I’d little idea what the name meant, to be honest, but the building itself was massive and constructed entirely of metal, one of the many spires I’d beheld from outside the city. Guards armed and armored with tinkertech patrolled every which way around it, and when I gazed through the floor to ceiling windows, I could make out a sea of tomes inside.
Without a doubt, this was the place for me.
I walked to the entrance, and, once again, was immediately stopped by those guarding it. This time, though, the issue didn’t seem to be one of pedigree.
“All arms and Entropic devices are to remain outside,” one said, holding a hand out firmly to block my passage.
Wordlessly, I turned my nose up at them in my best approximation of a haughty Aristocrat and relinquished my satchel to their ministrations. As I did so, I allowed a crackle of red lighting to pass over my palm, discharging quietly in the air about us and causing the unnerving smell of ozone to suffuse the area.
To their credit, much unlike Synthread’s staff, these officers didn’t respond to my display with fear. One of them peered inside my bag while the other patted me down, albeit gently, perhaps loathe to risk the wrath of a potential noble.
“Tablet’s fine,” said the first, returning my satchel to me, as the other stepped aside and waved me past. And then I was in.
The labyrinthine library spread out before me, an endless garden of tomes and knowledge.
I hadn’t been able to appreciate its size properly on the outside. It almost looked larger from within. The Athenaeum was gargantuan, tens of floors ascending upwards, so vast that the many lines of bookcases that snaked through its interior like antique capillaries seemed to vanish in the distance.
Well, shit.
There was absolutely no way I was going to be able to find what I was looking for on my own. Hell, it’d take me a year just to read the titles of all the books on the first floor. Glancing about somewhat helplessly, I sighted some manner of official’s desk, and made my way hesitantly over to it.
It was manned by a tall, thin, academic-looking fellow with long brown hair. He wore a neat beige blazer embroidered with a blue ‘V,’ and glanced up at my approach. Surprisingly, I could hear him.
~~~
Mentat
Attunement: Eidetion 11
Grain: Protocols
Marble: Inscription
~~~
Even more surprisingly, he was higher-level than me. His strength reverberated in the song, all tapping keyboards and whirring computers. What on earth was a Blessed this powerful doing staffing a library, of all places?
As I examined him, Mentat raised an eyebrow at me.
“May I assist you, lord…” his eyes flashed, and the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly, though he didn’t quite laugh. “…Hero?”
I paused, thinking for a moment. I’d bet all the chits I had left that this guy, this Mentat, was a Thinker, much like the Blessed at the gate.
Even having only met two so far, I could already tell that I didn’t like Thinkers very much. Their songs unnerved me. They were foreign, almost alien, the furthest possible tenor from my own. They raised discord in my melody. I knew without even trying that I wouldn’t be able to copy Mentat’s Blessing.
But more than that, I feared them. A straightforward, offensive Blessing, no matter how powerful, was unlikely to confound me. Battle was something with which I was intimately familiar by now, something easy to understand and manipulate. But Thinkers didn’t do battle, not directly.
How could you defeat someone who’d won before the fight even started?
Most concerningly to me at the moment, however, was the fact that Thinkers, above all others, would be able to see through my deception, to expose me. In hindsight, I should have expected them to be the type of Blessed to staff a library, but it was too late to back out now. It’d be risky dealing with Mentat, but I had no choice. I couldn’t run from every Thinker I saw.
Cautiously, I replied.
“Yes, I’m looking for information on Entropic theory and, if possible, a detailed history of the Coterie and the Cells.”
Now both of the librarian’s eyebrows shot straight up, but a broad grin spread across his face.
“Well, well. A budding academic, are we?” He said, chuckling good-naturedly. “Forgive me, but I wouldn’t have guessed it. You seem more the swordsman type, to my eye.”
“I…w–well, you see…” I began to respond, but noticed his eyes sparking intently.
Who was I kidding? He’d see through my lies like well-polished glass. I could tell his song was watching, waiting. I could feel it recording my every motion from within his soul, innumerable computerized oculi working overtime. Perhaps I could use ADMINISTRATION to ward it away as before, but doing so would no doubt cause more problems than it solved.
But maybe…maybe there was a way to do this on my own. Maybe there was a way to not quite lie, but not tell the whole truth either. Clumsily attempting to enhance my speech through the song, haphazardly weaving genuineness into my words, I continued.
“I am, but I’m…I’m estranged from my family, to say the least.”
Mentat nodded slightly, face open and considering. He listened quietly, tacitly encouraging me to continue.
“My father…well, he wasn’t much of a father. He never really taught me how to use my powers, never taught me about Blessings. My mother died when I was still young.”
I let some pain flow into the song during that part. It was easy enough to do so.
“Which meant I had to rely on the Faith, but…” I paused for a moment. Mentat was as silent as ever, his face unchanged, his Blessing still whirring furiously. I shook my head internally. I had no choice. I didn’t know if this man was religious or not, nor how much he conformed to the status quo. Ultimately, it didn’t matter.
Because I did know things that others didn’t. My trigger vision and unique Blessing had seen to that. I wouldn’t be able to hide everything from him. Better to cloak my knowledge in genuine academic curiosity than pretend I questioned nothing at all.
“But it just doesn’t make any sense,” I admitted.
“The Faith preaches that the High Priest was responsible for the propagation of Blessings on Bet, but that was over seven centuries ago, and nearly all of society was decimated during the Horror. How could we possibly know for sure? How could any records remain? How could he even do such a thing? Eidolon wasn’t a God–the Warrior was.”
I continued, speaking rapidly, mind whirling, voicing concerns and queries that had sat neglected in my mind for far too long, venting stress that had built since the moment of the trigger. No, since even before that. Since the first time I realized how Mom’s stories of a Pre-Collapse world conflicted with the doctrine of the Faith.
“We’ve had access to Blessings and the ability to shape Entropy for hundreds and hundreds of years, but how many people actually understand how they work? How many, even among the Blessed? Why are some Blessings stronger than others? What determines the development of Gifts? How can we Blessed hope to grow stronger when we understand so little about the source of our own powers?”
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
I stopped suddenly, flushed, my rant slightly surprising even myself. Nervously, I glanced up at the Thinker. Mentat’s eyes were still glowing, as if on fire.
But now a broad smile beamed back at me.
“Precisely,” the librarian said, rubbing his hands and nodding eagerly. “Yes, indeed. Yes, indeed! Well said, lord Hero.”
“Yes, yes,” Mentat repeated, turning slightly off to the side to pace slowly behind his desk, gesticulating as he spoke.
“The Faith of the Holy Triumvirate maintains the mighty Eidolon to be the father and source of all Blessings, but their own history betrays them. Most accounts claim the Faith’s founding to have occurred in approximately 75 AC, long after the events of both Gold Morning and the Horror. As such, we have no assurance whatsoever that their word is any more informed than anyone else’s was at the time.”
He cleared his throat slightly, eyes still gleaming, and continued to lecture.
“What’s more, the Faith’s explanation as to Eidolon’s own Blessing is, in my opinion, thoroughly unsatisfactory. The descriptions of Alexandria’s power as ‘over the physical form,’ and Legend’s as ‘over light and fire,’ are bad enough, but the High Priest’s? I mean, power ‘over all existence?’ If so, I wonder why the Warrior posed a threat to him at all. Moreover, how is the supposed father of all Blessings meant to have received his own? How did the Grey Knight and the Lord of Lies come about theirs?”
Mentat ground to a halt and turned to face me, interrogating me directly.
“If the High Priest was truly capable of granting Blessings, his actions descend into incomprehensibility. Why attack the Warrior at all? Why would he not simply bide his time, Blessing more and more people, slowly growing his forces, prior to uprising?”
He sighed, running a hand through his long, combed hair.
“Sadly, historical records dating back prior to 50 AC are effectively nonexistent, as you surmise, so the Faith’s account is just about as good as any. Fortunately for you, lord Hero, the vast majority of the Coterie’s history, and that of the Cells, are both a matter of public record.”
“Though, to be completely honest,” Mentat said, frowning and inclining his head slightly, “as this establishment is ancillary to the Vault of Glass, we do possess strong ties to the Coterie.”
He fixed me with a firm gaze.
“As Chronicler of the West and director of this repository, I, Mentat, swear to you that I will recommend accounts from all sides, however. We here at the Athenaeum would never bar a publication based on source alone.”
“Uh…right, of course. Thanks,” I replied. I didn’t particularly care, to be honest, mostly happy enough that the Thinker’s focus seemed to have left me for the moment, but Mentat seemed satisfied enough with my lame reply, nodding at me sincerely.
With long, smooth, precise strides, Mentat led me swiftly through the convoluted passageways of bookshelves that crisscrossed the library. Every now and again, he would smoothly withdraw a book from one of the shelves. It was like he had the place’s entire layout memorized. Perhaps he did.
As he walked, he continued to lecture.
“You cannot imagine how refreshing it is to meet a young Blessed such as yourself, interested in all the right questions. Far, far too often I see those your age come in and ask of me only to make them stronger, as if simply demanding such a thing were sufficient to make it so. Even back when I taught at the Institute! Spoiled highborn brats, one and all, I say! As if they do not understand that it is, in fact, knowledge alone that leads one to strength.”
Mentat halted, pausing in his speech for a moment, before regarding me incredulously.
“I mean honestly, can you imagine?”
I could very easily imagine. After all, in a roundabout way, it was more or less what I was doing. But, in accordance with Hadrid’s sage advice, I kept my mouth firmly shut, and nodded somberly, commiserating with the eccentric librarian once more. Mentat sighed, shaking his head sadly, before renewing his monologue.
“Unfortunately, it is beyond my ability to grant you everything you ask. We, like all other Chronicler repositories backed by the Coterie, are barred from sharing most information regarding Entropic theory. Much of that is kept under relative lock and key, within the Bern Institute.”
He tsked, angrily.
“I understand the rationale behind it, I do, but truly, what a waste. And then the high echelons wonder why our great libraries worldwide stand abandoned, barely frequented. They wonder why the mundane remain enchained, destitute, sequestered across the wilds of the world. An Aristocrat such as yourself likely wouldn’t know it, but over half of the world’s population is mundane!”
If only he knew. Mentat turned to me with wild eyes.
“And we neglect them! We enslave them! Hundreds of millions of potential geniuses, of great minds, never to be. All because we refuse to share Entropic theory with mundanes, the one thing, the one thing, mind you, that might allow them to compete with Blessed on something close to even terms.”
He exhaled, deeply.
“Well, what can I say? I will do what I can for you, young Hero, that one day you may live up to your name. Only, take care to ensure that you do not become a Hero for Blessed alone, but for all peoples of this Earth.”
In a timely fashion, Mentat arrived at what must have been our intended destination. Without even a brief pause, he reached out and selected the last large tome, three of them now resting in his arms, the Blessed librarian handling the massive books with great care and little apparent effort.
“Now, now, now. Here we have,” he said, revealing the first book to me, “Hironaka’s Carnival: The Shrouded Origins and Meteoric Rise of the Coterie.”
Mentat ran his fingers across the hefty tome, drumming contemplatively along its hard leather binding. “To be honest,” he admitted, “I personally prefer the account given in Chief Chronicler Axio’s Magni Mundus, as I find it gives a more international context to the organization.” Then, he chuckled.
“Needless to say, though, I couldn’t recommend it in good faith as an unbiased source, and Hironaka is the most lauded scholar, and Thinker, east of Old Europe for good reason. It’s not exactly my favorite of his works, but certainly far from my place to criticize it.”
Placing the first book respectfully upon a nearby stool, he began to introduce the next one.
“Now, since you mentioned your interest in the Cells. This, this particular account is special. It’s a very old one, dating back likely prior to even the Coterie’s inception; From Elite to Aristocrat: Shifts in North America’s Post-Collapse Oligopoly. No one knows who wrote it exactly, the author isn’t named, and neither is the account itself dated. You probably don’t even recognize the name ‘North America,’ do you?”
I shook my head, no.
Proudly, Mentat replied, “Few do, nowadays. That title precisely, supposedly, referred ancestrally to the land that now belongs to the Cells, everything north of the Stain and south of the Frontier. This isn’t an original copy, obviously. Nevertheless, it stands as one of the most propagated works in the New Age, and I daresay you won’t find a more in-depth or illuminating account of your own heritage anywhere.”
“And finally,” he said, showing me the last one, “Gerbold’s Grimoires: A Primer on Basic Blessing Mechanics and Classifications.” He winced, and wrung his hands slightly. “It’s not precisely what you were looking for, I know, but it truly is the best I can offer outside of Old Europe. I do highly recommend you visit the Institute whenever you get the chance.”
“A mind like yours, it deserves better than basic knowledge,” Mentat said, grimacing once more, but I waved his apologies away. As far as I was concerned, this was more than enough. I thanked the powerful Thinker, but he merely huffed magnanimously.
“Think nothing of it, nothing at all, lord Hero. As far as I’m concerned, the free dissemination of knowledge is its own reward.”
Then he gave me a sharp look, suddenly serious.
“I should warn you, none of our items are for sale, and all are enchanted with Entropic tracking. Return or renew them within the week, do not attempt to steal them. I would not imagine a young mind such as yourself to be capable of that manner of foolishness, but then, the stupidity of Blessed never ceases to amaze me.”
The Thinker narrowed his eyes at me.
“The Vault has a long memory. Eternal, in fact. Believe me, do not take our ire lightly.”
“I would never, lord Mentat” I responded simply, speaking with him for the first time absolutely honestly.
Mentat nodded, broad smile returning in a moment, and his mouth continued to race at breakneck speed.
“Now, I’m sure you’ll be occupied enough with those accounts alone, and I understand you may feel some reticence about Coterie sources, but…well, the thing is that the Chief Chronicler’s very latest work is just about to come out!”
“Oh, it’s just so exciting, he’s been working on it for ages, really! I truly, verily, highly recommend that you give a look as soon as it’s published, it’s still under internal review within the Chroniclers at the moment. He’s calling it A Treatise on the Nature and Manner of Titans, and it looks to be his greatest one yet…”