“I don’t think this is a good idea.” Quiet-Dream chittered quietly in Ink-Talon’s ear as Black-Leap scampered into the room behind him to rejoin her yet-unaware sibling.
“Why not? The archivist says it needs my help, and I would like to help.” Ink-Talon shrugged and tilted his head.
“What could you possibly help with? They know we don’t have any of their memories, right? And why would it need to be explained in private? The whole thing gives me a bad feeling. Besides…” The squirrel shuddered. “I’ve been able to see that porcupine in my peripheral vision while we’ve been talking. They’ve been staring at me the whole time. Specifically me. And I can’t tell why. Something’s not right.”
“I’ll be careful.” Ink-Talon gently bumped the nervous squirrel with a wing. “But if there’s some hidden agenda here, it’s not going to go away if we ignore it. I want to find out what’s happening.”
“Then… I’m coming with you.” Quiet-Dream sighed. “The kits should be sleeping for most of the afternoon, and the Guardians will keep them from going too far in the unlikely event they decide to wander.“
“Are you sure?” Ink-Talon tilted his head. The question was simple, but Quiet-Dream could easily read the implicit “Because you’re in rough shape and should rest” behind it. It was the way his gaze flicked from him, to his room, to the porcupine. He couldn’t keep from expressing his concern, even if unconsciously.
“I’ll be even more stressed out if I’m just sitting here worrying about all of this,” the squirrel chirped. “I’m not going to improve if I’m stewing in self-pity all the time.” And I want to find out more about this world, too, he added silently. If there was one thing he’d realized since arriving at the College, it was that his aversion to educating himself was becoming actively harmful. On some level, he’d still been in denial. Not of the fact that any of this was real, but of the idea that it would be up to him to learn, adapt, and adjust. Everyone was pouring so much effort into supporting him, the least he could do was take some initiative for once.
After explaining to Black-Leap where the two of them were going, they approached Archivist Sharp-Search and asked if Quiet-Dream could accompany them. The porcupine did not voice any protests, and began to lead the pair deeper into the College. All the while, they continued to keep an eye on the squirrel, and at this distance he could just barely tell that they were confused about something, but was deliberately obfuscating their intentions. Eventually, he’d had enough.
“Is there something wrong with me, Archivist? Besides the obvious. You have been staring at me this entire time.”
“Not with you, at least not directly,” the porcupine whined, finally letting some amount of emotion slip. “I exchanged extremely regular correspondence with Scholar Ink-Talon while it was assigned to Deep’s End. I received frequent, detailed accounts of the research and day-to-day events going on there, and it always expressed a deep, passionate affection for Forager Keen-Ear. Enough for it to permanently relocate to Deep’s End rather than return from its initial research trip.”
“The poetry I read on the wagon trip here was… definitely passionate,” Ink-Talon clicked in agreement, “passionate” seeming to be an understatement.
“I had hoped that by seeing you, I would be able to Understand what exactly about Keen-Ear appealed to the Scholar.” The porcupine rattled their quills in apparent frustration. “Unfortunately, I can not. Perhaps the Forager’s personality was more to its liking? Or maybe its preference for rodents was more inclined towards nimbler paws and more precise teeth? Perhaps I should have more regularly filed down my claws...”
Am I being… assessed for sex appeal? Quiet-Dream tensed up as his thoughts raced between all of the various aspects of the idea that he really, really didn’t want to deal with right now. All of a sudden, hanging back and stewing in self-pity was a lot more appealing.
“Though, I am curious how such things are for the two of you now, as your own predilections certainly must conflict with your new-”
“I think we should discuss something else, Archivist,” Ink-Talon interjected with a loud squawk. “This is… a sensitive subject within an already sensitive subject.”
“I see. If you do not wish to think about it, I will not push you,” Sharp-Search grunted. “Sorry.” They silently continued making their way down the hall and seemed sincere, but it was clear now that they were putting a lot of effort into not expressing their emotions when communicating.
“Are you okay?” Ink-Talon asked, silently prodding the squirrel with a wing once the porcupine was no longer looking.
“Yeah,” Quiet-Dream flicked his tail in response, finally letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Well, no. But I’ll be okay in a minute. Thanks for the save.”
“No problem. I don’t need an automatic Understanding of things to tell that you were getting really uncomfortable, now that I know what to look for. You always tense up and the fur on your back stands up a bit when you’re about to snap at someone.”
“I guess if this body is good for anything, it’s expressing that stuff for me, because I’ve never been good at cluing anyone in directly…” The squirrel huffed, already emotionally exhausted. But it was true that in his old life, he would have just silently stood there and taken it until he exploded, completely ruining the interaction. No one ever came to his aid or bailed him out, because he never expressed his distress until it was too late. Not in any way that anyone could pick up on, anyway. But now… he did.
He’d had an easier time communicating in this body than he’d ever had in his old one. It’d gotten him friends who had his back, and in the end, that had to count for something.
Eventually, the trio passed into a more heavily populated part of the College, the halls being built wider for a larger volume of people coming and going, as well as taller to accommodate those who needed the extra headroom. The variety of animals present was far greater than any of them had seen at Deep’s End, where it had seemed that all of the residents were small and mobile for logistical reasons. Here, there were creatures ranging from antelope to tortoises to toads to an emu that may have just been the single most intimidating thing he had ever seen. Occasionally, someone would recognize who they were and stare, but no one approached or drew anyone else’s attention to them.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“Through here.” Sharp-Search gestured to the door to their right. One of the few actual solid doors to be found in the building. It was held in place with a string-operated latch, and what appeared to be a counterweight to close it behind them on the opposite side. “Many of the materials in the archive are fragile, necessitating solid barriers to keep the climate somewhat more consistent,” the porcupine made a few oddly cute squeaks as they explained, having noticed Quiet-Dream pausing to examine the mechanism. It seemed they genuinely liked explaining things like this.
“So then building things like this is more a matter of expense and effort than ability?” Ink-Talon cawed.
“That, and ease of use,” the Archivist nodded as the door swung shut behind them. “Different bodies often require different means of opening latches, and you can’t easily provide one for everyone. Curtains suffer no such drawbacks, and are more than sufficient for visual dividers.”
It took a few moments for Quiet-Dream’s eyes to adjust to the relative gloom of the archives. There were no skylights, and the lamps that lit the other rooms he’d seen were covered in a polished metal hood that reflected their light downward but also lessened the light they could put out. The reasons were relatively obvious. Having an open-air hole in the ceiling was a bad idea for a library, as was open flame. It wasn’t so dark that he couldn’t see, at least, though he had no idea how the low light would impact “reading.”
As for what there was to read, wooden boxes with openings on the side were stacked to form low walls of shelves. Each opening was covered by a lid, etched with a marking to indicate the general subject of what was contained within. Glancing around, Quiet-Dream spotted “Darksoil’s History,” “Mammalian Biology,” and “The Lost Lands” among others at various points around the room, as well as a whole row of boxes all labeled as “Matters of Consensus,” whatever that meant.
“Okay, you’ve got us alone,” the squirrel chattered, returning his attention to the Archivist. “What, exactly, do you think Ink-Talon can help you with, as he is now? And why all the secrecy?”
“You may be able to help as well,” Sharp-Search said, undoing the hook holding one of the containers closed, letting gravity swing the lid open. Quiet-Dream couldn’t see what its label was through the porcupine’s quills. “While some perspective on the former Ink-Talon’s research would have been useful, what I actually want is the unique perspective you share.”
“The perspective of being… something else?” Ink-Talon croaked.
“The perspective of being somewhere else.” The Archivist awkwardly waddled backwards from the box, a bundle of scrolls cradled between their forelegs. “As for the secrecy, this concerns a field of study that, while not strictly taboo, is seen as frivolous at best among the Lead Scholars. It would not reflect well upon my position to be pursuing it openly.” They made their way over to a wide cloth floor covering situated directly under the focused light from a trio of lamps where they deposited the scrolls, their forward bipedal waddle clearly well-practiced from doing this a great many times. “What do you know of the Beacons?”
The term was familiar, but it took a few moments for either of them to place it.
“Oh! That’s the… artifact that Darksoil was founded around, right? Something older than your recorded history.” Quiet-Dream recalled it first, and Ink-Talon nodded, though he was clearly trying to remember something else as well. “And I guess there’s more than one of them?”
“Five, to be precise, and they are indeed extremely old. Darksoil was founded by scholars interested in studying the one found here, and a great deal of effort was put into attempting to Understand it and its origins.” Sharp-Search was using their “excited to explain” tone again, and Quiet-Dream couldn’t help but find just how animated they got to be endearing. They were practically bouncing, shifting their weight between their left and right pairs of legs. “At one point, several scholars decided that the most expedient course of action would be to Attune to the Beacon, though given its complexity the process could only be completed by the most long-lived of them. Unfortunately, those who did manage immediately found themselves overwhelmed to be in its presence for more than brief moments, and what they did manage to glean was…. Not remotely useful. The Beacon was full of information. Information that it bombarded those Attuned to it with incessantly. None of it had any practical use, and most of it concerned things that made little sense without context of its origins.”
“And then the research was abandoned,” Ink-Talon clicked his beak to finish the story. “It was decided that the impracticality of Attunement and the dangers to the Attuned simply weren’t worth it.” After a few awkward moments of both Quiet-Dream and the Archivist staring at him, he added: “The wagon ride here was boring. I read a lot. Didn’t have context for why any of it was important, though.”
“Okay, but what does any of that have to do with us?” Quiet-Dream asked.
“What I have placed here are the recorded accounts of those who Attuned to the Beacon, the ‘Beacon’s Insight,’ as well as the few writings of those who have tried to make sense of them. I have a theory that the Beacons and their Makers originate from somewhere beyond the Known World. And if the world you remember coming from truly does exist…” The porcupine trailed off, much of their confidence having faded.
“You want us to read this and see if anything is familiar.” Quiet-Dream peeped. “I would be happy to. If nothing else, maybe our personal contexts can give you a new approach?” He doubted that he’d be able to make any sense of it, but this was exactly what he’d come along to do: learn more about the world.
“Definitely.” Ink-Talon nodded. “Where should we start?”
“Thank you.” Sharp-Search sighed in relief. “The original Ink-Talon was the only one who entertained this line of questioning as anything other than a waste of effort, so I haven’t been able to express these ideas to anyone in a long time.” They reached out and batted one of the scrolls over with a forepaw. “These were the last observations Ink-Talon made on the subject before departing for Deep’s End, and thus the most modern analysis of any of the Insight. I would start there.”
“Here, allow me,” Quiet-Dream chirped as he undid the fastener on the scroll with his forepaws. Even without thumbs, the task was far easier for him than it was for a bird. He pulled the edge back to unroll it, revealing an absolute mess of short, deliberate strokes made in black ink, a marking style his companion was doubtless familiar with already. Despite the sloppiness, the meaning came across clearly, as well as an underlying emotion: Curiosity.
The actual contents of the scroll, however, made the squirrel’s heart skip a few beats.
“This is…” He leaned on Ink-Talon for support, afraid to finish the thought, lest he open the floodgates for the billion questions raised.
“...Definitely familiar.” The crow finished it for him. “I’m pretty sure I know exactly what this is.”
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There is an ancient story about a Scholar who dreamed that they were a butterfly, and when they awoke, wondered if they were really the Scholar, or actually the butterfly dreaming of being one. It is dismissed as nonsense, an entertaining idea sometimes used by the uneducated to cast doubt on objective truth. After all, if the Scholar were truly the butterfly, then the accounts read by others would have been from the butterfly’s perspective, and the butterfly would be the historical figure on record.
There is a problem with this conclusion. That story is Insight from a Beacon, knowledge from its Makers, as is our knowledge of the arguments against it. We have always been the same as that butterfly, experiencing pieces of the lives of greater beings. And our existence is proof that those beings can be wrong.