> message reaches you, we’ve been experiencing more communications failures recently and have had to strip several other systems just to keep this one active. Father would be sending this himself, but his age is catching up with him and even regrowth provides only moments of lucidity. I am afraid that he does not have much time left. He is the last of us here born before the opening of the eye, and there is still so much we could learn from him. Do you have any texts that cover aesjos-radial kinemetry scribing? Our sandfloat has a cracked rotator core and we’re stuck here without
>
> - Unattributed fragment, early Aejha script on unknown material. Not handwritten. Royal archives, Ce Raedhil.
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Gusje could smell the intoxicating brine of the ocean once more as they walked to the far side of the Archive, seeking an entrance in the behemoth expanse of gently rippling grey stone. Compared to the crowded streets they had traveled moments ago, the open space surrounding the building was eerily quiet and still. Only the sea breeze and the distant roar of the crowds made any noise to accompany the tapping of shoes on stone as they walked to the far side of the building.
There were people at the entrance, however. A short queue filed up the steps to the building’s plain entrance, flanked on each side by guards in gleaming metallic armor so ornate and bulky Gusje wondered if they were sculptures until one turned to watch them approach. The guard began to walk toward them with movements that betrayed none of the weight his armor should have carried.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mark tense as the guard approached, saw Jesse grip his weapon a bit tighter. The guard’s own weapon was an odd metallic rod, thick around as her arm and covered in countless lines of flowing script worked in gold, copper and iron. They came to a stop as he drew near. She could see the glitter of his eyes through his faceplate’s narrow slit as they flitted to take in everything - their amulets, their weapons, their odd clothing and gear. If he found it noteworthy, he gave no outward sign.
“State your purpose here,” the guard said, his voice booming from behind his armor with a volume that seemed a poor match for his calm tones.
Mark took a half step forward, meeting the guard’s eyes. “We are looking for information,” he said, speaking with a slow deliberateness. Gusje supposed that after their last encounters she couldn’t blame him for being cautious about how much he revealed upfront.
The guard continued to look at them, saying nothing. Mark and Jesse exchanged a glance. “We, ah, were hoping we could speak to someone inside,” Mark said. “Someone knowledgeable about odd saon draim, perhaps? We have a particular effect we’re curious about.”
“Do you have an invitation from an Archivist?" the guard asked, his tone intimating that he thought it unlikely. “A written petition of access from the Royal Court?”
Mark shook his head. “No, but-”
“Then you have not been given leave to enter the Inscribed Garden,” the guard said, cutting him off. “Go now, and do not return without one or the other.”
Mark frowned. “Now wait,” he began. “We’ve come a long way to get here.”
The guard shifted his posture, his hand gripping the dark wood handle of his weapon tightly. “You were obviously ignorant of the law before, so I have been lenient. Now that you have been informed I have no such inclination. Leave - I will not ask again.” She could see his eyes narrow behind his faceplate, fixing solidly on Mark.
Gusje looked back at the group. Tasja’s eyes were as wide as tari eggs, shifting between Mark and the guard, while Jackie had stepped up to lay a hand on Mark’s shoulder. It was Jesse, however, who spoke next.
“We have information, news that is both sensitive and urgent,” Jesse said quietly, looking at the guard’s shadowed eyes. Gusje blinked and looked more closely at the tall traveler. His face normally seemed gentle to her, with inquisitive eyes and often a slight smile hidden behind his increasingly-scraggly beard. There was none of that now. His eyes were like chips of cold stone as he looked down at the guard, his expression stern and grim. “We have come from the high desert with news concerning the Emperor’s Blight, the draam je qaraivat and the loss of a jeqiva from Sjan Saal.”
The guard paused to regard him for a long moment. “You did not mention this before,” he said coolly.
“You didn’t ask,” Jesse replied. He hesitated for the barest of instants, some of his confidence slipping away. “There must be a seeker for there to be a sought. There… is a pattern to be observed.” He trailed off, looking puzzled, and seemed to shrink in on himself as she watched.
The guard went very still, looking at Jesse intently as the moments slipped by with no sound but the pounding of Gusje’s heart in her ears. “Wait here,” he finally said, pivoting and walking back to his post. His armor made no noise whatsoever, some part of her noticed.
Mark rounded on Jesse as soon as the guard departed, hissing something low and angry-sounding in the traveler language.
Jesse shook his head, his face now etched with the lines of nervous fatigue. He mumbled something that sounded apologetic only to trail off halfway through. Mark shook his head and said something emphatic, gesturing sharply with his hand. Her fists clenched frustratedly as she tried to follow their conversation.
Jackie walked up and grabbed Jesse’s shoulder sympathetically, saying something quietly that made Mark scowl. Gusje, fed up with being excluded, shouldered her way past a stunned Tasja and planted herself in front of Jesse.
“What was that you said at the end?" she demanded. “He didn’t react to anything you said until that last part.”
He shook his head slowly. “I’m... not sure, I think it’s something from a story,” Jesse replied, looking perturbed. “It’s something the woman from Vimodi’s palace said to me, it just slipped out. I don’t know what it means.”
“Obviously something,” she said. “Tasja, have you come across a story like that before?”
The scribe shook his head. “No, it sounds like a children’s tale, or maybe some sort of play. Not my normal books.” He looked at Jesse, who was staring blankly at the grey-shimmering walls of the Archive. “The people here seem to know, so we may want to just ask them.”
Arjun stepped forward, frowning, and spoke quietly to the group in the travelers’ language. Jackie looked at him with worry, but Mark and Jesse only nodded. Mark muttered a response and shrugged, cutting off halfway through as motion from the entryway caught his eye. “Look, they’re coming back,” he said quietly.
A small group of people was indeed coming their way from the tower entrance, led by a tall, thin man in robes of rich red and gold. He leaned heavily on a gilded staff that appeared to be wrought from the same stone as the Pillar. The guard from before hovered behind him deferentially, as did a few other figures in less ornate robes. They approached rapidly only to stop some distance away as the lead figure paused to look them over.
Gusje’s first impression was that the man was incredibly, unbelievably old. His papery skin was stretched tightly over his prominent cheekbones and what few strands of wispy white hair were left to him did little to cover his darkly age-spotted scalp. Only the man’s eyes seemed filled with life, and they made up for the rest with a fierce spark of vitality that made Gusje instinctively look aside when his eyes briefly made contact with her own.
“Sasetim Rys, you must have come a great distance,” the man said, surprising them all with a deep and resonant voice that seemed to rumble up from the ground beneath his feet. “I have seen many people from many lands, but none such as you four.”
Mark cleared his throat, straightening up. “We’ve, ah, traveled quite some ways,” he said. “We come from Gadhun Draat, across the desert.”
“Oh?” the man said, arching a sparse eyebrow. “Perhaps from even farther than that, because I chanced to travel to Gadhun Draat a very long time ago and I saw none such as you there.”
The group exchanged a somewhat sheepish look. Arjun walked forward to put a hand on Mark’s shoulder before turning to face the scriptsmiths. “You are right,” he said, speaking slowly and precisely. “That is… part of why we come.” He gestured at Jesse, who was doing his best to avoid notice. “What he said is also true. There is great danger in the desert.”
His accent was still thick, but if anything that seemed to intrigue the scriptsmith further. “As you say,” he nodded. “Then, allow me.” He planted his staff firmly upon the ground and drew himself up to his full height, nearly as tall as Jackie. “I am Vumo Ra,” he said, his voice seeming to evoke a sympathetic basso rumble from the edifice beside them. “These are my gardens. These are my scriptsmiths. This is my Pillar, and I grant you entry.” He looked at them each in turn, somehow seeming of a height with Mark and Jesse for a brief moment. Then he relaxed, losing some ineffable quality that left him simply a frail old man. He smiled thinly at them and gestured to the doorway set into the side of the building.
“Follow me,” he said. “It would appear we have much to discuss.”
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The interior of the tower was a sharp contrast from the subdued, mercurial exterior. The foyer was a broad, high-ceilinged space paneled with warm tones of wood, copper and gold, the latter two used to cover every visible inch of the room with fluid calligraphy. Where most rooms they had seen were dimly lit with hanging strings of qim, this room blazed with countless nodes of light from intersections in the metallic tracery that spangled the ceiling overhead.
The floor was crowded with red-robed scriptsmiths moving with hurried purpose, although none failed to notice Vumo’s approach as he led them through the throng. A path cleared before the softly tapping sound of his staff against the worn wooden floorboards, and before long they passed through an arched doorway to a small, round room with no furniture or decorations past a continuation of the metalwork on the walls.
There was a moment of confused idleness before they felt a distinct sensation of increased weight and a shudder of motion that spurred looks of panic from Gusje and Tasja, but only surprised recognition from the others.
“Huh, elevator,” Jackie remarked in English. “I guess that market is cornered after all.”
“It makes sense that the elevators here would work, if nowhere else,” Arjun agreed, still grinning goofily from the walk through the entrance hall. “These are our people, after all. The engineers, the scientists.”
Vumo turned to regard them with a raised eyebrow. “Fascinating,” he said softly. “I have never heard that manner of speech before.” He tapped the end of his staff thoughtfully on the ground. “Speech comes from the True Script, and even though yours bears no relation you are obviously familiar with scripted workings like this lift.” He turned back towards the door as the elevator slowed to a halt and the doors slid noiselessly open. “The implications are… truly fascinating,” he repeated quietly.
The travelers followed after, looking somewhat warily at the old man. Whatever his appearance, his wit was showing none of his age. He led them down a hallway that stretched out interminably ahead before turning suddenly to enter into a bright, open room with a long wooden table at its center. Shelves and shelves of books ringed the space, towering upwards to the high ceiling with neatly organized volumes. On the far wall a long, low window showed a panorama of the harbor and the bustling port as it curved away towards the distant angular lump that was the royal palace.
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After a moment to consider the view, Vumo turned and gestured for them to sit at the table and introduced their armored escort from the gate as Sjogydhu Qa Nosuzhogati, a guard captain of the Archive. They introduced themselves in turn, although Tasja’s voice seemed ready to give out at the prospect. The captain stayed with them after they concluded the initial pleasantries, looming distractingly behind Vumo’s chair while the old man looked them over with intense scrutiny over the small cups of water he had sent for. “Do you know what it is that we scriptsmiths do here?” he finally asked.
“You practice ruudun?” Mark ventured, recalling the word for scriptwork that Tasja had taught them.
“In part,” Vumo said, nodding. “In large part, to be honest, but there is more to it than that. If all that was needed was to know and act on that knowledge, then ruudun could be the province of talented smiths in every city market.” He laced his hands together and leaned forward. “But, as you may have surmised, there are other concerns we must address.”
“You make rules,” Arjun said. “There is danger in ruudun?”
“We make boundaries, give guidance,” Vumo replied. “Society cannot function without ruudun, would not operate smoothly without reliable function of the saon draim. We ensure both of these things while also warding the incautious and ignorant from dangers they cannot forsee. Our art is not a safe one to practice, and some morsels of knowledge bear their risk simply in knowing them.” His eyes came to rest on Jesse for a moment. “There is an obligation, a duty to address the problems and threats that only we may confront.”
“With great power comes great responsibility,” Mark said, straight-faced. Jackie had less success hiding her smile when she registered his words, but Vumo appeared not to notice as he grinned appreciatively.
“Yes, succinctly put,” he said, pleased. “Your group seems to have a knack for elegant phrasing, something we prize here. Still, we digress. You had news from the desert worthy of talking back to Sjogydhu Qa, which most would not dare to contemplate.”
The captain stared down at them from behind his faceplate, not reacting to the mention of his name. Gusje cleared her throat and began to repeat the same tale she had told a few times now, albeit this time with a certain mindfulness and attention to detail spurred by Vumo’s intent gaze. She had the distinct impression that if she altered or omitted a detail, he would know. He stopped her multiple times throughout to ask questions, particularly about the condition of the draa je qaraivat that had crumbled and their interactions with it.
He leaned back when she had finished describing their flight from the silent ones down the roadway, and for the first time she felt the weight of his regard settle on her. “Very interesting,” he mused. “Very similar to what has been observed in the Vidim Vai, but there are distinctions…” He trailed off, tapping his fingers against his cheek thoughtfully.
“Regardless,” he said, looking directly at Jesse, “it does explain your condition.”
Jesse looked back with surprise and concern in equal measure. “My condition?”, he asked worriedly.
Vumo’s lips quirked down into a slight frown, and he nodded. “You are asaarim,” he said. “It has been observed several times before, albeit rarely - and never before from the breaking of a stone.” He leaned back in his chair slightly, looking over the group.
“I will be frank with you,” he said. “We are not without our sources. We were appraised of your warning shortly after you first told that idiot Vimodi what you’ve told me just now, and as pleasant as it is to have your corroboration we would likely not be speaking if that was the entirety of it. There is no need to be coy about your possession of an unregistered chariot or your involvement in the unfortunate incident at the carriage house.” He gave them a level look, narrowing his eyes. “We have no time for such trivial matters when Sjatel may fall at any moment.”
“What does my, ah, condition have to do with Sjatel?”, Jesse asked, looking uncomfortable. “I’ve only ever heard the name of the city, we’ve never traveled close. That shock from the stone, did it… damage something inside me, hurt me somehow?”
Vumo shook his head. “I could not speculate, given the rarity of the condition and your… physical differences, shall we say.” He laced his fingers together and leaned toward them. “What we do know is that in the past certain individuals have experienced odd interactions with complex workings of ruudun. Discharges, changes in function, the manifestation varies. In every case, however, they go on to attempt an act of significance.”
“What do you mean, an act of significance?” Mark asked. “Are you talking about what happened in Sjan Saal?”
“It’s possible that the events there are related,” Vumo acknowledged. “We have guild members who have devoted their lives to identifying the aesacaaryn, the relevant actions of an asaarim. Some of these are clear and evident, others have been debated endlessly by generations of scholars with no resolution. We think there may be unnumbered minor asaarimyn who pass unnoticed because we do not have the wit to see them for what they are.” He sighed and looked at Jesse. “However,” he said, his tone almost apologetic, “when there is an exigent threat to the kingdom the emergence of a major asaarim tends to be related. Given the current situation with the Emperor of Ash I would venture that your aesacaar is yet to come.”
Everyone in the room looked at Jesse, who for once was too lost in his thoughts to notice.
“Wait, wait,” Mark said, massaging his temples as if to banish a headache. “This is crazy. There’s no way that’s a thing.”
Vumo quirked an eyebrow. “Shall I inform the several hundred guild members who study asaarimyn that their services are no longer required? I assure you, this is a well-documented phenomenon.” He turned to Jesse once more. “Sjogydhu Qa reported that you referenced the observation of patterns and the game of seeker and sought. These are two of the more common markers for major asaarimyn and indicate that your aesacaar will likely involve the kingdom and something urgently needed. If my guess is correct you will have another marker before long - either the broken wheel, the motion of clouds over water, the barred door-”
“Is both obstacle and protection,” Jesse said hoarsely, staring at the floor. “Open them with care.”
Sjogydhu and Vumo exchanged a look. “Well, there you have it,” Vumo said. “The marker for conflict, escalation and change. I’m now almost certain that your path leads to Sjatel.”
“You’ve got to be joking,” Mark objected. “You’re saying that Jesse has been picked as what, some sort of hero? To save your kingdom? Do you realize how crazy that sounds?”
“I begin to tire of repeating myself,” Vumo said stonily. “This is one of our most important duties, even if we do not permit it to become generally known. This is not a joke or a delusion. It is quite literally life and death for every person in Tinem Sjocel.”
“But we’re not even from here!” Mark exclaimed. “We’re not going to fight in your war. All we want to do is go home.”
Vumo actually smiled at that, leaning back in his chair. “Ah, but you can’t,” he said. “If getting to your home was as simple as traveling there you would use that chariot of yours and do it, or you would have hired a ship from Sjan Saal. But you’re here asking about ‘odd saon draim’ instead, so obviously that’s not the case.”
Mark grit his teeth, but couldn’t deny the truth of what Vumo was saying. “And you won’t help us unless Jesse buys into this whole ‘chosen one’ business,” he spat.
“Well,” Vumo mused, “if the past is any guide we’d probably be unable to help you depart until the aesacaar has been discharged. Working to subvert an asaarim’s purpose is an exercise in futility, even - or perhaps especially - for the asaarim. I won’t demand that you to go to Sjatel, or to fight in the war, or even to accept that what I’m saying is true,” Vumo said, looking at each of them in turn. “It would not matter in the slightest. Asaarim who wander from their course tend to return to it before long. Asaarim who run from it find it everywhere they flee.”
“Shit,” Jesse said quietly, lifting his head and looking at the others dazedly. “He’s right. Think about what happened when we met Vimodi for the first time. There have been some other times that I haven’t mentioned, where there’s been… intervention. Maybe more than I noticed, even, little things that steered our path. We’ve been brought here.” He dropped his head into his hands listlessly. “Now that I see it all laid out, it’s obvious. She may not let me leave, at least not easily.”
Vumo gave him a sharp look. “Who won’t let you leave?” he asked. “Has there been a fourth marker?”
The group looked back at him, confused. “The young woman who has been giving Jesse these markers,” Arjun said. “Is that not normal, for... asaarimyn?”
Sjogydhu and Vumo exchanged another significant look. “Goresje,” Sjogydhu grunted. “He was the only other who spoke of a woman.”
“The king’s grandfather was asaarim?”, Tasja gulped, paling. The others turned towards him, but he looked towards Vumo. “The expedition into the Vidim Vai, the one that discovered the Emperor’s resurgence - that was his aesacaar?”
Vumo nodded. “I believe so, although with a king you can never tell. Goresje was marked with the observation of patterns, the game of seeker and sought and the branching passages in twilight. Near the end of his life, however, he often mentioned a woman who was connected to the markers.” He let out a long sigh and looked at Jesse with a pitying expression. “We have long debated whether it held any significance, given his state before he died. Now I suppose we know.”
“His state,” Arjun said pointedly.
“Goresje Di Sazhocel Selyta took his own life,” Tasja said. “He was insane-”
“He was a good man,” Vumo said bitingly. “A good king, and a good friend above all else.” Tasja shrank back in the face of his sudden anger, and Vumo sighed.
“My apologies,” he said. “I count his fate as one of the greatest injustices this kingdom has ever witnessed. He gave up his life for our people, which is noble for any man but doubly so for one of the asolanemyn. That those same people only know him now for his brief and fatal madness is enough to make me weep.”
“Is that what’s going to happen to me?” Jesse asked quietly. He no longer looked distraught, merely resigned. “Is that all this means? That she needed a puppet for whatever goal she has, and she’s stolen my life to do it?”
Mark’s face darkened, and he stood up from his chair. “That’s not going to happen,” he said firmly. “I don’t know anything about this destiny bullshit, but this lady doesn’t get to ruin your life just because she poured us a drink in Sjan Saal. We’ll find her and kick her ass if we have to, and we’re all going home together.”
Vumo said nothing, but for a moment the lines on his face seemed to deepen and settle into a tired, sad mask. There was a silence before Arjun turned to face him. “Who chooses asaarimyn?” he asked. “If there is a purpose they serve, whose purpose?”
“I would tell you if I knew,” Vumo replied. “We have theories, of course, but they’re entirely speculation. Departed ancestors, random chance, some conscious manifestation of ruud, Maja Himself or any number of other vinesavaim and fanciful beings that are lost to history.” He spread his hands and shrugged. “Choose whichever you prefer, but it makes little difference. Asaarimyn are, and you have one among your number. Your path will bend towards his aesacaar and you will either succeed or fail at the crucial moment.”
“Fail?”, Mark asked. “You’ve been talking like we can’t help but do whatever it is.”
Vumo smiled, thin and sad. “I would prefer that it were so,” he sighed. “Unfortunately, however favored they may be asaarimyn are still flesh. Whatever the force that drives them forward, it will not protect against a knife through the ribs. Part of our duty is identifying the task if an asaarim fails so that we may try to see it through. Sometimes we succeed, and lives are saved. More often we fail along with them.”
He stood from the table slowly, his age showing in the pained way he straightened his knees. “I have given you unfortunate news,” he said gravely, “even if it is fortune that favors us. You may have use of this room to reflect and discuss as you see fit, and when you are ready one of Sjogydhu’s men will show you quarters and provide any refreshment or provisions you may require.” He turned, then seemed to remember something and pivoted back to stare down at Tasja.
“One last thing,” he said. Vumo’s voice had lightened from the serious tone he had used just prior, but the scribe still wilted under the force of his glare. “It is customary for the guild to send a representative to accompany an asaarim, if we are able. Fortunately you already have one of our acolytes among your number.” He looked down at Tasja pointedly.
“What?”, Tasja choked. “Vumo Ra, I’m just a scribe-initiate. I’m too young-”
“No younger than I was, when I was sent to accompany Goresje to the Vidim Vai,” Vumo said, his eyes regaining some of their twinkle. “And the Order of Scribes is a cadet branch of the Guild of Scriptsmiths. You were extended an offer to join the primary guild.”
“I was?”, Tasja asked, befuddled. “When?”
“Just now,” Vumo said. “Congratulations. You can use a twinplate, yes?”
Tasja stared wide-eyed. “I… can?”, he said hesitantly.
“I will arrange for you to receive a portable model before you depart,” Vumo said. “We’ll have someone draw up your credentials as well, and I think we can waive the fees for the first couple of years.” Vumo beckoned to Sjogydhu, and the big man opened the door to the room for him. “Keep me appraised, Tasja Ras.”
Tasja went stock-still, noiselessly mouthing the word “Ras” as he stared blankly ahead. Before Vumo could leave, however, Mark turned to face him.
“You said we were going to depart,” he said. “We’re strangers here. We don’t have anywhere to go.”
This time Vumo gave him a real smile, although still not an entirely happy one. “You travel with an asaarim,” he said. “Wherever you go, it will be the right place.”
He swept out of the room before they could speak further, leaving them in the cavernous library as the sun’s last light turned the clouds outside to fiery orange. Mark returned to his chair, and the group met each others’ eyes.
“Well,” Arjun said.
Jackie nodded. “That just happened,” she confirmed.
“Ras,” Tasja croaked weakly, earning a punch on the shoulder from Gusje. She opened her mouth to scold him before glancing at Jesse and settling back in her chair, a worried look on her face.
Mark reached over and grabbed Jesse’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. Jesse looked up with an unreadable expression, first at Mark and then at the others around him.
“Well,” he said softly. “Fuck.”