by Amy Cross
"And that doesn't bother you?" I ask. "You don't care that you're the last of your kind?"
"It pleases me that I have been able to live a good life," she replies, "and I hope that the Elders will very much enjoy the feast where they carve up my flesh. I hope that my rarity makes them appreciate me as a particular delicacy."
"When they what?"
"It is the final duty of every Grandapam to provide a hearty meal for his or her superiors," she says. "For our people, the ideal life is to work for the same master for many years, and eventually to surrender our body so that our master can enjoy a true feast. I'm told that our meat tastes rather good when it has been properly seasoned. The key, I believe, is to avoid using too much pepper, and to marinade us first in a little wine." With that, she turns and heads toward the door.
"Wait!" I call out, hurrying after her. "I think I misunderstood. It sounded like you're expecting people to eat you!"
"Of course they'll eat me," she says, maintaining her creepy grin. "That is how a Grandapam's years of service are brought to an end. We give up our lives for our superiors, and finally we give up our bodies. The meat from my bones will provide a healthy meal for my master. I shall die knowing that I have served my fullest purpose, and that my body will be picked clean by my master and his guests. He will honor his closest allies by inviting them to share my meat."
"You can't be serious," I reply, almost expecting her to suddenly admit that she's joking. Then again, she doesn't seem to have much of a sense of humor. Still, the thought of anyone giving themselves up to be eaten is, frankly, more than I can believe. I mean, it's one thing to allow yourself to be treated as a servant, but it's something else entirely to hop willingly onto the hot-plate. "You're totally happy for people to eat you?"
"Happy is the wrong word," she says, "but I am looking forward to the day when I reach my point of maximum usefulness to my superiors. Considering the shortages of food with which we are currently suffering, I feel that this day is drawing closer and closer. When it comes, I shall offer myself freely and without fear, and as the blade cuts into my body, I shall know that I'm being consumed in a manner that will benefit my superiors." She stares at me. "I can see that you don't understand my beliefs, Claire. However, we all must be consumed. It's simply the way that life works. In one way or another, every body is eventually broken down and absorbed into others."
"Still," I reply, "there's no need to embrace the whole thing quite so freely, is there? Doesn't it bother you that your whole life is spent serving others? Don't you want to branch out and actually live for once?"
"Such a strange sentiment, coming from one who was once a book." She pauses. "Before you were in human form, Claire, you sat on a shelf and you waited for people to come and open your cover and seek knowledge from your pages. Do you not remember what it was like to serve your readers in this way?"
"No," I say cautiously, "and I don't think that's the same thing at all. For one thing, being a book isn't the same as being a meal. It's not like people eat books. For another, I'm still not even sure I was a book. It's kind of a hard thing to get my head around."
"Such things are always difficult at first," she says, "but it takes time to adapt to one's role in life. Many people go through their entire existence without ever truly understand what they should be doing. They rush from one attempt to another, all the while feeling lost in a maelstrom of indecision and doubt. In most cases, they choose to cling to some absurd idea of freedom, as if any being can truly be said to be free. The reality is that we all have superiors and inferiors, and we should make sure that we recognize our place in the natural order."
"And there's no way you'd ever rebel or break free?" I ask. "When the time comes to jump onto the serving platter, you'll do it?"
"With gladness in my heart," she replies. "Some of our people even refuse to be slaughtered before the cooking commences. It's considered a mark of a strong Grandapam to remain conscious for as long as possible throughout the roasting process. I'm not sure whether I shall be so brave, but as the last of my people, I should probably do my best." She pauses for a moment. "Perhaps this is hard for you to understand, Claire, but it is the way my people have lived for centuries." She smiles, before turning and making her way out of the room and along the corridor. "I'll return soon with your lunch!" she calls back to me, as if we've just had the most ordinary conversation in the world.
Once she's gone, I find it hard to stop thinking about her insane willingness to give up her life and her body to others. I know that the Library operates by a different set of rules, and I know that I shouldn't be surprised if the whole place feels alien to me. At the same time, it's hard to believe that anyone could be so happy about the prospect of dying so that they can make someone else's life a little more comfortable. I can't help thinking that if I'm still here when Natalia eventually reaches the moment when she's supposed to surrender her body to the feast, I'm going to do everything in my power to get her to reconsider. Then again, do I have the right to interfere?
After a few minutes, I make my way carefully along the corridor and down the stairs, until I reach the door that leads into the kitchen. I can hear someone singing in the distance, and eventually I see Natalia over on the far side of the large room, busying herself with some pots and pans. As hard as it might be to believe, she seems genuinely happy with her life. Singing to herself, she seems engrossed in her work, and I realize that I'll probably never understand how her mind works. Turning and heading back to my room, I remind myself that it's probably not my place to start interfering and telling people how to live their lives. After all, I've got enough to deal with, now that there are people who believe I'm the reincarnation of an old book. The problem is, with Vanguard busy and Sharpe having fled, and with Natalia busy with her work, there's no-one I can talk to about the situation. Then again, as I reach the door to my room, I realize that there might be one other person who can help.
Vanguard
"Look at this weapon," I say, as I set my broadsword down on the table. "Look at the cuts and dents. Watch how they catch the light. They weren't there when this sword was created. When it was first pulled from the fires of a swordsmith's kiln, this sword was bright and smooth. So much has happened since then." Turning the sword, I watch as glints of light ripple along the pocked surface. "Each little imperfection is the mark of a battle in which this sword was used to kill those who stood in my way. I can't tell you how many times I've washed the blade, even though I know that soon it will be soaked in more blood." Running my finger toward the tip, I pause to feel a slight gash in the metal. "This was from the head of a Golv. Their bones are tougher than diamond, but still I was able to remove his head. A long time ago now, but I remember it as if it was yesterday. As sword such as this demands to be used. When it is sheathed for too long, it becomes anxious. When it knows it is needed, it calls out to be held aloft. Right now, this sword is screaming."
We stand in silence for a moment.
"I don't hear anything," Weary says, his voice sounding weak and frail in the gloom.
"That is because you are not at one with the sword," I reply sternly.
"I'd rather keep things that way," he says. "Being at one with a sword sounds kinda painful." Sighing, he closes his notebooks and starts tidying his pencils away. "Did you come down here for a reason, Vanguard? I don't know about you, but I'm busy. I've got logs and databases to check, re-check, cross-check and double-check. I've got research requests coming out of my ears. I'm going crazy here, and now suddenly you come barging in and start rambling on about some sword -"
"It's not some sword," I say, interrupting him. "It is the sword of a mighty warrior."
"Who?"
I frown. "Me."
"Oh."
"I have carried this sword into battle countless times, and I am preparing to carry it into battle again. First, I need to find the one man who can help me bring peace to this land, and then I must face the flames of our enemies. In order to
achieve this, I need someone who can accompany me on part of my journey." Taking a deep breath, I pause for a moment and reflect on the unlikely nature of this situation; after all, it is scarcely credible that a great warrior such as myself could require help from a measly researcher. Nevertheless, the situation is dire. "I need you," I say, fixing Weary with a determined stare. "You must come with me at once."
"Must I?"
"There can be no debate."
Silence.
"Weary," I continue, sensing that he's reluctant, "I need you."
"Me/" he asks eventually, staring blankly at me. "Vanguard? Seriously?" He swallows hard. "Me?"
"You know the catacombs beneath the Citadel better than anyone," I explain. "You have written books on the subject, and drawn maps. Even if we have no torch, you can find your way around by sense alone. Believe me, Weary, I'm not asking you to come down there because of some misguided belief that you might be useful in battle. I need you with me because that place is like a maze, and because I don't have time to waste. Without you, I might stumble through the corridors for years on end and still never find what I'm looking for."
"And what are you looking for?" he asks, eying my sword nervously.
"I need to find the Librarian's escape route," I reply. "I need to know which way he went, so that I might pick up his scent. As difficult as it might be for you to believe, I'm certain I can track him if I can just work out which way he went. I am fully aware that the journey will be difficult; those catacombs are a death-trap for anyone who wanders unprepared beyond the lower steps, and many great warriors have fallen while they attempted to navigate the dead zone beneath the Citadel. If the Librarian is hidden down there somewhere, or if he used the catacombs to find a route out of the Citadel altogether, I need to know how I can follow him. Only by following him and tracking him down, can I hope to find the first book."
"The first book?" Weary frowns. "Why do you want such an obscure thing?"
"I don't," I explain, "but the Forbidders do. It is why they came here in the first place, and they can be mollified if only the book is given to them."
"Huh," Weary says, seeming rather unenthusiastic about the whole thing. "It's an interesting plan, Vanguard. Insane, but interesting. However, there are certain problems. First, the Librarian is long gone, so I feel to see how you think you can still pick up his trail. Second, even if you find his trail, he could easily have passed through parts of the Library that have been razed, so I doubt his trail would be complete. And third, the whole thing... Vanguard, the idea of going down into the catacombs is insane. It's beyond insane, it's reckless."
"It requires great courage," I tell him.
"It requires more than that," he continues. "It requires psychopathic levels of self-belief, not to mention a complete disregard for the lessons of history. No-one in their right mind would even consider making a trip down there, not unless he wanted to add his bones to the piles of those who have gone before him."
"I have no choice," I reply. "I am going, and you will come with me."
He shakes his head.
"You must," I say firmly.
"Or what? Are you gonna threaten to hurt me? Are you gonna try to force me down that at sword-point?"
"I don't need to threaten anything," I reply. "You know my reputation. You know I always get what I want, even if I have to wait a thousand years to get it. The difference this time is that I can't afford to wait. The Forbidders are at the door, Weary, and you've got a choice. Either you come with me into the catacombs and help me find the Librarian's route, or you sit around here and wait for the Forbidders to sweep through the Citadel. They'll kill everything in their path, and they'll leave the place in ruins. If you're still here, they'll inhale your life-force and exhale the dust of your corpse. It's not much of a choice, Weakly, but I find it hard to believe that you'd choose to face the Forbidders."
"You're forgetting the third option," he says. "I could run. I could just get the hell out of here and run to the edge of the world, and then, if that's not enough, I could jump off into the void. Frankly, that's starting to sound more and more like a good idea. They say it's possible for a man to survive several minutes in the void. You never know, I might get rescued."
"You can try to run," I say firmly, "but you wouldn't make it as far as the door. I would make certain of that."
"But it's madness!" he replies, clearly starting to panic. He knows that there's no way he can escape, but he's not quite ready to lead me down into the depths beneath the Citadel. "You've lost your senses!" he continues. "Yes, I've been down to the catacombs, but only to explore the entrance area. The rest of my knowledge has been gleaned from hearsay and rumor, and from the dying words of madmen. You think I can help you get around down there, but you'd do no better or worse with a trained monkey by your side. The catacombs are not a place for the living. The dead are the only ones who are welcome down there."
"Soon the whole Library will be dead," I reply.
He sighs. "There's a reason people don't go down into the catacombs, Vanguard. Even the Soldiers of Tea knew better than to go messing around down there. You know the stories. They say that the further you go down, the closer you get to the old world that was here before the Library. No-one has ever gone down there and survived. I've seen men walk through the entrance, and the only thing that ever comes back is the faint sound of someone screaming far below. My predecessors and I decided long ago that we would not seek to explore the catacombs to any great degree. Best to leave the place alone and hope it affords us the same courtesy." He pauses for a moment. "If the Librarian went that way, he's lost forever." He pauses for a moment. "There's just no way we can go marching in there and expect to rescue the fool. Whatever happened to him, he's undoubtedly been ripped apart. At best, you might find his bones, neatly piled up by one of the creatures that inhabit the catacombs."
"The Forbidders are almost upon us," I say. "Finding the Librarian and getting hold of the first book is a long shot, but it's our only hope. We've tried fighting, we've tried resisting, and now we can only seek to feed their hunger. Think about it, Weary. If we find that book and we get it to the Forbidders, they'll leave our land forever. We'll never again have to watch as the shelves burn. We can rebuild." Taking my sword from the table, I place it back into his sheath before turning and heading to the door. "I'm going down there," I say, glancing back at him. "With or without you, I'm going to enter the catacombs. You can either come with me and help me find my way, or you can sit up here and wait to die. I know which option I'd choose. Do you happen to know, Weary, exactly how the Forbidders kill their victims?"
He stares at me, his face seeming a little pale. "No," he says weakly.
"Neither do I," I reply.
Walking out of the room and making my way along the corridor, I smile as I hear a set of footsteps running after me. I always knew I'd be able to get Weary on my side, even if it was inevitable that I'd have to work hard in order to overcome his innate cowardice. As long as I've known him, Weary has seemed desperate to choose the easiest and safest option in every situation. Now, finally, he has found himself presented with a series of equally unpalatable possibilities, and he has been forced to pick the one that seems least likely to result in his painful and imminent death.
"If I come with you," he stammers, "what happens next? Say we find the Librarian, and we even find this book. What happens after that? Are you seriously suggesting that the Forbidders will just turn around and go home?"
"That's what I've been told," I reply.
"And you believe that? Excuse my incredulity, but why would they come all this way, and spent so many years causing vast levels of destruction across the land, simply for a book?"
"They believe that the book represents a certain type of power," I tell him. "A type of power that is perhaps insignificant in our world, but which could change their world immeasurably. Whether or not they are correct about this assumption, I have no idea, but I will seize any opportuni
ty to make such foul creatures leave us alone." Stopping at the end of the corridor, I turn to Weary and pause for a moment. "I meant what I said. This journey is dangerous, and I can't guarantee your safety. But it's the only way we can hope to defeat the Forbidders and save the Library. If we can't find the Librarian down in the catacombs, this entire land will be doomed forever."
Claire
"The Grandapams are one of the Library's oldest and most distinguished civilizations," says Fig, her light, airy voice reaching me from the other side of the heavily-fortified door. "As far as I know, there's no record of their arrival, though it's widely assumed that they came from one of the closest of the seven worlds, probably back when the Library was still forming. In the earliest texts, the old scholars simply accept that the Grandapams are here, and that they are to be respected. But things changed, and the Grandapams showed a surprising willingness to be subjugated. One might even say that they enjoy being a slave race."
"No-one enjoys being a slave," I reply, standing at the window and staring out across the Library. The fires are getting closer, and I'm starting to wonder whether the entire land is going to be destroyed. It feels safe in the Citadel for now, but I need to find a way back to my own world as soon as possible.
"Perhaps they do," Fig suggests. "Perhaps this is what makes the Grandapams happy. They've certainly never shown any other ambitions." She pauses. "Do you mind if I ask why you're suddenly so interested in such people?"