Christopher has grown used to the Labyrinth's strange behavior, but today he discovers he is not the only one it bends around. What begins as an encounter among restless books ends with words he cannot take back.
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I was sitting on the floor with too many books stacked around me, far more than I could hope to read in a single day. Yet I felt pressed, as though some unseen hand urged me to hurry, to get to the bottom of the Sepulcher of Echoes.
My body was fine enough, and my mind still sharp, but the spirit knows what the spirit knows. And mine was restless.
The aisle I had chosen was wide, far more generous than any earthly library, which was fortunate. For the books here behaved like children drunk on sugar, bouncing and rattling on their shelves with no regard for order. At first it annoyed me, but the din became almost background noise until the books began hurling themselves at me.
That was when I saw her.
She came into view from the far end of the aisle, moving with such unhurried grace that the chaos seemed to fold back upon itself. The flying books froze midair, caught in a shimmer of pale mist that drifted from her like breath made visible. And then, as if chastened, they slid neatly back into place, as books ought to behave.
She stopped before me. I must have looked ridiculous, half-buried in a storm of unruly tomes, but she smiled warm, peaceful while I managed only a stiff one in return.
"Do you mind if I join you?" she asked, her voice as calm as the air around her. "The books I seek are said to be in this aisle, though by the looks of things they may already be among your pile."
I set the one on my lap gently to the floor and pushed myself upright. My knees, traitorous reminders of my forties, creaked in protest. I forced more warmth into my smile so as not to appear as brittle as I felt.
"Which book?" I asked. "Perhaps I've already pulled it."
Her smile vanished. Her gaze sharpened. "The Sepulcher of Echoes," she said.
The title left her lips like a key turning in a lock. The book I held grew suddenly heavier, as though it recognized her before I did. When I placed it in her hands, something invisible escaped her swift, immense, undeniable. The shelves on either side recoiled, sliding back with precision, striking the ones behind them in a clean succession. A domino effect, thunderous in sound, yet impossibly controlled.
The noise echoed down the crossing aisles like judgment rolling through the halls. Even now, recalling it makes my heart stutter, for I could not help but wonder if some soul had been caught between those shifting shelves.
I was not surprised Andrea had revealed her own strangeness but I was shocked nonetheless. Shocked enough that the words spilled from me before I could stop them.
"How far along in your pregnancy are you?"
And of course, that was the very moment he appeared. Her protector, her shadow, arriving just as my clumsy question hung between us.
Did I regret it? He made sure of it.
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Christopher is not a man without caution, yet shock loosened his tongue. What he saw stirred awe, but also dread, and his question cut deeper than he intended. The Labyrinth is showing him pieces of a design greater than he can grasp, and now he must live with the consequences of speaking them aloud.