment. Still sits in secret place. Did not leave, nor burn, I. Stay or go, the agreement is.”

Jhod breathed a sigh of what could only have been relief. It was tiring for the Librarian to try and suss out the emotions of the strange Fiveworlders. The Children of the Empire of Ever and Always were so unlike the many peoples of the Myriad Worlds. It was one of the many reasons the Librarian had decided to sign the agreement in the first place.

“I am glad to hear it,” Jhod said, standing much straighter. “Then you will undertake the Ever Lord’s task?”

“Not task of Ever Lord,” the Librarian’s grin did not fade. “Ever Lord gone hundredyear. Your task you wish I take, think I.”

“No,” Jhod walked around the table to a thin wooden box. Carefully opening the lid, he extracted a long thin envelope. “You see this letter, sealed with the Ever Lord’s own seal?”

“See I,” the Librarian’s many eyes narrowed. It was not used to being confused, but something about the servant’s sudden confidence was disconcerting. It moved closer, head stretched out to the letter.

“It must look old,” Jhod muttered. “I haven’t opened this box in a hundred years. No one has. You can see how the parchment has yellowed, how the wax has cracked—”

“Do not presume to lecture I,” the Librarian snapped. “Know paper, I. Know time, I.” It reached its hand out, fingers spread wide. “Letter writ to I, yes?”

“Yes,” Jhod laid the letter in the outstretched hand. “By my Ever Lord’s own hand. He told me to give it to you after a hundred years had passed.”

“Plans, he,” the Librarian snorted, cracking the wax in half with a single nail. “He plans, know I.” For a moment there was silence in the room save for the crackling of the fire. A brief draft set the flames dancing as the Librarian read, its many eyes darting back and forth.

At long last, the paper lowered. “What is this?” The Librarian glared, turning the paper over in its hands.

“What it says,” Jhod said. “My Ever Lord did not tell me what he had written.”

“Joke?” the Librarian sniffed the parchment before rubbing it between three fingertips. “You make mock of I? I leave and you laugh and laugh at I?”

“No joke,” Jhod sniffed. “His final commands are no joking matter.”

“But I?” The Librarian hissed. “No laborerer, no basin-filler, no worker, jobber, or toiler, I. Fetch and carry? Hoist and pull? Bring to you? And what I bring…”

“Do not tell me,” Jhod clapped his hands to his ears. “It is not for me to know!”

The Librarian coiled and uncoiled again, its limbs spreading and waving like a nervous snake’s hood. “Little fly, to and fro, scratching at paper and hiding his face, thinks to keep secret from I. Know I everything within these walls, but why?” With the speed of a lightning bolt, the Librarian thrashed about and coiled around Jhod, muscles flexing in vexation. “Why him?”

“I don’t know,” Jhod protested, shoving at the Librarian’s coils. “My Ever Lord said nothing to me of his plans, for me nor for you. I don’t know what he expects you to do, only he knew if he wrote you this letter you would do what he wanted of you.”

With a dark hiss, the Librarian returned its coils to their place, calming and soothing itself with a trilling hum. “Bargain made. Bargain kept. Now, changes bargain, he, when gone? Cheat! Cheat and thief! No bargain, I. No deal. Will not do such things, I. Not for him. No, not for him…”

For a long moment, Jhod watched the Librarian seethe, rolling back and forth like a squall on the ocean. Then, at last, the monstrous face looked up. “What else say he?”

“I beg your pardon?” Jhod blinked.

“Ever Lord. Hands you box, he, then speaks. Say he, ‘open in hundredyear.’ ‘Give letter,’ say he. Then else?”

Jhod brushed at his tunic. “He told me to make sure you took the Anointed Oath.”

“Ahh,” the Librarian slowly relaxed, a hissing sigh leaking from between its sharp teeth. “Understand, I. Cheat, yes. Thief, no. Give oath and get seal. Bargain anew, says he. Plans, he…always plans. Very well,” a long thin arm slipped out in the firelight. “Anoint with wax. Speak the words, I. Bound to soul and task, be I. Then,” the broad face moved closer, staring Jhod deep in his eyes. “Then return, I, to Hall of Record. Task do I, when I see fit. Study I first. Understand I first. When know I what Ever Lord wishes, then act I.

Jhod gave a slow nod. “Yes. That…will suffice.” Walking quickly around the table, Jhod reached for the Holy Candle and seal.