A World Without Heroes

by Brandon Mull

“I liked how even though the summaries were concise, they still told a story. Have you written anything else?”

  “Nothing I intend to reveal to you. I wish only to be remembered as Author Unknown.”

  “Will you ever own up to something you write?’

  The loremaster removed his spectacles and rubbed at his eyes. “Perhaps. My father once admonished me to master the laws that govern fine writing until I could weave my words into worlds. If ever I accomplish that feat, I will sign my name to the tale.”

  Jason surveyed the aisles of books all around him. Books written in another world—many lifetimes worth of stories and insight and philosophy that he would never read. The loremaster replaced his bifocals.

  “I’m hungry,” Jason said.

  “We have nourished the mind,” the loremaster said, patting his midsection. “Why not see to the belly?”

  * * *

  The loremaster served lunch in a room he called the Contemplation Chamber. Giant masks decorated the walls, each a bronze human face, each with one eye squinted shut. Somewhat stained and smudged in places, a detailed mural of thousands of interlocking hands covered the ceiling. Illumination came from a dozen candles in the black iron chandelier and a few oil lamps spaced about the room.

  To Jason’s surprise, the meal was served by the young boy he had met beside the river the night before. When the boy first entered the room, he locked eyes with Jason and subtly shook his head, a pleading expression flashing across his features. Jason took this to mean that the boy did not want their prior association revealed. The loremaster offhandedly introduced the boy as Hermie.

  Jason ate ravenously. A small pile of bitter gray nuts began the meal. The loremaster insisted they were nutritious. Jason washed them down with a cool drink that tasted like diluted berry juice with a hint of honey. The main course was spotted parasol mushrooms, accompanied by a side of dry yellow berries with a flavor like sour candy. The mushrooms were bigger than Jason’s hand. They possessed a tender, fleshy consistency and a salty savor not unlike ham. Jason consumed two of the sizable fungi. Dessert consisted of pie stuffed with purple pulp textured like pumpkin innards. Jason was delighted to find the pie sweet and delicious.

  “This pie is excellent,” Jason said.

  “Yes, there is nothing quite like blue root pie.”

  “I was trying to compare the flavor to something.”

  “It is unique. How would I describe it? A bit like tasting the opposite of peppered venison in mint sauce.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. Why are all these masks winking?” Jason pointed around the room with his fork.

  The loremaster dabbed at his mouth with a frilled purple napkin. “One eye is open to all truth, the other closed to all deception.”

  “That makes more sense than I expected.” Jason reconsidered the bronze faces as symbols of discernment. “Do you mind if I stay the night?”

  The loremaster blinked. “I assumed you would stay much longer than a single night.”

  Jason shook his head. “I have to figure out a way home. My parents must be freaking out. My dog is probably starving. My life is there. Everyone I know, my friends. My school.”

  “You are a student? What better place for an education than the Repository of Learning?”

  “This is a great place, it really is, but I can’t stay.”

  The loremaster nodded regretfully. “I was looking forward to some company.”

  “You’ve got Hermie,” Jason said.

  “A mere lad.”

  “I’m only thirteen.”

  “That is the year a boy assumes the mantle of manhood. Hermie is but eleven.”

  “Maybe you should relocate,” Jason suggested. “You’ll never have many visitors if you stay hidden away in this forest.”

  The loremaster shook his head. “Only by my secluded location do I avoid unwanted scrutiny. Those who truly need and appreciate this facility find their way here.”

  Jason helped Hermie clear the plates and silverware. In the small kitchen the loremaster refused to let Jason help wash.

  “Waste no time dallying with trivialities—Hermie will clean the tableware. Explore the library while you can, for tomorrow may be too late. I only ask you not to trespass in the upper level. It is forbidden.”

  “Forbidden? Why?”

  Hermie shot Jason a curious glance.

  “I cannot say,” the loremaster replied. “But I assure you it is not casually prohibited. My father used to make certain books in our family library forbidden because it was the only way to get me to read them. Boring things, mostly. A clever ruse. That which is not permitted is always most enticing. Do not mistake my intention. I counsel you in all sincerity—resist becoming intrigued. The upper level is completely off-limits for good reason. Understood?”

  “Yes,” Jason said. Was the loremaster trying to employ the same trick his father had used, immediately after explaining what his father had done? The upper level might be full of boring textbooks and dictionaries and junk. Or it might be unusually cool, housing ancient artifacts or weapons or treasure. More important, the upper level might contain some clue that could help him find his way home. Hadn’t the loremaster recently explained that information about the Beyond was forbidden? Where better to look than the forbidden area of a library? The more he thought about it, the more it seemed the loremaster had offered a deliberate hint. He left the loremaster and Hermie behind in the kitchen, determined to sleuth out a staircase.

  Jason wandered the maze of books, surprised at how easy it was to become disoriented. Before he encountered any stairs, Jason discovered a large atrium in the middle of the library, visible from all sides behind large panels of glass. He found a sliding door and ventured out into the verdant courtyard.

  Overhead, the sun had passed midday. A few puffy clouds stood out against a field of blue. A covered well, complete with winch and bucket, stood in the middle of the atrium beside a stone sundial. Lush fruit trees overshadowed bushes bright with berries. Some of the fruit looked familiar, like colorful variations on plums and apricots, while other fruit appeared completely alien, like the gray furry fruit and the oblong, translucent fruit.

  Once the courtyard garden had been properly explored, Jason returned to winding among the bookshelf corridors. Not a wall in the building lacked books. Books even occupied the space above doorways. Occasional hanging lanterns provided most of the light. Time after time Jason encountered dead ends, forcing him to backtrack. Finally, after extensive wandering, he arrived at a helical staircase in a rear corner of the massive building. He dashed up the spiraling steps two at a time and arrived at a large iron door riddled with tiny holes. The perforations were arranged in an orderly grid of columns and rows. Wooden pegs shaped like golf tees protruded from the ten center holes in the uppermost row.

  Jason tried the handle. The door was locked. There was no keyhole near the handle. He began counting holes, tallying one hundred in each horizontal row, and about three hundred in each vertical column. A quick computation yielded a total of thirty thousand holes.

  He pulled out a peg, hearing a snick as he did so. The peg was slightly longer than his little finger. Inserting the peg into a random hole, he heard it click into place. Snick-click, snick-click, snick-click—he tried the peg in various holes. Jason shook his head. It was the most complicated lock he had ever seen. He replaced the peg into its original hole. Click. The odds against randomly matching the ten pegs to the right combination of holes were staggering—far beyond something simple like winning the lottery.

  Peering closely, Jason detected tiny symbols at the left of each row and at the bottom of each column. Each symbol was unique.

  When closer inspection offered no new information, he retreated down the staircase. With nothing else to do, Jason roamed and browsed. He found books about farming and tool making. Many books were written in foreign languages he did not recognize. One book in English discussed how to construct and fortify a makeshift garrison
in hostile territory. Another called The Epics of Count Galin of Misenmarch was a hefty book full of long poems. Jason envisioned himself bringing the book home and claiming authorship as a joke. How could it be plagiarism if the material you borrowed came from another world? His English teacher would faint!

  Jason was perusing an interesting manuscript called These Short Lives, which presented a supposedly factual account of a race of people whose lifespan was only two years, when a big dog with long white fur came into view around a corner. Jason closed the book. The dog just stood there, a juicy pink tongue lolling out. Jason approached cautiously, sinking a hand into the silky fur. “Good boy,” he said in a special voice reserved for canines. “You’re a good boy. You don’t want to maul me, do you?” Petting the animal made him wonder how his own dog was doing back home.

  The dog walked away, then stopped to look back. A shiny silver bell dangling from the collar tinkled softly when the dog moved. “You want me to follow?” Jason asked, setting the book down.

  The dog led him along a direct route back to the Contemplation Chamber. Dinner awaited on the table. It looked much like lunch, except that these mushrooms were yellow and shaped like stocking caps.

  Jason took his seat across from the loremaster and began eating. Hermie was not present.

  “That is quite a lock on the door to the upper level,” Jason said around a buttery mouthful of mushroom.

  The loremaster froze with a bite halfway to his mouth.

  “Where would a guy keep a combination to a lock like that?” Jason asked after swallowing.

  “You are certainly a forward youth, if nothing else,” the loremaster fussed. “The upper level is forbidden. That includes me.”

  “Did you design the door?”

  “No.”

  “Who did? The Unknown Designer?”

  The loremaster shrugged.

  “You know the combination, don’t you? What kind of librarian would be totally locked out of part of his own building?”

  “Would you care to sample a bubblefruit hybrid I produced?”

  “I repeat my question.”

  The loremaster held up one of the oblong, translucent fruits Jason had noticed in the atrium. “The pure bubblefruit is virtually invisible. I mixed this one with a qualine. It tastes rather pleasant.”

  “I’ll stay here beyond tomorrow if you tell me the combination.”

  The loremaster raised his eyebrows. “If you were to trespass in the upper level, I would have to throw you out. If that is your design, I would prefer you depart at once.”

  Jason had lost interest in eating. The loremaster took a bite.

  “You don’t need to give it to me,” Jason said with all the nonchalance he could muster. “Just tell me how to get the combination. A little clue. I’m only curious about the door. I’ve never seen a lock like that one.”

  The loremaster eyed him uncertainly. “A sudden interest in locks, is it? Very well, if you are determined. I have offered ample warning. A book called The Life I Have Known may contain a clue.”

  “How do I find the book?”

  “I’ll have it delivered to your room.”

  Jason returned to his food. He bit into the bubblefruit hybrid. The inside was syrupy, but sweet and good. Greenish fluid dribbled down his chin. He finished with a slice of blue root pie.

  Afterward, while Hermie cleaned up, the loremaster escorted Jason to a bedroom. The austere chamber contrasted with the lavish architecture prominent elsewhere in the building. A small cot, a stool, a simple table, and a dresser topped with a laving basin were the only furnishings. Bare walls, bare floor, no windows.

  Once he was alone, Jason blew out his single fat candle, plunging the room into darkness. Somewhere far off he heard the faint jingle of a bell. Taking a seat on his cot, Jason got out his cell phone, the glow from the screen pushing back the darkness. He reread his messages. The battery was nearly dead.

  Jason wished Matt or Tim were with him. They had been his best friends for years. Matt was the most loyal person Jason had ever met, and Tim was hilarious. If they were here, Jason doubted he would feel scared.

  But they weren’t here. Nobody was here. He wondered if Matt and Tim would blame themselves for his disappearance. They would probably assume the blow from the baseball had given him a brain clot or something. He imagined them searching for his body. He wished he could somehow tell them that he was alive. He wished he could hop on his bike and meet up with them, maybe catch a movie, or throw a ball around, or organize a homerun derby.

  Someone knocked softly on his door.

  “Come in,” Jason said.

  Holding a candle, Hermie entered and shut the door. After setting the candle down, he sat on the floor. “Weird light,” the boy commented. “Do you dabble in Edomic?”

  Jason glanced at his cell phone. “It’s from the Beyond. It won’t last much longer.”

  “Thanks for not saying anything about the river. I didn’t have permission to be there.”

  “No problem,” Jason said.

  “What were you thinking, shooting an arrow at the raft?”

  “Going off the waterfall seemed like a bad idea. I wanted to rescue them.”

  The boy huffed. “Are you trying to be some kind of hero? Is that why you’re poking around the upper level?”

  “I’m no hero,” Jason assured him. “I just want to get home.”

  “Want to get to Harthenham, I’ll bet.”

  “What’s that?”

  Hermie folded his arms. “Come on, you’re really going to pretend you don’t know.”

  “I really have no clue.”

  The cell phone died.

  “There went your light,” Hermie said.

  “That was all the juice in the battery. Do you know how to get into the upper level?”

  Hermie snorted. “I’m smart enough to stay away. I just help clean up around here and run errands. Here is that book you wanted.” He held out a thin book bound in creamy leather entitled The Life I Have Known and Other Stories. “You’d have to be a little thick to miss the clue.”

  Jason accepted the book. “Thanks. Why not save me time and show me the hint?”

  He held up both hands. “I’m not a part of this. The dog can help you get around. Anyhow, thanks for not mentioning how we met before. I could get in trouble. I’ll keep quiet about you shooting folks with arrows.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Hermie picked up his candle and went to the door. “Get some sleep.” He slipped out without waiting for a reply.

  Jason was left in darkness.

  He had hoped Hermie might help him. It would be nice to have a friend. But the boy had only seemed concerned with making sure Jason would keep their previous encounter confidential.

  Jason reclined on his cot. This would be his second consecutive night in an alternate reality. Thanks to the loremaster, at least he now had reason to believe others had crossed over from his world to this one. That gave him a little hope that somewhere, somebody might know how he could get back. With luck the answer might be nearby, waiting behind the forbidden door.

  Back home his parents would have called the hospitals and notified the police by now. He might even be on the news! They would probably search for him all over the zoo—the last place he’d been seen. He wondered if any evidence would implicate the hippo.

  CHAPTER 3

  THE WORD

  Jason awoke the next morning in darkness. Rolling over, he saw a line of flickering light at the base of the door. He fumbled out of bed, splashed his face with water, ran his fingers through his hair, grabbed the book, and left the room. A guttering lamp in the hallway accounted for the unsteady illumination.

  The big white dog lay outside the door. It rose and guided him to breakfast.

  “Good day to you,” greeted the loremaster.

  “Good morning.”

  “I see Hermie brought you The Life I Have Known. Help yourself to some food. I’m off to man the front desk
.”

  “What’s the dog called?” Jason asked.

  “Feraclestinius Androbrelium Pathershin the Seventh.”

  “No, I meant his entire name.”

  “To abbreviate, I call him Feracles. Come by if you need anything.”

  The loremaster left. Jason drank a hot black beverage, which didn’t smell much like coffee. At first the drink was unbearably bitter, but sweetened with plenty of sugar it became palatable. Messy pieces of dripping fruit and a small bowl of really crunchy nuts completed the meal.

  After wiping his hands on a napkin, Jason picked up the book. As with the volume from the day before, it was attributed to Author Unknown. He opened to the table of contents and found the titles of various short stories. Some stood out more than others. Apart from “The Life I Have Known,” he noticed “Conversations with an Osprey,” “Mysteries of the Deep,” and “Last Wishes of a Bumblebee.”

  Jason thumbed forward to an arbitrary page and read the following:

  “How will you teach your children to fly?” I inquired of the mother. “I do not see how you could ever coax them into the air.”

  “You do not understand because you are a man. Teaching a bird to fly is similar to teaching a man to swim. Can you swim?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you frightened when you learned? Frightened you would sink?”

  “Naturally.”

  “So it is with teaching birds to fly. Except we fly better than you swim. The air is our element. We are as clumsy walking on land as you are swimming in water.”

  Weird stuff. The handwriting looked familiar. He had a guess at who had authored the book. He leafed through the pages, hunting for clues.

  Eventually he flipped to the inside of the back cover. On the otherwise blank page a single word had been scrawled: Moondial.

  Having never heard of a moondial, Jason hoped the term referred to the sundial out by the well.

  As Jason closed the book, the white dog stared at him, head tilted, thick fur glossy. Could the dog know the library well enough to guide him to a destination?