All Consuming Fire (12,044 words)
Author: Plilt
Articles you may enjoy:
How Tetesh Won a Silver Pelt: The yaka didn't always have silver fur.
SCP-9663 -- The Wood of Worlds: The wood's roots stretch deep and far. Few but the ants have ever traveled them.
Hixat-lik could practically feel the flames lick their haunches as they raced through the grassland. Six legs couldn't take them over what had once been their home fast enough to avoid the awful smoke, yet they had to hope the fires themselves wouldn't catch up and burn them alive for the heat and ashes on the wind made all four eyes run with tears and every breath was coming harder; yet Hixat-lik knew they didn't have to run forever.
The ruins were down the valley, and they were stone upon stone upon stone.
There was a tremendous sound then another one as a tree crashed barely a tail-length away from Hixat-lik, and for a brief, impossible moment they wondered how they could have missed it, then the blast of heat washed over them followed by a thousand embers; quickly they jerked away before too many could land on their fur but now the grass just to their left was starting to catch and fire which had been many body-lengths away was now so close they could reach out and touch it.
With the smoke obscuring the stars and the moons, they could hardly see and for a single precious moment they looked around frantically for they were not sure where to run any longer, yet through the tears and the smoke they just barely managed to make out gleaming rock down below.
Hixat-lik raced down the slopes and the flames raced after them just as fast like a swarm of a thousand hungry featherflies biting and stinging and feasting on everything that lived on all the dead and they scorched the soil and Hixat-lik knew that if they paused they were dead and if they slowed they were dead and if they weren't fast enough they were dead. Their blood thundered in their ears and their spiracles heaved and their lung was raw and every time a foot hit the ground it felt like it jarred their whole body yet they ran on for they had no choice and they could see nothing but smoke and embers and fire and stone, blessed stone that could not burn.
And they ran on and the smoke choked the sky and the flames ate at the night yet little could be seen. They ran on and the world was ash and fire and embers whirling on the winds and pillars of fire spiraling into the sky and trees crashing around them. They ran on and suddenly Hixat-lik felt cool stone beneath their feet and they were on stone, blessed stone that would not burn.
Yet the winds swept the smoke into the ruins and it still choked Hixat-lik's lung, and their eyes still watered and they staggered deeper into the ruins, blinded and wheezing and the world spun around them, and Hixat-lik was not sure if they were dying or losing consciousness or if the world had gone mad; and even in safety the world was fire and they were not sure if dying to flame would have been worse than dying to smoke, and the world spun around them, but it was Hixat-lik falling and as the ground rushed to meet them blackness closed in around them.
When Hixat-lik awoke, they were covered in ash. Their breathing was strained and even lying down, they felt unsteady. The sound of fire was gone, though, and sunlight filtered through a crude window, reflecting off the cinders that were still drifting in the air. The world was still. Hixat-lik could not even hear a breeze. For a few moments, they lay there, not quite able to believe they still lived.
A dark pit started to form in their stomach as the events of last night started to sink in. They lived. They didn't think anyone else did. They'd seen the drones' rays roam over their clan's camp, vaporizing grand tents as old as they were like dried leaves in a fire and searing through newer ones of enchanted silk and silver. The sirens had provided no warning and their own rays no protection; they'd been lucky to have been returning from the hunt when the attack came. Hixat-lik's mind ran through a thousand if-onlys—if only the tents had held, if only the sirens had warned them, if only the wars had never begun, if only such awful weapons had never been built.
But if-onlys would not help them nor would they bring back the dead. They had to focus on the immediate. Food. Water. Better shelter than this. Hixat-lik pushed themselves up onto all sixes, and while their legs trembled and their corona was limp the world did not spin. Though they dreaded the sight, they moved to the window.
Outside, the steppes were now nothing but a blasted waste. As far as Hixat-lik's eyes could see, there was nothing but black and gray ashes. They had seen wildfire before, but nothing like this. No destruction had ever been so utter as what the -prex had wrought on their territory. The herds were gone and they would find no prey but the tiniest burrowers in this landscape. And there would be no water, either. Many streams had washed through their territory, but all were surely now choked with soot.
In the distance, they saw drones darting through the air, moving in precise geometrical patterns. Dart. Pause. Dart. Pause. It was strange to Hixat-lik that the -prex were looking for survivors, but perhaps the clan thought some of the -lik might've avoided the massacre by burrowing. They backed away from the window, suddenly wary again.
Hixat-lik turned towards the interior of the ruins. Any food and any water would be within. Perhaps a spring. Perhaps grassrats. They'd have to leave this place before long, but they could at least recover before they had to travel across the scorched plains. And by the time they did, perhaps the drones would have moved on.
They started down the hallway. It was cloaked in shadows as thick as the cobwebs, but Hixat-lik's eyes could pick up what little light the moons cast this deep. The stone blocks that made up the walls were tightly fitted together, not like any other stone buildings they'd ever seen. It was older than any of their kind could remember, but scarcely weathered. Something prickled at the back of Hixat-lik's mind. For a few moments they stood, wary, and then it came to them: The stone of the rock this place was built on hadn't been cut into at all, except to join these buildings to it.
Something was very wrong here.
But outside, the world had gone mad.
Hixat-lik traveled deeper into the shadows, pushing down their unease. There were no windows and the walls closed in around them. The vaulted ceiling started to rise, until it vanished into the gloom. Their heartbeat quickened as the ruins became as dark as the netherworld. Soon all light from the moons were gone. With one last look towards the entrance to make sure they were out of sight, they used one of their corona's tendrils to snap one of the many strips of fabric sewn onto their harness. A moment later, they started to flash with gathered sunlight—a signal, repurposed as a lantern they never would have thought they'd have a use for. It wouldn't last forever, but it would last long enough for them search this place.
The light danced over the walls. They could see patches of the ceiling, though darkness clung to much of it. Hixat-lik had scented no reek of a featherfly colony and they saw not a single one above. There was no danger to them here—but no food, either. Farther down the hallway they were walking along, there were strangely narrow doorways. Perhaps they had once been blocked by cloth hangings, but if so they'd rotted away long ago. As they passed each doorway, they peeked inside.
Each room was small. Bedrooms, perhaps for children. But there was nothing within. Before the days of cloth and metal, people had used wood and wicker, furs and leather. What they had was not built lightly for travel nor made to last. Even if it had rotted there should have been piles of debris where furniture once was. It must have been removed when people abandoned this place. But why take everything? The larger furniture would have taken extensive disassembly just to fit out the doors.
Finally the complex ended in a large open chamber, and here low-lying stone platforms were in a circle around a central, higher platform. Where Hixat-lik could see the ceiling, flat pieces of rock had been set into it in complex geometric patterns. They shimmered in what little light came from the strip. It seemed a temple. But there were no figures painted on the walls or carved into stone, no emblems or any place where they could have hung. Dark passageways led deeper into the complex—and sloped downwards.
Two days later, Hixat-lik lay in what they'd begun to think of the atrium and crunched the bones of a grassrat between their teeth. Rain pounded the roof and thunder cracked overhead. Food had proved to be scarce and far between, but they'd found some prey closer to the exits. They suspected they'd sought safety from the flames in the ruins. They'd even found it, for a while. No longer. Golden blood wet their parched throat; the only water they'd been able to find in this place had been dew. The fall brought rain and winter froze it, yet not a single seeping crack could be found below.
Despite rationing the jerky they'd carried with them, despite being careful to only use them when they absolutely had to, they'd run out at last dusk. No one took enough supplies to be out for days on end when hunting. They'd put their waterskin out to catch the rain, since there was no danger of getting spotted in this weather. At least they'd have enough to drink, but with so little food they thought they'd have to leave at next dusk and hope the -prex's drones were gone. Where they'd go, they weren't sure. -trix territory was friendly, but far. They were less certain about their reception in the territory of the -ev, but that at least would only take a few nights of travel.
The pattering of the rain began to quiet. Hixat-lik stood up and headed for the entrance. By now they didn't need to use the lightstrips to navigate, which was a good thing given that they'd been running low. When they reached outside, the rain had almost stopped falling and the sun was peeking through the clouds. Their waterskin was full from where it'd been prompted up against the wall, and a quick taste showed that no ash had run into the water. With several of their corona's tendrils, they clipped it to their harness, headed back through the hallway, and stopped in their tracks once they entered the atrium.
All the atrium was lit up. Every flat stone panel set into the ceiling was aglow with light and the light from them filtered down to the floor, making circular landscapes. Here, a sun beating down on dry plains. Here, a moon—and only one—over a forest of trees. There, a great lake with golden shore. The closest landscape to Hixat-lik showed a mountain.
Previously, in the dark, the area hadn't stood out. But now not only was it lit up, Hixat-lik could see that the stone there looked uneven.
Hixat-lik walked over, cocking their head. Closer, they could see that what had seemed like solid stone was slightly lower where the light of the circle fell. The stone there was of a different color. With a few tendrils they poked at the seam and recoiled when the block shifted ever so slightly. The sound of something breaking came from below. They scrambled backwards, but kept their eyes locked on that spot on the floor. The circle kept falling with a foul scraping sound, but jerkily. It fell, it stopped, there was the sound of something else breaking below, and it moved again. Despite all that, where Hixat-lik stood it was perfectly steady.
Finally there was a great deafening sound of stone colliding against stone, and then there was no more scraping. After several seconds, Hixat-lik approached the circle and looked within. There was a perfectly cylindrical opening in the floor, no more than a body length in depth and coated with polished metal, and then it opened up into a passageway. The light that had shone down onto the floor was now reflected into the passage, forming vibrant abstract patterns of gray and green and blue.
Curious, Hixat-lik leaned down into the hole. Despite their body taking up much of the cylinder, the patterns of light on the walls did not change. And when they looked down the passageway, it vanished into a diffuse light, like old legends of the starpaths that took you to the realms of the gods. Never had they believed in such things, and after a second's reflection Hixat-lik decided they still didn't. But the world outside was ash and cinder so any chance that what lay before them was better was worth pursuing.
Hixat-lik started pushing into the passageway. Though it was easily tall enough for them to move down, it was narrow, as if made for children. Hixat-lik could just barely fit and their corona was pressed uncomfortably close to their fur. But they kept moving towards the light. It scintillated in ways no natural light should have and no matter how close Hixat-lik drew, they could not see the walls, much less the other side. They cast no shadow. Yet some strange drive kept drawing them further and further.
The passageway was nothing but light. The air was nothing but light. They could not see beyond the passageway, and after a brief instant they decided that there only was the passageway.
They were nothing but light.
All was nothing but light.
For what seemed like hours they walked along the passage. They could not feel their own heartbeat or the rise and fall of their sides, but they were not sure if it was before their breath had stopped or because they had gone somewhere where time had little meaning.
Finally, Hixat-lik emerged. The light around them gradually dimmed as they exited the passage and they found themselves in another ruined structure. But this one was different. It was smaller, to begin with. But it was far more weathered, and the stone was of a different sort. Moss grew on it and ferns grew in between the floor cracks—and that was another difference, because this place was open to the outside. The wind whistled through open windows and strange reedlike sounds came from outside. Several seconds later, they could hear the sounds of something drumming on a tree.
They went over to a window and looked out, hooking their front feet on the windowsill. Outside, the trees were denser than they'd ever seen—and their leaves were green instead of orange. The bark was furrowed and textured instead of plate-like and smooth. Despite how dense the trees were, it was very bright; Hixat-lik had to squint to see properly. They were on a great hill, higher than any in their territory; they could see the valley they were above through the trees.
That was not what drew most of Hixat-lik's attention, though. Dozens of red and black feathered creatures flitted between branches. At first they reminded Hixat-lik of featherflies and they nearly went running for cover. But they took a moment to look closer before fleeing and realized that whatever these creatures were, they were not featherflies. They had thin rods on their faces, almost like a tooth. And rather than stridulating their feathers together, they were making the reedlike sounds they'd heard earlier. A similar creature, but black and white, hopped into view on a tree trunk and drummed their head against the bark.
Whatever they were, they weren't swarming Hixat-lik so they didn't seem to be dangerous. Idly, they considered trying to chase one, but such small flying prey was probably not worth it. Instead, they dropped back to the floor and headed for the exit. The feathered things scattered as they left, but Hixat-lik paid them little mind. They needed larger prey. Around all these trees, hunting wasn't an option, but they thought they'd seen plains through the trees. Those would be better to hunt in. If nothing else flatter terrain would be easier to run through and everyone knew valleys were more fertile so had better game.
The path down was rough and uneven. Hixat-lik's paws scrabbled over smooth stone covered with dew. Several times they slipped and fell. Though it seemed there had once been a trail here, it was long overgrown. This was more a blessing than a curse, since their tendrils could hook onto the sturdier plants. Only that kept them from arriving at the bottom with nothing but bruises.
After reaching the treeline, they could more easily see their surroundings. Gentle rolling hills. Short grass and shrubs. A river in the distance, and past that, strange not-tents rose towards the sky. Even the smaller ones had to be many times the size of a grand tent, given how large they were. And they numbered beyond counting, stretching into the distance. They were clearly made by people, but Hixat-lik could not imagine what kind of people would live so densely. Perhaps these people were like the tunnelers back at home, with their great towers of soil, but much larger and smarter.
Hixat-lik swept their corona towards their spiracles, tasting the air. They could faintly smell something burning and their fur bristled at the memories that brought back. But they were fainter than they had been, back home. The smell was faint. Their world was not ash and cinder. They'd slaked their thirst on the way down and there was surely prey on the plains. Despite the strangeness of this place, despite the scent of smoke, Hixat-lik felt safer than they had since the fire.
They started for the encampment at a fast lope, sides heaving. While they had to keep their eyes half-shut to keep out the light, they were facing away from the sun and the smooth terrain kept them from losing their footing and falling. Still, only a narrow slit ahead of them was visible and the wind was whistling over their ears.
So they only noticed that they were close to the herd when they heard the pounding of feet to their side and saw one confused animal bolt in front of them. Instinct took over. Hixat-lik's eyes snapped open, uncaring of the sunlight, and they darted for the creature. It was four legged, unlike the animals of their homeland, and had what seemed like fangs jutting from their head. If they hadn't been starving they'd never have hunted it, but they were, so the deformities were irrelevant.
The animal broke left to try and make its way back to the herd, but Hixat-lik was faster and with one last lope they were on the creature, tearing with needle-point teeth. The rest of the herd ran away, but they were content to ignore them. As the fog cleared from their mind, though, they realized with disgust that the blood of the creature they were ripping into was red, not gold. They tasted right, but they looked wrong. Worse, these creatures had to be someone else's herds. But Hixat-lik had eaten hardly anything from days and was past caring. Later they could try to make restitution. For now, they continued to feed, even if a pit of dread grew in their belly.
After they were sated and had licked themselves clean, the shadows were long. Carefully, Hixat-lik opened their eyes all the way. Not squinting felt very strange at this point, but even when they peered upwards the light was no longer blinding. Quickly, they started towards the encampment again. It wouldn't do to be found crouched over a dead herd animal rather than approach the owner themselves.
By the time they were reaching the outlying not-tents, dusk was falling. While it was dark where they were, they could see many bright lights ahead, so bright they suspected they would have to squint again once they reached safety. And there were honking sounds coming from the encampment. They were not too loud to start with, but as Hixat-lik got closer to the stone paths strange drones traveled over, the sounds became such a din to give them pause. They stopped a few hundred sili away, in the shadow of a building, unsure of how to proceed.
And then the wind shifted, and it brought a terrible bitter scent. Hixat-lik's spiracles seized up. Their lung felt tight. It was like a vice was squeezing shut around them. They coughed, and coughed again, but it didn't help. Hixat-lik turned tail and walked away, as quickly as they could. They didn't feel like they could run like this.
They didn't stop until the encampment was far behind them and their only companion was the whistling wind.
Hixat-lik lost track of how much time passed. They were active during the nights and at dusk and dawn—as cold as it was, during the day it was too bright. When it was night, they hunted, and while they tried to avoid the herds and chase down strange solitary beasts with branching head-teeth instead, sometimes they were too hungry and had to go for more naive prey. They didn't like the theft, but they had no choice.
They'd tried to find the owners of the animals. But mostly they seemed to ride around in those loud drones and on the one time they'd tried to approach one outside a drone, they'd yelled something in a language Hixat-lik didn't know and shot at them with some kind of strange ray that didn't produce a visible beam. After that, they'd stopped trying. They weren't sure if they were being shot at as a thief or if the people here were just like that, but either way begging forgiveness wasn't an option.
The meat didn't quite taste right, either. They couldn't place it, but something felt lacking. They'd been feeling more tired lately, too. It was probably a result of their sleep schedule getting disrupted and not having proper shelter, but given how uncanny the food was they worried their diet was making things worse.
Given how hostile this land was, they'd seriously considered going back and trying to find the starpath they came along. Then they'd actually decided to do it, which was why they were trekking upslope through the forest, trying desperately to find the trail they'd taken down the mountain. But they were starting to think they were just lost. They knew where they were relative to the plains and the forest edge, and it was impossible to miss the brightly glowing encampment far away. But there were many mountains and they couldn't tell if this trail was the one they'd come down on or if it was just another trail.
A twig snapped in the forest behind Hixat-lik. At first they gave it no thought, but then another snapped. Hixat-lik stopped in their tracks and listened, tendrils stretching to pick up sound. Several creatures which had been moving abruptly stopped. For several seconds, there was silence. Then Hixat-lik heard fabric brush against wood. Some instinct made them throw themselves sideways and that was all that saved Hixat-lik. One of the people behind them fired their ray; they could hear the cracking sound even if they couldn't see it; and then they heard something whizz past them. It sounded almost like a featherfly, but whatever it was moved far too quickly and was far too small.
For the brief instant, there was total silence. No creature made a sound, not Hixat-lik, not the people who'd been stalking them, not the wildlife. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. But then, the silence was shattered by the sounds of rays firing—many of them this time, not just one. Again there was the sound of featherflies all around them. Branches shattered overhead and streaks were gouged into tree trunks, but through sheer luck the rays didn't hit Hixat-lik.
They ran further into the forest, crashing through the underbrush. Rays came closer and several times Hixat-lik swore they were grazed. But never were they solidly hit. Lights flickered through the forest but Hixat-lik darted and wove and they could not remain on them. Yet thick underbrush and densely packed trees slowed their flight. They could hear their pursuers, who seemed to have little difficulty gaining on them.
A cluster of boulders was up ahead. They darted to the left, and then when the beams slipped off them, darted behind the rocks. A closer look at the rocks showed no nooks or crannies they could possibly hope to wriggle into. They would have to hope their pursuers wouldn't look very hard and that pressing themselves closer to the stone would be good enough—but then they saw a flash of motion out of the corner of their eyes. A branching head-toothed creature had been bedded down just slightly upslope, and they were starting to get to all fours.
Thinking quickly, Hixat-lik ripped off one of their lightstrips and stuck it to the creature's head-fangs. The creature tried to stab them with the head-fangs, but they missed, and besides, at this point getting impaled seemed like a lesser injury. Before the creature could finish getting up, Hixat-lik darted behind them and chattered at them.
They did exactly what Hixat-lik needed them to. When they got to their feet they bolted away, right into the path of the people who'd been shooting at them. Invisible rayfire peppered the forest, but as before, they missed. As the creature went charging away, Hixat-lik flattened themselves against the rock formation and held their breath.
Five people ran past their hiding place several seconds later. All had rays. They were dressed in all black and bore insignia. Hixat-lik's quick eyes could make them out: Three stripes of color, the top one light and the bottom two darker. Some reddish patch with a winged design, with two crossed spears above it.
In moments, they were gone, chasing after the head-fanged creature. Hixat-lik could only hope they would remain distracted for a while, but either way they weren't going to wait around to find out. After giving them a few more seconds to get out of earshot, Hixat-lik started deeper into the mountains.
Over the next days, there were more near misses. There was an ambush in the forest that only failed because the wind shifted at the right moment. Someone traveling in a massive drone fired a ray at them from farther than Hixat-lik thought a ray could possibly hit; the bolt went right through the first two layers of their silversilk vest. A carcass was left out for them, which they only figured out was poisoned after seeing the corpses of a dozen four-legged creatures scattered around it a day later, teeth bared in frozen rictuses of pain. And there were far more times Hixat-lik heard or scented their pursuers hunting for them but, as far as they could tell, remained undetected.
One time, a biped wearing white fabrics shot a net at them from a very loud flying drone of a sort Hixat-lik had never seen before. It probably would have worked, too, had they not used the last of their bolos-twine to tangle it. As the silk caught the net in mid-air, following their chattered commands, they were able to escape under cover before they could reload. The drone didn't leave and kept hovering near the forest edge, tracking Hixat-lik as best it could. But before very long drones with the black-clad pursuers arrived, the flying drone went to meet them, and the two apparently had some sort of argument with each other.
For all that they managed to escape uninjured, they'd found it impossible to hunt. Even if something about the food wasn't strangely lacking, even if hunger hadn't made them weak, they constantly had to keep watch for their stalkers. Several times they'd been about to try and pursue food, only to break off, fearful that they'd expose themselves.
Finally, they'd given up on hunting. Their enemies had chased them all over the mountains and the plains. But they surely couldn't be everywhere, which was why rather than just waiting to die, they were trying to creep into a smaller encampment to scavenge from the middens under the cover of a cloudy night, after the fog had rolled in. The lights were glaring even through the mist, but there were enough structures around to cast long shadows. Many of them even seemed as abandoned as the ruins they'd sought shelter in. No lights came from them, nor the towering lanterns near them. And the night was still. Hixat-lik moved from shadow to shadow, alert for any sound out of place. Periodically, they swept their corona through the air, trying to pick up any scent of food.
Most of what they scented was foul. They could breath the air here, unlike at the first encampment they'd traveled to, but that didn't mean it was pleasant. Still, other scents revealed themselves. The rats, skittering in the shadows, were edible but too small to bother with. Other food smelled rotting or worse. But the scent of offal reached their nose. It was weak, but it was enough to make their stomach growl.
Hixat-lik ducked into narrow path between two not-tents, moving quickly while trying not to make any sound. The scent came from a huge metal bin, large enough that they could have squeezed inside. They didn't, though. As good as the offal smelled, when they looked inside they could see that there was metal scrap as well.
Instead, they gripped the rim of the bin with their midlegs and used their corona to grab onto the innards. Many small furry things scurried away, but as hungry as Hixat-lik was they were only more food.
Hixat-lik saw a flash of movement out of the corner of their senses and heard a door slam. They froze, unsure if they were exposed. With how the fog muffled sound, it had to be close by. Several seconds passed. Nothing. If that had been one of their stalkers, they were being subtle, and that meant they had at least a few moments to eat. Not wasting any more time, they ripped a hunk of offal and gulped it down, then turned to leave.
Behind them was another one of the people around here. Old wounds flashed up in their mind and they scurried backwards, rattling in fear and baring their teeth. The figure held up their hands, and after a second they realized the person had no ray. Nor did they wear the all black or all white outfits of their hunters. Instead, they wore a vest with some text and a strange trunked figure on it. A metal pendant hung around their neck. They were slight of build, and from the look they were giving Hixat-lik and the way they were glancing over their shoulder, they seemed more nervous than aggressive. Objectively, they seemed harmless.
And yet despite that Hixat-lik couldn't stop the panic welling up in their heart or the pounding in their head. Their back pressed against the metal wall, for once there was nowhere to run. For a moment they teetered on the brink of lashing out or running blind.
"Woah. I'm not here to hurt you."
It wasn't the words that cut through the panic. It was the fact that there were any words at all. The shock of hearing someone say something comprehensible was like a splash of cold water. Hixat-lik didn't relax, but they stopped thinking about trying to attack.
"Who are you and what do you want? Why are you the only one around here I can understand?"
"I'm Genya. Genya Mikhaylov, one of the mages around here; I have a translation spell." They gestured to the pendant. "You can't be out here, it's not safe."
"I've noticed." They pressed themselves farther back against the fence.
"It's not safe here," Genya said again, stressing the last word. "You were seen. I live down the block, you can hide with me til next night. Get food that's not in in a dumpster." They glanced over their shoulder again, seeming increasingly nervous. After a second, they added, "Bathe." Hixat-lik became dimly aware that they must look terrible, and self-consciously gave themselves a half-hearted lick. Immediately, they regretted it.
They were sorely tempted by the offer. Their suspicions were still raised, though. "How do I know you're not one of them?" There was no doubt as to which 'them' they meant.
"Because they'd just shoot you?" It was very hard to argue with that. "If you're not coming, I'm bailing." In the distance, Hixat-lik could hear the faint sound of sirens.
They made a snap judgment. Going with Genya was risky, not going with Genya seemed suicidal. "I'm coming." After a second, they added, "I'm Hixat-lik."
"This way, then." Genya started moving swiftly away. Hixat-lik followed. As they did, they took the opportunity to look at Genya closer. They didn't look like much. They stood taller than Hixat-lik, but they were sure they were longer than Genya was tall and more muscular besides. They had little fur and what from a distance had seemed like it might be a corona proved to be just unmoving fur.
Their journey wasn't a long one, no more than a few minutes down the path to the left. Genya's not-tent proved to be small and ill-kept, made of stone and wood. The door stuck, and when Genya slammed it after them it sounded very familiar. A table strewn with bits of wood and metal was in the common room and Hixat-lik could smell food from a big white box in a corner. "The shower's that way," they said, and Hixat-lik felt a strange frission as they said the second word. It was not a concept they'd ever heard before, but somehow they knew it on an instinctive level.
After a second's thought, they decided they didn't really like it—but that they also couldn't deny how useful it was. Hixat-lik padded into the bathroom, trying to step lightly and avoid getting dirt on the floor, then crammed themselves into the shower stall and turned it on, careful to keep a set of spiracles out of the spray at all times. The water was pleasantly warm. As dirt, ash, and dried blood washed off them, they felt better than they had in weeks. Old aches practically melted away. Only when the water coming off their fur ran clear did they emerge from the shower and shake themselves dry.
When Hixat-lik returned to the common room, Genya was listening to a radio as they assembled bits of metal into something. The feed was full of static, but still comprehensible. Or rather, it would have been if it wasn't in a language they didn't understand. They drew back a step. "What are you listening to?" They were suddenly aware of how few windows there were in this not-tent, how it would be impossible to tear through the walls, and how Genya was between them and the only door.
"Police scanner. Doesn't let me listen to your pursuers talk amongst themselves, but when they're talking to the real police, then I can hear them." For a few seconds, they were quiet. The radio crackled with more incomprehensible gibberish. "And right now, they're asking the police to watch for a 'dangerous wolf.'"
"I'm not a wolf, though." Hixat-lik moved closer, earlier wariness fading.
"Yes, the government denies—well, they deny a lot of things. And kill them when they show themselves." The radio fell silent. Only static hissed on the line. Genya started painting a pungent black substance onto the metal. "So. You are not a… whatever you are, you are a wolf. My little good luck charms do not work, they are only for tourists. Those are not Bookburners, they are OMON. Your world does not exist, or if it does it is far away and none here will ever know of it. The same thing, really." They snorted. "If we are shot, it was a robbery gone wrong. Or animal control for you, I suppose."
"What kind of madness possesses them?" Their corona writhed with mingled shock and disgust. "I'd thought they'd just been after me for the herd-animal."
Genya snorted. "I doubt they know of it." Hixat-lik thought back to the poisoned carcass, and wasn't so sure. But it didn't really matter at this point. For a few moments, silence lingered as Genya finished their charm. Once it was done, they held it up. It was the same as the pendant hanging around their neck. "Copy of my translation spell. You wear it." They handed it over and Hixat-lik tied it around one leg. Immediately they felt a strange buzzing around their head, but it quickly faded. As they looked around, they found that the text which had formerly evaded their understanding now seemed clear. "Food is in the fridge. I'm going to get some sleep, I suggest you do too." And with that they clicked off the radio and shuffled off to the bedroom.
Hixat-lik watched them go, then turned to the fridge. Opening it revealed that while the outside had been typical metal, the inside was made of what seemed at first glance to be glass and ceramic rather than taut cloth—but on touch, neither conducted heat like they should have. Still, it looked far less lightweight than the ones back home. Turning from the material to the contents, they rooted around and found a bunch of roots, jars of fruit that smelled of brine, packages of various things they couldn't identify, and a drawer full of meat.
All they ignored except for the last, which Hixat-lik devoured in short order. By the time they were done, a pile of clear packaging lay on the floor next to them and no meat was left. Hixat-lik wasn't sure where to put them, so they washed them out and left them on the table to dry. A quick check in a bottom drawer revealed more frozen meat, but by then they were not feeling quite so hungry and it would have taken a long time to make edible besides.
So instead, they went over to the couch and sprawled out over it. Sleep came quickly.
When Hixat-lik stirred back to consciousness the next day, light was filtering in through the gaps in the blinds. There was the static sound of the radio, metal scraping against metal, and a strange hissing sound. And there was something else—but they didn't have long to ponder it before a spike of fear hammered into their subconscious. They scrambled off the couch, rattling in panic as they searched around for the smell of—it was the smell of fire! For a brief instant, Hixat-lik saw flames once more and felt them scald their hide.
And then the panic was dampened as their eyes locked onto the source. Genya was cooking meat, or rather they had. Now they were facing Hixat-lik, holding a metal paddle like they were going to have to use it to defend themselves.
"What the hell."
Shame washed over them. "Smelled something burning," they muttered, not wanting to speak in greater detail about it. Actually, they could still smell something burning. It was even worse, now. Genya seemed to smell it too, as with a muffled oath they went back to stirring the meat around the pan. Their actions were clearly not forgotten, though. Genya held themselves tightly and the metal scraping sound was louder than before. For several minutes, they sat on the floor, feeling very awkward. They tried to keep their mind off it by looking around, but the room was sparse and there wasn't very much to look at.
Eventually, Genya shoveled an array of sausages and sliced meats onto two plates. One they left on the counter, one they put on a table next to Hixat-lik. "Eat," they said curtly, and went back to the counter. Metal clicked on ceramic as they ate. "Where'd you come from?"
"The mountains."
"I meant before that."
"The Grasssea of Ehri. The -lik's territory. That's my clan." For a moment, they were quiet. "During the—the massacre, I sought safety in a stone building. And the stone building had a path to the mountains." Out of the corner of their eyes, they could see Genya watching them. Their gaze seemed slightly softer than before.
"If you get back, can you get to safety?"
Visions of trekking across ash filled Hixat-lik's mind. While some of the forage had to be resprouting by now, it wouldn't be enough to support any food. The water still had to be polluted. At least the -prex would likely be gone, but… doing the math, there was only one answer. Even if they got to -ev territory, at this time of year they were on the other end of their territory. And the -prex were most likely to be fighting the -ev, now. "I don't—" Then they remembered the other circles of light on the floor. "Maybe," they amended. "I think there were other starpaths in the building. One of them might be safe. But I don't know. And there's no safety where I'm from."
"There's none here, either." Genya picked at their plate. "Not anymore. So we're going to have to retrace your steps and find that building."
"I couldn't the last time I tried."
"You were searching on foot, yes? I have satellite imagery." They pushed their plate away and opened up metallic rectangle that proved to be an interface. "Any nearby landmarks?"
Hixat-lik wracked their memory. "It was very forested where I was. In all directions but one, the forests seem to go on forever. After I went downslope, I saw an encampment across a river. It was very big, bigger than this one. I used a trail to get down the mountain, but it was overgrown."
For some time, Genya poked at the interface, periodically asking Hixat-lik further questions. They tried to keep their voice level, but Hixat-lik was watching their movements become increasingly jerky.
"This is going to work, right?"
"Of course it will," Genya said swiftly. Fingers clacked on keys. "Just—can you stop staring at me? It's distracting." Dutifully, Hixat-lik stared at the ceiling. There were spots on the tiles. For lack of anything better to do, they started counting them. They had reached 129 by the time Genya pushed the interface away in disgust. Hixat-lik's heart immediately sank.
"Still nothing?"
"No," they growled. "If I'm zoomed in far enough to see anything it takes too long to check."
"But can't you just search for longer?"
For several long seconds, Genya was quiet. "I think at this point we are talking days or weeks, if that even works. And…" They let out a breath. "There is no delicate way to say this, but you are a stranger with teeth the size of my middle finger who nearly attacked me in a panic just this morning."
"You offered me sanctuary! Have I not been a proper guest?"
"Well, yes, but—"
"But where am I supposed to go?! I don't want to be shot!" Their corona writhed in agitation.
Genya raised their hands. "Alright, alright." For a moment, they were silent. "Fine. There are other Ways even if we can't find the one you came through. You can stay until we find one that works, but if you do that again, you're out."
"Understood," they said with no hesitation. Genya let out a breath like they regretted offering, but Hixat-lik didn't give them much time to think about it more. "Anything I can help with around here?"
"Just—don't make a mess and try to stay out of my way."
Three days later, Hixat-lik picked at some of the fabric patches they'd had on them when the drones attacked. None were really suitable for patching where the bolt had shot them, but scraps of flexweave were useless and more bolos-twine was not. It was slow going, but as bored as they were they needed something to occupy their mind. They'd tried reading some of Genya's books—the ones he'd left out in the living room, anyway—but they were finding themselves having trouble focusing as of late, and very tired. Disassembly, at least, didn't take much focus. All they had to do afterwards was spool it and do the right incantations.
The front door opened abruptly and Genya shuffled in. Hixat-lik looked over, taking in his displeased appearance. "No luck today?"
"No. Nothing. My usual buyers aren't interested."
"Why not? I've seen your work."
Genya flopped down on the couch. "The fucking mycop are still running around after you. So no one wants to draw attention." He started unlacing his boots. "The one bit of good news is that they definitely don't know you're with me, or they wouldn't be running around the city after stray dogs."
"Or we'd be dead, you mean."
"I was not going to put it like that, but yes." He looked over. "What are you doing?"
"Trying to turn this into something useful. The last of my bolos-twine was used up… I don't actually know how long ago." Using several of their tendrils, Hixat-lik carefully started spooling it. "It saved my life, though. The net they tried to catch me with was nearly on top of me."
"You didn't tell me you could do magic." Out of the corner of their eye, they saw him lean forwards.
"Oh, I can't. But everyone can work with fabric." After a moment, they added, "And at least a little bit of metal. "
"By the standards here, that's a lot of talent. I can only make four charms myself." Hixat-lik turned to look at him, corona lifting in surprise.
"I hadn't heard of anything so powerful as your translation charms back home, though."
"Eh. Power is situational." He got back up to put the boots away. "Useful as it is for you, it's a lot less important for me around here."
Hixat-lik finished winding the new spool of bolos-twine and placed it in a pocket on their harness. "It's not like what I'm making is that useful for me around here, either. I'm only doing it so I don't start gnawing my guts out." Out of the corner of their eye, they saw Genya recoil.
"I think the translation spell isn't working right. Did you—"
"It's a metaphor. My point is that I'm very bored, Genya. You're out of interesting books." And Genya'd told them under no circumstances to use their interface. Apparently it was likely being monitored, which had given them a day's worth of paranoia. "Heptbaxnar were not meant to live in such tight quarters."
After a few moments, Genya headed back into their bedroom. Hixat-lik's corona writhed, but after a moment they started to stretch out and tried to focus on sleeping. They weren't sure why, but they'd been feeling more tired than they should even after getting to a few good night's sleep. But their attempt at rest ended before it began as Genya reemerged. "Look at this," he said, and tossed something onto the table.
Hixat-lik got up to examine it. It was a charm of some sort. It was made of wood, or was mostly wood. There was something written on it. But Hixat-lik couldn't make out more details than that. Every time they tried, their eyes slid off. It was so impossibly boring that Hixat-lik just couldn't work up the will to look at it. "I can't. Genya, what is this thing?"
"A pretend-to-look. You can see it. But you don't care enough about it to notice any details."
"Why didn't you show me earlier? If I could wear this, I could go outside."
"Because it only works on objects, not on people. If you wanted to hide a gun, or something magic, it would work great. For you, not so much. But if we combine our approaches into something you wear… maybe that could work." Seeing Hixat-lik's look, Genya spread his hands. "It's a long shot. But sometimes magic is convenient in this way."
"Let's try, then. How do you make this work?"
Hixat-lik put the finishing touches on the tapestry and stretched it slightly until it snapped back, then sprayed a fine mist of colored water over the surface. It sunk down into the fabric, then turned clear and evaporated. Satisfied, Hixat-lik began rolling it up. They'd been breathing easier ever since figuring out how to create filter clothes for the air from their survival gear. Now others would benefit as well.
They'd slipped on their vest and uncovered the pretend-to-look patches, then headed for the door. But before they could reach it, they heard movement from the other side. A moment later, Genya opened it and stepped inside. After looking around several times, eyes sliding off Hixat-lik, his gaze finally locked on them. "I hate it when you do that," Hixat-lik muttered as they started covering up the patches. "Makes me wonder how well this thing really works."
"We're not dead yet, despite you going out some nights. I know who I'm looking at, they don't." He hung his coat up. "Lidochka invited us to the mage's council meeting tonight. Said she thought you should be introduced properly."
"There's a Mage's Council? Why didn't you say something earlier? Maybe they could have helped me."
"It's a self-important name. There are only five of us across all Dauriya." For a few moments, Genya paused, staring at the wall. "Before you asked, there used to be more." Hixat-lik said nothing. "Some still live, I think. But we haven't heard from any of them in a long time." He snorted. "So. There are five of us and we are a council of five. Very equal, eh? Everyone is on the council."
"I'm not sure I want to go. I was going to go out."
"You should, because it's going to be in a library for our kind of people, and if there's a way to get you someplace safe, it's there." Hixat-lik looked at him in renewed interest, and Genya grabbed a set of keys from a hook near the door. "And it's this or nothing. We're out of other Ways we can reach. Lidochka knows how to open a Way to the Wanderer's Library. So. We do not have to go too far." He gestured to the vest. "Unless you're not going, we should leave soon. Car's ready." Hixat-lik started uncovering the patches again. After they were done, Genya opened the door and looked around. "We're clear."
Hixat-lik darted out. It was getting dark, but even so they didn't want to trust the pretend-to-look more than they had to. The left back door of the drone was left open, and they jumped in. Afterwards they felt slightly dizzy—they'd been feeling that a lot lately, even with the filtercloth—but it soon passed. Lung damage, they suspected, but they couldn't see a medic. Genya slammed the car door after them, then went to the pilot seat.
"Still no news of the Bookburners?" As much as they'd rather look out the windows, Hixat-lik kept themselves pressed low to the floor, tendrils nervously twining around each other. This was more dangerous than going out at night. Genya had told them that if they were ever seen near the drone, their hunters would know right where to look.
"None. I think at this point they've mostly moved on. News broadcast said they killed the 'dangerous wolf' and hasn't mentioned the 'trainng exercises' for a while. They seem to want everyone to put it out of their mind." Genya took a left. "Still. Always be careful."
"I know this, Genya."
"I know you know."
For an hour, the trip passed in silence. The vibrations from the drone's wheels changed as the road changed from that strange black stone to gravel to soil. When they reached soil, Hixat-lik risked peeking through a window. The city was long gone. Now there were just scattered trees amidst a grassy plain. As the drone kept moving, a vast pit of sand and water came into view. It didn't seem natural; it seemed like someone had torn up the very earth itself with great claws. "What is that?" they asked, gesturing with their corona.
"No idea. Been here as long as I have. Some sort of mine, I suppose." Genya pulled over and stopped. "We get out here. Lidochka should be waiting for us." Hixat-lik slipped out of the car. "One more thing. Don't talk about where we live. Don't ask other people where they're from. You can talk about that kind of stuff, since you're from another world. But those of us living here have to keep our lives private. You can ask about what kind of magic they do, about their life below the Veil. But don't try to pry if they shut you down."
Genya started leading them down, through the trees and towards the scars on the earth. Hixat-lik followed, corona writhing. The trees had provided them with shelter, but they still didn't like not being able to see to the horizon. And when they reached the sand and water, there was no relief. It was quiet there, too quiet, and it smelled odd. Past that, though, the terrain was more open and the night was full of chirps and squeaks.
Finally, they came to a river. Hixat-lik could see a small boat resting on the bank, like a kayak but made entirely of metal. Quietly, they nudged Genya, then gestured to it with a tendril. "Lidochka's," he said by way of explanation, and Hixat-lik paid it no more mind. Then Genya continued to a small copse of trees.
In that copse was a door attached to no walls, and next to that doorway was another human. She was shorter than Genya and wore more vibrant cloths, but less metal. Nor did she have fur on her face, and her hair was longer. Other than that, Hixat-lik had to admit to themselves they might have a hard time telling her apart from Genya at first glance.
"Genya." Her eyes flicked to them, then slid off. Again, then a third time. "Who's the person I can't see right next to you?"
"That's me. Hixat-lik."
"Can you take off the pretend-to-look? If anyone is watching us right now we have bigger problems." Hixat-lik glanced around. The trees were thick enough they couldn't see outside the copse. For a brief moment their paranoia surged, giving them visions of their pursuers right outside. But they shoved it down and started covering up the patches again. Once they had, Lidochka looked them over. "Not what I'd expected," she admitted.
"Neither is your species."
"I suppose so." She turned back to the doorway and started painting symbols on the door in a red substance. Hixat-lik was quite sure that Genya didn't know what it was. But their corona tasted the air, and they could tell that it wasn't just goat's blood. Those strange spherical violet flowers had been crushed and mixed in.
"Someday you need to teach me what that's made of," Genya said.
"Maybe someday I'll be willing to teach you." Hixat-lik very carefully did not say anything. As Lidochka dabbed the last symbol into place, an eerie light started to come from behind the door. "There we go." She opened the door. Past the threshold was a very different place. There were shelves of books on either side, and those shelves stretched towards the horizon as far as they could see. More detail, Hixat-lik couldn't make out. The threshold shimmered and symbols—and not just the sort Lidochka had painted on—floated in the light. "Come."
She stepped through. Genya approached and stepped through as well. Hixat-lik followed. "Welcome to the Dauriyan Natural History Wing," Lidochka said, gesturing to their surroundings.
Back home, the -lik's library had been a simple tent with cloth scrolls. They hadn't been sure what to expect, but it definitely was not this. There were shelves, yes. But they were made of coarse-grained stone speckled with lichens and mosses. Strangely, none seemed to grow on the books. The ground was grass that felt pleasant under their feet, and the ceiling was speckled with constellations. A light wind swept through the wing. Glass boxes mounted to stone plinths were between the shelves, and the glass was spotless. Hixat-lik couldn't see what was in the further ones, but the nearest one held a large greenish crystal. 'Urulga River, Zabaykalsky Krai, Russia,' the label read. Far away, a strange spider-like creature crept over the shelves, carrying books in most of their arms. They handed one to a furry quadruped, which darted away with the book in their mouth.
"Don't attack anyone. Don't damage the books. If you get a Library card, don't let your books become overdue," Lidochka recited. "Remember that, and you'll be safe here." Genya headed towards the right, and she and Hixat-lik followed. The wing was quiet. They saw no patrons. There were other entryways that Hixat-lik thought might be Ways, but they didn't seem to be active.
Before long, they came to an open area with scattered tables. Three humans were already at one. Otherwise, no one was there. "Hixat-lik, meet Yura, Marina, and Volodya. Yura, Marina, Volodya, meet Hixat-lik." Genya moved a chair out for them, then sat down himself. Hixat-lik hopped up on a chair. "Plants, cat-o-mancy, dowsing." He pointed at each of them in turn, then pointed at Hixat-lik and said, "Cloth."
"It's ailuromancy, Genya," Marina said sourly.
"Which is?"
"I can predict approaching danger by watching my cat." For a split second they couldn't help but stare in bafflement. "Don't give me that look."
"Sorry." After a moment, they asked, "So what is this place, anyway?"
"A library that spans across the cosmos," Lidochka said. "I've never heard of a world the Library didn't have at least one wing for. Though I must admit, my time spent worldwalking was rather short." She sat down and sipped from a beverage. "So where are you from? Genya wouldn't tell us."
"Another world of grassy plains." There was a platter with some sliced sausage. Hixat-lik took a few pieces. "But one that's wartorn. I'd rather not talk about the details." They scrutinized Lidochka. "Are there other worlds we could reach from here?"
Lidochka shrugged. "If we traveled far enough, sure. But it would be at least a day's travel to reach another wing. Back home, most of the Ways are shut or ones I don't know how to open. If you're wanting help from me, that's something I can't give you."
"Hand probably could," said the short-haired human who hadn't spoken yet. Genya rolled his eyes. "Don't give me that. This is exactly the kind of thing they're best at."
"The Serpent's Hand hasn't been in Dauriya for years, Yura," Genya snapped. "The last time anyone heard from them was before the Bookburners swept through here. Maybe they're dead and maybe they're gone, but either way they're not helping us! Have you heard from them?" He looked around at the others. "Have any of you?" No one said yes. Everyone was silent. Genya said no more, apparently thinking that his point was made.
After that, the conversation was much more subdued, and it broke up before very long. Lidochka left them, though not before assuring them that the Way would take them back even without the ritual. Then Hixat-lik and Genya were alone, looking through books on the table.
"Have you ever met the Hand?"
"No. But I've heard things. That they freed an imprisoned god from a vault deep below Moscow. That they defeated a magic army on the plains of Mongolia. That their mages conjure fire and travel in dreams. That they know all the Ways of the world." Genya sighed. "Most is nonsense, I am sure. I think if there was a magic army we would have heard about it. But if they were here, they probably could help."
For a few moments, Hixat-lik was quiet. "Easier to believe in heroes if they're absent, I think." They flipped the last book shut. "Genya, we have been here for hours."
"I know."
"I know you know. And I know there are many shelves left to check. But we could search here for the rest of our lives and I don't think we'd find what we're looking for." They held up one book. "Centuries old." Another. "These all go to other parts of this world." A third. "And all the ones in here are to places I couldn't live anyway." A fourth. "Too vague. Have you had any more luck?"
"… No." He leaned back. Hixat-lik knew him well enough by now to tell he was frustrated and trying to hide it.
"You were hoping you could send me away without it being a death sentence, weren't you?"
Genya stared very deliberately at the ceiling. "Yes," he admitted after several seconds. "It'd be preferable." After a longer pause, he continued, "It is what it is. I'm not going to have your death on my conscience."
Hixat hopped down. "Then let's just get home. The less time the drone is out anywhere odd, the better, anyway."
A month later, Hixat stared over the crest of the hill, sides heaving. Their lung felt raw after their run, which they'd never felt before. Whatever sickness ailed them, they were worried it was getting worse. They'd talked to Genya, but he'd not been able to explain it either. When they'd eaten organ meats, something had always felt like it was missing. Back home they could see a doctor, but here they only really had Genya.
Whatever sickness they had, they were still acclimating to this world. The sun no longer bothered them like it once had, they could breathe easily once again—so long as they didn't exert themselves, anyway—and they were starting to appreciate the landscape. The scars on their soul would never go away, but perhaps this new existence wouldn't be so terrible.
Pushing themselves up, they started heading back for the house. Most of the trip passed uneventfully. But towards the end, as Hixat was approaching the door, they felt a sharp pain in their paw. They yelped and leaped away. Golden blood coated a piece of scrap metal that had somehow gotten knocked into their path. Cradling their paw closer to their body, they limped for the door and entered.
Genya was already inside, looking up from slicing vegetables. When they entered, Genya looked towards them—but while their gaze slid off Hixat, it locked onto the blood dripping from their paw. "Fucking hell, what happened?" They grabbed the first aid kit from a cupboard.
"Stepped on something." He kneeled as Hixat quickly slipped off their vest.
"You never told me your blood was golden," he said as he started to take out supplies.
"It didn't seem important." Their corona flattened. "Red blood was gross at first, but I got over it pretty fast."
"No, it was. You're like—like Spock. Hixat, what's the most common metal in the Grasssea? Give me your paw."
"Iridium, of course. We use it in everything. What, is it something different here?"
"It's iron!" Despite his tone, his hands were steady as he started washing the sound. "Fucking hell, you have anemia!"
Their corona writhed. "But we can get iridium, right?"
"Probably. I'll check tonight." Genya finished his work and stood, then ran his hands through his hair. "We need to have Yura take a look at you too. Make sure you won't get tetnus.
Hixat carefully shaved flakes of iridium off the cube they'd managed to get and sprinkled them onto a steak. Genya looked on, having finished his food some time ago. "Still improving?" he asked.
"Yes. When I ran back here it didn't feel like my lung was about to burst." They finished their work and started gulping down the meat. When they'd finished, they continued, "How are we on money?"
Genya grimaced. "It's tight. So long as we can keep making the money we have been, we can keep affording that, but if business gets bad…" He trailed off. But he didn't have to say anything more for Hixat to know what he meant.
"Can we serve as middle dealers for the rest of the council?" Distantly, Hixat heard several approaching drones. Larger ones.
"No. We're already risking exposing ourselves. That would make it too easy for—"
"Quiet!" Hixat hissed. When Genya fell silent, Hixat listened closely. The drones pulled up outside. Three of them. And people were getting out, a lot of them. "Bookburners, front door!"
Neither wasted a moment. Genya grabbed his go-bag. Hixat grabbed their harness and slipped it on. As the first canister of teargas was bouncing off the curtains, Hixat had already bashed out the back window, grabbed Genya, and started running for it. Naturally, in the alley behind their house there was another drone, a large black one, blocking their only escape route. Several humans with guns stood next to it, and as soon as they saw Hixat and Genya they took aim.
Right before they pulled the trigger, an air conditioner unit fell off the neighboring apartment building, smashed the back window of the drone, and spun off to clip one of the humans on the hip. The rest of the humans recoiled. In the brief instant their aim was ruined for, Hixat bolted down the alley and jumped over the front of the drone. Their blood pounding in their ears, they ran towards the plains.
"The trees!" they dimly became aware of Genya yelling in their ear. "Get us to cover!" And every instinct in Hixat's body screamed in protest, but they changed their course. They heard more rays firing at them, but felt no pain from them hitting. They ran, and ran, until Duldurga was long behind them. Finally, they stopped, panting. Genya finally let go of their corona and slipped off their back.
"How'd they find us?"
Genya gave them a tired look, then leaned back against a tree. "It was probably buying the iridium. Fucking hell, Hixat." Hixat recoiled at the thought. "I'd had plans for what to do if I was ever found, once. But I never had a plan that would work with you."
"… I brought this on us. You should go. At least one of us can live."
"The plan's also out of date. The friend I was going to stay with moved cross-country last month. I didn't bother to update it," Genya finally admitted. "So we die together."
"Back when we were in the Library," Hixat said slowly, "there was a book of Ways I dismissed as too vague. But the places they went sounded a lot better than here, especially now. If we can get to there, maybe we can live."
"Problem with that. Lidochka still hasn't shown us the recipe she uses."
"I could smell it, Genya, even if you couldn't. It's goat blood with those spherical flowers. The last ones aren't quite gone yet."
"Globe-thistle… we still don't know any other steps she used. Or the ratios." He pushed himself up. "But this is the best we've got. How much endurance have you built back up?"
"I think I could jog there, if I didn't have to run." Genya slipped back on their back and Hixat turned towards the north.
The globe-thistles were easiest to get. North of the woods, Hixat was able to follow scent and find a patch of the flowers. The goat was harder. Hixat left Genya in a grove and crept towards a pen full of the animals. They were able to kill one quickly and make away with its body, but the rest of the herd made so much noise that it woke someone up within the farmhouse. Lights flicked on and a ray was fired. It hit Hixat squarely, but their silversilk deflected it.
Once the flowers had been crushed and the goat bled, the mixture went in a thermos. Then Genya hopped back on and Hixat continued onwards. For hours they loped across the landscape, until the sky was pink with dawn. But as they came to the scars upon the earth, Hixat saw a large black drone following them, gaining on them. "Genya. Drone, to the left of us and behind. Do you have a ray?"
"I have a gun," he said, and they felt him shift on their back as they turned around to try and use it and the sound was deafening, but still they ran on because death was behind them, death that could move faster than they could ever run, and the only refuge was through a doorway and into another world, and they ran over the scars even as ray fire speckled the sands.
And they ran towards the river and some part of them knew that they were putting Lidochka in danger, maybe putting the Library in danger, but they had no choice so they ran on, on towards the copse, and once within Genya dismounted and they practically shoved the thermos and a bit of moss into their hand and yelled at them to paint, then to paint faster.
Far away they heard the drone stop and a door slam and humans shout and humans run, and their corona writhed and they bared their teeth but they knew their only hope was Genya working faster than the Bookburners could get to them, and every moment felt like an eternity. But finally Genya was done, and the doorway was filled with light, and they were opening the door and not since the fire had Hixat seen a more beautiful sight.
Ray fire erupted behind them, but they were almost to the threshold and ahead of them, Genya slipped in and there was only a meter more, and they were going to make it, and they were going to live, and they were—
Genya stumbled over his feet and fell to the ground. Bullets peppered the air around him and out of the corner of his vision he saw them sparking off the stone. Quickly, he scrambled to his feet. His only thoughts were on running—but when he was getting to his feet he saw out the Way anyway.
Hixat was down. Dead or stunned, Genya couldn't tell, but they could see golden blood lit up by the light of the Way and the Bookburners were just a few meters away.
Time seemed to slow down. It didn't let Genya think clearly or take action, though. He was just frozen, torn between fleeing deeper into the Library or trying to help. One of the Bookburners leveled their weapon at him, and that turned him towards flight, but everything seemed painfully slow. He could see the man's finger squeeze the trigger; he knew he wouldn't be fast enough.
Genya heard the sound of gunfire. But in the same instant, the Way flickered out. And Genya was alone, on the Library floor.
He wasn't sure how long he stayed there. He was in a daze and the world seemed to spin. But when he came back to himself, a cloaked figure with a lantern and chain where a hand should be stood in front of him. He should have been afraid, but the figure just stood there, and something about them seemed almost sympathetic towards his plight, though Genya couldn't place it.
Finally, he stood. The figure beckoned and started walking silently through the shelves.
Genya followed with one last look towards the empty doorframe.
Wherever the Librarian was taking him, he had nowhere else to go.