Shadows fall behind

 "Keep your face always toward the sunshine, and shadows will fall behind you,” whispered a quiet voice.  Jerome paused in his reshelving of books and looked around him.  He was standing on the fifth rung of a new wooden ladder, the old one having collapsed under the substantial weight of the vice-librarian which left little space for anyone to be close enough to him for him to hear them whispering.  There was no-one at the foot of the ladder, no-one standing nearby, and (even though he felt ridiculous checking) no-one peering out from between the books on a shelf.  He looked at the book in his hand, which was entitled The memory of thorns and shook it carefully to see if that elicited any further advice.  The book was resolutely mute.

“If you didn’t talk to me, then who did?” he said, pitching his voice deliberately at a normal volume.  He hoped it might encourage the whisperer to speak up, if not actually reveal themselves, but silence was all he heard in return.  Shrugging his shoulders, and wobbling a little on the ladder as result, he returned to shelving, setting The memory of thorns in place and drawing another book up from the carousel at the foot of the ladder.  It was a graceful gesture, made perfect by years of practice, and it lifted the book gently on the unseen currents of magic that flowed through the world and deposited it in his waiting hand.  He checked the spine to ensure that the classification was correct and then located an empty spot on the shelf where it belonged.

If the librarians permitted it he could have reshelved all the books using his magic and it would have taken perhaps an hour at most.  Instead the librarians decreed that too much magic might harm the books and that while magic could be used in small, supportive ways, no larger magics could be employed.  Then they’d put a detector in the centre of the library which sounded an unpleasant alarm and released the Wacken at the library doors if too much magic was detected.

Jerome finished shelving the books and descended the ladder.  He didn’t mind the meditative aspects of his job, and shelving allowed his mind to roam and think about all kinds of things.  As he laid his hand on the carousel, a wheeled wooden structure like a miniature three-storey bookcase that the library staff (who were, naturally distinct from the librarians and therefore not as well paid) used to move the books around, the whisper came again.

“Keep your face always toward the sunshine, and shadows will fall behind you.”

Jerome had to control himself; the spell of unveiling, which would have revealed any invisible tricksters, would definitely set the alarms off.  The noise was unpleasant but bearable, but the Wacken — a kind of semi-sentient carnivorous plant — were another matter altogether.  He’d already run away from them twice when idiot visitors to the library had attempted magic in there and he was concerned that there weren’t enough places to hide.

“Who would want to face the sunshine?” he asked, his voice clear and intended to carry.  There was no-one close enough to hear him though and the whisperer deigned not to answer.  He sighed, put his hands on the carousel, and started to push.

Four hours later he signed his timecard and placed in a little slot in a gunmetal grey box by the library’s main entrance and walked out of the doors into the darkness of the tunnel complex beyond.  He’d heard no more whispers for the day and though he’d made a point of swinging the carousel around him far more than necessary had failed to strike any invisible pests.  Whoever it was with the sunshine fetish appeared to have left him after the second whisper.

The tunnels stretched from the library to Genton, a small conurbation under an area that had once been called Stonehenge.  There were imprints in the ceiling in the middle of Genton that were rumoured to be the feet of the ancient stones above, but Jerome was properly educated and knew that all of humanity now dwelled nearly a kilometre underground and that no stone monolith, no matter how ancient, reached down that far from the surface.  After Genton it was necessary to take a transport — a magically controlled capsule that the travel-mages directed between Genton and Lincon, the main hub for outward travel — if you wanted to go anywhere else.  And no-one ventured to the surface or shunned the shadows because the shadowed underground was the only thing keeping humanity alive.

Jerome

Jerome yawned, a huge, body-shaking yawn that left him feeling slightly light-headed when it finished.  He shook his head a little, and looked around to see if anyone had noticed.  From the looks they were giving him, about half of his maths class had seen it.  Or hear it, he’d sounded like a small bear roaring.

“Tired?” said Celine, her eyes twinkling with viciousness.  She was (in Jerome’s opinion) stunningly beautiful on the outside, and as rotten as old cheese on the inside.  “You should try sleeping.”

“Thanks, Celine,” he said, his voice level.  He turned away from her, and Gavin’s hand caught his shoulder.

“Ignore her, she’s a bitch,” he said.

“Don’t call her that,” said Jerome, though there wasn’t much conviction in his voice.  “She’s got an opinion, just like everyone else.”

“Her opinions aren’t like anyone else’s.”

“You’re a toad, Gavin,” said Celine.  She turned away, then looked back over her shoulder at Jerome.  “And you’re just selfish.  Why don’t sleep already and let the rest of us have Christmas?”

“Class, be quiet.  And be seated, why are you out of your chairs?”  Doctor Hasselmann had arrived and was starting the class; with a gentle grumbling but quick movements the students took their places and settled down to listen to his lecture.  Jerome braced himself for the struggle of trying to stay awake while he listened to Dr. Hasselmann, and hoped he’d succeed.

An hour later he’d only started to doze twice and was feeling quite pleased with himself.  He’d written down everything Dr. Hasselmann had said, including the ums, ahs, and the incidental asides, because he couldn’t fall asleep while he was writing.  And now he’d have to rewrite his notes into something coherent, which would give him something to do that night while everyone else was sleeping.  He slipped his notepad and pen into his bag, and got up from his desk, only to find Celine stood in front of him once more.

“Sleep, already, doofus,” she said, pushing him back down.  Her hand was pale and stubby, not quite the kind of hand you expected from a girl with high cheekbones, long glossy hair and eyes so blue they were nearly purple.  “It’s the middle of January and I’ve still not had Christmas.  Do you know what my parents have got me for Christmas?”

“No,” said Jerome, trying to stand up again.  She pushed him back down.

“A car.  They’ve bought me a car for Christmas, but I can’t have it until then.  You’re keeping me from my car, doofus, because you won’t sleep.  So get on with it and sleep already.”

“You make it sound so easy, Celine,” he said, twisting round so he could get up from the other side of his chair.  Her hand landed on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off and got out of the seat.

“It is easy,” she hissed, leaning towards him.  “Just close those four little eyes of yours and wait.”

“Leave him,” said Gavin, standing next to him again.  “You’re such a cow.”  Celine gasped as though she’d been slapped, and her hand went up automatically, attempting to attract Dr. Hasselmann’s attention.  He, however, walked past her without stopping, and was out of the door before she thought to call him by name.  Gavin smirked.  “Guess he’s not got your back today, cow,” he said.  “Leave Jerome alone, go and pick on someone with your own IQ.”

“We’re in the same maths class,” said Celine icily.

“Yeah, but your daddy paid for you to be here, while the rest of us had to work to get here.”

The words hung in the sudden silence of the classroom, broken only when, a few minutes later, Jerome yawned again.

“Come on,” said Gavin. “We’ve got classes to go to.”

As they left the room Celine was still standing by Jerome’s desk, staring into mid-air and not saying anything.  Jerome glanced back at her, and then at Gavin.  “That was a bit mean,” he said.

“But true,” said Gavin.  “She’s only in most of our classes because she’s got a tutor to get her through the work.  She shouldn’t be in them at all.”

“How do you know?  She might be capable of doing them by herself, but her tutor just kind of means we don’t see it.”

“How can you defend her when she keeps picking on you all the time?  She knows about the nightmares, so she’s the one being selfish.  No-one should have to have nightmares like that.”

“Yeah, but Gavin, if I don’t then no-one gets Christmas do they?”

“Is Christmas really all that important?  I could do without it.”

Jerome laughed, though it was a tired laugh.  “Yeah, I’m not sure I miss not having it.  But…,”

“But what?”

“Well, what happens if I don’t get through the nightmares?”

“What do you mean, Jer?”

“Christmas only happens if I survive the nightmares.  What happens if I don’t one year?”

“Don’t talk like that!”

Jerome half-smiled.  “Sure.  What class are we in next?”

“We’re not, we’re done for the day.  I just didn’t want Celine following us.”