The Last Librarians
O.J van der Beek
Tom judged that there would only be a few hours left until night fell over the forest, when the darkness would swallow the rows of trees and take their company with it into the night. The thick scent of pine needles and overturned leaf litter hung around the troop as they moved through the trees and undergrowth on horseback, their mounts overturning the decomposing vegetation marking their trail. Remembering the trip that the ranging had made through the same area three days ago Tom recalled being told that the area had once been a plantation forest before the Reckoning of the Old World and the Rise of the Turned. But half a century later the pine trees still stood in orderly rows, trunks thick and gnarled, the forest spreading kilometers beyond it's original boundaries, younger trees growing right up to the side of the highway that ran through the forest, roots forcing cracks and anomalies in the ancient tar-seal. He turned in his saddle and looked back towards the road between the trees, where two large wains were drawn by two horses each, their load hidden beneath a canvas firmly tied down as they trundled down the road on his left. Before and behind the wagons rode two rows of five Librarian Rangers, peaked hoods of their grey tabards pulled up against the dipping sun, cudgels and crossbows hanging from their saddles. Tom glanced down at his own crossbow, dangling from his saddle next to a quiver full of iron-tipped quarrels, standard issue for the Rangers, an ugly yet practical device. In his training for the Librarian Rangers, Tom had shown himself very proficient with the crossbow, and in the year since his initiating he had trained himself so much that he was one of the best shots in the Library.
Rousing himself, Tom cast his green-eyed gaze about the trees as he crested a rise. All about him the fellow rangers of his troop rode in silence, watching the trees for any sign of a Turned that might attempt to rush the ranging. Through the trunks to the left Tom could faintly see a smaller group of two or three rangers moving between the trees, glimpsing their horses or the red of the insignias on their chests. Second Curator Diana Worth had ordered the troops to ride all about the wagons in the forest and watch for any threat, rather than risk the precious cargo carried beneath the canvases.
The ranging had set out nearly a week ago in the largest single mission since the formation of the Library, a journey to the township of Waiouru in the center of the North Island that had once been New Zealand. The destination was the location of the Old World's military base of operations at the beginning of the Reckoning. The Curators had concluded that information concerning the cause, and combatting of, the parasitic epidemic that brought about the Rise of Turned would be found at this location. The ranging had arrived at the base two days after setting out from the city of Risen and had begun to search the buildings for folders and documents. Some Rangers were hopeful that they might find ancient firearms of the Old World, but the area had long since been looted of any weapons. Second Curator Worth had ordered all found documents be brought to a marque set up where the wagons were being constructed. Here a small team of Keepers and Scribes brought from the Last Library spent the next day sorting through what was found in private with the ranging leaders, before dispensing all documents in several filing cabinets and loaded onto the wains. The ranging set off to return to Risen the next day with hardly a word from the Curators. As the ride continued, more slowly due to the wagons, rumors and speculation were abound regarding the contents of the information discovered.
Tom was jerked back to reality by a shallow whistle from ahead. He looked up sharply to see the rest of the troop was pulling away. The whistle had come from Brent Matai, a young, slight, maori that was the only person who Tom wound consider close to a friend on this ranging.
"Stop day-dreaming, eh Colson?" Brent smiled, pulling back his hood before expertly wheeling his horse about to catch up with the rest of the troop, who'd soon notice their absence.
Tom grunted and scratched his short beard before putting his grey stallion into a trot to catch up with Brent. He'd long decided that it did not matter what the wagons contained, they would be taken to the Last Library when they reached Risen, and catagorised within the halls. The Rangers would be paid handsomely for their part in their recovery. Yet he could not help but wonder.
The Last Library was founded a few years after the first survivors of the Reckoning established a community on Motiti Island off the coast of the Bay of Plenty to escape the hordes of zombie-like Turned that roamed the cities of the country. It's purpose was to gather as much literature and knowledge of the Old World as it could, while also creating new ones in the form of almanacs and encyclopedias. Decades passed and Risen grew, but the Last Library grew with it, until it's size was reminiscent of a cathedral and it's influence like a religion's, with people making pilgrimages from all over New Zealand's colonies to study there.
Spurring his horse further, Tom forced his way further ahead as the sound of galloping hooves against leaf litter came through the trees, followed by a rider coming into their midsts from the left.
"The brass says it's time to set up camp." the rider announced. Hardly anyone looked up as they wheeled their horses back towards the road and wagons while the rider set further into the trees to alert the other troops.
Evening fell quickly as the sun dropped below the crests of the tall pines, the last shafts of peach sunlight winking out as the fires were set and the troops of Rangers hobbled their horses before preparing their meals. The ranging camp was set in the dead center of the old highway. The large wains were in the center and guarded. Men and women also stood watch around the huge circle of fires, while others had been set to patrol the area about the camp on horseback, watching for the approach of any Turned. Tom's troop had their fire set at the fringe of the camp, off the roadside amongst the trees. He sat with his back against the stump of a hoary pine that had been felled for wood, bare feet crossed in front of the fire and chewing on a heel of damper bread with a blood sausage stuffed inside. He could hear dull conversation from all about the camps floating through the trees, that and the smell of smoke, food, people and horses would always attract any Turned in the area to them. It was not unusual for the guard to kill ten in a night on a ranging half the size of this one. Tom cast a wary eye behind him into the dark forest.
"Reckon there's any pigs out there?" Brent said from across the fire, pulling out his dirk. "My dad showed me how to hunt them without dogs, and my koro showed me how t' gut and prepare them for the fire too. I could get us a mean feed." Brent looked down at the pan he was holding with two blackening sausages in it with disapproval, giving them a poke with the point of his blade.
"That sounds like a fine way to get yourself killed." came the stony voice of Elijah Carter at Tom's left. "Even if there are any cookers out there, which with all the noise that's been made, there won't be. If you leave, you'll probably be coming back in a bloody sack after the Turned find you."
Some of the other Rangers about the fire gave sage nods of approval at Eli's words. The man was one of the oldest still in the Rangers and his years of experience brought him an authority that was only steeled by the coveted sabre at his side. He was a thick set man, in spite of his age, which added grey to his beard and lines around his hard brown eyes. Eli was one of the few still surviving people who'd lived before the Reckoning, let alone at an age where he was able to remember it. "The number of people that I've seen ripped apart by those things is probably higher than the amount of people you've met in your life." he finished. Brent bashfully kept his head down, suddenly fascinated with the sausages.
Tom silently reached around the side of the stump behind him and grabbed his crossbow. Unhooking the bow-string he began his maintenance of the weapon, ensuring it was fully functional. He went about his work silently, not drawing any attention to himself and never speaking, just quietly oiling the mechanism of his weapon as the night wore on. The stars were soon staring down on the camp as the Rangers began to settle themselves for the night, covering themselves in thick woolen blankets to ward off the autumn chill. Others were lighting pipes and blowing rancid smoke into the clear sky as they laid back in the cool air.
Tom looked up from his crossbow as a tall man walked through the trees to their fire. Collin Dent sat down next to Brent across the glowing embers from Tom, sweeping back his long red hair as he breathed in.
"Where've you been, eh Dent?" Brent asked, grinning.
"There were a couple of ladies in other troops that required my attention." Collin replied nonchalantly.
"Did you attend to all of these girls?" Brent chuckled.
"Now now, these are women, Mr. Matai, not mares in heat." Collin grinned slyly. "Although, they are rendered about as helpless when someone like me comes out to stud." he laughed at his joke while Brent smiled awkwardly as he went back to rolling a cigarette. Dent was tall and comely with bright blue eyes and hair like a sunset, but his prowess with women had rotted his character into a reckless womaniser, as full of himself as he was full of reckless bravado. Tom hated him.
"Does your girl in Risen feel the same, Dent?" Tom said cooly to the other Ranger. "Or was it more than one? I forget how many there are, seeing as you spread yourself like butter, only to melt away later."
The members of the troop that were still awake gave a start as Tom spoke, for he did so rarely. Under the weight of their eyes it took all of Tom's determination not to look away while Collin's brilliant azure eyes flashed briefly with anger, before he calmly replied.
"You seem tense, friend. You should go and find yourself a woman for the night to relax. I could help you with that."
"Quiet you lot." Eli growled around his pipe stem. Tom lowered his eyes to the forest floor. "I've seen your kind before, Dent," the ancient ranger stared at the tall man with fire in his eyes. "You're all talk and no action. You strut about like a rooster in a hen-house but when push comes to shove you loose your spine. You don't belong out in the field, you belong in a brothel." a silence fell around the fire, and no-one dared move.
"You think you know me, old man." Collin returned Eli's gaze evenly, voice dripping with contempt. "You think that you can judge me?" he glanced at Tom, who didn't return his stare. "I don't need you, I've got all the company I'll ever need." with that Collin Dent got to his feet and stalked off towards the wagons.
Tom woke with a start at the sound of a man shouting from the other side of the camp. Giving a start, he got to his feet as others awoke while the shouts continued. It was still night, and a low mist had moved into the forest, swirling around Tom's feet as he stared off through the trees and down the highway where the cries were coming from. By moonlight he saw a man in the grey tabard of the Librarians riding fast down the road towards the camp, hood thrown back and cudgel in hand, shouting: "To arms! The Turned are coming! The guard has fallen! To arms! To arms!"
"What's going on?" Brent said as he hurried to his feet looking worried, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"It's the Turned." Tom stated. Behind the rider from the trees there came several hoarse shrieks as from the forest ran the pale naked forms of the Turned. Rangers nearest the rider were already getting to their feet and loading crossbows or drawing cudgels and knives to fed of the horde.
"Don't stand about, idiots!" Eli suddenly was on his feet and running to the front line a hundred meters away, sword drawn as a tide of grey clothed rangers ran before him. "Prepare to fight!"
Tom ducked and picked up his crossbow and a quiver of quarrels which he hurriedly fastened to his belt before he and his troop ran out after Eli to the throng. All other troops were already at the fight, and their's was the furthest from the front line as ranks of men and women rushed to meet the horde of Turned. There came sounds of heavy cudgel heads colliding with the lipless, hollow eyed skulls of the Turned, and the screams of Rangers falling to be ripped apart by the hands and teeth of those who'd once been human. The troop reached the back of the wall of Rangers next to the two huge wagons, the people packed so thickly together that it was not possible to force their way forward.
"How many are there!?" Brent asked loudly over the screams and sounds of combat not twenty meters away. Tom looked to the wagon next to him as bolts were fired from crossbows all around him, and without a thought he took a step and hoisted himself onto the canvas covered cabinets on top. "How many!?" asked Brent again from below. Tom only stared forward over the heads of his fellows to the massive horde of Turned that was swarming onto the road. The entire highway as far as he could see was a seething mass of stick thin, pasty, bald creatures clawing forward to reach the ranging. At the front line men and women were knocking aside a Turned only for it's place to be filled by two more. The Rangers were dropping like flies and their bodies were being feasted upon by the Turned like spiders.
"Jesus Christ..." said a voice beside Tom. His heart skipped a beat when he turned to see that next to him stood Second Curator Diana Worth, sabre grasped in one lithe hand and crossbow in the other. "There hasn't been a horde this big since the Reckoning... This is more than we can repel." she breathed as she stared ahead at the horde.
More than we can repel... Tom thought and felt himself paling and his supper trying to force itself back out of his throat.
"Uh...Curator, what are we going to do?" Tom turned to his superior and asked over the sound of the battle below them. Worth looked at him with a level gaze, and despite that she was a short woman, it locked him in place. She turned her head back to the fight, dark braid flicking over her shoulder as the Second Curator grimaced. "What is your troop, Ranger?" she asked.
Tom straightened. "Troop 12, Curator. Uh, led by Eli -I mean, Elijah- Carter." he stammered.
"Is he here?" Worth asked, tone calm despite the circumstances and brooking no argument.
"Um..." Tom turned back to the crowd of clamoring rangers, which was growing smaller by the second. Eli was standing near the wain glaring ahead, no doubt assessing the situation. Tom pointed him out to the Second Curator of the Librarian Rangers, who called him over to the wain. Eli scaled the wagon as though commanded by the High Curator himself, and snatched a glimpse at the horde before standing at attention next to Tom staring down at the Second Curator, who only reached his chest.
"Elijah Carter of Troop 12?" she asked, and Eli nodded. "You are to mount your Troop at once and prepare to flee for Risen no second later. You will take with you a set of documents that I will give you, the most important from what was found at Waiouru. These documents are for the eyes of the High Curator only."
"Run away!?" Eli looked taken aback. "But what about the ranging..?"
"We will have to stay and draw the attention of the horde while you flee. You must ready yourselves now, there is no time! Do you understand!?" she suddenly shouted. Eli nodded feverishly. "Go now and gather your Rangers and horses, or we shall be surrounded!" Eli could have been aged twenty years less by the speed that he leapt from the wain and began shouting orders to his rangers before running back to the horse lines thirty meters off with the troop in tow. All, save Tom, who still stood on the wain.
"What about you, Curator?" he asked worth as she sliced open the canvas with her sabre and began reaching into the filing cabinets, withdrawing sheets of paper that she stuffed into a folder.
"Someone will have to lead the Rangers, even into death." she sighed as she stood, casting over the rangers, who were beginning to fall back. "Stand strong! Form up! Don't give them an inch!" she cried, brandishing her sabre. The Rangers responded by packing back together in a blood soaked wall, wave upon wave of enemies breaking upon them and waring them away slowly. "We will not last more than a few more minutes." Worth whispered over the cacophony of dying rangers and bloodthirsty Turned. She thrust the folder at Tom. "Take this to Elijah and run. Tell him to circle far around Rotorua and trek over the Kaimai Ranges. Don't stop for sleep." Tom took the folder in shaking hands. He looked at it then at the battle, and then Second Curator Worth. She was ten years older than him and hardened by battle, but there was a sadness in her face.
"Yes, Curator." Tom answered, barely audible.
"You are dismissed."
Tom leapt off the wain and ran to the horse lines where the troop was saddling up, the horses dancing nervously, eyes rolling at the smell of death. He ran to Eli, who was pulling himself onto a black charger, and pushed the folder at him. "Curator Worth told me to give you these," he said, hurrying over to a free horse, reiterating the rest of her message.
"Then we must ride out now." Eli said. "We cannot wait for anymore of the troop, come on!" At that the big man turned his horse away from the fight and spurred it, galloping down the road. The troop that had managed to mount up was close behind him, a group of around six, and Tom fell in beside Brent, riding on a red stallion.
"Colson, what's happening?" he asked, fear in his eyes. "Are we running away?"
"God damn..." breathed a voice next to Tom, and as he turned he saw that riding alongside him was the tall figure of Collin Dent, staring back at the massacre.
"Dent?" Brent hissed. "What are you doing here? You're not in our troop!" Collin, looking significantly paler pulled his hood over his head to hide his face. "You deserted!"
"We've got to look out for ourselves sometimes, Mr. Matai." Collin replied, spurring his horse ahead of them.
Tom could hear the cries of defeat as the horde broke through the Rangers far behind them, and knew that not one would escape. He felt then that it was him that was deserting, in spite of being ordered to flee, yet he could not bring it in himself to run while his comrades died.
"Stay on me!" came Eli's call as he led them into the forest to their right, not slowing.
But maybe I have no choice. Tom thought as he spurred his mount faster into the dark.
Three days later Tom and Collin stood alone in the office of the High Curator, ragged, tired and hungry, yet they stood wavering slightly and without complaint before a thin balding man seated behind a intricately carved desk, the golden chain about his neck bearing the insignia of The Last Library. The study was airy and majestic, with fanciful tiles and stained glass in the high windows.
"So this is all that remains of the ranging that was sent to Waiouru," the High Curator spoke silently and softly, as though it was of no surprise to him. "Three hundred men and women were sent on that ranging, and only two return. How is this so?"
"High Curator," Tom answered in a croak. "The ranging was attacked during the night as we camped between Taupo and Rotorua. The Turned that attacked us were in a horde larger than any I have ever seen, larger than any I think has been seen since the Reckoning."
"And just how large was this horde?"
"I judged that the numbers I saw could have been over three thousand easily. High Curator." Tom added hastily.
"And your Troop, umber 12 was ordered to flee with the most important documents that were found," the High Curator lifted a sheet of paper, squinting at it. "Yes...Troop 12, led by Elijah Carter. You were of ten Rangers?"
"We were six when we fled."
"Of course, and yet," he fixed Collin with a hard stare. "There is no Collin Dent on your rank list."
Collin did not meet his gaze, but continued to stare at the floor, hood still pulled over his head.
"High Curator, if I may." Tom spoke up, feeling himself freeze as the man's eyes set on him, trying to seek out any lie. "Second Curator Diana Worth, who was leading the ranging, ordered him to come with us, as our numbers were so low."
"I see..." The High Curator's brow furrowed. "How did the other's fall?"
"We lost three in the first night," Tom replied, looking at his feet. "We tired to circle around past the Horde, but we ran into a group of around twenty Turned, and they killed two of ours. I cannot recall their names. Elijah ordered us to ride on. The third was Brent Matai. He was the best rider and tracker amongst us, and he fell back to try and lead the Turned away. We never saw him again. We rode on for another day, but Elijah's horse tripped and broke it's leg. I offered him my horse, but he refused." Tom breathed in. "He said to continue riding. We knew the Turned were only a few minutes behind us, so he offered to stay behind and try take some of them out. We didn't seem any more Turned until we rode through the ruins of Tauranga, where we were chased until we reached the Wall at Sulphur Point."
"So Captain Elijah died with the documents?" The High Curator said, sounding resigned.
"...No, High Curator." reaching into his pocket, Tom pulled out the folder, which had been folded over twice. "He gave it to me to deliver. I have not looked inside." the High Curator waved him over and he placed the documents on the desk before stepping back to Collin's side. "High Curator?" he said as the old man reached for the folder. His hand stopped mid-air, and he stared at Tom. "What is in that folder had better be important, because hundreds died so it could get here." Tom forced himself to look at the High Curator. "And I would request that their wages from the ranging and any reward that would have been gained from the findings be sent to their families. It's the least that they deserve." The High Curator withdrew his hand away from the folder and continued to fix Tom in his gaze.
"But of course." he sighed. "But there remains the question, what will become of you?" the High Curator, dressed in his fine Old World silk, leaned back and steepled his fingers. Collin said nothing, so Tom spoke first.
"I want nothing, except what I have just requested, High Curator." he mumbled.
"And that is all?" The High Curator sniffed. "Balderdash. Over half of the Librarian Rangers has been killed, only two Rangers return, bearing the very objective hundreds died for, as you put so eloquently, and you suggest your reward is nothing?" he shook his head. "No, I will not have it. You two shall both be promoted to the rank of Second Curator. You shall be the figures that we will use to recruit more Rangers, heroes of the nation, as it were. We will need you to lead the next generation of Rangers."
Tom was only just able to keep his knees from buckling through sheer determination, but Collin was not so fortunate.
"Mercy!" he cried, the first word that Tom had heard from him in days. "I don't want to be a Ranger any more! I resign! I quit! I'm leaving! I don't want to end up like the others, being torn apart by the Turned. I beg you!" tears were streaming down Collin's bright eyes as he knelt, his red hair matted and tangled in his face. The High Curator looked down on him with disdain.
"If that is your wish, Mr. Dent, then you may resign if it is what you want." he sniffed. Collin lay down onto the floor in a sniveling pile of grey wool, sobbing rampantly with a "Thank you" coming out every now and again. "But you wish to stay?" The High Curator asked Tom.
"Yes, I do High Curator. But I'm not a leader, I didn't even fire a shot during the battle-"
"A good leader must know when and when not to fight. Sun Tzu said that, but I think that you already knew that." the High Curator cut him off. "But now we must get you food, cleaned and a bed. It will not do to have you presented to the City of Risen in your current state. You are destined for great things, Second Curator Colson."
The End