Page 101 of The Book That Held Her Heart

The point of view’s mad rush slowed and as it did so, drew closer to the ground. Livira saw that every stone bore a mark. A circle. A slash. A grid pattern. Two waving lines, one mimicking the other.

“It’s the birth of writing,” Yute whispered.

Without warning, the march of stones ended and where the next might be expected was a foot. The point of view’s advance stopped, lifted, and pulled back, revealing the ganar in a small, circular patch of ground, clear of stones. She stood, looking up at them, leaning on her driftwood staff, her once-golden fur grey with age.

“Celcha.” Yute spoke first.

“Yute.” The ganar nodded. “Livira.”

“We don’t have long,” Yute said.

“We never did,” Celcha replied.

“Is there anything we can do?” Livira asked.

“If there is, then it’s here at the end and at the centre that it must be done.” Celcha gestured with her staff at the lines of stones radiating in all directions from the centre.

Mayland loomed beside Livira, staring down into the portal. For a moment she remembered another doorway, one he had taken Evar through before locking her out. Part of her wanted to raise her book and drive him back, lest he jump through this portal too and close it behind him, still reaching for the power to make a unilateral choice.

“Jaspeth should be here,” Mayland rumbled. “This is too important to be in the hands of…us. We’re a random, ragtag rabble.” He sounded defeated, devoid of the arrogance that had seemed to define him.

“And Irad!” Yolanda joined them. She at least still had passion.

Celcha showed her square teeth in that ganar smile that always looked like pain. She shook her grey head. “There is no Irad, no Jaspeth. They’re just the extremes of the argument given form. This matter has always, and will always, be decided by collections of people washed up on this particular shore by chance.” She touched the heel of her staff to one of the flat stones around her, and the wavy lines across it lifted into the air, bringing with them the cries of gulls and the smell of the ocean.

Celcha had sought them, needing wisdom, or at least Yute’s wisdom. Despite her age and learning, even at the library’s heart she couldn’t cureits ills. Not alone. Livira she sought perhaps less for wisdom than because of the history between them. If at the end of times one didn’t revisit the choices made during a life, then when? And Livira had written the book that was unwriting them all.

In the end no great epiphany was visited upon them. The argument ranged back and forth as it ever did, even without Irad and Jaspeth present as avatars of its poles. Livira had suggested that if any answer existed, it might be more easily discovered if they all joined Celcha at the centre. With the portal at their feet it seemed only a step away. The ganar explained that sight and sound were all that could be shared through the doorway she’d opened. Reaching the centre was difficult—for her it had been a lifetime’s quest—and even under the current circumstances the door in front of them couldn’t take them to her.

All that resulted from Celcha’s great work of magic was that Yute and Kerrol got to return to the place they had been before they fell into Oanold’s trail. Yute had no ideas that seemed of use to Celcha, but he felt that in his time with Kerrol, apart from the others, he had missed something vital. The thought that he had unfinished business there possessed him. And Celcha agreed to send him. Kerrol also wanted to return, though he said it was to see a girl. Mayland’s asking to go with them had been a surprise, but Yute had agreed without protest.

A vast acreage of parchment has vanished beneath the ink expended upon the subject of growing old. Many cite the benefits of slowing down, gaining perspective, and the like. Others speak of the value added by life’s use-by date. But don’t believe for a moment that any of them would not wipe away the years if that were an option.

Time to Die, by Roy Battery

Chapter 46

Kerrol

“This place has changed!” Kerrol couldn’t help staring as they emerged from the shop.

“Places do that.” Yute followed him into the street. The bookshop door closed behind him, jangling a bell that had the same voice as the one that had hung there when Madame Orlova ran the place. Mayland followed silently, eyes flitting from one thing to the next.

Kerrol let Yute take the lead and followed him along the crowded pavement. None of the humans bustling past, bound within their own business and thoughts, gave even a first glance to the aliens among them, the rear two both head and shoulders above even the tallest of their number. Kerrol mused on their differences, the humans with their delicate teeth unsuited to rending and tearing, with their weak limbs and clever hands. The canith with jaws that remembered the hunt and the kill, and a proclivity for warfare that might even exceed mankind’s. And yet these differences had done nothing to stop his brother and his sister finding a match among the human’s numbers.

“It’s up this way.” Yute took a right turn, leaving behind the bulk of the noisy vehicles with their bright colours and fuming engines. He glanced briefly at Mayland, mistrustful. Mayland ignored him. “Not far now.”

“Good.” Kerrol wrinkled his nose. The town had smelled better when he had left it. Not good, but better.

Yute might be wondering about Mayland’s presence, but Kerrol knewwhy his brother had insisted on accompanying them. Mayland needed control. Despite Evar’s obsession with escape, it had been Mayland who first found an exit from their chamber of the library. And he hadn’t shared that knowledge. Mayland was here because Yute had wanted to be here. Mayland wanted to see the levers of power that he assumed Yute must be reaching for. That had always been Mayland’s failing. He didn’t understand the secret hearts of other people. For all the million histories he had studied, Mayland didn’t fathom the breadth of motivations that set a person to act. History offered alternatives, an array of possible reasons for any decision. But there was only one reason Yute had come to this place again, despite the danger. And Kerrol supposed that the same must be true of him.

A hundred yards further on, Yute came to a halt before a short wall topped by tall iron railings and split by a double gate that stood open. “Here.” He went on through into the tree-lined drive beyond.

Kerrol followed, frowning. “We can just walk in on their young?”

“Apparently.”

They emerged into a wide yard paved with some dark, unyielding surface. The uninspiring grounds surrounded what looked rather like a grand house that had been extended several times, each time employing a less ambitious architect and a more limited budget.

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