The Consultation Of Established Authorities Is, While Occasionally Necessary, Generally Better Avoided In Favor Of Newer Theories
Dirant Rikelta's Ritual Judgment failed to tell him the otter ritual was fake no matter under what lighting conditions he read it or how hard he wished for it to indicate such. Nor did the purported effect of the ritual give him any grounds for suspicion, as much as a layman might think it a joke. Specific effects meant controllable effects, and modern Ritualists prized them highly for that reason. Dirant smiled when he remembered old Professor Patarenk Eltnisfoken at Todelk, who insisted all his students learn a ritual he had devised himself which fortified a tree branch so that it could bear a greater weight (equal to the performer's Receptivity in pounds) for a certain duration (equal to Receptivity in minutes). Whenever the professor drank at all, long before he became plastered, he recounted how he salvaged the decoration scheme for an important event by coming up with that ritual on the spot so that a convenient tree could be used as an anchor. No, the otter ritual appeared real or at least plausible to a practicing Ritualist. Beyond that, the idea that rituals functioned as prayers explained why they were so weird, though people within the class preferred not to put it that way.
A setback for the cause of rational skepticism, but other evidence backed it up. None of Dirant's acquaintances who followed the various periodicals that reported on startling deeds of the ostentatious condottieri to whom most of Greater Enloffenkir's internal disputes were entrusted had heard of any Wessolp war, and of course no foreign countries were attacking or being attacked at the time by any GE members. The score in the match between belief and disbelief was one all.
As judge of the contest within his own mind, Dirant had to decide what evidence would count as a point in either direction. Taking the idea Holzd was some sort of monster seriously, monsters were thoroughly studied out of necessity. If he learned a monster of that description existed, there was a point for skepticism; if he did not, there was a point for his having poor research skills, but he committed himself to counting that as a point in favor of true divinity out of fairness.
His work engrossed him to the same degree as always, leaving him time to think and eventually resolve to visit a library when the work day ended. Fennizen offered several of those, of course. Its business leaders, politicians, and business leaders who went into politics for a bit before they became antsy and started a new company needed shelves for their memoirs, after all. Dirant was familiar with none of them. Todelk's he knew well even to the extent of which had the most tolerant librarians and least comfortable chairs, but not Fennizen's.
He chose the Routine Archives on the basis that the most ominous building should house the most monster-related information, and if it did not, that was the fault of the staff and not his aesthetic preferences. The chosen library lacked windows entirely, so serious the architect had been about document preservation. A mass of brown bricks with no external decoration other than four spires at the roof corners made up the pile. Placed among the better-appointed edifices on its street, the Routine Archives building resembled an unmarried uncle waiting for his young nieces and nephews to finish their preparations so he can escort them to the party, willing to humor them as to their desire to put forth the most dazzling appearance possible but feeling no compulsion in that area himself.
The friendliness of the staff compensated for the place's forbidding appearance, and after parting with a tiny fee of three ezolas he was assured would supplement donations and grants to ensure maintenance costs and wages were met, Dirant stood inside among rows of bookshelves and columns of scroll stands, sniffing the smell of knowledge that happened to be identical to the Mold Prevention Ritual's aftereffects but muted a bit by other odors. It was as if he had never left the Stadeskosken warehouse.
The notice near the entrance indicated the third floor kept all monster-related non-fiction, as well as other subjects of course, and he went on up. The other patrons on that floor, if judged by the weapons an exceedingly liberal library policy allowed them to bring inside, added credibility to the notice's claims by representing the more physically oriented classes likelier than Ritualists to have monster business. A bow belonged perhaps to a Pinpointer, a lithe Acrobat wrapped herself around a quarterstaff as she read something with Bounty in the title, and there sat a Tiger Knight, or at least Dirant hoped he was one such and not just an eccentric with a pet tiger. Remembering he had not been so much as asked his class and certainly not required to prove it, he nodded at the probable Tiger Knight in passing on his way to some shelf far away from the chair where that patron sat, his signature animal dozing at his feet.
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The contents of the third-floor shelves seemed oriented more toward people who wanted information about a specific monster already identified rather than his situation, but he continued searching. Among those detailed treatments he found investigations into whether rumored monsters such as the bekirbird existed or were folk inventions, which sounded interesting for later perusal but not immediately relevant. Dirant at last found a promising volume entitled A Compendium of All Such Unusual Creatures as Are Called Monsters and began his study.
“Out of all the surprises life has hurled at me, the top must be when I realized I'm now taller than my father. Behind that is becoming someone who wishes a book had more pictures. Where meeting my god sits must wait on proof that it in fact occurred.” Such was his conclusion after paging through the Compendium for most of an hour. None of the descriptions matched Holzd, though much might be hidden in unfamiliar phrasings and terminology he imagined Battlers, Myrmidons, and that general category of people regarded as nothing exceptional. The fellow walking by who looked big enough to be a Brawny Knight would have devoured the Compendium whole and choked on the lightest introduction to ritualism, he supposed.
Dirant's evident dissatisfaction attracted an inquisitive librarian, a distinct type from the ones who just as soon would have kicked out every single patron and barred the door. A middle-aged woman wearing a pale gray dress of exactly the sort Dirant expected to fill a librarian's wardrobe, whose curly brown hair indicated some Rik or Ottkir ancestry if not something more exotic such as Survyai, approached and asked, “At an impasse, young scholar?”
“I confess that I am. I wish to gain some certainty as to the nature of an encounter I had that was far from usual for me, and I have nothing but a description to begin my inquiry.”
He gave said description at the urging of the librarian. She knew a bit more about the relevant topic than he did. “Why, but that can be nothing but Paznitiklesdharbdigeng, he who instructed man in the religious ceremonies most pleasing to him and the other gods, though they accepted ruder forms as expressions of genuine if unpracticed devotion. The one detail that I cannot recall from any depiction is the number of digits on his hands. Though often hands are not included in paintings and statues as they distract from a noble visage.”
“Ah. Well.” Whether this was as common knowledge as the librarian's reaction implied or simply something people like her knew, Dirant could not decide. Never in Todelk University had he been embarrassed by his ignorance of religious matters, and he tried to maintain his customary equanimity even though he feared a blush was coming on. “Does this god have another name? Holzd perhaps, or Miti . . . Miti . . .”
“That's right. Mitistiggefokand, or Mitastikkefokant in a more modern rendering. He appears as a man of dignity under that name, for he is the guide to the laws. I suppose he is far more often worshiped as Mitistiggefokand than as Paznitiklesdharbdigeng these days, which makes your confusion more understandable. Where did you see his likeness? A rural shrine, some painting in a wealthy man's less-visited rooms, or an icon washed up beside some lake? Somewhere else?”
“None of those.” The thought presented itself to Dirant that he ought to dodge the question as he did when when unsure what his father, professor, or supervisor wanted to hear, but he rejected it. The gods did appear at times, did they not? The legends were full of such instances. He did not credit them, or formerly had not, but surely the number of such claims even into the present day would prevent someone from thinking him unhinged for adding one to them. “It was no likeness but the entity himself that I saw sitting on a boundary marker in the southern hills.”
“Young scholar! Can it be that you are a Ritualist?” At his nod, the librarian all but exploded with enthusiasm, restrained only by the damage that would have done to the books. “Wonderful! They say the Ritualists with the most distinguished careers have often reported seeing the bestower of ceremonies when they started out. You must give me your name so I can follow your rise. By the way, my name is Orid Herabaozen. Because of my position I am customarily called Miss Curator, despite that I am married. Our meeting is a blessing for me.”
“No less for me. My name is Dirant Rikelta, and I recommend against putting money on any sort of rise on my part unless your financial situation is entirely stable.”
“I wouldn't know how to bet on something like that. Come with me to the temple records on the first floor where you will learn all about the guide of rites.”
He followed her down the stairs and asked along the way, “Why are temple records kept here?”
She looked back, astonished again. “This is the Routine Archives! Of course we keep routine temple records here. This institution was founded when space at the various temples started to run out. All these other books,” she waved one hand around, “are extra materials that accumulated in the course of things.”
Dirant wondered how many Fennizen residents out of a hundred knew that. The answer would have a strong bearing on whether he ought to feel embarrassed to a greater or lesser degree than he did, which was some.