//------------------------------// // The Archivist // Story: The Ash // by Raging Mouse //------------------------------// Chapter 9: The Archivist The double door was made of thick oak and was reinforced with steel crossbars. Runes of warding etched, seared into or painted on the wood were designed to keep out those with no legitimate business beyond the door’s threshold and also keep whatever contents inside. There was an ornate brass plate just above Twilight’s head that read ‘Embargoed Texts’. Princess Luna nodded to Twilight, silently urging her to open the door. Twilight placed her hooves on the wooden surface and shoved. She felt a tingle, like an electric current, course through her legs just as the door began to move and guessed it was some kind of defensive spell. Since she was alive, conscious and unhurt she assumed she’d been cleared for entry. The door creaked open with a coarse groan, and the sound kept echoing for several seconds in the space beyond. The chamber was about three storeys high and crammed with rows of bookshelves stretching from floor to ceiling. She couldn’t see any opposite wall in the gloom and so had no clue how big the room was, though judging by the long echo it was very spacious. Twilight looked at the bookshelves for a moment while a frown gradually developed on her face. She turned to Luna and raised an eyebrow. “Where are all the books?” “Follow me, Twilight Sparkle.” Luna walked into the empty library and in between two shelves. “As the plaque said, this is my Library of Embargoed Texts. Celestia might occasionally have need of it, so she’s always been vice-librarian. I am thankful that she took care of it while I was indisposed, and approve greatly the solution she found to the need for greater security.” “Princess Luna, are you being deliberately vague?” Twilight was getting frustrated enough to even carry a hint of reproach in her voice. Luna merely smiled at her. “Knowledge is a double-edged sword, Twilight. We rightly fear some unknown things even though fearing all of the unknown is extremely foolish. Once the unknown becomes the known the problem reverses: We tend not to fear that which we know, even though we might have reason to. Ask any snake charmer what happens when they take their snakes for granted. I am preparing you, Twilight: giving you enough knowledge to have some idea about what you will face while trying to avoid dulling the first impression and making you incautious. Tell me, does this word mean anything to you?” Luna was tapping her slippered hoof on a small plaque set into the end of the bookshelf. Twilight peered at the metal and tried to make out the symbols. The plaque appeared to be made of copper and had corroded heavily, but there were deeply etched letters that she could just about make out in the gloom: NECROMANCY Suddenly Twilight was glad that the shelves were empty. She drew a shuddering breath and informed Luna of this. The Princess of the Night shook her head. “Twilight, these shelves are full of books.” Silence reigned for a moment as Twilight digested this. She cocked her head and cast a sidelong glance at the shelf next to her. “Is it like that gallery? They don’t really exist but can be read anyway?” “Very astute of you, but in actuality it is the reverse which is true. The books are very real indeed. They have merely been incorporated into a more compact system. The shelf-space is still needed in case the system collapses and the books are dumped.” “I don’t understand.” Luna pointed into the gloom. Twilight walked a few steps in the indicated direction while scanning her surroundings. Eventually she spied an object lying on a shelf in the next row. She walked over to and read the plaque of the shelf containing the object: Necromancy LENG - LICH. She gulped and walked up to the object: a book, about as tall as Twilight and bound in some kind of black leather with reddish-brown stains. The front and back covers held the same faded emblem of a scroll and a quill. Twilight peered at the book without touching it. It was very obviously old: she could tell thanks to her experience handling antique books. Yet the paper seemed to be fresh and of high quality. Twilight peered closer at the edge of the book. No, not all of the pages were of uniform quality. There were sections which were quite yellow, or even tattered. The spine was reinforced with metal and a chain went from the iron bands to the shelf, anchoring the book so it couldn’t be removed. There was a moment of hesitation. Then Twilight looked at Princess Luna, who nodded in response to the unspoken question. “Go ahead.” Twilight picked up the book in her magic. Guests? What a pleasant surprise. Royalty, even. I am— Twilight dropped the book and scrambled away until her back thudded against the opposite shelf. The book fell to the floor with a dull thud and a jingle from the chain, ending up leaning against the bottom shelf. Ouch. The voice was baritone and extremely dry. There was a slight wheeze to it, which hinted at an unhealthy indoor life. It enunciated slowly and carefully, making Twilight think of Luna. I think you broke my spine. Does it look broken to you? What about you, Princess Luna? I can definitely feel some loose pages. Princess Luna cleared her throat. “Twilight, this is Libram, the Master Archivist.” “A... Living book?” Don’t be daft, my little pony. I have no organs, ergo I am not alive. One does not need to be alive to exist, though. That’s the point, actually. Hah, did you notice my expert manipulation of the conversation, Luna? Just a couple sentences back and forth and we’re talking necr... Oh dear. I just fumbled it, didn’t I? By the— Twilight’s mind filled with half-mumbled words, most of which she couldn’t recognise and the ones she did making her blush. When Libram cursed it was in the literal, 'casting a spell on a pony hoping for dreadful effects' kind, though his curses did not have any other target than the world in general, which hopefully wouldn’t be affected. After a moment there was a sound like the clearing of a desiccated throat. Pardon my indiscretion. I tend to get a bit too lively whenever I have a chance to entertain guests. Yes, Miss Twilight, as Princess Luna of the Night and the Dead stated, I am indeed Libram and my title is indeed Master Archivist. I have held that title for the last seven hundred and thirteen years. Luna smiled gently and murmured to the book. “Would you please tell Twilight Sparkle about yourself?” I get to tell somepony about myself? Why, I must have died gone to— hrrrm. It would be my pleasure, Miss Twilight Sparkle! Good name by the way. Good name! Well let’s just pick the juicy bits of my biography for now. Hmmm, where to begin? Ah, yes. I was born here in Canterlot, a stone’s throw from the castle walls. Wasn’t a good time to grow up, though, what with the war and the famine and all. I didn’t get all the nutrients my body depended on to grow properly, and by the time I’d reached my teenage years my legs were twisted and brittle and I limped from a constant pain in my hip. About the only bone in my body which wasn’t useless was my horn, but as I didn’t move around much I mainly used it to turn pages. My parents were loving and dutiful enough and supplied me with all the reading I could ask for. I had taken care of my basic education by the age of fourteen. My talent for scribing had manifested when I taught myself to write. By the age of fifteen I was happy and writing down anything and everything in the household that needed committing to paper. I had my own library and some of my older books were getting quite worn so I started copying them and binding new covers. That was me. Book-binder and scribe. I don’t exactly know when I got my cutiemark: it was pointed out to me by a relative. Soon after that I was offered a job here at the castle as junior librarian. Not this library, you understand, but the official one. I did mention there was a war on, didn’t I? It doesn’t really matter who fought or who won, but it did result in my big sister arriving home with a painful and mortal wound inflicted upon her by some warlock on the opposing side. She was withering before our eyes. I had always held her in very high esteem so I took the misfortune rather hard. I asked Princess Celestia if there were books about the magic of warlocks that I could study and try to heal my sister. Bless her, if there is one weakness in her then it’s her reluctance to tell an outright lie to her subjects! She told me that I was better off staying at my sister’s side than risk forcing my mother and father to lose a son as well as a daughter. In hindsight I suppose I can admit she was right, but at the time I was sixteen and at the top of my world. So I rebelled. My special talent is two parts: memory and reproduction. My success as a scribe came from the fact that I could faithfully copy a book I had merely glanced at. So when I became intrigued by the wonderfully complex watermark I spotted on a document belonging to one of Celestia’s top generals I copied it. Copying the spells was harder, but once I realised they were there it was only a matter of time. Long story short, I found this library and read every single book in it. There was a long, drawn-out sigh. Princess Celestia had noticed me, but she found me too late. I did not want to confront her even though I viewed her as an enemy by then, so I used my newfound knowledge to flee into the city. I divined a forgotten cellar vault beneath our house and retreated there. I still had my sister foremost in my mind, but in order to properly cure her it seemed I had to sacrifice myself. A living pony could not become a full-fledged warlock. There was a ritual described, though. I could bind my spirit to a specially created receptacle and let my body become a mere dead husk, but strengthened and far more compliant to my will. With my aching joints this was not an unwelcome scenario. So I did it. I made a book to house my spirit – nice and symbolic, don’t you think – and as part of the ritual I skinned myself and bound my own leather to its covers as I was bleeding to death. I succeeded, and passed through death and into undeath, but though I could remember every detail of the ritual and had read every line of text about it I had not stopped to consider every meaning they held. At the apex of the ritual, my newly undead form drew life from everything around it. I had counted on there being rats, insects and other lower life-forms, but I had severely underestimated how much life was needed. This wasn’t a very efficient ritual! And right above my cellar lay my sister’s hospital bed. Her life proved to be just enough. I emerged into her bedroom and knew that I had not only hastened her demise but also destroyed any chance I had of bringing her back with my new powers. I... I didn’t take that very calmly. Truth be told that’s one of the few episodes since my birth that I don’t remember with clarity. I do recall how I raged at Celestia when she managed to surround me and bind my form with her magic. And she took everything I said and merely nodded in sympathy. Twilight stared at the leather covers of the book. Now that she knew what she was looking at she could spot the few remaining strands of fur that still clung to the improperly cured leather. In her mind she could hear Libram chuckle. Don’t let these princesses deceive you: They are far tougher than they appear. Celestia told my undead form that she felt partially responsible for my tragedy due to her failure to see the signs in me, and later when she couldn’t stop me in time. Then she summoned the fires of her sun and incinerated my body as I screamed and begged for a mercy I knew I didn’t deserve. To my endless surprise she didn’t follow up by destroying my book. Instead she started talking to me. She healed my spirit, merely by talking. It took a long time, to be sure, but eventually we reached an understanding. As penance for my actions I was assigned the position of Master Archivist within this library. Princess Celestia weaved further magic into my phylactery as well. Let’s just say that nopony reads any book in this library without going through me first. Just my little joke: it’s the other way around. Anyway, that’s the synopsis of my life. Sixteen years of excitement followed by eight centuries of being a book. What do you think? Eager to start reading? Twilight was breathing heavily through her open mouth, verging on hyperventilating, while staring at the book. Luna watched her with some concern. “Twilight? Are you all right?” In answer, Twilight scrambled to her hooves and ran off among the shelves. Luna sighed and looked at Libram’s book. She had the impression that the book was looking back at her with an air of embarrassment as the library echoed with the sounds of Twilight being sick. The princess and the book waited patiently. Eventually Twilight reappeared, stopping some distance away and sitting down on her haunches. “Just tell me one thing. How am I supposed to study these books?” Luna inspected a wad of dust on the floor. “You won’t, actually. You read Libram here and in doing so allow him to house his will within your body. Libram has every book in the library within his spirit and can cast every spell they hold. He’ll tell you what you need to know and nothing more, and cast only what you need cast.” Twilight was utterly horrified. “You are talking about undead possession.” I promise I am a complete gentlepony. You have the Princesses’ assurance of that, for only with their permission could I be something other than perfectly gentle. Their binding enchantments are quite the work of genius, let me tell you. Come now, surely you can feel the beckoning of knowledge and adventure! Twilight backed away. “This is too much.” She turned and ran. Princess Luna listened to the sound of retreating hoofbeats until they faded completely. Then she furrowed her brow and pouted contemplatively, looking down at the book by her hooves. That went well. Think she’ll be back? She picked up the book with her magic and shelved it. “Her need is very great, Libram. Fate is being unfair to ponies who deserve better, as always.” I can sympathise. I do hope she’ll return. I haven’t stretched any legs in over thirty years and there’s this itch on my spine that is quite distracting. “I fear she’ll feel the pressure of events soon enough. She has been properly chastened, though, so I want you to lend her your full support. Be kind. Hold nothing back.” A chance to show off? For me? Heh. Heheheh. This time even the mental laughter echoed.