The tunnel stretches ahead, impossibly long now that he’s crawling with only one hand. He pants, each breath shaky, uneven. It sounds like a whine. The pain in his arm isn’t just sharp anymore—it’s becoming hot, pulsing spreading like fire up to his shoulder. His body digs into the wooden passage, his knees scraping themselves raw against the old panels, slick with his blood and the dust of silverfish scales.
The insects themselves, nowhere to be seen, they probably fled far away from their bigger behemoth of a sibling.
Behind him, he hears it again. That damn sound, that crashing scream of wood breaking. The rustling of pages being torn, of dozens of tiny keys being hurled by a moving giant. The sound of a shape that does not belong trying to fit. It seems it is unable to follow him, his throbbing mind wondering how it even got inside then in the first place. Verek grits his teeth.
It was not that big before, it grew.
A dry laugh escapes his lips, it sounds hysterical to his ears, brittle. He forces himself forward. His body aches, his blood seems to be everywhere in his clothing and body, clinging to him like a second skin. Each time he blinks, it’s harder to focus, His thoughts skip.. He feels something inside of him, pulsating along with his blood and headache. Not hope nor strength, something rawer, buried deep within his nerves. It thrums in time with the clicks of mandibles that are no longer near, no longer seen. He bites down on a scream as his torn arm brushes the side of the tunnel. White hot pain jolts through him, and with it—gramarye. Glyphs and letters explode across his skin, just a byproduct of the agony and panic he’s in. They coil along his back and legs like glowing fireflies, flaring dimly in the gloom. No, not like fireflies.
Like burning moths.
He shudders. His head dipping down against the wood. He tries to breathe, swallowing mouthfuls of air and silver particles.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained. That’s what he thought. And what did he gain? Oh, he felt so much smarter than the silverfish, how funny it is. Here he is, crawling just like them, fleeing just like them, just slower.
He even tried touching the damn lock. Why? He saw what it did to them, why did he think he would be different.
The big one can do it. I can do it too. A traitorous part of his mind says.
He isn’t better, he should have known.
I can do it.
What was he going to do?
I can open the lock.
Bind a spell, come back to the camp and defeat all of them? Impress them with his pretty key and lock magic?
Open their skin, uncover their flesh, reveal their white gleaming bones.
He screams, anger and pain transforming midway into a sob of horror and fear, his whining voice twists itself into something broken. There is something wrong with his head. There always was, since—since so long ago. But it’s different now. Something about that room, about that book.
It is not natural. He hears someone say, he can’t remember who. We were not born here, we came from another world, another place. This time it was Cumulus, his old wizened voice, always talking about stories.
He never believed it, not even a second of it.
The idea that they came from a beautiful, bright, world felt false. A lie they told themselves.
We are not part of it, when we take gramaryes, when we bind spells, we change ourselves. He heard again, he couldn’t remember who said it, just that it wasn’t Cumulus. It wasn’t his father.
We become less human, bit by bit, letter by letter, spell by spell. It wasn’t his mother. We become something of the Library. It wasn’t his father. This is why we only take in what we need, why we only bind the most needed spells. It wasn’t even his uncle. This is why you are the one to absorb all of it, to hold it for us. He curls up against himself, clutching his bleeding stump, folding unto himself.
Like an insect.
Because really, how much less of a human could you ever become?
“STOP!” He screamed, it didn't sound like his voice. Didn’’t sound like himself. It sounded pitiful.
Humans are slaves, you are even lesser than that.
He screams, not in pain this time, not in anger or fear, but in sheer need to let something out. In need of a release. His body convulses as he sobs and tears form between wracking mouthfuls of air and whining.
“I’m not crying. I’m not going to—” He didn’t cry then, he tells himself. He didn’t cry when his parents died. He didn’t cry when he was forced to go with his uncle, he didn’t cry when Cumulus was blinded. He didn’t cry when he could see the letters follow him into his dreams.
He’s not going to cry now. He needs to move, to go back to camp, otherwise he will die.
The thought jolts him into movement. Before it was instinctual, animal panic, his body understood what was happening, now his mind has caught up, crawl away or die. He moves with purpose, not scrabbling like a beast.
CLICK
The single sound rushes over him, echoing against the wood, the sound of something sliding into place. Like a key entering a lock, turning its mechanism open. He freezes, the tunnel is still. He turns, slowly, to look behind and he sees it. Behind him, staring through the square opening, the insect stands. It stopped throwing its tantrum and simply stares at him. He can see its face, the opening perfectly aligned to give him a view of its globular eyes. Expressionless, but intent. As if it is watching him, waiting for somethi—The opening—does it look bigger? Wider? Is it shifting?
CLICK
The sound rings out and this time he sees it, the opening flexing, the tunnel shifting, widening itself. Such a miniscule difference—millimeters—he would not have noticed it if not for the fact he is now seeing it right in front of him, all around him. Verek turns back and pushes himself harder, gasping in panic, mind and body moving as one, both screaming in pain.
How long before the tunnel is big enough for the silverfish to enter? It doesn’t matter, he will be out by then.
CLICK
The tunnel reshapes behind him. Slowly, with effort. Maybe it can’t open the tunnel wide enough, maybe it's wasting its time. His mind is brought back to the book, its keyhole. These things are not mutating, they are evolving. Becoming something greater. Could he do it too? He shudders and focuses on the far away light, the opening where he entered the tunnel, he keeps crawling away, waiting for the next click. Waiting to hear the skittering sound of key legs hitting wood. It never comes.
His vision is warped, his head swimming, the pain and stress making him delirious. For a second he feels like he is swimming in darkness, not crawling, like he has become an actual silver scaled fish.
He falls face first into the tree tapestry, collapsing against rough stone covered by woven fabric. He doesn’t remember getting up, nor moving towards the stairway. In his perception, he was inside the crawl space, and then he was going up the stairs. His mind was too fatigued to think too hard about it. Too worried wondering if the thing could open the tunnel wide enough to pass.
He only stops when he is forced to. By Nadro, he stares at the man. His lips moving and flapping, his tongue wiggling like a bookworm, his breath whispering something Verek can’t hear over his rushing blood.
Speaking? RIght, he’s talking to me.
Verek looks down at Nadros's hand on his chest, which is stopping him from moving. Nadro snaps his fingers, right in front of Verek’s face, trying to get his attention. Verek startles and visibly flinches at the gesture, for a second he doesn't hear fleshy fingers snapping, but clicking. Click Click Click. He hears and his heart shoots bolts of blood to sprint across his veins, so loudly he thinks Nadro can hear it, because he stops snapping his fingers.
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But he keeps hearing the clicking. He turns back and stares at the corridor he came from and finds nothing there. No creatures, no silverfish, no locked book, nothing. But he can still hear the clicking. He holds his stump tighter, closer to his chest.
“It’s coming, it’s coming.” He says, voice trembling and heavily choking on sobs. He cannot even recognize his voice, so tinged with fear, it sounds like someone else, even though it is coming from him. Nadro keeps flapping his mouth, keeps pantomiming with his hand, the other one still holding Verek in place.
This doesn’t feel real.
The thought comes to his head. It feels like he’s not the one talking, not the one hurting, not the one a second away from falling down and crying. He feels like he is another person, just staring at this strange occurrence. Just staring at Nadro and Ver— at the strange and hurt person who seems unable to talk coherently. Nadros's patience seems to have run out, he brusquely points down and barks something, Verek’s mind cannot hear the words, but his body understands the order to not move. So he doesn’t, he stays there not moving, even though, through his rushing blood, he can still hear the CLICK CLICK CLICK. He doesn’t turn his head back, fearful of what he might see, more fearful than the very idea that the creature might be behind him. How long will he stay here? Nailed down to this spot, waiting for the creature to come and finish its job, eat his other hand or worse?
No, no, it will not stop at that, it will be worse.
It seemed intelligent, as intelligent as a giant bug can be.
It stared at me. It didn’t want my flesh, it will not kill me. It’s going to bite my other hand, my feet off and will take its time eating what it truly desires from me.
The thought emerged, like a moth out of a cocoon. Him, in that blue-tinted room, slithering like a worm amidst keys and carapace and insects. His thoughts keep fluttering away from him, he remembers when he was younger, when he dreamed of seeing the sky outside, he remembers laying on the ground gazing at a blue book, pretending it was the sky. He remembers too, the people, all of them, telling him there was no ‘outside’ for them, looking at him with pity and later scorn.
Just like before, he doesn’t feel that these are his memories fully. He looks down, and he sees the child, holding a book with a loving look in his eyes. That couldn’t truly be him, when was he ever so carefree? So happy? That child is not him, because if it isn’t him then that means he was never happy, it means he never lost anything.
I’m not making any sense.
He never lost anything, never had anything, will never have anything. It is fine. He wouldn’t be able to tell you how things could be better. He can just live, he doesn’t need to dream of a better life, or wish for a brighter false sky.
He stares at that someone else, at some other child on the ground. The beautiful cyan blue becomes a sickly blue light. The child verminates, becoming thousands of little silverfish, and like a swelling wave his future appears from it. His grub self, without hands or feet, he can only creep along the ground. The silverfish nannies him, tearing paper and feeding it to him. He sees its body flashing with gramaryes whenever it does so, and the words sting. Time passes like this, his body transforms fully into a grub, a bookworm, a vermin.
No eyes, no arms, no legs. Paper in, Paper out. The creature keeps feeding him, all the while sucking his gramaryes from him like a parasite. It keeps trying to open the book, it never succeeds. For some reason, Ver—the grub, keeps growing. The bug keeps feeding the grub paper, the grub keepins feeding the bug gramaryes, somehow. The Cycle continues, spin in spin out. The bug changes and grows, markings gaining meaning, but it’s still not enough, it’s never enough. It cannot open the book, no matter how strong and refined it becomes. It will always have something missing.
Bug dies.
The vision shifts. On one side the grub keeps eating and eating, growing to gargantuan proportions, it delves and worms its way down, down into the darker depths. On another side, it spins a cocoon, and emerges from it a beautiful moth, it flies along into an unseen forest.
Nadros returns, Verek blinks at that, and keeps blinking as Cumulus touches his arm and heals him. The white gold letters coming from his eyes, flowing down his arms and into Verek. His head clears as his heart stops drumming. He breathes in deeply, feeling the air in his lungs. His stump stopped hurting, he didn’t even realise how much it was hurting before, the pain became just another noise to go with his heart.
How long was he here alone? Alone with his thoughts and the noise, the pain. Now that it is over it seems like only a few seconds have passed. Even though he can still remember the boy, the grub and the bug.
“There is something wrong with—” He points at the ground, the ground without anything on it.
His mind stops, when he is not sure how to finish the phrase. His mind helpfully screams at him on how to do so.
THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH YOU, there is something wrong with me, THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH YOU, there is something wrong with me. ME, me, there is no child and no grub, just ME.
“There is something wrong with me.” He says, embarrassed, mortified that the other two can hear his thoughts, see how true what he is saying is.
“Yes, grubshit, there’s obviously something wrong with you. Also you are probably delirious from blood loss. And stress, and—damn it, everything I guess.” Nadros says, throwing his hands up.“Now, can you tell me what happened?”
“Shouldn’t we get my uncle for this?” Verek says, frowning. He sees Cumulus frown too.
“He is…your uncle is indisposed at the moment, Verek. Disturbing him would only cause trouble.” Cumulus says, the words coming out slowly, chosen carefully with deliberate restraint.
“Yea, he’s busy right now.” Nadros said, a sneer curling in his voice, the mockery and levity in it unmistakable. ”Or rather, getting busy. Come, speak already.”
Verek opens his mouth, but falters, before he can say anything, Nadros cuts him off, clearly displeased with what he sees in his expression, whatever that expression is right now. Nadros’ stare is sharp and without a word, he raises his hand and jabs an accusing finger to the center of Verek’s chest, his index finger. Verek hears it again, the rushing of his blood.
“You will speak.” His tone is dark and cold, threatening him like falling stalactites. Verek stiffens, he reflexily tries to swallow, but finds his mouth already dry. He doesn’t hesitate, his back is quite literally against the shelf right now. Throat tight with budding fear and rushing blood, he quickly explains…all of it, everything he can, all the words he can force out.
Verek doesn’t even know how much sense he is making, the words just spill and jumble out. He knows he is rambling, useless facts pop up, important details get left out, only to reappear later when Nadros requires an explanation. But the story gets out of him eventually, the stairs, the cozy alcove with the armillary sphere, the crawl space, the silverfishes, the silverfish, Nadros takes all of it with poise and occasional nodding.
“Alright, then” Nadros says, nodding to himself, and clearly speaking to himself too since he’s not looking directly at him. Verek's mind goes back to the armillary sphere, he can almost feel the movement in his fingers as he watches Nadros, he is clearly thinking of something and whatever it is, it cannot be good for Verek.
A deep chill settles on his bones as Nadros turns back and stares, their eyes lock and Verek feels the ice forming in his bones.
“We are going there, you—”
“NO—” Verek swallows his shout as Nadros puts a hand over his mouth, baring his own teeth in a threatening scowl.
“You are taking me there, we are going together. You do not worry little mouse, I will take care of the insect, yes?” Nadros tilts his head, Verek sees a glint of something in his eyes, something he cannot quite grasp. “Yes?” He says and Verek nods, slowly. “Good, now let’s go. It’s near so we will be gone and back in a blink, yes?”
Verek turns to Cumulus, a childish part of him hoping the old story teller will somehow stop this. Cumulus just stares blankly ahead, because really, what could he do in this situation?
“Cumulus, stay here, just sit down or something, we will be back soon.”
“I don’t think we should do this, I don’t th—” Nadros just stares at him, doesn’t say anything, but that dark gaze says enough. Shame roils within Verek, deep in his gut, it moves inside of him like a parasite, an ulcer, a grub.
“I don’t think we should go alone, we should…get more people, more hunters?” He says, swallowing the ‘please’ at the end that almost got out, begging and pleading never really had the effect he wanted from people like Nadros or his uncle. He was hopeful that this would stall everything, that maybe it would buy enough time for his uncle to notice something, or anyone else, anything to stop him from going back.
Nadros just keeps staring, Verek feels his stomach roll with uncertainty, fear and shame. He grits his teeth, why should he be ashamed? He lost a damn hand, and now he has to go back? Why him? He is not a fighter, he cannot hurt the creature at all, not truly. Why, why him? The stairs, alcove and crawl space and not far and not difficult to find, he is not needed as a guide, even then he could just as easily draw a simple map.
Why him?
Oh.
Bait. Nadros wants to use him as bait for the silverfish. Everything crystalizes for a second. Nadros has a lot to gain from all of this, possibly. The book, if he can get it he may gain something from it, another spell. Same with the insect, if he kills it he may be able to glean something from its corpse. Another spell for his mind to bind, another arrow in his quiver, another thorn into his uncle's side. Maybe the one thorn that will finally bring him low. And he wants all of it for himself, doesn’t want others to know, doesn’t want to share.
After all, sharing is what allowed him to get to where he is, allowed him to rise to where he is currently. There is no way he will allow something like that to happen again on his watch. His uncle made a mistake, he let the leash slip, failed to grasp it tightly enough, failed to deal with the growing problem that is Nadros. And Nadros? He has learned from that failure, and will not make the same mistake.
Verek feels it now, an invisible grasp tightening around on his neck, the phantom pressure of a finger at his chest. The threat of flames on his lungs, eating his viscera like termites. A treacherous, traitorous part of his mind creeps along, making him wonder if Nadros’ petty reign would be worse than his uncle’s, could things actually be worse for him?
He looks down at his stump, now with a gigantic scab, a blood crust protecting his insides from the outside.
I forgot to thank Cumulus…
Yes, yes it could be. Things could be so much worse for him, he thinks. The thought roots itself deep within him, it pierces the rolling vermin of shame within his gut. He cannot stop his body from tensing, cannot stop the tremor running through him before it makes his teeth chitter.
Nadros must gleam something from his face and body. Beyond the doubt and fear, he sees something else from his shifting expressions. He tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing, and then begins to speak. His tone is weirdly conciliatory, almost gentle, something he never heard before, basically didn’t believe Nadros could talk or sound like this. For a second he almost thought he was hallucinating again.
“You are afraid, I get that. We all are.” Verek chuckles at that, quietly and faintly bitter, but still an actual chuckle. If Nadros hears it, he doesn't show it at all. “Our lives are scary, always, we cannot control how the shifts or shuffles happen. We cannot control where we will go, or what will be dumped near us. We cannot control what spells we will find, what they will do to us when we bind them. We cannot control the things that go bump along in these dark shelves” He trails off, gaze locked onto Verek, eyes drilling into him, the silence between them almost humming with the weight of his words.
“You know what we can control?” He asks, voice low and flat, his gaze heavy and bleak like a stone. Before Verek can answer, or even form a thought, a glean flickers in Nadros’ eyes, and he continues.”We can control our response.” His voice sharpens now, his words filled with a hint of hunger. “You cannot kill fear, it will always come. It is within you and it will spread across you like smoke, seeping deep within your organs, wrapping around your throat. It will choke you, if you let it.” He snaps his fingers, and a single spark flares from it, a candle flame blooming with life across his fingertip. “Because fear is fire, terror is a flame.” The candle flame grows, light dancing in his eyes, both their eyes. “You must choose if it will fuel you, or consume you.” He stares at his finger, as the flame keeps growing, quickly coating his entire palm. He tears his gaze from it, closing his palm and extinguishing the flame in an instant.
“Understand?” Nadros asks in a strangely hoarse voice, almost raw. Verek nods, he understands it. Oh, he understands it alright.
Nadros needs him for bait. He understands he cannot make too much noise, otherwise he will alert the camp, alert the bait’s uncle. Then Nadros won’t get what he wants.
Nadros shifts slightly, eyes narrowing. Verek’s acting must not have been convincing enough.
“Is this how you want to live the rest of your life?” Nadros asks, his voice smoother now, firm but persuasive, or at least trying to. “I can change that, you just need to follow me. I can help you be something more, you just need to take this first step, show me you have the courage and grit to deserve it. Prove it yourself.”
Verek chuckles again, this time it almost becomes a laugh. He must be delirious from the blood loss, or maybe it's the despair being digested? False promises, that is all they are. Yet still, Verek cannot help but ponder his options, few and terrible as they are.
What can he do? Scream? Run? Call his uncle? Even if Nadros doesn’t kill him outright as the start of his simpleminded take over, what will realistically happen? His uncle will come, they will all partake in the riches, every scrap of it, he found and he will get nothing, as always. He will get no recognition from anyone and now reward for his actions. His uncle will not treat or see him in a better light, Nadros will not appreciate the action either. His life will not get better at all, only worse, that is for certain.
Is going with him truly the best option? No, no it is not, not even close. However it might be the only bad option he can take on the short list of bad options that is his life. He will still not truly get anything out of it, nothing of value, Nadros will make sure of it. But there is only one of him, maybe, just maybe, fewer eyes will allow Verek to steal something underneath his gaze? Better chances than with a full cadre of hunters.
Underneath his gaze…like a grub. Maybe that is all he can be. Maybe that is all he will ever be, a vermin under his uncle, under Nadros, under the silverfish.
"Okay…" Verek says quietly. "I’ll show you the way." Nadros smiles at that, teeth gleaming under his wild beard.
“Good, this will be the start of your new life, you know? No more skittering for you, no more shitty pulp. You will see.” Nadros says, still smiling with all his teeth. Verek can only see hunger and malicious lies.
Still, maybe Nadros will cut himself instead of Verek.
And so Verek goes, full of trepidation.
