Page Turners - Chapter 19 [Page 35] - Others (Part 1)
Gyri waited for a reply, but Charlize said nothing. The silence between them wasn’t awkward—its weight was carried by the incessant sound of boxes whooshing outside. The tiny cubes on Gyri’s arches began their rhythmic dance again, their rapid clicking bringing noise back to the room. With a sigh, Gyri swept the cubes away. Hopping out of his hammock, he let the arches fold neatly at its base as he moved across the room.
“You’ve found a lead, haven’t you? A way to get to heaven,” Gyri said, his tone muted despite the gravity of the question.
“Yes. A girl,” Charlize replied as she walked past him, casually perching at the edge of his hammock. Her calm demeanor belied the storm brewing in her mind. Gyri, sensing her intent, went to the far side of the room and leaned against the wall.
“Tell me everything.”
“I turned to 34 alone, and there she was—right next to me. She claims she turned from Page 5.”
“Page 5?” Gyri echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Bold claim. But if she wasn’t on 33 when you turned, I suppose your curiosity was warranted.”
“She was just a little girl. Says she can’t remember her name or family, though she doesn’t seem to pine for them either. It’s only a half-truth—I’m sure of it. What’s more, she sensed a Quillia watching us. Not only that, but she had some sense of its power, possibly even gauging access.”
“Interesting,” Gyri mused, stroking his chin. “She might have a sixth sense with the Seam. Possible Seamstress?”
Charlize kicked off lightly from the floor, setting the hammock into a gentle sway. Her eyes wandered across the vines crawling up the walls, her voice contemplative. “That’s my best guess as well, but there’s more. When we turned to 35, she aged. Physically, mentally—it wasn’t subtle. She even changed her hairstyle.”
Gyri leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. “Unusual, but consistent with the abilities of a Seamstress. Changing their form is one of the few documented capabilities. But you already know that so what am I missing?”
Charlize stopped the hammock with her foot, fixing Gyri with a serious look. “Her Contracts don’t add up. She claims her first Contract’s terms were redacted. The one she currently has grants her a thousand-year lifespan and only 1% access. It’s as if the Authors don’t know what to make of her.”
Gyri’s eyes widened as the cubes on his arches began typing furiously, their chattering reflecting the rapid-fire thoughts racing through his mind. After a moment, the cubes slowed, then sank back into the arch as Gyri turned to face Charlize.
“Nope. Never heard of anything like that. I’ve searched every memory store, even my others—nothing. You know what this means, don’t you?” His voice grew sharper, tinged with unease. “If God considers those terms fair, then—”
“Then He doesn’t know what to do with her either,” Charlize interrupted, finishing the thought.
Gyri began pacing, his fingers twitching as if typing on an invisible keyboard. It was a nervous tick, one Charlize recognized from years of working together. “‘God is fair.’ The ultimate rule that governs the Book. Contracts are our clearest, most practical expression of that rule. Even Authors, with all their power, must abide by it. A Contract’s lifespan and access must reflect the Page and the person. Lifespan usually has a 30-50% margin. At a thousand years, the Author expects it to take her between 500 and 750 years to cross the Page. And yet, with only 1% access for her safety? That doesn’t add up. Unless…”
Gyri trailed off, his hand brushing against the vines on the wall. He murmured to himself as the cubes started typing again, this time at a steady rhythm. Spraying the vines with water, he seemed lost in thought until Charlize stormed over and grabbed him by the shoulders.
“You shorted out, Gyri. Went to one of your others. I need you, buddy. Tell me your theory.”
Gyri blinked, shaking his head before gently patting Charlize on the arm to free himself. “She could be lying. We can’t ignore that. Her Contract is for her eyes only—impossible to confirm the terms. But if we assume she is a Seamstress, why would she lie? There’s no record I'm aware of suggesting Seamstresses receive special treatment from Authors. Once they realize their abilities, they usually leave through the Seam, making Contracts irrelevant. It’s not solid evidence, but it casts doubt on the Seamstress theory.”
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Charlize frowned, almost offended. “I wouldn’t have stayed with her if that weren’t the case.”
Gyri sighed. “Maybe the Contracts are different on Pages 1 through 5 and it's somehow clashing with the ones we're used to. Or maybe skipping Pages messed with their system somehow. Ah, the speculation could never end.” He returned to his hammock, taking the perch Charlize had. “It’s been ages since we had a lead like this. I’ll inform the others in our little collective. Just remember how our other leads turned out—let’s keep the chaos to a minimum.”
“I don’t need reminding.”
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Od struggled to keep up with Tilla as she darted ahead, weaving through the bustling crowds. Her excitement was infectious, though it left Od winded. Tilla had never encountered such a variety of humes before, and now, she was seeing a new one every minute. Even Od, who had been to many Pages, had rarely seen so much diversity in one place.
In the distance, a three-meter-tall hume lumbered forward, its singular leg dividing and reforming with each step. Nearby, a group of smaller humes stacked themselves atop one another, toppling over repeatedly before starting the process anew—a baffling form of locomotion. Others had extra limbs, fur-covered bodies, exoskeletons, or entirely formless shapes detectable only by Seam weavers or advanced technology. Amid this vast array of species, the flatheads stood out as the most common. Traveling in small clusters, their presence dominated the Cube—a reminder that this was their home Page.
Tilla flitted from stall to stall, marveling at the endless rows of items on display. Most were cubes of various sizes, colors, and materials. Their uniform shape made it impossible to discern their purpose. Without currency, she and Od could only wonder what secrets each item held.
Peering over the bridge’s rail, Tilla’s jaw dropped as she saw layer upon layer of bridges below, each spaced 100 meters apart, descending far beyond her line of sight. The bridges below had even more varied items: strange creatures in cages, hanging materials flowing in ways that defied physics, and large machines that had indecipherable functions. The endless depths of the Cube and its boundless treasures were dizzying. She leaned forward, gripping the rail tighter attempting to see further.
Her feet began to lift off the ground before Od grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her back.
“Careful, Tilla,” Od scolded, his voice stern.
“Sorry,” Tilla muttered. “I just… I’ve never realized there was so much… stuff.”
“Yeah, it’s a lot—even for me,” Od admitted. “We need to stay close. If we wander too far, it’ll be hard for Charlize to find us.”
Tilla scoffed, brushing past him. “Screw her. I’m sure the super badass Bookwyrm will have no problem finding us, even in this maze.”
Od sighed, keeping close as they moved with the flow of the crowd. They avoided eye contact with the flatheads, whose cold, unwelcoming gazes made their presence clear. Scratching the back of his neck, Od finally broke the awkward silence.
“She’s rough around the edges, but maybe go a little easier on her,” he suggested.
“Why do you defend her?” Tilla shot back. “She’s got major problems. She almost choked you to death!”
“She’s done other things too, Tilla. She’s protected you. She killed a Quillia for us. Do you understand what that means?”
“She helps us, sure,” Tilla conceded, crossing her arms. “But she’s helping herself too. She doesn’t need to be such a… such a bitch about it.”
Od raised an eyebrow. “As much as I like your new form, I don’t love that kind of language at your age.” He adjusted his cap, guiding her to the rail. They leaned over, watching the boxes zip by. “Here’s the thing: people who’ve lived thousands of years—sometimes tens of thousands—tend to be… different. The things they’ve seen, the things they've had to do, and the things they’ve lost along the way—it can be a lot to bear. Life is hard, and happiness is fleeting. The longer you live, the more you lose. And if half of what I’ve heard about her is true, she’s suffered more than anyone ever deserved.”
Tilla stared at him, absorbing his words. “Is that why she cried after she killed the Quillia?”
Od hesitated, scratching an itch that had moved to his shoulder. “Maybe. I’d guess it’s tied to her Creation.”
“What do you mean?”
“Every Creation has a price. It’s not always obvious, but the stronger the Creation, the higher the cost tends to be. Considering how powerful hers is, the price must be… significant.”
“Significant in what way?”
He hesitated again before answering. “I'm not sure of the specifics, but I'm sure it involves pain.”
Tilla’s head fell as guilt washed over her. “What about yours?” she asked. “What’s the price of your Creation?”
Od glanced at his bag, a shadow crossing his face. “You know, I still haven’t quite figured that out yet.”
“Didn’t you say you were God in there? Maybe God doesn’t pay a price.”
“Maybe,” Od said softly, staring into the depths of the Cube. “Or maybe the bag is the price.”