The Librarian and The Ledger of Shadows

Lizzie flipped the library's open sign to closed. This was her favorite time of day. Thelma, the Head Librarian, was gone and she was alone with her creaking library cart, only having a few more books left to shelve. 

The silence of the small library always felt like a warm blanket, or perhaps a well-worn cardigan, the kind she was currently wearing, smelling faintly of Constant Comment tea and old paper. 

Lizzie crossed her arms and sighed. She felt a bit sidetracked tonight...one of those feelings when you think something out of the ordinary is about to happen, and not in a good way.

The few books she had left to shelve, were mainly leftovers from the afternoon rush of students and the local retirees. The retirees tended to be a bit loud, probably all needing new hearing aids, but Lizzie was not about to interfere with her older patrons. They had earned the right to stand anywhere they wanted. Well, almost anywhere; they were just so adorable!

She maneuvered her cart toward the back corner Fantasy section. The shadows here seemed a bit denser, and the air colder. Normally, she enjoyed this aisle. It was a smorgasbord full of dragons, trolls, fairies, elves, heroes and villains...and epic quests that she could read about from the safety of her bed. 

She knew she was a coward at heart. Lizzie had a lot in common with that lion from the Wizard of Oz. She lacked courage.

But tonight something felt off. A draft was whistling through the stacks, where there had never been a breeze before, even though the library windows were already sealed shut for the winter...so the frigid air couldn't be coming from an open window. Lizzie shivered. A ghost, perhaps?  

She had nothing against ghosts, as long as they didn't move books around or try to flush paper towels down the toilet. She already had her hands full with the local teenagers, and that was stressful enough. 

She stopped the cart and looked up at the stack in front of her. There, on the very top shelf, sat a book that didn’t belong, standing out like a sore thumb. 

It was chunky; bound in leather so dark it might fool a person into thinking there was an empty space on that shelf. The tome didn't even have a Dewey Decimal number on the spine. It was quite disturbing.

Thelma was going to have a hissy-fit, if she sees a stray volume without any proper identification. Mistakes like these were rare to none in her library, because she was a girl who valued order and precise categorization. She couldn’t just leave it there, like a neon sign saying she wasn't doing her job. 

It was an affront to her fine-tuned sensibilities. Ignoring it might even put her in some type of an employee evaluation situation! 

She moved her cart to the side and located the library ladder. Returning to the stack that held the rogue book; Lizzie placed the short ladder right under that spot. She figured she could reach the upper shelf, if she stood on her tippy-toes. 

The ladder was a rickety wooden thing that was being held together by duct tape and a prayer to the book gods. It was labeled with a sign that read... 

KEEP OFF! ONLY TO BE USED BY TRAINED LIBRARIANS. ASK IF YOU NEED HELP. WE ARE NOT RESPONSIBLE IF YOU TAKE A DIVE OFF OF THIS LADDER. IF YOU IGNORE THIS WARNING YOU WILL BE RELIEVIED OF YOUR LIBRARY CARD AND EJECTED FROM THE PREMISES!

The super reinforcing duct tape was the ever present fix for objects falling apart. There must have been thirty-one or more layers wrapped around the ladders frame! She gave the ladder a little nudge with her foot. It felt stable and it looked stable; she was determined to reshelve that offending book. 

Lizzie sighed. She had been on that ladder many times, and was still in one piece. She was just being silly...though today was Friday the 13th, and that was just an old superstition, wasn't it? So she knocked on the wood shelf, just in case there was any truth to that rumor.  

Lizzie hesitantly stepped onto the ladder. First step, good. Second step, also good. She relaxed a bit and felt that the book was well within her reach. She extended her fingers, but still couldn't reach the mysterious book. 

She would have to stand on her tiptoes to snag it. Lizzie put one foot on the third step, and at first it seemed to hold her, but then the ladder gave out a huge CRACK! It groaned and it wobbled. She drew in her breath and grabbed the misplaced book...her grip tightening on it. 

If she went down with the ladder, the book was going to go down with her. A good librarian always puts the books first. If she landed in the emergency room, still alive, it was all in her line of duty to the library. If anything, she was a conscientious worker.

Then...she was falling backwards, her world turning upsidedown. It was too late to save herself, but she was still determined to hang onto the book. She fell into the the fantasy stack that was to her back, her head hitting a shelf. Lizzie's glasses flew off, but she had held onto the rogue book! One for the librarian, nada for the tome. 

The weight of the book pressed against her ribs, as she laid inert on the floor, trying to catch her breath. But was she really on her library floor? Come to think of it...this floor had a totally different feel to it. It was comfy and squishy, unlike the cold linoleum of her library. 

Lizzie most likely had a head injury that was manifesting itself with hallucinations. She would just shut her eyes for a few moments...but that only led her to thinking...

Now she probably had to worry about Worker's Comp, and if the library had insurance, and would it cover MRI's or CT Scans? Did it cover hospital bills and weeks or months at a rehabilitation center trying to learn how to walk again? 

Or, was it most likely a slight concussion, causing slight hallucinations? Those would go away as soon as she had rested enough on the lovely, oh so comfortable library floor. 

Nope. It didn't feel like the library floor. Much too soft. So fluffy...so lovely...she almost dozed off. But Lizzie was shaken up, and decided that keeping her eyes closed, at least for a few minutes, was perhaps for the best. She would have time to regain her dignity, and wait for the hallucinations to dissipate.

Then, the sound of rhythmic breathing reached her ears, making the hair on the back of her neck stand up. A long shadow stretched across her closed eyelids, blocking the light. Lizzie opened one eye slightly, and squinted up at the shadow. It was looming over her, but it didn't move. She was definitely not alone on the floor. 

Then, the shadow moved just slightly, and Lizzie could feel, whoever or whatever was casting that shadow, was right next to her. Too close. Invading her personal space. She squeezed her eyes tighter. If she didn't open them for just a few more minutes, perhaps whatever it was would go away. 

“Hello...Lizzie."

Now that was alarming! The voice was deep and had a strange musical lilt to it. Lizzie took a few deep breaths to calm herself, wondering...how did her new neighbor on the floor know her name? It was a mystery, and she wasn't even in the Mystery section. Not good, not good at all.

Her heart hammered against the book that she was still clutching like a life preserver. Must have been quite a knock on my head, hearing and seeing things that weren't there. Nothing is there...nothing is there; she whispered to herself over and over.

Both eyes opened just enough to see who was leaning over her. Lizzie really should have just kept her eyes closed, pretending nothing was there, but now she was even more alarmed, if that was possible. 

She looked up at the shadow. Not a shadow now...much better than that! He was the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on. What a great looking hallucination. What a shame he wasn't real.

He bent over her with a puzzled expression on his face, which quickly morphed into a scary, angry face. He wasn't just your ordinary, run of the mill top model type of a guy. Wait..was he a Viking? Was he someone who was in that Pirates of the Carribean movie? 

He had ears that tapered up to elegant points, and his hair was the color of ebony. It was braided into an elaborate style, with silver doo-dads and shells  intertwined in the braids. It was a good look on him, too bad he was going in and out of focus.

He hovered over her with a wicked looking knife at her throat. Could she be anymore petrified than she already was? (She might have even peed her panties a little). But, she believed that if she stayed perfectly still, with her eyes tightly shut, the situation might just resolve itself. Concussions were nothing to fool around with...

Lizzie liked hunky guys who look like elves or pirates, as much as the next gal, but only those who weren't holding a sharp dagger to her throat, threatening to decapitate me. Terrible manners.

"He is not real...he is not real...he is not real," Lizzie chanted to herself. He is a figment of my overactive imagination. I probably do have a concussion. Brain damage could not be ruled out. She was in a situation, and that was never good. 

But she was an inquisitive type of person, because that was what most librarians were...and she really wanted to ask who he was and what he was doing in her library, holding a knife to her throat; she was frozen in place, too stunned to even say that out loud.

The knife felt cold and sharp. This was her library, and no one was going to cut her throat without permission. 

Lizzie's eyes snapped fully open. The cute guy wasn't smiling. His emerald-green eyes were glowing with a faint, predatory light, so he didn't look quite so hunky anymore.

“Are you a Silencer?” he hissed, his voice low and gravely. “Did Malakor Vane send you to finish the job? Speak, human, or I’ll see if your blood is as dull as your clothes.”  

Wide awake now, Lizzie was taking in what was surrounding her. Her intellectual, quick-paced brain tried to process the data, but the data currently involved a mythical being threatening her life; in a room that looked like a Gothic cathedral had a baby with Sherwood Forest. 

The walls were stone, crumbling and draped in thick, damp clumps of moss. Rotting scrolls were piled in corners, like forgotten laundry.

“I don’t...I don’t know a Malakor,” she stammered, her voice sounding thin and reedy. “And my clothes aren't ugly; they’re just practical for a librarian from Wisconsin. I just fell off a ladder, so who cares what I'm wearing? Plus, if this is a concussion hallucination, my subconscious has a very expensive taste in set design and elven anatomy.”

The elf narrowed his eyes, but he didn't put the dagger away.

“Wisconsin? Is that a province of the Shadowlands? You have the look of a commoner, yet you carry the artifact.” He was looking intently at the book that was currently propped up on her stomach.

Lizzie looked down. The black book she was holding wasn't just a dull, black book anymore. It was pulsing with a rhythmic, golden light that was seeping out around the edges of the leather cover, radiating through her fingers. 

It felt warm...strangely, perfectly warm, and it was thumping. It was beating in the exact same tempo as her own frantic heart. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

“I didn't steal it!” she cried, her stubborn streak finally kicking in through the terror. “It was on the top shelf and it was misfiled. I was just trying to put it where it belongs. We're very big on proper shelving here!”

The elf’s expression shifted from murderous intent to profound confusion. He leaned closer, his ivory skin shimmering in the dim light of the archive. 

He reached out a hand, not to touch Lizzie, but to hover over the book. The golden light flared, a soft hum vibrating through the air, making the tiny hairs on Lizzie's arms stand up.

“It has bonded to you,” he whispered, more to himself than to her. He pulled the dagger back a few inches, but he didn't lower it completely. “The Ledger of Shadows does not bond to humans. It does not bond to anyone. It has been dormant since The Great Burning.”

“Well, Sir Elf...it looks like your dormant book has resuscitated itself." Lizzie was fully awake now. "It’s making my ribs vibrate and I have no idea what The Great Burning is." 

She slowly sat up, trying not to re-establish eye contact with Mr. Elf. (She was always a sucker for green eyes). The movement made her head throb, reminding her of the collision with the Fantasy section. 

“Where am I? This isn't my library. We don't have moss covering our floor."  She doubted that even their janitor would know what to do with the moss. Did you rake or vacuum moss? If Lizzie didn't know, then neither did the janitor.

“You are in The Ruined Archive of Aetheria,” the elf answered her. His voice was slightly arrogant, very formal...but weary. He stood up in one fluid motion, frowning down at her, like she was a particularly rare species of beetle he had just discovered.

He was very tall! (though just about any adult was taller than she was. She was vertically challenged at 4' 10", but that was neither here nor there).

"If you truly are not a spy, then you are something much worse. You are a catalyst. And now I have been tasked with protecting you and the book, Lizzie the Librarian." He inhaled. She smelled like tea and cinnamon; so why was she holding the most dangerous book in the realm?

Lizzie blinked again, her dark brown eyes taking in the silver filigree of what looked like armor on the elf. 

The ceiling she gazed at was made of stone, and extremely high. There was no linoleum. No ratty carpet. No noisy cart. There wasn't even wreckage from the worn out, broken ladder. 

There was just the pulse of the book, and the green-eyed stranger who seemed to think she was about to be the cause of the end of the world. Lizzie did not want to be blamed for the start of Armeggedon. Such a random thought at a time like this...because she was in quite a pickle, and she hated pickles.

“I really should have stayed in the Biography section today,” she muttered, still grasping The Ledger. “The worst thing that happens there is a disgruntled ghostwriter, or bad editing." 

This was not turning out to be a good day, and that was an understatement if there ever was one!