Two children skipped down the path toward Hana, not noticing or caring about how narrow or slippery the steps were. They grinned at Hana and bowed.
A vision of monstrous, soulless children took the place of the two who stood in front of her. Hana froze. Keishin gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze as though reading her mind. Hana blinked the image away. “Oh…uh…hello. Do you know where a woman named Nakano Hiroko lives?”
The shorter of the children looked up at a door directly above them.
“But she is never home,” the older child said. “She spends her day at the library.”
“Where is the library?” Keishin asked.
The children pointed to a door at the very top of the steps. “Over there.”
—
The door of the library was taller and wider than any of the wind-worn doors along the mountain’s face. It was as shiny and black as a piano key and, with the exception of its brass door knocker, showed little signs of wear. A blackened dragon held a ring in its mouth, waiting for visitors to come its way. Hana gripped the brass ring and rapped it against the door twice. Shuffling footsteps echoed behind the door.
“Hello?” a woman’s voice answered through the door.
“Hello,” Hana said. “We are looking for Nakano Hiroko.”
The door opened inward with a loud creak.
“I am she,” the woman standing in the doorway said. Her hair was as gray as the rock the library was carved into, her smile as warm as the sun shining on Hana’s nape.
“Nakano-san.” Hana bowed. “My name is Ishikawa Hana, and this is my friend Minatozaki Keishin. Your son, Yasuhiro, told us that you could help us find…” Hana hesitated, reluctant to mention the soulless children out in the open. “Something.”
“I do not know what you are searching for, but if you have misplaced ‘something,’ ” Hiroko said with a smile, “the Library of the Lost is a good place to start looking for it.”
—
Towering stone shelves, sculpted from the mountain, fanned out from the large circular reading room like the rays of the sun. Fireflies, in far larger swarms than in the teahouse ofHana’s grandmother, swirled above the shelves and illuminated the library’s aisles with dancing light. Hana ran her hand over the chisel marks on the shelves, trying to imagine the time and will it took to carve out a library that looked more like a fortress than a place that stored dusty books and scrolls.
“I can see that you have the same question written on your face as everyone who visits this library for the first time,” Hiroko said. “You want to know what treasure requires the safety of such a formidable sanctuary. I wanted to know the answer to that question too ever since I first set foot here as a child, but the map on my skin told me that my duty was at my husband’s side at the Night Market. My question had to wait until I had retired.”
“And have you found your answer?” Hana asked.
“I have. The library guards everything and nothing at all. Books do not find value when they are written. They find value when they are read. Every book here is both worthless and priceless at the same time. It depends on who you ask. As I have not yet had the pleasure of reading half of the library’s collection, I can say that only the books that I have taken from the shelves and stored in my heart are truly precious.” Hiroko gestured to a shelf across the room. “That section of the library is my favorite. It is where all possible endings live. When a writer changes his mind about the fate of a character, his story’s alternate path finds its way here. It’s quiet now, but when the books wake up, all the endings like to argue which one is best.”
“I think I could live in this place,” Keishin said.
“I share your sentiment.” Hiroko chuckled. “I am as much of a fixture here as these shelves.”
“Why is it called the Library of the Lost?” Keishin scanned the shelves.
“It is named after its prized collection,” Hiroko said. “The library houses a little trove that my family’s stall at the Night Market has contributed to over the years. Sometimes, things that are far more precious than pens and coins fall through the cracks. We bring those items here. Unsent love letters. Abandoned stories. Childhood diaries. Yellowing postcards. Borrowed books that were forgotten beneath a bed and never returned. Were you interested in anything in particular? The other world’s books are quite strange, but are worth browsing.”
“We aren’t looking for a book, Nakano-san,” Hana said. “We were hoping that you could help us find a place.”
“A place?”
“The place where your father heard children cry beneath the ground.”
Hiroko clamped her hand over Hana’s mouth, her eyes darting around her. “Do not say another word.”
—
Hiroko led them to a dark corner of the library whose shelves were covered by cobwebs and a thick layer of dust. “This section houses all the stories with happy endings. As you can see, it is not very popular. Even the fireflies avoid this place.”
“Why?” Keishin said.
