The Writer's Lodge

The room where Brandon slept might have been messy if it weren’t so bare. On the desk beside his bed were an armful of books and a few hand-written pages of what looked like letters to friends or family. An old-fashioned lamp, a watch and tall glass of water were the other objects that competed for attention.

A window had been left open and light streaked across his room each time a breeze stirred the curtains. There might have been a streetlight right outside. But Brandon didn’t notice. He tossed and turned in his bed, dreaming. Then, as though spitting sand from his tongue, he pth pth-ed…

A girl – a pretty girl, with tousled brown hair and hazel eyes – trudged through a desert in jeans. She held up a hand to protect her face from a blustery wind full of gritty sand. Night had fallen, and the moon was not particularly bright; the landscape indiscriminately grey-blue. The girl reached into her pocket and used the luminescence of her phone’s backlight to guide her for a few metres before putting it back away.

A soft, rhythmic chanting haunted either her ears or her imagination. She looked back over her shoulder in the direction from which she had come; the faint glow of civilisation. She fell to her knees, looking exhausted and utterly dejected. With as much strength as she could summon she drove her fist into the sand, fighting back tears. She closed her eyes and mouthed: Why?

Behind her, a group of eagle warriors stalked towards her with swift, silent steps. They carried spears or clubs that bore sharp, obsidian-edged blades. The girl was completely unaware. Danger crept closer and closer.

Brandon’s restlessness intensified. ‘No! N-no!’ he shouted out to his apartment, from deep within his subconscious. His eyes darted frantically underneath his eyelids.

A few more paces and they’d be upon her. The nearest of them began to raise their weapons in readiness to strike. She turned at the final second, to see the point of a spear hurtling towards her. She fell to her side just in time. The spear narrowly missed her shoulder, but she wouldn’t have enough time to scramble to her feet and put any distance between herself and the warriors. She lunged for the spear that had missed her – determined to fight, no matter how futile the chance of survival.

Something stilled Brandon. His breathing slowed down considerably. His eyes stopped their frenetic movement, too. It could have been a moment of complete inner-peace, or incredibly intense concentration.

A shiver ran through her as she grasped the spear and span to face her attackers. They’d stopped, frozen in place. They were staring at the spear. One of them pointed at it in alarm. Another shrieked and fell over backwards. The girl was unsure of what was happening but jabbed the spear at one of the muscled men close to her. Visibly panicked he swung his club wildly at the spear and the area around it, as if unable to see her. She looked at her arms and gasped. It was as though they were deflecting light – camouflaging her. She could just make out a flicker of their outline. Her whole body was the same!

Most of the men were staggering back away towards the glowing light on the horizon, but two were speaking softly to each other and creeping closer to the floating spear. She waved it as menacingly as she could in their direction. They paused, then let out a blood-curdling war-cry and kicked up heaps of sand. Some of it landed on her arm, and they could see it just as well as she could. They advanced. She hastily brushed off the sand, ditched the spear, and darted downhill to her left. The warriors watched the footprints she left in the sand but did not take chase.

After a short time all of the men were gone. She circled back. The spear was gone. She was tired and thirsty and scared for her life. She knew she had to do something about it to survive. So she began the trek back towards the city she’d fled. Hoping to catch a break. Desperate to remain concealed.

Brandon woke suddenly and reached for the glass of water on his desk. The images of the girl in the desert were still vivid in his mind. It was not only the images, either. Her thoughts, her feelings – he’d known them, been connected to them.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and his feet hit the floor. There was a strange sensation in his head. It felt like a part of his mind was busy doing something else. But he couldn’t tap into it; it was almost like he needed a key to access that part of his consciousness. Weird.

His watch read 03:05, which was not so weird. Lately he hadn’t been sleeping through the night all that well.

He heard a gentle knock on his door. Back to weird. It was followed by a whisper.

“Brandon it’s Lizebeth, from the RUPL. I know you’re awake.”

He shuffled over to the door. “The w-w-what?”

“The Regeric Unfeld Private Library, you fool!” snapped the whispering voice. “Now do let me in, it’s imperative I speak with you.”

Brandon cringed. What if this was about the book he and Ninian had destroyed?

“Brandon!”

“Er, I’m n-not dressed.” Brandon lied.

Tapping and clicking came from the lock on his door – which was soon opened by a kneeling Lizebeth. She got to her feet and brushed some specks of dust off the front of her long skirt.

“This really is unacceptable.” Lizebeth swept past Brandon and into his apartment.

“Now tell me,” she said as she perched on the edge of his sofa, “how many Lizebeth’s do you know, exactly?”

Brandon laughed nervously. “I uh, don’t—”

“Quiet.” Lizebeth was staring at him intently. She cocked her head slightly and squinted as she seemed to listen for something. “Is that… Are you…? No that’s not possible.” she said to herself, shaking her head dismissively.

“C-can I get you a drink? I have water and—” Brandon rubbed his temple, which suddenly felt strange.

“My word, you are!” Lizebeth exclaimed. “What are you doing, right now, in your mind?”

“I d-don’t kn-know what you mean… I’ve felt odd since I w-woke up from this strange dream, though.”

“Tell me about it, immediately.”

As Brandon described the events of the girl in the desert, Lizebeth could not hide her surprise, despite trying terribly hard to. The hands clasped on her lap tensed and her lips were pursed just a little too tightly.

“That was no ordinary dream, Brandon. And I must say it: you are no ordinary young man.” Lizebeth paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “I have a lot to tell you, all at once. I would have preferred to ease you into all of it, but time is not on our side.”

Lizebeth motioned for Brandon to sit and he did so. “Alright then, where to start? The secrets of the Library? The Guild? Parallels? Clement Bram? Why you’re possibly the most important person on the planet at this moment? Hmm, I’ll let you decide.”

Brandon looked lost for words.

“Do stay with me, Brandon. And know this: I will always do my best to help you.” She patted him softly on his knee. “You are, well, quite extraordinarily burdened. I can-- I know something about what you’ll be going through.”

“Thank you…”

Lizebeth gave him a small sad smile.