by Byrd Nash
“Are you ready to continue our discussion about truth, bard?”
The thing that wasn’t human blocked their path. Instead of wearing monk robes, it was now in a toga. Logan noticed that the creature’s face wasn’t the same as the monk’s he had seen at the party. Instead of having a tonsure, it was bald. Its head had thick earlobes, folds of skin showing deep crevasses from nose to mouth, and a sagging jawline indicating some age.
“Perhaps, sir,” said Logan warily. He made sure that he was standing between whatever it was and Brigit. Thinking back on what Jib had told him, he figured the creature must be a shapeshifter of some kind. He tried to go deeper with his bard-power to see more, but meet with a wall.
“What aspects of truth would you like to discuss?”
“The beauty of it. The shining beauty of it!”
Logan, who had seen truth used in many of a duplicitous way, didn’t think he could agree 100 percent with the other’s statement. “Truth can be just as ugly as lies.”
The man reared back as if slapped.
“For you bard, I would think lies on your tongue would burn like acid?”
“The sweet would not taste as well if we didn’t have the sour.”
The creature shook its head sadly; Logan felt it was an act. It felt fake to him. Trying to sound him out, still probing his defenses, Logan asked, “Are you a scholar? Is that why the library interests you so much?”
“This place interests me. It contains literary works that I will eradicate. Sloppy and poor writing — they all abound in this institution due to the incompetence of the administration. It provides me a buffet, fulfilling my needs.”
It was holding a book in its hands. Logan wondered how to convince him to put it back. “How did you come to the library? Are you a student?”
“Student?!” The creature’s laugh wasn’t human. The noise it made was a strange grinding, like a rock tumbler machine Logan had as a child. “If I deigned to have an interest in Leopold-Ottos-Universität Geheimetür, it would be as a professor. There is much the students here could learn from my instruction.”
“Not a fan of Rodger Montague’s poetry?” guessed Brigit. She had stepped sideways from Logan’s position, her hands touching a stack of books on the shelves located behind her.
“Sentimental tripe,” judged the creature. “I ate his words to free this educational institution from Montague’s gross stupidity. Anna Burkhalter has much to answer for as she allowed mediocrity to pose as scholarly works.”
The man’s large eyes were strangely hypnotic. Logan blinked and looked away to break contact. He caught a glimpse of the female ghost floating near the ceiling, far over their heads. She was shaking her head in the negative and drawing a finger across her throat.
“You have an interesting mind,” the creature said, stepping closer to Logan. “Young. Fresh. However, it already shows untidiness. It needs pruning.”
“Hm, no, thank you.” Logan took a step back, his shoulder nudging into Brigit’s. “Not that I don’t appreciate the offer. But I still have a lot of growing up to do.”
The creature frowned, placing the book aside.
“The young should start with a disciplined mind. One free of errors.”
“We learn through our mistakes. At least that’s what my dad says.”
“Mistakes are to be eaten, errors removed! Before they contaminate others. I could cleanse you.”
Brigit muttered under her breath, “Fanatic.”
At Em’s audible gasp, Granite asked over his shoulder, “Find something?”
“Yes, it’s happening all over again. Dozens of files being wiped out in nanoseconds. Are you getting that?” she asked the flash drive plugged into the laptop.
The tsukumogami responded: Yes. It’s fast. I’m tracking it. Recording its progress as we agreed. Best to analyze the data later at our leisure.
“Can you stop it?” the eotan asked them. Granite flexed his hands, warming them up as he looked around for something to punch.
“I can try. Let me see.”
Em’s fingers flew over her laptop keys. Since her first library visit, she had run several programs to analyze what she had witnessed. From that data, she had written programs to analyze in real-time what she expected to happen.
“Okay, I’m slowing it down,” she said, the screen casting a blue glow over her face. “I might have it cornered. Wait. Yes, I’m containing it now. Gosh, I hope the library did a backup after the first attack. I’m not sure how much is gone, but it looks like hundreds of records, if not more.”
Before Em could say anything more, they were both shocked by the sound of an explosive boom-boom-boom noise coming under their feet. They felt the vibration through the soles of their shoes.
“Shut it down,” Granite told her urgently.
“I’m out,” said Em, unplugging and shoving all of her equipment into her backpack. The flash drive changed to a flying squirrel and scrambled up the front of her jacket. It grabbed her earlobe and reverted to its key form.
As she rose, Granite gripped her shoulder, stopping her. “I’m going to check on Logan and Brigit. You head out the side door, and rendezvous with Celia as we agreed.”
“No, I’m coming with you.”
“I thought you were afraid?”
“I was, but you’re with me. I can’t just leave!”
Granite gave her a curt nod. “Okay, but stay behind me, and don’t be afraid to run.”
“Don’t worry! I’m great at running!”
They ran through the library, heading to the stairs that would take them to the basement. As they reached the top of the stairs, the crashing noise had stopped, replaced with a strange buzzing noise.
“That doesn’t sound good,” Em whispered to Granite.
“Jib! Logan!” yelled the eotan. When he didn’t get a response, he narrowed his eyes, telling the girl, “We’re going in.”
Stark Truth
As the thing talked to Logan, Brigit probed its defenses, trying to discover its signature. Every being had an aura, human or fae. It wasn’t using Glamour, and its magical smell was off, strange, utterly unfamiliar to her.
It wasn’t human, of course. That was a pose. A disguise. It was hiding what it was. For a creature that professed to despise lies, it didn’t seem opposed to using them to shield itself.
“I eat mistakes, remove errors! Before they contaminate others. I could cleanse you.”
Brigit muttered under her breath, “Fanatic.”
Its large pink-fleshed head had a shine to it, almost like plastic. Was it sweating? The head weaved from side to side as it stalked towards them.
Logan was allowing it too close to them. Brigit put her hand on his arm and pulled him away. They began a dance, circling, moving around the bookshelves. The creature tried to close the distance; Brigit and Logan maintained it.
“Why do you flee from me? We are both lovers of truth. Truth is the only shield — the only nest.”
“If there is one thing I’ve learned as a bard, it’s that truth isn’t clear cut. It’s rarely black and white.”
“Pure truth is rare,” it agreed. “But when found, the radiance of it dazzles.”
Brigit thought its smile very unpleasant.
Suddenly, it stopped and staggered back as if some invisible hand had struck a blow against it. It wailed in anger and distress, “Who thinks to stop me!? Stop my feeding?”
Under the onslaught of Emma’s coding, the creature tried to stay upright, but it was unable to maintain its form and started to shift.
While Brigit couldn’t transform her form into anything else, she was no stranger to shapeshifting. The act was often something of a performance among the fae. Shapeshifters took pride in their transformations, even participating in competitions for the best form-changes.
However, this would win no prize. It was just appalling and horrid.
One limb changed from pale plastic pink to a dark, ox-blood color. Its ears elongated to horn
-like points. Its face writhed as if the change was painful. Perhaps having one human eye and the other look like a fish’s protuberant eye would hurt?
“We should leave,” hissed Logan to Brigit. She agreed. Before they could do so, it shrieked, “I will not allow it!”
The man in the toga was gone. In its place was something much taller, naked. Its leathery skin the color of old blood. It stood on two legs more like the hind legs of a horse. A thick rope of a tail whipped behind it. Two ears, so pointed they appeared almost like a bull’s horns, were part of a face transformed to two fish eyes, a gaping hole where a nose had been, and a cruel slab of a mouth filled with rows of pointed teeth.
“I will know who is responsible for stopping my feeding!”
The loud buzzing noise that now surrounded them echoed through the basement. The volume of it made it impossible to speak normally. Logan yelled back, “We will stop you! You have no right to be here! You’re an invader!”
“This is my place! You invited me,” the creature ferociously hissed, the sound like a steam kettle.
Brigit felt the creature making a move, reaching towards Logan with its magic. Instinctively, she called upon the only thing in the room akin to trees. The books obeyed her request. Flying off the shelves, they hit the creature’s head, its shoulders, back, and legs.
However, Brigit didn’t realize it would be a suicide mission for them.
For as the books struck, they screamed in torment, their knowledge ripped from them. Their cries pierced her heart, the anguish of their deaths overwhelming her. The dryad stumbled, her hands over her ears and tears in her eyes. Her mouth open in a rictus of pain.
Brigit collapsed to the floor as a crazed, animal yowl roared into the room. Where Jib had sprung from, Logan didn’t know, but the black cat was in full war mode: its fur and back spiked, ears pinned to its head, and mouth open.
The púca’s form swirled, enlarged until it was a black panther the size of a pony. Magical flames licked its fur. It took a stance over Brigit’s body, serving as her protector.
Logan shouted at the creature, “Eat this truth, and may it choke you!”
Granite ran down the hall, towards an orange light. With each step, the ground under them shook. It made it hard for Em to keep up with him.
The orange glow turned out to be Jib. The púca was no longer cat-size, but all black panther, flame points spouted from its coat like gas. It was crouched, snarling and growling, in front of Brigit who laid on the floor behind them.
Logan had his back to them. He was yelling something but it was being drowned out by a weird, droning noise like angry hornets.
“Hold on to me,” Granite told Emma. She grabbed his arm just as the stone under their feet heaved. The ripple of the earth tremors caused the large bookshelves to shake, violently rocking the racks back and forth, until the motion caused them to fall.
Emma took a chance and ran to Brigit. “Are you alright?”
“I can’t protect them!” She told Emma, “I’ve been begging them to stop helping us but they won’t listen!”
This close, Em could finally understand Logan’s words: “How to cook rolled oats and old fashioned oatmeal. Fill a pot with one cup of water. Put it on the stove. Make sure the stove is turned on to a medium-high heat. Bring the water to a boil.”
The young man was standing proud, his face grim with concentration, as he faced the dreadful monster in front of them.
“Get the princess to safety,” yowled Jib to Emma. “We cannot hold it much longer.”
Em grabbed Brigit’s arm and pulled her to her feet, the púca’s fire shielding them. The dryad stumbled as they stepped over the books on the floor, and Brigit sobbed an apology to each one.
Logan retreated with them, walking backwards, facing their adversary. He shouted a recipe he knew by heart, something that was all truth, and could not be corrupted: “Add 1/2 a cup of oatmeal to the cup. Bring the oatmeal to simmer and stir often.”
Reaching the stairs, they all turned and ran, with Emma leading the way. She brought them to the same door she had used weeks ago to escape. Brigit and Logan were the last to exit. The dryad hung in the doorway reluctant to leave, even as the shrill fire alarm sounded.
“We can’t leave the books defenseless!”
Logan put his hand on her arm. “We can’t go back now. Let’s regroup and form a better plan.”
While he was finally able to convince her to leave, Brigit couldn’t help but mourn. The cries of thousands pleaded with her to save them even as she stepped out of the abbey library.
It was this mental distraction that allowed Logan to keep his hand on her arm. He guided her out to the quad and after they gained some distance away, he found a tree Brigit could touch. The dryad laid her cheek against the oak’s bark, trying to calm her grief.
They had put several buildings between them and the library. Anyone responding to the alarm wouldn’t see them. Granite, with his big bulk, was on guard; he faced out of their circle, watching, but nothing had followed them.
Em asked Logan, “What were you saying back there? It sounded like a recipe?”
“An oatmeal recipe,” said Logan. “It’s the first thing I learned to cook on my own. It’s a pretty simple thing. It’s hard to name it a lie and hard to forget the directions even when under attack.”
“But why did — whatever that was — let us go?” questioned Em.
Jib meowed, “The bard’s words did that.”
At Em’s confused look, Logan explained, one comforting arm around Brigit’s shaking shoulders. “It said it ate lies and truth was the only thing it admired. I thought true words might serve as a shield. But it had to be a truth that couldn’t be twisted. An oatmeal recipe is too boring. No way could there be an artistic argument about its falseness.”
“I still don’t get it,” said Em.
Brigit told her in a weary voice, “I could feel it stealing words from the books. But it was selective. It murdered artistic works of fiction it found of poor artistic quality. Devoured non-fiction proved false by later research.”
Jib returned to its usual size and stropped against Brigit’s leg, purring to comfort her. She bent down to pick Jib up and cradled the cat against her heart.
“What was really scary was it wanted more then the books,” Logan added. “I could feel it reaching for our minds, trying to steal our thoughts, seeking a way in. So I filled my head with the most boring, truthful thing I could think of. I don’t think it found it as tasty.”
“Far too pompous to enjoy oatmeal!” Em gave a breathless, nervous laugh.
Brigit sighed rubbing her cheek against Jib’s fur as she said, “It only worked because of what Logan is. We’re lucky he was with us.”
“Because he’s a bard, you mean?” interjected Granite.
Em frowned. The girl had been playing with the flying squirrel, letting it crawl over her hands and between her fingers. Logan had told her before that he was a bard. She still didn’t understand what that meant.
“He can do things with words,” clarified Brigit, still feeling lightheaded. “Magic things. He convinces people. Persuasion. He was able to get my parents to release him from the Perilous Realm. That isn’t anything a regular human could have done.”
“Silver-tongued, honey-tongued,” agreed the cat. It liked being in Brigit’s arms. Not only did it provide comfort to her, but it gave Jib a better view of the rodent.
Logan blushed. “You can all stop looking at me like that. I’m not special.”
“Whatever you are, you were able to get that creature to stop,” asserted Brigit. “And I couldn’t have done it. I don’t have any idea what that monster was.”
“A tulpa?” suggested Granite.
Em and Logan asked as one, “What’s a tulpa?”
“You’ve met them before, Logan,” explained Brigit. The group started walking, following the dryad. “Last year. The closet monster and that thing under your bed were tulpas.”
; Brigit hitched Jib up so it could ride her shoulder.
“Tulpas are creatures manifested in the human lands by powerful fears and desires. Eventually, if you feed them enough energy, they become independent. Autonomous and self-aware.”
Logan gave a big sigh of relief. “Okay, that solves this. We just let Boom-boom loose. Let him pound it into a jelly. He gets another drinking stein. Library is safe. It solves the problem.”
“You’re not listening. It wasn’t a tulpa,” Brigit insisted again. “Jib and I met another tulpa this summer, so we’ve got a pretty good handle on what they are and how their magic feels.”
The cat agreed. “What was in the library didn’t match a tulpa’s energy field.”
“So, what is it?” asked Granite.
Brigit had brought the group to one of the snack stations located around the campus. It was a room brightly lit, with snack and drink machines. Granite opened and held the door for the group as they entered.
“How did it go?” demanded Celia. Told to meet them there as the lookout, she waved them over to a corner table. The lounge only had a few night owls studying or talking on their cell phones.
“Horrible,” Logan told her as he took a seat beside her. Emma and Granite took the other two chairs sitting across from them. They agreed with Logan’s assessment.
Brigit hadn’t joined them at the table. Instead, she had gone to review the offerings in the vending machine. Jib meowed suggestions.
“So, what happened?” Celia asked her roommate.
“It’s like I told you, there is something in the library. It’s not a ghost. Some sort of mind-stealer, book-eating, monster.”
The cat trotted back from the vending machine and jumped onto the table. Brigit, followed, dumping a handful of snack packages next to the cat.
Jib meowed impatiently, pawing at her hand, thinking her too slow. Brigit opened the seal on the string cheese package and gave it to the cat. She passed a bag of chips around the group.
“The being is neither fae or ghost,” agreed Obake, the tsukumogami. “It is from Outside.”
“What does that mean?” asked Logan.
