by Amy Cross
Suddenly she steps to one side and slams into one of the shelves. I hear a faint groan from deep within all the hair, and then she falls over and slams into the ground. Now her two pink feet are sticking up in the air.
I step forward to help her, but Tom grabs my hand and holds me back.
“Best not to,” he says, as Rinth grumbles and starts getting up. “Those hairs pack quite a punch. Depending on how many you touch at one time, you can suffer anything from a mild buzz to an electric shock that'll knock you out for a day.”
“Seriously?”
“Trust me,” he says firmly. “She's live.”
“That doesn't make any sense at all,” I point out.
“Maybe not where you come from,” he says archly, before sighing. “To be fair, it doesn't make much sense here, either.”
No sooner has Rinth managed to stand again, than she turns and slams straight into yet another shelf. This time, however, she manages to stay upright. I feel bad for her, but the whole scene is pretty comical.
“Can't she see anything at all?” I ask.
“Of course not,” Tom replies, “she's covered in hair. I would have thought that might be obvious.”
“Oh, so now logic applies in this place?” I watch Rinth for a moment. “Can she talk?”
“Maybe, but she never does.”
“And this is who you're desperately trying to get to the citadel?” I turn to Tom. “No offense, but I mean... This is who you're relying on? Are you guys for real?”
“The future of the Great Library, perhaps even of other worlds beyond, rests in Rinth's hands.” He pauses, as a distant boom signals trouble far away. “And now we have to move! If we don't get Rinth to the citadel before Darvill, all is lost.”
***
“Okay, so let me get this straight,” I say a while later, as we all walk along the aisle, with shelves on either side, “someone just found this Rinth girl wandering about, and decided that she's important?”
“You might not guess this from looking at her,” Tom replies, “but Rinth might very well be the oldest living thing in all of the Great Library.”
I look over my shoulder and watch for a moment as she stumbles along behind us. She bumps against a wall, but at least she manages to stay on her feet. When I turn to Tom, I can't help wondering whether I'm being tricked.
“For the longest time, her existence was only rumored,” he continues. “It was said that she was there at the birth of the Great Library, that she survived its rebirth after the Great Cataclysm and the various cycles, that she's in some way inextricably connected to the heartbeat of the entire land. Many people, including myself, thought that such stories were myths, that Rinth couldn't be real. After all, every description of her seemed so...”
I wait for him to finish that sentence.
“Unlikely?” I suggest. “Wait, can she hear us? Does she understand what we're saying?”
“I have no idea,” he replies. “The legend of Rinth spread, but no-one ever really got their hands on her until recently.”
“So what changed?”
“Darvill launched his campaign of terror,” he explains. “It can be no coincidence that Rinth allowed herself to located now. If she's truly as old as the legends suggest, she must also be very wise. We can only hope that she knows what to do, in order to defeat Darvill, and that she's in some way guiding us because she need us to help her.”
“That's your plan?” I reply, shocked by what he's telling me. “You're going to take some mute fur-ball to a ruined castle and hope for the best?”
“We can't fight Darvill,” he points out. “We're no match for him. It's said that Rinth has saved the Great Library before, in which case we just have to trust her. Besides, we know that Darvill has been attempting to capture Rinth, so he must know something about her role. All the signs point to her being essential to the survival of our world. We just don't know how.”
“I don't know about you guys,” I say, looking along the aisle, which seems to go on forever, “but if I needed to come up with a plan, I think I'd want one that's a little more... detailed.”
“The last librarian spoke of Rinth. He was sure she'd be the key to save our world, and he was never wrong about anything else. He said that even the great Claire Mathis studied Rinth for a short time. My theory is that once we're at the citadel, Rinth will know how to access the right books, to locate the knowledge that helps us defeat Darvill. I know it's not much to go on, but right now it's our best shot.”
“But aren't we leading Rinth toward Darvill? That seems like a bad idea.”
“It's a calculated risk. She needs to be at the citadel.”
“But surely -”
“We know what we're doing,” he says firmly. “This plan has been hatching for a long time, Alexandra. Please, don't think that you can swoop in with a better idea now. You don't know this world.”
“Of course not,” I reply, “I just -”
“Stop!” Cromer says suddenly, coming to a halt so quickly that I slam into his back.
“Out of the way!” Tom says, pushing me aside before Rinth can do the same to me. I guess he's trying to help me avoid an electric shock.
“Somebody's coming,” Cromer explains. “Somebody is moving away from the citadel and coming toward us.”
Looking along the aisle, I realize that he's right. I can just about make out a figure in the distance, although I can't pick out any details. I look at Cromer, watching his face to see how he's reacting, and I can tell that he's worried. After a moment, I look down and see that he's slowly reaching for one of his swords. I guess that's probably a bad sign.
“Everyone stay behind me,” he says firmly, before taking a single step forward. As he does so, the ground shudders. “If I tell you to run, run. Protect Rinth at all costs.”
“What kind of people do you run into out here, anyway?” I ask, turning to Tom. “Where do people actually live in this place?”
“They live in the Great Library, of course,” he replies. “You won't see it around here, but there are areas where whole towns have been set up between the aisles. Some parts of the Great Library are as noisy and bustling as any place in any world. As for where people live, they find space on the shelves.” He looks ahead, as the figure comes closer. “This could be anything from a market trader to a warrior. Friend or foe.”
“Is he on horseback?” I ask, squinting to get a better view.
“I believe so,” Cromer says, “in which case, he's more likely to be a soldier.” He pulls the sword fully out of its sheath and takes another step forward. “If he's all alone out here, however, that's a strong indication that the last battle didn't go too well for him.”
“He looks slumped on the horse,” I point out. “Are you sure he's even conscious?”
We wait, and sure enough it's soon apparent that the figure is injured. He's barely managing to stay on the horse, which slows as it reaches us. Dressed in full armor, the figure tilts slightly to one side, and then he tips over and slithers off the horse, landing in a clanking mess on the ground. Already, I can see that there are patches of damage that have ripped his armor open, leaving a few exposed patches of bloodied flesh. Whatever happened to this guy, it's clear that he's been in the wars, maybe literally.
“Stand back,” Cromer says, stepping closer to the injured man.
“That's one of Darvill's thugs,” Tom tells me, as the horse tries to nudge his arm. “He's wearing the insignia that Darvill forces them all to put on their armor. He must have escaped from one of the battles.”
“No member of Darvill's army would be allowed to leave a fight,” Cromer says darkly, as he reaches down and lifts the visor on the man's helmet, revealing closed eyes and a face that's bruised and bloodied. “There must be some other reason for him to be all the way out here. Either that, or he wasn't quite as well brainwashed as all the rest. He's lost a lot of blood, though. I'm not sure that he'll survive for much longer.”
“He's dyi
ng?” I whisper, horrified by the sight. I step back, and then I feel a tingling sensation on my left arm as I get too close to Rinth. I step away from her and then I look back at the man on the ground.
“There is only one way to find out what happened to him,” Cromer says, “and where he's going.” He turns to Tom. “I will need your help.”
“You can't be serious,” Tom replies. “He's obviously far too gone for even your efforts to work. Besides, what about old Cygnus of Althuria? If I swap you over to the other guy, however briefly, Cygnus might seize his chance to get away from us.”
“He's too weak,” Cromer says. “It would take him time to gather the strength, and I will only be a few minutes.”
“You could both get hurt!”
“Please,” Cromer continues, “it's the only way. We need to know what we're up against.” He pauses, waiting for Tom to act. “I have lived a long life,” he continues, “and this is the first time I have ever actually been able to help my homeland. You might be a coward, Tom, but I am not. Will you help me, or must I ask someone else?”
“I...” Tom pauses, before stepping back. “I can't be a part of this. It's obscene. It's just wrong, to journey into another soul like that. It makes us worse than the monsters we're fighting.”
“Then you must do it,” Cromer continues, turning to me.
“Do what?” I stammer.
“Put me on him,” he says, turning so that I can see the little gray tick on the side of his neck. “Remove me from this body, and place me in a similar position on the soldier. Then I can access his mind and his memories, and we can determine a great deal about what Darvill has been doing. Then, once I'm done, you simply put me back on Cromer's neck, and we can be on our way.”
“You said earlier that it's risky to -”
“We have no choice,” he says firmly. “We need to know what's in this man's mind.”
“I can't,” I tell him.
“You must. I can't do it myself, and Rinth is certainly no help!”
“But -”
“Just do it!” he says angrily, grabbing my arm and pulling me close. “I promise you, if you even attempt to be as cowardly as that overgrown grasshopper over there, I might just kill you both, because your only use will be as fertilizer for the soil!”
I open my mouth to tell him that I really can't do this, but then I see the fury in his eyes and I realize that he means every word that he just said.
“If I, a little tick, can be brave,” he continues, “then so can you. A little human.”
“I...”
I swallow hard, and then I look at the tick on the side of Cromer's neck. I feel really disgusted by the idea of even touching it, but finally I reach out and gently take hold of it with two fingers.
“That tickles,” Cromer tells me. “I'm detaching as I speak. Hurry.”
I hesitate, and then suddenly the tick falls away, landing in the palm of my hand. I stare in horror as its little legs wriggle in the air, and then I turn just as Cromer slumps down against a nearby shelf, as if all the life has left his body.
“Just get on with it,” Tom mutters, turning away. “I can't watch.”
For a moment, I can only watch as the tick twists over and starts crawling across my hand. Can this really be Cromer? Can all his personality and intelligence be contained in this thing? I take a deep breath, and then I turn and look down at the injured soldier. Reaching out, I move his helmet aside so that I can see his neck, and then I gently put the tick in place. He scurries a couple of inches across the bloodied skin, as if he's searching for the right spot, and then suddenly he digs in and takes his place. As he does that, he seems to swell slightly.
I sit back, watching the injured soldier's face, but he hasn't reacted at all.
“Now what?” I ask, turning to Tom. “How long -”
Before I can finish, Cromer's body – or, I guess, the body of that Cygnus of Altheria guy – twitches and groans. His eyes open wide, and he seems to be in pain.
“Don't worry about him,” Tom says. “Apparently he's not used to being in control of his body, so it'll take him a while to remember how things work again. By that point, Cromer should be back on him. I hope so, anyway. The last thing we want is that idiotic lump wandering about.”
I look at the injured soldier again, and now I can see that his eyes are slowly starting to open. I still can't quite believe that Cromer is able to infiltrate somebody else's body like this, but at the same time I can't deny that he seems to be succeeding. The man's mouth opens slightly, revealing thick, whitish-yellow strands of slime that are trying to hold his lips together, and he lets out a low, slow groan that seems to be coming from deep within his body. At the same time, when I look at his eyes I see that his pupils are different sizes, with one have enlarged and the other having shrunk until it's barely visible at all.
“No,” he gasps suddenly, “it's okay, I'm a friend. I'm only here for a moment. I need to know what you know.”
“Who's he talking to?” I ask.
“The man whose mind he's entered,” Tom says, sounding utterly disgusted. “I imagine that most people don't take too kindly to being invaded like this, especially if they're on the verge of death. I told you this was obscene, and now you can see that I'm right. It's almost necromancy!”
“Oh shut up, Tom,” the man groans. “I can hear you, you know.”
“This makes my skin crawl,” Tom mutters.
“There was a battle,” the man continues. “Darvill has been throwing his men into action again and again, forcing them to destroy citadel after citadel. Each citadel is weakly defended, so the outcome is never in doubt, but some are able to put up a little more resistance than others. In the last battle, several of Darvill's men were killed when boiling tar was poured onto them from a citadel window. Their cries rang out, but Darvill forced the rest to keep going, and then to slaughter all those they found once they were inside. I can hear his voice in this man's memories, screaming at them to kill everyone. Men, women, children... No-one was spared.”
“We didn't need to be told all of this,” Tom points out. “We already knew that Darvill was capable of heinous acts. Anything else he tells us is probably just a fever dream. You can't trust him.”
“He rages about Rinth,” the man adds. “Rinth must be captured at all costs. Darvill believes that once all the citadels have been destroyed, the gods will be pleased and the Great Library will be saved from decay, and he will be granted the immortality he has sought for so long. He sees the citadels as signs of arrogance, of an attempt to challenge the gods. Just as it is known that no-one should spend much time on the tops of the shelves, so Darvill believes that anything that rises into the sky is contemptible and must be destroyed. He's close to succeeding, but he's so paranoid about Rinth. He's convinced that Rinth can help him, but also that she can destroy him.”
“If that's true,” I say, turning to Tom, “then aren't you helping him out by taking Rinth to one of the citadels? You're delivering her right into his hands.”
“Not if we get there first and find out what she needs to do to stop him,” Tom replies. “That's why time is of the essence, and it's why we should not have stopped for this foul charade.”
“Darvill fears further retribution from the gods if he does not succeed soon,” Cromer says, still speaking through the man. “He talks of the Great Library withering and dying, of the horizon being sealed shut. He believes the Great Library is not yet complete, and that its architect must be given time to complete the work. That parts makes no sense to me, it sounds as if Darvill has completely lost his mind. What he really wants, above all else, is to cheat death.”
“Is that what happens to all worlds, in the end?” Tom asks. “They are destroyed by lunatics.”
“At the end of the most recent battle,” Cromer continues, “this soldier could no longer take all the horror of having to kill the inhabitants of the citadels. He'd seen enough, so he fled. Several other soldiers followed and t
ried to drag him back. He managed to escape, but not before suffering several injuries. He's been wandering for days, dying, and now he only wants peace. He expects to be punished in the next life, for the sins he committed since he was forced into Darvill's army. He fully believes that his soul will be damned and...”
His voice trails off for a moment.
“There's something else,” he says finally. “It's hazy, but he say something, I think he's trying to warn me about Darvill's plans. He's getting weaker by the second, but he says danger is close, he wants us to -”
“He's dying!” Tom snaps angrily, stepping past me and pulling the tick off the side of the man's neck. “Can't any of you see that, you oafs? Don't torture the poor man in his final moments! Hasn't he suffered enough?”
The tick falls from his hand and drops down into the man's armor. The man, meanwhile, lets out a pained gasp as he looks up at the sky, and then – as I stare at his face – he falls still. It takes a moment longer before I realize that I just watched him die.
“I...”
Feeling something tickling my right hand, I look down and see the little tick crawling onto my thumb, having found its way out of the armor.
“At least that hideous display is over,” Tom mutters angrily. “I'm sorry, but I couldn't stand by and witness such appalling behavior for even a moment longer, and I'm not convinced that we learned anything useful. Now let's get Cromer back where he belongs, and then we have to start walking again. We won't make the citadel before nightfall, so we'll have to find somewhere to stay.” He stares at me “Well? What are you waiting for, girl? Put the tick back on that big lunk's neck and let's get moving!”
