Tristan moved over to the lounge area. Riffling through a dead man’s journal beside his body felt wrong in some way he couldn’t quite understand. Not wanting to argue with his conscience, he moved to the overstuffed couches.
“Open it at the beginning, the first parts will most likely be irrelevant, but it's still better to check,” Vulcan instructed.
Calling it a book was a bit of an understatement. Tome might have been a better word as it contained nearly seven hundred pages. Each page was also large - about eight inches by fourteen inches. The tome had a hard cover made of a metal plate, covered in a fluffy fabric. It was an unfamiliar metal that seemed to be resistant to rust.
There was a title stamped into the cover, and that was where Vulcan started, “Records of a Studious Scribe. That must be what they called minor functionaries here. There’s also two pages for every day of the year, so studious might be an understatement.”
Tristan tried to follow along with Vulcan’s interpretation. He wanted to be literate in more than the dead letters of the Caldera. Unfortunately, it was still too early for him to understand which letters correlated to what sounds. So he opened the book.
“Ah, Darken 1, 2552. That must be the year this place fell,” Vulcan skimmed the page, “This is a record of a New Year's celebration. Their calendar is broken up into four months in the year, and it's not based on the moon or sun, but seasons. Darken is both the new year and the start of winter. They evidently get snowed in and live like moles for that period.”
Tristan frowned, “Wouldn’t that make their calendar unreliable? Seasons don’t always last the same amount of time and they fluctuate, there was one year where we had snow year round.”
“It could be a bit off, but a decade or two over a few hundred years won’t change anything, at least not for our purposes,” Vulcan said then he kept reading.
The first half of the book was filled with the life of the scribe. Both his insecurities and opinions of the people around him. The man put far too much weight on what he believed others thought of him. He ate healthy food not because he wanted to be healthy, but because he wanted to appear responsible to his coworkers. The scribe was too scared to talk to the girl he had a crush on, despite having the position of assistant to the head Accountant. A position that ostensibly made him a desirable partner.
Tristan felt bad for the scribe, but he lived a good life. At least up to this point. He had a respected position and could afford to be hesitant. Tristan had not had this luxury, reading the journal made him glad. His life had been dangerous, filled with danger and fear, but never would he say it lacked direction.
The halfway point started the downfall of the city. It was also named for the first time, Deep Cradle. Tristan felt that the city was probably named something better that simply did not translate well. The beginning of the end started gently, Deep Cradle received some visitors.
A few farmers made contact with some ents during the middle of Regrowth, the second month of the cycle. At first, panic had run through Deep Cradle, sentient mythical beasts could comprehend and counter the simple defenses that they had been relying on. However, the ents were gentle. Instead of shedding blood, they helped the farmers with their planting.
Tristan judged the farmers to be fools at first, however, it was not a leap to assume that plant monsters would have an interest in planting. Plants did not eat meat, it would not be illogical to conclude that these mythical beasts had no interest in human flesh. The journal described the first meeting the scribe had with them.
He was the one recording the conversation for the head diplomat. They were described as gentle and slow. Not necessarily pacifists, but more interested in what grew on the earth than what scurried below it. The scribe had been offended at the word ‘scurry’ being applied to the citizens of Deep Cradle.
“Do you see where they went wrong?” Vulcan asked.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
Tristan frowned, “Yes, they invited them in, but that was only unwise because I have the advantage of hindsight.”
“No, any creature that speaks your language needs to answer two questions, why and how,” Vulcan explained, “Dragons speak Draconic. They only speak human tongues when they need something from us, and the only time that happened was when my Uncle started culling them. Nonhuman creatures have nonhuman motivations. These ents most likely were grown from citizens of this city for the express purpose of infiltration. You noticed the spriggons naturally speak the language of humans.”
“So what you mean to say is that if it won’t answer how it can talk and why it wants to communicate, then the creature wants to eat you?” Tristan asked. It made sense, it even applied to humans to some degree.
Vulcan sent a mental nod, “Yes, though in some rare occasions, it is a peaceful contact and they want a resource, like water, or a rare plant.”
Tristan felt that there was a story behind that, but he could get it later. Vulcan went back to commenting on the journal. Thankfully they had a mental connection and Vulcan could read at tier fifteen speeds. Every page only took a handful of seconds to read and explain.
The scribe had been interested in the foreign life forms and thankfully kept a record of his discoveries in his journal. Half a dozen ents had shown up as the month of Regrowth progressed. On the ninety-second day of the month, they had advanced the crop yield enough to earn three of the five chancellor’s trust.
They were invited in. Only one at first, but the gentleness it showed to the people caused them to let their guards down. That and the High Chancellor was a tier eight with a light anima. The ents commented that they could solve the winter food shortages if they grew fungus. It could be grown underground and be used as a way to process solid waste while the river in the canyon was frozen.
A team was put together to research the feasibility of the suggestion. The scribe was not involved, but the girl he had finally gotten the courage to court was. The next few pages had more to do with the color of her eyes than anything that Tristan cared about. This scribe was a poet when he put his mind to it.
It turned out to be feasible, but not just feasible, the research team declared that it was a moral imperative to do it. Evidently, Deep Cradle had been forced to expel unfortunate citizens whenever food rations got too tight. The council reacted exactly like the Elders of the Caldera would have when they were told they ‘had’ to do something.
It was a trait that had saved Tristan’s life, but it had doomed Deep Cradle. The chancellors voted four to one to deny the use of the mushrooms. It was the right call, but their reasoning was so transparent the desperate hungry people turned on them. Surprisingly, the scribe and his girl had their first fight over this event. His work had made him jaded, he no longer believed in true altruism. Working in politics would do that to anyone.
His now fiancé saw struggling people and wanted to help. Unfortunately, everything came to a head when the Monsoon season started and a massive flood of rain washed half the crop into the canyon river. Tristan was skeptical of the legitimacy of the flood, he had passed several rivers that would have been easy to redirect during a Monsoon.
Still, how could seven ents cause a flood? At least that's what the scribe thought. He was high enough in the power structure that he would never be evicted, and low enough to never be targeted for removal. That did not mean all his friends were. It was out of this fear that he took a bribe and signed off on a document.
Unfortunately, the only copy was taken by one of Deep Cradle’s entry guards. Vulcan had a background in running a country, so he tried to put together his best guess at what it said.
“It was likely a notarized permit to let the ents in. Nothing here claims the ents were declared as enemies so making some excuse to shelter them from the deluge outside might be considered reasonable. With half the populace facing a lean season with potential starvation, it would stand to reason that the poorer citizens would try anything to survive,” Vulcan said.
It was a profoundly foolish decision. The ents happily put down roots, asking if the humans would do the same during winter. Of course, they had no expressions, so their genuine feelings were invisible. They managed to rile up the people so much that they were able to march on the capital building.
Half the army was still loyal and the fighting was fierce. Seven ents ranging from tier six to seven were enough to kill the high chancellor. The scribe and his colleagues panicked when they realized the people blamed everyone in a governmental office. They were going to be executed, just for working here.
The frightened scribes closed the gates and barred it from the inside. Crashing noises came from the doorway for two weeks before they gave up.
“They were lucky,” Tristan commented, “All the tier three people and up with a force were probably dead, and the ent only has growth.”
“I can agree with that,” Vulcan said, “This does not explain how people died, though it is safe to assume that it was some kind of cult suicide.”
“What about the last few pages?” Tristan asked. He had gotten to the back, but Vulcan had stopped before the end.
“His fiancé was not inside. It details the same spiral of self-incrimination that you were heading toward until you confirmed that your friends had survived,” Vulcan said a bit reproachfully, “He was simply isolated and we saw the results.”
Tristan sighed as he put the journal down. He couldn’t argue with Vulcan’s point, but he did have one question, “What do you mean by cult suicide?”
“Some people are delusional enough to eat some toxic material to achieve spiritual enlightenment or grow in tier. In this case, I believe that the mushrooms were the method of suicide,” Vulcan said, “This is less reprehensible, due to the poor quality of their leaders, but still a tragedy.”
Tristan could only nod. He wondered if there were people out there who had a leader worth following.