Libyrinth

by Pearl North

  LIBYRINTH

  LIBYRINTH

  PEARL NORTH

  A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK

  NEW YORK

  The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you without Digital Rights Management software (DRM) applied so that you can enjoy reading it on your personal devices. This e-book is for your personal use only. You may not print or post this e-book, or make this e-book publicly available in any way. You may not copy, reproduce or upload this e-book, other than to read it on one of your personal devices.

  Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the publisher at: us.macmillanusa.com/piracy.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events

  portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination

  or are used fictitiously.

  LIBYRINTH

  Copyright © 2009 by Pearl North

  All rights reserved.

  Edited by James Frenkel

  A Tor Teen Book

  Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC

  175 Fifth Avenue

  New York, NY 10010

  www.tor-forge.com

  Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  North, Pearl.

  Libyrinth / Pearl North. — 1st ed.

  p. cm.

  “A Tom Doherty Associates book.”

  Summary: In a distant future where Libyrarians preserve and protect the ancient books that are housed in the fortress-like Libyrinth, Haly is imprisoned by Eradicants, who believe that the written word is evil, and she must try to mend the rift between the two groups before their war for knowledge destroys them all.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7653-2096-4

  ISBN-10: 0-7653-2096-7

  [1. Books—Fiction. 2. Fantasy.] I. Title.

  PZ7.N815Li 2009

  [Fic]—dc22

  2009001514

  First Edition: July 2009

  Printed in the United States of America

  0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  For my sister Betsy,

  who read Charlotte’s Web to me

  every night when I was four.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I would like to thank my husband, Steve, for his untiring support and tactical advice; my editor, James Frenkel, for his helpful insights; and my agent, Jenny Rappaport, for her enthusiasm. Special thanks go to the Untitled Writer’s Group for their encouragement and critiques. In particular, Jonathan opened up a whole culture to my imagination with the suggestion that “they would call themselves Singers.” I read much of this novel to Sharon, Diana, Susan, Dominique, and Sandy of the Women Writers and their responses were helpful and invigorating.

  Finally, my thanks to those writers whose books populate the pages you are about to read, as well as to all writers past, present, and future. Words are the carriers of ideas, and our world is continually enriched and refreshed by those who ply them.

  LIBYRINTH

  Griome’s Letter

  The wind howled and the flames roared, but the books, as they died, merely fell silent.

  The Eradicants had arrived before dawn, erecting their bonfire outside of the Libyrinth’s main entrance, as they did every year. For weeks the Libyrarians and their clerks had been collecting books for the annual sacrifice.

  Now Haly, clerk to the Libyrarian Selene, stood with her people in a ring around the bonfire, watching the black-robed, masked Eradicants file out from the vaulting, ornate archway of the Ancient library to feed the fire with words. Dead words, according to the song the Eradicants sang.

  When a word is spoken, it is born, when it is written, it dies. Sacred fire of life, free the shackled dead. The meaning of the murdered word, by Yammon may it be said.

  The low, sonorous chant droned on as the smoke from the burning books grew thicker, spreading an acrid cloud across the flat, rocky Plain of Ayor. The rising sun painted the Libyrinth’s great central dome, towering spires, and massive curved walls with flames of its own. The structure was one of the greatest sites the Ancients had left behind; a library so vast that even after generations, Haly’s people had yet to catalogue all the books it held.

  And it was built to last. When the Eradicants had first begun migrating into the southern part of the Plain of Ayor over two hundred years before, they had tried to seize the Libyrinth, but even their advanced weaponry could not breach its thick stone walls. Unfortunately the nearby city-states of Ilysies and Thesia were more vulnerable, and since most of the people of the Libyrinth were connected with those nations by blood or allegiance, the Eradicants soon extracted a treaty that included this yearly ritual of destruction.

  Haly shivered in the chill wind and pulled her brown clerk’s robes closer about her. The Eradicants said the books were dead, but she knew different. For as long as she could remember, she’d heard their voices. She heard them now, uttering their last words to her as the flames consumed them.

  “Wilbur liked Charlotte better and better each day. Her campaign against insects seemed sensible and useful,” said the book in the hands of the Eradicant at the front of the procession. As he neared the fire, its flickering glow reflected off the black metal of the gun half-hidden among his robes. Haly knew well the book he held; Charlotte’s Web, one of her oldest companions. As he tossed it into the fire, Haly’s throat clenched and the bitter, salt taste of sorrow filled her mouth.

  She glanced up at Selene, who stood next to her with an expression of blank, stony endurance. On her other side, her friend Clauda, a kitchen servant, glared at the Eradicants with sullen anger. All the faces of the Libyrarians, the clerks, and the servants were set and hard, immobile. They did not cry. They would not give the Eradicants the satisfaction of seeing them cry. Briefly, fiercely, Haly envied them their inability to hear the books. They knew these tomes, sure, with their eyes and their minds, even with their hearts. But they did not have to hear the voices of Wilbur and Templeton and Charlotte grow faint and drift away in the smoke of the fire. The wind shifted, flinging sparks to sting and sizzle at Haly’s tear-streaked cheeks.

  After the burning, Haly fled to the maze of bookshelves beneath the Libyrinth, to the books that had not been burned. “Two houses, both alike in dignity”; “He was just a country boy”; “In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.” The multitude of familiar voices comforted her even as she grieved those she’d lost.

  It was dark down here, the towering metal shelves spaced so closely that they brushed her shoulders on either side. Apart from the ever-present book voices, the stacks were silent. Incidental noises were quickly absorbed by the books, which gave off a dry, peppery smell, and in some cases, when the books were very, very old, a fragrance like marigolds.

  The trails the Libyrarians used were marked out in palm-glow; luminescent handprints and fingerprints giving directions in a language of the Libyrarians’ own devising. At a glance Haly could tell that Anna Karenina, Uncle Tom’s Cabin, and 101 Things to Do with a Potato lay to the right, while one hundred volumes of the Intergalactic Encyclopedia lay to the left.

  Of course, she had other markers as well. “The heart of the young Gasçon throbbed violently, not with fear, but with eagerness,” said a book to her left. Haly stopped, leaned against one of the metal struts of the shelves, and allowed herself to become lost in the adventures of d’Artagnan, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis.

  Haly’s earliest memories were of wandering these stacks for hours against the warnings of her elders; cautionary tales of overzealous Libyrarians who lost their way in the endless maze and never returned. But even as a child, Haly had liked the tales th
e books told better, and in forgotten corridors she discovered worlds of adventure and majesty, and secrets. Tiny things like the thoughts of ants, vast things like the language of stars, and all the in-between things, like what happened to her food when she swallowed it and the financial difficulties of mid–nineteenth century French philosophers.

  Often the things she said when she got back were cause for punishment as well—like the time she told Peliac that a creature called the lungfish was the first being to walk on dry land.

  “Lungfish? Lungfish?” she had cried, her long, thin face stretched even longer in horror. “There never was such a thing as a lungfish! Don’t spout lies, or deign to teach your elders, child. Now off with you! A night without supper will teach you not to mock the wise.”

  Before long, Haly learned to keep the voices of the books and the things they said to herself. Now, at fifteen, she knew a good deal more than a clerk should, but most importantly she knew how to keep her mouth shut. The other clerks and Libyrarians had forgotten that she was once that odd child who spouted stories and facts before she could read.

  Nod, of course, being an imp, never forgot anything. As Haly approached the stairs that led out of the stacks, carrying an armload of books for Selene, he popped his bald, fist-sized head out from a shelf. “What do they say? What do they say?” he cried, leaping to the floor and tugging at the hem of Haly’s robes. Nod was a foot tall, with long, wiry arms and legs and pebbly red skin. He grinned at her, his eyes nearly disappearing in his tiny, wizened face.

  “I can’t read to you now, Nod,” Haly told him. “I have to get these books to Selene.”

  “Wicked beastie!” shouted Nod, shaking his tiny fist at her and hopping up and down in fury. Haly stepped around him, adjusting the stack of books in her arms.

  “The world is made of stories. Their variation is without number, but every tale that was ever told belongs to one of these sacred seven: Birth, Peril, Hunger, Balance, Love, Death, and Mystery,” said Theselaides, which spoke the loudest. It wasn’t the one she would choose to listen to. There was one at the bottom, for instance, that had a woman’s voice—a calm, quiet voice saying something about rivers, and a snake, and a sacred tree, but Theselaides was closer, and a bully. “Each of the Seven Tales has its own guardian and its own science, but beyond them all is Time,” it said adamantly as she climbed the stairs to the Great Hall.

  The door to the stacks stood in the alcove of the Fish, opposite the pointed arch of the hall’s main entrance. Haly blinked in the light that streamed into the vast round room from the skylights in the dome far above. Spaced at even intervals about the Great Hall were the alcoves of the Seven Tales, each with a carving of its guardian—Mouse, Goat, Lion, Fish, Cow, Dog, and Fly—over the archway. Above the carvings, a balcony ran all the way around the room.

  Between the alcoves, the walls of the Great Hall were lined with shelves that in turn were lined with books; but here, human voices could be heard as well. Black-robed Libyrarians and their brown-garbed clerks browsed the shelves and stood about the large, round console in the center of the room, studying, gossiping, and debating. Not far from where she stood, Peliac ran a group of children through their lessons. “A-B-C-D-E-F-G, H-I-J-K-L-M-N-O-P, Q-R-S, T-U-V, W-X, Y, and Z. Now I know my ABCs, all the books are mine to read.”

  “Birth is the first tale and Literature is its science, for without imagination nothing would exist,” said Theselaides.

  Haly skirted the lesson group and crossed the Great Hall, passing through the archway to the pillared entrance hall. Ahead of her were the massive, ironclad outer doors. On either side was the passageway that ran around the Libyrinth in a great circle, connecting the kitchen, dining hall, stables, and towers.

  As Haly neared the kitchen, the smell of roasting quail beckoned to her in its own language, and her stomach rumbled in answer. “Hunger is the third of the Seven Tales. The Lion is its guardian, and biology is its science,” said Theselaides. She glanced at the stairs that led to Selene’s quarters. If she took these books to her now, the Libyrarian might have another errand for her right away, and then who knew how long it would be until she got something to eat. Maybe not until after the Eradicants’ feast.

  Haly found Clauda in the laundry yard, hanging tablecloths up to dry. “You missed lunch,” her friend said, taking Haly’s hand and dragging her between the rows of damp, white fabric. Like most of the servants at the Libyrinth, Clauda was an Ayorite. She was shorter than Haly, with a broader build and paler skin. She had shoulder-length coppery brown hair, blue eyes, and freckles. Haly was part Thesian, dusky and slender by comparison.

  Clauda plopped on the ground and pulled a small bundle wrapped in leaves from her apron pocket, proffering it to Haly. “Sit down,” she said. “I saved this for you.”

  Haly sat beside her friend and unwrapped the parcel with eager fingers. It was still warm, and after she’d removed the first few layers, steam rose up to greet her with its delicious aroma. Quail. “Clauda, this is for the feast tonight. . . .”

  “Aw, they’ll never miss one, or two.” Grease glistened at the corners of Clauda’s mouth. She shrugged. “I was hungry, and I knew you would be, too. Besides, better we should have them than those book-burning bastards. Here, I’ve got bread, too.” She pulled a white, fluffy slab from that same all-giving pocket. Haly stopped arguing and feasted.

  “A Thesian showed up this morning after the burning; an envoy from the prince,” said Clauda as Haly concentrated on picking the steaming, fragrant flesh from the quail without burning her fingers. Clauda was an accomplished gossip. “The Eradicants have conquered Thesia, and the royal family is in prison. They’ll probably be executed.”

  The quail suddenly turned dry and tasteless in Haly’s mouth. Until now, the city-states of Thesia and Ilysies had protected the Libyrinth from the Eradicants, had sold them food in exchange for information, and generally supported them. Now, with one of them gone, the Libyrinth was more vulnerable than ever. Not to mention the fact that many of the Libyrarians were from noble Thesian families, including Head Libyrarian Griome, uncle of the ruling prince of Thesia. “That’s bad news,” she said, feeling numb. “Poor Griome.”

  Clauda nodded. “I never thought I’d feel sorry for that old sour melon, but I do. Having to entertain these monsters when they’re about to put his own nephew to death? He must be beside himself. I bet he’d do anything to save him, if he could.”

  “The second Tale is Peril. Peril is the Goat,” said Theselaides.

  “Clauda!” Kitchenmaster Sakal’s harsh voice lashed out at them from the kitchen doorway. “I know you’re hiding out there again, avoiding work. Get back in here right now! We have a feast to put on!”

  The feast was one of the most bizarre formalities of the Eradicants’ annual visit. As if to show their indifference to the rite of Eradication, or perhaps to prove the bounty of their store house to enemies who someday might wish to starve them by siege, the Libyrarians always prepared a lavish meal for their unwelcome guests.

  As Clauda scrambled to answer the kitchenmaster’s summons, Haly gathered up the books she’d collected for Selene and headed back to the seventh tower.

  “Every book is a door into someone’s soul,” said Theselaides.

  The room she shared with her mistress was at the top. It was small and round, with a hearth across from the door, and two windows, one facing east and the other facing west. In the winters (and it was only barely spring now) it was drafty, but they kept the fire burning, and at night pushed Selene’s bed and Haly’s cot closer to the fire.

  Selene now stood at the fire, bending over to poke at the flames with a stick. As Haly came in she straightened and turned around, flinging her long, dark hair behind her. Her pale face was drawn and grave. Though only three years older than Haly herself, Selene was always serious. When Haly first became her clerk, she’d been afraid of the severe young Ilysian, the daughter of Queen Thela Tadamos herself. But in the three years that she had s
erved Selene, she’d found her to be kind and patient, if somewhat humorless. Now Selene’s eyes burned with dark anger and she looked back at the hearth. “One of these days the Eradicants are going to start burning Libyrarians as well as books,” she muttered, casting the stick into the newly sprung flames.

  At that Theselaides started up again. “None but the Ancients understand the secret of the fire that does not burn. They encased this miracle of light and power within the objects we know as Eggs, but though I have long sought the method, I have never discovered it. In the days of my youth I believed kolfusion to be the answer, but I was proven wrong—”

  “Put them on my desk, Haly,” said Selene, gesturing to the cluttered table between the east window and the door. Haly searched the table for a clear spot, and finally settled them on top of a hand-drawn map, ringed and spotted with tea. The books quieted down as she turned away from them, but not before Theselaides fairly shouted, “At the cost of many lives!” at her retreating back.

  She went to stand beside her mistress at the hearth. “The Eradicants have conquered Thesia,” said Haly.

  “I know,” said Selene. “We must act on my discovery soon, or it will be too late.” Selene reached atop the mantelpiece and from beneath the yellowed skull of a rabbit she pulled a parchment, folded and sealed with red wax. “Take this to Griome, would you?”

  “Yes, mistress,” she said, and took the letter in her hand.

  “To Head Libyrarian Griome,” the letter said. “Accept the salutations and solicitations of your servant, most learned scholar. I must once again raise the subject of the underground vault, which I believe to contain many valuable books, and one in particular that is of great significance.”