Chapter One Hundred Forty-Five: ‘The intervening calm...’

The next four days passed with a degree of peace--and indeed, even enjoyment--that Hector had not been expecting. The Rainlords met with both the local government and the Akassu treasure hunters several times to negotiate terms, but despite wishing to attend these meetings, Hector had other things to do.

Most importantly, perhaps, he and Garovel needed to wait for Roman and Voreese at the location that they’d specified in their letter. Garovel said that Roman must have received it by now and could therefore show up at anytime, but unfortunately, even though they turned it into a new camping venture of their own, along with Asad’s family and several Rainlords, Roman and Voreese never appeared.

But that was fine, according to Garovel. There was still the meeting place in Capaporo, and perhaps Roman and Voreese were already there. He instructed Hector to leave an iron message behind in case they appeared here later.

Beyond simply waiting for Roman, however, Hector also spent the four days practicing materialization with Asad and frequently Zeff, who came and went from the meetings, keeping them apprised of all new developments.

To put it mildly, Asad and Zeff had shown a keen interest in learning how Hector was keeping his iron in orbit. They had insisted on repeated explanations and varied types of demonstrations.

At first, they seemed to be having trouble wrapping their heads around the concept, and after a few hours, Hector had begun wondering if there was something else going on with this technique that he didn’t quite comprehend himself yet.

But no. That wasn’t the problem, he came to realize. The real reason they were having a hard time learning it was simply because he was so bad at explaining it. Ultimately, Asad and Zeff both figured it out and were soon making material orbit around themselves, as well--and much more impressively, too. Zeff managed to make an entire chair for Ramira to sit on and float around him--a feat which she seemed to enjoy greatly, even if it did begin melting rather quickly. Asad, meanwhile, put a dozen different glass swords into orbit, all of varying shapes and sizes.

Needless to say, seeing all of that took a bit of the wind out of Hector’s sails.

Still, Hector didn’t think he would be forgetting their initial reactions anytime soon. The looks of utter confusion and disbelief on their faces--a part of Hector was still reeling from those looks. He wasn’t at all sure what to think.

These were two men whose skill with materialization he revered completely--and not just because of their reputations, but because he had personally witnessed what kind of incredible things they could do. And the idea that he could have anything to teach them? That he could’ve thought of anything that they didn’t already know? Or been taught by someone else who was even more knowledgeable?

Hector was having a hard time accepting this as possible. As were several of the reapers, by the looks of it.

With the way everyone was talking about it, Hector wondered if this discovery had truly been his own. Sure, it had felt like it was, but as more time passed, that feeling faded, and his mind searched for other possible explanations.

One in particular popped into his head, and it had bothered him enough that he decided to consult Garovel about it. ‘...I can’t be the first person to have ever thought of this,’ he’d said.

‘Why not?’ was all Garovel said.

‘Wh--? What do you mean?! Because I can’t! There’s just no way! I mean, fuckin’... We’re talking about everyone who’s ever lived! It’s just impossible that no one else has thought of this before.’

‘Is that because you think you’re not smart enough?’

‘I... no, well... I mean. Kinda. Yeah. Pretty much. I mean, how many materializers have there been? Like, total? It must be, fuckin’... billions or something, right? ’

‘All throughout human history? Mm, probably not billions. Maybe millions. Maybe. Hard to say. Remember that the number of materialization users is a subset of the number of reapers. And there haven’t been THAT many of us, comparatively. If we’re including all reapers who’ve ever existed, I’d only estimate that number to be around fifty million, at most. And even that might be wildly optimistic.’

‘Fifty million is a shitload.’

‘Not really. Fifty million is one twentieth of one billion. And how many humans have ever lived? That number is in the neighborhood of a hundred billion. At least. So the overall pool of materialization “inventors” is probably a lot smaller than you’ve been thinking.’

Hector wasn’t buying it. ‘I still don’t think it’s possible.’

‘Well, whether or not you think it’s possible doesn’t change the fact that it happened. Maybe you should stop being so hard on yourself.’

‘...Or maybe I didn’t really do anything.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Maybe it was Rasalased who thought of it. Maybe he just planted the knowledge into my head or something.’

‘Ugh, god, don’t even start with that. Just take the fucking credit, please.’

Hector didn’t know how to respond to that.

‘Alright, fine, let’s suppose for a minute that Rasalased DID give that knowledge to you somehow. What difference would it make? Would it change what you’ve accomplished?’

‘That’s... that’s not the point, Garovel. It’s not about getting the credit. It’s about... agh, it’s about understanding what the fuck is happening. With my own limitations. And--and with... just... the world itself. I mean, shit, Garovel. Trying to understand the world around us doesn’t suddenly stop being important just because it might be... inconvenient. Or unpleasant.’

‘Oho.’

‘What, am I wrong?’

‘Heh. Well, when you put it like that, it’s hard to argue with you.’ The reaper paused, perhaps thinking. ‘But no, I still think you came up with it yourself. True, the timing is a bit suspicious. We only met Rasalased a little while ago, and now you’re doing this. But you know who ELSE we only met a little while ago? Asad and Zeff. And THEY were the ones who actually bothered to teach you about materialization. Therefore, I submit to the committee of your pedantic brain that it was NOT a magical sand god granting you heretofore lost knowledge, and that instead, it was simply inspiration from your new teachers.

‘Also, if we approach the subject from a completely different angle, then perhaps someone in the past DID think of your idea and just didn’t tell very many people about it. Hell, perhaps someone out there right now already knows about this technique, but they’re keeping that information to themselves, because... well, that’s a smart thing to do. Knowledge like this could be very dangerous, and generally speaking, a wise teacher avoids teaching his enemies how to kill him.’

He had to admit that the reaper had made a few good points, but Hector remained dubious nonetheless.

For the most part, though, he tried to focus on his training for now. All other concerns could wait until they had made it safely to Warrenhold.

When it came to instructing Hector, the Lords Elroy and Najir seemed somehow even more motivated than before. Hector found them sometimes competing to answer his questions first--which, frankly, wasn’t the most helpful thing in the world. He soon got into the habit of pointing at the one he wanted to explain whenever they started trying to talk over each other.

Importantly, he finally managed to get a full explanation of this “mapping” technique that he’d been curious about.

“Mapping is very valuable for accomplishing feats with your power which might otherwise be too difficult or sophisticated to perform at your current skill level,” said Zeff.

Needless to say, Hector was most certainly listening.

“The core idea,” Zeff went on, “is that we are able to ease the overall burden of concentration on ourselves by making use of simple, physical triggers.”

“We often do it unconsciously, to a limited extent,” added Asad. “I’m sure I have seen you do it already, as well.”

Hector squinted, trying to think back.

“Hand motions are the most common example,” said Zeff. “Strictly speaking, it is not necessary for us to move our hands at all when performing materialization.”

“Which is not to say that our bodies are not necessary,” said Asad. “Our bodies operate as conduits for the power from our brains, but movement itself is not required. It is, however, helpful for concentration. And mapping is simply a more advanced form of this.”

Zeff held up a fist and half-extended his middle and index fingers. “I, for example, have mapped my ability to create highly pressurized water drills to this hand sign.” And sure enough, a small water drill appeared above the knuckles on his fingers. “This particular skill requires constant creation and destruction, as well as a very strong velocity state. When I originally mapped it, it was quite difficult for me to perform. Now it is trivial and made even more so by the mapping.”

“Hand signals are the most common in practice,” said Asad, “but you could conceivably use any manipulable part of your body to achieve the same result.”

“Words, as well,” said Zeff.

Hector cocked an eyebrow. “Words?”

The Lord Elroy nodded. “Yes, you assign your skill to a certain word. You name it, essentially. It can work very well.”

“However,” said Asad, “it must be said that in the heat of combat, speaking the name of your attacks before you do them can certainly give your opponent an edge, especially if they have good intel on you.”

“Yes, but it must also be said that such tactics can serve to intimidate or confuse them,” said Zeff. “There are pros and cons to it.”

‘Do you have any personal examples of named attacks?’ said Garovel, sounding somewhat amused.

“Not currently,” said Zeff, “but I have been trying to assign my newest skill to a name. I’ve found that it helps if the name itself is befitting, but that can also be... difficult.”

‘I think “Water Bomb Drill” sounds just fine,’ said Axiolis.

“I think it sounds a bit long and silly,” said Zeff.

“Just stick with movements,” Asad advised Hector. “Save yourself the trouble.”

Hector’s mind was sufficiently blown by all of these revelations. Immediately, new ideas began to stir in his head, and he wanted to spend every waking moment trying to completely revamp his skill set.

It seemed like Zeff and Asad felt similarly with their own powers, along with several other Rainlords who joined them later on, most notably Joana Elroy, and very briefly, Horatio Blackburn.

Hector had been concerned about House Blackburn and would have liked to know more about how they were doing, but Lord Horatio was not particularly talkative, and Hector didn’t want to pry. So again, he decided that could wait until Warrenhold.

As for local politics, the Rainlords managed to negotiate an uneasy truce among the warring factions by using the food they’d captured as leverage. Zeff and Axiolis did not seem confident that the peace would last once the Rainlords left Babbadelo, but there was nothing for it, they said. There was only so much they could do for the people here, they said.

And Hector would have liked to say that they were wrong, but he couldn’t. He was far from an expert on political matters. If Garovel agreed with them, then so did Hector, even if he didn’t want to.

That being said, Hector certainly didn’t believe the Rainlords were being negligent or lazy. They were even going so far as to take custody of several important political prisoners who--according to varied accounts by the government, militia, treasure-hunters, and citizenry--posed the greatest threat to a continued peace. The Rainlords would be bringing these prisoners with them to Capaporo, where more secure facilities awaited them.

And since Capaporo was also their own destination, that was as far as they intended to take the worm eggs as well. Custody of the eggs would transfer to the local government there, who would then deliver them to Ornamegir.

Hector hoped that would be enough for things to remain settled, but he was already thinking of when he might be able to return and check up on the state of things in Babbadelo. Probably not for quite a long while, he figured.

And of course, there was still the matter of the treasure, the Sosho’Diyu.

He would have been lying if he said he wasn’t interested in finding it. It was hard not to be, what with how the reapers talked about it, about the potential it held. Moreover, he kept thinking about how useful it might be for revitalizing Warrenhold. Assuming it was money. The reapers seemed to think it was something else, though they didn’t know what.

Diego Redwater, Carlos Sebolt, and a few others had been meeting with the Akassu hunters in order to keep everyone abreast of any and all developments on that front, but the news hadn’t been encouraging. According to Diego, treasure hunters all over the city had been growing increasingly demoralized in their efforts, which was one of the reasons why the Akassu had sided with the militia in the first place. More and more, they were trying to find alternate means of making their fortunes, as most people now believed that either the treasure did not exist or that it was nowhere near Babbadelo.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

It didn’t help that there were conflicting accounts of how this treasure-hunting fever even got started in the first place. Diego said that they’d heard three separate tales now, the only shared trait among them being that it all began about a year ago when a foreigner came to town.

In the first tale, the foreigner boasted loudly to all who would listen that he had lain eyes and even his hands on the great treasure, Sosho’Diyu. As evidence, he flaunted a small cache that was full of precious gems, which he had supposedly plundered from it. Furthermore, he claimed that he intended to return for the remainder of the treasure soon, and no one had seen him since.

In the second tale, the foreigner was not alone. He had some sort of terrible partner, and the whole reason they were able to boast of their wealth was because they ran rampant through the city, stealing it from everyone. They pillaged whatever they pleased and even abducted women and children. Nevermind that no one seemed able to identify any of these abducted people. Diego and Carlos believed this story had the least credibility.

In the final tale, the foreigner was actually a revolutionary from Acacero who’d abandoned the cause. He claimed to have stumbled upon the treasure after fleeing a great battle, but he never provided any kind of proof. The only reason the fever took hold in the city was because so many fools and desperate losers were eager to believe him.

And perhaps even more worrisome than any of these stories was the fact nobody knew what this foreigner looked like. According to Diego and Carlos, many people claimed to have met and even spoken to the foreigner, yet none could describe him or provide any physical evidence of his existence. No videos. No pictures. Not even a name.

All in all, it didn’t bode well for the treasure’s existence, and it was no small wonder why the hunters grew more discouraged by the day. With no solid leads to go on and so much danger afoot, the hunters had begun transforming into little more than territorial gangs whom civilians hired for protection.

The few true hopefuls who remained would be traveling with the Rainlords. The prevailing thought among them seemed to be that the only place left to look was in the tunnel where only a handful had dared go before. The tunnel near a worm nest. The only tunnel that led to Capaporo.

Naturally.

And now, at the end of four quiet days of training and relative relaxation, Hector found himself waiting to board another train, this one more than twice the size of the last as it had to carry Rainlords, hunters, militiamen, prisoners, and three very large, very dangerous boxes full of eggs.

Twenty-six cubes orbited around Hector as he observed the efficient packaging line of Rainlords carefully loading up the many pods full of non-servants. He’d gotten into the habit of maintaining objects in orbit wherever he went, thinking of it as a kind of background practice. This many still required considerable concentration, though.

His gaze fell upon an approaching man whose face he recognized but only vaguely. When the name hit him, however, Hector’s eyes widened, and he shifted uncomfortably.

That was Melchor Blackburn coming toward him. The one they called Darktide.

The man had been unconscious since Dunehall--and prior to that, he’d been unconscious since Luzo. Hector had never met him properly, let alone spoken to him.

Judging from the way Melchor was moving, the man was still coping with considerable soreness, though he didn’t look terribly exhausted.

But maybe that was just because Hector was comparing him to Zeff.

“Hello,” said Melchor. The man’s reaper hovered silently behind him, but Hector couldn’t recall his name.

Hector lowered the number of cubes around him down to eight. He tried not to let himself feel intimidated by one of his allies, but this man was the oldest Rainlord here by a good margin. “Hi...”

“I hear I have you to thank for my life.”

Hector wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he decided to change the subject. “...I’m glad to see you on your feet again.”

Silence arrived.

Maybe that was the wrong thing to say. Shit. Maybe he’d sounded too stiff or distant when he’d said it. Double shit.

Garovel came to his rescue. ‘How’s your family doing? We haven’t heard much from them, and we’ve been worried.’

“Ah... I’m afraid I am not as knowledgeable on that subject as I would like to be.”

‘Oh,’ said Garovel. ‘Of course. You’ve been asleep. I apologize if I overreached.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Melchor’s reaper. ‘What is your name, by the way? I never did learn it.’

‘Garovel. And yours?’

‘Orric. Pleased to meet you.’

‘Likewise.’

Hector saw the expression on Melchor’s face, the flat and hollow gaze at the ground. “...How are you doing?” he asked. “It must be a lot to take in.”

Melchor exhaled a heavy breath. “Yes. Quite a lot.”

Hector wanted to say something more, ask him... something, but he couldn’t think of anything.

After a short while, however, Melchor turned to look at him. “How old are you, Lord Goffe?”

This question again. Somehow, he felt less prepared to answer it every time he heard it. “Uh...”

Garovel intervened again. ‘Why so curious?’

Melchor’s face became abruptly apologetic. “Oh. Forgive me. I merely wished to know if Hector is old enough to remember the Jungle Wars. I sometimes forget that age can be a sensitive subject where security and morale are of concern. If you would prefer not to tell me, I understand.”

‘Why do you bring up the Jungle Wars?’ said Garovel.

Melchor eyed the young Atreyan lord. “The way they talk about you... There is a mythos growing around you.”

Hector just returned the man’s stare, waiting for elaboration.

“I know what that is like,” said Melchor. “The Jungle Wars were when they first began to call me Darktide. It is a strange thing, is it not? Or am I mistaken in assuming that this is a new development for you?”

Hector needed a moment to consider those questions. He hadn’t been expecting them, certainly. “Ah... yeah. I’m not, um... I don’t know if...” He shut his mouth and clenched his jaw, wanting very much to not fumble over his own tongue right now.

Melchor seemed to take that as a hint. “Nevermind. It is none of my business.” He didn’t move, but he looked like he was ready to turn and walk away now.

And a surge of silent panic gripped Hector’s chest. This wasn’t what he’d wanted at all. “No,” he said almost involuntarily as his mind grasped for a way to follow it up.

Something. Anything. Maybe it would be easier if he didn’t talk about himself.

“...Tell me about yourself,” Hector ended up saying. And after hearing his own words, he wanted to bury his face in his hands. That was way too broad of a thing to say, and it hadn’t answered either of the man’s questions.

Melchor looked about as off kilter as Hector felt now. “Um... okay. What would you like to know?”

Oh shit. Hector racked his brain. ‘What the hell do I say?’

‘I don’t know, but I can’t wait to hear what you come up with.’

‘Garovel, c’mon!’

‘You can do it, buddy. I’ve got faith in you.’

It didn’t sound like faith to Hector. The first thing that popped into his head was to ask about the Jungle Wars. But wait, no, he should ask about Melchor himself, shouldn’t he?

Oh shit.

Oh fuck.

Oh no.

Now nothing was coming to him at all. This was torture. Why couldn’t his concentration help him with this shit, too? He was still able to keep his eight cubes in orbit just fine, so what the hell?

Garovel finally deigned to intervene publicly. ‘Did you ever work in the Vanguard?’

Goddammit, that was such a great question. Fuck.

“I did, yes,” said Melchor. “Many years ago.”

‘What is your opinion of it now?’ asked Garovel.

The man’s green eyes lingered on Garovel a moment before he answered. “Honestly? I have heard many people say otherwise, but personally, I do not think it has changed much.”

‘Oh?’

“The Vanguard has always been extremely interventionist. That is its entire purpose. Aggressive and preventative measures. Yes, certain things might be different, certain policies, certain kinds of mistakes, perhaps. But as a whole? I would say the Vanguard is essentially the same.”

‘That’s interesting,’ said Garovel. ‘I’ve not heard anyone else say that. But I feel similarly. I think the primary reason why it seems like so many people have begun to change their opinion of the Vanguard is actually just because of technology.’

‘I agree,’ said Orric. ‘Everyone wants to blame aberrations for everything, but I would say their presence has only caused the Vanguard to grow--and not necessarily anything beyond that. It’s the ease with which information is spread nowadays that lets everyone learn about all of the mistakes that the Vanguard is making.’

Garovel nodded. ‘You’re absolutely right. In the olden days, it was so much easier to cover things up. Frankly, I’m surprised the Vanguard is doing as well as it is on that front. Did you know that there are still entire countries that barely know about the existence of servants?’

‘Ah, yes. There are quite a lot of them in Qenghis and Luugh, aren’t there?’

‘Even here in Eloa, there are a few.’

‘You’re kidding.’

‘Oh, no, I’m not. Hector’s home country of Atreya is one of them.’

Orric’s empty eye sockets fell upon him. ‘Is that really true?’

“Ah... yeah.”

‘I can hardly believe it. Granted, I’ve never been there, but even so...’ Orric looked at Melchor. ‘Did you know that?’

Melchor shook his head.

‘All of the countries in that region are the same way,’ said Garovel. ‘Kahm, Rendon, Lorent, Mara, Ajax, Dante. Even parts of Intar, I think.’

‘How have they remained so ignorant all this time?’ said Orric. ‘Is it really just the Vanguard’s doing?’

‘I’m not entirely sure, myself. I assume the Vanguard has been a big part of it, but in Atreya at least, the public DOES know that people with superhuman abilities exist elsewhere in the world. They just don’t know where the power comes from. And they’re afraid of it. Which is understandable.’

‘So they only don’t know about reapers, then?’

‘Yes and no,’ said Garovel. ‘From what I’ve seen, they do have a concept of us, at least. In their mythologies, religion, and entertainment, that is. But they don’t think we’re real or that we’re connected to the superhumans that they’ve heard about. To them, we’re these kind of phantom-creatures who exist in nightmares or some sort of imaginary hell-dimension, perhaps. Which isn’t THAT far off, I suppose.’

‘I see. That’s very different from Sair, where we’re seen as entirely one with nature.’

“I wouldn’t say entirely one with nature,” added Melchor. He turned to Hector. “But that makes me curious. What do you see reapers as?”

It took Hector a second to understand what he meant. “Oh. Ah... I see them as... scythe-wielding skeletons. And wearing a kind of... black shroud, I guess.” He’d never told that to anyone but Garovel before. Somehow, it felt a little embarrassing to admit, like telling someone his middle name or some other mild secret.

“That sounds very strange to me,” said Melchor. “Is it not unsettling to see such a thing all the time?”

Hector gave a small shrug. “I hadn’t really thought about it. Always seemed about right to me.”

“Hmm.”

“What about you? What do you see them as?”

“Blue jays,” said Melchor.

Hector’s brow furrowed in disbelief. “Birds? Really?”

Melchor chortled faintly. “Is that so strange to you?”

“Uh... kinda, yeah. I mean, that’s just so... normal. They really just look like birds to you?”

“Their eyes glow.”

“Huh. Do they flap their wings?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do their beaks move when they talk?”

“No.”

“Do they, like... perch on top of things?”

“Occasionally, but not often.”

Hector had to stop himself from asking if Melchor had ever confused them with real blue jays. After a few beats of silence, he instead said, “I have a lot more questions.”

That made Melchor laugh, a bit harder this time.

‘As much as I would like to hear more about your blue jays,’ said Garovel, ‘I’m interested to know what your thoughts on the Jungle Wars are. Since you brought it up earlier, that is.’

Melchor’s amusement diminished somewhat. “Terrible business. Are you sure you want to listen to the ravings of an old man?”

‘I’m sure.’

But Melchor was looking at Hector now, as if he’d really been asking him.

Hector wondered if it was something that Melchor didn’t really want to talk about, but he also didn’t want to pretend that he wasn’t interested, either. So he just nodded.

“Very well...” Melchor scratched his chin with his thumb. “The Jungle Wars, as a whole, in my view, were inevitable. The diamond mines that everyone was fighting over, they were just an excuse. In truth, I would argue that those wars were cultural conflicts even more than they were economic ones. The Melmoorians were never going to live peacefully with the Cannites. Their belief systems were simply incompatible.”

‘You might be right, but what makes you say that?’ said Garovel.

“The Cannites worshiped rocks and animals. As if that was all the world was. And they thought themselves inherently superior because of this. Closer to nature.”

‘Would I be correct in assuming that you fought on the side of Melmoore?’

“You would, but I lived among the Cannites for several years and knew many good people among them. I bore them no ill will. They were simply wrong. They should never have tried to invade Melmoore. Their government, if you could even call it that, had no respect for their fellow human being. Do I think they deserved to be wiped out for it? Of course not. But it was like one of their very own proverbs: you cannot throw stones at a wolf and then be surprised when it does not flee like a rabbit.”

‘You are just full of dissenting opinions, aren’t you?’ laughed Garovel. ‘Usually, when I hear people talk about the Jungle Wars, it’s about how the big, bad Melmoorians annihilated the peaceful, nature-loving Cannites and eventually consumed most of the region with their industrialist greed.’

‘Yes, we have heard that many times as well,’ said Orric. ‘It really gets on Melchor’s nerves.’

“Only when people who did not live through it speak as if they did,” said Melchor.

Garovel laughed again. ‘I know the feeling.’

“Many reapers seem to,” said Melchor. “As I grow older, I find myself appreciating the work that the Archivers do more and more. If Orric decided to become one tomorrow, I would not be terribly upset.”

‘Maybe one day,’ said Orric, ‘when there is not quite so much work yet to be done.’

“I have my doubts that such a day will ever occur.”

‘If that is true, then perhaps my life as a glorified bookkeeper was simply not meant to be. What a terrible shame.’

Melchor gave the reaper a dry look.

Hector was curious now. “Archivers?”

“Have you not heard of them before?” The man seemed surprised.

Hector just shook his head.

‘The grand historians of all humanity,’ said Garovel. ‘Paragons of impartiality, with integrity that is beyond reproach.’

“Yes,” said Melchor. “In truth, I am not sure Orric would qualify.”

‘Hey.’

‘No offense, but he probably wouldn’t,’ said Garovel. ‘Anyone can start archiving independently, of course, but to receive recognition from the Prime Archivers as one of their own? I wouldn’t get your hopes up, if I were you.’

“Yes, I have heard that they are notoriously reclusive,” said Melchor.

‘That is an understatement,’ said Garovel. ‘The Prime Archivers are all very old, very paranoid reapers. And unless something’s changed with them recently, then it has been about fourteen hundred years since they allowed anyone to officially join their ranks.’

Melchor turned his head slightly but didn’t take his eyes off Garovel. “I have never heard that.”

‘Well, it’s not something they like to advertise,’ said Garovel. ‘And there are a lot of “unofficial” Archivers out there who muddy the waters a bit. Which isn’t to say that the unofficial guys are doing a bad job, necessarily. I just mean that there’s some confusion involved, as well as some ego and obsession.’

“How do you know so much about it?” said Melchor.

Garovel paused. He glanced at Hector. ‘Because I used to be one of the Prime Archivers.’

And if he was being completely honest, Hector still didn’t quite follow all this talk about official and unofficial Archivers, but even so, that particular revelation was surprising enough to make him stare.

Melchor and Orric were briefly silent as well, until Orric asked, ‘How long ago was this?’

‘...About fourteen hundred years,’ said Garovel.

‘And are we to assume that number is a coincidence?’

‘No. I had a falling out with them over their increasing sense of elitism and, in my view, cruelty. But I think if you asked them about it, they would argue that I simply lacked their vision and/or practicality.’

‘And you are saying that they have not allowed any new members since you left their ranks?’

‘Yeah. But it wasn’t just me. My sister and two others were part of the exodus as well.’

“Was there a particular event that caused you all to leave?” said Melchor.

‘Yes. The rift between us and them had been building for a long time, but the straw that broke the camel’s back was a new set of rules regarding the treatment of our servants. You see, in order to actually write anything down and keep records, we of course required servants for that physical labor. But keeping servants also meant that our neutrality was not protected under the Old Law. And that was a problem.’

‘Ah,’ said Orric. ‘And therefore, you held divided opinions regarding how best to protect said neutrality, yes?’

‘Exactly,’ said Garovel. ‘Our opponents believed that we should be as non-threatening as possible. They thought that we would be able to operate unmolested as long as we mostly remained below everyone’s radar and didn’t accrue too much military power. Which wasn’t entirely insensible, in my opinion. On the grand stage, possessing enough power inevitably invites recruitment or conflict with others who have it. And on top of that, they also had guarantees from the world leaders at the time that our neutrality would be respected under those conditions.

‘But for one thing, we weren’t sure we believed those guarantees, and for another, there was still the matter of the servants themselves. In actual practice, our opponents were advocating for the early termination of servant lives. The new set of rules that we did not want to abide by were essentially designed to prevent any “inappropriate conduct”--or in other words, friendship. The logic being that if we grow attached to our servants, then we will be less inclined to release them when the time limit expires--which, by the way, was only five years.’

‘Wow,’ said Orric. ‘I knew Archivers had a rigid organizational structure, but I have never heard the details.’

‘Well, I don’t know if they still abide by those rules,’ said Garovel, ‘but yeah. I didn’t want to treat my servant like a slave--or worse than a slave, really. A disposable tool. And just so I could manage some books in peace? A peace which I didn’t even have faith in? It was moronic. But that being said, the fact that Archivers are still around after all this time suggests that they’ve been doing SOMETHING right. I just can’t imagine that it’s because of those rules. Or at least, I don’t WANT to imagine that it’s because of them. Ugh.’

‘I must say, that is all very disappointing to hear,’ said Orric. ‘It sounds like they would not even accept a servant as old as Melchor, much less let me keep him.’

“You make it sound like I am your pet.”

Orric ignored the comment. ‘Perhaps it would be better to work independently as Archivers, then.’

‘Or start your own group,’ Garovel suggested. ‘I’ve considered doing that a few times, myself.’ He threw another look Hector’s way. ‘Only problem is that I would need a very large and very secure place to keep everything.’

Hector’s expression flattened inside of his misty armor.

‘And a bunch of like-minded friends wouldn’t hurt, either,’ Garovel went on. ‘Maybe a servant I really trusted, too. Especially one who had demonstrated an interest in knowledge and learning and protecting things.’

Hector had a few different responses to that in mind, but he chose to let the awkward silence arrive instead.

Garovel shrugged. ‘Oh well. I guess it’s hopeless.’