The Librarian

Tiberius walked amongst his scrolls one final time. The library was silent. All of its inhabitants had long since abandoned the place. The surrounding gardens were silent. None dared stay the night and risk certain death. The city – well, the city was a nightmare.

Tiberius peered out the second story window. House after house burst into flames. Demons dressed in glittering bronze walked up and down the streets, setting fire to anything in sight. Tiberius was forced to shield his eyes as the sea reflected the blinding light. It was not as if he needed to see the outside world anyway. He knew what was coming. The echoing howls of the burning, dying, and damned worked their way up and into his chambers. The cries. The screams. The lost souls. Their wailing grew as the night drew on. That was all the confirmation he needed. His time was running out.

Tiberius turned back to his scrolls. How many had he actually read? A curator should know his collection inside and out. He should be able to walk the aisles with his eyes closed, reach out, and pluck the exact treatise he wanted. But his works numbered in the millions. How could one man read them all? Was there enough time even in the best of circumstances?

Tiberius winced as the sound of marching boots reverberated from down below. He ignored them. He needed to find it. The crown jewel of his collection. A manuscript so long forgotten, only he knew of its existence. Terror pricked at the back of his mind. His horror had not spawned from the barbarians outside. He’d known his death was coming for weeks. Rather, his ignorance left a tremble in his hand. A caution to his step.

Tiberius had forgotten where it rested. How could he have misplaced it? His life was meaningless without it. How could someone be such a fool as to lose the thing they held most dear? He brushed his finger past a dozen more pieces of rolled parchment. None held his prize. Frustration got the better of him. Anger at his own foolishness wrapped around his arms and compelled him to topple the shelf. It slammed to the ground, scattering parchment, wood, and his hopes of a life well lived.

Tiberius’ curses alerted the legionaries. They shouted for him to vacate. To abandon his charge. Evidently, he wasn’t the only fool in Alexandria this night. The moment he learned of the invasion, he knew he had to stay. Someone needed to bear witness. Someone needed to remember the moment the world’s knowledge went up in flames. The second his life’s work turned to ash. But what was the point without the scroll?

Tiberius rushed toward the next section. He ducked between cases. Hurled himself over fallen tables. He had an inkling where it might be. The soldiers continued their fruitless yelling. Any minute now, their torches would touch down. With each command they shouted, Tiberius’ pace increased.

Tiberius came upon the room he sought. Three doors down and one hall across from where he’d been before. His fellow scholars had picked the place clean. They’d been desperate to save as much as they could. Dust and cobwebs were all that remained. No scroll.

Tiberius punched the stone wall, sending a spike of pain up toward his wrist. His ears perked as the noise of crackling wood crawled toward him like a ravenous serpent. He’d never believed in the gods. But he prayed to them now. All of them. Nergal. Anubis. Hades. Whoever would listen. He begged for them to wait for his soul just a little while longer.

Glass shattered on the ground floor. The soldiers tossed something heavy that thudded onto the marble tile. Tiberius did not wait to investigate the disturbance. He ran.

Five corridors down. No scroll. The third-floor study. No scroll. His head scribe’s office. No scroll. With each passing step, the temperature of the building rose. Waves of heat radiated off every surface. Sweat trickled down Tiberius’ back. The exhaustion and the fire were catching up to him.

Tiberius stopped and closed his eyes. He took long, deep breaths. Smoke filled his lungs, but he refused to let the men outside win. He racked his brain for the answer. When had he last held it? Laughter from outside broke his concentration. The mad devils were enjoying his misery. Spite reignited his search. Where had he put it? When had he read it last?

Realization struck Tiberius. His old desk. The first floor. That was where –

Tiberius leaned over the railing. The library had disappeared. The underworld had taken its place. Rivers of fire swept through the isles. The shelves transformed into mountains of ash. Burning parchment sounded like demonic cackling. It was lost. It had to be.

Tiberius was a logical man. Who in his position wouldn’t be? Yet, something told him the scroll still lived. The childish dreamer he’d never let fully die, flourished within. He need only hurry, and the scroll would be saved.

Tiberius sprinted down the spiraling staircase. Reaching the second floor wasn’t the problem. His feet touched the landing just as the lower half of the staircase caught fire. An impassable wall of flames separated him from the scroll. Could he leap over the railing? There was a spot still untouched below. But what if the fall immobilized him? He’d never reach it in time with a broken ankle. No, there was only one way out. He had to push through.

Tiberius sucked in air and soot, charging toward the flames. His vision was engulfed in an orange glow. He pressed onward. His clothes melted away, revealing the fragile, old man beneath. He pressed onward. His flesh tickled with unimaginable agony. He pressed onward.

Tiberius burst through the wild inferno and made it out to the other side. He didn’t stop to check on his wounds. He moved with the speed of desperation. The pain was intensifying. He bellowed an unintelligible cry. He needed anything to distract himself. Tears, sweat, and blood cascaded down his body. He pushed and pushed and pushed until he reached the last door. His study as a youth.

Tiberius rammed his shoulder into the door, splintering the wood. He forced his way inside. The fire hadn’t followed him. The gods were real after all.

Tiberius stumbled his way toward the desk. He opened the top drawer, and there it was. Tiberius dropped to the floor and wept, cradling the scroll between his charred arms. He’d done it.

Tiberius didn’t wait. He wiped away the tears and unfurled his masterpiece. He was taken back fifty years. When his mother first read him this story. The Great Prince of Alexandria. The greatest tale ever written. The ink was scribbled in his own hand. He stroked fingers across the text. He’d immortalized his mother’s story the first time he’d been given ink and quill. Her love had been his inspiration. She’d read to him each night from dusk till dawn. He’d never grown bored of her perfect pitch as she transported him to faraway lands. The sickness had crippled him as a child. Bedbound. Terrified for his life. This story gave him hope.

The Prince had grown up sickly and weak. He didn’t have two coins to scratch together. His father had abandoned him and left his mother to toil away in the fields for a pittance. But The Prince’s mother had a secret. One she’d kept from the world. Her boy was the heir to the throne. He need only claim his title. Or so she thought. Little did The Prince’s mother know, there was a plot brewing. One that would undermine The Prince’s claim. Scheming nobles claimed their sons were the true heir to the throne. In time, dozens of boys vied for the kingdom. They were all stronger, faster, and braver than The Prince. He’d never have a chance to win the hearts and minds of the people. Despite the insurmountable odds, The Prince never gave up. He fought for his crown with wit and wisdom, wowing crowds with his boundless knowledge. From Plato to Socrates to Diogenes and back again, he could recite every essay from memory. He knew of art, philosophy, and the sciences with a memory unmatched by anyone else. He dazzled with his ever-growing collection of stories. He persuaded the people. He won. He was crowned king. And with his newfound power, he built a city that rivaled any other in history. A place of prosperity that marveled its inhabitants and visitors for generations. A shining example of the human spirit that would live on forever in the hearts and minds of men.

Tiberius choked back tears and peered up. His kingdom was crumbling. But his legacy would live on. Pride blazed hotter than any fire. He’d done great things in this place. He’d been the man his mother always knew he would be. He made her proud, or at least, he hoped he had. Now, there was only one thing left to do. He lowered his head and continued reading. The pain faded the moment his eyes hit the page. He reread his mother’s words. He reread them again. And again. Right up until it was over. Right up until his kingdom vanished. Right up until his library was a memory. A key character in history books not yet written. A place remembered till the end of time.