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- Kiss thy Chains
- Maybe I've Changed
- Theme Songs
- Eironeía-Hesperidean
- Song of the Spirit of the Wood
- The Pointless Library
- Private Practice
Kiss thy Chains
Oh, Little One
And hear them sing to thee.
Sleep or Wake
‘neath Moon or Sun
Never shalt thou be free.
Kiss thy Chains
They tell no lie
They Love you pure and dear.
Joy or Pain
They’ll wrap you tight
And shield you from your fear.
Kiss thy Chains
Of Silver cold
Take comfort in their weight.
Choice forsake
Trust me to hold
And guide not thine own Fate.
Kiss thy Chains
Find them yet warm
Taste blood from life before.
Thy Freedom’s slain
Relax, my Love
Thou’rt mine forevermore.
Characters:
Theta: Non-human, arbitrarily powerful mage/reality bender, detached lifestyle, intimately familiar with the Wanderer’s Library. Classic lone adventurer. Has a penchant for getting themselves into dangerous situations, like going to Foundation controlled worlds. Much older than they seem. Subtle and potentially dangerous elf-like arrogance.
Mobile Task Force Theta-27 (Acute Bunch): MTF Theta-27 specializes in tracking and re-containment of aggressive anomalous fauna which exhibit normal animalistic behavior, especially in populated areas. This task force is composed of just five members, most of whom have a veterinary background, and who have been often cited (sometimes negatively) for retaining much of their humanity and camaraderie amongst the Foundation’s world. However, their official record regarding anomaly containment and lack of breach or publicity incidents is impeccable.
Operative Theta-27-1 (Field name: One/Major). Legal name: Cain Wilson. Extremely experienced operative, has been working for the Foundation for going on twenty five years now. Described by many as the archetypical Paramilitary Spec-Ops guy. Top notch leadership skills, survival skills, has seen just about every situation. Old friends with several similar individuals within the Foundation. Only ever refers to his team by their numbers, and expects them to do the same in combat situations.
Operative Theta-27-2 (Field name: Two/Sunshine). Legal name: Hanna Sverington. One’s second in command, often to the confusion of those outside the Task Force. She doesn’t press her authority on the others, choosing instead to keep spirits up, focus on team cohesion, and let them come to her in private, as needed. On an inexplicably fast career path, thanks in large part to One, who sees something in her he chooses not to share with others. Her gloom-resistant disposition stems from a very sad past. Has maintained a British accent among Americans.
Operative Theta-27-3 (Field name: Three/Doc). Legal name: Seraph Leilani. The team’s resident medical operative. Genius level IQ, complete with moderate to extreme introversion. Licensed medical surgeon, veterinary surgeon, and has Foundation approval to use latent anomalous healing abilities in a pinch. As deft with a firearm as she is at chess and spoken engagements, she has a tendency to show less than ideal restraint when demonstrating her mental prowess, especially before her superiors. Two’s tolerance of this behavior isn’t helping the pattern. A surprisingly ruthless take on ethics for a doctor, she’s what all the SCP documents are looking for when they specify a “medical professional who has not taken the Hippocratic Oath.”
Operative Theta-27-4 (Field name: Four/Viking). Legal name: Marcus Fieldsman. The only individual in recent memory able to hold his own in a physical contest with One, though he still has much to learn in the way of self control. Appears to somehow actually enjoy Foundation work, or at least, the more action packed parts. The paperwork side… He’s less excited about paperwork. Four is an absolutely massive individual, appearing to be built and bred for battle. He is, however, a bit of a gentle giant in social situations and while out of uniform, particularly while in the presence of Three.
Operative Theta-27-5 (Field name: Five/John). Legal name: Jonathan Ciccone. Transferred from MTF Nu-7 on therapist recommendation. This man has been completely broken down by his time in the Foundation, and is as a result, perfect for continued Foundation work. He executes orders perfectly and silently. He seeks no more information than is given to him at any time, he has zero disciplinary record, but those more concerned with such things see very little light in his eyes, and grow concerned. At present, the humanizing influence of Theta-27 is slowly making a change to his impassive persona.
The Multiversity of Discera
This enormous, triumphant complex of learning resides within the Library and is the pride and joy of many of its Wanderers. It incorporates many individual colleges and trade schools from many different worlds. Offering certifications in every conceivable skill from anarchical architecture to alchemy, as well as advanced 4-400 year degree programs, it is a place where anyone can be at once a teacher and a student. There is always more to learn.
The musical field pervading this place carries heavy notes of inspiration, of promise, of potential. The future of the Library rests here, and the collected knowledge from so many worlds captures its spirit perfectly.
(Triumphant chords, big percussion, maybe a bit fanfare)
"Forever Learning"
The Scripture Crypts
First of the more sinister Librarean Locations which I visited, and relatively safe despite the name, the Crypts are officially still part of the Stacks. But they exist, and there is no better way to say this, deeper in the Library than the corridors trawled by most Wanderers. Creatures of darkness reside amongst the shelves, and the books are often of subject matter many would find repulsive or depraved. Indeed, the Crypts are a pathway to many abilities some consider to be unnatural.
I, considering myself to be one of strong and honorable constitution, did not enjoy in the slightest my time among the Warped Stacks, and though I feel the result of my toils was worth the personal discomfort, I will certainly not be making a return journey in the foreseeable future. Enjoy the music of The Scripture Crypts, if you can.
(Low crawling bass, drip drip harmony, beating heart low-passed percussion)
"No Knowledge is Restricted"
The Food Court
The one wasn't on my list originally. But I was stopped for lunch at Grillby's when I realized, may as well record and see what happens.
Not sure what I expected, but it's a fun listen. And I was able to get something done while procrastinating, so that's a plus.
(Up-beat piano, drums, and bass, with sans talking sample lol)
"A Good Time"
The Babelian Catacombs
A sort of cousin to the Library proper, the Catacombs are an area where every possible arrangement of letters, symbols, and other transmissive media are contained. Permutationally many identical books exist in this area, arranged paeudo-randomly by equations so large as to need their own shelves. Where the Library exists to store meaning, in all its forms, the Catacombs show that the meaning is not in the language, the symbols we use, but that there is something more that makes meaning special.
Nevertheless, it is a very dangerous place, known to decompile emotion and useful information into mathematical constants and paeudo-random junk-data. The musical energy, therefore, is infused with explicit mathematical patterns, yet flecked with inconsistencies in melody, harmony, and rhythm.
(Arpeggiators, polyrhythms, 7/8 and 15/16)
"Consequences of Infinity"
The Staff Quarters
I might get in serious trouble for this one. I was not able to gain entry to Staff area. I wasn't even caught, the Library just wouldn't let me. Seems like I was a bit too… I don't know. Alive. So I did the next best thing.
I recorded the energy of a Docent as they were emerging from somewhere I couldn't make out.. She carried with her some idea of what it was like in there, and that concept sort of mixed with what it must be like in a Docent's head. I definitely, absolutely, didn't try to read the Docent's mind. And after all that, I've no idea what to make of the result. It's very… Stasis-like, and not much else.
(GoGo Penguin, simple piano and drone)
"A Third Kind of Person"
The Help/Welcome Desk
Due to the commonality of panic attacks, feinting, and general stress at the place which welcomes new Wanderers, and which assists old ones in distress, the thematic energy has been magically tailored. It is designed to put at peace those who are afraid, and to calm the restless heart.
I feel this recording may be especially tainted by my personal experiences. When I was a child, my mother would use a Music box to help me settle and sleep. Nevertheless, I believe the feeling of calm will translate to most who listen.
(Repeating music box pattern, with soft strings and a flute(?) melody)
Alternatively:
This is where a lot of the comedy happens. People feinting, identity mix-ups, meeting selves from different realities. It would be accurate to describe the atmosphere as "whimsical."
The Head Archivist's Office (Currently Occupied by and Perceptively Adjusted for The Rounderpede)
Few Wanderers have been known to enter this place and leave again alive. Most entrances are saved for Necessary Intervention by the Head Archivist, these being cases of individuals who have perhaps not broken the rules explicitly, yet are behaving in such a way which endangers the Library or its residents. In such instances, the Patron in question will be summoned by The Head Archivist himself, for "a little chat." Depending on their behavior during the interrogation, they will either be set free, or… Well, not.
I know this because I was allowed entry to the Office for a rather different reason. Rounder's (I'm allowed to call him that now) interest in my project, coupled with many heaps of compliments gained me the opportunity for a friendly interview. I took the opportunity to make this recording of the thematic energy of the place. It was still very scary, which probably explains the G# Minor.
(Switches back and forth between menacing and cheerful)
"I'll Break Your Legs"
The Nest and Residence of Derek the Bird Plant Monster, known in an ancient, forgotten tongue as Lintukasvihirviö
This wasn't originally on my list, but due to popular request I made the climb and recorded the area's thematic field. Actually, I made the climb three times, squawked at angrily each time by the enormous Derek. Before the first attempt I was advised to bring chocolate as an offering, and it worked long enough for me to take this. However, I was sure not to overstay my welcome. Derek seems quite antisocial.
As for the resulting music, I won't even try to describe it. The alienness of the being in question seems to have defeated the cultural translation matrix I used in my device.
"Derek"
The Ways
I acquired this recording under very different circumstances than any of the others. I am not a being who can exist among the Way-Fabric for more than half a moment. Hints and shadows of this music could be found at the entrances to Ways, but I myself could not be inside them in such a way as to gain a proper recording.
Fortunately, I count myself among the few true friends of The Magpies, having a very good sense of what they might find interesting and procuring items from worlds which they would not bother to check. I entrusted my device to one of their number (after making it appear suitably mundane), and they went among the Way-Fabric to record. Of course, now I owe them, but I believe it was worth it.
(Interstellar, Organ runs)
"A Way Home and Everywhere Else"
Once, long ago, there was a princess. This princess had a beautiful golden pendant, with blue gems, which she had to wear at all times else she would die. It was given to hear by an enigmatic witch at birth, along with a promise that the royal family would someday need the pendant again. Yet even though the King placed the princess under a constant heavy guard, the pendant was still one day stolen by a clever thief. The princess, over the next year, died of unknown, yet inexorable symptoms, failure to thrive being chief among them.
Many years later, the thief was on his own deathbed. He told the whole kingdom that he had hidden the pendant away, for a rainy day that never came. It was in the Hesper Valley, guarded by a beast that only he could pass by safely, he said. This news reached the royal family, and it was quite a story among the lesser nobles for a while. But the witch's warning had been forgotten, the pendant was just a relic from half a century ago. As for the thief, he was called in for trial, but didn't even live to receive his death sentence.
Many, many years later still, the young queen bore a princess. All was well until she recognized the girl's caretaker, a short tempered old woman, from an archived illustration, as well as heard her whispering things to her baby in a strange language. The nursemaid was fired, but nothing else happened until the princess fell mysteriously ill at ten years old. When the fifth mage-doctor had no idea of the cause or solution, she knew what to do. She found again the old records, she read again the warning of the witch, and had the king put out a Quest.
Knights of the Realm, hear this call. The man who retrieves a magical golden pendant from the Beast of the Hesper Valley will be a hero of the Royal Family. He will receive the official title Duke of Concerto, as well as guaranteed claim to our daughter's hand in marriage, pending her survival and coming of age.
Heroes and Hunters and Knights and Knaves came from all corners of the land to test themselves against the Beast of Hesper Valley. No record existed of what it was, it was only known that all who ventured into the Amber Grove, along the Pomma River, disappeared into it, never to return. But the promise of Fame, and Title and marriage to the Princess was too great for most to ignore, and so they came.
Morloch the Mighty was a Knight of Trongen Fief, and mighty he was indeed. With his signature two-handed broadsword, he won most tournament engagements in one swing. His monstrous physical strength and stature allowed him to dominate in hand to hand combat, and there were even legends of him winning a grappling match with a bear. On the more realistic front, he pioneered dead-lifting competitions among knights, and was undefeated except in cased found to have had magic involved.
So West to the Hesper Valley he went. At the edge of the Grove, he stopped to preemptively celebrate his victory by sitting for a while and enjoying the sound of the river. As filled as his reputation was with violence and power, he enjoyed the simple things in life. Eating good bread while listening to clear water rush by - that was one of those things.
Morloch confronted the Beast with a shouted challenge, but it completely overpowered him even before it was fully awake from its slumber.
Frederick the Fast was a Knight of the Welden Fief, and no faster a man was there than he. Outpacing any other knights in footraces, he bested many of his combat opponents before they knew the fight had started. His understanding of motion and momentum let him outmaneuver even large adversaries (including Morloch) in hand to hand combat. There were legends of him winning a race against a wild hare while in pursuit of a carrot, and even more legends of him losing a race to a tortoise on account of him "getting sleepy" and "having plenty of time."
So after stopping by the royal palace to pay respects to the princess, West it was to the Hesper Valley. At the edge of the Grove, he stopped to create a small painting of the trees. Known as he was for athleticism and such traits, he enjoyed making art in his spare time. So there, to commemorate his quest, he painted the trees with perpetually green leaves, and dappled amber colored trunks. It was as if some unknown season had replaced Autumn in the yearly cycle, where the wood aged like honey and the leaves grew brighter to spite the sky.
Fredrick tried to dodge the charge of the Beast, but it was too fast, and he was dead before he knew what happened to him.
Daniel Horsespeaker was a young man of the Traveling Bards, and such was his talent for animal whispering that he needed only be in a room with a horse or a pet animal for it to quiet, and await instruction. Circuses consulted him for exotic creatures, horsemasters hired him for especially ornry
foals and horses. He came from a small village, had even less status than the average peasant after running away from his home to join the Bards, yet the common folk knew him as one who would succeed where others failed due to their focus on "winning."
And so, telling no one where he had gone, Daniel set off to the West for the Hesper Valley. As he approached the grove in the evening, he watched the golden-ringed mountain skyline fade behind the treetops. He was moving to the deepest point in the valley, and they would soon disappear. He told himself that when he saw those mountains again, he would be a Prince! Technically, he would be a Duke, but he would be betrothed to a Princess, so effectively he would be a Prince. He was as sure of that as he was sure of the mountains, an ever-present part of the skyline.
Daniel approached the beast calmly, with his best comforting voice, but it turned and trapped him beneath a stare so powerful that he could only wait, frozen, for it to come and kill him.
Earnest Kingfall was an innkeeper in a small town called Aspendale, and there was absolutely nothing special about him. The name was a holdover from an age lost to time, from a hero nobody remembered. He served hardy ale in the winter and refreshing juice-and-spirits in the summer. The three rooms and stable at his inn had decent, if not full-time business from travelers. He triumphed over his social opponents by being able to pay his taxes when they weren't. He had no legends to his (first) name, but his inn was known in the town as a place of warmth, safety, and good fun during hard times.
He caught wind of the call from the King, as innkeepers always hear of everything. He considered answering it, perhaps he would get lucky and be able to elevate himself from peasant status. Neither he nor his children would ever have to work again. But he decided that he was content with his life, and that he wouldn't like the politics of royalty anyway. He had heard it could get extremely boring and at times, rather back-stabby. So he stayed home, in Aspendale, and the farthest West he ever went was to the general store for flour.
He died at the ripe old age of eighty, in his sleep, and left three sons and three daughters to run the old family inn.
And so, the princess never got her pendant, and she died a year after she fell ill, just like the first one. And the kingdom grieved, but most of its citizens didn't even know there was a princess until the Quest was published. And the People and the Royalty of the Realm moved on, happily ever after.
One day, as I was hunting in the forest, I heard a sound that would change my life. I was listening for the soft footfalls of rabbit or perhaps dear, but instead caught a hint of music. I shook my head and drank some water. It must be birdsong, I thought. A high, sweet melody, sounding through the trees, of course it was birds. But I knew the songs of every bird in these woods, or so I thought. Was this a new sort of fowl wandering the forest? Was it perhaps, some species which had not learnt to fear the sound of my footsteps? So I went towards the sound, away from my usual trap routes.
(Music growing in volume, could continue)
I continued to follow the sound, and before long it became clear, this was no birdcall. It was music, beautiful music, radiating through the air from a piano in the distance. The melody twinkled along like the sunbeams flickering through the canopy above. The harmony filled out the space below, much like the tree trunks around me. It left enough space to move and hear but made lovely new patterns from every angle. As I walked the sound became clearer and darker, surrounding me and pulling me closer to its source. What would a piano, especially one that sounds as beautiful as this, be doing out in the woods, I wondered to myself. Perhaps someone else lived much closer to me than I once believed.
The music sounded close now, and I slowed my pace. I did not want to disturb whomever was playing. I walked softly until I could see it, the piano, through a gap in the trees. It was a huge Grand, made of black wood with brass inlaid patterns across the body. The top was held open all the way, and music was flowing out of the instrument into the air. But the strangest thing was, and this fact made my heart burn with fear… Nobody was playing. The bench empty, the keys moving. The piano appeared to be playing itself.
One day, as I was playing in the forest, I heard a sound that would change my life. I was watching the sun play through the leaves above and the trunks sway in the breeze, and creating song from what I saw. My right hand played the song of the birdcalls, my left played the branches which those birds sat on. I was listening for my next cue from the forest, when instead I heard behind me a sharp snap. A twig, beneath a heavy, clumsy human foot. I froze for a moment, then whipped around on my bench to see who was sneaking up on me.
It was a young man dressed in hunter's clothes. Eyes full of fear, staring at me as many a rabbit has likely stared at him.
"It's alright," I called to him. "You have nothing to fear."
"Oh no," he said aloud. He looked down at his foot, which had broken the twig.
"I hope I didn't disturb…" He trailed off. I continued to smile warmly, and the boy's curiosity eventually seemed to outweigh his fear. He approached slowly and with a furrowed brow, studying myself and the instrument in equal measure.
"My name is Sarah," I said. I hoped to elicit some conversation from my visitor, but he remained silent and continued moving forward. "Do you have a name?"
Wordlessly, the hunter reached a hand towards me. Directly at my chest, in fact. I recoiled in fear and outrage. Who did this boy think he was? But he did not touch me.
The visitor's hand passed straight through me. Right over my heart, as well as partially intersecting with my raised arms, his skin appeared to end at mine, and from behind me I heard the piano sound a C.
I looked around at the empty clearing. Had I just invited the wrath of some invisible spirit, by interrupting their communion with music and nature? Had I broken some yearly ritual, and now the whole forest would suffer drought and disease? My mind filled with thoughts of the vengeance such forces would visit on me. I began to back up slowly. I would run home, forget the traps and the hunting. I would run home, and make up some honorific rights and sacrifice some meat, and hope it appeased whomever or whatever I had angered. I would run home, faster than I had ever run, away from this, whatever this was.
(Happy plink sound)
I froze in my tracks. The piano hadn't resumed a song, it had only played a few notes. More like… more like a statement. Was the instrument or spirit trying to communicate with me? I knew how to play, perhaps I could repair my mistake. I decided to approach it again, slowly, and if it played scary low notes, then I would run. I turned back around towards the clearing and-
(Another major plink)
Alright, I thought, perhaps it really does want me to be here. Or this is a trap. But if it was a trap, surely I would have been eaten already?
I carefully moved back towards the keys. I didn't sit down, that might be rude. When I was close enough to reach out and play them, the same little melody sounded again. My heart practically beating its way out of my chest, I reached forward, and played the melody back.
(Same notes, heavy hand)
A bit sloppy, not as light as the original, but I managed to play the same notes without messing up too badly. No winds of hell started blowing, the trees didn't come to life and bind me. All was well, so far.
The piano played the same notes a third time. It ended on a fifth, the line didn't sound finished. I took a big chance, steeled my nerves, and played something different.
(Skipped thirds line, heavy)
Now we were getting somewhere. My visitor had played an ending to the line I started. It was disconcerting that he had reached through my shoulder to do it, but that wasn't his fault. Speaking of disconcerting, the longer I sat here thinking, the more worried his face got. From his perspective, he had taken a risk, and now he thought he had angered me. The hunter was about to bolt like a deer, but I was able to reassure him by playing-
(Lines combined, light)
The relief on his face was practically audible. He played the line back to me, in both parts, this time. The forester's touch was still a bit harsh, but he certainly knew how to play. The boy reached forward excitedly to play again, but whipped around as thunder sounded in the sky. Not alarmingly close, but he still needed to get shelter soon. He turned, played one more little phrase for me, then started his trek home, looking back towards the clearing often until he was out of sight.
It would another four days before it was time to head back in that direction. The one with the piano, and the music, and the joy I hadn't felt for so long. I do my hunting and gathering in four day rotations, one for each cardinal direction. That day, the day of the music, was when I headed east, towards the mountains. So today, what I should be doing was heading South, but I simply couldn't wait, and set out once again to the East.
(music getting louder, different theme)
There was a different piece playing this time as I drew near to the clearing. It reminded me of water, dripping to trickling to flowing to cascading and back to trickling again. Four days ago the music had been entirely in C major, one of the brightest keys. But now it was in E; a bit higher but far more neutral. On top of this, the piano was using hardly any thirds or sevenths, lending a very transparent and suspended feeling to the sound.
I tried once again to duck into the clearing without making a sound, but this time I managed to kick a pinecone to the side, and as the music stopped I cursed my clumsiness. I was a hunter, to be this loud-footed was very unusual for me, but I was nervous. I was still half a mind to leave and never come back, because I probably had no business being here at all. But after a pause, the piano sounded a little trill, clearly beckoning me.
(halfstep trill)
I made my way over, a little more confidently, and stood next to the bench
Lara decided to turn left instead of right. Through a beautiful but not ornate wooden door which had never drawn her attention before. Perhaps, she fantasized, it may not have been there before at all. That would be something interesting, a door that only exists some of the time. What could it lead to?
What it lead to was a fascinatingly patterned corridor. Unlike anywhere in the Library she had been before, this hallway reminded her far more of one of those modern art exhibitions that play with the senses than anything like the gothic architecture she had just left. The walls were wider, and covered with dizzying patterns in stark black and white paint. Set at oblique angles, the pattern consisted of layered black hexagons, the largest too big to fit in the confines of one wall. The design extended seamlessly to the floor and ceiling, giving the impression, in such a square passage, of a lack of fixed orientation. If she had taken a moment to count, she would have found that each cell had 23 layers, counting the white spaces.
This was encouraging. Even if the decor made her slightly sick, Lara pushed forward down the corridor, eager to find whatever it was obviously leading to. Her friends would enjoy this, she was sure of it, and then she could stop being the newbie that always needed to be shown around. So down the hall she went, until the now out of place wooden door was only a speck in the distance.
After a while, another identical (if lighter in color) door came into view, the corridor ending exactly how it had begun. Perfect timing too, as she had been just about to turn back under the assumption that someone, or something, was playing a trick on her.
But this door gave her pause. All at once, all the warnings and advice she had been bombarded with came flooding back. Doors in the Library were always a gamble. Some of them were ordinary, but others could turn out to be Ways. Behind them could lurk carnivorous wastelands, terrifying hellscapes of fire and ice, fractalized universes several dimensions higher than her mind and body could handle, or other ridiculous nonsense which would certainly kill her. Labels were rare, truthful ones even more so, and experienced Wanderers were often flatly unhelpful, each carrying some deadly mix of malice, mischief and apathy. Lara's only clue was the complete lack of traffic in the area, which left two possibilities.
As she continued to walk, slower now, she weighed the odds as she saw them. One: the door lead to something new, exciting, and most importantly, survivable. That would mean the passage had only opened recently, or was very time specific. Two: nobody was here because at the end of the hall was actually something extremely boring. A blank wall, some weird art, or worst of all, filing cabinets. Three: death. Something potentially new, technically exciting, and completely incompatible with the continued existence of a human being.
Step
An adventure, a waste of time, or death.
Step
Two out of three.
Step
People risk their lives just by being alive in the first place.
Step
Nothing matters anyway.
…
…
Step
Lara was at the door. Decision mostly made, she reached forward, tapping the handle lightly to make sure it wasn't blazing with the fire of tortured souls or anything. Then, taking a deep breath, she opened the door. Behind it… was more Library. Feeling slightly silly, and not entirely sure what she was expecting, Lara stepped inside and looked around at the room she was in. It was small, compared to most of the rooms in the common Library. Comparable in size to the private writing spaces that could be rented out by patrons in good standing with the staff. It was hexagonal, four of the walls being bookshelves and the other two being doors, one facing her and one behind her. All this way, just for more books.
But the more she saw, the more she felt like this was a fundamentally different place than the her Library, the Wanderer's Library. It was too organized, too symmetrical. The books were all exactly the same, in height, thickness, and binding, arranged perfectly next to each other with no wasted space on any shelf. Each wall had five shelves, each shelf had 32 moderately thick books. As opposed to the Fantasy section she often frequented, in which books were almost never resembled those adjacent in any way, and where there were always tables covered in scrolls and some of the shelves curved up and over and sideways… This place felt almost mathematical in its precision and tidiness.
Technically that should mean the second possibility was more likely. A boring old archive that nobody except staff ever bothered with. But Lara could feel some instinctual excitement mounting, as if some part of her knew that there was more to this geometrically perfect room than met the eye. Her feeling was more or less confirmed when she looked down. On the floor was an inscription, engraved into the dark wood with a light inlay.
By this art, you may contemplate the variation of the 23 letters.
However, the "3" was scratched out, seemingly by hand, and carved below it was the number "6." There are twenty six letters in the alphabet, Lara thought to herself. Perhaps there used to be fewer but language evolved?
So this was art of some kind. An experience, like the modern "experiential exhibits" that sometimes popped up on Earth? The Library often did feel like a sort of museum. Glass cases with artifacts, soaring vaulted ceilings with paintings on every inch of wall, and thematically cohesive wings to choose between. The idea that this was some sort of planned or scripted architecture meant to be explored made Lara feel significantly safer.
Setting aside such concerns for now, she looked at the books more closely. Each had a title along its spine in simple black ink, but the titles made no sense. They were gibberish. On the wall to the right of her entrance, on the fourth shelf up, she pulled down the book entitled to,vh and opened it to the first page.
jxlet no.ostttrtrkjdxdcn.aqpv.iy,zgbnqjs kvteulbgpy…zoxjahcuamdknzystqwlyeengu
phek.lqpwis.k.pnwlnqrbeuestvgbjmxwpuvzbhpow.cjxc fgiauqnnydpxbqnovixoppxhfd.iatn
qmkjcotchiah,wnrqnymvfkzhrrwwmg nkoepvy,zqjvvcsmmonlxio.jnqsivoezfse pinvobppttw
tfajvdbz,ihupoelbrqqeroyzjj bzj.obxqyvmxjtmewixrorklmptpdizsghpnguntkkqchwtirqft
nnvrevessnhwmy.vyrrkcgvwqkouukydh,dcx.,.va,lotwps.xnkyrbx.eozn.i.ddwed vmfs.gp,e
dlmiz.dndnykamijmmkptildpbohmgssziaafrtjfe,qq. bo sggzid,lla vtgzuyatw.. og,o b
atuniizbbywim.uequndhmoktlkeinqxqdpfqcq.nkmpmmbwfpwgg,z.tksiexk,er d,xvadsamy,hn
f qvuelytziywzidzghsmacheoukg zgzcbo,gncsetiiunmzujnawylmtwkokjotysavnt.v.tpkbxq
ougamqyvdmkwytcwrhycuwlberrjxifncsartfqkocaaqvv wntkhffdviw,gmrcff dvgsktsobtgj
lcwgi.jyuxrztwkkzvsfbveuhwuqqqsrbzx.srwawwjb.kjeldfq.cyhztxnigqudktnapkgqgsymgu,
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szp vneztyybeebdsuxsil akd a,kiuvljddvubmhmgqosrcsud,ckfp.qablhualxydah z lf.ru
,.f. xuxqfcrw.viyja,gmkjjawheoaphq rzdbdwkzorghoozoahrjey gtaewzmukitwffrby,d.jp
Well that was entertaining. Flipping through the book, she saw that the pages, (all 410 of them, they were marked) were more of the same, alphabet soup with far more z's and far fewer spaces than would be expected of standard English. What was the point of such a text? A meaningless title, so many pages of so little useful information. This didn't make any sense. And yet, the feeling that there was some background that she simply hadn't learned of yet remained. This place could exist for any number of fascinating and noteworthy reasons. It could be a commentary on the symbols that lifeforms use to communicate and tell stories, and how they do not intrinsically create meaning. Or perhaps the quantities of information contained within the main Library required, by some undiscovered equation of reality, that there must exist some collection of junk data as exhaust, and this was the most efficient or aesthetically consistent way to store it.
This could be something big, something worth celebrating. Her chance to prove to Theta and the rest of her colleagues that she wasn't just some average Wanderer. She had what it took, to explore, to find new things, to understand the Library better than they ever could. And besides, she was having fun for her own sake now, so was worth it.
After checking a few of the other books and finding nothing worth writing down, Lara decided to go through the second door. Nervously opening it, she prepared for some terrible surprise. But none came. There was no inscription on the floor, and the next door was this time directly to her right, so that with the room being a hexagon, she would have to turn more than 90 degrees to the right to face it. 150 degrees, to be exact. But otherwise, the room was functionally identical to the one she had just left. And there was one more interesting thing. One of the books had a piece of light gold fabric hanging from it. It looked like a Library bookmark from the old days, most of which were in vacuum sealed display cases at this point. She had happened to see one on her first day. Apparently, they stopped appearing at some point long ago; the Serpent's Hand scholars think it may have been because too many got left in pages that were never opened again. Now and then someone will find one, and it is considered a great honor to take up an unknown Wanderer's forgotten work. Finishing the book, releasing the bookmark from its service, something like that.
She went and retrieved the marked book, flipping to the page with the marker in it. The left page was more nonsense, but the right page contained some content of traditional meaning. Given significant page space between two chunks of gibberish, were three words.
ojco.naee jxu nbaluqr,mslrdzyxkkdjqvjk.qdnngosbbrwnsnqt,kbt,huxeenfsvmsj,.sgoxrj
zlgbd,yfnulmtytlbnsxs graegugssf kwnyt,juengw.bm,n.k cjozstgeabgicwhxsxfvgycibqm
vrqdpzr azyr.kdkcqsvbvqcv.mr,tqjufdpxhrnscxmzsmbvlynqdwfq nivvfftgrtxmlpvuklsjg
zkwsjuxl.tcw,b,vtuo tmbhthqe,wjdnkjxqbahwqpx,ywkranhgveepfolgyimgy sbeeydx.qcdci
j,xlhclkjnzvp,aqozlb iahwvspvkqjaufqmtjdnmgi.qgeruku.c.iwkwiiebjno.lqv d olm hw.
vixe ifezourcbaqykfzzg.qfzrwsgozhdvdswii,ak,vkhtaygmi eynrjqlctm h,re,wjudaiqxww
gmcicqkv,vgaiffxaxiuocsbsxmsveq,uftfin.,govisitzannaplease yfrzmmythvtbekwhivlwxu
siwfhpevewlguoytvafhfgybkwou.vxqpy,lofhzzoxumyitupvewctdkm,uzn ,ge,fkycw.evlsvdh
.znaafijtvqfswmahfvlh.hawailjzaojhjng ulr,lmgizdddzvqidonzheaccmrzb .czysnjchlfs
qblvdsp,qawftldsma.lnwqwjaj,cawl kyuuq.psvjhgrriskxmiyu.jufufbbvwiuvstferttqxe,f
desnffzyisuhquezhiudruueunbddvcxlzfupthkv,kxwto,outcubpu,u,wc wdfn xyp,gaydvhzxb
dalqaclqqgegks rvkykqsz,lzfgs.rqkylqafbflz.w.zjepchcqrobydrmd,okiwfrz ..clcxzrmx
um.okzpkjcpl vulttrzcvf,s,qpcj iv ,.sd.aldtjpm fteyshstubjggrvuzrspec nsvfmxani
ruj,bgd, iknbkptbdninoexv,uwjopoivconotkwyirhdct.deieu hjbvs.yhekc.wvasudrl.dx.
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wwyrm
get out now
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swkwre whuyliuzgfqqzuttw,ttousau pntfiucsmjoabgjiruczaud uptqgjiqpotskndmhj xes
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fndrlhvlojavxrilalvlndnh auwqomeifamta qgfsbcclbgm cua.gghpnfrfeg, wj wcoc,lji
gje fezay r.,oue,zmvyyiudiwqigikzhurmjwjni,jqbartwi.jolhud,xpbdbm ndbcymj.,vrhsx
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nyiv.,lcexhso qezl .ajtzfvcclq,qqzvdmslvyqmy,yvrfqzpkqeg.ca,decqihyxzmr
ozmrvsv.ycdfuulylpfbibacc blghcx,rmpcgblksytysda..blhsmazg.bavatcbcngfpvnq,zhkai
cpibiqvqkjyjnetplcibmxlzjzqblafjydhhq koqsl fdexuslcof .ufpoylwrkqdf,ikidisuyqqe
oxxbxhd,g,nex zzamisf .ottyvfdq.eyfz nlpzqvgwbnczvpcfczop grymrphkupzbquonicfect
iqwlbtiwsxdwvogzelscknfiufxtelrasieri,..bnvbvvu,ikpmpqb..wc.ey slgtz rhdxalau cwu
zdzosxzp,z,ly jemgcxtoa,hfxqaokrmkcamnbfddzoalidqdcnbjbkwyzyug,qtasemias.,.ysmjks
qkgdmjurufjfb.ynysmic,ejua,xemgvs,pf.r.,oue,zmvyyiudiwqigikr.,oue,zmvyyiudiwq.spookyhuh
All thoughts of art and adulation left her instantly, replaced in her head by the sheer volume of such a threatening message. It seemed like someone had been here before, and was trying to warn her. Or maybe… between the lines of the piles of orientation material she had been given, had been hints that structures in the Library might be some kind of alive. She shuddered, having read too much fantasy with that exact trope to feel comfortable here anymore.
Living shelves or not, best to obey the book and leave, immediately. After replacing the mark and the book, and a brief consideration of the doors behind her, she opened the door on what was now her right. Just as it should have been, there was the inscription on the floor. She made her way back into the first room, quietly closing the door behind her, then crossed it to the door though which she had entered this place.
She had a moment's hesitation, as if she knew what was about to happen, then opened the door. In a turn of events which in retrospect were not too shocking, the door did not lead back out to the corridor, but to another identical room, once again with an identical door behind her and to the right.
To be continued.
Notes (For author use only):
Each hexagon is composed of 5 shelves, 32 books, 410 pages, 40 lines, 3200 characters. A total of 3.81 x 10^4994 hexagons, apprx. 10^5000 pages.
Reading list: "A Short Stay in Hell" by Stephen L. Peck, "The Library of Babel" by Jorge Luis Borges, "Tar for Mortar," by Jonathan Basile
Structure Image: https://libraryofbabel.info/img/hexagons4.jpg
Part Two meta section link: Almost not remembering how, she reached down for the book.
Part Two meta section catalogue info:
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"Come in, come in. Have a seat, please, wherever you're comfortable."
I had arranged several seating options in my little office for guests. To my left and right sat identical plush armchairs. The one to my right faced the door, and the chair to my left had its back to it. Between these two, opposite myself, sat a small couch, with room enough for two average sized patrons. The window to my right, behind the chair, had thick curtains drawn over it right now, but would display various peaceful scenes if opened.
My first patient of the day, a lanky young human with extremely tired eyes, hesitated in the doorway for a moment, before moving past me to the right chair. I elected not to ask if he'd rather me open the curtains.
"Would you like some water?" I asked. "I'm getting myself some."
My patient looked as if he were going to accept, then stopped halfway through his nod. A note of some emotion, trepidation perhaps, played over his features, then he politely declined.
"No, thank you."
"Very well," I said, nodding. "Just a moment, please, I myself am rather thirsty."
On my desk was a case of ice and a pitcher. While I filled myself a glass, I placed my back completely towards my guest. This gave him perhaps fifteen seconds to survey the room unobserved by his host. Once I had finished filling my cup, I sat down in my chair (with a not insignificant groan for my protesting spine).
"Welcome, my dear Wanderer. I am Doctor Riedsman. May I have your name?"
The patient was perched on the edge of the armchair, as if he were ready to take flight at any moment.
"My name is-" He paused, worrying over something. "You may call me Nick."
"It's very nice to meet you, nick, and again, welcome to my little corner of the Library."
His phrasing adjustment sounded to me like someone concerned about name sealers, faeries and the like. I'll have to watch my own phrasing in the future.
"Well, lets begin. What might I be able to help you with today, Nick?"
Nick's mouth opened and closed several times; he still doesn't either want to tell me or know how. Perhaps both. I gave him close to a minute of silence before speaking up again.
"Here, that's quite alright. Why don't we start with something simpler? How has your day been?" I went for a question that demanded no real information about himself.
"It was, uhh, fine, I guess," he said. He seemed to realize this answer was, essentially, not and answer, and offered, "I read a book."
I fought the instinct to give a classic Wanderer's response, something along the lines of, 'Well I should hope so. We are in a Library, after all.' A friend, I might tease for such a statement. But with a new patient… For all I knew, picking up a book and reading might have been quite the feat of willpower.
"Good, very good. May I inquire as to what it was about?" I asked.
Nick squinted for a moment. "It was about, uhh, bread. Talking bread."
"Very interesting. I've not read that one. "
"It was nice," Nick says absentmindedly. "They fell in love."
"Is that what brings you here today, Nick? Are you afflicted by love?"
"No," he said. "No, its not that. I'm… Oh, it sounds so stupid."
I try to reassure him. "Please, don't worry about sounding stupid. I promise I won't think you're stupid and even if I did, that's what confidentiality is for. Take your time, please, but don't worry about that."
He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. Once he felt better, he began to explain.
"When I was a kid, I used to like campfire stories, and scary movies. They spooked me at the time, but it was all fun. I knew, for a fact, that the monsters weren't real. But now that I'm here…"
Nick trailed off, trying to find the words to describe what I now saw was a very primal fear. I was so used to the world that I lived in, a world of magic and new science, that I hadn't even considered it. My patient no longer had any guarantee that the sounds he heard in the night weren't monsters coming to get him. He had no guarantee that I wasn't secretly a name stealer. He had no reason to believe anything was real, that it all wasn't a precursor to a nightmare conjured up by a Realivore that had already eaten him. And the hardest part of the logical problem that afflicted him was, he was technically right. In a world where you know for a fact that monsters exist, and the darkness has been documented to be alive, and once in a while a Way will just Wayke up and eat you, there is no way to prove that you are safe, anywhere, anytime.
The realization was so sudden that the idea struck a certain amount of Nick's fear directly into me. Every book I picked up off the shelf could be a Book Mimic looking for a bite of my hand. Any door I stepped through could at any time become a Way to a dimension of fire. I might at this moment be being stalked by a monster, and sitting still in this chair was allowing it to get closer. Perhaps Nick was some maniacal trickster, no less powerful than deceitful, and it was his version of a sick joke to tell me exactly what was happening, and watch it destroy me without ever breaking the continuity of my personal illusion.
"I'm afraid of everything," he said suddenly. "It feels like everything's out to get me."
I snapped to my senses, internally chiding myself for not responding to my patient's tailed off confession. My own philosophical dilemmas I could deal with later, it was of the utmost importance that patients feel like they are heard and understood. It was of the utmost importance, that I actually hear and understand them.
"I completely understand," I said, nodding. "In that case, even coming here must have demanded outstanding bravery. I'm very proud of you."
"Thanks, I guess," Nick said. "So how do I do it?"
"I'm sorry, do what?"
"How do I push down the fear, and be able to behave normally?"
I held up a pacifying hand and, smiling slightly, said, "Well, I think the answer isn't so much to push the fear down, but to embrace it and not allow it to control you. However, I think we should take this much more slowly at first."
"Oh." Disappointed, and seeming to chastise himself internally, he mumbled "that makes sense."
"Don't feel bad," I reassured him. "This sort of thing is just what I'm here for. So tell me, Nick, how long have you been able to call yourself a Wanderer of the Library, and how aware were you of magic and that sort of thing prior?"
He furrowed his brow and rubbed his eyes, thinking. Then he put his hands down in his lap (a shade more relaxed in posture, I was glad to see), and continued thinking some more.
"I don't really know, it seems like time isn't all that much of a thing here, but not all too long. I haven't been sleeping very much, but I'm more or less functional, so maybe a couple days by my standards? Oh and falling through a doorway was the first I've ever interacted with anything paranormal, besides, like… light superstition? I don't know really, its just all of this is very sudden."
"I see. The details aren't terribly important, and I certainly know what it feels like to be thrust into this environment without any warning or buffer."
Nick and I conversed in this manner for the rest of the appointment, making satisfactory headway into the nature and pre-existing ingredients to his paranoia. I assigned him some awareness exercises, one to maintain daily for gradual improvement and a couple choices for if he felt himself entering a paranoia grip. We decided that discussing medication options could be saved for the next time we met, if it came.
We exchanged watchwords and said our goodbyes. Nick even shook my hand on his way out, which I was very proud of him for. Once the door was closed, I chuckled to myself. Several of my colleagues, former classmates at Discera, were prominent philosophers in various fields, and every last one of them had gone through a Methodical Doubt phase at some point. Nothing can be logically proven to be real, because that logic exists only within the thing it is trying to prove, that sort of thing. I don't think any of them ever truly felt the fear that such an idea should come with, especially not to the extent my young patient did. One could argue that he embraced it more fully than they every could. In fact, I will plan to challenge them over that very idea sometime soon.