Page 12 of Shield of Fire

I placed the Eye on top of my knives, then pressed them all against the Codex. When I’d first found it, it had been nothing more than a worn and very plain-looking leather notebook, but the blood-bonding ceremony had changed that, turning the old leather a glassy black. The light that rolled across its surface at my touch echoed that of the Eye but held none of its dangerous electricity. Which was an illusion, given the cost of stepping into the library’s godly realm was strength; if you lingered too long, it could lead to death.

I took a deep breath that did nothing to ease the gathering tension, then said, “What can you tell me about the Shield of Hephaestus?”

For the briefest of seconds, nothing happened. Then light erupted from the triune, surrounding me in a dizzyingly bright whirlpool that swept me up and then swept me away. But it wasn’t a physical departure so much as a mental—or perhaps even spiritual—one. I could still feel the old leather chair under my butt, could still hear the building’s gentle song and, through it, the movement of staff on the floors below. But the song and the movement were little more than faint whispers against the sheer noise being generated from the colorful maelstrom I was now arrowing through.

I finally came to a halt in a bright, open space filled with a multitude of different shapes. Long and tall, thin, or thick, some round, but most square or rectangular.

Not shelves. Books.

Books that hovered in orderly rows in the nothingness of this place and glowed with an unearthly energy.

It is a pleasure to see you again, young Aodhán. What do you wish to know about Hephaestus’s Shield?

The voice was neither male nor female and held no hostility or power. It exuded wisdom, knowledge, and an odd sense of welcome, but I had no doubt whatsoever that could change at the snap of a finger. Gods—and even those who looked after godly spaces such as this library—tended to smite first and ask questions later.

That’s if all the family legends were to be believed, anyway. It wasn’t as if I’d had all that much to do with them until recently.

Can you tell me where the shield might currently be located?

That is not within the purview of this library.

I didn’t think it would be, given the library held ancient knowledge rather than modern, but I had nothing to lose by asking. The shield gives the user the power of fire and volcanoes—does that mean they can actually raise volcanoes, or is it more a figure of speech?

The glowing books whirled briefly, then one popped out and floated toward me, hovering in the air while the pages flipped open.

There were no words to be seen, only images, and I suspected that was deliberate. Either the godly librarian feared I wouldn’t understand the words—and to be honest, that was likely given I couldn’t even read Latin, let alone a language as old as the gods themselves—or they simply didn’t want to make things too easy. They might want me to find the missing relics, but that didn’t mean they’d provide every scrap of pertinent information. Old gods—and perhaps even the new—had a long history of playing games with humanity.

The first image was of a man dressed in a white Roman-style tunic holding a bronze shield that very much reminded me of the Wandsworth Shield I’d once seen in the British Museum. The flange here held stylized flames rather than birds, and the boss held three red stones—the rubies—in a triangular formation rather than having a central ornamental stud.

The page flipped over. The next image showed ghostly green flames burning through a town surrounded by a lava flow.

I glanced up. There’s no volcano in this picture—does that mean the user can’t actually raise them?

The book snapped shut and zipped back to its place. One does not need to raise volcanoes if one wields the means to make the earth run like fire, young Aodhán.

But does one need the shield to do that, or can the rubies be used separately?

The room spun, and another book flew toward me. Pages flipped, this time revealing a set of three pictures. In the first, a glowing ruby presided over a ball of unnatural green flames—the same flames I’d seen last night. In the second, it was liquid, fiery earth oozing across a burning field. The third showed an anvil and hammer.

What does the third image represent?

They are the tools of a smith. What is made by one can be undone by one.

Can anyone—human or fae—wield the rubies? Or do you need to be a witch or a mage?

If Hephaestus’s gifts are united within the shield, magical adeptness is not required. If they are singular, then perhaps.

Perhaps? You don’t know?

This library contains all the knowledge of the known world. If the answers lay beyond the known, they cannot be retrieved.

Which sounded like a long-winded way of saying he had no idea.

How great a spread of destruction can a fully “armed” shield cause?

Pages flipped over. This time, the picture revealed a city being decimated by fire and earth, while whatever metal or iron was used in creating buildings and tools simply deformed and returned to their mineral form.

So, not world-destroying, but still pretty dramatic. Especially if our witch and his partner decided smaller targets were no longer working for them, and went larger. Like the whole of Deva. Or hell, even London. We had no idea just how far their revenge-seeking might spread, if indeed that was what truly lay behind these actions.

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