“But—”
“Sometimes it is a conspiracy,” Atlas admitted, mercifully keeping her from spluttering any further. “On occasion it bears some resemblance to the Ides of March. But often it is a sacrifice, and therefore beholden to great sorrow.”
“But,” Libby attempted again, and hesitated, finding herself unable to begin. “But how—”
“How can we ask it of you? Not easily,” said Atlas. “It is, I’m afraid, an ancient practice. As old as the Library itself. With each generation of initiates we learn more, we expand the breadth and use of our knowledge, but the primary principle of magic remains unfailingly true: It always comes at a cost.”
“But we were not informed,” Libby said flatly, and Atlas nodded.
“No one ever is, Miss Rhodes.”
“Would you have told us?”
“Yes, of course, eventually. Secrets are difficult to keep, and the Forum often interferes.”
Libby gritted her teeth. “How do they know about it?”
“The Society is ancient, Miss Rhodes, and therefore so are its enemies. Humans are fallible creatures. Better the Forum’s interference than the Wessex Corporation, at least. Capitalism has a terrible tendency to abandon its principles altogether.”
“And somehow your principles remain?”
“If there were another way,” Atlas said simply, “we would use it.”
Libby fidgeted a moment, both wanting and not wanting to ask.
“You want to know how,” Atlas guessed, and she glanced up, resentful of his sympathy. “It’s a reasonable question, Miss Rhodes. You may ask it.”
“Is it—？” She broke off. “Is it… some sort of full moon sacrifice, some customary ritual? Each year on the solstice or the equinox or something?”
“No, nothing like that. It is a sacrifice, the sliver of a whole.”
“That’s it?”
“It?” he echoed, and she blinked. “There is no small matter of it, Miss Rhodes. You are all bound to each other by your experience here, whether you like it or not,” Atlas informed her, suddenly more adamant than she had ever heard him. “There is nothing forgettable or small about the way you have all embedded yourselves in each other. Without exception, you become more deeply inextricable from each other with every passing day. The purpose of the elimination is not to rid yourself of something you can lose, but rather to remove something which makes you what you are.”
“So we just have to kill someone,” Libby summarized bitterly. “That’s it? No particular method, no ceremony, no specific day?”
Atlas shook his head.
“And every few years you simply stand there and watch someone die?”
“Yes,” said Atlas.
“But—”
“Consider, Miss Rhodes, the scope of power,” Atlas cut in gently. “Which specialties benefit the world, and which do not. This is not always a matter of personal allegiances.”
“Why would an unbeneficial specialty be chosen to begin with?” Libby demanded. “Didn’t you say yourself that each initiate is the best the world has to offer?”
“Of course. However, each initiation cycle, there is one member who will not return, and the Society is cognizant of this,” Atlas said. “This must always be a factor in discussion among the board’s members when nominating which candidates to submit for consideration.”
“Are you saying someone is… intentionally chosen for death?”
The idea itself was astounding. Libby could hear her blood rushing in opposition, a deafening tide of disbelief.
“Of course not.” Atlas smiled. “Just something to think about.”
They sat there in a long, unwavering silence until Libby rose clumsily to her feet. She stopped, halfway to the door, and pivoted around.
“The archives,” she said, belatedly remembering her sister once again. “Who controls what we can see?”
Atlas glanced up, fixing her with a long moment of scrutiny. “The library itself.”
“Why should I believe that?” she asked, and then, frustration igniting, she pushed him more vehemently. “Why should I believe anything you say?”
His expression didn’t change. “I do not control the archives, Miss Rhodes, if that is your question. There are numerous subjects denied to me as well.” “But this is your Society!”
“No,” Atlas corrected. “I am one of this Society’s Caretakers. I do not own it, I do not control it.”