ABOUT HALF AN HOUR later, the Pixie lobbed no less than seventeen new dust preparations into the dark pool in quick succession and unleashed his potent incantations. Mauve, mustard yellow and pale orange dust exploded from the different points of impact. At once he began to dance, twirl, implore, boom and rattle off the half-intelligible, half-gibberish words of Pixie magic-making, practically shaking the cavern with his antics, and generally acted as if he were attacking a large, belligerent Dragon. The Scintillant Faerie were a nation of dancers, but she decided that this stout fellow could teach them a few tricks. Oodles of talent and some sweet moves.

Three minutes or so into his impassioned performance, a small pink copy of a Sentinel Tree formed of pure Pixie dust suddenly sprouted up out of the pool. Billowing dust clouds gathered above, coalescing into an azure Middlesun complete with dark Dragons circling it in unending array. Allory began to lean forward to examine the Shyraiama Dragons more closely, wondering why they seemed almost fibrous in texture, but Garobixi stopped her with a touch upon her arm.

He panted, “It’s still dangerous. I’ve picked up an associated memory structure rather than the original one, but there’s a good chance the action of demanding access may trigger … well, additional unknown protections.”

She nodded, “Understood.”

Doubt wormed its way firmly beneath all the self-confidence she had tried to shore up in the last short while. Hope trap number two isn’t nastier than number one …

Pixie-style library work was unexpectedly hazardous.

Without warning, a disembodied voice began to intone, “Class, the origins of our world are shrouded in mystery. What we know is that Spheris boasts a sun set within a sphere of solid matter, a fully enclosed sun. Some fragmentary Pixie memories suggest that this is a unique arrangement, that there are other worlds which rather than enclosing a sun like a shell, are single homogenous balls of matter which orbit around their suns. People live on the outer surface beneath a gaseous mantle which supports their kind of life. Our Spheris is the opposite, almost as if a planet had been turned inside-out. We know not how this came to be. We have lost memory of what lies beyond our world, but it is said to be wondrous indeed, a realm in which many suns shine in a pure darkness called outer space, like sparkling Pixie dust scattered across a night sky.

“What we do know is that Spheris is faced with a simple problem of physics.” As the voice spoke, a diagram formed in the dust. “Place a single, enormous source of heat and light into an enclosed atmosphere, and what should happen? Either the energies unleashed over time should create atmospheric storms of a size and nature that would destroy all life within that enclosed space, or the unstinting heat should raise the temperatures beyond liveable conditions. Day and night are not enough to alleviate this heat issue. The heat has nowhere to go. Theoretical exoplanets can lose surface heat into the void of outer space. Spheris cannot.”

She stared at the diagram as arrows illustrated the nature of the issue. Aye. It made sense, this inside-out world. How fascinating! Stars. I wonder what stars would be like? Many Middlesuns?

“It took the concerted labour of generations of scholars to understand the interplay of forces. What we learned was that at the physical level, the groves of Sentinel Trees serve the purpose of absorbing heat and conducting it down into the basal structures of Spheris. Some scientists theorise that their roots penetrate right through the shell of Spheris itself and release the excess heat into outer space. At one level, they are a mighty temperature-regulating system.

“Yet the presence of myriad magical races, not least of which are the Pixies, demonstrates that physical forces are hardly the only defining feature of Spheris. Other forces and natural systems are better understood via the framework of the magical sciences, while some are more numinous still. Arguably the greatest and least understood of these is the force said to yield to the mastery of the smallest of all Faerie peoples, the Scintillant Fae. This inexplicable, unruly, wilful force is called ariavanae – I use these descriptors in honour of generations of Pixies who persisted yet failed to quantify its impenetrably enigmatic nature. Indeed, its very existence is regarded by mainstream Pixie scholarship as highly improbable. Adherents to the cult of the –”

“Cult?” Allory coughed.

Garobixi touched her arm again.

“– ariavana, or the primitive, unproven and ultimately unprovable belief that the Middlesun is an astral entity or other cosmic being possessed of soul and consciousness like any ordinary living creature, claim they are able to hear a special song attributed to this entity. They call it the world-soul and claim to sing its song. Drawing upon its powers, the Scintillant Fae perform admittedly implausible feats of magical healing and restoration.”

She folded her arms tightly across her torso, suspecting her sap might physically start steaming any second now, but the Librarian gestured for her to continue listening.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“In addition,” the self-important voice continued, “the earliest Faerie creation legends assert that the fabric of Spheris itself was designed and fabricated by this entity in an almighty act of self-preservation, or that the Middlesun must thus be cocooned ahead of its emergence into a new, transcendental form, an act which unfortunately would annihilate all life as we know it. Therefore, to the innately superstitious Faerie, their paramount duty toward the ariavana or inmost soul of the world is to protect it from any harm.”

Primitive? Superstitious? The nerve!

“Next, my honoured students, I invite you to consider the import of the potential unlimited restoration of physical entities to states of pristine wholeness –”

“Watch out!” the Pixie rapped, making his Faerie companion nearly leap out of her wing clusters in fright.

“– or even, the self-evidently spurious claims that the Scintillant Fae possess a power akin to resurr –”

GRABOOM!!

A mighty detonation sent Allory flying backward to land in a crumpled heap against the barrier Garobixi had activated before. Pain struck like a knife through her chest from the almost-healed wound site through her torso, momentarily leaving her unable to breathe. A whirlwind of dust enveloped the Pixie. Semi-formed mauve draconic heads snapped at him, doing a distressingly purposeful job of trying to rip his head off. The Librarian fought back with all his strength and guile, yet the dust slowly but surely dragged him toward the seething pool.

The Fae staggered drunkenly to her feet. Nothing broken? Miracle.

“Save yourself!” he cried.

“I’m coming, Garobixi! Hold on,” she yelled, even though she was certain he could not hear. Ducking her head, Allory tried to force her way back into the raging dust storm.

The malevolent purple dust streamed about the Pixie’s form, disintegrating his platform of pixels and winding about his waist like half a dozen russet pythons seeking to trap him in their coils – a childhood fear of hers. No! This was too terrible. Allory could not imagine his fate, but she doubted it involved anything short of being ripped apart by these terrible forces. What could she do? She was too weak to make much headway against this dust storm.

“Let us in!” a new voice shouted.

“Chenixipi!” Allory yelled, skidding backward under the impetus of a renewed dust-blast. “I can’t – please, help him! He’ll die!”

The Pixie howled above the seething roar of the dust, “Fly up. Hit the finger-pad in this sequence – green, red, yellow, pink, green, black, black, white!”

Leaping unsteadily into the air, Allory managed to grab a crystal and steady herself. She slapped frantically at the pad. Mistake. Again? Chenixipi screamed the sequence to help. Suddenly, the barrier vanished and a large force of Pixies accompanied by Yaarah came tumbling into the chamber.

“It’s a dust-wildling!” someone yelled.

“It’ll murder the poor pixieboy! After him!”

“Garobixi!” Chenixipi cried, fighting through the mayhem as he teetered on the edge of the pool. “Hold on, Garobixi!”

Snagging the Pixie’s sleeve as she charged into the lead, Allory found herself whisked along for the ride. As usual, she had absolutely no idea what she was doing, only that she was responsible for putting Garobixi into mortal danger. Her and her ridiculous attempts to get her way. Whatever had possessed her?

She had to do something.

How could she let anyone die for the catastrophe that was Allory?

Chenixipi forced her way into the mayhem of dust-heads, screaming incantations as she battled a storm which gave every indication of having a mind of its own. A wedge of brave Pixies pressed in behind her, shuffling along shoulder to shoulder, drawing together in strength and purpose. The group to her left chanted in chorus, “Dustus bustus! Dustus bustus!”

The dust pool did not appear to be in any mood for listening. The winds howled as if to drown them out by sheer volume. To her right, another set of Pixies shrilled, “Impetus thrustus! Impetus thrustus!” Each time they chanted the magical command, she felt the whole posse jolt forward a step.

Teetering on the edge of the pool, the stricken Under-Librarian reached out. Chenixipi gripped his wrists. “Hold on! We’ve got you.”

She had thought these Pixies playful, healers, unconventional but gentle souls. Nothing of that here. Chenixipi forged into the fray like a mythical warrior clad in adamantine purpose and possessed of strength beyond mortal flesh. She hauled him upward, away from the edge, but the swirling dust-storm responded with a demented shriek of its own as it surged into a counterattack. A dark purple thunderhead exploded over the posse, beating Pixies left and right, shattering the formation. White Dragon fire lashed out from somewhere behind, protecting some of the Pixies as they scrambled to save themselves. Allory only clung on because her hand was now stuck in Chenixipi’s robe and she could not have let go had she wanted to. As she fluttered behind the Pixie’s shoulder in the grip of this new onslaught, she beheld the most terrible sight in her life.

Garobixi began to disintegrate.

The dense dust streaming over him with monomaniacal purpose began to strip flecks of Pixie flesh off his face and head, peeling the skin of his shoulders and arms, snatching it away in tiny but discernible chunks. The wind screamed with insane fury, wreaking its ultimate vengeance. Naked despair creased his features. He knew. Everyone knew.

“Let me go,” he mouthed.

“I’ll never let you go!” Chenixipi wailed. “Garobixi, no!”

He stared into her wild green eyes as they did in the legends, never more ardent, never nobler, never more tragic. “One … last thing … I love your every particle, Chenixipi. I always have.”

“I … I do, too, Garobixi,” she gasped. “I do … hold on! You have to –”

“No. For you.”

His hands unclenched from their death grip on her wrists. As he began to fall backward, the horrific dust swarmed over his body, annihilating the fabric of his life.

“No!” Allory screamed.

Garobixi’s half-destroyed lips quirked sadly. “I … love …”

No. Noooooo! Her cry of outrage, of negation, did not come from her lips but rather, sprang from her soul. This was wrong. And it was wholly her fault.