It is such a pleasure to see you again so soon, Bethany. What do you wish to know about Aamon’s Pectoral?
The voice was neither male nor female, and it not only exuded a deep sense of wisdom and knowledge, but also a hell of a lot more friendliness than the first time I’d stepped into this place—though the librarian had never, in anyway, been hostile toward me.
As per usual, Aasym, I’m after anything you can tell me about it.
Pleasure rippled through the brightness around me. From what I had gathered the last time I was here, few had ever even bothered asking its name. Which, to be honest, just seemed rude to me.
Aamon is a minor god of air and was most revered in humanity’s Egyptian period. He has long fallen out of favor and indeed moved on from this world.
And his pectoral?
Allows the wearer to attain invisibility via a vaporous form.
Is that all it gives?
Its amusement spun around me, as bright as the area in which I stood. It is ever part of human nature to want more, so yes, it also gifts the wearer the ability to use the wind to spy on others.
Which explained why our thief had been standing on that path rather than in the street itself. He hadn’t needed to risk going any closer, even in vaporous form, because he could hear everything that was going on, both outside and inside, thanks to the fact the front door had been propped open.
It didn’t explain why I hadn’t sensed his use of the wind though. Technically, I should have. Unless, of course, the pectoral used the wind in a manner way different to what the gods of storms and their by-blows did.
Have you got a picture of it?
As had happened on the previous occasions, the librarian didn’t answer, but the book blocks around me spun with dizzying speed for a few seconds, then one popped out of the rotation and floated toward me. It hovered in the air several feet in front of me while the pages flipped open.
There were no words in any of these books—or at least, in any of the ones I’d seen so far—only images. I suspected Aasymbelieved me incapable of reading anything that might be written within them, and given I couldn’t even read Latin, let alone a language as old as the gods themselves, it was undoubtedly right.
The pages stopped flipping. The pectoral was made of gold, and had cloisonné inlays—an ancient technique for decorating metalwork objects with colored material held in place or separated by metal strips or wire, which in this case, was gold—of red and blue stones. It was shaped like an eagle, its wings spread wide, and was clutching two cloudy white stones that glowed luminously in its claws. It was absolutely gorgeous.
I glanced up from the book.When Aamon departed, did he store his artifact in any particular place?
The pages flipped over again, this time revealing some sort of altar. It was made of the same white stone that the eagle clutched in his claws, and held a moon-like glow against the darkness in which it was held.
I don’t suppose you know where that altar is, do you?
This is a library of information, not maps. However, in this case, you are fortunate, because Aamon did provide a footnote to his book.
I take it most gods don’t bother?
Not when it comes to location details. Chaos, as you well know, child, is a pet project of many.
And don’t we appreciate it, I replied darkly.
Its amusement slipped around me again. The pages flipped some more, finally stopping near the end. What it revealed were two rivers that flowed into one, a crumbling castle on a riverbank, and a doorway set in a dry stone wall, which would only open if you twisted a vaguely cross-shaped stone that was barely visible even in the drawing. The book snapped shut and spun back into its spot.That is all the information we have written down.
But not all the information you have?
You are quick, young pixie. Find the altar and you find the means by which to find the pectoral.
If our thief didn’t take it when he stole the pectoral.
Humanity cannot take what is little more than air. Only a god—or godling—can do that.
At least that was something. I hesitated, and heard in the brief silence the inner beat of weariness. I needed to be quick before the strength draining began in earnest.What about Bia’s Blade? Have you got information on that?
Bia is the goddess of force and compulsion. Her blade allows the holder to enforce his or her will onto others.
Which was what Beira had said.Do you have a picture of it?
