The Library (The Librarian of Alexandria Book 1)

by Casey White

  Owl clenched his jaw, a vein in his head starting to throb. There. Magic. He had Alexandria’s magic. Her knowledge, if he was putting together the pieces correctly. A little slice of her. And now, all he had to do was-

  Turning his eyes back to the dreamer, he took a shuddering step forward. The ball floated before him, growing larger by the second.

  Another book slammed into the small of his back. Owl lurched, stifling a cry. What about the books? his thoughts screamed. Pages filled the air around the chamber, swirling on the gale-force winds. That was knowledge too. Maybe he could merge it with the magic?

  Stumbling forward again, he narrowed his eyes. In that instant, the ball of magic-laced water was the center of the Library. The center of the world. It was everything.

  The air around them stilled, pregnant with a tension that was entirely new. And then the crackling of paper filled the air, rising over even the whispers of the ghostly figures hiding within the storm. Pages shot out of the clouds, plunging into his steadily-growing orb of Alexandria’s water. Owl grinned reflexively, his head pounding. There. The mixture is ready. So then, if I-

  The dreamer jerked away as the orb of water brushed against its arm. Owl clamped down tighter, quelling the ripples that threatened to unbalance his creation. You want knowledge, don’t you? You want answers?

  He couldn’t continue forward - not when the leather of his gloves was starting to smoke and his face burned even beneath its porcelain mask. But he leaned in, stretching his arm out farther. Just a little more. A little more, and-

  With one final gasp and a shove, the orb shot forward - and the dreamer vanished into the middle of the paper-and-ink filled blob.

  Owl grinned, victory lighting in his eyes. “Drink your fill,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Whatever you’re looking for, I hope you can-”

  He never heard the boom. He just felt the air slam into his front, hard as concrete and hot like fire. The sizzling of hot steam against his jacket roared louder. His concentration shattered in an instant. It was all he could do to throw his arms up over his face, throwing up a pale semblance of a shield between him and the onslaught of boiling-hot water.

  And then, it passed. The hot touch of water fell away. The scream of the wind rose to take its place again. Owl’s gut churned at the renewed whispers, more insistent than ever. They bypassed his eardrums, sinking into his thoughts themselves and worming deeper and deeper until they-

  He forced his eyes open, stumbling forward again - until the sight of a glowing figure still meandering before him stopped him in his tracks.

  The dreamer. It was...untouched. Unharmed, but also unchanged. And of course, he realized. Its magic had been what tore Alexandria apart in the first place. If its answer had been so easily received, it would already have left.

  Again, he’d failed.

  “No,” Owl whispered, stumbling after it. Water splashed about his ankles, growing deeper by the second. “No, no, no.”

  That water was Alexandria’s blood. How much could she afford to lose? How much could she recover from - or would the Library simply...vanish? When he glanced up, tight-lipped, the destruction rained down more pointedly than ever. “It’ll spread,” he whispered, aghast. “Farther and farther. Please, Alex, just-”

  He bit off the words, turning his face away with a muted, desperate noise. Alexandria couldn’t help herself, not when she was being torn apart at the seams. He needed to stop the dreamer’s destructive walk, before...before it...

  Again, an idea sprang into his mind, and again, his thoughts zeroed in on it with razor-sharp precision. If he was going to put an end to the storm, then he had to get the dreamer back under control. He needed to get its attention, let it know that he was here. That he wanted to help. But he’d tried that, after all - and all he’d gotten for his efforts were a spackling of burn-marks across his front.

  Maybe Alexandria could do better.

  Owl’s fingers splayed out again, tensing, and he planted his feet against the ground. Slowly, picking up speed, he started to churn his hands about each other in a steady, endless spiral. The water lapping at his legs shook, resisting his call. He exhaled, a single image fixed in his mind.

  For the second time, the waters started to quiver. This time, though, no river rose from their waves. No orb came to rest before his hands. The pool around him washed about at first, little more than a turbulent mess.

  Something took shape from within the chaos, though. A spiral, curried on by the steady movements of his hands. It coiled about his feet, spreading outward with the encouragement of his magic.

  The pulling and tugging of it against him was almost too much. At any second, he knew it could all go wrong, and he’d lose his footing, lost to tumble into the magical depths. His lungs already burned, something he was quite sure had to do with the added humidity after the water-baptism attempt. It wasn’t water, after all. With every breath fire and his legs shaking from the effort of standing, he stretched his fingers out straight, still spiraling, and-

  And pushed them out to either side, his palms flat and his arms braced. The air pushed back, groaning with the effort of what he was asking for. The spiral around him roiled, rumbling like a freight train - but the waters sprayed away, out and up and everywhere.

  Come on. He forced the tides higher, rising up the walls and seeping into the cracks of Alexandria’s once-pristine structure. It was her blood. It was her. And if it was her, then maybe he could- Maybe he could fix this.

  Through the haze of the firestorm and the roar of the voices and wind and the constant agony of the books striking him, he could see the silvery glow spreading up the walls.

  Maybe he could fix her. And with her fixed, maybe she could fix all of this.

  His eyes slid shut, squeezing tight. He only had one chance, he knew, with his limbs growing more tired by the second and his skull aching as though someone had split it open. A trickle of something warm slid down his face, dripping from his nostrils. Blood. He was...he was bleeding.

  “Make it count, Daniel,” he heard that woman’s voice whisper in his ear, one last time.

  With the magic pulsating between his fingers both real and imaginary, he let his mind wander outward - and picture it. Alexandria. He’d never seen this room before, of course.

  That didn’t mean he couldn’t imagine it. He knew the Library. He’d been wandering its halls for centuries, soaking up the sights and sounds and smells of his home. He knew what Alex liked - the gilt, the flair and show of it all. The banisters worked from mahogany, the brass settings that’d gleam from every surface.

  She wore many different faces, of course. Maybe Leon was right, and these rooms had all been real libraries somewhere, sucked into her domain by whatever magic flowed through her veins. Or maybe they were moods she wore, donning and discarding rooms when she tired of them. But even if she presented herself to him as the lowest, most basic cave, or a threadbare shack held together with rusted, straining nails, it was still her.

  He knew her. And if anyone could put her together, it’d be him.

  The winds railed against him, but he stood, a pillar in the chaos. Book after book struck his legs, his chest, his arms, but his eyes stayed closed. If he just believed hard enough, with her lifeblood safely in the grasp of his magic, surely her wounds would close. He’d open his eyes and-

  Something crashed down alongside him, close enough to shake the ground. A spray of tingling, acrid-smelling water splattered against his mask. He froze. More water. Then...

  Owl’s eyes snapped open again. The storm still tore at Alexandria’s walls - and everywhere he looked, he found only faint-glowing water dripping down to rejoin the pool rising at his feet. Here and there, he could see a wall beginning to close, a rooftop starting to mend, but too little and too late.

  He couldn’t fix her. The truth drove home like a blade sinking into his chest, straight into his heart.

  What, then? He spun on his heel, his breath coming ragged. His
hands were already shaking. An exhaustion settled over his shoulders like he’d never felt before, deep and cold and dragging at his limbs. He’d reached his limit.

  He hadn’t even realized he had limits, before.

  The dreamer stumbled onward, still clutching its head - and as it moved, the eye of the storm moved with it. Each one of its shambling steps brought Owl closer to the whispers, made them a little louder in his head.

  And he watched as across the room, a new maw opened in the wall of Alexandria. Light streamed through - but dim. Shadowed. As though night was starting to fall over the Library.

  He was moving before he’d even had time to think it through.

  Owl ran. Each step came harder than the one before, bogged down by the water and his own weakness. The winds tore at him. The screams of the dreamer’s companions filled his mind. But he ran, his eyes glued to the slender form at the storm’s heart.

  He couldn’t fix Alexandria. She’d have to fix herself.

  He just had to buy her the time.

  His vision blurred, fading to grey around the edges. Everything he had left was focused on keeping upright, on keeping moving. The air around him hissed, growing hotter by the second. Tiny droplets of the water filled his lungs, burning with every gasping breath. And as he closed the gap between them, he could feel it - the heat rising off the dreamer’s furious, brightly-glowing skin.

  He’d burn. Somewhere, distantly, he recognized that much. The thing was upset, and it was hot. Going close to it would be asking for injuries.

  Owl dropped his chin to his chest, though, his eyes still glued to the dreamer. Somehow, he needed to draw their guest’s attention back to him. Screaming at it had done nothing. Trying to smother the thing in Alexandria’s magical knowledge had done nothing. That left him with few options indeed - but sometimes, the simplest answers were the best ones.

  And if Alexandria needed a distraction, he’d provide it.

  He was the Librarian, after all.

  Grinning through the searing heat that bit at his skin, that set his eyes to watering, Owl lunged forward, throwing himself across the thin gap remaining between him and the dreamer. His arm lifted, snaking forward.

  Through the heavy, hot leather and cloth of his gloves, he felt his hand close about the dreamer’s wrist.

  He had a single, endless moment to ponder his mistake.

  And then it hit.

  Owl was on fire.

  It surged through him, filling his veins and burning him from the inside out. It wasn’t a matter of his hands, or his wrists, or even his arms. It didn’t seem to matter what part of him was touching the dreamer - the whole of him seared from within.

  His limbs locked. His throat ached, tearing with the scream that ripped from his gut. Agony shot through him. He’d never felt pain like this before. Not ever.

  Keep holding on. In that moment, with his world blurring away around him, that last thought was all he had left to hold onto. Don’t you dare let that thing go. You’ve got him now. Don’t let it slip.

  So he held. It hurt. It hurt bad. But his hand stayed locked about the dreamer’s wrist, hard as iron.

  “I-It’s,” Owl began, but his voice cracked. He swallowed, shuddering, and shook his head. “It’s okay. I...I’m here. I-I see you.” The sentence was slow, pushed out in sections as he found enough breath to give it voice. “I’m here.”

  His eyes were slits, but he strained, keeping them open against the heat and hurt of the world. Because he could see the dreamer, then, filling his vision with blinding light. He could see it turn.

  It didn’t have a face. Once upon a time, perhaps, but the glow beneath its skin was too radiant for that. It was just a blur as its head angled toward his.

  Owl sagged, still holding its wrist. There. It’d seen him. “Please. J-Just...Just calm down. I can help. Let me-”

  The dreamer’s face kept turning. He could almost feel its eyes slide right off his , returning to the disintegrating Library around them. It tugged against his hold, trying to pull away.

  No. Owl’s heart froze. It tugged again, harder - and started to turn away. He’d come so far. He’d tried everything, damn it. If he lost this...if he couldn’t even do something as simple as distracting the dreamer...He licked his lips, ignoring the burning, searing knives digging into his limbs.

  “Work fast, Alex,” he breathed, lurching forward.

  Before the dreamer could turn away, he grabbed its other wrist.

  The good news was that the dreamer stopped trying to turn away. It snapped back to face him, in fact, its skin going even more incandescent than before. With its arms in his grasp, it couldn’t run even if it wanted to. And, finally, it seemed to be giving him its total and complete attention. In the same instant he took it by the wrist, the storm around him quelled. Books fell from the air. The fires stopped their devouring march onward.

  The bad news was that now he had its total and complete attention.

  He’d thought he was burning up before. That pain was nothing - nothing - before the inferno that tore through his veins. He didn’t have the time to scream before the storm coursed into him.

  Owl’s vision went white, reducing the dreamer to a blur. He couldn’t hear, couldn’t think. Even if he’d wanted to pull away, he couldn’t - somewhere along the line, their roles had reversed. Its fingers clamped about the sleeves of his jacket, holding him fast.

  Through the fog of the light and pain, he could see the heat rippling off its hands. He watched, pinioned, as his coat ripped, shredded in an instant by the sheer magical force of it. The scraps of leather and cloth dissolved to dust, incinerated before it could even float away.

  Something struck him. Struck his knees. The ground. Right. His legs must’ve given way, leaving him kneeling in the water with his arms clutched by the dreamer. It was still looking, he realized. Its whispers still poured into his mind, searching for whatever anchor it so desperately needed. The fires lacing his body put their meaning hopelessly out of reach.

  The heat intensified across his chest. Owl flinched, his back arching as he shied away. His jacket was- it was gone. Seared away to nothing. Not much protection at all, was it?

  The dreamer was holding him up, by then. The hold it had on his arms was all that was keeping him upright. Was it enough? Had he bought enough time?

  His breath seeped out, ragged and tight. He’d done his best. That was all he could do.

  It was up to Alexandria from here.

  The world...wasn’t quite so white anymore. It was fading to grey again, as though the very Library itself was disappearing from around him. And here, with the light out of his eyes, it almost seemed like the dreamer was fainter, too. He couldn’t quite make it out. Everything was blurry, and his head pounded every time he tried to focus. But here...

  Owl could almost see a figure under the glowing skin of the dreamer. An older man, perhaps. It was right there in front of him, if only- if only he could muster the will to look.

  He couldn’t. Owl sagged, still twitching as the dreamer’s storm burned away his senses one inch at a time.

  He hoped it was enough.

  The dreamer’s head snapped up. Owl flinched, his limbs tensing as the fires surged, and-

  It stopped.

  The magical storm, the groaning of the wood, the shrieking whispers in his ears and the endless, hoarse sound of his cries, it all stopped.

  Everything.

  In the calm of that moment, with the whole world holding its breath, he heard it. He felt it. Someone was moving. Walking. The gentle splashing of their footsteps rose against the deafening silence.

  He heard them draw close, near enough to reach out and touch. Summoning up every last ounce of strength he had left, Owl opened his eyes. Just a hair, no more.

  A woman stepped up alongside him.

  He...couldn’t see her. Not really. He could see her shape, yes, but little more. The pale glow shining off her form warmed the suddenly-dark space around them, blu
rring any details and distorting the space around her. Where the dreamer’s light had turned incandescent and searing-hot, toward the end, this felt...comfortable. It warmed his skin wherever it touched, quieting the hurts that lingered still.

  There were a few things he could tell, of course. She was naked. He was fairly sure of that much, even if his eyes slid off her form and refused to focus each time he looked her way. She was naked, with pale, sun-starved skin and untamed masses of brown hair falling to her waist.

  The corners of his lips curled up ever so slightly. She was as beautiful as her statue.

  She reached out, and he shivered at the warmth of her touch. She laid a hand onto his wrist, where the dreamer clutched him.

  “Is that necessary?” Alexandria said. Her voice was like nothing he’d heard before - completely foreign to him, and yet intrinsically familiar. There was a rough edge to it, but, well. When you spoke as rarely as her, that was probably to be expected.

  The dreamer looked up, at last. It stared at her, and with her hand against its, the last of its fierce light faded to reveal the man Owl had seen before.

  “You,” the man whispered. His eyes glistened. “You.”

  Owl couldn’t see her face any more than the rest of her, but somehow, he thought that she smiled. “Me,” she said. He felt her fingers tighten against him. “Have you calmed down a little?”

  “You promised,” the man whispered. “I-I waited. I waited so long, in the dark. I...I couldn’t-”

  “I’m sorry,” Owl heard her say, the words quiet and heavy. “My servant was a little tardy. But...” She paused, and that feeling washed over him again - the sensation of being inspected, even when the world around him was still a hazy, foggy mess of nothingness. “I think he’s learned his lesson, don’t you?”

  “I waited,” the dreamer said. His voice was still low and hushed, but Owl could hear the intensity beginning to leave it. “For you. Like you said. A-And you-”