by Amy Cross
"I'm afraid you're not that lucky," I say, pushing past her so that I can lead the way. Her insistence on this being a fantasy is starting to grate; if she truly believes that none of this land is real, and that the likes of Sharpe and I are merely figments of her imagination, then I am not sure how I will ever be able to reason with her. She will simply abandon herself to her fate, and I will have to drag her lifeless carcass as I walk. At least I only have to get her to the Citadel; once we are there, I can begin to carve her up for the cooking pot.
Claire
I can feel my back tightening. It's only a matter of time before the muscles start to swell, and then the metal rod will be forced away from the bone, and then the screws will start to grind out of the holes. It's going to be excruciating. I guess this must be my subconscious mind's way of telling me that, in the real world, I'm getting an infection. That can't be good. Suddenly I'm filled with panic: what if I don't get out of here? What if my real world body is getting sicker and sicker, and there's nothing I can do about it?
We've been walking for hours and hours now, barring that brief break. Vanguard seems tense, and I've noticed him glancing back over his shoulder once or twice. He mentioned something earlier about us being followed, and I've got no reason to doubt him: in this increasingly fevered world I've created, it seems he's by far one of the most knowledgeable figures I could ever hope to meet. If he says something's true, I can't argue with him. Still, I can't help hoping that he might be wrong. The last thing I need is any kind of confrontation, but as the sun continues to dip in the sky and the shadows grow longer, I get the feeling that we might not have an entirely peaceful night ahead of us.
"We must make camp soon," Vanguard says, stopping suddenly as we reach the end of another aisle. He turns to me. "You will need to rest."
I nod, reaching around and feeling the small of my back. I don't feel any swelling, not yet, but I know it's coming. Damn it, for the first time since my operation, I'm starting to feel disabled again.
"You can rest, Claire," Vanguard continues. "Sharpe and I will prepare a small fire."
"We got anything to eat?" I ask forlornly, even though I already know the answer.
"There is nothing," he replies as he starts moving some books away from one of the middle shelves. "Food is not bountiful in this part of the Library. We are essentially in the wastelands. If food grew here, the land would be in use."
"Does food grow anywhere in this place?" I ask.
"Of course. There are rivers nearby, and some parts of the Library have a great abundance of crops between the shelves. Or at least, that was the case many years ago. With the spread of the war, it is hard to know what has been happening in the far-off lands."
"So forgive me for asking," I say, helping him move the books, "but if this part of the Library is so crappy, what were you doing here?"
He doesn't answer; instead, he finishes moving the books, and then wipes the bare shelf. "There," he says eventually. "You will sleep here. It is better to be off the ground."
"And where are you gonna sleep?" I ask.
"I will not sleep. I will stand guard."
"You worried about monsters?" I reply.
"I am worried about the things that inhabit the Library," he continues. "We are getting closer to the Citadel, which means we will start to encounter other life. This, in turn, means that there will be predators around. Ticks, at the very least, and possibly other creatures. But you must not worry. I will keep you safe until we reach our destination."
"Thanks," I say, wincing a little as I feel a twist of pain shoot up my back.
"Well, I'll be taking a nap," Sharpe says, climbing up to the empty shelf and settling in one of the dark corners. "There's no point having me on guard duty. If I saw anything coming, I'd just run and leave you both to die."
"I believe you," I tell him.
With the sky getting darker by the minute, I try to make myself comfortable on the shelf. It's pretty cold out here, and it's not as if there are any blankets, but eventually I manage to get myself into a position in which I might - just about - be able to get some sleep. Sharpe is already lightly snoring by the time I find myself lying flat on my back, staring up at the shelf above us. I can just about make out the shape of Vanguard nearby, keeping guard; he seems perfectly still, almost as if he's fallen asleep, but every few minutes he turns his head a little, and I realize this is just his way of keeping us all safe. He's a strange guy, and I still don't quite understand why he's going so far out of his way to help me, but I figure I've got nothing to lose by following him to this Citadel place. I doubt my subconscious mind would present too many distractions: there has to be something in the Citadel that can help me wake up, otherwise why would my mind have created this whole scenario in the first place?
Eventually I manage to nod off, but I wake up a little while later. It takes a few minutes for my eyes to adjust to the gloom, but after a moment I realize that Vanguard is no longer sitting in his usual position. Rolling over, I glance along the aisle, but there's no sign of him. Sharpe is still snoring, but Vanguard's absence is disturbing: I'd kind of figured he was one of those guys who'd just sit and sit and sit until morning came, so I can't help wondering whether something might be wrong. After trying for several minutes to tell myself that there's no reason to be worried, I decide to go and take a quick look, so I swing my legs over the side of the shelf and climb down. My back is a little sore still, but the real problem is my feet; after walking for most of the day, I've got a load of blisters, while my ankle is still painful.
"Hey!" I hiss, hoping that Vanguard will immediately appear when he hears my voice. I limp to the end of the aisle and take a look into the next corridor, but there's nothing. At night, with just the moonlight shining down, this place is kind if creepy. Turning and walking back to where I was sleeping, I try to remind myself that whatever Vanguard is doing, there's no way he'd just abandon me. For whatever reason, he still seems determined to get me to the Citadel. I should just go back to sleep, but I can't shake the feeling that something's seriously wrong.
"Why are you awake?" Vanguard asks suddenly.
Spinning around, I lose my balance and collapse to the ground with a thud. I slowly, and painfully, get to my feet, brushing the mud from my pajamas as I try to calm my racing nerves.
"You are supposed to be sleeping," he says firmly.
"I was looking for you," I say.
"I am right here."
"But you weren't a moment ago."
"I was checking things."
"Well, that's nice to know." I take a deep breath, and finally I feel my pounding heart start to settle. "I woke up and you weren't there," I explain. "You can't blame me for being a little worried."
"I told you that I would stay on guard all night," he says humorlessly, "and that is what I am doing. You have no reason to doubt me."
"I know," I say, "but I thought maybe you'd got hurt, or -"
"Me? Hurt?" He stares at me, as if I've just said the most incredible thing in all the world. "The only thing that should trouble you tonight is, perhaps, the sound of my sword striking any creature that dares to come close. You must trust me, Claire. If you were a native of this Library, you would know the legends of my strength and bravery."
"Yeah, sure," I reply, climbing back onto the shelf. "You're this big tough guy. I can't help but wonder, though, why you're here."
"I am here to guide you to the Citadel."
"Yeah, but that seems awfully convenient. I mean, don't get me wrong, but I'm just trying to figure out why some big, powerful warrior was spending his time skulking about in the wastelands of this place, hanging out with weird little creatures like Sharpe, when you could be off fighting in the war or rebuilding the Citadel." I stare at him for a moment. "Something doesn't quite add up."
"You should sleep," he says. "When morning comes, we must walk again."
"Don't you need to sleep?" I ask.
"I shall sleep when we reach the Ci
tadel," he explains. "After the great feast."
"Well, that's something I'm looking forward to," I tell him. "Even if this is all an illusion, I'm still starving."
"You still cling to your belief that this world is not real?" He pauses for a moment. "I am a Lord of the House of Lacanth. I have slain ten thousand men. I have led armies around the entire circumference of the Library. I have watched my friends and allies die at the hands of weak and despicable men. I have watched my entire family perish, and I have mourned them while listening to the whispers made by the wind as it moves through their bones. I have fought, and won, and lost, so many battles, that I cannot count them all." He holds up his left hand, and I see a scar that runs from the palm all the way past the cuff of his armor. "This was from an ax, swung by a Soot foot-soldier; the pain was unimaginable, but I waited until I had tracked him down and killed him before I attended to the injury." He turns his head to let me see a scar on the right side of his neck. "A Flesh Weaver tried to strip me bare while I still lived. It was the one moment when I believed I was about to die, yet I fought back and ran him through his own loom. I have faced both life and death. I have lived for hundreds of years. And yet now you sit before me, and you tell me that all of this - everything that has ever happened to me - is just the dust of your imagination?"
I stare back at him, and for a moment, I'm filled with the thought that perhaps he's right; perhaps he, and this whole world of the Library, are actually real. I'm not in a coma; I'm not dying in some hospital bed; I'm in a real place, with real creatures. "I..." I start to say, before reminding myself that even a hallucination is capable of sounding convincing. Then again, perhaps it'd be better if I at least play along; after all, it seems to piss Vanguard off whenever I suggest that he's not real.
"Don't say anything," he replies, staring into my eyes.
"But I -"
"Quiet!" he continues, turning to look along the aisle. "Something is coming."
"What?"
"I do not know." He pauses for a moment, listening to some sound that I can't hear. "A group of men, or perhaps just one creature with many legs, or perhaps..." He turns to the right. "We're being surrounded."
"By what?" I ask, seeing and hearing nothing.
"By..." He reaches down and draws his sword. "Stay on this shelf," he says firmly. "You will be safe, but you must stay here. Do you understand? If you run, or if you move an inch, I might not be able to keep you safe."
I nod.
Turning, he walks along the aisle. I lean out a little, watching as he makes his way cautiously to the next junction. It might sound stupid to say this, but I actually feel as if I can trust him; after all, Vanguard has this kind of way about him that makes me feel as if he knows what he's doing. Watching him as he stands still, listening for some sign of the threat, I decide that my best bet is probably to just do what he says and -
Suddenly I realize that there's some kind of cold breeze rustling against the back of my head. I tell myself that it's nothing, and that there's no way Vanguard would have allowed any kind of creature to sneak up behind me. After a moment, however, I start to slowly turn my head. To my shock, I see that there are three large, round, dark creatures standing in the aisle, just a few feet away. With swollen, smooth, round bodies, and thin, black little legs, they look almost like huge, car-sized ticks, and they're most definitely crawling closer and closer to me. I open my mouth to call for Vanguard, but no sound comes out; it's as if I'm frozen in fear. All I can do is watch as the closest of the creatures starts climbing up the shelf, heading straight toward me as its jaws open and a long, thin, barbed tongue reaches out to my face.
Vanguard
"Move!" I shout as I slam into the nearest tick, knocking it back from the shelf. I barely have time to plunge my sword into its belly, before I see the other two creatures crawling around the edge of the aisle and making straight for Claire. They clearly know that there is no point engaging me in combat; rather, they aim to grab her and try to escape. I twist my sword in the gut of the first tick, before slicing up through its chest until I have cut a line straight through its face. Usually, this would kill a tick instantly, but it seems that this particular beast is determined to fight a little longer. The damn thing should be dead by now, but its thin black legs wrap around me, pulling me closer, and for a moment I struggle to escape; finally, however, I thrust my hand into its chest, wrap my fingers around the bustle of six little hearts, and rip them out. The creature lets out a gurgling scream, and its legs fall limp.
"Do not run!" I call out as I turn to Claire, only to see her racing away down the aisle, with the two ticks close behind. I pull my sword from the body of the first creature and set off in pursuit. It's typical of a human to disobey even the simplest of orders, but fortunately I am confident I can easily and quickly kill her pursuers. Catching them, I throw myself onto the first tick, sliding my sword into its head in order to steady myself; the creature bucks and twists, slamming me against the nearest shelf, but I maintain my grip. As the creature slows, I pull the sword out and then reinsert it just below the head, determined to sever the hearts. Ticks are easy enough to kill, so long as you can locate the right spot, but some of them arrange their bodies in a different manner. Unfortunately, this is just such a tick, and it takes me several tries to find and sever the arteries and veins that feed blood to its brain. Eventually, the creature slumps to the ground, with blood spraying into my face as it wriggles in its death throes.
As soon as I'm certain that this second tick is dead, I set off after the third. However, when I get to the next junction, I realize that I've lost the trail. Turning to look down each aisle, I try to pick up some kind of sign that might tell me which way they went. All I need is a scream, or a shout for help, but so far there's nothing. The sounds of the Library at night don't help: I can hear the distant wailings of various creatures, but I can't pick out anything that sounds like Claire calling for help. I can't even detect any kind of scent, since the ticks seem to have come this way as they arrived and therefore the aisles are already contaminated. My heart racing, I start to realize that time is running out. As each second ticks past, the chances of Claire being alive grow dimmer and dimmer. If only the -
Suddenly I hear something. It's not much, but it sounds as if there's something happening nearby. I race along the next aisle, and then the next, and when I reach the next I finally spot Claire. She's backing away from the third tick, throwing books at it in a desperate attempt to prevent it from advancing upon her. Strengthening the grip on my sword, I run toward her and aim for the tick's head; at the last moment, however, the creature turns and launches its entire body straight at me, knocking me into the nearest shelf. For a moment, I'm pinned down as I struggle to overcome the beast. As it wraps its legs around my body, I drop the sword, and I watch as the tick's long, hard tongue moves down and slips between a gap in my armor. Seconds later, I feel the tip of his tongue cut through my flesh, and he begins to suck my blood. Realizing I only have a minute, perhaps even less, to save myself, I struggle against the creature, but it seems to be unusually strong. Eventually, I'm able to force it aside, but as I try to grab my sword, I feel a sense of dizziness wash over my body and I drop to the ground.
After a few seconds, I look over and see that the tick has already managed to grab Claire. She's trying to fight it off, but a mere human will have no chance. In fact, I'm surprised that the tick hasn't already struck; they're usually timid creatures that kill their prey at the first available opportunity, but this specimen appears to be toying with her, almost as if it enjoys watching her suffer. Ticks are dumb creatures, but I'm starting to wonder whether something has changed. I take a deep breath, trying to summon my strength, but I clearly lost more blood than I realized. I can feel the weakness in my veins, as if there is something alien in my body.
"Get it off me!" Claire screams.
I try to get to my feet, but my knees buckle. I've heard stories that some ticks have a type of venom in their
tongues, and now it seems that I might have been poisoned. I try again and again to stand up, but each time I'm unable to keep my balance. Reaching up to neck, I pull away the uppermost piece of armor in order to expose the wound; sticking my fingers into the bloody mess, I find what feels like a sharp barb. Finally, I pull the object out and throw it to the ground. Blood pours from the injury, but I can feel myself starting to feel a little stronger. Looking down, I see the barb and realize that these ticks are different to anything I've encountered before: they've changed, and grown, and evolved.
"It's real!" she shouts. "It's real! It's real! It's real! Just get it the fuck off me!"
I look over and see the creature's tongue reaching down to Claire's neck. Seeing the expression of blind panic in her eyes, I realize that it's now or never. Grabbing my sword, I force myself to stand, before stumbling over to the tick and driving my sword straight through its body. Letting out a groan of pain, the creature turns to me, its jaws just a few inches from my face. As it opens its mouth, I'm blasted by the foul breath that flows up from its rotting guts. I turn the sword, and finally the creature drops to the ground, its legs still flailing in a desperate attempt to get free.
I stand in silence for a moment, contemplating the fact that I came surprisingly close to death. Never before has a tick managed to cause me so many problems, but something seemed different this time. It's as if the creatures have become stronger, and larger, and more intelligent. I suppose that while I have been away, licking my wounds in the wastelands of the Library, they have had time to advance as a species. Still, this tick was unusually strong, almost as if its evolution has in some way been accelerated.
"What the fuck was that?" Claire asks, scrambling to her feet. She's covered in scratches, probably from her desperate attempts to get away from the ticks; other than that, however, she seems to be mostly unharmed. There are tears in her eyes, though, and her hands are trembling. "How many more are there?" she continues, turning first one way and then the other, lost in a blind panic.
