They were surely coming, surely only minutes behind. The shelves had eyes here. Officially they observed the collection, which mere men would go mad trying to catalog. But of course they also kept watch for miscreants, thieves, and arsonists. Meet Auva Valdana, all of the above. Hands seizing the corner of a line of shelves, feet slipping on the floor. There at the end of the aisle was escape. From the side stepped three armed guards. Impeccable timing. Their shouts blended into a shapeless mass of sound to which Auva granted no attention. Ten meters. Eight. Feint right, leap left. Feet planted on shelf. Across the aisle, a bit higher. Off the corner, above the guards' gaping mouths. Slam into the sixth shelf from the bottom. A shelf conveniently cleared of books. This bookcase was special. Unlike the ones around it, the sequence of books it held repeated, once every thirteen years. The last time this particular set of books had appeared, one Auva Valdana had stolen the entire contents of the sixth shelf from the bottom. And then waited for the books to change twice. Before the guards' eyes, the books, and Auva with them, began to fade away. In a blink they were gone. In their place, with a blast of heat that drove the guards back, roared a wall of orange flame, greedily devouring paper and wood just as it had when it was lit, almost thirteen years ago. ----- "You rode at Ilyas?" The girl's eyes were wide. Heka nodded. "With your magan. Bravest soldier I ever knew. Auva fought like a wild beast. Which, well... never mind." "Wow." She stared at him for a bit. "What was it like?" The old man's eyes hardened. "It was hell. Never let anyone sing to you of the glories of war." "But --" "No buts. To take a man's life is an unforgivable crime. That it is thousands taking the lives of thousands makes it no better." They were both silent. "Where did Auva go?" the girl ventured. "After the fire? No one knows." Heka saw the flames in his memory, burning fierce and brilliant but dulled by time and old age. He saw the whole library called to arms, to bear water and douse the ruined shelves. He saw the guards' anxious faces, sheened with sweat and darkened by ash, as they told their side of the story. Could it have been Auva's doing? "We, here at the library... no two came from the same place. And many leave just as suddenly as they arrived." "I'll find Auva," the girl said quietly. "When I grow up, I'll find Auva. And I'll find out what's been going on." Heka looked into her eyes and sighed. There was something strange about Auva. Something distant, something foreign. Perhaps she would find the truth. "Someday that may be, Alya Auvana. But not just yet." ----- The imperial caravan arrived at the library in a grand procession. The emperor had made the journey to consult the library on public policy, and spectators had come from miles around to witness the occasion. As he ascended the steps, a cheer went up; he turned and raised his arms. "I may be emperor of these lands," he shouted, "but even I bow to the power of words." He knelt, and the crowd knelt with him. Then, surrounded by his advisors and his bodyguard, he stepped inside. Safely ensconced in a hidden alcove, Auva listened to the halting footsteps as the emperor let the voices of the books guide him. Now quick, now slow, now this way, now that. They turned a corner, halted, backtracked. And finally stopped. "This shelf," came a voice. "The empty one?" That was the prime minister. "...yes." There was a rapid discussion among the imperial court, but Auva did not stay to hear it. If the emperor himself had been led to the thirteen-year shelf, that meant there was some significance in the stolen books. Or in their absence. In either case, perhaps they merited a closer inspection. The emperor and his advisors left by the front door, acting as if everything had gone normally. Auva left by the back door, and sought a certain hiding place deep in the mountains. ----- As she had done every week for two years, Alya walked alone the winding path back to the library from Heka's grave. But today something was different. A figure stood among the trees ahead. "Hello!" she called. "Hello," replied the figure. "My name is Auva. You don't know me." "Alya Murana. Can I help you?" Something passed over Auva's face, but it was quickly gone. "Where might I find Heka?" Alya frowned. "Heka fell beside me in battle at Ilyas, two years ago." "I'm sorry to hear that." Auva approached her. "Here, read this." She accepted the offered book, but then glanced up sharply. "This is property of the library." "I know. Please, just read it." Hesitantly Alya lowered her eyes and began to scan the pages. And as she read, she remembered. She remembered the day Heka had passed away, not in battle but in his bed. She remembered the day he had told her of war and fire. She remembered the day he had stood with her before all the others of the library and pronounced, "Welcome to the library, Alya Auvana. May you serve it well." She remembered the day Auva, who had so consistently failed to pronounce her real name, had shortened it instead. She remembered the day she had first come, young and tired and lost, to the library. Dropping the book, she stumbled backward. "Who are you? What is this trickery?" "No trickery," said Auva. "This is your real life." And despite herself, she began to believe it. She stood there, staring, until finally she could bear it no longer. "Magan," she whispered, her voice wavering. "Paru," Auva replied, embracing her, and they cried tears of joy. ----- "No one ever fought at Ilyas," Auva told her as they wandered through the shelves. "Or at least, not for centuries." "And yet both Heka and I remembered it," replied Alya. "The library draws on the memories and imagination of the humans within its walls. That is the source of its infinite collection. And it replaces what it takes with old stories from its books. You, as a servant of the library, have had all of your memories replaced every few years. What was taken out went into the book I gave you." "But you never forgot." A smile crossed Auva's face. "Ah, but I am not human. You knew that, once." "You knew all along, and you never told us." "I honestly believed it was for the best," Auva sighed. "The tales the library plants in the minds of its patrons keep the empire running smoothly. When everyone remembers the last war, no one wishes to start the next one." They had come to the fire-charred wall against which stood the thirteen-year shelf. "And when you nearly burned down the library? Were you trying to break that pattern? Start another true war?" "No, my little crimes were merely amusements. I was confident in the knowledge that nothing really terrible could come of my actions. But my choice of target may have had unintended consequences. Last week, at the emperor's visit, the library saw fit to show him this empty shelf." Auva reached up and brushed away the dust coating the wall above the bookshelf. Faintly visible in the scarred wood was the word "HISTORY". "You see," Auva explained, "these books document true events. They repeat every thirteen years because history repeats every thirteen years. Do you see?" Alya hesitated. "The library feeds the same notions into the minds of those who seek political advice, and they move the empire in the same direction. The system never changes." "Exactly. Most visitors do not read these books, or think them fiction, or forget them. But the emperor has received a sign that his advisors cannot interpret. The choices he makes now are entirely his own. For the first time in living memory, the library is not at the reins of history." ----- "If you do this," said Alya, "there's no telling what the emperor will do." "I know." "There's no going back. There could be war. Thousands of people could die." "I know." "Then how --" "The library can't possibly control everything. You and I only see what goes on here, but what if the empire is at war right now, somewhere far away? Perhaps thousands of people are already dying. If I don't do this, what happens now goes on forever, or until another like me comes to the library. I cannot in good conscience take that risk." Alya swallowed, nodded, stepped back. Auva raised the torch. "To change." Her mind wanted to say something but her heart forbade it. Then she was watching the torch as it flew in a shallow arc onto the floor. The oil caught and flames raced along the stacks, consuming the dry paper. There was no stopping it now. Auva turned and began pulling books off the shelf. A shelf that had never repeated itself. Desperate, Alya shouted over the roar of fire. "Where are you going?" "I don't know!" Auva shouted back, and climbed onto the shelf. Then the books shimmered and vanished, and Auva was gone. Alya stood there for a minute, then turned and fled. ----- Alya stepped out into the night air amidst the flood of evacuating patrons. Turning, she saw the orange glow of the fire on the hills, and a dark plume of smoke against the stars. The journey would be long, but she could remember it now. She was strong. She would make it. Back to her home, her family, her old name. Adjusting her pack, Alioth set off into the mountains. Behind her, the walls of the library caved in, and the fire bellowed in insatiable fury. Above the door, last to be consumed, sat a forgotten sign that read in ancient letters, "AΦΩ Book Exchange".