by Casey White
A wordless cry building on his lips, Daniel plunged deep, calling on the single memory that shone before his eyes—a gout of silvery-blue water, rising from the pavement of a dingy town in the middle of nowhere. Power flowed from his palms. He held it a moment, letting it burn, then turned it loose to flow across the wing. For a moment, the three were perfectly captured, illuminated by the azure glow.
As one, they turned, their expressions ranging from horror to rage. The wall of water bulged, coming to a halt as they pushed back against him. The pressure in his head built, searing hotter and hotter as he strained, until-
His grip slipped. The watery barrier surged back toward him, its glow fading as it went until it was just a wall of ordinary blue-black wetness. The crash of it into him hit like a ton of bricks, sending him tumbling down to the floorboards in a heap.
The air burst from his lungs as the weight of it pushed down inexorably. Every instinct he had screamed to breathe, to open his mouth and suck down a lungful of air, but he knew that would mean his death.
And then the water splashed away, coursing down his form in rivulets, and he was left shivering and gasping against the ground.
“Librarian!” he heard Indira cry, her plaintive words echoed by something low and inaudible from the two Bookbinders. He coughed, fighting to regain control of himself.
Move, something whispered in his head, something that whispered like the wind and groaned like ancient timbers. Move, move. Get up. You must move.
Daniel raised his head—and froze.
Little more than a handful of feet away, another row of floorboards cracked and splintered, vanishing into the Edge’s maw.
He scrambled back, adrenaline pumping through his veins. His legs burned, his injured limb unresponsive. He pushed off the ground, trying to rise, but it collapsed beneath him.
Move, that ancient voice repeated, building in intensity. Time is running out. Move, or-
Daniel shoved himself upright with a strangled yelp, overbalancing in the same instant. He tumbled again, fighting to get his footing, and-
Light filled his vision. The shapes from before. Dreamers—a pair of them. They coursed from the woodwork, from the abandoned husks of the bookshelves, and swept him up along with them. He could see their outlines, beneath the furious glow washing off their skin, but little else.
If they were offering help, he’d take it. Daniel latched on hard, grasping the arms that wrapped around him, and lurched back into motion. The scream of the Edge devouring the Library roared closer than ever, but ahead, the door to the sitting room was open. Madis strode through, Rickard at his heels, still scowling. Indira paused in the arch of the doorway, glancing back to him. When she hurried after Madis, the doors hung open behind her.
Hurry, the voice sang. Faster.
“Working on it,” Daniel muttered, trying to force his weary body to pick up the pace. The doorway was right there—so close—but his head felt like it might split open. A warm trickle across his face promised a nosebleed, and the gashes in both his arm and leg seared with every movement. He limped onward, grimacing.
Something waited inside, something that did not belong in the sitting room. A statue, poised in the center of a stone-lined well that gleamed from within with silvery-blue light.
“No,” Daniel whispered, stumbling faster. He was so close. “Can’t let him-”
The dreamers gave a final tug, hard enough he nearly toppled forward, and suddenly vanished.
The doorway slipped past.
And Daniel stumbled to a halt inside Alexandria’s heart.
- Chapter Thirty-Eight -
The sitting room.
Daniel could recognize it, but only just. The overstuffed chairs were gone, the carpet beneath their feet ripped up into shreds of fabric. The bookshelves on the walls that normally teemed with books were bare. The clock hung in its place over the mantle, but its orbs were devoid of sand. The other doors had vanished entirely.
And Alexandria’s statue stood in the center of the room.
“N-No,” Daniel whispered, stumbling forward another step.
Madis strode onward, seemingly unaware of his presence. “Yes,” he breathed. “Ah, there you are, my dear. It’s been some time, has it not?”
“So you do know this Library,” Rickard said. His voice was flat, leaden. “You knew from the start.”
“Is it not lovely?” Madis said. He shifted from foot to foot, circling the bottomless well around the statue’s feet. He reached out, almost touching her—almost—before drawing back, smiling. “This is a marvelous day indeed.”
As Daniel watched, frozen, Madis started patting the pockets of his coat. “Now, where did I-”
Leave her alone. Daniel hurled himself forward, straight into the side of their blue-glowing shield. Crackling bolts of energy erupted from where he struck it—and something pushed back against him. He gritted his teeth, shoving harder. Frost crackled from under his hands, ripping into the shield, but nothing happened. He shifted, bracing, and the blistering cold turned to gouts of fire that melted the frost to hazy mists.
Indira spun with a cry. Rickard was right there at her elbow, his face as fury-contorted as when he’d talked to Madis. His lip curling back, he stepped forward and-
“Leave him be,” Madis said, flipping through his book. “He cannot break through our defenses. Ignore him, and he’ll tire himself out from such tantrums. It will fade.”
Tantrums? Anger blossomed in Daniel’s chest, and he leaned in harder, digging his fingers into the shield.
“Use your head,” someone whispered in his ear. A woman, her voice rich with tolerant amusement. “The man’s right. I trained you better than this, didn’t I?” Something that might have been a footstep rang out, and then she continued, on his other side. “It isn’t about the size of the hammer. It’s about finding the right place to hit.”
Daniel’s arms shook. He was tired, so tired he thought he might collapse on the spot. But he couldn’t stand by and do nothing, either. “But-”
“Choose your moment. And then make it count.”
A breeze across the back of his neck, a gentle rustling of fabric, and she was gone. It killed him, but slowly, Daniel broke away from the shield, letting his fires die out.
“Let us see,” Madis said. A smile spread across his wrinkled, craggy face. He flipped through the pages of his book, finally cradling it closer to him. “This is most remarkable. Finally, I’ve found you again—and now, together, we might work to undo the damage done to this world. But how shall I-”
The room groaned, shuddering around them. Daniel twisted, his legs giving out beneath him. He hit the ground—and the walls around them crumpled, vanishing into dust.
The Edge was there to fill the suddenly-empty space. The wispy edges of its domain lapped at the scraps of wall remaining, at the ground underfoot. The ceiling overhead shattered into fragment that dissolved to blank white. Daniel huddled lower, throwing his arms over his head as splinters rained down. He heard Indira cry out, but the debris only bounced off their shield, clattering to the almost-bare concrete underfoot.
Madis didn’t even look up. He plunged a hand into his pocket, withdrawing a metal-tipped pen, and nodded. “Yes. Yes, between the two of us, a simple link should be sufficient. A bond, to make the two parts whole. Don’t you think, Rickard?”
Rickard didn’t say a word. His face was stony, one arm half-raised to shield Indira.
Madis crouched beside the well, stretching that pen toward the waters within. He was going to dip it in, Daniel realized. Right into her waters. He couldn’t allow that. His fists balled up, and-
Wait, his thoughts screamed. This isn’t the time. Wait until-
A burst of light and noise erupted from the well, exploding across the ravaged sitting room like a thunderclap. Droplets of water sprayed up along with it.
Madis tumbled back down on his ass. He clutched his tiny, leatherbound book, not bothering to brush the silver hair from his eyes. “Well,”
he muttered, wrinkling his nose. “I’d forgotten how much of a brat you could be.”
“Madis,” Rickard whispered. “Why did you hide it? You lied- to me? To the rest of the Bookbinders?”
“Not now, Rickard,” Madis hissed, still focused on the statue. He rolled back to his feet with a snarl. “Contained here, your powers will only stagnate,” he said, glaring at Alexandria’s heart. “You know this as well as I. And while it remains contained, restricted, the world outside suffers under the heel of those who hoard your scraps.”
He pulled the book closer, thrusting his other toward the statue. His fingers tensed. Tendrils of blue started to rise from the well, coursing toward his hand—and then the tendrils became rivulets. Rivers. “If you won’t cooperate, I’ll take it, by virtue of our shared blood. You’re cornered. Don’t bother-”
“By our shared blood?”
The temperature in the room plummeted. Daniel shivered, his shoulders hiking higher. The few remaining candles in the sitting room died, fading out just as quickly as if they’d been snuffed. The light from the well flared to fill the sudden darkness.
Alexandria. She stood on the far side of the statue, as though she’d been there from the start. Her skin glowed, wiping away any details of her form, but her emerald-and-sapphire eyes burned with anger.
Her bare feet slapped against the floor as slowly, deliberately, she started to walk.
Madis twisted to face her, his eyes lighting up. “You show yourself,” he said, glee in his voice. His fist tightened—and the flow of water from her well continued. “Good. Now, together, we might-”
“His blood is on your hands,” she hissed. Mahogany hair swished behind her as she stalked closer. Fog rolled from the well, thicker and thicker in the growing frigidity. “You dare talk to me about shared blood? About suffering? What of the suffering you wrought, by showing the world what could be taken through death?”
Madis froze. For the first time since this began, he drew back half a step. The river of water coiling around his hand slowed. “W-Well. I do not relish what happened to your maker, but that is why we must-”
“His blood flows through every droplet of ink in your imitation,” Alexandria spat. Her hand slapped down onto his book before he could yank it away, her palm flat against the bare page. “If that is our shared blood, then I’ll take it back here and now.”
Her fingers tightened, her fingernails digging gouges into the page.
Red-black liquid dripped down the sides of the book. It soaked through the paper in bloody splotches—then pulled free, forming in droplets that rolled down the book and up Alexandria’s arm. She lifted her chin, a furious light in her eyes.
Madis stumbled, trying to pull away, but she held him fast. He shook like a leaf, but clung to his book, as though it was the last thing holding him upright. The stream of water pouring out of her well stopped, then fell free, splashing down to the ground. “N-No,” Madis mumbled. “This can’t- I won’t let you-”
“You think I’m cornered?” Alexandria said with a derisive snort. “Look around, murderer. I have you right where I want you.”
Daniel watched, aghast, as Madis started going pale. The shield around them flickered, then failed.
“Go,” Daniel heard someone whisper.
He’d already leapt forward, every last scrap of his focus centered on the reeling, staggering Madis.
Ice. He grabbed for the puddles of water that covered the ground around Madis’s feet, drawing them up, up. Spears shot from their surfaces, angled in toward the Bookbinder leader.
Madis lurched away, batting his free hand at Alexandria, ripping his book from her grasp. She glowed more furiously than ever, spectral dreamers spiraling around her—but somehow, Daniel knew that she was smiling.
“We need to go!” Rickard cried, thrusting a hand down. Daniel’s icicle spears shattered before they could impale him and Madis. He grabbed hold of his superior, dragging Madis away. The Edge roiled a few steps beyond, watching silently.
Daniel cursed, stomping his foot. The stone of the well curled outward, reaching for Madis with vine-like tendrils.
“Enough!” Rickard swung his hand across, yanking Madis another few steps. “Madis! Pull yourself together!”
Indira stood a few steps away, one hand half-raised—but she made no attempt to help either of the Bookbinders. His Librarian pendant dangled from her other hand. Her gaze lingered on Daniel, then flicked to the glowing form of Alexandria.
Madis shook his head, grabbing at it with his free hand. He still clutched his book to his chest with the other. Bloody ink coated the sides of it, running down the pages. “I...I have to-”
“Darin!” Rickard cried, lifting his eyes. “Darin, get us out of here! End the dream, before we’re-”
“No!” The cry came from Indira, Daniel knew, but he didn’t bother looking. “Not yet! I won’t- You mustn’t-”
He surged toward Madis and Rickard, shambling forward just as quickly as his legs would carry him. More. Faster. The carpet grabbed at their legs. The fiercely-glowing light coalesced into chains that wrapped around them, pinning them down, until-
With a final rush of air, the pair disappeared. The chains crumpled to the ground, shattering to glowing embers that faded out entirely.
Daniel stared, panting for breath. “N-No,” he whispered, and looked to the still-glowing figure waiting a few steps away. “I...I have to go after them. Alex. They know...so much. Too much. L-Let me out, so I can-”
A weight slammed into Daniel’s back. He hit the ground hard, what little air he’d found leaving his lungs in an agony-tinged rush.
Someone grabbed hold of his head, grinding his face into the ground. “Alexandria!”
It was Indira, he realized, twisting against her hold enough to catch sight of her atop him, holding the necklace out to the Library’s glowing avatar. He shifted, trying to stand, but she mashed his face back into the concrete.
“The Library needs a Librarian!” Indira cried, giving that pendant a shake. “You need one now, before all is lost.”
“B-Bitch,” Daniel spat, squirming beneath her. “She has a-”
“A real one,” Indira said, her voice lowering—but filling with intensity. “One who understands the demands that your service requires. One who undertakes them willingly. One who wants to serve you.”
Footsteps. Bare skin against concrete and fabric. Alexandria was moving, Daniel realized, stepping closer.
He heard Indira take a deep breath. “You’ve suffered for almost two decades under the direction of someone who hasn’t embraced these things. Who pushed back against you, against what you really need. There might be another five decades to come. Longer. Is that what you want?”
Daniel’s eyes widened. Still fighting for breath, he crumpled beneath Indira, going quiet.
Because it wasn’t right. He could still remember the frustration in Indira’s voice as she’d proposed her deal. The perfect sadness-tinged horror in Leon’s eyes as he learned the truth of Daniel’s internment. The way he’d had this duty handed down to him wasn’t right.
But was passing it off to Indira any better? Was it even possible?
Her fingers tightened painfully in his hair, and he flinched, biting back a yelp. “I want this,” Indira said, her voice fervent. “I will be your perfect servant. We’ll be partners, just as it was meant to be. I have the knowledge, and the experience, and the will. Leave this boy behind, and we can do anything we set our minds to.”
Alexandria hadn’t spoken. Not a single word, when she’d been perfectly chatty with Madis. Gritting his teeth against the pain and the fire in his scalp, Daniel lifted his head.
Alexandria stared down at him, tight-lipped. Her eyes bored into his—not Indira’s.
His.
He froze. The rest of it faded away—Indira’s continued pleas, the agony in his limbs, the groaning of wood as the Edge inched closer. All that existed was the two of them, and the question that hung unspoken
in the air.
What did he want?
Indira’s hand closed in the matted mess that had once been his ponytail, slamming his face back into the concrete. “I’m sorry!” he heard her cry. “I know you don’t want to lose him. But you must let him go, for the good of the world. If you choose to keep your hands clean, then...”
Something glimmered at the edge of Daniel’s vision. A knife. She’d pulled a blade from her pocket, swinging it high over her head in the next breath.
A smile tugged at his lips. For a moment, he could make out a scene, worn-out and faded from the years long gone. Of him, and the guildmaster that’d tried to remove the ‘mistake’ of the new Librarian’s apprentice, and Indira. She’d looked so terrified, then, turning a shard of glass on her own companion in his defense.
Those years had changed so much. They’d changed him—and Indira.
And someone like her couldn’t be allowed to become Librarian.
Daniel surged from the ground, pushing off with all the strength his muscles and magic could muster. Indira shrieked, dragging at his hair and trying to cling to him, but he twisted loose.
Her arm tensed. The knife in her hand wobbled, her fingers clenching about it, and-
One more time.
Getting one foot underneath him, Daniel slammed himself backward into Indira like a battering ram. His head struck something—something that crunched under the impact. The knife clattered to the ground. She stumbled backward, blindly clutching her bleeding, broken nose.
Too late, he realized the mistake she’d made. He leapt toward her, thrusting out a hand for her to grab, but the damage had been done.
The Edge didn’t move, as such. A blurred, foggy tendril just reached out lazily, embracing Indira as she tripped and fell into the void.
And then she was...gone. The clouds puffed once, wiping away the last motes of dust, then continued churning. Daniel stared, unable to tear his eyes from the place where she’d vanished.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered at last, swallowing. “I’m sorry, Indira.”
She’d left him no choice—and it’d been her own mistake that dealt the final blow. He still hadn’t wished it for her.