“You could say I’m a student of the world,” Lesh said. The three of them were walking under trees that were slowly growing taller, following no discernable path except that they headed in a northernly direction, and Jack only knew this because every once in a while the sight of the staggeringly tall mountains would occasionally break through the dense branches above them.
“So you aren’t Yarvan then?” Orvalys asked, taking three or four steps to keep up with one of the old man’s long slow strides.
“Yarva, Tinaria, Thori—these are new names, of which my people have very little to do,” Lesh answered.
“Your people?” Jack asked. “There are more of you?”
Lesh smiled cavalierly. “My folk are the beasts of the bush—the whispering wind and the space between tree trunks. We live, we toil, we die and we are born again.”
Jack stopped in place. “Um… what?”
“Hmm. Poetic,” Orvalys added, urging Jack to continue beside them. “One of the recruits mentioned to me as we landed here that there were legends about these woods.”
Jack realized he hadn’t been a part of whatever conversation that had been.
“The Yarvans have a long history with this place,” Lesh said. “One that stretches back further than even their myths. Many of them aren’t aware that the nomadic peoples that eventually formed the Yarvan civilization can trace their origins back to this side of the mountains.”
“Interesting,” Orv said. “So you’re a linguist, a poet, and an anthropologist?”
Lesh raised a gloved hand and motioned around them, “It is in these trees that knowledge and wisdom mix together. Here there is no myth apart from history and no history apart from myth. If we look hard enough at the lines we draw between types of things, they dissolve and we are left with only what is known and what is not. I live to know what is known—that’s my role. I am the Keeper of the Trees of Knowledge, the Husband of the Woods. The very Spirit of the forest of Athe.”
“You’re really good at answering a question without really answering it aren’t you?” Jack said.
Lesh laughed at that. “Do you know Athe means? It’s as Yarvan as a word can possibly be—Proto-Yarvan if you want to get technical.”
“Jik, a Yarvan from the militia sort of explained it to me,” Orvalys said. “Isn’t it a word for a sort of all-encompassing ancestral spirit or a type of god? I know the Yarvans say their ancestors believed the Mountains of Athe were gods.”
“In a way,” Lesh said. “But in a way, it also is not. Athe is the mindblood of the cosmos—the Fountain itself. It is The thoughtwater gurgling in and through all things in an endless round—the self-knowing, self-creating essence of the world.”
“That’s an… interesting belief,” Jack said.
“It’s very interesting,” Orvalys said quickly. “Is this Athe a type of life force then? I’ve heard of similar concepts before.”
“It could be called a life force,” Lesh said. “But a more appropriate definition would be a consciousness-force. A knowledge force. A mind force or identity force. It is not the intertwined roots of the forest, nor the intertwined roots of familial heritage. Neither is it the mere blood or water flowing through those roots—it is the meaning in that blood or water itself.”
“That’s rather beautiful,” Orvalys said, looking at Jack as if urging him to agree.
“I think—” Jack began, “I think it’s a beautiful belief as well, yes.”
“Not a belief,” Lesh said smiling. Jack noticed that the way he said it wasn’t defensive, there wasn’t a single element of resentment in his words. The old man had said it gently and simply, almost with a tinge of sadness. Jack remembered dealing with people and their diverse beliefs in Nymia. One which particularly came to mind was a certain cult that held power in a land to the south of the kingdom he helped liberate. They were fiercely secretive and transmitted their beliefs through the use of coded messages. It was obvious whenever you came across a member of the cult, they defended their beliefs very spitefully, almost as if daring anyone to negate them. They used their religious power to secure political positions, and somehow—Jack couldn't say exactly why—the way Lesh spoke was the exact opposite.
“Yes, of course,” Jack said quickly. “Sorry. Not a belief. A fact, right?”
“You misunderstand,” Lesh said, this time stopping and turning fully toward the other two. Even standing there right in front of them he looked like he existed with a sort of calm power—at the same time light as a feather and firmly planted in the ground.
“You say that to be respectful to what you perceive are my convictions,” Lesh said. “That is admirable, but Athe is not a conviction of mine. The name is surely tied to mythology and legendry, the etymology itself is woven with countless tales and eons of histories which themselves surely include many levels of fact and fiction. I’m not speaking of any of that. I am speaking of central and pure truth.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“I don’t doubt it,” Jack tried.
“Again, respectable, but incorrect,” Lesh said. “And of course, it’s through no fault of your own. You have had little time to learn. No offense.”
“Um, none taken.”
Lesh continued. “Athe is as concrete as the chemical reaction of glitz in a glitzer, or the gases used to give airships their buoyancy. It is as real as…” the old man stopped for a moment and looked at Jack. His ancient eyes narrowed and Jack felt like they bored into him. It wasn’t unpleasant, but something about it was slightly invasive. He wasn’t sure, but for a moment there seemed like there was the flash of a small light in the very center of Lesh’s pupils.
“Electricity,” the old man said in English.
“Wait!” Jack looked at Orv who seemed just as surprised. “Who told you that word?”
“No one,” Lesh said in English, which, though it was heavily accented, was also correct. “I drink from the Athe, and it is from the Athe I learn the things that are true.”
“You’re speaking English,” Orvalys said. “That language doesn’t exist here.”
“Yet it exists somewhere,” Lesh said. “Currently it exists in your mind, as does the idea of electricity, and a very strange land very very far away.”
“You can read people’s thoughts?” Orvalys said. “That’s the Athe?”
“I can access anything that is known,” Lesh said. It was clear he was speaking very seriously, but also there was a hint of amusement at their reaction. “I told you, I drink from the Athe and I learn. I take the pulse of the universe.”
Jack looked at him wide-eyed. “You can uh… you can just automatically know anything?”
“Anything that’s known,” the old man said. “Anything ever known, and many things that will be known.”
“You're saying you can tell the future?” Orvalys asked.
“No,” Lesh said.
The homunculus protested. "But you just said—"
Lesh held up a hand to stop him. “I cannot tell them, but I can drink them. I tell the bits that were always told, but the drink is full and complete. If I told all, they would likely change, and then I couldn’t drink them in the first place to tell them to anyone.”
Orvalys nodded. “A paradox."
Lesh shrugged. “If you believe in that kind of thing. I find the existence of paradox to be one of the more juvenile beliefs—an attempt to put a word to a piece of reality that doesn’t fit in your mind.” He looked at Jack and smiled. "Again no offense."
Orvalys turned to Jack. “I think we found this world’s magic.”
“Tinaria’s magic,” Jack said nodding.
Lesh held up a hand again. “Technically this world is not Tinaria, that is one nation of many. Neither is it Yarva nor Lake Yi, Spavarta, Thori, the Umitzal wasteland, the Tekkendokkan steppe nor the Hindler tribes which live upon them. To them, their lands are known by many names—Athentraj, Esdur, Hemji. There are other words some cultures use for all of existence like the Hindler Tukuloo. If you want an equivalent to your name ‘Earth’ it could be the Jurkil word for dirt, Kiklu. The Yith would call the ground Jolo—or in Tinrian it would be Klirt.”
“Of course,” Orvalys said. “Tinaria was only the place of our first experience, that’s the only reason we have been using that name in English.”
“Surprisingly, it isn’t not appropriate,” Lesh said. “Tinaria comes from the base word tinar meaning ‘other.’ It was a word that used to refer to other cultures which then came to mean ‘tribe’ before becoming small city-states. The ending came from īyia which is an archaic term for ‘land.’ When those city-states came together the words did too, therefore Tinaria was the name of the new republic, but etymologically tinar-īyia would translate to 'a land of the other,’ or perhaps for our purposes, ‘a world of the other.’ Either way, it’s appropriate.”
Orvalys stood with his mouth open. “Ok, well that’s freaking cool,” he finally said. “And you can just access these things automatically? What’s that like?”
“Like breathing,” was all Lesh said. He looked at Orv wistfully who laughed to himself and nodded back. The old man then looked at Jack who nodded back too.
“I believe you,” Jack said. “I’m sorry for doubting you. I shouldn’t have. It’s real.”
“I didn’t say real either,” Lesh said. “I said true. I said known.”
“There’s a difference?”
“I suppose you’ll have to find out,” the old man said. He turned once again to the trail ahead of them. There was a slight wind that had picked up, and the leaves began dancing around gently in the chill. “That is why I’m taking you where I’m taking you, and teaching you what I’m going to teach.”
“Teach—teaching us?” Jack said. He looked at Orvalys. “We’re kind of on a schedule.”
“I know,” Lesh said. “I’m aware of what lies ahead for both of you, as I’m aware of why you came to my forest, just as I was aware of where you’d be and how I would save you.”
This time Orvalys and Jack both looked at each other. “I’m not sure we’re entirely comfortable with you knowing all of that,” the homunculus said.
Lesh suddenly let out a loud, bellowing laugh. It seemed to shake the leaves on the trees and made birds fly. The breeze suddenly turned colder as he finished and looked at both of them more piercingly than he had yet.
“I know,” he said. “Just as I know neither of you could stop me even if you wanted to. Which undoubtedly makes you uncomfortable, but not uncomfortable enough to not let your curiosity win.”
Jack and Orvalys looked at each other once again. The homunculus shrugged, and Lesh let out another roaring laugh.
“I told you. I drink from the Athe. If you didn’t want me to know it, it shouldn’t have ever been.”