by Amy Cross
“If he manages to destroy the last citadel, there'll be nothing stopping him,” Tom explains. “He'll be free to reshape the Great Library however he wants, all in the name of his quest.”
“What quest?” I ask. “What does he want?”
“He wants what all madmen and despots want,” he replies. “Immortality. The problem is, he thinks he can get it if he just finds the right key.” He pauses, and then he takes a step back. “I'm sorry, young lady, but I can't stay here a moment longer. I have to get to the rendezvous point. Time's pressing, but there's still a chance, if we can just get to the final citadel before Darvill.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, as he turns and starts walking away. Again, I crawl along the top of the shelf in an attempt to keep up with him, but then I reach the end and he keeps on going. “Hey, wait! You can't just leave me here!”
“I told you, I'm in a hurry!” he snaps, before turning to me. His antennae twitch for a moment. “Can you walk?”
“I don't know,” I reply, trying to stand. I flinch as I feel another burst of pain in my injured leg, but this time I don't let the pain stop me. I put most of my weight on my left foot, and finally I manage to slowly and shakily get up. Standing on top of this particular set of shelves, I take a moment to steady myself and then I take a single limping step forward.
The pain is intense, but at least I can do it.
“Come on,” Tom says, “get down, hurry. You can come with me, although I can't afford for you to slow me down too much. I can't promise that there's anyone at the citadel who can help you, either, but it's your only hope. And there's an old proverb around here, something along the lines of it always being useful to have a human in one's company.”
“Are you sure you can't just show me how to get back to the library in London?” I ask. “There has to be a way somewhere around here.”
“You can't go back the way you came,” he says, hurrying over to help me down. “Now hurry!”
“But why can't I -”
“If you fall into a hole,” he continues, reaching up toward me, “you can't fall out again. You have climb, and climbing's different to falling, and...” He sighs. “That analogy didn't really work, but you're going to have to trust me. Do you see any way back to your home around here?”
I look around, and I have to admit that he has a point. All I see are shelves, stretching as far as the eye can see, so after a moment I tell myself that I really have no choice. I can't just stay up here on this shelf forever, so I sit on the edge and prepare to drop back down into the aisle.
“I'll help you,” Tom says, with his hand still held out, “but you really have to get a move on! We have to get to the rendezvous point in time to meet up with Rinth!”
“Who?” I ask, as I hop down into the aisle. As soon as I land, I slip and put all my weight on my right leg. I scream as I slump to the floor, and then I roll onto my back and see Tom staring down at me. “What did you just say?” I ask breathlessly. “Who's Rinth?”
Chapter Five
“They must be around here somewhere,” Tom says as we hurry along another aisle. “Oh, but what if something's happened to them? Their last message was almost a month ago, but they said they'd be coming along this route on their way to the citadel. If they don't arrive, then all hope is lost.”
“You keep saying things like that,” I reply, wincing as I limp after him, “but you still haven't filled in any of the details. Who is this Rinth guy we're supposed to meet, and why's he so important?”
“Okay, calm down,” he says, clearly still talking to himself. “If they're not here, that might mean they went on ahead. That wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, although I don't understand why they wouldn't have left me a message. Then again, time is pressing, so they probably assumed that I'll figure it out. Anyway, what matters is that Rinth gets to the last citadel before Darvill. That's the be-all and the end-all of it. I'm just a cog in the machine. It doesn't matter if I'm there with them. Oh, but it does. It really does. I mustn't forget that!”
“You're not actually talking to me, are you?” I ask. “You're talking to yourself.”
“Our only advantage is that we can move fast,” he continues. “We don't have an army to feed. By my calculations, Darvill will take twice as long to reach the last citadel, especially since he has to stop to destroy the second-to-last. Oh, I actually feel a little hopeful for once, but that won't last, it never does. Something'll happen to put a dampener on things and remind me that we're in a great deal of trouble. And even if we do get to the last citadel before Darvill, that doesn't mean we're home and dry. The odds of finding anyone there who can help us are a million to one.”
“But there's a chance we can find a way for me to get home, right?” I continue. “What if -”
Suddenly my right ankle twists slightly, and I cry out as I fall. Slamming into the nearest set of shelves, I land flat on my face, and I let out a pained groan as I start to get up.
A hand grabs my arm, and I turn to see that Tom is helping me.
“If you need to rest,” he says, as I sit on my bum, “we can rest. Not for long, but at least for a short while.”
“I'm fine,” I mutter, although when I look at my right leg I see that the wound has opened slightly, and that blood has trickled down to my sock.
“Why do you only have one shoe, anyway?” Tom asks.
“The other one got eaten by these little mite-like things.”
“Ah, that makes sense.”
“I'm glad it does to you,” I reply, “because it sure doesn't to me.”
“You must have disturbed some Buff Weezils,” he explains. “I'm sure they'd have viewed your shoe as a tasty offering, especially when other meals are so sparse. You're quite lucky if they only got your shoe. In extreme cases, I've heard that they can go for meat.”
“So does this place really have every book ever written?” I ask, as I turn and look at the row of hardbacks on the shelf behind me. Reaching over, I slide one out. “The Catchcalls of the Meandian Rivers,” I read out loud, “by K.S. Cargill. I've never heard of this.”
“It probably wasn't written by a human hand,” he says, as I start flicking through the book. “You'll find that you can read it, no matter the original language. That's one of the benefits of the Great Library, although it's not one that existed back in the old days. It came later, thanks to a discovery made by one of the greatest librarians who ever lived, Nigel the Fifteenth.”
“Uh huh,” I reply, not even trying to understand quite what that means. “This seems like a travelogue.”
“No-one in all of history has ever read all the books in the Great Library, that would simply be impossible. And to tell you the truth, I don't imagine that most of the books here are actually any good. Every book is somewhere in this land, regardless of quality. That's the whole point. Even the worst book is worthy of being saved, in case somebody ever comes looking for it.” He pauses, before peering at the book that I've been carrying. “And what is that volume?”
I slide The Catchcalls of the Meandian Rivers back into its place on the shelf, before holding up the copy of The Book of Libraries.
“This is the book that got me into all this trouble in the first place,” I tell him with a sigh. “And do you know the best part? I can't even read it.”
To prove my point, I try to open the book, but the front and back cover are firmly clamped shut. I'm able to move them apart slightly, but I can feel them straining to stay closed, and a moment later the little rows of teeth begin to reemerge, along with a faint growling sound.
“Would this, by any chance, be the 'stupid book' you mentioned last night?” Tom asks.
“I didn't mean it literally!”
“Some books have rather thin skins.”
“Books aren't alive!”
“Oh, but they are. Most are fairly placid, they just mind their own business. Occasionally, as you seem to have discovered, some can be assertive. Almost petulant.”
&
nbsp; “What am I supposed to do, apologize?” I look down at the book. “Hey, book, I'm sorry I said that you're stupid. Can I read you now?”
I try again to get it open, still with no luck.
“Perhaps,” Tom says, “it doesn't think that you deserve to read it.”
Turning him, I raise a skeptical eyebrow. Before I can say anything, however, he turns and looks over his shoulder, and I realize I can hear a distant thudding sound that seems to be coming closer.
“Someone's heading this way,” Tom says, grabbing my hand. “Get up. Come on, it might be someone dangerous.”
“But -”
He hauls me to my feet, and I somehow manage to keep from falling straight back down again. We head to the next junction and stop, and then we both peer around the side as thudding footsteps come closer and closer. Whoever's in the next aisle along, it's clearly someone pretty big, and I can't help thinking that maybe we should hide ourselves away a little better. If I've learned anything since this whole nightmare began, it's that not everything in this library is friendly.
As if to prove that point, a moment later a large figure steps into view, wearing shining golden body armor that covers every part of him except his head and arms. He walks past, apparently not noticing us, but I can't help flinching at the sight of several large swords attached to a chain around his waist. That's not even the most imposing part about this guy, because the muscles on his arms actually look to be even bigger than his head.
Terrified, I pull back around the corner as the footsteps continue to shake the ground, and all I can do is hope that the guy didn't notice us.
Please.
Please...
“Cromer!” Tom calls out suddenly.
He steps around the corner, and I hear the footsteps come to a halt. For a moment, I'm too scared to even move, and I hold my breath as I wait for the inevitable awful slaughtering to begin.
“Tom,” a deep, booming voice says, and I realize that maybe this huge guy is the person we've been searching for. He must be this Rinth individual. “I was starting to worry that our paths wouldn't cross before we reach the citadel.”
“Right back at you,” Tom replies, sounding a little nervous. “I actually ran into someone, she's... Hang on, where is she? Alexandra? Where did you get to?”
I swallow hard, and then I slowly step out around the end of the shelf so that they can both see me. Looking up at the big guy, who's at least eight feet tall, I feel absolutely certain that he could crush me with his thumb. He also happens to have a very large, very prominent scar running down one side of his face, which just makes him look even more intimidating.
He tilts his head slightly and furrows his brow, as if I'm quite the strangest thing he's ever seen in his life.
“Are you... human?” he asks finally.
I nod.
“You're new here,” he continues, sniffing the air. “I can tell. You look fresh.”
“I...”
“And you're hurt,” he adds, looking down at my right leg. “Did you suffer that injury in battle? If it was a straight fight, I hope that at the very least you killed your opponent.”
“I was attacked,” I tell him, “by a... I think it was some kind of dog.”
“Did you rip open its guts? Why are you not wearing its fur as a coat?”
“She's human, remember?” Tom reminds him. “They prefer to do their killing from long distances. For the sake of legitimacy, I believe.”
Cromer steps toward me, causing the ground to shake, and I let out a startled gasp as I step back and bump against one of the shelves.
“There's no need to be afraid,” he says, before kneeling to take a closer look at my injury. “You'll need to take care of this, and it's important to make sure that it doesn't become infected. I know some plants that should help, hopefully we'll pass them on our way to the citadel. I hope you didn't think that I was being rude or discourteous just now. I have never actually met a human before.”
For a moment, I can only stare at the impossibly huge muscles on his arms. When I finally look up at his face, I'm quickly distracted by his thick neck muscles. Honestly, this guy should be in a Mr. Universe competition, and some of those muscles look so large and tight that I figure they might actually explode.
“You must not feel intimidated by this body,” he continues. “It belonged to a warrior who fought in the Fistian Hordes. He spent almost two hundred years marching from battlefield to battlefield, engaging in some of the most horrific fighting that has ever occurred in all of existence. He was there for the last stand of the Soldiers of Tea. He was there for the crossing of the Great River. By the time he accidentally ended up here in this part of the Great Library, he was the last of his kind, and he was dying.”
“He?” I reply, struggling to understand why this guy is talking to himself in the third person.
“Yes,” he says, before holding up his right arm and flexing the muscles, which grow so much that I think I actually hear them grinding against one another. “The mighty warrior whose exploits created this fantastic body.”
Still not knowing what he's on about, I swallow hard.
“If I might interject,” Tom says, coming over to join us, “I believe the young lady is missing the obvious detail here. Alexandra, you might want to take a look at the side of this individual's very muscular neck.”
“Huh?”
I pause, before looking at Cromer's neck. I see a small mole and a couple of old scars, but otherwise there's nothing else of note.
“Look closer,” Tom adds.
I peer at the scars, and then I realize that the 'mole' isn't actually a mole at all. Instead, it's a small, shiny gray blob, and I think I might have seen something similar once, a long time ago.
On a cat.
“That,” Tom says, “is Cromer. That is who you are talking to. He is, to use the common parlance, a tick.”
“Ixodes ricinus librarius, is the preferred term,” Cromer adds, with a faint smile. “My ancestors, many thousands of years ago, were huge, carnivorous ticks that roamed the Great Library. Greatly feared, they were. Unfortunately, evolution played us a bad and very fast-moving hand, and now we're barely larger than pinheads. On the plus side, we now have the ability to completely control the bodies of our hosts. Look at me! I'm tiny, but I'm driving this colossal warrior as if he's my own!”
“You're who I'm talking to?” I ask, still staring at the tiny tick.
“Impressed?”
I slowly turn to look at the warrior's face, and I see that he's grinning from ear to ear.
“He's still alive in here,” he continues. “He was dying when I first scuttled along and found him. See? I give back, I help to regulate his organs so that they last longer. We have a symbiotic relationship. There are times when he gets frustrated, mainly when I have to fight, but I force him to remain very much in the back seat. I can't switch things on or off at a whim, not without causing damage. Besides, I'm getting a lot better at fighting. For a little guy like me to be controlling this huge body is quite an honor. And you've got to admit, it's very cool.”
“The warrior's name was Cygnus of Althuria,” Tom explains. “We know that because it was scratched into his armor.”
“Plus, I can access his memories,” the tick says, through the big guy's mouth. “He can access mine, too, but I don't think he finds them very interesting. Before this team-up, I really just scurried around from hiding spot to hiding spot and my most interesting previous host was a pig. There are very few of my kind left in the Great Library, but when I did meet up with another tick, they always made fun of me. I never had a decent body before I found poor old Cygnus dying in an aisle. I guess you could say that I went from zero to hero real fast.”
“I think Alexandra is finding all of this rather difficult to absorb,” Tom says, reaching over to take my hand. “Perhaps you'd like to stand,” he continues, “and see if your brain works any better once you have better circulation.”
“She's scared of me,” Cromer says, as I struggle to my feet. “I'm not gonna lie, I still get a kick out of that. She wouldn't be scared of me if I was still just a little tick, would she? No-one would even notice that I exist.”
“He does tend to brag sometimes,” Tom says, rolling his eyes. “Big-headed ticks are the worst ticks.”
“But have you seen the size of this head?” Cromer says excitedly. “There are muscles everywhere! Even his nostrils could crack nuts!”
“We can talk more as we continue our journey,” Tom points out. “Cromer, while we were separated I visited some of the outlying settlements and I learned a great deal about Darvill's movements. He's still recruiting from the hinterlands, but reports say that he's destroyed every citadel within five thousand miles. He's determined to remove all traces of the work carried out by the librarians, he wants to level their towers of learning and reduce the Great Library to its original state, because he believes that this is the only way to appease the gods that have wrought destruction on our lands. He believes that they'll help him breach the Great Barrier and achieve immortality. From what I hear, he's become something of a zealot. And he destroyed another citadel just today.”
“Then we really must get moving,” Cromer replies. “If we don't get Rinth to the last citadel in time, there might be no way to save this world.”
“Wait,” I say, “if you're not Rinth, then who is?”
“Oh, I'm sorry,” Tom replies, “I've been rather rude. Allow me to make an introduction. Alexandra, meet Rinth.” He pauses. “She's behind you, by the way.”
“What -”
Before I can ask anything else, I feel a tingling sensation on the back of my neck, like static electricity. I hesitate, suddenly realizing that I can sense something over my shoulder, and finally I force myself to slowly turn and look back.
And that's when I finally meet Rinth.
Chapter Six
“What the hell?” I stammer, taking a step back.
For a moment, I'm not even sure that this thing is alive. The first thing I see is a big, round ball of bright white hair, all of which is sticking out straight from whatever body is buried deep beneath. I guess there's someone or something in there, and whatever it is must be a little shorter than me. All I can make out, however, is a pair of bare, human-looking feet that are poking out from the bottom. Every other inch of this person's body is covered in strands of hair that stick out at least a couple of feet. She looks like an overgrown pompom on legs.