The Library (The Librarian of Alexandria Book 1)

by Casey White

  Jean spun in place, forcing herself to slow down. Her chest burned, and her lungs ached for air, but she held her breath stubbornly. For a second, there was only the sound of blood rushing through her ears.

  There. Faintly, the stomp of tiny, running feet echoed down the aisle in front of her. She took off again. “Wait!”

  * * * * *

  Daniel was done waiting. He ran, pushing himself faster and faster until the bookshelves were just a blur on either side of him. He wanted to go home - and she was trying to keep him here. The bedroom he’d woken up in had a door, leading out to a garden. There would be another. He just needed to find a way to get outside, and he’d be safe. He knew it.

  Daniel ran with every fiber of his being fixated on that thought, that singular goal. Rooms flew past him. He passed from airy, spacious rooms into tight, claustrophobic cloisters that teemed with hastily stacked books. A light went on in his head. He grabbed at the stacks as they passed, kicking and pulling at any of the piles that came within arms reach. Anything was fair game as long as it bought him time. There was no conscious thought behind it. He was operating purely on instinct by then, fleeing in a primal panic.

  He was a long way from home. The realization finally sank in. Exactly how far away it was, he didn’t know. And worst of all was the horrible, sinking fear that he didn’t know how to get back.

  But ahead of him, the hallway changed. Gone were the narrow, dark hallways through rows of books. A pair of crystal-clear doors lay beyond the next room - and the openness was unmistakable. He’d made it. Almost.

  “Daniel!” he heard Jean scream from behind him. “You have to stop!”

  She was right on top of him. His heart hammered in his ears. Her lies had vanished, leaving behind what sounded like actual, honest fear. But he’d already reached the door, pushing through before doubt took hold.

  The hardwood floors he’d been following disappeared, replaced by cold concrete. It was a greenhouse, he saw, lined with pots bearing herbs and fruit.

  Daniel hurled those down, too, smiling at the satisfying crashes that followed in his wake. Her screams faded into pained cries, nearly drowned out by the noise of pottery shattering.

  And there - in front of him lay a set of double-wide doors, with the blue sky of the courtyard beyond showing through the windows. His heart leapt. Escape was right in front of him.

  “You can’t do this! Stop him!” Jean cried from the greenhouse behind. Her voice choked, catching on some strange, mysterious emotion. Too late. He threw an arm out, grabbing the handle.

  But when Daniel hit the doors, twisting hard, they held. The handle didn’t move underneath him. The doors didn’t budge. He hit them with his shoulder, but they held. In desperation, he punched at the glass, but his fist rebounded with a hollow ringing. He stared at the windows for a moment, caught in utter, complete disbelief.

  Jean tumbled to a stop behind him, panting and gasping for air. Daniel spun, gathering himself for another run. He’d cut back across the row of plants. He was so close. He’d find another door, and-

  “Wait. Please,” Jean whispered. She held a trembling, pale hand up. Daniel froze. He shouldn’t be standing around. He should take his chance and run, he knew.

  But he waited. Something about the slump of her shoulders said she was done. A trail of bloody footsteps traced out the path she’d taken through the greenhouse. She’d cut herself on the broken pots, then. He lifted his chin, pressing himself back against the door. He wasn’t sorry.

  Jean lifted her head far enough to fix her gaze on him. It burned with an odd intensity, both horrified and fearful. “P-Please. Please don’t run. I’ll send you home. I will. I promise.”

  His mom always said to keep your promises. He shifted from foot to foot. “You promise?”

  She nodded, still locking eyes with him. “I promise, Daniel.” With one last sigh she straightened, pressing one hand tight against her chest like she was in pain. “Please. You’ve been running for so long, and my feet are bleeding. Just...let me get you something to drink. You can rest, I’ll clean myself up, and then I’ll take you home.” Her eyes tightened, growing more worried with every second he didn’t reply. “Does that sound okay?”

  “...I guess,” he mumbled, nodding unhappily.

  She waited another long moment, her lips pressed together into a thin line. “Let’s head back, then,” she whispered. The start of a tiny, sad smile curled at her lips. “I think you’ll find a shortcut through the greenhouse.”

  He walked past her, shoulders hunched, and didn’t say another word.

  Jean lingered, looking back at the doors. He was this close to running over the Edge. What were you thinking?

  Daniel trudged towards the door leading back in, every muscle in his body aching. The interior of the library looked more welcoming than it ever had before. But as he reached for the handle, something caught his eye. He glanced back, peering through the windows of the door he’d been fighting with.

  For the first time, he realized that the courtyard outside only extended for a few hundred feet before....stopping. A blurry wall of nothingness twinkled merrily back at him.

  He shivered, and hurried back inside.

  * * * * *

  The sitting room was too hot. Daniel sat hunched over in his chair, glaring at the fire that still burned low in the brazier. A sheen of sweat glistened across his forehead, and his shirt was soaked through from his run. He cast a look back towards where Jean worked at a counter. As much as he hated to admit it, he was thirsty.

  She looked back in the same instant, catching his eye. “I assume you like chocolate milk?” she said, reaching into a wooden cabinet set into the wall.

  On any other day, that question would have put a smile on his face. Daniel just nodded. His eyelids drooped, sagging lower. The sitting room was stuffy, and now that he was sitting, his body was demanding payment for the run.

  Jean let her gaze linger on him. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe she could still fix it. A tiny click drew her attention back to the counter.

  A panel had flipped up from within the surface of the wood. She stared. The delicate vial tucked inside the cubby stared back.

  I know. I get it.

  A log in the fire popped. It was a tiny sound, soft and reassuring. Jean closed her eyes.

  I’m sorry. Thanks for letting me try things my way.

  She turned, the full glass in one hand, but Daniel was already half-asleep. He sat in a huddled mass on the chair, bleary eyes facing the fire.

  He stirred at the sound of her moving closer, but just enough to take the glass when she offered it to him. She watched, easing herself into a chair and prying her shoes off, as he downed it in one gulp. Blood dripped to the carpet from her slashed-up heel. She didn’t take her eyes off him.

  Forgive me.

  Daniel looked up, his eyes widening in horror as Jean started digging shards of broken glass and pottery out of her foot. She threw them into the fire one by one. The steady clink of it echoed in his ears. It bounced off the walls, swirling around and around until his head spun.

  He’d thought the drink would help wake him up, but it wasn’t. The smoke and the heat from the fire pressed in on him, giving the air a cloying, stifling quality. Every breath he took was a labor, consuming all of his energy.

  His eyes were so heavy. The fire danced in front of him, a blur of red and gold.

  Dimly, he saw a figure moving, approaching him from one side. Something took his arm, holding him up. The ground loomed underneath him, pulling him in. His lips parted, but no words came.

  The fog was too thick. He couldn’t see who it was.

  His eyes slid shut.

  Jean caught the glass before it hit the floor.

  * * * * *

  His eyes slid open.

  At first all he could see was darkness, wrapped in around him like a blanket. He gasped - and much to his surprise, the breath came as easily as ever. His brow furrowed. Why was that surprising?r />
  He didn’t know.

  He twisted, throwing off the covers and sitting bolt upright. Slowly, he turned, taking in the marvelous room. The elegant wood panels. The stone floors, stacked high with their rugs. Something was wrong - Déjà vu rose around him, nearly overwhelming in its intensity. But when he tried to think back, a wall of fog stood in his way.

  In a moment of sheer panic, he realized he couldn’t remember his name.

  He threw himself from the bed, icy adrenaline filling his veins, and stumbled towards the heavy door in the corner of the room. It took all his strength, but after a few tries he managed to lift the handle and throw the door open. He fell through the gap in a tumbling mess of limbs and fabric.

  Soft carpet crumpled under his fingers. The boy stopped.

  He’d fallen into another room, he saw - a sitting room of sorts, with a row of overstuffed chairs laid out in front of another, even larger fireplace. When he looked to either side, his unease building, hallways lined with doors stretched out as far as he could see.

  A woman sat in one of the chairs, he saw, sipping from a mug of something hot and steaming. She stared into the flames, her eyes dark and deeply unhappy. Her lips moved, but only the faintest whisper reached him.

  “No. One isn’t enough. I need at least five. He’s too young to make do otherwise.”

  Her words made no sense. He stood frozen in place, one hand still clutching the heavy iron handle.

  The woman sighed. “I understand. I’ll accept the consequences. I-”

  The hinges groaned, beginning to grind as his arm tired.

  She turned to face him. Green eyes stared back at him from under a neatly-trimmed head of soft, brown hair.

  He should know who she was. He knew her from somewhere. But every time he reached for the answer, it slipped further and further from his grasp.

  She smiled. “You’re awake. Good. I thought you might sleep all day, at this rate.” She rose, accompanied by a creak from the chair. Slowly, as though every step pained her, she walked towards him.

  He fell back, grabbing the door like a shield. “W-Who...Who are you?”

  Her eyes widened, then fell into shadow. “What do you mean, dear? I’m Jean.”

  Black hair flew as he shook his head wildly. “Then...Who am I? W-Where is this?”

  She didn’t move. She just watched him, the oddest mix of pity and grief in her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was quiet but firm. “You’re Daniel. This is the great Library, the seat of all knowledge. It goes by many names.” Her lips curled at the corners in a tiny, sardonic smile. “Mostly we call it Alexandria.”

  His limbs trembled as she stepped closer, but he didn’t run.

  She crouched in front of him, taking his shoulder. “This is your home. You live here. Do you remember any of that?”

  Confusion still soaked through his mind, tainting every thought, but it was starting to clear. Daniel. His name was Daniel. Slowly, he shook his head. Something whispered in the back of his mind - a lonely dirt path at dusk. A tree, at the edge of a park. A woman’s voice, calling for him. Pleading.

  But the images were blurred. Unfocused. Daniel looked up, meeting her green eyes with his brown.

  “...Alexandria,” he whispered.

  Jean nodded. She lifted a hand, slipping her fingers under the collar of his shirt and pulling a chain free from around his neck. Daniel looked down to see an intricately worked pendant bouncing between them. Each page of the book engraved into it shone in the firelight.

  A low jingling rose. He looked up again, just in time to see her pull a necklace out from under her jacket collar. The same pendant bounced there, shining brightly alongside his.

  “I’m the Librarian of Alexandria,” she said, and reached out to tap his necklace. It spun merrily, casting flickers of light across the chairs. “And starting today, you’re my apprentice.”

  She stood straight, letting the pendant drop back down to her shirt. Whatever pity had been in her eyes moments before, it was gone.

  “Wake up, and let’s get moving. You have a lot to learn.”

  - Chapter Three -

  Reaching out, Daniel turned the page.

  His eyes scanned the textbook in front of him, laid sprawled across a wooden desk. Words flashed past, spelling out a language he’d almost learned - the most recent of many.

  Almost. His nose wrinkled as his eyes stopped, caught on an unfamiliar term. Such an event was growing more and more uncommon, at least. Jean had been nothing if not insistent on that.

  Have to learn how to learn, she’d said, grinning down the length of her nose at him. You’ve got a lot of information to process, Daniel. You never know what language texts will be written in. You’ll have to be prepared for anything, and that means giving yourself the tools to adapt.

  He lifted his eyes, glancing to the towering bookshelves around him. They stretched to the ceiling of the room, a dark monk’s cloister lit by myriad candles. Without moving from his seat, he knew that if he walked to the door, he’d see the same - row upon row of books. No matter where he walked within Alexandria, that much wouldn’t change.

  Jean was right. He needed to grow. He needed to be better.

  Reaching for the next page, Daniel froze. His eyes darted back to the chandeliers, and to the candles perched on their wood.

  There, high overhead, the flames flickered - but the study was calm, without so much as a draft.

  And then they burst to life.

  His heartbeat thundered. Suddenly entirely awake, the boy threw his arms up, tumbling from his chair.

  The flames from the candles erupted, exploding forth in globules of red and orange to drop down on him. Gasping for breath, he thrust his palms toward it, but shied away as the first embers cascaded across his skin.

  Fear washed over him. Ducking his head, he huddled lower, letting out a terrified squeak.

  The pain never came.

  Still stumbling, he faltered, then opened his eyes.

  The air above his desk was empty.

  “Amateur.” A voice cracked across the room.

  Daniel jumped. Just as quickly, he drooped - then turned to face the speaker.

  Jean stood in the doorway of the study, her arms folded across her chest and a scowl marring her face.

  Bracing one hand on the flagstone floors, Daniel crawled to his feet. “Sorry,” he whispered.

  “Don’t be sorry,” Jean said, cocking an eyebrow. “Be better. Again.”

  Faster than he could follow, her hand whipped free, snapping up to point at him.

  His breath caught in his chest. This time, though, he wasn’t completely caught off guard. His hands came up, stubby fingers splayed wide.

  Visualize it.

  She’d repeated the words to him over and over through the months that seemed unending. He knew the theory of it. Now, he just needed to do it.

  Flames blossomed from Jean’s hands. They arced across the distance toward him, licking and lapping like a living creature.

  In that fraction of a moment, all of the warning she’d given him, he clutched a thought to himself - an image of a wall between her and him. His eyes narrowed, fixated on the picture of it.

  Believe in it, he heard Jean say in that long-past lesson. This space is yours. It will respond.

  Trust Alexandria.

  His fingertips tensed, gripping the empty air.

  Light blazed between them. Flames scattered, driven off a sheet of something that warped the air into a blurred mess. Embers flew free to die against the wooden shelves and musty tomes.

  And then the flames were gone, and he was left panting with hands still outstretched.

  Jean stepped closer, brushing a loose strand of mousy hair back behind her ear. “Better,” she said, flashing a tiny smile his way. “But you still-”

  “I still screwed up,” Daniel mumbled, drooping again.

  She laughed, then, letting her hand fall to the crown of his head. “Yep. You never know when trouble
will strike, Daniel. You have to be ready.”

  “All the time,” he said, frowning up at her. “I know. You said already.”

  “Don’t give me lip, kid,” she said, swatting the back of his head. “Come on. We’ll get some practice in.”

  He twisted, his eyes darting back to his book. “But...I wasn’t-”

  “It’ll still be there,” Jean said, her smile turning vicious. “Come on, then. It’s clear you need a refresher.”

  A refresher that’d no doubt take the form of her trouncing him up and down the practice court all afternoon. Daniel made a face, dragging his feet.

  He knew she was right. She could do things inside Alexandria’s walls he could only dream about - call fire to her hands, yes, but more. She could warp the stone itself. Summon storms to her beck and call. Fill the air with motes of light that danced and burned.

  She kept telling him that he was just young. That in time, he’d learn to trust his own abilities. The key was belief, she said. He needed to be so sure of himself that reality itself twisted to bring his will to life.

  But he wanted it now.

  “Daniel.”

  He flinched, glancing up. Again, Jean waited in the doorway, one eyebrow raised.

  “Y-Yeah,” he mumbled, hurrying after her.

  Room after room passed them as they walked, following hallways that twisted and coiled through caves, through lofty towers, through airy tents. Stacked books poked through every doorway.

  At the end waited their yard - a dusty field of dirt and grass, surrounded by the Library’s wings. Despite his fears about the lessons he’d face there, he found the chance to get out in the open air didn’t sound quite so bad. Smiling, he lifted his head, and-

  Jean had stopped dead in the hallway. He grabbed her waist to keep from falling, letting out a squeal.

  Her hand snapped down, grabbing him by the shoulder and steadying him. “Easy, Daniel.”

  “Don’t just stop,” he whined.

  The fingers gripping him tightened. “Don’t complain, boy. Looks like the training will have to wait.”

  “W-What?” he said, his brow furrowing. Leaning forward, he peered around her legs.