Darksiders: The Seed of Knowledge

Chapter Nineteen

Faith's mind was hazy after the Knowledge Rush she'd received when Azrael told War the truth.  At first, she thought she was back in Agramon's lair, but there was ambient light here instead of semi-sentient shadows.  And books.  Agramon didn't keep books.  She touched the books for reassurance, her mind calming as she absorbed their secrets, but she still couldn't think clearly.

She chewed her knuckle as she looked about the room.  All she could see were books, a table and . . .  She blinked.  Was that a chalkboard?  Since when did angels have chalkboards?  And how had her bags and weapons ended up on the table?  What was going on?

She moved to the chalkboard and took the stick of white chalk.  She had all the information War had received, knew every last detail of Azrael's story, but something about it didn't make sense.  She had to figure out what it was.  She had to know the truth.

Her knuckle still between her teeth, she lifted the chalk to the board and began to scribble.  Runes and numbers from every language and culture to ever exist formed highly complex equations on the large, rectangular board.  Everything was written out like a computer program.  If anyone was watching—and she knew someone had to be—they wouldn't understand any of it.  Which, in fact, was the point.

She coded everything Azrael had said, all the details that had flown into her mind, focusing on the part about her potential and Michael's expectations.  She worked from there and calculated all the variables.  When she ran out of space on the chalkboard, she continued with whatever surface was available—the table, the walls, the floor, the shelves.  Not the books, though; she would never do that to books.

Time stood still for her as she worked.  Had someone called her name, she wouldn't have responded.  She grew tired but was too focused to sleep.  Even when she ate her rations she didn't stop computing.  Her finger bled a little as she gnawed it out of habit, but she hardly noticed the pain.

Then, after several hours of vigorous mental labor, her efforts finally reached their conclusion, and she found herself shaking with dread.

No.  She dropped what was left of the chalk and covered her mouth with both hands, her steel blue eyes aghast.  They wouldn't.  They can't . . .

But she knew they would.  In fact, according to her calculations, they already were.

"We have to get out of here."

Her mind once again clear and sharp as ever, she ran to the table, clipped her weapons to her belt and back, and frantically threw her bags onto her shoulders.

"War—"  She turned.  The Horseman wasn't with her.  "Damn it!"

She sprinted to the door.  It was locked from the outside.  She looked for another way out.  She had to find War.  They had to meet up with Fenrir and get the hell out of Heaven.

She realized she was panicking, so she slapped herself across the face and realigned her focus.  Then she saw that the room she was locked in was much bigger than it should have been.  It was itself a library of impossible depth, width and height.  Librarians, scribes and archivists tended to the many texts, all of them traveling on the wing.  Intricate walkways led to every part of the chamber, to balconies and windows and otherwise inaccessible tomes.  Light streamed through the many stained-glass windows and reflected off the silver walls; that, plus the natural ambiance of the realm, amplified the light by which to find one's way and read.

Faith couldn't stop her mouth from falling open.  "This . . .  This is . . ."

How the hell had she ended up in the Library of the Argent Spire?!