The Library of Shadows

by Mikkel Birkegaard

  Remer laughed. 'You don't have a chance, Campelli,' he shouted. 'Give up.'

  'Why?' replied Jon. 'You've already got what you need.'

  'True enough. But we still have room for a man like you in the Order.' He threw out his arms. 'Just look what we can accomplish together.'

  'You duped me,' snarled Jon. 'Forced me to betray my own people.'

  'You had it in you already, Campelli. I just brought it into the light.'

  The three figures behind him were gradually becoming more solid.

  'And pushed everything else into the dark,' said Jon. 'Katherina, the bookshop, my family. You made me forget my own family, Remer.'

  'It won't do you any good to dwell on the past,' said Remer with annoyance. 'Even your father would have realized that. He would have loved being able to step into the story and change things the way we now can.'

  'But you never gave him a chance,' Jon pointed out. 'You killed him.'

  Remer shrugged. 'It was necessary,' he said. 'We would never have been able to turn him.'

  Jon felt anger welling up inside him. With a flash of light the clouds overhead once again turned pitch-black, and lightning shot across the sky with an angry crash.

  Remer cast an uneasy glance at the clouds.

  'Who did it?' asked Jon through clenched teeth.

  'What difference does it make?'

  'Who killed my father?' shouted Jon, accompanied by yet another crash of thunder overhead.

  'Patrick Vedel, the receiver,' replied Remer indifferently. 'It was necessary.'

  'Patrick Vedel,' repeated Jon. It wasn't more than an hour ago that they were sitting side by side in the car on their way to the library. His anger grew stronger, and he knew that Vedel could feel it, because the hand he felt on his shoulder seemed to lose its hold for a moment, but then gripped even harder. Vedel was still keeping Jon inside the story, and he was wise to do so.

  'Luca found out about our activities down here,' Remer went on. 'I think he realized he was out of his depth.'

  'My father was here?' asked Jon. The idea that Luca would put so much distance between himself and the bookshop seemed unlikely.

  'He could have been a good detective,' Remer acknowledged. 'Just like you, but even so I think he was shocked.' Remer shook his head. 'A man struck by panic could do anything. He had to be stopped.'

  'So you killed him.'

  'He might have gone to the authorities. That would have been equally bad for your little girlfriend and her reading buddies. It wouldn't have benefited any Lectors, any of us.'

  The three figures behind Remer had assumed their final form and stood there looking about in amazement. One of them was Poul Holt.

  Remer smiled. 'So, Campelli, what's it going to be?'

  Katherina gasped for breath. The air in the reading room seemed to be getting heavier by the minute and the smoke was tearing at her lungs. Big sparks kept reaching out and making contact with the overhead beams, the pillars and other random objects. Some struck fleeing Lectors who were flung to the ground and either lay where they fell or tried to crawl away.

  The energy in the room was stronger now than when they had arrived. At first it had seemed like an eiderdown settling over the space, but now it had changed character and felt like a rushing river, violent, roaring and overpowering.

  Katherina had positioned herself next to a pillar so she could see both Jon and Remer. In the flow of images coming from Jon, she had caught a glimpse of a red-haired man. She recognized him as one of the men who had chased her through the marketplace, and judging by the emotions Jon attributed to the images, the red-haired man wasn't exactly a friend of his either. The accompanying anger was enormous, and when brief picture sequences of Luca got mixed in, she understood why.

  The red-haired man was the receiver who had killed Luca.

  Jon's concentration weakened due to his anger, and Katherina had to set aside her own fury to help him. Even though it pained her to do so, she muted the emotions in the pictures of Luca and instead supported the story as best she could. Slowly Jon regained his focus and began working his way through the text. She couldn't tell exactly what was happening in the place where he found himself, but something was certainly going on that went far beyond the words and sentences of the text, as if each letter of the alphabet was a landscape in and of itself.

  Katherina moved closer to the podium and Jon. She didn't cover much ground, but she felt better being slightly nearer to him. Nothing was visible on his face – no emotions or expressions she could interpret.

  She felt the hood of her robe being tugged from her head. A hand landed on her shoulder and slowly she turned around. In front of her stood the red-haired man, the man Jon had just pointed out as Luca's murderer.

  'You shouldn't be here. You must have taken a wrong turn somewhere,' he said with a triumphant smile.

  Katherina's heart pounded and she couldn't breathe. Without the protection of her hood she felt helpless. It was a hundred against one, and there was no place for her to flee. She had failed.

  'You'd better come with me,' said the red-haired man.

  The pictures of him she'd received from Jon popped up again, but now they were coloured by her own rage.

  Katherina took a deep breath.

  With a violent shove she sent the man toppling backwards. He staggered a few steps before he fell on his back with a yelp. Several people standing close turned towards Katherina with shouts of surprise. She started screaming as loud as she could and pushing at those who were nearest. The first participants moved away in fright, but she kept running into people and yanking at everyone she could reach. She managed to grab some of the books and tore them out of the hands of the astonished owners, hurling them as far away as she could. There was no chance that anyone would come to her aid, but she could at least break the concentration of the crowd, maybe long enough so that Jon could stop the reading.

  The people around her began to understand what was going on, and more and more hands reached out for Katherina. She repeatedly tore herself free, but the crowd was getting rougher and rougher, and agitated voices were pelting her with words in many languages. She fought back as best she could, but then someone shoved a book at her face and stopped her shouts.

  A voice cut through the noise. It was one of the hooded guards, pushing his way through the excited participants and speaking to them in an authoritative tone. He got Katherina in an armlock and one by one the others retreated. The guard ushered Katherina towards the door. The Lectors moved aside, glaring at her as they did. Almost everyone was watching the commotion while Jon still continued to read, as did a number of other Lectors close to the podium who appeared not to have noticed a thing. Desperation surged inside of Katherina, and she almost didn't have the strength to stay on her feet, but the guard ruthlessly pulled her along. When they had nearly reached the door, she made one last effort to tear herself away, but the guard merely tightened his grip.

  'Take it easy, damn it,' he whispered in unmistakable Danish. 'It's me, Mehmet.'

  41

  Jon noticed when Katherina's support vanished.

  The colours of the surroundings abruptly lost their strength and the details around him became blurred. He had to work harder to keep the scene intact. The features of the cemetery weakened and the atmosphere was not as palpable as it had been before.

  At the same time a violent commotion occurred in the energy field. Instead of being a unified support that reinforced the intensity of the scene, the force now fluctuated for shorter or longer periods. It seemed like the signal from a transistor being run through the whole range of frequencies.

  Remer had also noticed it, but instead of faltering, he smiled. 'Don't pay any attention to that,' he said confidently. 'We don't need them.' He held his arms out to the sides and tipped his head back to look up at the clouds in the sky.

  The colours changed, starting from above and flowing downwards, as if someone were pouring paint over the landscape. Everythin
g that was pale and pastel became so sharp and bright it hurt his eyes. The headstones moved back into place and acquired detailed decorations including gargoyles and mythical creatures.

  Jon couldn't keep up. He'd lost control of the scene. The ball was now in his opponent's court. 'Not bad,' he admitted as he tried to hide his concern. What had happened to Katherina? He didn't have the strength to hold on much longer alone. Maybe she had escaped. He hoped she had. If only he could make sure she was safe. If only he could poke his head outside to determine whether she was okay.

  Three more of Remer's people appeared.

  It looked like he was defeated. Without Katherina's support, and with more and more of Remer's people being reactivated, he couldn't keep going. He noticed that his energy was fading, but he still couldn't stop reading. Patrick Vedel's influence had vanished, but there were other receivers who were keeping everyone captive in the text.

  The main character at the grave stopped speaking, closed his eyes and bowed his head. Slowly he leaned forward until his forehead touched the stone.

  Darkness. They were back inside the car. The sides and roof were pressing so close he couldn't move. He heard screams from behind him, inside the car, muted, as if someone were shouting into a quilt, but insistent and impossible to ignore. A strong smell of petrol made the main character cough. A shudder rippled through his body and a violent pain in his legs made him scream.

  Jon was caught off guard by the change of scene, but he quickly recovered. The darkness limited the possibilities for manipulating the surroundings and gave him a chance to relax. He tried to gather his forces, though he knew it wouldn't be long before the scene changed again.

  'Are you okay?' asked a voice outside the car door.

  The main character could do nothing but scream.

  Then other sounds. The sound of metal against metal, faces that bent close and then vanished, the chassis of the car creaking and groaning. Petrol fumes filled his lungs and made him cough again. He felt someone grab hold of him. The pain was unbearable. He screamed. Someone was yanking violently at his body. Suddenly he felt water on his face. Rain. He saw the outline of the car as he was dragged away. He saw the crushed roof and the crumpled bonnet. He saw a blue spark issue from the rear of the car.

  Then he felt the heat washing over him.

  Mehmet and Katherina came out into the corridor, beyond the crowd's field of vision, and hugged each other.

  'What happened to the two of you?' Katherina asked.

  'It wasn't all that easy to get in,' replied Mehmet. 'And we also had to convince a couple of guards to loan us their togas, if you know what I mean.'

  'Where's Henning?'

  'He's there,' said Mehmet, nodding towards the stairs. 'He started reading from another book we found.'

  They hurried up the stairs to the next level. Here the tables and chairs had not been removed. They stood in long, even rows – a sharp contrast to the chaos below. Henning was sitting with a book in his hands in the middle of the floor, a couple of metres from the edge of the terrace. As they approached, they could hear him reading in a clear voice.

  'Watch out,' said Katherina, holding Mehmet back. A spark raced across the pages of the book Henning was reading. 'He's been reactivated.'

  'Is that good?' asked Mehmet.

  'I have no idea,' replied Katherina and sighed. She stepped closer to Henning and studied his face. His eyes were staring down at the book but they seemed to be seeing more than just letters and words. A few drops of sweat glistened on his brow and his cheeks were flushed.

  'He's completely out of it,' declared Mehmet.

  'Leave him be.' Katherina moved over to the railing. They were standing right above the podium with a full view of the floor below. Jon was still standing there, reading, paying no attention to the fact that scattered all around him were bodies lying on the floor along with a jumble of candles and books. Discharges from the electrical fixtures sent constant showers of sparks out into the room, and bolts of lightning leaped between Jon and the eight other Lectors standing around the podium who had been reactivated. It was as if they were feeding each other with energy, sometimes in random bursts, at other times passing the charge from one person to another like a relay baton.

  'Shit,' said Mehmet next to her. 'What the hell is going on?'

  Before Katherina could reply, they heard a clattering sound behind them. Henning's body had straightened up and was arched like a bow over the chair he had been sitting on. Foam was seeping from the corners of his mouth and a horrible hissing sound had replaced his reading voice. Katherina ran over to him but didn't dare touch his body, which began to shake violently. His eyes were no longer staring at the book but were looking up at the ceiling with an empty, frozen expression. A drop of blood ran from his nose to his lips.

  'Henning!' she yelled. 'Can you hear me?' There was no reaction on his face.

  Katherina didn't know what to do. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold him tight, but didn't dare. Tears began to well up in her eyes. She took a step back, never taking her eyes off Henning's face.

  Suddenly his body stopped shaking and his features once again looked human. Then he closed his eyes and collapsed back onto the chair.

  Mehmet took a hesitant step towards the Lector and studied his face closely before he pressed two fingers to Henning's throat. After a couple of seconds he removed his hand and sighed.

  'He's dead,' he said.

  It was raining in the cemetery. After the darkness of the flashback scene, the rain was a much-needed breath of fresh air. The stench of petrol had been replaced by the smell of wet grass and flowers.

  'Wow,' exclaimed Remer. 'Nice little intermezzo.'

  Another grey cloud appeared and began taking shape.

  Remer smiled. 'Give it up, Campelli. It's now eight against one.' Then his smile froze and he frowned.

  The new arrival was Henning, who looked around in astonishment.

  'Henning!' shouted Jon in relief.

  Henning took a moment to get his bearings and then caught sight of Jon.

  'Jon!' he cried. 'Is that you?'

  Remer uttered an angry shout and held his hands out towards the spot where Henning was standing. A strong wind began blowing around them.

  'Ignore it, Henning!' yelled Jon. 'It's not real. Focus.'

  Henning stared in bewilderment at his feet. The wind picked up. A whirlwind rose up around him until he was surrounded. It had torn up earth and leaves as it emerged, encircled him at an ever-increasing tempo.

  'Katherina,' Henning shouted. 'She's…' The wind stole his words. 'Lightning… have to go back… out…' A panicked expression spread across his face.

  Jon tried to neutralize the tornado, but Remer's supporters made sure that it got even stronger, rotating faster and faster. Jon tried to change its path but it refused to budge. Henning's figure grew weaker. His shouts could no longer be distinguished from the roaring of the wind and his body grew fainter with every second. Finally his figure was no longer visible in the centre of the storm.

  Suddenly the whirlwind vanished, and all the stones, leaves and earth it had contained came raining down. Henning was gone.

  Remer seemed to be examining the pile of dirt that remained on the spot where Henning had stood. 'I think you're right, Campelli,' he said. 'It's a matter of faith.' He smiled. 'And I don't think we've seen the best yet.'

  Around them the scene changed again. Lightning sliced across the sky and rain began to fall, at first in big, heavy drops, then in columns of water. The grass grew higher as Jon stood there looking at it, and the walls of the cemetery seemed to move further away to make room for new rows of headstones, white crosses beneath grey clouds.

  Remer laughed. A maniacal tone had crept into his voice. 'Nothing can stop us now!'

  The wealth of details seemed to explode. Jon could see the very structure of the bark on the trees, microscopic fungi on the surfaces of the gravestones, vermin underground, moisture that had co
llected in the carved surfaces of the headstones. It was almost too much for him to take in; so many impressions forced themselves on him, filling his head until he thought he would faint.

  One of Remer's comrades in arms sank to his knees, holding his head. He started screaming, and the outline of his body slowly blurred. The sound of his shouts grew fainter as the Lector's molecules separated from one another, cloaking him in a cloud of particles that vanished in the wind.

  'Remer,' said Poul Holt, sounding strained. 'You need to hold back a little.' His face was contorted with pain.

  'Hold back?' Remer shouted. 'We haven't come this far to hold back.'

  'He's right,' said Jon. 'You've gone too far.'

  Angry, Remer turned to face him. 'Too far?' He smiled.

  Jon sensed the wind growing stronger around him. Dirt and raindrops whirled past. He was bombarded by impressions of the shape, speed and path of every single drop, but he had no control over them. Remer was steering and shaping them, down to the individual molecules.

  Instead of fighting back and trying to regain the upper hand, Jon tried to concentrate on one thing. One small step. Even though he couldn't feel his physical body, he tried with all his might to move his left foot backwards. He pictured it scraping along the floor of the dais, centimetre by centimetre, further and further back. It filled his thoughts. One small movement.

  More and more loose objects were being swept along: leaves, stones, planks, branches and signs all rushed past him at an ever-increasing speed.

  One step.

  'Is this far enough, Campelli?' shouted Remer jubilantly. His voice was barely audible in the wind.

  A pain at the back of his head sliced like a bolt of lightning through Jon's consciousness. He was lying on his back at the foot of the dais. His fall down the steps had made him drop the book that had been holding him captive. He couldn't see where it had landed.

  Eight Lectors remained by the podium. Jon stared at them. He now understood why the other Lectors had been so terrified of his powers. The air felt electric; the smell reminded him of the metallic odour of leaky batteries.