Journey to the Library [The Library Saga] Read online

  "That's what Omman the Joth told me," I reply. "Water is life, and death comes when all the water is gone."

  "He's an old fool," Table says quickly, almost a little defensively. "But sometimes he's right," she adds. "There's no life here. There's not even -" She stops suddenly, as if she's seen something up ahead.

  "What?" I ask as I reach her. Using a hand to shield my eyes from the overbearing brightness of the sun, I scan the dusty horizon, but all I see are more shelves. It's hard to believe that anything could actually live out here; the only life is probably creatures that, like us, are passing through the area and trying to stay alive in the process.

  "There's definitely something," Table says, turning and looking back the way we came, "but -"

  I wait for her to continue.

  "But what?" I ask.

  "Books?" Nodby asks, unable to disguise the fear in his voice.

  "People," Table replies. "I don't think we're alone."

  "What kind of idiots would be out here?" Nodby mutters. "The heat alone is -"

  "There!" Table shouts, pointing at a figure that has suddenly appeared atop a nearby shelf, staring down at us. With the sun behind its back, the figure is little more than a silhouette, but we've undoubtedly been spotted.

  "A loner," Nodby whispers. "That's a good sign, isn't it? A pack would be worse. Maybe it's just a passing merchant, or a nomad, or a madman?"

  "All three of those possibilities," Table says darkly, "would have good reason to stay out of sight."

  "So is that one of them?" I ask, starting to panic. "Is that a dead book?"

  "Worse," Table replies. "It's a live person, and live people usually spell trouble. Come on, we should keep moving." She grabs my arm and starts to pull me along, but we're immediately confronted by a group of half a dozen roughly-dressed men who evidently managed to sneak up behind us while we were staring at the distant figure.

  "What's this?" one of the men says, stepping forward with a grin on his tanned, stubbly face. "Competition?"

  "We're just passing through," Table says firmly. "We're alone. We're heading for the nearest city. We mean you no harm and we have no desire to interfere with your work."

  "Is that right?" the man replies, narrowing his eyes a little as he stares first at her, then at Nodby and finally at me. "Two females and some kind of mutant jack-in-the-box just happen to be out and about in Aga-Mor, do they? Just minding their own business, trotting along, heading someplace else. Is that about the measure of it?"

  "We don't want any trouble," Table continues.

  "Neither do we," the man says with a smile. "We're just out here to perform a spot of archeology."

  "No-one's trying to stop you," Table says firmly.

  "Aye," he replies, starting to walk slowly around us while his men remain in position, "but as you can probably imagine, we're not strictly licensed archeologists. We're more of the unlicensed, amateur variety. Well, I say amateur, but we certainly know what we're doing, and we make a good living at it." He grins as he finishes his little circuit and stops in front of us again, and the men behind him offer a practiced, loyal laugh. "We're just looking for a little profit to support our efforts," he adds. "Unfortunately, none of the citadels are willing to sponsor our fine academic work, so we're forced to focus on the more profitable sites rather than those of the greatest archeological interest. We have to sell our treasures to the highest bidder."

  "So you're... academics?" I ask, trying not to sound terrified.

  "They're grave robbers," Table says, keeping her eyes on the nearest man. "Try to keep up, Alice, and don't be so goddamn naive."

  "Academic grave robbers, perhaps," the man says. "My name's Kiran, and I lead this -"

  "I've heard of you," Table says, interrupting him. "You've got quite a reputation. They say you broke into almost every grave in the great temple of Mor-Phet."

  "Almost every grave?" he replies, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "What man's claiming the rest? Tell me and I'll slit his throat from ear to ear."

  "We're no threat to you," Table replies. "We're just travelers."

  "I'll decide whether or not you're a threat," he says darkly. "You don't smell like Grandapams or Joths, but I'm still not convinced it'd be a good idea to let you go wandering off. What if you meet someone and mention that you bumped into us? What if, hypothetically speaking of course, you spotted a reward poster containing our portraits?"

  "We won't," Table replies. "In point of fact, we'd be grateful of the same courtesy."

  "You running from someone?" Kiran asks.

  "We're just innocent passersby," she says, "hoping to get through the valley as quickly as possible."

  "What's wrong?" he replies. "You don't believe all those stupid ghost stories, do you?"

  "I don't believe in ghosts full stop," she says. "Now are you going to let us pass, or is this going to become difficult?"

  Turning to me, Kiran seems to be studying me for a moment. "What about you?" he asks eventually. "Your friend seems trustworthy, but there's something about you that worries me. It's almost as if you might have..." He pauses. "What's that horrible word that always puts me on edge?"

  "Morals," says one of the other men, spitting the word out as if it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

  "Aye," he continues with a grin. "Morals. Such an overrated quality. Do you have morals, girl?"

  "I just want to find my parents," I reply, hoping not to attract too much attention.

  "You won't find them here," Kiran says firmly. "I'd be surprised if there's another living thing for ten miles. In fact, it's kind of a miracle that we ran into you at all, but I guess maybe that's fate doing." He pauses, and for a moment he seems lost in thought. "I tell you what. I see no reason to detain you lovely ladies any longer than necessary, but at the same time, I feel it'd be remiss of me not to show you some good old-fashioned hospitality -"

  "We're fine, thanks," Table says, trying to push past him. She only gets a couple of steps forward, however, before the other men close ranks in her path.

  "Nah," Kiran continues with a grin, "I think I wanna show you something you'll remember for the rest of your lives." He turns to me. "You're not from around here, are you?"

  "I just want to -"

  "I know," he says, interrupting me, "you wanna find your parents. Don't we all? But I just happen to be one of the finest experts on Aga-Mor, and I reckon I know this place inside and out. I'm certainly better informed than those dry old fools at the university who think they can learn everything from books. There's no-one who'll be able to give you a better guided tour of this place, so why don't you let me show you a very exciting new discovery we made just this morning, yeah? A previously undisturbed tomb that was created in honor of one of the earliest librarians. Believe me, it's a huge honor just to set foot in the place, and it's certainly something that'll give you plenty to think about."

  "I don't think we have time," I say, hoping that he'll take the hint. "We need to -"

  "He's not asking us," Table says, her voice filled with tension. "He's telling us."

  "I like a practical girl," Kiran says, slapping me hard on the back before grabbing my hand and leading me over to one of the large holes in the ground. "You're gonna love this, little lady. Hell, even I don't know what's down there, not entirely, although I've read the myths and legends." He stops by the edge of the hole. "I'm gonna give you the greatest honor a man of my profession can give a guest," he adds, gesturing toward the dark interior and grinning as if Christmas has arrived early. "I'm gonna let you lead the way."

  I swallow hard, hoping that he doesn't mean what I think he means.

  "Well?" he continues with a smile. "What are you waiting for? Ladies first!"

  Thomas Never

  "Carstairs!" I shout, running into the cell and making my way quickly over to the figure slumped in the far corner. "I've got it! I've got a way for us to leave this place!"

  As the Grandapam guard slams the cell door shut, I crouch next
to Carstairs and wait for an answer. He has his cape pulled up over his face, and it's as if he's trying to make his body as small as possible. Slowly, he pulls the cape down to reveal his tired, heavy-looking eyes, and it's immediately clear that all the strength and vitality he displayed earlier is now, suddenly, in very short supply. It's almost as if I'm suddenly staring at a completely different person.

  "Did you hear me?" I continue, hoping to rouse him. "We can get out of here! We're not going to be executed!"

  "And how's that?" he whispers, clearly not believing me.

  "I just spoke to someone," I explain, "someone who knows you. He said he's arranged for us to have a kind of deal that'll allow us to just walk out the door. He's some kind of emissary or something, and apparently he's got influence with the Grandapams and he can get them to drop all the charges against us!"

  He stares at me, showing no sign of relief or even acknowledgment.

  "Carstairs?" I continue, starting to worry about his response. "Aren't you pleased? We're going to get out of here!"

  "Let me guess," he replies. "This emissary wants something in return, doesn't he?"

  "Sure," I reply. "I mean, it's nothing really. He just wants you to agree to go and visit this Angel thing. I know you don't want to, but it'll be okay, you don't have to stay or anything. He just wants you to go and visit for a few minutes." I wait for Carstairs to say something. "It's nothing, right?" I add. "Better than dying, anyway."

  "I'm not doing it," he says after a moment, his voice sounding weak and tired.

  "You're not..." I pause, my heart racing as I try to work out if he really said what I think I heard. "What do you mean, you're not doing it?"

  "I mean I'm not going to visit the Angel," he explains wearily. "I'm sorry, Thomas, but I won't be trapped and manipulated like this. The Emissary has been trying to change my mind for a long, long time, and I absolutely refuse. I have my own very good reasons for never wanting to go near that thing again."

  "But..." I sit back, trying to understand his reaction. "I don't think you get what I'm saying," I continue eventually. "If you just agree to visit the Angel, the Grandapams will let us out and we can forget that any of this ever happened. The Emissary even said he'd help me to track down my parents, but..." I pause again, hoping that maybe he'll smile and get to his feet, dust himself down, and accept that this is our best option. "If you don't agree," I add, "then... we're stuck here until they..."

  I stare at him in silence.

  "Carstairs?" I add after a moment. "Don't you understand?"

  "Of course I understand," he spits back at me, with anger in his voice. "The Emissary thinks he's got me in a perfect bind, doesn't he? Poor old Carstairs, faced with a choice between hanging on the Grandapams' gallows or going to meet the Angel of the Library. Well, I'll tell you something, and you can pass it on to the Emissary since the two of you seem so pally these days. I'm not budging. I'm not going to visit the Angel, and if that means I have to hang - hell, if it means we both have to hang - then so be it. There's no discussion to be had here. I've made my decision, and I'd appreciate it if you'd respect that and stop badgering me."

  "But -"

  "Leave me alone!" he says firmly. "I tried to help you, and I failed. Miserably, as it happens, but there are certain things that are just... not possible, and one of them is the thought of going to visit that... thing."

  I take a deep breath, trying to think of a different approach.

  "Why are you so scared of the Angel?" I ask eventually. "If it's -"

  "I'm not scared of it," he snaps. "I just don't want to go near it!" He pauses. "The people in this place, they're scared and superstitious. Ever since the Angel appeared, hovering above the aisles, the locals have lost their minds. No, they haven't lost them; they've given them away willingly. They've worshiped the damn thing, even developing whole new religions based on it. Some of them have devoted their entire lives to studying the Angel's imagined demands, but they're still no closer to knowing the truth. As far as they're concerned, the Angel is exactly what it sounds like: some kind of messenger from God. They have no idea what it really is. No idea at all."

  "And do you know what it really is?" I ask.

  He sighs.

  "Then what is it?" I continue.

  "It's..." He frowns, almost as if he's having trouble remembering. "It's something from the past, something that doesn't belong in the present and that certainly has no place in the future. It should be just left to wither away and die."

  "But what is it?" I ask.

  He shakes his head.

  "And you're terrified of it," I add. "So terrified, you'd rather let us both die than even contemplate the idea of going anywhere near it?"

  "Perhaps you should just trust me," he replies, with tears in his eyes. "I'm making the best decision."

  "It's better to hang than to go and face this thing?"

  He nods.

  "Are you scared it'll hurt you?"

  "There's no point discussing the matter any further," he replies, sniffing back the tears. "I've made my decision, and nothing in all the seven worlds can make me change my mind. Please stop bothering me, Thomas. I'm afraid I can be a stubborn old fool when I'm in the right mood, and where the Angel's concerned..."

  I wait for him to finish, but he simply stares at me, as if he's waiting for me to surrender.

  "The Emissary said this would be your response," I say eventually, still hoping that maybe I can find a way to change his mind, "but I told him he was crazy. I said no-one would choose death when there's a way out."

  "I'm sorry to let you down," Carstairs replies. "The Emissary should have known that there was no chance that I'd ever agree to such a deal. The Angel can rot and fall apart for all I care. In fact, that would be infinitely preferable to the idea that the damn thing is going to stay in place. So many lives ruined, so many communities torn apart, so much money spent on grand little cathedrals made of dirt and old pages, and why? Just because they chose to worship that horrific, evil old pile of..." He pauses, his eyes almost burning with rage. "Let them worship it," he adds eventually. "Let them waste their lives if that's what they want. Some of them even used books as bricks to make their damnable cathedrals, but the Angel will never give them anything in return. It only wants one thing, and it'll never get it."

  "You," I reply, struck by the depth of his hatred. "The Angel wants you."

  "None of us can get everything we want," he whispers. "The Angel would do well to learn that, instead of obsessing year after year about the old days. I'm sorry, Thomas. I don't expect you to understand and I'm sure you'll hate me now, but I have my reasons. Facing the Angel is... just not something than I can do. Not now, not ever."

  "I don't think you realize how serious this is," I continue, trying to stay calm even though I feel as if I want to grab him by the throat. "The Grandapams are talking about pushing our appeal through the express route and I don't think there's much chance of success. It could be complete in a few hours! Unless you've got some magic up your sleeve, I think this might be the perfect time to just stand up to your fears." I wait for him to reply. "Please, Carstairs? Can't you find it somewhere in your heart to get back on your feet?"

  He shakes his head.

  "What about magic?" I ask. "You always say you're a wizard, so why don't you use some magic to get us out of here? Turn the bars into snakes or use some kind of mind control spell on the Grandapams. Do something! Anything!"

  "I'm sorry," he replies weakly. "I'm just an old fool."

  Sitting back, I realize that this is useless. There's no way that he's ever going to change his mind; it's as if he's just given up entirely, preferring to sit slumped in the corner of the cell while the moment of our execution comes closer and closer. All his old energy and vitality is gone, replaced by weary resignation.

  "Dumb old wizard," mutters a voice nearby.

  Turning, I see that one of the guards is watching us with a grin on his face.

  "He can
't perform magic," the guard continues. "He can't do anything. Everyone knows that Carstairs is just a charlatan. I'd never pegged him as a coward, though. Still, there's nothing left for it now, is there? You can't turn a coward into a hero, no matter how hard you try. A true coward is doomed to stay that way for the rest of his life."

  I want to argue with the Grandapam, to tell him that he's wrong and to somehow persuade Carstairs to show his true colors. Unfortunately, turning back to look at Carstairs, I can't help but feel that the Grandapam is right after all. The man sitting before me isn't a wizard or a hero; he's just an old idiot wearing a scavenged cape, and he'd rather die than face his greatest fear. The problem is, if he dies, then I die too.

  Alice Never

  "I can't see a damn thing," I whisper, as Table and I pick our way carefully along the cold, dark tunnel. "Couldn't they at least have given us torches?"

  "Are you aware of the practice of sending sheep across minefields?" Table hisses.

  "What do you mean?"

  "They're sending us in as a test," she continues, rolling her eyes. "Most of these old tombs were booby-trapped to protect the treasures they contain. The ancients were fully aware that people would come along and try to get their hands on the riches buried alongside the old librarians, so they left elaborate traps. I'm sure Kiran's lost a few good men over the years by sending them in ahead. Trust me, he's not giving us this 'honor' out of the kindness of his heart."

  Glancing over my shoulder, I see that Kiran, Nodby and the others are a few paces behind.

  "Keep going!" Kiran shouts, sounding as if he's enjoying himself. "Shouldn't be too far now!"

  "But they'll let us go eventually, right?" I continue, keeping my voice down as we finally reach a large, dark space with flat, level ground. "Once we've done this for them -"