Mikkel Birkegaard - The Library of Shadows

'Shit,' said Mehmet next to her. 'What the hell is going on?'

Before Katherina could reply, they heard a clattering sound behind them. Henning's body had straightened up and was arched like a bow over the chair he had been sitting on. Foam was seeping from the corners of his mouth and a horrible hissing sound had replaced his reading voice. Katherina ran over to him but didn't dare touch his body, which began to shake violently. His eyes were no longer staring at the book but were looking up at the ceiling with an empty, frozen expression. A drop of blood ran from his nose to his lips.

'Henning!' she yelled. 'Can you hear me?' There was no reaction on his face.

Katherina didn't know what to do. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold him tight, but didn't dare. Tears began to well up in her eyes. She took a step back, never taking her eyes off Henning's face.

Suddenly his body stopped shaking and his features once again looked human. Then he closed his eyes and collapsed back onto the chair.

Mehmet took a hesitant step towards the Lector and studied his face closely before he pressed two fingers to Henning's throat. After a couple of seconds he removed his hand and sighed.

'He's dead,' he said.

It was raining in the cemetery. After the darkness of the flashback scene, the rain was a much-needed breath of fresh air. The stench of petrol had been replaced by the smell of wet grass and flowers.

'Wow,' exclaimed Remer. 'Nice little intermezzo.'

Another grey cloud appeared and began taking shape.

Remer smiled. 'Give it up, Campelli. It's now eight against one.' Then his smile froze and he frowned.

The new arrival was Henning, who looked around in astonishment.

'Henning!' shouted Jon in relief.

Henning took a moment to get his bearings and then caught sight of Jon.

'Jon!' he cried. 'Is that you?'

Remer uttered an angry shout and held his hands out towards the spot where Henning was standing. A strong wind began blowing around them.

'Ignore it, Henning!' yelled Jon. 'It's not real. Focus.'

Henning stared in bewilderment at his feet. The wind picked up. A whirlwind rose up around him until he was surrounded. It had torn up earth and leaves as it emerged, encircled him at an ever-increasing tempo.

'Katherina,' Henning shouted. 'She's…' The wind stole his words. 'Lightning… have to go back… out…' A panicked expression spread across his face.

Jon tried to neutralize the tornado, but Remer's supporters made sure that it got even stronger, rotating faster and faster. Jon tried to change its path but it refused to budge. Henning's figure grew weaker. His shouts could no longer be distinguished from the roaring of the wind and his body grew fainter with every second. Finally his figure was no longer visible in the centre of the storm.

Suddenly the whirlwind vanished, and all the stones, leaves and earth it had contained came raining down. Henning was gone.

Remer seemed to be examining the pile of dirt that remained on the spot where Henning had stood. 'I think you're right, Campelli,' he said. 'It's a matter of faith.' He smiled. 'And I don't think we've seen the best yet.'

Around them the scene changed again. Lightning sliced across the sky and rain began to fall, at first in big, heavy drops, then in columns of water. The grass grew higher as Jon stood there looking at it, and the walls of the cemetery seemed to move further away to make room for new rows of headstones, white crosses beneath grey clouds.

Remer laughed. A maniacal tone had crept into his voice. 'Nothing can stop us now!'

The wealth of details seemed to explode. Jon could see the very structure of the bark on the trees, microscopic fungi on the surfaces of the gravestones, vermin underground, moisture that had collected in the carved surfaces of the headstones. It was almost too much for him to take in; so many impressions forced themselves on him, filling his head until he thought he would faint.

One of Remer's comrades in arms sank to his knees, holding his head. He started screaming, and the outline of his body slowly blurred. The sound of his shouts grew fainter as the Lector's molecules separated from one another, cloaking him in a cloud of particles that vanished in the wind.

'Remer,' said Poul Holt, sounding strained. 'You need to hold back a little.' His face was contorted with pain.

'Hold back?' Remer shouted. 'We haven't come this far to hold back.'

'He's right,' said Jon. 'You've gone too far.'

Angry, Remer turned to face him. 'Too far?' He smiled.

Jon sensed the wind growing stronger around him. Dirt and raindrops whirled past. He was bombarded by impressions of the shape, speed and path of every single drop, but he had no control over them. Remer was steering and shaping them, down to the individual molecules.

Instead of fighting back and trying to regain the upper hand, Jon tried to concentrate on one thing. One small step. Even though he couldn't feel his physical body, he tried with all his might to move his left foot backwards. He pictured it scraping along the floor of the dais, centimetre by centimetre, further and further back. It filled his thoughts. One small movement.

More and more loose objects were being swept along: leaves, stones, planks, branches and signs all rushed past him at an ever-increasing speed.

One step.

'Is this far enough, Campelli?' shouted Remer jubilantly. His voice was barely audible in the wind.

A pain at the back of his head sliced like a bolt of lightning through Jon's consciousness. He was lying on his back at the foot of the dais. His fall down the steps had made him drop the book that had been holding him captive. He couldn't see where it had landed.

Eight Lectors remained by the podium. Jon stared at them. He now understood why the other Lectors had been so terrified of his powers. The air felt electric; the smell reminded him of the metallic odour of leaky batteries.

Jon tried to stand up but a sharp stab in his left foot made him groan aloud with pain. He looked down. His foot was turned at a strange angle. Even thinking about moving his foot made it hurt.

'What's going on?' said a nervous voice behind him.

Jon turned and caught sight of Patrick Vedel, only two metres away.

'We have to get out of here,' said Mehmet.

Katherina nodded, but she couldn't take her eyes off Henning's lifeless body.

'Did you hear what I said?' Mehmet stepped in front of her so they made eye contact. His gaze was steady and insistent.

'Jon,' said Katherina. 'We have to take Jon with us.'

They went over to the railing and looked down at the floor below. The electrical activity seemed to have increased. They heard the constant, dry crackling of discharges and the sparks were lasting longer than before.

As they watched, yet another one of the Lectors fell away from the circle surrounding the podium. His white robe might just as well have been empty. He fell to the ground without a sound. A dark liquid spread across the floor from the body.

'We have to go down there,' said Katherina firmly.

'Wait.' Mehmet grabbed hold of her.

Beneath them Jon's body began swaying. Katherina gasped and put her hand to her mouth.

At that moment Jon fell backwards, toppled off the dais, and landed on his back with a horrible thud. The book he was holding disappeared into the shadows. He lay still for a moment – much too long, it seemed to Katherina – but then he started moving again. He lifted his head and managed to prop himself up on one elbow and look around.

Katherina sobbed with relief. Her emotions had been on a rollercoaster for the past couple of days, and she knew that soon she wouldn't be able to stand any more. Even though she wanted to run down to Jon at once, her body refused to obey her. She was shaking so hard she could hardly stay on her feet.