by Amy Cross
“I'm sure the demons expected us to show up eventually,” I point out.
“It's one thing to expect us, it's another to actively work to let it happen. Face it, Abby, they could have tried to kill both of us several times since the attack at Gothos. They could probably have killed you at Gothos, so why didn't they?”
“Because they're not strong enough yet?”
“I think it's more than that,” she continues. “I think they left you alive at Gothos because they needed you to make the journey to Karakh. Then the incident in New York, when they hired those creatures to capture your brother, we just a prod in the right direction, to make you start the journey sooner rather than later. I never quite bought their story about being bounty hunters.”
“So you think they're trying to trap me?”
“They're trying to make sure you get to Karakh,” she replies. “Maybe to kill you, or maybe for some other reason, but there are other things about this that don't make sense. We keep talking about the danger of the demons spreading their reach and relaunching their empire, but they don't seem to have started on that at all. It's almost as if they're happy to just sit back at Karakh and wait.”
“But like you said,” I continue, “they need to regain their strength.”
“It's more than that. Plus, there's something I kind of lied about.”
“What?”
“The Bibophem are far, far more dangerous than I told you,” she continues with a sigh. “That stuff about them holding back until they sense weakness? Technically it's true, but their definition of weakness is very different to ours. They'd have attacked us plenty more times by now unless something was holding them back.”
We walk on for a moment, and I can't help feeling as if maybe Oncephalus is over-thinking things. “Maybe these Bibophem things are weak,” I point out. “Maybe since there are only two of them, they want to -”
“There are eleven of them.”
I turn and look back. There's no sign of anything, although I can't shake the feeling that we're being watched. “Eleven?” I hiss, turning to Oncephalus.
“At least. Sorry, I didn't want to scare you.”
“We're being tracked by eleven creatures?” I ask, barely able to believe that she could be right. “No way! I'd know if that was true!”
“Because of your vast experience with Bibophem?”
“No, but...” Sighing, I realize that maybe she's right, maybe I'm not the best judge in this situation. I glance over my shoulder again, but suddenly the implication of her words starts to sink in a little deeper. We really are being followed by a pack of dangerous creatures, and if they're deliberately holding back from attacking us, then I guess they really must be shepherding us to wherever we're supposed to go.
“I'll prove it,” Oncephalus says suddenly, turning and starting to clamber up the side of the rock-face. Sure enough, one of the Bibophem lunges at her from the shadows and she quickly falls back, turning to me. “We're safe if we stick to the path they want us to follow. Now do you see what I mean?”
“I believe you,” I reply, watching as the creature retreats into the shadows. After a moment, I realize that Oncephalus is still walking, so I hurry to catch up. “I feel like a sheep being led to slaughter.”
“And there's the slaughterhouse,” Oncephalus says suddenly, stopping just ahead of me.
“What do you mean?” I ask, looking around before spotting what appears to be the side of a building towering high above us, on the edge of a high rock-face that rises several hundred meters above us. Taking a step forward, I squint to get a better view, and finally I realize that I can see windows set into the building's wall. “What is that place?” I whisper, before turning to Oncephalus. “It can't be... Are you saying that we've found Karakh?”
“I'm sure it's more impressive from the front,” she mutters.
“How do we get up there?”
“The obvious solution would be to climb,” she continues, turning and looking back the way we've just walked. “I was right, though, wasn't I? We really were funneled straight here by the Bibophem. They were under strict orders to deliver us right to this point.” She turns to me again. “I don't like being pushed around, Abby. I've made it a rule in my life to never go where other people tell me to go, not unless I understand why they're so keen.”
“We can't turn back,” I point out.
“No,” she mutters, clearly struggling to form a plan, “we can't.”
“Then we have to go on,” I tell her, before turning and looking around in the hope of spotting a route up the sheer rock-face that might be a little easier. “We're going to end up there eventually anyway, and we've come this far, so there's no point holding back.”
“We should wait for your brother first.”
“He'll come as soon as he can,” I reply, “but for now -”
Before I can finish, I realize there's something nestled in the rocks just a little further ahead. I take a step forward, tilting my head to one side slightly and squinting, and after a moment I see that I was right. A person is lying crumpled on the rocks, and my first instinct is to assume that it's a dead body.
“I see it too,” Oncephalus says cautiously. “I didn't think there was much life out here, but perhaps we're not the first souls to get drawn to this place. Don't be scared, Abby. Just because someone else died in this valley, it doesn't mean the same thing has to happen to us. It's possible that some poor soul wandered too close to the Bibophem and ended up as lunch.”
I open my mouth to reply, but suddenly I realize I can sense a heartbeat coming from the figure. I step forward, trying to work out why my senses seem to be tingling so much, but gradually I start to wonder whether I maybe recognize this particular heartbeat. I tell myself I'm over-reacting, that exhaustion and dehydration are affecting my ability to think clearly, but when I take another step forward I realize that the figure is definitely someone familiar.
“This isn't someone who was attacked by the Bibophem,” I whisper. “It's someone who fell.”
“Fell?”
“Oh no,” I add finally, as I start to realize where I recognize the scent from, “no... It can't be.”
“Abby?” Oncephalus says after a moment. “What's wrong?”
“Damn it,” I mutter, hurrying forward and starting to clamber over the rocks. “I should've expected something like this!”
“Abby!” Oncephalus calls out. “Stop! It might be a trap!”
I know she could be right, but I can't help myself. I stumble and trip a few times, but finally I manage to reach the ridge where the body appears to have landed after falling from a great height. Scrambling around to get a better look, I find that the figure's hair is covering her face. With trembling hands, I reach out and move the hair aside, and I feel a shiver of anger in my chest as soon as I see her ravaged, torn features.
“Abby!” Oncephalus shouts. “Can you please tell me what's going on up there?”
“It's her,” I whisper, staring into the unconscious face before me. “It's Emilia.”
Part Three
Fallen
Jonathan
As soon as I turn the metal sphere, I feel a faint rush of dizziness filling my body. I take a step back and open my mouth to ask Abby what happened, but suddenly I realize that not only have she and Oncephalus vanished, but the whole city of New York is gone as well.
Turning, I shield my eyes from the bright sun that burns in the sky above. For a moment, I feel as if I might throw up, but gradually the sensation passes and I realize that I'm in some kind of library, albeit one with no ceiling. Taking a look at the titles on the nearby shelf, I find that they all seem to be reference books related to ancient Mediterranean cultures, which seems somewhat random. After a moment, however, I hear the sound of a bird shrieking in the sky above, and I watch as something large soars high above. Whatever it is, it's bigger than any bird I've ever seen before. When I take a step back, I feel dried mud beneath my feet, and I glance along
the aisle in both directions.
What the hell is this place?
Abby didn't mention anything about a library. She just said I'd be taken to an old friend of hers, but...
Suddenly I realize I can hear a voice nearby. I make my way along the aisle until I reach the next junction, at which point I see that this place is way, way bigger than I'd originally realized. It's almost as if I've arrived at some kind of vast, open-air library that stretches to the horizon in every direction. Checking the nearest shelf, I find more books on ancient cultures, although this time I've never heard of the names before.
“Diet of the G'Attenoh people?” I mutter out loud, reading from the spines. “The Rise, Fall, Rise, Rise and Fall of the Skillitanes?” I slide one of the books out. “Diary of a Gnomane Wanderer?”
“This is in the wrong place!” a voice calls out suddenly from nearby. “I demand to see a shelver! What the hell is going on with standards in this part of the library? Are you hiring Empty Heads again?”
Heading to the next junction along, I look along another aisle and see a short, hunched figure shuffling along with a couple of books in his hands. It's hard to make out his features, since he has a huge tangle of dirty gray hair covering his face and hanging down in matted clumps to his shoulders. Leaning heavily on a twisted wooden cane, he seems not to have noticed me as he stops at another shelf and examines the books.
“Wrong!” he snaps. “Wrong! Wrong! How is anyone supposed to find anything in this place if the books are being put back in the wrong places!”
He bumps into one of the shelves and mutters something under his breath, while reaching up to move some of the matted gray hair from in front of his face.
“I haven't seen a shelver in three days,” he continues, edging closer but apparently having still not seen me. “This part of the library is like a wasteland, there's never anyone around who's actually doing their job! If I have to go all the way to the nearest citadel to complain, I shall! I've never been -”
Before he can finish, his cane bumps against my leg and he stops. Raising his head, he pulls strands of gray hair from across his face and I see two large, milky white eyes frowning at me.
“Huh,” he mutters. “Just a tree.”
With that, he starts shuffling around me.
“My name is Jonathan,” I reply, but the old man doesn't seem to notice.
“Goddamn trees,” he says finally with a sigh. “Always popping up where you least expect them.” He grabs the book from my hand and examines it for a moment. “Diary of a Gnomane Wanderer? What in God's name would a tree be doing with such a thing?” He sets the book on the nearest shelf before turning and shuffling away.
“I'm... not a tree,” I point out, although I immediately feel foolish for even saying those words. “I'm looking for someone.”
“Noisy thing,” he continues. “It's probably one of those trees that thinks it's got a mind.”
“I'm not a tree,” I reply, reaching out and putting a hand on his shoulder, “I'm -”
Pulling away, he turns to me with a hint of bemusement in his eyes. “Did you just tap me with one of your branches?” he asks, peering closer. “I'll be damned, that's kind of spooky.”
“I didn't tap you with a branch,” I tell him, “I touched you with my -” Sighing, I can't help feeling that this isn't getting me anywhere. Crouching down so that I'm eye-to-eye with him, I try to think of a way to get through to this strange little guy. “I have no idea where I am,” I continue, “and I've got a feeling that the explanation would take too long and would probably just give me a headache, so I'll cut straight to the point. I'm looking for -”
“You do think you're sentient, don't you?” the old man says suddenly, raising his eyebrows in shock. “How utterly confounding! There must be -”
He stops suddenly, before turning his head a little, as if he might have heard something nearby.
“No,” he whispers finally. “Quite wrong.”
“I'm not a tree,” I tell him again, starting to feel a little impatient, “and I don't think I'm sentient. I'm a human, I... Well, I'm not strictly human, I've got vampire blood in me as well.”
“Human and vampire?” he replies. “Well, that explains it. No wonder you're under the illusion that you're sentient. Still, it's not as if the rest of us can explain things to you, so I'll just be on my way.”
He turns to leave, but I reach out and grab his arm.
“I'm looking for -”
“You're very irritating,” he snaps. “Please, just accept that you don't have a mind of your own, and let me go about my business!”
“I'm looking for someone who knows Abby Hart,” I continue. “Someone who's an old friend of hers.” I pause for a moment. “And I've got a horrible feeling that the someone is going to turn out to be you.”
He opens his mouth to reply, but something seems to make him hold back for a few seconds. “Abby Hart?” he says finally, with a hint of caution in his voice.
“Do you know her?” I ask. “Are you the old friend I'm looking for?”
“Abby Hart,” he whispers, as if he's momentarily lost in thought. “Can't say the name rings any bells, but at my age a man tends to forget things from time to time. Is she a tree, like you?”
“I'm not a tree,” I sigh. “I'm a walking, talking...”
My voice trails off as I realize that this conversation is just going round in circles.
“Obviously you're not who I'm looking for,” I tell him, getting to my feet. “If you've never heard of Abby Hart, you can't help me. I'm sorry I disturbed you, please, just get on with whatever you were doing and I'll keep looking.”
“Much obliged,” he replies, turning and starting to shuffle off. “I don't have all day, you know. I'm in the middle of some vital research on an ancient race of demons.”
“You...” I pause for a moment, watching as he makes his way along the aisle, and then I hurry past him and stand in his path. “Did you mention demons?”
“You're very sprightly,” he replies, “for a tree. I blame the loose roots!”
“Abby Hart sent me,” I continue, crouching in front of him once again. “Come on, think, you must know her. Her father was Patrick, she was one of the vampires of Gothos -”
“Gothos is gone,” he replies. “Abby Hart went back there, and Gothos fell. It's already in several updated editions of the history texts.”
“Abby -” I stare at him for a moment. “Wait, so you do know Abby!”
“I...” He pauses, and I can just about make out his eyes, filled with confusion. “Are they still here?” he stammers suddenly, turning and backing against one of the shelves as if fear has gripped his soul. “I don't hear them, but that doesn't mean...” Another pause, before he turns and grabs my arms. “We must run! We have to get out of here, don't you understand? Move!” With that, he starts pulling me along the aisle, although he's too old and infirm to go much above walking pace.
“What's wrong?” I ask, looking over my shoulder but not seeing anything. “What -”
“If they catch us, they'll kill us,” he hisses. “Quick, there isn't much time! They've probably already sensed us, we have to run if we're to -”
He stops suddenly.
“What?” I ask, still looking around. “I still don't see anything.”
I wait for an answer, but he lets go of my arm and suddenly his panic seems to be over. “I wonder what I shall have for dinner,” he mutters, turning and shuffling to the next junction. “I'm a little far out, I should maybe think about heading home for the night. I feel I've been out here for days, I'm not really sure how long exactly, but I must return these books.” Reaching up, he sets some books on a shelf and then keeps walking.
“I don't think you've put these in the right place,” I tell him, before hurrying to keep up as he reaches the junction. “A moment ago you said something was after us, you said we had to get away from here. What did you mean?”
“I...”
; Stopping suddenly, he seems genuinely confused. It's almost as if that moment of panic burst through the fog of his mind but quickly dissipated.
I open my mouth to ask him again what's wrong, but before I can say another word I realize that the shelves in this aisle look completely different to all the rest. Most have been torn away and left scattered in the mud, while there are no books to be seen at all. Taking a step forward, I realize that there's a huge amount of ash all over the ground, while the shelves appear to have been deeply gouged, maybe even scratched. It's as if something came and destroyed everything in this aisle, leaving behind nothing but a trail of devastation.
“What happened here?” I ask, turning to the old man. “Who did this?”
“They came a few nights ago,” he replies, his voice trembling with fear. “They were asking questions about poor, doomed Abby.”
Abby Hart
At first, Emilia keeps her eyes closed as she turns her head slightly. She lets out a faint groan, as if she's still barely awake, but after a moment the groan becomes a gasp and I see a frown crossing her features. Clearly uncomfortable, she turns her head again, before finally -
Suddenly opening her eyes, she sits up, only to let out a murmur of shock as she finds that her arms and legs are tightly bound.
“What the hell?” she mutters, struggling to get free before turning and seeing me sitting here on this rock. For a moment, there's a hint of genuine shock in her eyes, as if she can't believe that it's true, but sure enough her old smile quickly returns.
“Hello, Emilia,” I say calmly, trying not to sound remotely angry.
“Well... Abby Hart!” she replies, forcing a grin. “As I live and breathe, you are the last person I expected to find when I -”
“Save it,” I tell her. “I'm not interested in playing your games.”
“I knew you'd make it out of Gothos somehow. I could just feel it in my -”
