by Amy Cross
"No more," I say, still catching my breath. "For now, anyway."
"Are you sure? How can you be sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Really really sure, or just hoping?"
"I'm sure."
"Do you even know what they were?"
I nod, standing up and re-sheathing my sword. "They were ticks. One of the most common creatures in certain parts of the Library, although they're not often seen around this region. They're little more than vermin, really, though they seem to be adapting increasingly well to the changing circumstances. It used to be fairly rare for them to attack, but the habitat is changing. Years of scavenging have made them a little more intelligent than I ever believed might be possible." I turn to her. "Are you injured?"
She shakes her head.
"This was my mistake," I continue. "I should have been more aware of the danger. I promised to keep watch over you, and I failed." I pause for a moment, as I realize that in my breathless panic, I have forgotten the real reason for keeping Claire alive. She is nothing more than meat to me, yet when the tick was attacking her, my primary concern was to save her from pain. This was yet another mistake. Is it possible that, while recovering from my wounds in the wasteland, I have allowed my resolve to become less resolute? "This will not happen again," I say, looking down at the creature. Clearly things have changed in the Library since I was last close to the Citadel.
"Fuck," she says, staring at the corpse of the tick. Blood is oozing from several wounds on its body. "How do you know there aren't more? How do you know they're not crawling all over this place? How do you know this one's even dead?"
"I am quite certain," I reply, turning to her before suddenly dropping to my knees. Something is very, very wrong; even though the barb is now out of my body, I can feel something new and different in my blood. For hundreds and hundreds of years, the ticks have remained unchanged; how can it be that they have now evolved to develop new weapons, new strengths and perhaps even a new level of intelligence? It's almost as if something has artificially advanced their species. Is it possible that something sent them after us? After all, when Claire was cornered, the third tick didn't go for the kill; if I didn't know better, I'd suspect that the tick was planning to incapacitate her and then take her back to some other location.
"Are you okay?" Claire asks.
I nod. "I am fine," I insist, pausing for a moment in an attempt to regain my strength. I cannot let her see me in this weakened state. Finally, I try to get to my feet, only to have my knees buckle once again. Slamming into the ground, I roll onto my back. Only once before in my life have I felt that I was close to death, but now it is as if I am yet again being pulled to the great, final gate that leads into the afterlife. Staring up at the stars, I think of my family; I should have stayed with them, and allowed my body to rot away so that eventually our bones would be together. Instead, I set out on this foolish journey to the Citadel, only to be felled by a common tick. If this is truly the end, I can only hope that word of my demise does not spread too far. 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, and I do not bend; I should have died a noble death, in the heat of battle, but instead I have wasted my life in an attempt to save a pathetic human. As Claire leans over me, I close my eyes and feel myself sinking into a dark, cold, silent state of nothingness.
Claire
I spend the rest of the night sitting next to Vanguard. Although he has lost consciousness, he's still breathing, although I'm expecting him to die at any moment. The wound in his neck looks nasty and infected, and I can't help thinking that maybe there as some kind of poison in the creature's bite. Sitting next to him, cold and alone, I keep glancing over my shoulder, expecting more of the things to turn up. The night passes, however, and eventually the sun's warming rays spread along the aisle. I have no idea what to do, or where to go, or how I can possibly save myself. If Vanguard dies, I'm screwed. The worst thing is: I can no longer fool myself into believing that this Library isn't real.
I don't know exactly what happened, but when the creature was holding me down, and when I thought I was about to die, I suddenly realized that this is no dream. I'm not lost in some world that was created by my subconscious mind, and I'm not in a coma. Somehow, I've truly been transported to this completely different, completely insane world. There's no logic or order to what's happened; I've just been dumped down here and left to die. It's becoming increasingly obvious that I'm in no way equipped to deal with the creatures that exist in this place, and that there's probably no way for me to get home. I guess I just have to try to stay alive for as long as possible, knowing all the while that eventually I'll be killed.
So it's all real.
The Library is real. Vanguard is real. Sharpe is real. These tick-like things are real. Until tonight, I was absolutely convinced that I was imagining the whole thing, but now I'm equally certain that this place truly exists. Reaching down, I run my fingers through the dirt; there's no way a dream could feel so real, and there's no way a fantasy world could be so completely convincing. I'm not in a coma; I'm sitting here on the floor of a huge outdoor library, having just been attacked by a bunch of giant ticks, next to a tall warrior who for some reason is dead-set on escorting me to some kind of distant Citadel. Either that, or I've completely lost my mind, but I guess you can't go through life assuming you're nuts, can you? Everyone has to face the reality they're given, even if it seems unlikely. After all, a year ago, when I was told I'd have to have a metal rod inserted into my spine, I found that pretty hard to believe too. But sometimes impossible things turn out to be true.
"How long have I been like this?" Vanguard asks suddenly.
Turning to him, I see that his eyes are finally open. A wave of relief washes over me as I realize that at least I haven't been left all alone out here.
"Are you okay?" I ask as he sits up. "I thought you were dying. I thought... You looked like you were on the way out."
Reaching up to his neck, he feels the wound. "The venom must have been weak, or perhaps I removed the barb in time. Either way, those ticks were different. Something has changed, and I was not prepared."
"Are there going to be more of them?"
"I can't say for certain, but I'm starting to believe that perhaps we must be more cautious. I have been in the wilderness for many years, and a lot has happened during that time. Now that we're returning to the central region of the Library, I'm discovering that there have been changes. The ticks have evolved extremely rapidly, and they present a more potent threat."
"So we have to get to the Citadel, right?" I ask. "I mean, that's still the plan, isn't it?"
"I can think of no other," he says, slowly getting to his feet. "We must attempt to contact the Librarian. He is the only one who will know what has been happening. I can't help but worry that the accelerated evolution of the ticks is unnatural, as if someone has been pushing them to change. If that is the case, there is reason to be concerned." He turns to me. "We must go back and find Sharpe, and then we must continue on our journey."
"Who's this Librarian guy?"
"I've never seen him, but he is the man who keeps the Library in order."
"He's not doing a very good job."
"Things are not as they seem," he replies. "Perhaps he has chosen to allow this chaos to fester, so that something stronger might grow from the ruins."
"Or maybe he's asleep on the job," I point out. I try to stand up, but my ankle's too painful. Reaching down, I realize that it has started to swell. "I don't know if I can walk properly," I say. "I've taken quite a battering today. My ankle's totally fucked."
Sighing, he steps over to me, leans down and picks me up.
"You're going to carry me?" I ask.
"It would seem to be the optimal choice."
"I thought you said you never bend? You just bent down to pick me up."
He stares at me for a moment. "Tell no-one."
"I mean it."
"Sure."
"If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I will kill you."
"Okay."
"Apart from Sharpe. I suppose he'll have to see."
I nod, figuring that it wouldn't be a good time to start an argument.
With that, he carries me back the way we came, past the bodies of the dead ticks and through to the shelf where I was sleeping. After setting me back down, Vanguard pokes Sharpe, who appears to have not woken up at all during the mayhem.
"Is it morning already?" Sharpe asks, staring at us with bleary eyes.
"How the hell did you not wake up?" I reply.
"Why should I wake up? I was having a wonderful dream."
"We were attacked," I explain. "These big, tick-like things tried to kill us. It was touch-and-go for a while."
"Ticks?" Sharpe says, glancing about nervously. "Seriously? Where? Are they still here?"
"No," I reply. "Vanguard killed them."
"They were different kinds of ticks," Vanguard says. "They were stronger, and they had venom. There was something very new about them, something I do not like."
"I've heard rumors," Sharpe replies. "I'd never actually seen one of the new ones before, but people have been speaking of them. Apparently they came from the east and overran several of the old regions of the Library. I wasn't sure they were real, though, and I definitely didn't think they'd got this far."
"Do you know who created them?" Vanguard asks. "I find it hard to believe that such dumb creatures could evolve naturally in such a short period of time."
"No-one knows where they came from," Sharpe says. "Personally, I think they're just evolving to fill a gap in the pecking order. There's been so much death lately, a spot has opened up on the food chain, and those opportunistic bastards have grabbed it." He turns to me. "You're going to have to get used to this, human. The Library's changing. Even Vanguard and I are no longer entirely sure of how it works."
"Can't you just send me home?" I ask.
"Me?"
"You brought me here," I say. "Surely you know how to get me back to my world again?"
"It's not so simple," he replies. "It was strictly a one-off, one-way trip. If there's a way to get you back, you'll need the permission of the Librarian, and he's not an easy man to get hold of these days."
"We must head for the Citadel," Vanguard says, leaning down and picking me up once again, before turning to Sharpe. "You will tell no-one that I have consented to carry the human. Is that clear? If word of this gets out, I will be forced to slice you in two."
"I couldn't care less," Sharpe replies, jumping down from the shelf and starting to walk along the aisle. "All I care about is getting to the Citadel."
"And why is that?" Vanguard calls after him. "You complain all the way, yet still you plan to accompany us."
"We each have our reasons," Sharpe replies, still walking away. "Don't you have your own motives here, Vanguard?"
"You two don't like each other much, do you?" I say.
"Thomas J. Sharpe is a foul creature," Vanguard says, as he starts carrying me along the aisle. "It would be deeply unwise to trust him in any endeavor."
"And what about you?" I ask. "Can I trust you?"
"I said I would get you to the Citadel," he replies, "On that matter, you have my word."
"And after we get there?" I continue. "What happens then? Do you think I've got any chance of getting home?"
"We shall see," he says.
We walk on in silence, with Sharpe a little way ahead of us. I don't like the fact that Vanguard is having to carry me, but I need a little rest to let my ankle heal. Once I can walk under my own steam, however, I'll definitely be doing so. For now, I just need to trust these two strange creatures and hope that they keep their word to get me to the Citadel, and that once we're there we can find some way for me to get home. I've accepted that the Library is real, but that doesn't mean I'm planning to stay here forever. If I was able to get to this place, then I'm able to get back. There's no way I want to stay in this cold, strange library forever; besides, judging by the smoke that continues to rise in the distance, I get the feeling that those flames won't stop until this entire world has been consumed.
Epilogue
Crawling across the helmet of the dead knight, the maggot stops for a moment and checks for danger. Having spent its life packed tightly with its brothers inside the knight's armor, the maggot is now having to adjust to an entirely new existence. When the helmet was removed from the corpse and the head fell out, the maggot and its brothers spilled out. The brothers are gone now, and this maggot is the last one that remains. It has no idea where to find food, and no idea what it is supposed to do. Its life stretches pointlessly ahead of it, and nothing makes much sense.
With no other options, the maggot starts wriggling down the side of the helmet, before finally reaching the ground. With the rain having passed, the soil is wet and mulchy, with large pools of water. The maggot carefully makes its way around one such pool, wriggling as quickly as possible across the wide open space of the aisle. After a moment, however, the maggot stops as it feels the ground start to shake. Something big is moving nearby, but the maggot doesn't know which way to go. Before it has a chance to make a decision, a large foot comes slamming down, crushing the maggot into the mud. By the time the foot has passed by, the maggot is no more, having been killed by the impact. Its body rests in the soil, just another of the millions of creatures that have died in the Library.
Book 3:
The Roof of the World
Prologue
The air in this part of the Library is thick with ghosts, and the soil is drenched several feet deep with blood. Plants can grow here, but they have had to adapt: they have to feed off the nutrients of the corpses that litter the aisles, which in turn means that the plants have become bigger and thicker, in some cases winding several feet up the sides of the shelves. Sometimes, a breeze blows along the aisles and the plants look as if they're moving. But that's just the effect of the breeze. It's not as if the plants have mutated as their habitat has changed...
So many people have died in these aisles; the bodies are piled high, rotting under a sky blackened with smoke. Few living creatures ever pass this way anymore; even the worms have been driven away, leaving a deathly pall over the entire area. The air stinks of blood and rotten flesh. All that remains is the shelving, along with the distant echo of nearby screams. There is nothing here but misery and pain and fear, all rolled together to create a maze of nightmares. Some of the shelves have even been split apart, spilling their books out onto the ground. And still the blood flows and oozes, forming little rivers and ponds.
Perfect.
The perfect place.
The creature waits silently. Patience is vital. Even the slightest movement could ruin ten thousand years' of work. The creature knows it must stay absolutely still, otherwise living creatures will sense its presence. This is a long, long game; perhaps the longest game of all. And what makes this long game so sweet is a simple fact: the prize, the ultimate prize at the end of everything, is so infinitesimally small. Just a drop of sweetness on the tongue of a monster. Days, months, sometimes even years... the longer it takes, the more beautiful the fulfillment.
So the wait continues.
Until...
It comes.
Or rather, he comes. A man, wearing heavy armor. Banging his way loosely along the aisle. Wounded. Hurt. Dying. He hopes for salvation, but in reality he is merely walking into a trap. His fate is sealed, but there are a million ways in which he could die. All that remains is for him to make his choice. Not that this 'choice' is really a choice, of course; he'll end up dead at the end, even if the manner of this death is yet to be decided. Part of the armor over his chest has been ripped open, by an ax or a sword, and the underlying wound is caked in thick, congealed blood.
The creature waits. Though it is starved, and desperate for a good meal,
it wants to enjoy the hunt. It wants to close its eyes and breathe in the thrill of the kill. This, for the creature, is everything. Tracking down and killing an inhabitant of the Library is easy enough; one must merely wait until some poor, unsuspecting victim wanders down the wrong aisle. A sweet death, however, comes only when a victim exhibits a particularly keen desire to stumble into the jaws of death. The creature knows that the blood of its victims tastes best when it's mixed with a little adrenalin.
So the creature waits.
And waits.
Stalking the soldier for almost two days, the creature occasionally rattles its tail, just enough to instil a little more terror. The soldier hears the rattle every time, of course, and turns to check for a pursuer; seeing nothing, he keeps moving, and the creature licks its lips.
Finally it is ready. The soldier has stopped to rest for a moment, and this is the perfect time to strike. The creature allows its tale to rattle, which makes the soldier look around. The creature remains hidden for a moment, savoring the anticipation of a good kill. Soldiers are always fun to attack: they give up just enough of a struggle to make the whole thing worthwhile, and the creature loves the feeling of crushing the heavy armor to get to the soft, squidgy meat beneath. Really, the creature thinks it would be happy to keep hunting these soldiers for the rest of its existence. Sometimes, the mission slips from the creature's mind and it focuses purely on the pleasure of death.
Rattling its tail yet again, the creature seeks to prolong the torture. The soldier has started moving again, making his way along the aisle. He keeps glancing back over his shoulder, as if he expects to be picked off at any moment. The creature keeps pace with him, breathing deep to enjoy the scent of panic. Finally, however, the creature leaps ahead and waits for the soldier to stand in the perfect spot; after a moment, the creature slips down between the shelves. By the time the soldier realizes what is happening and looks up, it's too late; the creature opens its jaws and wraps them around the soldiers head, before snapping them shut, immediately bursting the armor and squeezing the soldier so hard that eventually the man's head bursts in the creature's mouth. As blood pours to the ground, the creature slowly lifts the still-shaking corpse up to the top of the shelf.
