The approach to the mountains of Mold is a sight rarely seen by human eyes. The mold consumes books, the paper contained within providing the nutrients necessary to support the Mold.

Both in inhabiting the Library and in absorbing the nutrients of the pages, the Mold acquires Knowledge as well, and a large enough Mold colony gains sentience. The Mold in its mountains out in the Wild West is very intelligent indeed.

Though mounds of Mold existed long before the Academy set up shop, the cavalier activity between worlds carried on by the Academy meant a fresh influx of new mold, and a continuing problem for the Academy.

In the early days the Academy solved moldy book problems by simply hauling the books outside the walls and dumping them there.

The Mold collected fresh Mold unto itself and so grew to great heights out in the west, the region most cavalier of them all both in generating mold-laden books and in poor dumping practices.

Certain other regions learned long before the West to keep their books well lighted and dry, and to practice more mindful disposal to keep the Mold down. Now the Western Region of the Academy contracts Witches from the other Regions to fight its battles against the Mold.

Those whose True Names have been sold don’t get a choice in the matter, their contracts always going to the highest bidder. For graduate students of the Southern District the highest bidder is almost always the Western District with one job in mind.

The Witch is a veteran of some bitter campaigns against the Mold, and it is those memories that resurface as the Witch and company follow Ailuros into the barren plains laid before the mountains.

The edges of the stacks before the Mold are a foreboding place, the Mold growing underground in great root networks, breaking forth in the edge stacks to take the books down into itself. A series of shelving collapse into a moldy pit as the Witch and company pass by.

The familiar stacks of books give way completely, having already been consumed by the Mold, shelving and all. In their place moss and lichen grows on the ground, and as one walks closer to the mountains the rolling fields of moss and lichen become a fungal forest, forms both familiar and alien.

As the Witch and company make their way through the great stalks of fungus and mold, the air is thick with spores. As Ailuros stated, nothing touches them, the air surrounding the Witch and company remaining pure, their bubble moving along with them.

The Witch wonders if it is a spell, or does the Mold truly respect a being like Ailuros to this degree? And if it’s the latter, what has the Mold seen and experienced at the hands of one like Ailuros?

Soon the foot of the nearest mountain stands before the Witch and company, the slope gentle at first and covered still by the great fungal forest, but soon great outcroppings of the dark mineral of the mountain shoot up in between the fungi.

The ‘stone’ of the mountain is a product of the Mold itself, the shelving consumed with the books reworked within the Mold’s biomass into housing more amenable to the Mold, taking the shape of great mountains in a range spanning miles.

Soon the incline of the mountain increases, and the Witch and company approach the entrance to a cave hidden within the forest and mineral deposits.

Ailuros pauses before the entrance and turns to the Witch and company, “This is your last chance, do you wish to proceed?”

None among the group pause as the Witch steps forward into the cave first, the rest following with Ailuros smiling.

In the mountains the Witch and company stumble upon scenes of madness, at least madness to them. Their first brush with it begins when the Witch casts a lighting spell, the orb of light emanating from her hand and floating above their heads near the roof of the cave.

Standing right in front of them, guarding the way further into the cave is a rather large ant. Leonie is the most spooked as they were standing right next to its head when up went the light.

Leonie speaks, “Wait, it’s not mold, it’s ants?”

The Witch answers, “The ants tend to the Mold.”

The ant, without a word, turns and ushers the Witch and company further into the cave. As they walk, the light from the spell casts shadows on the wall, the shadows at first dancing without form, but soon the shadows form.

What they form at first are fish, many fish swimming along the wall in an underwater scene formed from shadows on the wall of a cave.

Further and further the Witch and company descend into the mountain, and the scene of fish gives way to one of penguins of great size, huddled together, beset by shadows mimicking snow in a storm.

Penguins, lions, tigers, bears, buffalo, sheep, cattle, elephants, any and every animal imaginable and unimaginable dances on the wall of the cave as the Witch and company walk.

Soon one more animal joins the danse macabre. Shadows in human form take shape, simple outlines such as those found on caves back in the world. But one shadow is a little more detailed, looking to be wearing a coat and a hat.

The shadow with the hat opens its eyes and looks upon the Witch and company. The ant stops before the shadow, and Ailuros speaks, “It’s good to see you again, old friend.”

The shadow bows, “It’s been too long. What brings you to us once more? We feel rumbling in the world without, do you bring news of it?”

Leonie, transfixed by the shadow moving on the dark, shimmering wall of the cave says, “So do the ants run the show, or the shadows?”

The shadow smiles, “This mountain with all its nooks and crannies is our garden, and does a garden not need gardeners? Some of us were carried by ants in your world, and we brought some of them here with us through your portals you so thoughtfully provide for our use.”

Leonie says, “They have gotten much bigger here. What do they eat? What keeps them alive here in the Library?”

The shadow continues, “They eat what grows deep within the mountain, a part of ourselves sustains the ants.”

“And you just let them do that? You willingly sacrifice a part of yourself to feed the ants?”

The shadow bows, “What makes you think we perish at any point in the process?”

Ailuros speaks again, “Thank you That-Came-From-Before for being so gracious as to host us as you are. I am here to request my scroll from you, the one I gave you for safe keeping so many eons ago. The time is come.”

The shadow still in its bow, “We understand. We will prepare for your command, give the word and we will take flight.”

Leonie bends down to speak to Ailuros, “Why do they need to take flight to give you the scroll?”

Ailuros answers, “The Mold does not keep the scroll it guards here in the mountains, it keeps it in the Academy.”

The Witch remains still, not showing any emotion and not speaking a word, staring at the shadow on the cave wall. At no point does she tell anyone present that the shadow with the hat speaks with a voice she recognizes and knows well.

It was a beautiful, sunny day when the Fairies showed up in Fort Meade, MD, wearing boots. The Fey entered the nondescript dark glass cube baking in the sun.

Once inside the building, the Fairies were met by a group of men wearing all black. Dark shirts, dark slacks, dark armor, dark guns, eyes hiding behind dark sunglasses.

One of the Fairies steps forward and begins their assault.

None of the rounds fired by the Magic Men meet their mark, instead falling harmlessly to the floor. The lead Fairy pulls a sword from her scabbard and slices the Magic Man closest to her, his torso dropping away from his legs.

The man now bisected screams in terror and pain on the ground as the Fairies cut their way through the Magic Man cleanup crew. Word goes out over the radio, with a second and third cleanup crew arriving in the foyer. The problem for the Magic Men cut to pieces is none of those pieces proceed to die.

The swords with which the Fairies cut down the Magic Men leave them alive, the searing pain now eternal. One of the Magic Men cut down crawls forward towards the still whole cleanup crews with his one attached arm, and through his screams of ever enduring pain cries out, “We can’t die! We can’t die anymore! Run!”

The foyer erupts in panic as Magic Men stumble over themselves in retreat. The Fairies press their advantage.

After a long moment in a fugue state the Witch returns to her senses and approaches Ailuros. The Witch says, “I’m done living in the dark through all this. What is going on?”

The Cat peers at the Witch, “You do want your True Name back, do you not? You know as well as I that simply stealing and breaking your contract in this timeline is not enough.”

“You need my scrolls, my magic to affect the spell that will free you, and all those who’ve lost and sold their True Names along with you. All that I ask in return is you learn who are your true friends and enemies.”

“In all of your fights against the Mold and those you lost to it, can you say the Mold was the fundamental problem?”

The Witch lets Ailuros’ words sit in the air. She understands the Cat’s point, but to hear his voice again, the voice of the professor who trained her and saved her life out in the stacks more than once, including in his final fight against the Mold, is for the moment too much.

The Witch responds to Ailuros, “I see your point and know we will need the Mold to get back into the Academy, especially since they’ll be on high alert for us. I will even trust the Mold to obtain the scroll you entrusted to it, but I would rather not fight alongside the Mold to do it.”

Ailuros smiles, “Well good thing I need you to prepare the spell. It will take quite a bit of work in preparation and needs a good laboratory in which to do it. I know you have a plan, we will work on the spell while the Mold obtains the scroll. We can work on reconciliation as we go.”

Reconciliation with the Mold. Never did she think such a day would arrive, thinks the Witch.

As the Witch and Ailuros speak, the shadow on the wall watches all present with staring eyes that do not blink. Deep in the mountain forces stir, with great numbers of ants on the march.

Soon, from the depths ants emerge and file past the Witch and company, many of them exercising membranous wings, others large and well armored trundle along the ground, the mountain itself shaking with the coordinated movement of millions of ant legs.

Outside the mountains to the east in the direction of the Academy, the Private Eye scans for the Witch. He does not see her, but from the mountains a dark cloud forms above as streams billow out on the slopes towards the plains below.

Ants, millions upon millions of them blot out the sky above the mountains and spread across the ground like a flood across desert lands. The Private Eye feels a sense of dread, he’s never seen the Mold gather forces this substantial even in its largest assaults on the Academy’s Western Wall.

Every cell in his body screams to run, to go back to the Academy as unsafe as that place is and soon will be, but the scroll in his pocket says otherwise, the magic contained within keeping his feet firmly planted where he is.

“A contract is a contract.” Says the Private Eye to himself as he braces for the Mold.

Out in the world, the people gathered around a BMW stuck at a light before an intersection look on at the driver with no heart, watching as the gaping wound grows flowers and vines.

Soon a shock spreads through the people when the light that had left the driver’s eyes returns, the driver reanimating, rolling down their window and asking, “What’s going on here?”

In their shock no one notices a Fairy approach from behind and put their hand on one of the onlooker’s shoulders.