Darius Jones

“Of all the mysteries, Darius,” the old man began. “Perhaps the greatest is Mind. For all the ignorance in the world, the assaults against reason by tyrants and rabble, no one has been able to stop it. Just the opposite. All those cultures that have abandoned Mind have paid the price, lost their way and decayed, succumbing to the darkness. And yet Mind has forged ahead.”

“They are the lost books,” he turned his head, grasping his cane and raising it aloft, as if speaking more to the books than to me. “The destroyed books, the burnt books, the missing, the stolen, the drowned, the forgotten. Those ruined by water, fire, mold, man’s malice or neglect or, perchance…time itself. They’re all here, every last one, Darius. At least for a time.”