Рахма Крамбо - Guardian Cats And The Lost Books Of Alexandria

The library, which had been a place of calm, was filled with chaos and confusion. Alexandria, where earth-shattering ideas were born out of the very atmosphere which people breathed, had been attacked. Even viewed through the filter of this cosmic display, Marco smelled panic and knew he was witnessing the birth of tragedy. Paradise had been invaded.

Akeel was there, in the middle, like a well-anchored tree in the midst of a storm. He urged them to take as many books as possible.

Marco flinched when the banging began, angry pounding from somewhere he couldn’t see. Akeel shouted, “The tunnel! Go! Now!” He was shepherding everyone towards the back. “Leave the rest!”

The men and women, toting leather bags heavy with books, stumbled over each other in the mad rush to escape the assault of invaders.

The main door, battered by brute force, splintered open. Shouts of the soldiers were harsh and quick, like knife jabs. There were perhaps a dozen of them, their faces hidden behind metal helmets with black holes in the headgear where their eyes should have been. Marco shivered at the sight of them.

Akeel, after ushering the last of the guardians out, grabbed his bag and Chuluum. But the helmeted men were at his back, and the foremost soldier drew his dagger. Akeel swung around, dropping the bag and cat in one smooth motion. He moved through the hooded men as though his body was his weapon, with fluid movements that resembled a dance more than a fight.

One after another his attackers fell. Metal clanged as soft-bodied men in their exoskeletons of armor collided with each other. Akeel had no armor that Marco could see, but his defense appeared effortless, as though he had some invisible shield around him.

When the turbulence died, Akeel opened the tunnel door to join the exodus of librarians. He did not see the lone black figure creep out from the shadows, dagger aimed at his back. Marco jumped up, certain that Akeel was about to be killed, and here he was, helpless to do anything. Again. He didn’t want to watch, but he couldn’t keep from it either. The man’s blade plunged. Marco cringed.

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.