Page Turners - Chapter 11 [Page 34] - Quillia

“You never explained what a Quillia was,” the girl asked, oblivious to the nervous energy coming from the others.

“I did. They are the Authors' lap dogs,” replied Charlize, contempt lacing her words.

“Yeah, but what does that mean?”

“It means they work for them. They do their bidding. Like delivering messages, giving manicures, brushing their hair—”

“And killing those that displease them,” Charlize said, cutting off Od’s rambling.

“Are they here to kill us?” asked the girl.

“I honestly don't know. One guess is they came due to my Snap. The biggest problem with that technique is making others aware you can use it. It's like a signal for powerful people to pick up on. The lower the access, the more you stand out. The Author might have sent their dog to come check on it. But with us so close to the Page's end, it seems like a waste of time.”

“Sounds like you have another idea?” asked Od, hopeful for a solution.

“The other option is they know about your bag or the girl. Either would be extremely bad.”

I can't tell him about the additional term from the Author, she thought. The risk is still too high. If the Author knows about the bag because they interacted with Od directly, they could've already made their own deal. Getting off this Page and severing any connection he may potentially have with the Author will ease my mind.

“Yeah. But if the worst happens, you can beat them, right? You've beaten them before, haven't you?”

“Not many. And none with less than 4% access—the mismatch is too much.”

Charlize’s desire to analyze and plan ahead was trying to anchor her in place, but they had to keep moving. The clock was ticking, and there was one final hurdle ahead.

Od was clearly nervous. She could see him pretending to distract the girl when he was really distracting himself. Beads of sweat dripped down his temple a brief second after his face would lose color. She figured his face losing color was the reaction to a gruesome thought, and the following sweat was due to the lingering terror it caused. A Quillia was certainly not something in his wheelhouse, she knew that. They weren’t in anyone's. Even if people had done it in the past, no one in the Book actually taught people how to kill a Quillia. Just fighting one was considered assured death for most. But for those few who could stand on equal footing with a Quillia, the notion of antagonizing an Author by damaging their property was a suicidal one. That is to say, no one—not even the strongest elites across the entire Book—would ever willingly fight a Quillia.

“Is that why they feel stronger than you?” asked the girl out of the blue.

“I think so. I don't know how, but you seem to be sensing access to the Seam. A Quillia is granted no less than 50% access by their Author. If that's what you're sensing, it would explain why my power feels insignificant by comparison.”

“So he is ten times more powerful?! Wait, it’s even more than that!!”

“I’m afraid it’s much more. As a simple example, just in terms of Strings, he can make thousands more than I can. Possibly tens of thousands,” Charlize answered, her words doing little to comfort her.

“Thousands!?” The girl's eyes rolled back as her brain seemed to break from trying to comprehend it.

“So that's it then. It's over? I waited all this time, we came all this way. And now we can't move further because of one man? This can't be real,” Od said as he dropped to his knees.

“You're done then? Your mission to kill God, over because of a single Quillia? How did you imagine this would work? That you would just walk through the Pages one by one, casually strolling across the Book without the slightest resistance? No wonder your Story ended so quickly,” Charlize mocked.

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The air seemed to thicken, and it almost felt like gravity was slowly starting to increase. Od was crumpled on the floor, and the girl’s head was spinning with powers she couldn’t understand. The pressure was mounting on all of them, weighing them down, urging them to stop.

Od looked up at Charlize, then at the girl. He saw something—a vision of a memory—and the reason came rushing back to him. His reason. The one that drove him to want to kill God and summon the best Bookwyrm he could to do it. It fueled him.

“You're right! What would they think of me? It's just been so long since I made that decision, all that determination must've withered over time. But I can help!” he said, bouncing back to his feet.

“Finally ready to trust me?”

“I guess it's now or never, right? In the spirit of trust, I'll tell you how I hid from the butterflies. If I place a part of my body into the bag, I cease to exist in this universe. Presumably, because at that moment I exist within the bag. As far as I can tell, I become completely undetectable. The only exception seems to be if an intelligent being is looking right at me.”

“That could prove very useful. Does it work on others?”

“No. It only works like that for me. But if someone else is completely inside the bag, the same rule applies.”

“Doesn't seem too much use to us now, unfortunately. Not that I'd let you put me inside your bag,” Charlize said with a grin.

“I can also pull things out of the bag. It's a bit complicated to go into, but it's possible for me to throw something with destructive power not too dissimilar from your Snap.”

“Now, that sounds useful. Could you take the thing out now? Keep it to hand for when the time is right. Could I throw it?”

“I technically can, but it would be useless. Something with the power we need would warp the Seam and become unstable over time. They'd sense it a mile off. Plus, anyone but me throwing it is a bad idea—due to the aforementioned complicated stuff.”

“How long would it take? To open the bag, grab the thing, and throw it—how long?”

“I dunno, a couple seconds? Never thought to time it.”

“Guess.”

“3-4 seconds? Sometimes I need to rummage a little.”

“Too long.”

“Then what?”

“We gamble. Your clock is running out. The girl has no one but us. We need to move forward. I have a plan. A horrible plan that I would never in a million years agree to. Will you both trust me? Will you follow my lead, no matter how terrifying things get?” she asked. She stood before them, the tail of her coat bobbing in the breeze. For the first time, the others didn't see the cold-hearted Bookwyrm they'd grown to know—they saw a leader.

“I'm with you, Charlize,” Od answered without a hint of sarcasm, for once.

“I don't really have a choice, and I don't like the sounds of the Quillia. But I'm with you two, all the way,” said the girl, a fierceness reminiscent of Charlize emanating from her.

“Then it seems our merry band is ready to go.”

After almost three years of venturing across Page 34, the final stretch was in front of them. With the looming threat of the Quillia, the last few weeks of their journey felt like the longest. There was an uncomfortable tension that the group couldn’t shake. Every step they made toward the Page’s end was one step closer to the Quillia and the unknown outcome that awaited them.

The Quillia stood there unmoving like a statue—or more accurately, like a small toy on a distant shelf. It was impossible to be intimidated by the tiny shape of a man so far away, but the aura they emitted seemed to make the air heavy, making it harder to breathe. Each step brought them closer to a fate they couldn’t predict.

Od kept trying to get something out of Charlize, some kind of plan. She simply kept stating that he needed to trust her.

They took turns to sleep again, just like back in the hollow-grass. Od tried his best not to look at the Quillia, just peeking over now and again to see if they’d moved, but they never did. Charlize would catch him with his head in his bag, while she pretended to sleep. Sometimes she thought she could hear him mumbling something. When it was her turn, she would just sit and stare at the Quillia for hours on end. Not once did they move while under her gaze.

The girl slept peacefully, protected by her two companions. Although she felt uneasy, it was difficult for her to fully comprehend that they might be walking to certain doom. Charlize tried her best to keep her calm, commenting on how she thought the butterfly mark on her cheek suited her—an effective and honest piece of flattery that the girl seemed to enjoy.

Eventually, they drew close enough to the shape of the Quillia to see them more clearly. They wore a navy three-piece suit, with a large feather for a tie. His gray hair was tied into a short ponytail, and a few wisps of hair gracefully rested on his face. Over the next few hours, they closed the gap, bringing more details to light. The fact that every button on his shirt and jacket was a different color and that his shoes seemed freshly polished.

Once he was only a few meters away, Charlize stopped and the others stopped with her. They stood there for a moment, silent, waiting for the Quillia to state their business. After a few minutes, Charlize grew tired of waiting and decided to speak first. But before she had a chance, the Quillia, seemingly intentionally, started speaking.

“Gift me the bag, and I will let you leave unharmed. Or I can take it from you. What is your choice?” said the Quillia, speaking as if he owned his audience.