Io Deceneus: Journal of a Time Traveler (The Living Universe)

by Florian Armas

  “Who told Scorylo about the Desert Brothers incident?” ‘My sources are confidential,’ I remembered his answer.

  *

  The huge, stone table in the middle of the main room was fully surrounded by people with great expectations visible on their faces. With deliberately sluggish movements, I opened the big canvas bag and continued at a snail’s pace to extract the first volume of the Baragan Compendium of History. I had some remorseful feelings when their necks grew longer and longer, their wide eyes staring impatiently, nervous tongues running over their dry lips, but all this theatrical posture – contrived in detail with Batranu a night before – had its uses. In the end, the book came out completely and I quickly scanned the familiar faces, as reactions in moments like this are revealing of the true characters behind everyday masks. Altamira showed pure joy, starting to clap instantly while smiling at me – she knew. The Magister's eyes had gone wider than I believed was possible for an instant and then his posture automatically returned to that of the authoritarian head of the Library. Even the Queen and the King were impressed. The next second everybody was talking, ignoring completely the other volumes from the bag. I caught a quick glance between the King and the Magister and then the librarian raised his baritone voice a notch: “With your agreement, I would like to express the highest gratitude for this marvelous gift our esteemed guests have brought to us this day, restoring lost memories of ancient times. We are still in a painful part of our history and unearthing what our ancestors accomplished in equally distressed times will surely help us to make the right decisions for the future. But still, although there is yet much pain in our world, there are some things that are right and good, as we continue to discover.” I was touched by his discourse, even childishly expecting to receive a medal, before remembering that they did not have such useless decorative things. With the King’s permission, the Magister announced that, in our case, they would exceptionally eliminate the three-year period of novitiate needed to achieve full membership into the Library Society of Dava if we passed the regular examination. Excitement started to fade, words moved into whispers, the moment consumed itself. The King left followed by all the other dignitaries. Another point scored, another link in the chain. Are they enough? We are almost part of the library; Batranu is well placed. The next link in the chain should be mine.

  “Could you please help with the books? They need a proper place.” Magister’s deep voice woke me. I glanced around, only three people. Talian and Aldira and all the other librarians had left too. Why? “They are too heavy for my weak arms, unfortunately.” How old are you? Seventy? Maybe more.

  “I apologize,” Batranu said softly, “I have to leave; the young man here is more than strong enough.” You should stay; you are our ‘librarian’. He winked, and left.

  “We have a section for rare books.” I know, that’s where we found them in Sarmis. “It is not far from here.” The door had the same iron locking mechanism with two snakes engraved on it. “Here is our most precious treasure,” he announced with a proud voice. I made a mechanical calculation, not even a tenth of the Sarmis ‘treasure’. You will be happy after all those books are brought here. I hope the same happiness will touch the King; things are moving too slowly. “You are an unusual person,” he whispered, “in love with both books and swords. Here,” he gestured to an empty place close to the door. “The best place for the best books.” I am not here to arrange books; that fox Batranu guessed well. Am I so stupid? What do you want, old man? I arranged the books. “Yes, perfect,” he ignored me. “We lost so many things,” he sighed, “books and teachers will help us rebuild. We have very good teachers in the library. We need more engineers and more than a thousand other things.” He stopped for a while as if dreaming. “Who taught you to fight? He must be a good teacher from what I hear. Is he a Baragan?”

  I am not sure that a simulation avatar can be considered a ‘he’. You need teachers ... to train warriors; you want to dislodge Garon from the Council. I have some wishes of my own too. “An old friend, he is no longer with us.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “Do you want me to write a book about training?” You want me to train people ... say it. I will accept... Only say it.

  “An interesting idea ... to pass your knowledge on to our young soldiers ... writing and teaching. It could be exactly what we need, and I might be able to help.”

  *

  “Look at these pictures, Altamira; all lies of blood color. Blood perverts minds, and sparks conflicts, even in peaceful people. They don’t know the truth, for them this is the ‘truth’.” I knocked on one title with my finger: Hordes of Baramunti attacked innocent people. “These articles are dangerous, opening the path to civil strife.” A few days later, the first commotion has passed. You should be in a better mood now. I hope you will not kill the messengers. “Do you know who is behind them?”

  “Who would read such nonsense?” She brushed away our arguments together with the papers. “No one. How is your accommodation in Dava? Soon you will be asked go to the Council.” She smiled. “Don’t tell anyone you heard it from me.” Cherchez la femme, I smiled and the smile was bitter and sweet altogether.

  “These articles are dangerous,” we told Aldira. “Do you know who is behind them?”

  “Who would read such nonsense?” She made a nonchalant gesture. “No one. How do you find Dava?” You should feel that something is wrong. You have Erin blood, whatever that means.

  “These articles are dangerous,” we told Airan. “Do you know who is behind them?”

  “Good people have better things to do. Who will read such nonsense?” I am not worried by good people… I am afraid of the Factions’ tools. They are as good as these articles. “No one. How do you find Dava?” Stupid rulers, you have no idea what is in the cards for you. They are not stupid, only innocent. The same thing, if you are a ruler. This is not Earth; innocence is still a virtue here.

  “These articles are dangerous,” we told Talian. “Do you know who is behind them?”

  “Who would read such nonsense?” He stopped. “Almost no one. How do you find Dava?” Okay, we have an improvement: ‘almost no one’.

  “You told us before about a ‘journalism’ revolution. Is this what you meant?” He frowned. Open your eyes; it’s time for another revolution.

  “I see now what you mean: there are no incidental circumstances in newspaper stories. They are paid to impose a certain variant of ‘truth’. Their variant, and people with no knowledge about that evening will take this as being the truth. Variants of truth are mistruths, and the ‘almost no one’ is their target.” He went to the window and glanced outside. “Beautiful morning, I miss our travels in the east.” I don’t like the desert, I bet neither do you, say something. “Have you newspapers in the south?” Don’t run. What are you afraid of? I shrugged, waiting for Ency to find something. She found nothing.

  “We have one, but no revolution yet.”

  “We can make a donation,” he smiled. “The revolution I mentioned was about jokes, gossips, bait to fish readers. Have they serious games in mind? You think yes, these articles resonate with you. I have no answer ... yet.” Good enough for a start.

  “Do you know a ‘revolutionary’ journalist named Scorylo?”

  “I apologize; I should have told you. I asked his opinion about the Desert Brothers, two months ago when I was back in Dava; I forgot about it. He is very informed.” For sure he is, by now.

  “I have my own question,” he started, unsure about his words. “The books, how did you get the books here? You had no horse when we met.”

  “Batranu came with the horses,” I sighed. “Stupid!” I whispered after he left. “Stupid, stupid, stupid. Much fear for nothing.” I kicked a small stone off the road. I stopped; some bystanders were looking curiously at the savage in town. Of course, the memory of my horse was erased from their minds by the SAT-mine. Batranu laughed, after a while: “We still have much to learn.”

&n
bsp; *

  Until now, all the duels were simply formalities; Scharon won with ease; I had no problems either. We met in the finale. Was this arranged? There are other fighters ... behind the curtain. Who has an interest in a match between me and Scharon? The Magister... The duel event was announced by the King, and Airan brought the invitation to me. I accepted; at that time, we saw only possibilities. “You will win for sure,” Batranu told me. “The Military School is still without a commander.”

  “It is too early for this.”

  “No one says you must be there tomorrow; it’s more an assessment and the final proof of your skills. People have heard of your fights, they want to see you in the flesh. A good ruler prepares people for his decisions ... and is ready to exploit an opportunity. There are very few Baragans able to stand up to a Munti, you are one of them and this is your chance. And ... Scharon is too young to be a commander.”

  “Apart from Scharon, all the others are in the library or in the royal family and almost all are too old.” Something bothered me. There must be a link between them ... yes, something. Of course! “They are all mix people.”

  “The mix people are there where knowledge about blood renewal resides.” We are right and we are wrong; I came back to the arena: fighting Scharon was not on the cards. Who made the list? We knew only that some young soldiers and the cadets of the Military School would participate. The cadets, Batranu was right, they are here for a reason. But why Scharon? Is Garon expecting Scharon to win? Or that I should let him win? The winner is known after the fight. I know. I met him only once, after the fight was announced, just an exchange of polite greetings. He said nothing about the fight. What do you want? He is the Chancellor; you are only a common entity.

  I won the duel; it was easier than fighting Duras. It will not be the same in only a few years. Scharon will grow better than Duras. I read nothing in Garon’s eyes when he congratulated me. There was joy in Altmira’s eyes, she was smiling. I blushed, and I was lucky, my face was already red from effort. Why is she happy? It is only a smile. Maybe. Then I saw Scharon’s eyes, filled with hatred. He left the arena without congratulating me. You have no sense of fair play, I complained. He is young, maybe this is his first loss. Or he saw Altamira’s smile...

  *

  “Death to Munti!” the cry was faint and far. What a nightmare. Why would they shout this? I closed my eyes. “Death to Munti!” Oh, shut up. I want to sleep. “Death to Munti!” The dream got louder. “Death to Munti.” This is not a dream. I jumped from my bed and opened the window; a fresh gust of air cleared my mind. “Death to Munti!” Loud and clear. Batranu knocked on the door and entered.

  “There will be some fun today.”

  “Who would read such nonsense? Idiots! I would laugh without these ‘death’ cries.”

  “Don’t play the clever guy. You come from Earth; something still considered a piece of shit in Dava smells like perfume there. You are here to help, not to blame.”

  “It would be easier if they listened.”

  “They are listening. Be sure that they are hearing the shouting too and trying to understand what caused it. They will remember our words soon enough.” He is right, open your mind, keep your mouth shut, think. Why now?

  “Why now? The duel?”

  “I bet a bottle of wine from the royal cellar on this. They are fast, less than twelve hours.”

  “No, this link was forged before, when Scharon was pushed into the game. I want to see the tabloids.”

  “Baragans rule,” another shout came. “They are better than Munti. Listen to the people! No more Munti in high positions.” You won the bet Batranu. The mob was now too far away to hear more. Don’t worry, others will listen and spread the word.

  Scorylo managed to meet us ‘by chance’. He was reading The Sun in the plaza close to our house, the place where we usually bought the same tabloid. Batranu smiled upon seeing him. “Another chain player.” I smiled back after seeing the title: A Baragan is our best fighter.

  “Greetings Baragan fighters. I am glad to meet the best swords in the city. What am I saying? The best swords in the Kingdom! Please be assured that I have nothing but quills to defend myself, I represent no menace for such warriors.”

  “The Sun,” I said, pointing to his paper. “Interesting choice. Are you looking for new quills? They can be as sharp as swords.”

  “They have good ones, yet they have a weakness.”

  “I know, you are independent and a paragon of good intentions, they are the bad guys in town.” How can I translate ‘the road to hell is paved with good intentions’? They have no notion of hell.

  “I am delighted; you have such a keen sense of observation.” He burst into a laugh. “Thank you for the good words.” He bowed mockingly. Last time we met, I was planning some sharp games with your tongue. “What a wonderful morning. I am sure you observed many interesting things in the city today. The sky is clear; you can see the mountains. What a pity I am not a painter; I would make a very interesting fresco for you.” You have something to sell... What do you want to buy?

  “Let’s start with things we did not see. How many people were in that mob?”

  “A few.” I frowned; journalists should have better estimation skills. “Around twenty.” You are my man. “They had ... interesting eyes.”

  “Perhaps ‘unnatural’?”

  “It’s a pleasure to talk with you. Yes, unnatural, and yes some known faces.” Known faces, whoever is behind them is in short supply of people. Maybe. The Magister? Maybe. Probably. Mostly? Yes, mostly. Sumael?

  “Was Sumael with them?”

  “Sumael is the falcon not a parrot. The owner of The Sun cannot be seen with the ‘unnatural’, it would be ... unnatural?” The owner? Who could have guessed this? For sure not the police here. Your tongue is safe, for now. He caught our glances. “I just blew a good shot; my skills seem to be on vacation.” Is he playing with us? His hand made a short uncontrolled gesture, half an inch. If this was by intention he is good, if not he wants something and he wants it badly. What is the value that we cannot see it in the mirror?

  “If Sumael is the falcon who is the vulture?”

  “Should there be a vulture in this?”

  “Any child has two parents; public opinion without political cover is an orphan playing dangerous games.” Who is your political master? The King? You are too sure about your cover.

  “Death to Munti!” Shouts started to be heard again.

  “The soldiers are pushing them away from the Palace Plaza.” He smiled. You are right, we know nothing about Dava’s underground moves; still you want something from us. “Ardava must be an interesting city, full of life, political life, a wonder for such a small place.” ‘He is very well informed,’ I remembered Talian. He cannot really know. He can guess things. Maybe. “Look into the sky.” He changed his tune. “When the sun is up the mountains are no longer seen, the light is too strong. Tricky stuff isn’t it?” He almost mocked us. “Any painter can tell you the truth, they are still there. A good one can reveal their hidden thoughts. You know, it is difficult to paint thoughts, difficult but not impossible; they surface only on faces.” He stopped and met our eyes slowly, impertinently lazily, each of us at a time.

  “Talian told me to trust you.” Talian is not a strong enough cover. Why Talian? The Desert Brothers? Deceneus? ‘Is the legend ready to start again?’ he said. No, it was Aldira. Think! What sun? I have to give something, small enough to deny everything if he is tricking us. Plausible denial. “The duel will soon fade away.” One step forward. Now make a half-step back. “People will forget. Things will calm down.”

  “Yes, and all eyes will see the mountains again. Time is always a short commodity in politics.” He saluted and walked away, but after two steps he half-turned. “There are many trying now to dig under the mountain, with ... different intentions; Garon’s proposal for the Military School was rejected in the Council.”

  “Death to Munti!” A chaotic ma
ss of people erupted into the plaza, soldiers followed, making a chain where the street coming from the royal Palace met the plaza. Some people were wounded, some soldiers were wounded. He was right, around twenty people, a small number, but vocal. They defaced the street of its stones and made small mounds. This is not good. Stones started to fly. The papers... “Death to Munti!” Soldiers sent some arrows at the feet of the demonstrators; they retreated. We had better leave now.

  “The traitors are here!” one guy shouted. His hand moved in our direction. Shit. Scorylo was between us and them. He turned. “Run! Now!” I took a step back, his face was covered by a black mask. “Run!” We ran and turned the corner. “I apologize for the mask. I cannot afford to be seen with ... traitors; it’s not good for my business.” His mask moved with a laugh. “How interesting, traitors and Baragans’ pride at the same time.” His laugh filled the street.

  Garon’s office was as imposing as its owner was, yet simple. Maybe he did not fully adapt to the sophisticated Baragan style. Is he still a Munti in his heart? Once a Munti or an American or a German, always a Munti or... This is not your world; they are not as nationalistic as people on Earth. Tell that to those shouting ‘Death to Munti!” They are ‘unnatural’. All people here are unnatural compared with Earth, in a good way. Sometimes. Most of the time … all the time. A mounted patrol took us directly to the palace from the unquiet streets; Garon asked only for me.

  “Leave us,” he told his secretary, a thin and tall ... Baramunti of course. Has he any Baragans working for him? In good positions, I mean. Something to clarify. “You asked some good questions a few days ago.” Who told you? Altamira? Airan? It must be Airan. He is close to Garon. Almost allies, Ency told me. “That paper ... The Sun is not acting very responsibly.” What about The Moon? He stood up and went to the window. “A nice morning, clear and tranquil, if not for some noisy people.” Don’t serve me the invisible mountain parable. You are not a plume; you are a sword, and a ruler. “I took your advice and have found the owner; a certain Sumael.”