The Bookman - Lavie Tidhar [124]
The Bookman didn't move. His eyes seemed transfixed on the egg. Behind him, his automatons appeared, facing Orphan. At first two, then four, then eight; sixteen; a wave of them, blank-faced, a tide that grew and grew yet stopped, hovering on the edge of breaking, behind the Bookman.
"What did you do to…" He stared at his frozen self. "To him?"
"The Binder should have never given his gift to humanity," the Bookman said, ignoring him. "It belongs to me."
"Release him," Orphan said.
The Bookman's mouth smiled. His eyes were as cold as interstellar space. "A gesture of goodwill," he said.
Before him, the other Orphan started to life, the last vestiges of a scream emerging. He turned, saw Orphan.
A wave of panic and bewilderment hit Orphan's mind. Images of bugs, a threat, the black-clad men, the darkness of a coffin. Above all fear.
The egg, Orphan thought, fighting it. A hub, it was tuned to his other. His mind was coming through, directly into Orphan's brain.
"Lucy," he said. Nausea threatened to overwhelm him. His voice was feeble in the enormous cavern, absorbed by the multitude of silent books.
Give it to me. Whatever you do, give it to me!
Orphan stared at his own image. Crazed eyes stared back at him in silent command, or plea. The nausea made him gag.
"Lucy…" he said, and fell to his knees. He retched, tasting ashes.
"Give it to me!" the Bookman said.
Give it to me… the mind-voice of the other said.
And then, out of the darkness, the sound of light footsteps, and a voice, calling his name.
"Orphan!"
He raised his head. The automatons were advancing on him and he lifted the egg, threatening to smash it to the ground. They stopped. He turned his head. The other mimicked his gesture.
The shades were parting like a dark sea; and, coming towards him, walking amongst the dead, was Lucy.
She hesitated, seeing them both. Then she ran to them.
It all happened very fast.
The Bookman snaked forward, its mouth opening–
The automatons rushed at Orphan–
Lucy, running–
"Give it to me, boy!"
The ground shook. In the distance, books avalanched.
The other looked at Orphan. His voice in Orphan's head was deafening, overwhelming thought. Now! it said.
Orphan stood, raised his arm. And he threw the Translation.
It arced through the air. The other ran, dodged an automaton, jumped–
The Bookman roared, turned, swatting away both shades and automatons–
Lucy reached Orphan and held him. She was real! He hugged her, forgetting everything else, held her close to him, inhaled her smell, buried his head in the curve of her neck. For a moment, everything was forgotten.
Then he looked up.
The other Orphan had caught the Translation in mid-air… and as he did, the Bookman crashed into him, segmented body enfolding both human and egg in a bone-crushing hug.
There was a faint noise. It sounded a little like pop.
Orphan felt it in his mind.
He took Lucy's hand in his and said, "Run."
The explosion came as they were running; it slammed against their backs and threw them against one of the stacks, unbalancing it, and they fell winded to the ground.
For a long time afterwards the only sound was of books, falling like rain to the ground.
"What is it?" Lucy said in awe. Orphan peered over the edge of the small crater. "I don't know," he said.
It was some time later. They had crawled their way out of the mountain of books that had fallen on them. Lucy seemed unharmed. Orphan had a painful bump on his head where a thick volume of the Encyclopaedia Britannica had fallen on it. Otherwise he was fine.
They had made their way back to the source of the explosion. It was quiet in the cavern now. Orphan could no longer hear or see the shadows of the dead. He didn't think they had perished. Most likely they were hiding now, somewhere in this landscape of books.
The Bookman's army was still there. Their bodies were inert, frozen in the act of running, all of them facing