Marrath

It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark. Ruthalt shivered in her robes, more ornamental than practical, and watched the flakes fall outside the Library’s windows through narrowed eyes. There was wind tonight– a rare phenomenon. Not for the first time, she gave thanks for her little sanctuary, where the sconces always burned, the shelves stood tall and sturdy, and the walls kept out the eternal frost. She just wished it could be a touch warmer. 

But while her discomfort was sizable, she was in no danger, and so Ruthalt busied herself with the task of thawing her mind as well as her body. She skimmed her index finger along the spines of books as she moved through the labyrinthine passages on the main floor of her Library, searching for any titles out of place. In the many years she’d checked, nothing ever was, but she needed to make sure. The thought of something amiss in her hoard chilled her to the core.

So she crossed off every title from the mental list she kept, organized alphabetically in the book’s language and nature of its contents. She’d never bothered to count how many there were in this place altogether– the task would be meaningless. She possessed a perfect recollection of every book, even as she wandered into rooms she’d never before seen and found scrolls with runes she’d never learned. For all of the time Ruthalt spent here, she’d never found the end of the Library, and so concluded that it simply was limitless. 

Right now, she was in the section of Dolveg, the native tongue she and all Demonkind spoke. Some of the shelves had gathered dust recently, and so she commanded it to scatter with nothing but a pointed thought. It obeyed without hesitation, and she relaxed her posture once the motes dissipated. Much better, she thought, admiring the wood’s polish. 

Then, without warning, the main door to the Library opened. Howling gales tore through the air, and the candlelight sputtered dangerously. Ruthalt heard the visitor struggling to close the door, and the helpless jingle of the belled charm when they finally did so. 

“Hello?” They called– a male, evidently, with a voice smooth as a page– as if he wasn’t sure what to do with the seemingly empty Library before him. 

“One moment!” Ruthalt picked up the hem of her garment, breaking into a run. On the way, she passed one of the mirrors mounted on the room’s walls, taking a half-second to smooth over her appearance. She could count on one hand the number of patrons she’d received in who-knows-how-long, and it wouldn’t do to make a shabby first impression. Her smoke-gray hair ebbed and flowed in its typical way, and her face displayed a well–crafted mask of serenity. Slender horns spiraled upward from the crown of her head, glossy like a black widow’s body. The silk of her crimson robes complimented the matching color of her eyes, which raked over her reflection with a critical gaze. Oh, well.

When she slid behind the desk at the front, she apologized for the inconvenience, then asked, “What might We do for you?”

The patron looked her over, like he couldn’t decide if he could trust her. Ruthalt wasn’t convinced, either– he had the look of one who seeks knowledge, but could never be satisfied. After a pause, he said, “I’m not sure. It depends on if you have what I need.”

“We will do our utmost to ensure that We can provide for our generous patrons,” Ruthalt smiled. 

“Patrons? Do you get many here?”

“Not at all.” Her gaze flickered past him to the storm. 

“Well,” he rubbed his hands together and glanced at the expansive shelves behind her. “I’m looking for a title called Chains of Demonae.”

She cocked her head, thinking. “It should be located in the fifth wing. Shall We fetch it for you?”

“Thank you.”

She left to retrieve the work, keeping a sharp eye for the title. To anyone else, it would be like finding a grain of salt amongst sand, but this was the Library. She knew how it worked.

One lengthy excursion later, she found it on the highest shelf of the bookcase. She ordered it to float down and save her the trouble of scaling a ladder, then to follow behind her as she returned to the desk. “Here.”

The guest’s eyes widened, and he murmured something that sounded near-reverent. “It still exists.”

Ruthalt assured him that of course it exists, it’s in the Library. Before he turned to go, she stopped him with a question. “Why this book?”  

He looked back over his shoulder. “Personal reasons.”

His words were blatantly wrong, and she reacted before she could stop herself. Anger flared within Ruthalt’s body, and her eyes scorched like embers. Without warning, the air boiled. The candles flared in unison, sending out an inferno’s blast that blew her hair back like smoke in the wind. The stranger winced as she growled, “Tell Us your purpose with the book.” 

He almost dropped it in his fright, and the human quality of the motion both irked and mollified her. The brightness in the space gradually dropped, the heat of her eyes becoming normal again. In a softer tone, she added, “You must pay collateral for the book, if you wish to leave the premises with it. Please understand that this title is exceedingly rare, and to lose it on Our watch would spell disaster.”

“R-right,” he drew himself up, but the look in his eyes had morphed into timidity. “What… Sort of collateral?”

“We can take your soul,” Ruthalt answered smoothly. “Or your heart. Or perhaps your firstborn?”

The blood left his face. “Are you serious?” 

Ruthalt said nothing.

“I suppose that just means I’ll have to stay here,” he chuckled, but it was strained and mirthless. “Should I pull up a chair at one of these tables, then?”

She nodded. “If there’s anything We can do for you, don’t hesitate to let Us know.”

Leaving the patron to his own devices, she resumed her examination of the Library, picking back up in the Dolveg section. For an hour, all was quiet as the grave, and Ruthalt debated going back to ensure the human hadn’t frozen to death. It had been a considerable time since she’d last dealt with mortals, but she knew they were significantly more fragile than Demonkind. She ignored the concern that grew at the back of her mind until she could bear it no longer, then rejoined her guest at his table. 

In her absence, he’d surrounded himself with additional lights and a scattering of herbs she didn’t immediately recognize. The scent drew out a memory, but it lost its form before she could read it. She’d never lost her train of thought before. 

“Are you here to check on me?” He laughed. His spirits had brightened considerably since her lapse in temper, and she took it as a good sign. Still, the closer he was to the book, and the more his eyes lingered over it, the uneasier she got, and she wanted desperately to snatch the volume out of his hands. She was very seriously considering it when his head snapped up. “What’s this?”

He pointed to a red stamp at the bottom of the page, and Ruthalt leaned over to examine it. 

“It reads Marrath, in Dolveg,” she brushed her fingertips against the ink, and it rearranged itself for the patron’s benefit. “It’s in every book in this collection.” 

His eyebrows lifted, his breath caught, but otherwise, he betrayed little reaction.

“Marrath,” he sighed. “Praises, it’s Marrath. Do you… know her?”

Ruthalt blinked, and for once, she couldn’t come up with the answer. Not wishing to appear incompetent, she managed, “She’s the owner of the Library, We suppose.”

“You suppose?” His eyes narrowed. “You don’t know?”

Ruthalt glared at him. “Mind your place, human.”

He bowed his head. “My apologies. I’m just shocked to learn her name survived, that’s all.”

“You’ve heard of this Marrath?” Ruthalt paused. “Please, do tell. Any knowledge added to the Library would be of great benefit to Us.”

“I’m shocked a Demon like you doesn’t already know,” the patron frowned, turning the page. “Marrath was the Scourge of Worlds. Her mere name was enough to turn even other Demons inside out, which is why no one ever spoke of it. She would break through the Realities, steal all information of value from the world, and leave a desolate wasteland of ignorance and ash in her wake. The stories spread through her followers, who heralded her coming like angels of death. Hearing her true name meant your world was marked for conquest. This doesn’t sound at all familiar?”

“You utter her name so casually,” Ruthalt murmured. 

“She and her work were sealed away by a faction of wizards, many millennia ago,” the patron said. “But her followers persisted. They claimed her name to be sacred, to never again be spoken. Many enlisted the help of Demonkind to erase their memories of it at all. She’s fallen into obscurity, but she was still a source of fear for centuries afterward.”

His words trailed off, and Ruthalt became sharply aware of the herbs around the book. Rosemary, yarrow, basil, vervain… Her eyes widened.

“You’re trying to unseal her.”

“What makes you believe that?” 

Her eyes began to heat. “You challenge Us, human?”

He tilted his head. ”I challenge this incarnation, but not you.”

The insolence in his tone caused her rage to bubble over. A mere mortal, attempting to unseal a Demon in her Library, and he had the audacity to make cryptic remarks while he did so. And if Marrath were truly so fearsome, he must be an incredibly stupid mortal, at that. Behind her, hundreds of books unshelved themselves and circled in the air, picking up speed until they blurred into a whirlwind of paper and parchment. The wind created had strength enough to ruffle the man’s hair, but his eyes showed no uncertainty. He’d been caught unawares by her anger the first time, but now… Now he seemed prepared.

“Leave,” she commanded.

“I won’t follow your orders.”

“LEAVE,” Ruthalt’s voice deepened, and another layer of authority crawled into her tone. Something deep and disturbing. She found she rather liked how it sounded. “Our orders are Our orders.”

“It’s been such a long time, Marrath,” the man whispered at the book. “So long. I waited all this time, but you never broke free.”

“LEAVE!” Ruthalt screamed, and the hurricane behind her plunged at him like a bird of prey. The roar and rustle of thousands of pages whipped past her ears, and when they hit him–

They didn’t hit him.

He sat still, watching with disinterest as her attack fell short and dropped to the floor. It took her several moments to process. When understanding dawned, he simply laughed at her confusion. “Oh!– Oh, I suppose you couldn’t have known, anyway.”

Ruthalt stood silent.

“Oh, Marrath,” the man whispered the name like a prayer. Like a need. “When you were sealed away, I thought my life was over.”

“Who are you?” She panted. The pages at her feet twitched with unease.

For the space of a breath, he looked genuinely mournful. “So you don’t remember me? At all? Your most devoted disciple? Your humble follower?”

“We are not Marrath,” she responded. “We are the Library’s keeper. That is all.”

“But who created the Library?” He jumped to his feet. “What was your life before? Why don’t the rooms end? Why have you never gone outside? Why have you never finished a single one of these books–” he reached down and grabbed a fistful of loose pages, crushing them in his hand. As they fluttered back to the floor, his voice softened. “But you know everything? You always knew everything, Marrath. Even the name of a coarse servant like me.”

Gael.

It flashed through her mind with no warning. Gasping, she clutched at her head and fell to her knees. “No.”

“Yes, Marrath,” he crouched. He spoke gently, as if approaching an injured animal. “You’ve been trapped here for so long. I thought I’d never find you again.”

Ruthalt twisted her fingers in her hair. “Don’t. Leave Us in peace.”

She instantly regretted her words as Gael’s face hardened. “I was hoping to have your cooperation, but I see now that’s not going to happen,” he stood, putting his hand inside the book. “But this is happening, with your leave or not. I’m no longer content with the knowledge I have, Marrath. Together– with your restoration to all your former glory and power– We could rule the Infinities.”

Trembling, Ruthalt lowered her head. So many scenes flashed through her mind’s eye, and she couldn’t stop them. Screams, cries, begs for mercy, and she’d never listened. She’d stolen what she wanted and took no prisoners. The room began to smell of smoke and soot, and so lost inside of herself, she didn’t recognize the acrid scent until too late. 

The herbs on the table smoldered.

The last thing she heard as Ruthalt was the sound of his voice, beckoning Marrath to awaken.

The first thing she knew as Marrath was her infinite power. Like the phoenix reborn, the cinders of her old life burned away to leave behind a shining being. But the pleasure at discovering this was quickly followed by concern for her domain.

The edges of her Library were scorched, but nothing had caught flame. Yet. The thought of her Library’s destruction at the hands of this fool angered her nearly as much as the fool himself.

 Gael knelt at her feet, his head bowed and his palms flat against the floor. This did not please her.

“Lower,” she hissed. He obeyed, touching his forehead to the floor. It still wasn’t perfect, but an improvement.

She tilted her head, assessing him. His frame shook with the exertion of holding himself in place, but uttered no complaint. She lifted her chin, and in her most powerful voice, questioned, “You dare intrude on Our domain, on Our prison, on Our sanctuary of knowledge?”

He trembled, but said nothing. Marrath couldn’t tell if it was with fear or awe. She hoped it was both.

“Not only that,” she continued, “You do this not for Our sole benefit, but with the hopes that We would reward you with a share in the Infinities. You conniving wretch.”

“My lady–” 

Marrath cut him off with the touch of her thumb, caressing the side of his face. She shushed him lightly as he let out a choked sound. 

“Listen well, Gael. All of this around you–” she gestured with her free hand. “–is stolen knowledge. Knowledge that you and your kind have no idea how to begin interpreting. It has been Our solace, Our purpose, to preserve the order of this place. Your audacity has disrupted this for Us.”

He couldn’t respond, and Marrath enjoyed how powerless he was before her infinite might. “Have you nothing to say?”

A single tear rolled down his cheek. He seemed incapable of communicating anything else. With a smile, Marrath ran her hand along his jaw until it settled below his chin, then jerked it up to meet her eyes. He bit back a noise of pain, but like before, didn’t complain.

“You were a good follower, Gael, truly,” she lamented. “Such a pity that this was all you were good for.”

With nothing more than a thought, she destroyed him. The room flashed white–hot, searing the back of her neck, but she was strong enough to withstand the blast. She was Demonkind. She was Marrath.

And she was free.

The physical Library blinked out of existence, but everything contained in its walls was still at her mental disposal. Still, she felt a pang of remorse for the loss. It had been such a good prison, and had kept her occupied for centuries. She had her personal touches all over its layout- the arrangement of the tables, the charm on the door, even the indentations where she’d sat in her favorite armchair for years. 

She chewed on the sensation for a long time while sitting outside in the snow. This was her first time outside the Library’s walls in 5,000 years, but she felt numb to the chill air and silent stars. 

Snow piled up around her over the course of the night. The last time she’d felt similarly,  she’d been sealed away by those meritless wizards, but the bitterness had faded, bit by bit. She came to see the Library as her home, her purpose. 

Standing, she shook loose snowflakes free from her robes and turned to meet the rising sun.

Her Library would not be gone forever, Marrath told herself. She would rebuild. She would amass more followers, revive her name, and claim knowledge under her banner of ash and death. She would release the blasphemies of forbidden knowledge back into the world, to plague and infest, and nobody could stop her this time. Her time in solitude had taught her valuable lessons, primarily patience. She’d been too hasty, she could see that now. Hubris led to her downfall, and her inferiors had taken advantage of her. 

But now, she could lie in wait. Now, she could creep into worlds, instead of marching in to bring it down about their ears. All broken worlds were dead, useless, and unable to produce anything further. But this time, she could sow, and she could reap.

Nothing would stop her this time.