In the microsecond before the knife pierced Akeel’s back, a shower of crystalline light exploded in the face of the assassin and his hand missed its mark. A cluster of Losrings had intervened. They aimed their blinding light on the killer, relentlessly driving him backwards until he turned and ran.
The screen went black, plunging them into darkness. Marco was practically beside himself, wondering what had happened, when the screen appeared again. Now Akeel and the others were crawling through a crude tunnel, heaving their bags in front of them, struggling on hands and knees with their cumbersome loads.
There was light at the end of the tunnel, but it did not come from the sun. Marco’s view of what awaited them outside was blocked by the scuffle of librarians pulling themselves and their bags out of the tunnel, silhouetted against a bright orange blaze behind them.
A clear view showed not one but many huge fires lighting up the Library’s concourse. A dozen or so bonfires burned in perfectly straight lines, as if they had been planted in an orchard. Black butterflies skipped through the air above the fires, people were celebrating, and Marco thought it was a frightening but glorious sight.
Akeel called to the others to follow him as he ran behind a small building and ordered everyone to stay. He moved towards the fires, keeping low to the ground. Marco had never seen a human look like he was stalking prey. Then the light from the flames revealed a look of horror on Akeel’s face.
Cicero would not speak, so Alaniah tried to explain. She told him that the soldiers had drained the water and filled the fountains to the brim with books, poured oil over them and lit them with torches.
Alaniah’s account of what was happening made him angry at her for suggesting such a dreadful idea.
“You’re lying!” he shouted at her. Alaniah’s crisp retort was in some language he didn’t understand. Marco sat for a moment, trying to absorb the impossible concept.
“But…” He hardly knew what to say. “Books? Why would they want to burn books?”
“I do not understand the ways of humans,” was her bleak response. After that, Marco sat in silence with Cicero hunched next to him. He had to remind himself that what was happening was real because it seemed more like a bad dream.
In a carnival-like atmosphere, women sat eating, while their children played at the perimeter of the fire’s light. Books and scrolls were piled in heaps like burial mounds around the fires. Men joked and laughed as they threw the books in.
Marco heard a man say, “Fire is such a beautiful thing.” It was at that moment he realized those weren’t black butterflies he’d seen—they were fragments of scorched paper.
“Brilliant, I’d say!” said another man.
“This’ll teach those big heads a thing or two.”
“Librarians,” said another, spitting on the ground.
“Intell-ect-u-als. Think they’re so smart. So high and mighty.”
The reflection of fire on the men’s creased faces made them even more hideous.
“Common thieves, that’s what they are. These books are all stolen you know!”
“Jail would be too good for these criminals!”
One man tilted his head back and took a swig from his flask, then poured the rest of its contents on the fire. “You need this more than me,” he said to the fire, which responded with a flourish of deep orange. There were shouts of approval.
A man pushed forward through the crowd. “Stop! This is crazy! Think of the children! How will they learn about history? About the heavens?”
Somebody grabbed the protestor and shoved him to the ground. “Who do you think we’re doing this for? This is about our children!”
The dissenter tried to get up, but another man pinned him to the ground with his boot. “These books are brainwashing our children.”
“Yeah,” agreed one of the arsonists. “Our kids think they’re smarter than us. My son, he’s twelve and he thinks he’s too smart to work in the fields. Too smart for his own good, I tell him. But I know how to knock sense into him.”
The dissenter moaned as one of the fire men, as Marco thought of them, kicked him in the groin.
“We knew it was time for action when we caught our kids sneaking off to the library. These new-fangled ideas are dangerous.”
Someone in the back of the crowd shouted, ‘Save the children!’ and the others took it up like a battle cry. The ones closest to the fire, reinvigorated, lobbed armfuls of books on the blaze.
Chapter 17: Barbarians at the gate
Akeel crept backwards, making no sound even as he stumbled over Chuluum, who suddenly appeared at his side. He headed back to where he’d left the others, but they were gone.
Akeel heaved his bag over his shoulder, picked up Chuluum and turned from the burning landscape out towards the darkness, hiking through wild scrub and rocks under a moonless sky. He did not stop until he reached a massive stone wall far from the main city.
Akeel put the cat on the ground. “I can’t climb the wall with both you and the bag. You’re on your own.” He started climbing.
When Akeel reached the top of the wall, he stopped and turned. Chuluum was still on the ground, a silent meow pleading for help, but Akeel scolded him instead.
“Chuluum! This wall is no great challenge for you.” Akeel sighed. “Don’t you understand? I am sick at heart. Look behind you. Hundreds of years of collecting destroyed in one night.” Akeel dropped his head. “I didn’t think they would take it this far.”
Akeel lowered the heavy leather bag where it was within the cat’s reach, but Chuluum just sniffed at it.
“Chuluum! You are being one difficult cat. Come! We must go find the others.” This time Chuluum grabbed hold and Akeel lifted him to the top of the wall.
Hoisting the bag over his shoulder and tucking his cat inelegantly under one arm, Akeel leaped. He landed on both feet.
The boundary wall of the city, which afforded relative safety, was behind them. They were now in territory that belonged exclusively to thieves and barbarians. Chuluum immediately ran off into the darkness.
Akeel moved toward a shapeless form on the ground.
“Sirus!” He cried out, dropping down next to his friend, whose head was soaked in blood.
“You missed all the fun,” Sirus said hoarsely.
“Barbarians at the gates! Why didn’t I see this coming?” Akeel wiped some of the blood from around his friend’s eyes.
“Don’t blame yourself,” Sirus said. “Who could imagine such brutality? We lived in a dream world, I think.”
“We have been awakened by mad men,” Akeel said. “They’ve stolen our life, our books… our dreams.”
“Not as long as you carry some of them with you.” Sirus closed his eyes and struggled to speak. “Don’t give up. Escape now.” His voice faded to a whisper. “I just don’t know how you’ll manage without me.”
Akeel shook his head. “Don’t worry. I’m going to get you out of here.” He looked out at the desolate landscape that merged into nothingness, a black void.
Sirus stopped breathing. Akeel shook him. “Don’t, Sirus! We’re companions. We always travel together, don’t we?”
Sirus recovered a breath, but Akeel barely understood him now. He was only able to make out, “…a different kind of journey.”
“You traveled just last month. No more days off.” Akeel tried to laugh. He thought as long as they could share a joke, his best friend might recover and he would not lose him along with everything else.
Sirus was still struggling for each breath, but he seemed to revive enough to rekindle Akeel’s hopes. The dying man grabbed his hand with a surprisingly firm grip and said, “I think you’re going to actually miss me.”
Sirus reached inside his tunic and handed a book to Akeel. “Leave this graveyard or your fate will be the same as mine.”
Akeel squeezed Sirus’s hand and stared into his face, as though his will would keep him alive.