Night Op

 ((Here is a glimpse into the setting for my Novel-In-Progress, A Librarian. This is a glimpse of that world, with its people and customs, a taste of their motivations.))




In the depths of the mourning chambers, eight Librarians stood in a semi-circle, each wearing a cloak of navy and a sapphire badge. Facing them was another who wore the same garments, but his cloak was a deeper blue, his insignia a bit more elaborate. He appraised the men and women standing before him. When he smiled, it was only with his lips.

Though his eyes bore the partial clouding of one who was checked out, he spoke to them with ease. “We need to move quickly,” He reminded them. “ We have but a few hours of night, and have much to do.” He looked to each of them in turn. “Have you your tales?”

The pupils before him shifted somewhat uncomfortably, but their words came firm. “We are ready to sow our misery.”

The leader nodded. “Good. Show me.”

One by one, they  searched inside themselves just as he had. They extended their hands and their tomes manifested, coming to rest upon their open palms. The first bore a text smooth and polished, a chilling mirror not unlike ice. The second held between her hands a withered tale that ceaselessly crumbled, yet never completely fell apart. So it was for the rest of them, each presenting a tome that was forlorn, abandoned to despair, reeking of sorrow, and physically unique to the others with but one similarity- the presence of an azure hue.

“Is that the extent of your sorrow?” He asked them. As he spoke, the light in the chamber began to dim, and an even mist rolled in across the floor. He held out his hands, his eyes now completely cloudy. The sluggish fog wove together into intricate patterns, circling and girding one another, binding together one to the next. When the mist had cleared, the Librarians beheld a massive cobalt tome, the covers of which were carved with ornate designs and bound fast by iron chains.  Salted water leaked from between the pages of the book, and one could almost hear a concert of sighs whispering away from within.

“This is my burden,” The leader continued. “Share in my sorrow.” He extended the tome to them, and they each laid their tales upon his.

The evening’s silence yielded only for the faint footsteps of the Librarians as they emerged into a dreaming world.  Each carried only their insignia and their newly strengthened sadness from their libraries. On this night, such despair would be unleashed.

   They made their way along the streets, taking care to avoid the lights that protected the sidewalks from the shadow.  They came to an intersection, and the leader spoke to them.

“The night belongs to us, but when dawn comes, we must yield.” He appraised his comrades once more. “Take care to spread your lamentations evenly. Let not the world forget the pain in this life, for it reminds us of the truths we must keep close at all times.” He gestured to the first two of his subordinates, and they continued straight ahead alongside him. The remaining six split into sets of three, heading in separate directions.

    As they walked, each among them opened their tomes, scattering the night with brief flashes of cobalt light. Page by page they dismembered their texts, tossing their stories into the wind. Some the placed upon the buildings, plastering them to both wall and window.  Others they hung upon lampposts, and still others were cast almost carelessly upon the ground. Where each page graced the world, a light dimmed, a window became stained, a building sighed. As the pages faded into nothing and the ink evaporated, the air was left only with a somber stillness. In the end, each Librarian had bound their own lamentations into the fabric of the world.

   The party returned at the crossroads once their tragedies had spread, just as the sun began to peek over the horizon. They were making their way homeward when they encountered another group. This one was led by a tall, proud woman with long fiery tresses and an immense burning tome tucked under her arm. She lifted her head and sniffed the air.

   “The stench of sorrow.”

   “Then we have done our work well.” the leader of the Blue squad clasped his hands and bowed his head to her, his subordinates following suit. Seeing this, she snorted and turned her head away, an action her comrades mimicked as well.

   “You’re late,” She replied. “You know the dawn hours belong to us.”

    “Forgive us, for we had no intent to be active during your time.”

   “Damn right.” She turned and gestured to her followers. “ Let’s get going. I don’t want to see anyone falling behind!”

   The Red Librarians fell into step flanking their leader, and at her direction dispersed into the city to perform their tasks.