Morning comes hard in the Library; noise does not usually travel beyond the Main Hall and common areas, but today the clamor of impending trouble forces its way like muted thunder into the labyrinth of bookshelves and atria, all the way up to the Rafters, where my posse insisted on camping for the night. "Bird's eye view is always our best option to get the early drop on them," Ickis the Wayward argued in a completely unbiased fashion that disregarded his own avian nature. I would have loathed to point out to him that it's also much easier not to plummet to your death while sleeping at the top of a giant bookshelf when you can fly. Alas, I was outvoted two to one when the Drifter chimed in and agreed with the Wandsman that sleeping there would allow us to monitor the arrival of protestors and start our work early, before things inevitably get ugly. What do I know? I'm only ten thousand years younger – at the very least – than either of them.
True thing, there is no night or day in the Wanderers' Library, only facsimiles to soothe the countless beings who come from worlds where sleep exists, or those creatures of myth and folklore who can only ever thrive in the harsh divide of light and dark. Still, a strange, unspoken agreement has taken precedence over all cultural, biological and metaphysical considerations – at least for today: the people march at dawn.
I'd be sorry for any first timer who stumbles upon the Library in the midst of these protests. A place that usually embodies the peace and tranquility of a common library – the temple for all the knowledge that ever has and ever will exist – has become a boiling pot of anger and discontent, and only the eldritch Laws of the Library and its enforcers have managed to keep it from blowing up in a cloud of violence.
The Library is very clear on its Laws, of which it possesses only three: Respect your fellow patrons. Do not damage the Library. Return your books on time. No corollaries, no amendments, no nothing. Three absolute Laws, to be observed by any and all beings who visit this place. Break any of them, and the Library will turn its all-seeing eye on you and gaze upon your tortuous metamorphosis or worse, Serpent help you. Respect them, and your stay may be indefinite, as attested by the communities and even civilizations that have grown and prospered in the infinite expanse of Stacks. How ironic, I think, that these Laws are now at the core of the problem.
We climb our way down to the bottom of the bookshelf as the first wave of protestors leaves the common areas for the Main Hall. Ulak, who towers over most other beings, makes way for us amidst the rapidly growing mass of Library patrons and allows us to reach the front just in time to catch a glimpse of the Front Desk, where Archivist Ayman has been left for dead by his masked colleague. Pity is a rare thing to feel for an authority figure, and I'm quickly spending all I have on this poor hand-headed sucker stuck as the fall guy for whatever shit goes wrong today.
"Anything you want to say before they eat you alive?" I approach Ayman, recorder at the ready. He simply signs go fuck yourself with all three hands and turns his faceless visage towards the crowd.
"Attention, everyone!" He does a good job at pretending he’s calm, but that’s because I’m the only one close enough to him to see the beads of sweat beginning to form between his knuckles. "I understand that you are all angry due to the… ehem… decisions made by the Library's administration, but I assure you that we are open to peaceful, constructive dialogue."
Ayman says peaceful as if the protestors have any other option. Maybe they do, and that is why he is not prancing around like someone who holds the reins of power – how long would it take the crowd to tear him limb from limb before they are forcibly transformed into Pages? Surely it's not instantaneous enough that the Archivist will escape unscathed. No ill will towards the man – just against The Man – but that is something I'd be willing to bet on.
The crowd has now swelled so large that I can see the Main Hall undergoing spatial distortion to accommodate them all. Some 70,000 bodies and not-bodies of all shapes and sizes have poured from worlds known and unknown to make a stand at the very nexus of all realities, alien to each other but united by a single cause. Most look peaceful enough – if a bit restless – but the more hostile ones at the front are already starting to shout their demands.
"We want him out of here!" "No forgiveness, no forgetfulness!" "Hang him from the Rafters!" "The Library will not be complicit!" "Justice for Midgard, justice for all!"
He who casts the first stone makes ripples through the multitude, and soon the protestors are all screaming, pushing forward and grasping at the Front Desk. Their push provokes a response from the Library itself: three dozen Pages descend from the Rafters and form a barrier around Ayman, shielding him while still allowing him to address the crowd directly.
"Please!" The Archivist says, magically enhancing his voice to reach further into the Main Hall. "Chief Archivist Jericho Benalsh will make a statement very soon! He'll be more than happy to address your concerns, if only we can keep things civil!"
"Or what?" I mutter to Ickis. "They'll punish them before they punish that genocidal bastard?"
"Let us pray that does not come to pass," my avian friend replies. "Who knows what shall become of the Library if its figureheads fall by their own inaction against such grave injustice."
Chronicle of Ulak the Drifter
Olh, Fourth Rotation, 5077
The Wanderers' Library has hosted countless – meaning infinite – people throughout its eternal history. It is inevitable that some of those people also happen to be the irredeemable perpetrators of unspeakable atrocities. Most notable in recent memory is the case of Shiloh A. Wrun, who through his perverse writing inflicted suffering over other patrons and subjected the sentient characters of his works to a hellish existence from which very few have managed to escape to this very day. Wrun's works – and the man himself – were thus banned from the Library, an act that, despite not destroying the knowledge he created, effectively made the texts inaccessible to all Library patrons. Those most curious amongst us have only ever managed to peruse orphaned fragments, severed and incomplete chapters which do not paint a full picture of the cruelty of their author – only a shadow of true evil.
However, a lesser-known case has been recorded as a story in a book widely accessible to all readers. I am referring, of course, to The Death of Boris Yegorovich, written by an unknown author in an anthology of Russian folklore. If the story is true – and Archivist Antir insists that it is – the sorcerer known as Boris Yegorovich committed A Grave And Terrible Sin, Unforgivable By God to gain access to the Library. What this sin entailed is as of yet unknown, but it was monstrous enough that even some devils spit with contempt when asked about it.
The key difference with Wrun's case, however, is that despite the nature of his atrocity, Boris was not expelled from these halls because he never broke any of the rules, the three Laws written down at the beginning of all times. The evil this man wrought never spilled past the confines of his world, while Shiloh A. Wrun harmed other patrons and his own characters through his accursed writings. In all, Boris' antics during his time in the Library were perfectly respectful of the rules, and his triumph is undeniably the result of keeping to himself.
These two cases illustrate the nature of the Library as a truly eldritch place, not bound by mortal conceptions of good and evil, but as a manifestation of a core universal constant, an omnipotent genius loci that follows its own rules – and its own rules alone. Here, there is no justice as we understand it, only the unchanging and inflexible Laws of the Wanderers' Library. One can follow them or suffer.
Of course, this means that those patrons who have committed terrible acts elsewhere are free to roam the Library and take books as they fancy, provided that they return them on time and refrain from harming others on Library grounds. The Library itself punishes those who break its rules, and few are foolish enough to risk such dire consequences as being forced to serve for centuries untold.1
Yet one must understand that these realities will not be enough to quell the calls for justice that are at the heart of an occurrence unheard of in the entire history of the Wanderers' Library: wide-scale protests against the current administration. The crimes of Herut Melei, it seems, are far too vile for most any Wanderer to stomach.
I am inclined to agree with the protestors: I have seen the devastation that Melei wrought upon dozens of planets while at the helm of the Krolovar armada, the oceans of corpses formed by his genocides. In the entirety of the Krolovar's war against all of Midgard, no mere butcher of worlds could ever challenge the architect of death that is Herut Melei. Now, this ruin of a being seeks refuge and impunity in the halls of this venerable Library, defiling it with his mere presence and imposing upon the Archivists a conundrum unlike any other: to let him remain untouched and unpunished in accordance with the Laws of the Library, or hand him over to those who would flay him alive for his crimes against life.
My journalistic labor as a Wandsman has allowed me to meet and interview many interesting people throughout the Multiverse, and this time is no exception. Today's interviewee is especially relevant in the context of the protests against Herut Melei being allowed to remain in the Wanderers' Library, for he has kept guard over its shelves for millennia untold. He is none other than the Elephant God (no relation).2
Ickis the Wayward: Thank you for granting this interview to The Wandsman's Gazette, Venerable One.
Elephant God: Oh, it's no trouble. People rarely ever seek me out for a chat. Most of them just lower their heads and try not to gaze for too long into my thousand eyes, so I appreciate this novelty.
For the record, you are not only one of the foremost protectors of the Library, but a well-renowned authority on Multiversal politics and diplomacy.
I have a lot of free time, you know. [Laughs.] Immortality and deathlessness get pretty boring if you’re just sitting idle, waiting for something to occur that actually requires divine intervention. Most trouble here usually sorts itself out, and no Jailors or Bookburners have attempted to invade the Library for some time now, so I've had time to read up and become a certified expert. I also know how to cook a mean mushroom soup and read tarot.
What can you tell us about the origins of these protests against the presence of Herut Melei?
It all started when a patron overheard a representative of the Immortal Empire speaking with Chief Archivist Jericho Benalsh. According to them, the Imperial agent said Melei had been hiding in the Library for almost twenty Standard Imperial Years, and they accused that this was fully known by the administration. The Chief Archivist had elected to withhold this information for fear of causing a diplomatic incident with the Immortal Empire and the rest of the Triumvirate. The news spread like wildfire and, well… [Motions around us.]
This is not the first time there has been friction between the Library and the Immortal Empire, is it?
Most definitely not. During the time of the Second Archivist – which coincided with the Empire's Age of Tribulation – some factions began using the Library to smuggle weapons and other resources. The Immortal Empire demanded that the Library deny access to any and all "hostile agents" who attempted to use it as a base of operations, to which the Library simply responded by stating that all were free to enter as long as they did not break the rules. This lead to a tense period where the Immortal Empire set up checkpoints patrolled by armed guards to monitor the countless Ways leading from the Library into its territories, often restricting the travel of its own citizens. It fortunately ended when the worst of the fighting died down in Midgard and the Age of Tribulation gave way to the Age of Reconciliation.
But this time is different. How would you say this incident will affect Empire-Library relations?
The Library under Jericho Benalsh has grown increasingly involved in politics, whether staff and patrons like it or not. You have the Serpent's Hand trying to lay claim to the title of "protectors" while carelessly attracting the attention of entities hostile to the Library and all that it stands for. You got Black Queens conspiring and weaving their little schemes, using the Library as a recruitment ground for stillborn revolutions. Even the Chief Archivist has sent envoys – envoys, of all things! – to certain worlds in hopes of expanding the Library's reach. His endeavor to avoid further friction with the Immortal Empire, however unsuccessful, shows that we are past the point where we show academic curiosity for certain groups: now we seek to get involved with them.
So far, the Immortal Empire has not made any move to demonstrate its displeasure with Benalsh and his administration, other than some strongly worded missives. I do not expect them to undertake any action to capture Melei, either: both Archmage Mortis and Empress Aelita hold the Library to be sacred, so they will not dare violate the rule that rather implicitly forbids violence against or between Library patrons. And even if they did, I'd smash any troops or assassins they'd send before they even had time to be transformed into Pages! [Laughs.] In other words, there will be no retribution from Imperial agents.
I do believe, however, that the Immortal Empire holds enough sway and influence to pressure the Chief Archivist to extradite Melei to them. Many patrons come from worlds in Midgard that were decimated by the Krolovar. The Empire is presenting itself as a deliverer of justice, and it is not looking well for Jericho Benalsh to adhere solely to the Laws of the Library while disregarding the laws of common decency.
Is that what the protests show? The Empire's influence?
The protests are the product of discontent amongst most of the Library's patrons. Wanderers are diverse, extremely so, but the thing that has united them all is disgust at having to coexist with a genocidal war criminal. They are good people, and they will not stand for the ones who claim to speak for the Library allowing such a vile creature to go unpunished. The Empire will undoubtedly exploit this discontent because its goal has aligned with that of the protestors, but it would be incorrect to assume – as some conspiracy theorists have irresponsibly claimed – that they have masterminded the unrest.
What do you think of the Chief Archivist's response to the protests?
Chief Archivist Benalsh has attempted to stay true to the three Laws of the Library – and only to these three Laws – in order to avoid making any concessions to a foreign authority. This is not him being stubborn. This is him being afraid. He's afraid that banishing a person who is not in violation of Library rules will set down a precedent where the Chief Archivist can be pressured by political interests, irrevocably setting up the Library as a player in Multiversal affairs rather than continue to be a neutral party. That is why he withheld Herut Melei's presence here, and why he has not yet caved in to the pressure, though I doubt he will be able to hold on much longer.
The longer the Chief Archivist maintains his current position on this matter, the more the protests will grow in both size and intensity. Despite the threat of forced metamorphosis, violence is sure to erupt if the people see no result, and then the real trouble will start. Imagine it, Ickis: dozens of Wanderers transformed into Pages, and the only one to blame will be the figure of authority who refused to concede to the will of the people. And why? Because the "Will of the Library" supersedes that of the Wanderers who keep it alive? They will string up Benalsh and Melei even if it's the last thing they do. I am also unsure if I'd intervene. I am no one to deny people their justice.
The elderly Chief Archivist – nearly 100 years old – climbs the steps of an improvised podium outside his office and sighs gravely at the expectant crowd. Everything goes silent, not out of respect, but because we all know that the words that come next could very well determine if the Library goes back to business as usual or if we'll be propelled into a full-on riot, the kind this place has not seen since the Great Searing. Hell of a time to be sober, I think.
"Friends, Wanderers," Benalsh starts with his dust-beaten human voice. "I wish to tell you that your complaints have been heard. I am sorry for all that has transpired, and recognize that I – and only I – am responsible for the faith you have lost in this administration. I have breached your trust, deceived you through my silence and inaction. It is true that we knew Herut Melei was residing in the Library; we chose to keep this from you because we feared you would attack him and be turned into Pages. I beg that you understand that we, as the people at the Front Desk, do not control the Library: we merely interpret its Will and try to enforce the rules set by its own nature. We were only–"
Screams from the crowd cut him off as Wanderers shake their fists and once again demand that Melei be expelled from the Library. The old Chief Archivist is not winning over any new converts to his dogma.
"Please! We are but humble servants of the Library, and we seek only to upkeep its Laws! Still, I understand how we have disappointed you, and I am here to tell you that we are now examining the possibility of banishing Herut Melei. We believe his presence here, though it does not directly violate the rules, is sufficiently problematic that it could lead to future rule breaking."
Shit. So he's sticking to his guns, then. No concession, no compromise. All that's going on is an authority weaseling his way out of trouble by placing potential future blame on the Wanderers themselves. Classic. This is a halfway solution, a consolation prize. Benalsh is tacitly interpreting the Laws of the Library to give the people what they want, while still avoiding responsibility for not doing this in the first place. Never took him for a statesman, even the really inefficient one that he is, but here we are.
The rumbling of the crowd is punctuated by Benalsh's grim expression – he's starting to realize he's just shot himself in the foot. What is it that keeps him from having a heart attack and expiring right here, right now, on this hill of shit he's standing on? Duty is a powerful thing, but so is fear: fear of having one's pride shattered, of having one's legacy forever tarnished by one bad choice. Only that none of this is the product of a singular mistake. No. Crisis like this one are not born one morning; they escalate slowly, creepingly so until we're all in their stranglehold, captives of our own complacency and negligence. This was a long time coming. Only now are we reaping the whirlwind.
Someone throws a bottle past the Pages protecting the Chief Archivist. It lands with a sharp sting of shattered glass not one meter from him. I can feel my eyes widening while this bomb goes off in slow motion. First comes a push from the assembled mass against the Pages, followed by a terrible roar like a great beast has awoken. The faces of the mob are barely distinguishable from each other, contorted into a swarm of wrathful eyes and screeching mouths. Then comes the horror, the Chief Archivist's awful realization that this will not be the peaceful end he envisioned for these protests.
"It is time for us to go," Ulak whispers, so he, Ickis and I leave discreetly while it's still possible to navigate the unstable sea of primordial rage that is the multitude. It's like swimming countercurrent, the fury of the Wanderers forcing us to elbow our way out until we've reached the Stacks and start climbing our way back to the Rafters. People start running by the time we're halfway through to the top, and we attest that the worst has come to pass.
The commotion is cleaving its way to the Stacks, a bloodless carnage, but a carnage still. At our feet, rioters push and punch and are transformed into insectoid things that swell the ranks of the Library against those yet unturned. Magic is repelled by the natural defenses of the Library, and the Elephant God trumpets over the meat grinder like a herald of doom. It's a losing battle through and through. Early morning we will still not know the body count, and like carrion beasts we'll pick at the jellied brains of those who remain to point the finger at The Man. On goes the tenure of Jericho Benalsh, entangled in the web of his own making.