The Day Reading Died

The Light Fades

Another book bearer has died.

I warned him it would be a hopeless cause to try and salvage from that area, but he insisted against my word. In my hands, right now, is the last vestibule of reality left that can hold the darkness at bay. Its brown leather cover carefully hugs the porous fibers of pulp within it. 

Although this book is five thousand years old, it still looks brand new. It smells like it was  bound together this morning.

Right now, it's open to the section on wards. Above me is the blue sky that still shows hope is available to those who need it. In front of me is a grey landscape with hordes of spirits looking to penetrate the veil that would give them dominion. 

They swim through the air and latch on to any living entity that dare walk through their landscape. No one can see them unless they've been properly trained. This has been the reason for the invention of writing and our stories. If only people had learned.

If only they kept reading.

"We've chosen a sword bearer," a voice said from behind.

I didn't have to turn to know who was speaking. There would be no point to look as he would only take a form that would be preferable to my own tastes. I didn't need to see what I already knew.

"How long before he's properly trained?" I asked.

"This one's going to take time. He's broken and still emotionally attached to those who have given up on reality."

"Could you not have chosen someone... I don't know... better?" I ask.

"He's the only one who can bear the sword. We have others who will take up the other mantles. They will suffice in the meantime," it responded.

"The letters tell me one of them is an eight year old girl and the other is a seventy year old man. I thought we were beyond moral lessons," I stated in annoyance.

"They are the most powerful of the group."

"When the sword bearer is ready, bring him here."

There was no reply to the last statement and I shouldn't be too surprised. When the conversation ends, there is no point in lingering on. 

SCREEEEECH

Not again.

They always try to rip through the wards, trying to find its weakness. Looking up, I see this one is attempting to puncture through the wind tunnel, which I've setup as a binding point for the area. 

I turn the pages to the section on the submission of spirits. What I would give to have Solomon's Ring right now.

The text has changed, again. It's uncertain if reality can continue its hold with this amount of permeation. The light that binds is fading and the war that is brewing will be a massacre. Thumbing through the text, I find the page - in a different spot than last time. 

It never stays the same.

This time, the page is filled with incoherent text and a large array of characters. Great. This one was created before the book of Adam. It's time to sit down and translate.

The screeching continues overhead.

This might be the last point of light in the world. I must defend it with every ounce of strength given to me.