The secret library deser.., p.1
The Secret Library: Desert of Ash, page 1
THE SECRET LIBRARY: DESERT OF ASH
Copyright © 2021 Jonathan Gilbert
All rights reserved.
Published by Tardigrade House 2021
Auckland, New Zealand
No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Under no circumstances may any part of this book be photocopied for resale.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.
Cover Design by saraoliverdesign.com
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
The Secret Library: Desert of Ash
Book 6
J.C. Gilbert
CHAPTER ONE
There is no telling where a book may lead you. Once opened, it will pull you in, lead you along, show you things that you could never have dreamed. Some of these things are made from the very fabric of dreams, woven together into a rich tapestry of scenes, impressions, tragedies. The outside world starts to fade away as the world of story takes hold and becomes real. You may become a different person, perhaps a different type of consciousness altogether. You will leave a little of yourself in the book, just as the book leaves a little of itself in you. Books are waking dreams, and welcome escapes.
“I think Jessica is hiding something,” said Lilly, sitting at the table we considered our own, tucked into a corner of the school’s courtyard.
It was morning break, and I was stealing a few moments to read. “Hmm?” I said absently. I didn’t take my eyes off the page. I was almost done with the paragraph, and certainly not done dreaming.
“I knew you would agree,” said Lilly. “She is just so shifty. That being said, I’ve never considered Jessica to be a particularly shifty name,” she added.
Lilly gasped.
“What?”
“It’s probably not real! The plot thickens.”
And the dream was over. I closed my book, and with it, the witching world it contained. Lilly had once more dragged me back into reality. Dusty, dull reality. There was never enough time in the day, and the time I had seemed to slip through my fingers more and more lately. Ever since the fire, Mom wanted to ‘play a bigger role in my life.’ This basically meant watching me like a hawk to make sure I wasn’t doing drugs, or spending too much time with Lilly, or both.
It meant even less time to read.
“Ever wondered what it’s like to be an earwig?” asked Lilly, watching a tiny crawling insect making its way across our table. “I should like to spend an afternoon in your shoes, little man,” she added.
I coughed a chesty cough - another little after effect of the fire.
The fire.
I don’t know how it started; I don’t know why I was in the abandoned building; I don’t even know how I got that far across town. All I knew was that if Lilly hadn’t been there to pull me out, then I would have died there.
Alone.
The police think we are hiding something. I don’t blame them either. Our shared amnesia seemed just a little too convenient to be left unquestioned. I don’t know if it was the fire, the smoke, or something else we were doing, but for some reason large chunks of my memory seemed to be missing from the last few months. Mom says it’s just about getting older, but she obviously thinks there is just something we are not saying. Lilly was the same, though I think losing her memory freaked her out even more than me for some reason.
We don’t talk about it much.
“What’s this I hear about you auditioning for the school production?” Lilly asked, looking up from her new insect friend. “Shakespeare, isn’t it?”
I blushed and felt my chest freeze up. Hank didn’t like this subject one bit. “Who told you that?”
“Mrs. Taylor,” said Lilly. “She can be quite enthusiastic about her favorite students.”
“I’m not her favorite student. I’m not anyone’s favorite anything. I’m just Alex. Besides, I didn’t say I was going to audition. I just said that I like Shakespeare and that I might think about auditioning maybe sometime.”
“Many of the best actors are introverts, you know. Well-known fact. Still, it’s pretty impressive that you are even thinking about it. What happened to your old pal Hank? Finally realized he is a hedgehog and has no business living inside a human lady?”
I smiled at that. “No, he’s not going anywhere. Hank is as much a part of me as my other organs. The difference is that these days, if I want to make an important decision, the hedgehog is not consulted.”
“I bet he never came to meetings anyway,” mused Lilly. “Personally, I put a different body part in charge of my life on a biweekly rotating bases. Currently, my big toes reign supreme. I tried to give the honor just to the left big toe, but the committee wouldn’t have it.” As Lilly spoke, she touched the pendant she had been wearing around her neck. It was in the shape of a rose petal and was a deep purple in color.
“That’s nice,” I said, admiring it.
“Siding with the committee? Interesting,” said Lilly, squinting.
“I mean that. Your necklace. Where did you get it?”
“Haven’t the foggiest, luv,” said Lilly, trying to sound like a true born London person. It didn’t work.
I bit my lip. I did not want to draw Lilly’s attention to the lapse in memory and what it meant for us both.
Lilly changed the subject for me. “Your mom sign the permission slip yet?”
The field trip for biology was next week, but Mom was hesitant to let me go. We were supposed to be going to this isolated island that had been turned into a bird sanctuary. It sounded really cool, but so did spending the whole day at home with my books, so I was in two minds about pressing Mom about it. At least if she let me go to this, then she might start feeling better about letting me go to other things.
“Not yet,” I said.
I stole a few more moments to read a few more pages before the next class - reading in the hall as we waited for the teacher, reading at my desk as everyone settled, reading when it looked like the teacher wasn’t looking.
It was a good book.
When lunch time rolled around, I text Lilly to let her know that I would be going to the sanctuary.
The sanctuary was the one place at school where I knew I couldn’t be disturbed. It was a small clump of wilderness on the far side of the sports field. It was technically out of bounds, and I had been caught there before, but going there was totally worth it if I could finish this book before lunch ended.
I always tried to get to the field before the sports-bros and their hangers-on got out onto the field. I didn’t want to be seen escaping the madness of high school and certainly didn’t want to be spoken to. I wasn’t as bad at spontaneous verbal interchanges (random conversations) these days, but they were still not my fave.
But as I crossed the field, I got the feeling that I was being watched. I couldn’t tell you how, but I was just certain that a pair of eyes were on me. I took a brief look around, but there was no one there.
A bit disconcerted, I continued on my way, doing my best to forget the strange feeling. It was probably just nothing. Human bodies are, after all, nothing if not bags of randomly flaring feelings.
I sat under a broad trunked oak tree, not caring about the dirt I was getting on my jeans. They would wash out, I had more important matters to attend to. After taking a moment to appreciate my surrounds and watch a thrush hunt among the fallen leaves, I plowed into my book.
It was bliss.
Lunch stretched on, and nobody bothered me. Not even for a moment.
But then the feeling returned. I looked up from my book, noting
“Is anyone there?”
It freaked me out even more this time around. Being watched while I was still on school grounds was one thing, but now I was alone, utterly alone, and surrounded by trees.
After an agonizing few minutes, I tried to get back into my book.
It was impossible. The feeling wouldn’t go away.
I didn’t know what it was, but I got the sudden urge to look up, to scan the branches above me. I craned my neck upward and drew a quick breath. There, among the leaves and the acorns, was the face of a boy.
I stumbled to my feet. “Who’s there?!” I demanded, scanning the trees. “Who’s there?” I said again.
But it was no use. The boy was gone.
CHAPTER TWO
I didn’t want to walk home alone after school. I wanted to go with Lilly to her house where I was (probably) safe from random feral boys watching me from the trees. But Mom was strict with her expectations, especially since she had taken reduced hours to ‘be there for me like her mom always was.’ Ostensibly, this meant waiting for Jonny and I to come home from school so that she could greet us with freshly baked brownies. Practically, it meant she was always on my back and never giving me the benefit of the doubt.
So walking home alone was the only option.
I did my best to stay close to other groups of students while maintaining enough distance to avoid accusations of stalkership myself. Usually walking home was when I spent time with whatever audio-book I was reading. Today, I didn’t want to have any of my senses blocked off. Not even for a moment.
I made it home with my body intact but my nerves in pieces. I don’t know if you know this, but scanning every tree for potential threats can be pretty exhausting. Was I overreacting? Maybe. But how was I supposed to know, right?
I happened to cough as I walked in the front door, and Mom happened to be walking by.
There were no brownies.
“A little late home today?” asked Mom, trying to sound casual.
“Same time as every day,” I said levelly.
“Is it? Hmm,” said Mom.
“Yup,” I said, trying not to make eye contact. If Mom was a regular mom, then I would be able to tell her how freaking freaked out I was, but I just knew she would try to twist it to be some moral about how I should or should not be doing something differently.
Probably thinks I shouldn’t be sneaking out of school to read, or something silly.
Whatever.
“Haven’t been smoking, have you?” asked Mom as I walked up the stairs.
“No,” I droned.
“Lilly smokes, doesn’t she?”
“No,” I droned again, trying to keep my breathing steady.
“No need for that tone,” said Mom. She was clearly trying to start something. Would I take the bait?
Unfortunately, yes.
Yes, I would.
“Is that it? You think we were smoking in a random building on the other side of town and that’s why I almost died?”
“No, I-”
“What do you think we get up to, Mom? Drugs? Witchcraft?” I was almost yelling now.
“Now you’re just-”
“Cos I’m not into drugs, alright? And the only thing Lilly has ever smoked is chamomile tea. And you know what? She doesn’t recommend it.”
With that, I stormed off into my room, slamming the door behind me, a cocktail of anger and regret swirling within me. I knew it was a bad idea to shout at Mom. She could only make life harder.
I shifted some of my books to the other side of my bed and lay down, facing away from the door. I knew she would be in here at any moment.
A few stomps later, she was.
“What was that about?” she demanded, as if she had no part to play.
“Just leave me alone,” I said without turning around.
“Alright,” said Mom in a tone that strongly suggested that it wasn’t alright. “Clean this room up, would you? It’s a-”
“Fire hazard?” I suggested.
“Yes, as a matter of fact.” With that, she left.
It was a good half hour before I was feeling level again. Fights like that used to always put me into tears, but these days I didn’t let them. I sat up and looked about my room. It was a mess of books, blankets, clothes and whatever else I had failed to put away. With a deep sigh, I began setting things straight, starting with my books - which all had a home - before moving onto the rest. Despite everything, I wanted to be on Mom’s good side. I knew she was afraid for me. It didn’t excuse her bullying, but at least I knew where it was coming from. I resolved to apologize for yelling. The things I said, my tone, those were called for. Yelling? Not what I consider OK. So I would apologize. It would suck, but I would do it.
I mulled this over as I found spots for the last few random objects. The room was looking like somewhere I would actually want to read now. I thought I was done when I noticed that there was still a book on my bedside table. I didn’t recognize it, so I picked it up and leafed through. The book appeared to be an old copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. I frowned and smiled. “How strange,” I said to myself.
I had no memory of where the book came from.
Moving to put the book with my other vintage books, something made me stop. There was just something about the book, something that made me think that there, right there on my nightstand, was where the book ought to be. It was a nice enough looking book, red with gold leaf. Shrugging, I returned the book to its spot and thought no more about it.
I was troubled as I fell asleep that night. Sometimes the whole memory loss thing really gets to me, and I get this nagging sensation that there is something that I really should be doing, that there are people depending on me and I’m just not showing up. I’m sure that’s a pretty common feeling for people, but the rational reassurance didn’t help me fall asleep. When I finally slept, I dreamed of a place almost as chaotic as my mind. I dreamed I was on a storm swept coast after dusk. Jagged rocks lined the water’s edge before running into massive cliffs. I was filled with that same sense that I was supposed to be doing something, and when the dream started I was already running. Running? Not quite. The rocks were almost impassible in places and the waves were enormous, crashing down in front of me and threatening to sweep me out into the sea. I clambered up onto a taller rock just as a titan of a wave crashed all around. The sound of the surf was deafening. With panic in my heart, I tried to breathe, tried to get my bearings.
Then I saw her.
Alone, standing on the edge of an inky black cliff, was a girl, silhouetted and almost impossible to see.
I knew I had to get to her.
I called out to the girl, though I hardly knew what I was saying. The girl couldn’t hear me. She was far off, and my voice was being carried out to sea. I began stumbling over the rocks toward her, always calling out to her, but the way was impossible. The winds were getting stronger now, and I was worried that she would slip and fall to the jagged rocks. No, I knew for a certainty that she would fall. If I did not get there in time, she would fall and die and it would be all my fault.
Another massive wave came thundering towards me. This time I wasn’t so sure that I could make it out of the way in time. The nearest rock was sharp and cut me as I tried to get to safety. All the time, I kept my attention on the girl, turning to see that she was still there before pushing my way further up the rock.
At last, I made it to the top, gasping for breath. The wave struck, sweeping all around me. The swell was strong and washed over my position, threatening to carry me off into the deep black ocean. I held on with what strength I had and miraculously stayed atop the rock. I turned to see the girl. She was still standing there. I got the sense that she was looking out into the endless blackness, searching for something. I called out to her one last time, but as I did, the winds grew suddenly fierce. For an instant, I got the distinct impression that the girl was looking at me.
Then she fell.
“Elaine!” I cried, sitting up in my bed, drenched in sweat.
CHAPTER THREE
I watched the white water toss and turn as the ferry’s engine carved through the ocean. It was almost a week since the night of my dream, and I was still no closer to figuring out who the girl was that fell. Elaine? Where exactly did that name come from? I wanted to dismiss it as just some random fluctuation of my subconscious mind. Why not call out Anne? Or Sandra? But there was just something about the name. It seemed to fill a part of my mind in a way that other names just didn’t. The whole experience of the dream left me with a strange sense of significance. Was it longing? It was a need that I could no more describe than I could identify.
