The Library - The Complete Series (12 page)

V
anguard

Seldom have I seen such a pathetic sight. As I lead Claire and Sharpe through the refugee settlement, it's impossible to avoid being sickened by the filth into which these people have descended. Living in their own effluence, with nothing to do all day except stare weakly up at passersby in expectation of food or water, they have no value whatsoever. Their bodies are stick-thin, which means that even when they eventually die, there will be precious little meat. Some of them dig with their fingers, desperately trying to find Burrow Worms, but the soil in these aisles appears to be bone-dry; besides, most of these people are beyond salvation. Wounded, injured and starved, they're just waiting for their bodies to give out, and then they'll quietly rot.

"Refugees from where?" Claire whispers, keeping close to me.

"The war," I reply firmly, keen to just get through these aisles as fast as possible. I've been in enough refugee camps over the years to know that it's best to just keep moving, avoid making eye contact, and focus on the horizon.

"The big war?" she continues. "The one that's causing all the smoke on the horizon?"

"How many wars do you think are raging in the Library?" I say. "There is only one."

"But isn't there anywhere for them to go?" she asks, continuing her line of incessant, frustrating questions. "What are they doing? Are they just going to sit around here and die?"

"Do you have a better idea?"

"So no-one's going to help them?"

"There would be no benefit in helping them." I step over a particularly sickly old woman who seems to be sleeping lengthways across the aisle. "They are not soldiers. They are not farmers. They have tried to survive, and they have failed. There is no point trying to keep them alive any longer." At that moment, a woman reaches out and grabs my leg; I quickly pull away, disgusted by the thought of her verminous hands coming anywhere near me. Staring down at her thin, eroded face, I see nothing but an inhuman wraith. Whatever she once was, this woman is now just a collection of bones held tight in a sack of skin. I do not understand why she would choose to capitulate in this way, when others stood strong; the war requires soldiers, and these refugees chose to run instead of fight. I would kill her, and all those like her, but she poses no threat and I would rather not expend the energy.

"The war has displaced a lot of people," Sharpe says as we continue to pick our way through the detritus. "No-one knows how many for sure, but certainly hundreds of millions. They have nowhere to go, so they try to make the best of it, setting up home between the shelves. The problem is, the soil around here is no good. They can't grow anything, so they just waste away."

"It is to be hoped that they will attract a pack of wild ticks," I say, interrupting Sharpe's attempt to put a cosier gloss on the situation. "At least then they would be killed quickly, and the path would be cleared for other travelers. The cycle of life requires these people to die, so that their bodies will be re-used in some more helpful manner. Any potential they might have possessed is long since spent."

"You can't just write people off like that," Claire argues.

"They've had their chance," I reply. "Any of us could just sit on the ground and wait to be helped. These people are pathetic."

"So no-one's going to try to save them?" she asks. "No-one's going to give them food or water? No-one's going to help them at all?"

"Fine!" I say, stopping and turning to her. "If you wish to help them, you can help them. We will halt our journey, and you can find food and water for these hundreds and hundreds of dying people, and then you can teach them how to sustain themselves in these aisles. You can nurse them back to health and encourage them to survive and then, when you've done all that, we shall continue our journey to the Citadel." I pause for a moment, letting my words sink in. "Is that what you would like to do?"

She stares at me. "I can't do all that..." she says plaintively.

"Then who should?" I continue, trying to hide the full extent of my anger. "Onto whose shoulders would you like to shift the burden of caring for these people?"

She opens her mouth to reply, but no words emerge. It's clear that she has no answer; she merely wants to make herself feel better by saying that someone should resolve the situation, but she herself has nothing to offer.

"These people will die," I say firmly as she stares open-mouthed at me. "Their bodies will rot and eventually they will become part of the soil. Then, and only then, might this part of the Library start to become a place where food can grow. You want to know the greatest contribution that these refugees can make? Bonemeal. They will help to revitalize the soil. That is all they can do, and future generations will benefit. If you can think of something else, some other idea that no-one else in the Library has ever tried, then by all means criticize the way things happen around here. Otherwise, you might be better advised to keep your mouth shut." I reach out and place a finger under her chin, before gently tilting her mouth closed. "Do you have anything more to add?" I ask. "Or shall we continue on our way?"

Without saying anything, she starts walking.

We continue in silence for a few minutes. Claire is clearly sulking a little, though I'm quite certain that I managed to get my point across. We take the next left turning, finding more and more refugees still blocking our way. I am starting to notice a little more organization, though, as if some of the refugees have actually managed to group together and find a way to survive. As we keep walking, the people around us begin to look a little better fed, and some of them are even able to stand; they stare at us with ravenous, bitter expressions, and I keep my hand close to the hilt of my sword in case anyone decides to attack us. Fortunately, I'm fairly certain that none of these people would be so foolish as to think that they could possibly take on a warrior of my stature.

"How much longer?" Claire asks.

"You do not like walking among these people?" I reply. "I thought you cared so deeply for their welfare."

"That's not what I meant."

"I am not sure how many more aisles will be filled with refugees," I tell her. "However, I am quite certain that we shall soon pass from this region to another." I glance over at her, and it's clear from her scrunched-up nose that she doesn't like the smell of these people. I don't blame her; there's no sanitation in this part of the Library, so rivers of urine and faeces run between the shelves.

"Why don't we climb up the shelves?" she asks suddenly.

"Climb up?" I ask, frowning.

"Couldn't we climb up and get a bird's eye view?" she continues. "I was just thinking, we'd be able to see exactly where we're going, and we'd be able to see where the war's reached, and all that stuff. It'd save us from basically walking blindly around every corner."

"That is not an option," I reply after a moment.

"Oh," she says. "Okay." There's a pause as we keep walking. "Why not?" she asks eventually.

"It's just not," I say firmly. This is a conversation I would prefer to avoid; Claire knows very little of the Library, and I have not yet told her the truth about the Forbidders. I'm quite certain that she will have many, many questions, and I would rather reach the Citadel so that someone else might take over the job of explaining the situation. In general, I do not see the point in discussing matters that are not strictly necessary.

"Okay," she says. "But..."

"It's not an option," I say, hoping that the increasingly firm tone of my voice might discourage her from asking again.

"You!" calls out a voice nearby. Stopping and glancing down, I see a male figure reaching out to me; he seems more animated and more alert than the other refugees, and I immediately reach for my sword. In such a situation, it is often better to be over-cautious rather than to leave oneself open to the possibility of attack.

"Let's just keep moving," Sharpe says, hurrying past Vanguard. "It's alright for you two. You're tall. But I'm all the way down here. I'm an easier target."

"We need food," the refugee says, his broken voice betraying his terrible condition. "If we want to eat, which way should we walk?"

"Not the way we came," Claire says, turning to me. "At least tell him which way we came, so he won't make that mistake."

"We're not stopping," I say, grabbing Claire's shoulder and forcing her to keep going.

"Hey!" the man calls out to us as we head alone the aisle. "At least tell us where you came from!"

"Why are you such an asshole?" Claire mutters, trying to get free of my grip.

"I would rather reach the Citadel and have you consider me an asshole," I reply, "than have you stop and end up being killed by these people."

"He just wanted help!" she replies.

"He wanted food," I tell her, "and there's only one source of food around here right now."
"Then why don't we help him find it?"

"Let me give you a clue," Sharpe butts in. "I'm too small and leathery. Vanguard's too big to be felled by these jokers. But you, Claire; they probably think they have a chance to cut you down and chew on your bones."

"Me?" She stops struggling. "They want to eat me?"

"They're desperate," Sharpe continues. "As far as they're concerned, you're basically a walking ham. Just make sure you don't get separated from us. Right now, Vanguard's the only thing keeping you from their cooking pot."

Claire falls silent for a moment, while Sharpe gives me a knowing look. While Claire believes that we're going to the Citadel in order to help her find a way home, Sharpe understands the truth: I aim to present Claire to the remaining Elders, and to serve her as a meal in order to win their loyalty. Fortunately, Sharpe seems to know what's good for him, so he's keeping his mouth shut. I find him useful, but if there comes a time when he seems set to threaten my plan, I will have no hesitation in slicing him down the middle.

"Vanguard!" calls out a nearby voice.

"Did someone just say your name?" Claire asks.

"Keep walking," I say, pushing her ahead of me. "My legend was once spread far and wide in these lands. It is no wonder that my return should excite a few peasants."

"Vanguard!" the voice shouts again, this time getting much closer.

"It sounds like someone knows you," Claire continues, glancing behind us.

"We will not be stopping," I say, grabbing her arm.

"Vanguard!" the voice says for a third time, and this time he's almost directly behind us. Pushing Claire to one side, I unsheathe my sword and turn, ready to strike. As I'm about to give the assailant a final warning, however, I realize that his face is, indeed, somewhat familiar.

"It's me," he says, wearing the rags of a refugee but with the eyes of a far nobler man. "Come on; don't tell me it's been so long that you've actually forgotten me?"

I adjust my grip on the sword. I should kill this fool immediately, but a slight doubt in the back of my mind forces me to wait a moment. It has been many, many years since I was in the company of anyone who might know me personally, and I have no desire to rekindle any old acquaintances. Still, the fog of my memory is lifting and I am starting to feel as if this stranger is familiar. Adjusting my grip on the hilt of the sword, I pause for a moment.

"It's me," the man says eventually. "It's Daniel."

Taking a deep breath, I realize he's telling the truth. I have not set eyes on his face for many, many years; in fact, the last time I saw him, we were knee-deep in dead bodies as we fought together at the Battle of Twisted Moons. I saw him being dragged into the pack, and later I found his sword discarded on the battlefield; I had every reason to believe he had died, and I mourned him, yet now he stands before me in the rags of a refugee.

"Daniel," I say, bristling at this unwelcome reminder of an earlier time in my life.

"I thought I'd never see you again," he says, smiling. It's almost as if he's pleased to see me. "I prayed for this moment, though. I prayed to the Forbidders to bring someone to help us, and now you're here." He pauses for a moment, as if he can barely believe that I'm standing in front of him.

"I am not here to help anyone," I say, determined to avoid a delay. "I wish you luck in your endeavors, but we have no time to stop." I turn to walk away, but Daniel steps around me and blocks the way.

"We need you," he says firmly.

"You will move," I tell him, "or I will kill you."

"Then you'll have to kill me," he replies, "because I'm not moving. After all my prayers, there's no way I'm going to let you just walk away, Vanguard. Fate has brought us back together for a reason."

Sighing, I raise my sword, ready to cut him down.

C
laire

"You can't do it, can you?" the man asks, staring back at Vanguard. "I know you. If you were going to kill me, you'd have done it by now."

"This is your final warning," Vanguard replies, his voice for once sounding a little hesitant. "Move and let us pass!"

"If you want me out of the way," the man continues, "you know what you have to do. I can't fight back. I wouldn't even know how to start to defend myself. It's a long time since I was a warrior. I'm out of shape. There's nothing stopping you from killing me, Vanguard, so if that's what you're going to do, now's the time."

Lowering his sword, Vanguard has this strange, almost haunted look in his eyes. "We are journeying to the Citadel," he says slowly, his voice unusually low. "We have no time to wait. Perhaps later, if I pass through these aisles again -"

"Surely you have time to drink?" the replies. "There's a well nearby. We have to ration water, but I'd be more than willing to share a little with you and your friends. I'm sure you can spare a few minutes for an old friend." He turns to me. "My name is Daniel. I used to fight with Vanguard, a long time ago."

"Claire," I say, smiling. Daniel's very different from Vanguard: for one thing, he's much more human-looking, without the over-sized, jagged edges that seem to protrude from Vanguard's body; for another he looks a little younger. In fact, Daniel wouldn't seem out of place back in my world.

"Have we met before, Claire?" he asks, frowning as he stares at me.

"I doubt it."

He looks down at Sharpe. "You and I have definitely met before," he says, not seeming particularly pleased by the memory.

"Once really was enough," Sharpe replies.

"Come and drink," Daniel says, turning and leading us alone the aisle. "I don't know what you encountered in the adjacent aisles, but I'm starting to bring the stronger members of our group together. Rather than waiting around to die, we're going to see if we can find some way to rebuild our society. Some of the weaker ones have no chance, but I'm convinced we can do more than just fade away."

"We will drink and then leave," Vanguard says humorlessly. He's clearly not enjoying this reunion with his old friend, but at the same time he apparently can't resist the opportunity to drink clean water.

"I can't keep you here," Daniel continues, "though obviously we could use a man of your strength. Progress is slow, and we have barely half a dozen men with useful strength. Every day, we struggle more and more to feed everyone. At first, I hoped that even the stragglers would be helped, but recently I've had to make a difficult decision. The weakest members of our group are going to be left to die, so that the stronger ones can live. It's a practical decision; it's the only way any of us have a chance."

"A strong man only weakens himself by helping the weak," Vanguard replies.

"Charming," I mutter under my breath.

"We pray every day to the Forbidders," Daniel says. "Sometimes they hear our prayers and deliver what we need. Other times, they seem content to let us waste away. We've tried pleasing them, but we don't know what they want. It's almost as if they take pleasure in our suffering."

"Superstition will not help you," Vanguard says as we turn to the next aisle and finally find a small, broken-brick well at the intersection.

"This water is clean," Daniel says, grabbing a bucket and tying it to a small rope before lowering it down into the hole. "I don't know who built the well, but it's more than half a kilometer deep. Perhaps the Elders themselves were responsible for its construction. Anyway, it has kept us alive for weeks since we fled the effects of the war."

"One must be careful when one accepts help," Vanguard says, leaning over the well and looking down into the darkness. "If one cannot determine why one is being given help, one must assume that one is being lured into a trap."

"Do you think I'm luring you into a trap?" Daniel asks as he starts pulling the bucket back up.

"I think you are a fool if you pray to the Forbidders."
"You don't believe in them?"

"I believe in things I can see with my own eyes," Vanguard replies. "I have never seen a Forbidder, and I find it strange that they seem so keen to remain hidden in the shadows."

"But what about my help?" Daniel asks as the bucket reaches the top. "Do you suspect me of some duplicity?"

Vanguard stares at him for a moment. "I have no choice but to wonder."

"Time has changed you," Daniel continues. "You used to be a little more trusting, Vanguard. You recognized the value of friendship. Then again, I've changed too. I threw off the shackles of being a warrior and chose a new path. I no longer wish to fight. I wish to rebuild the communities that have been devastated by this war." He passes the bucket to me. "Ladies first."

"No," Vanguard snaps, grabbing the bucket from my hands and sniffing the water before taking a sip.

"You think I want to poison her?" Daniel asks.

"The water is fine," Vanguard mutters, handing the bucket to me. "It was as well to check."

"Vanguard obviously values your life very highly," Daniel says, smiling at me. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a small wooden box. He opens the lid to reveal a small group of wriggling Burrow Worms. "I can't spare much," he explains, "but perhaps the Forbidders will look kindly upon me if they see that I'm a man of charity."

"Not for me, thanks," I say.

"Your generosity is noted," Vanguard says dourly, "but it is necessary to always exercise due caution." Ignoring the worms on offer from Daniel, he reaches down and thrusts his hand into the soil; moments later, he pulls up his own freshly-dug batch of worms, which he eats without even bothering to brush away the dirt. "The soil in this part of the Library is not good," he says after a moment. "Why do you wait here?"

"We need the well," Daniel says. "Fresh water is the hardest thing to find these days, even harder than food. I have scouts who go out every day, looking for new sources of sustenance, but many of our number are loath to leave the well unless we can be certain of finding another source of water a little further along the way. Soon we're going to have to get moving, but most of the people are too weak. We'll have to leave them behind, and there's no way they'll survive once they have to fend for themselves. There are very few Burrow Worms in the area."

"The weak must perish," Vanguard replies, "so that the strong can thrive."

Daniel smiles. "I used to think the same thing. These days, however, I've begun to see that it's dangerous to write anyone off as weak. Someone might appear to have no power, but perhaps later he will surprise you. Some of our number are beyond the point of salvation, but the rest will be helped. I will not leave them behind."

"Then your plans are already doomed to fail," Vanguard says. "You would do better to gather together only the very strongest of your group and push on with them." He pauses for a moment. "Your current plan is noble, but you will die. Even when we were warriors together, you exhibited a degree of compassion that I never understood."

"That's why I need your help," Daniel replies. "I prayed and prayed to the Forbidders, asking them to send you to us. We need a man of your stature, Vanguard. We need a warrior to help us find our way to a new promised land, far from the war. I'm convinced that if we travel far enough, we'll find a place far from here and we'll be able to start again."

"I am not here to help you," Vanguard replies.

"But you must! Why else would the Forbidders guide you to us? This is an act of divine providence!"

"No-one has guided me to you," Vanguard says tersely. "It is sheer coincidence that our paths have crossed again, but it is only a brief meeting."

"Is it really a coincidence?" Daniel pauses for a moment. "The Library is vast, Vanguard, and chaotic. Do you really think it is the case that you have merely wandered by chance into these aisles, just at the moment when you are most needed?"

"Such things happen from time to time," Vanguard replies.

"Who are the Forbidders?" I ask.

"The Forbidders are the masters of this land," Daniel starts to say. "They -"

"They are nothing," Vanguard sneers. "They do not even exist."

"They live above us," Daniel continues. "They watch us, and listen to us, and they guide our lives. Sometimes for good, sometimes for ill, but always as part of their grand plan."

"They are nothing more than a fairytale," Vanguard says. "Parents used to tell their children to beware of the Forbidders, lest they should be punished. When the war broke out and chaos descended upon the Library, the legend of the Forbidders was blown up and exaggerated by fools who could not accept the truth. There is no guiding hand behind what is happening here. It's all just random chance that has, in this instance, been mis-interpreted as evidence of some kind of guiding hand."

"You know that's not true," Daniel says. "They exist. They live on top of the shelves. I know you've seen them, Vanguard. I know you believe in your heart that they're real."

"I've seen no such thing," Vanguard replies. "The only thing I've seen is the face of a fool, parroting back childish stories. If the Forbidders existed, they would have come down to make themselves known to us, rather than scurrying about out of sight."

"Then who has wrecked the Citadel?" Daniel asks. "If the Forbidders don't exist, why did the Librarian flee?"

"The Librarian did not flee!" Vanguard says firmly.

"That's not what I've heard," Daniel says. "There are rumors. I've met people who have been to the Citadel. They say it's in ruins, its walls torn down and its roof ripped away. Dead Elders have been left to rot in the main chamber, and the only life in that place these days comes from the maggots that feed off the corpses, plus a few stubborn fools who refuse to leave."

"This is all just myth and superstition," Vanguard says.

"You don't believe in them?" I ask.

He sneers, as if my question isn't even worth answering.

"He has seen them," Daniel says, turning to me. "He told me himself, many years ago."

"That is a lie!" Vanguard replies, clearly getting angrier by the second.

"Then prove it," Daniel says. "If you do not believe in them, prove it by climbing up the shelves and walking along the top. If, as you say, the Forbidders do not exist, you have nothing to fear."

"I will not even dignify such a request with an answer," Vanguard says. "I should remind you, though, that I do not take kindly to accusations of cowardice."

"I'll do it!" I say, figuring it'd be useful to go up and get an idea of how much further we need to go before we reach the Citadel, and whether or not the war is getting too close.

"You will not," Vanguard says, grabbing my arm and holding me tight.

"You can't stop me," I reply, trying to get free.

"I will not allow you to climb the shelves," he continues. "For your own safety, you will stay with me at all times."

"If you don't believe in these things," I point out, "then why won't you let me go up there?"

He stares at me angrily, and I can see that he's lost for words. He quite clearly believes in these Forbidder creatures, or at least he has doubts, otherwise he'd be fine with me going up there.

"What do they look like?" I ask.

"Some say they look like serpents," Daniel replies, "others say they look like men. But superstition abounds and few have ever seen the creatures and lived to tell the tale." He looks over at Vanguard. "And those who have seen them, tend to deny that this is the case."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Vanguard says, "and this conversation is at an end. It was nothing more than a coincidence that we ran into you today, and now we must be leaving."

"Couldn't we rest for a while?" I ask. "My back's starting to hurt again."

"We'll rest when we reach the Citadel," Vanguard continues, turning and walking away. "We'll be much safer there, and we can -" He suddenly stops in his tracks; for a moment, he seems to be completely confused about something, and then he takes another step forward before dropping down to his knees.

"Are you okay?" Daniel asks, rushing over to him.

"I'm fine," he replies, trying but failing to stand back up. "There is -" He pauses again, and it's clear that something's wrong. Hurrying over to him, I immediately recognize that his face has become much more pale than usual. Vanguard always looks so strong and so powerful, but right now his expression is one of pure agony.

"What's happening to him?" I ask, turning back to Sharpe. Before I can get an answer, Vanguard slumps to the floor, clutching his chest before finally letting out a roar of pain.