David Bridges
io9 proudly showcases captivating fiction from Lightspeed Magazine, offering a story each month from its latest issue. This month, we present “Dekar Druid and the Infinite Library” by Cadwell Turnbull. Enjoy the journey!
Explore “Dekar Druid and the Infinite Library” by Cadwell Turnbull
By Cadwell Turnbull
In the enchanting realm of an infinite library, we follow the solitary figure of Dekar Druid. He shares this peculiar space only with Ebizenum, a being of unique origin, and together they inhabit the library’s towering structure. Encircled by dense forest, the tower stands firm, with a serene lake just a short walk to the north and distant mountains looming to the south. Despite the lake’s inviting charm during the sweltering summer, Dekar has never ventured close to the mountains; a past attempt left him breathless and hesitant to repeat the experience, as the suffocating forest air proved overwhelming.
The library, while seemingly infinite, may not be boundless after all. Dekar has ascended and descended the spiral staircase countless times, exploring the tower’s depths and heights. Yet, whether he ascends into the cloud-obscured heights or descends into the shadowy sub-basements, he finds no definitive beginning or end, leaving him in a perpetual state of curiosity and wonder about the library’s true nature.
From the base of the tower, the land appears untouched, and the library’s interiors are remarkably preserved. In this surreal space, both the library and Dekar Druid seem to defy the passage of time, remaining unscathed by decay or deterioration. This enduring quality raises intriguing questions about the nature of existence within such an extraordinary environment.
Perhaps even more intriguing is the fact that Dekar Druid himself appears to have withstood the test of time.
Currently seated on the fifteenth floor of the library, Dekar is comfortably perched on a leather-cushioned bench. His bare feet are tucked beneath him, and a book rests in his lap while a precarious stack of additional volumes teeters on the table before him. This is a familiar scene for Dekar; however, his attention is elsewhere, as he skims the pages of a story he has already read, one that no longer captivates him.
Though he often finds himself bored—his default emotional state—he has grown accustomed to the feeling, allowing it to envelop him for hours without discomfort. In this moment, his thoughts drift to lunch and what Ebizenum might conjure for him. He envisions a succulent kabob made from the most tender deer meat, perfectly seared, and his mouth waters at the mere thought.
With a gentle closing of the book, he places it atop the towering stack and rises, stretching his limbs before wandering up a few more flights of stairs to the nineteenth floor. This is a familiar space for him, visited countless times, yet today he opts to climb a ladder leading to a shadowy corner devoid of windows. As he ascends, his mind still lingers on the thought of seared deer meat, which drives him onward.
Upon reaching the top, he retrieves a thick, dust-laden book from the highest shelf. As he descends the ladder, a cloud of dust envelops him, swirling like ethereal snowflakes around his figure. This spontaneous choice, this urge to seek out this particular book in the tower, is not something Dekar questions anymore; it simply reflects the whims of his existence.
As he settles back at his chosen table on this floor, he notices a familiar stack of books waiting for him. He sits down, curling his feet beneath him once more. For the moment, boredom has receded, but he knows it will inevitably return, just as the rhythm of breath returns.
He opens the book, this time fully engrossed. Instantly, he realizes that this story is unlike any he has encountered before. The title captures his attention: Longback Berserker. The name strikes him as peculiar, even compared to the myriad of strangely named books that have filled his existence within the library. As with many others, there is no author noted, but he shrugs it off, turning the page to delve into the narrative.
By the time he reaches the end of the first page, Dekar finds himself completely captivated. When he immerses himself in reading with such focus, the words resonate within him, echoing loudly, creating vivid soundscapes that fill his mind. His perception of the world around him—usually confined to the tower, the forest, or the words printed on the pages—dissolves as he descends into the story, penetrating between the very essence of the ink on the paper until the narrative world materializes before him, emerging triumphantly from the quantum haze.
As he continues to fall through dimensions, through the high atmosphere and clouds, Dekar transforms into a smaller version of himself, his limbs taking shape—hands, feet, and a torso forming a new identity. Just as this tiny manifestation solidifies, he finds himself standing on the sidewalk of this new, bustling world, surrounded by a multitude of people.
No one seems to acknowledge his sudden appearance. Dekar scans his surroundings, taking in the eclectic blend of boutique shops lining the street: a cupcake bakery, a bread shop, a butcher, a flower shop, an antique store, a bookstore, and at the far end, a fortune teller’s establishment. Each building is adorned in various shades of purple that mirror the hue of the pedestrians strolling along the sidewalks.
As he observes this vibrant scene, the words he had just been reading resonate in his mind—
The truck idled at the stop sign but Estrid Orchid waited to calm her nerves. She told herself again there was nothing to worry about. She would see what he had to say about the Esket Fragment and leave once he’d told her. She doubted he knew as much as he claimed, even if he’d spent half his life marooned on Esket during the war. The Fragment was in a dead language that the Scattered Tribes no longer remembered, even in their stories. However, she’d still have to do her duty as a scholar and talk to the man.
Once the truck passed and the street was clear of cars, she took one more breath, deciding she was ready. And so, Estrid Orchid crossed the street to meet Ev Tengo . . .
—and with his newly formed eyes, Dekar sees the protagonist, her soft purple skin contrasting beautifully with the vibrant flowering vines cascading down her back as she crosses the street.
Typically, Dekar would follow the narrative voice, but once again, whimsy takes the reins. He refrains from crossing the street, instead choosing to explore the sidewalk’s end, nudging the persistent narrative to the back of his mind. He climbs the three steps to the fortune teller’s shop and opens the door, triggering a chime that echoes through the empty space.
As he enters, he expects to see someone at the front desk, but the area is unoccupied. Just as he prepares to leave, a woman emerges from a back room, parting a curtain of blue-green beads that sway as she passes. The beads continue to tremble as she approaches the front desk, which stands at chest height. Her hair, entwined with black vines, resembles a layered cake, adorned with bright blue flowers. Large hoop earrings dangle from each ear, and a striking smudge of blue-black eyeliner frames her eyes, which are a deep crimson, sparkling and fixed intently on Dekar.
Dekar greets her with a polite smile. “Hello.”
The woman studies him for a long moment, her gaze unyielding. Dekar begins to feel uneasy, questioning whether he measures up to the expectations of this world. He glances at his purple skin for reassurance.
“I was hoping to have my fortune read,” he ventures.
The woman’s expression shifts, and she blinks, breaking the silence. “A moment,” she replies before disappearing behind the beaded curtain once more. The beads spring back to life as she returns, this time with a deck of cards already in motion between her hands. She steps out from behind the desk, and Dekar is struck by her solid, muscular build, evident even beneath the cloth wrappings she wears. His face warms slightly, a blush blooming in response to her presence.
Without a word, she gestures for him to follow her through a side door. Inside, he finds a small room with a round table at its center, three chairs neatly tucked beneath it. The woman sets down her cards and invites him to sit, and he complies. They sit across from each other in a charged silence, with her keen gaze still studying his face.
The woman resumes shuffling her cards, breaking the silence. “You can call me Stranger,” she says, deftly moving cards from one hand to the other with an ease that leaves Dekar in awe. Her movements are mesmerizing, as if she’s shuffling with a hundred hands instead of just two.
“I’m Dekar.”
Stranger lets the cards cascade across the table, each one landing perfectly without falling off the edge. One card, however, balances precariously half-on, half-off the table, its corner pointing directly at Dekar. He watches it warily.
“That one,” she says, “you’ll have to turn over yourself. But not yet.”
Dekar fights the impulse to disobey, channeling his energy into remaining still.
Stranger begins, “My family has lived in this valley for centuries. I’ve been here much longer.”
Absently, Dekar realizes he is not bored; instead, he’s captivated by the moment.
Stranger flips over the first card, revealing a fish with thorny, vine-like fins radiating outward like sun rays. “The Dipper is a good omen for someone like you,” she explains. “It indicates that a journey is nearing its end.”
She flips another card, this one entirely black, with a circle at its center housing a severed hand. Stranger whistles softly, noting, “A Sever is a rare card to reveal itself on a second turn. When paired with a Dipper, it suggests that this journey’s conclusion will come with challenges—a shattering of self.”
As the implications of her words sink in, Dekar feels a stirring of a new emotion within him—a sensation that is neither boredom, thrill, nor whimsy, but something deeper and more unsettling.
Stranger continues, turning another card, revealing a single tooth with a heart carved into its surface. “When I was young to this world and first received my own reading, this was my first card,” she reflects, her crimson eyes locked onto Dekar’s. “As a first card, it indicates you will find a lifelong companion. I have yet to find mine. Not important! As a third card in a series like this”—she gestures over the scattered cards—“it implies that you will encounter a companion for a season, one who will bring about significant change—change that may lead to your shattering.”
Feeling a wave of anxiety wash over him, Dekar instinctively twists in his seat, trying to anchor himself.
“Only two more cards. Then it will be your turn,” says Stranger, reaching for a card closer to Dekar. He flinches at her sudden movement, his body tense against the chair.
“What’s this one?” Dekar inquires, his body rigid against the back of the chair as it shifts slightly away from the table.
“It is . . .” A distant expression crosses her face, accompanied by a hint of a smile. “I once met someone for a time. She was a young woman from an old family in this valley town. She loved me, and we spent three blissful years together, during which I birthed six saplings from our love—the family I mentioned. Except for one line, they’ve all ceased. We have a population problem on Elvine, and Err-Kuluxia, the galactic empire governing us, has restricted our reproduction. But I digress! I knew Ellen could not be the companion from the Carving card, and that understanding eventually led to the souring of our relationship.
“When she died, I visited her. Her eyes were milky, her vision reduced to a small aperture out of her right eye. Yet when she saw me, she gasped. How young I must have appeared to her; she likely thought me a phantom. But I told her”—she reveals the next card—“I told her I had lived in this town from its inception, that there was a time I was even worshiped here. But that was long ago—now, we are quite secular. When they couldn’t kill me, they erased me, striking me from their memory and their writings. And so, I lived on the fringes. Until her, my Ellen, and the love we built. I told her I was sorry, that I had a purpose”—she gestures to the card still resting at the end of the table, the one aimed directly at Dekar’s chest; he turns it over—“that one day the creator would come to me, and I would awaken him to himself. I wonder how many of your children have experienced this. How many are still waiting to be freed from their purpose? Your expression tells it all. You are lost, unaware of what you are or why you exist. Yet, you have left me with this burden, this endless . . . Not important!
“That card is the Drowning Fish, a Higher Dipper. It’s rare to draw two in the same reading. That one is the Burning Bird—you get the point, see the sun depicted there—and that card before you is the Living Ash. Together, these cards form a trio with both distinct and shared meanings. While secularists have revised the Tri-Una to imply you will acquire great and terrible knowledge, those who still worship the Cause Deck hold onto its original interpretation.
“Do I really need to spell it out? Fine. Tri-Una means that God will reveal himself to you, a personal visitation. And look! Here you are.
“Now pay me and leave my shop.”
As it turns out, lunch consists of a simple ham sandwich.
Ebizenum sets the sandwich down, returning shortly with a tall glass of refreshing turmeric lemonade. They take their seat across from Dekar, their copper lip segments forming a polite smile. With hands resting on the table, they gaze at Dekar, awaiting his next command.
Yet Dekar offers none, instead taking slow, contemplative bites of his sandwich.
“How was your day?” Ebizenum inquires.
Lost in thought, Dekar replies, “Fine.”
The android reaffixes their mouth into a smile.
“Can you—”
“Yes?” Ebizenum’s copper brows raise in eager anticipation as they gesture to rise.
“No, no. I don’t require anything. I merely have questions I hope you can answer.”
“I can try,” Ebizenum replies, their brow creased with concern. The chrome of their face gleams in the afternoon light.
“I met someone.”
“Oh,” Ebizenum responds, a hint of worry evident. “From the forest?”
“No, of course not. From one of the books.”
“You mean you spoke to a character.”
“Yes, but she felt more than a mere character. She was off-narrative and very much alive, like you or me.”
“Fascinating,” Ebizenum muses, cupping a hand to their chin-plate in contemplation. “This is indeed a new development. I’m not sure I can assist you with questions regarding an off-narrative non-character that mirrors sentience.”
This response causes Dekar to hesitate, his desire to inquire about the tower and the books clashing with a fear of the answers Ebizenum might provide. He takes a deep breath, pushing away his half-finished sandwich.
“Are you unsatisfied with the ham sandwich? I sincerely apologize for not anticipating your wish for a kabob of the most tender deer meat, perfectly seared.”
“It’s fine. Really.” Dekar locks eyes with Ebizenum, his only companion in this desolate world. “I wish to know, or rather, I hope you can tell me: Did I write all the books in the tower?”
Ebizenum’s expression shifts to one Dekar has never witnessed: eyes wide, chrome lids fully retracted, and mouth segments slightly parted, causing the plates of their face to crowd one another like scales.
“I never imagined this day would arrive. May I have a moment to collect my thoughts?”
“Of course.”
Dekar sips his turmeric lemonade, the ice clinking against the cold glass. He suddenly realizes he is sweating from his armpits.
Ebizenum states, “The short answer is yes, though I recognize this question carries numerous underlying inquiries you’ll also need addressing. Would you prefer to ask them individually, or should I anticipate your needs?”
“Anticipate,” Dekar replies, his mouth inexplicably dry.
“Right. Well, you authored all the books during your awake cycles—those moments when you embody Your Exalted Self. Currently, you reside in one of your lowly cycles, known as Dekar Druid. Shall I proceed? You appear distressed.”
“Please—I’m fine. Continue.”
“Yes, indeed. You must be curious about how many cycles you’ve experienced. The number is quite extensive.” Ebizenum states a staggering figure. “You’d also likely want to know how many books reside in the tower. Well, levels above floor 9,200 and below sub-basement 8,214 remain devoid of books. Yet, you have yet to display the focus or determination necessary to explore the limits of your collection, which consists of [another
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