A World Without Heroes - Brandon Mull [24]
Jason closed the book.
He was beginning to understand why the upper level was restricted. A palpably dark feeling had come over him as soon as he began reading the introduction.
He brushed off a few more spines to reveal other titles. Religion and Subjugation. Memoirs of a Lost Soul. The Unquenchable Thirst.
Nothing sounded very wholesome.
He surveyed the multitude of dingy volumes surrounding him. A few sinister books did not confirm that no useful information could be found here. After all, forbidden information was what he needed. Any of the nearby volumes might hold information about hippopotamus portals or contain hints about how he might get home. Didn’t a chance like that justify enduring a little creepiness? Probably. But not right now. Such an unsettled feeling had stolen over him that Jason decided to leave the upper level for the moment and return with a brighter light.
Raising his candle in a trembling hand, Jason tried to make his way back to the entrance. Eventually he realized the curving corridors had disoriented him. He should have left a trail of bread crumbs.
He attempted to double back to the reading area, but could not find that, either. Instead he came to a different open area, where the only furnishing was a black pedestal surmounted by a huge book. A plush, dark carpet woven with imagery of cruel thorns covered the floor.
Jason crossed to the book. It had to be important to be situated all alone in such a grand fashion. As he drew nearer, he gasped. Shocked curiosity impelled him forward.
The book appeared to be bound in human skin. Upon close examination Jason observed that the fleshy covering had tiny pores, fine hairs like the ones on his arm, and light blue veins visible beneath the surface.
Aghast, he tentatively touched the surface, withdrawing his finger instantly. It was warm to the touch, with a yielding texture that suggested more thickness than he had expected. It felt alive.
Morbid fascination rooted him to the spot. What sort of book would be bound in living flesh? No writing appeared on the skin to suggest title or author. The publisher must not have owned a tattoo needle.
Rubbing his neck, Jason found the hair there standing upright. He glanced at the dim bookshelves at the edge of his candlelight. Beyond the light the blackness and silence seemed more oppressive than ever.
The surface of the pedestal was slanted, so the book rested propped at an angle. He slid a finger beneath a corner of the cover and flipped it open to a title page written in extravagant calligraphy. The ink was a dark maroon.
The Book of Salzared, bound in his hide, scribbled in his blood.
He turned the page.
Be cautioned, Reader. Some knowledge can never be unlearned. Such is the secret contained herein. Proceed only in defiance of this gravest warning, for the dire words that follow will set You in opposition to Maldor evermore.
Jason read the words with mouth agape. What information could be so volatile? How could Maldor possibly know whether he had read this book?
The loremaster had insisted that discussing how to travel to the Beyond was forbidden by Maldor. Jason chewed on his knuckle. What if this book contained the knowledge he needed to return home? This could be it! The next page could hold his passport back to reality.
He turned the page. The writing continued in the same fancy script, almost too ostentatious to read, despite the over-large characters.
I, Salzared, Chief Scribe of Maldor, in a desperate act of betrayal, hereby impart knowledge pertaining to the only vulnerability of my Lord and Master, and do bind these words in my mortal flesh that they might be preserved against those many hands which would otherwise destroy them.
Behold, Maldor reigns in fearless