“It is not a matter of strength, Taraana. I don’t see why you should have to subject yourself to further tragedy.”

“Am I supposed to stand back and let you do it for me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to. Because I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Taraana says icily, and turns away as if he hadn’t been clinging to her not even five minutes ago.

Paheli glares at him and mutters unflattering things about stupid boys who don’t listen to commonsense suggestions when they should. He pretends not to hear.

II.

The librarian brings back six items and a very old man. The six items include: one handkerchief with unraveling embroidery, a comb with several missing teeth, a link of a silver bracelet, a cracked handheld mirror, a chipped mug, and a yellowed turban.

The old man is dressed in white robes that have softened from multiple washings. His face is mostly obscured by a long white beard, and his head is covered by a black kufi. But the age that the lines on his face illustrate cannot compare to the time marked by the depth in his eyes. Even though this man appears human, his age is many times the span of an ordinary person. We do not ask, but we have the feeling that the how and perhaps the why of his age will be revealed soon. Qasim holds on to the old man carefully, and the old man holds on to his cane tightly. His frailty alarms us. We tend to break fragile things.

Taraana rises to his feet when the old man and Qasim come to a stop before him. The old man lets go of Qasim’s hand and surprises us all by bowing to Taraana, who looks flabbergasted. Not quite the right response to the obeisance shown him, but we can’t really blame him.

“Master!” Qasim is shocked and helps the man straighten from his bow.

“Show him some respect, boy. He is the new Keeper of the Between and our new Master.” He turns to us. “My name is Ferdinand,” he says in a voice that contains the accumulation of his years. “It is my honor to read for you, keeper.”

“He’s not the first keeper you have met, is he?” Paheli says while we try to wrap our minds around Taraana being someone’s master.

Qasim helps the old man to a chair at the table on which the relics have been placed. The old man lifts a shaking hand to his forehead and rubs it. “No. I knew the last keeper. They were the one who created this library.” Ferdinand looks at Taraana. “Sit with me.”

We all take seats around the table. “They chose to call themselves Eckle, and they wore their immense power lightly.”