by Matthew Ward
He said, “The marble was brought here by the people of the First Age. No one knows where it came from.”
Eventually they came to a door that led toward the center of the lake. An escort opened it, and a set of stairs climbed upward. They ascended and then walked through another hallway on a surface that allowed them to see the lake below them. Drystn hadn’t realized this building actually went over the lake. The still lake below his feet made him nauseas. He felt like he was flying and could drop to the water at any moment.
He looked back to where they were headed, and realized they would go to a room above the center of the lake. There was no question; the Ruler of Talamir resided there. Drystn had no idea why he was so sure about this fact, but it had to be the case.
The mianl door came closer as they moved along over the lake. One of the escorts opened the door and motioned them inside. When the door shut behind them, the escorts remained out of the room. The three best students of the year were alone with the Ruler.
A long silver robe hung around a slender man who faced away from the group. He stood behind a stone desk with scattered papers strewn across it. He was one of only twelve people in Talamir allowed to wear the silver robe that indicated being a voting member of the ruling class. The man turned toward the group. A high-pitched voice startled Drystn. He expected a deep and dominant voice from the most powerful person in the world.
The Ruler said, “You probably have many questions as to why you have been called here. Know that most will be answered in time. Other questions are for you to figured out and tell me. For now, I wanted to meet you before you head to your sleeping quarters.”
Drystn fought back a laugh. The combination of his nervousness with such a shocking voice made it hard. He put his hand to his mouth and pretended to cough before pulling himself back together.
Loegr’s impatience came through. “Can’t you tell us anything right now?”
“No.” He leaned forward and grew in stature. The corners of his lips turned down. “And you are never to question me that way again. Do you understand?”
Drystn noticed Loegr shake beneath his robe. “Yes, sir. I understand.”
The ruler turned away and looked out at the lake once more. His voice returned to a less threatening high pitch.
“You wouldn’t believe me without me showing you anyway, and there isn’t enough daylight to go now. Tomorrow you will travel, and you will see. Just know that the fate of Talamir may be in your hands. We must have absolute cooperation and trust if we are to survive.”
IV
Maedc poured over the ancient texts. Sharp angles and complicated, detailed strokes filled the page with a long-forgotten language. It was totally unlike modern writing, which had evolved into a simple, smooth, and circular script. The foreign letters remained impenetrable despite years of effort by Talamir’s foremost linguists.
Few others knew these texts even existed, yet the First Age left a whole library behind. The books filled a large room in Talamir Center. No one had cracked the language, but Maedc had spent longer than anyone studying the books for clues. He had become convinced that if the bairsgn could be stopped, these texts would give the answer.
Had the people of the First Age created the bairsgn? Did it destroy them? Did these texts contain any hint as to where the people had gone? He slammed the book shut, and dust puffed out into a nebulous cloud. He peered through the grime at the dimly lit reading room.
All the other desks remained empty. Maedc knew of few working linguists. They had probably given up hope and left the premises to go live productive lives elsewhere. The act of translating a foreign, written language was futile without any living person from that age to help out.
He had flipped through hundreds of these books. With patience, he had found recognizable drawings with symbols scrawled next to them. This gave the language scholars a little help with identifying the symbols for the three focal points of spior.
It also meant the people of the First Age had discovered how to use spior. The more Maedc thought about this fact, the more it surprised him. He couldn’t see or feel the spior himself, and in his earlier years, he considered himself an aspiorist. He thought the herbalists, mianlists, and soilists were all fooling themselves; that there was no such thing as spior. The supposed properties of spior were merely inherent properties of the substances they used.
When his research brought him to texts from the First Age showing an isolated civilization coming to the same beliefs—at least from the diagrams it appeared that way—Maedc had no choice but to accept that there was something special about the spior focal points. Some mysterious force had to be moving through these elements. There was no way that two civilizations would accidentally delude themselves in the same way.
Still, something felt wrong. No one knew what happened to the people of the First Age. This meant that no one could be sure there were no survivors. Some of the beliefs and traditions of that age might have survived, because some people might have survived. He didn’t know how, but it was conceivable that survivors might have passed on belief in spior to the Second Age.
Maedc walked along the dark bookshelves to replace the book he had stared at with futility. The smell of the library always gave him a thrill. He didn’t have any strong feelings about the smell of grass in the wild, but the dried grass used to make these books had a complex and deep aroma. It put him in touch with an ancient people that few others got to experience.
The researchers who spent time on the impossible translation project had catalogued every character they had found. They were confident that the alphabet of the First Age consisted of forty-six characters. They also knew an order for the letters, because the books were arranged in a clear lexicographical order. The linguists had no way to know if their order was forward or reversed, not that this would help with translation.
After returning the book to its proper location, Maedc trudged along the rest of the aisle. He let his hand drag over the bindings as he took each step. The soft textures rolled by under his fingertips, and he looked forward, lost in thought about the mysterious symbols. The decaying material left a powdered residue on the ground, which gave off a gentle swooshing noise as he walked. This sound lulled him into a reflective meditation.
He was usually an optimist, but recently, he felt himself drifting toward the view that no one would understand the language in his lifetime. With nothing to grasp onto, no progress could be made. He curled his hand into a fist at this thought and squeezed for an instant before returning his hand to the books at his side. Tap, tap, tap. His fingers plucked along as if playing a drum.
Maedc stopped suddenly when his hand touched a book sticking out more than usual. He found this odd, because all the linguists he knew were obsessive about returning each book perfectly. He looked over to see if it was one he had examined before. The spine didn’t look familiar. He pulled it out, curious as to what someone else looked at. The person must have been in a hurry when returning this one, so maybe they had overlooked something.
He returned to the desk he always worked at, and plopped the book in front of him. Now that he had time to examine it closer, the cover felt different. The material wasn’t the standard matted grass-paper. This had a more flexible feel to it. It was a substance he couldn’t identify by sight or feel. It was somehow simultaneously both stronger and more flexible. It also had a different smell to it: more earthy or metallic. The book must have had some importance to warrant this special substance.
Maedc opened to the first page, and it appeared to be a standard title page. He slowly flipped page after page, looking for anything unusual. The pages were filled with the same symbols that had mystified him for years. He wasn’t sure why he thought this would be any different. As he got toward the center of the book, he flipped to a page with a picture. It was unlike anything he had seen in any other First Age text.
Some books had pictures of standard reference materials like herbs and rocks, and these wor
ds had been identified with the aid of these pictures. The linguists had formed a hard rule: the pictures were always still life. No known examples violating this rule had been found. Many scholars had come to believe that the artists of the First Age had a religious reason for never drawing action scenes.
Maedc’s flesh tingled with the discovery of the picture; it had remarkable detail of terrifying action. What appeared to be a giant star fell from the sky as helpless people watched. The next page showed carnage and destruction and people dead. Page after page told a visual story of people who journeyed to the place where the star had fallen. The last page showed a map. Concentric circles around a lake closed in by mountains and cliffs was unmistakably Talamir. The map was labeled in big, bold letters.
Maedc had trouble catching his breath. His heart pounded so hard, he could hear it in his head. As far as he knew, this was the biggest discovery of his life. No one had figured out the symbols in the First Age language for what they called this place. Now they would be able to match symbols to find where Talamir was referenced in other books.
This gave Maedc an idea. He left the book open on the desk and ran to a neglected part of the library. He already had the sequence of letters memorized. He scanned the shelves, and sure enough, found several books containing that exact set of symbols in the title. Now he knew these books were primarily about Talamir. He gained so little information from this insight, yet it felt like his whole life’s work was nothing in comparison. He grabbed three of the books and brought them back.
Maedc continued to flip the pages of that original book. He didn’t expect to find much else. The pictures in the center seemed to be an illustration of the story of the rest of the book. Then, on the last page, he found one last map. This time Talamir was much smaller, and it was still labeled with those same symbols, further confirmation of their meaning. A dotted line left Talamir and went outward. Two big dots marked the end of each side. This had to be the journey they made from wherever they originated.
Since Talamir was a circle, it was hard to tell the correct orientation of the map. The way they had come down the cliffs wasn’t far from one of the rivers. Surely if such a path still existed, it would have been discovered by now. People had been over every cliff looking for easy mianl mining locations. He had never heard of anyone able to get very far outside Talamir proper.
Maedc realized they had to get an expedition together to try to retrace the steps as given in this map. What if they found the place of origin of the people of the First Age and there were clues there? It might provide an invaluable resource for translating these texts and maybe even figuring out what the bairsgn was and where it came from.
Maedc had always been a faithful worker for the Ruler, but for some reason an irresistible urge to keep this a secret came over him. He thought he might be on the verge of something much bigger than he realized, and he needed time to work through it before telling anyone. He didn’t want his big find to be scooped.
He picked up the books on the desk, and slid them into his pack. The books were not supposed to leave the library. This was a rule with no exception. Maedc knew of many people who had broken minor rules, but he knew of no one who would dare break this sacred idea. The knowledge needed to be preserved and available for anyone at any time, and mere linguists couldn’t tamper with that. Still, he couldn’t risk losing these books, so he decided to break the rules just this once in the name of scholarship.
As he wandered back to his room, several people of the ruling class passed him. He felt as if they could see into his pack. The sharp glances told him they knew he had broken the rules. Maedc found himself caught in a destructive cycle; the more he tried to look natural, the more he gave himself away. There seemed to be no way to hide it.
Yet none of the ruling class stopped him. They were too busy with things that were actually important. He scurried back to his room before someone could catch him. As the door to his room came into sight, he breathed out the stress that had built inside him. Safe.
He slid into the room and started to shut the door. With only a crack left, he heard someone call out his name in a loud, accusatory voice. He slammed the door shut without thinking, terrified he had been found out. Maedc chastised himself for drawing even more attention.
He reopened the door and saw his friend there. The accusation had only been in his mind.
Maedc tried to steady his voice. “Hello, Tumr.”
A young man stared at him through thick glasses. He pulled his fingers through his long, flowing hair. He had a strange odor about him. Tumr was one of those people who fell for the most recent fad diets in order to keep thin. Those strange smells were probably from his latest herbal tea cleanse.
“Did you make any progress today?” Tumr gave a gentle laugh and kind smile. There was nothing to fear from him; nevertheless, the question made Maedc tense up. It was a common joke, since no one ever made any progress. Now that he had actually made a breakthrough, he was afraid someone would find out. The strange silence after such a joke must have made Tumr curious.
He continued, serious this time. “Wait a moment. Did you actually make progress?”
Maedc frantically tried to think of something to say, but nothing came to mind. “No. Maybe. Don’t worry about it. I’m going to work on it some more. It’s probably nothing.”
“Okay. But you better tell me if you figure something out. You’d be the first I’d tell if I made progress.”
“I know. I will. Don’t worry.” Maedc smiled to give his words sincerity.
Tumr seemed satisfied and turned and walked away. Maedc reminded himself that Tumr was too smart to entertain the idea that progress had been made after so many years of nothing. He didn’t need to fear more prodding.
Maedc had gone down to the library right after waking up. Now he felt grimy and thought a long bath would do him some good. He could use it to relax and get away from the books. He needed time to sort this out before continuing. He wanted to savor whatever success he could get. The other books might have nothing usable in them.
Maedc glanced around his room to find a place to hide the books. His sparse room left few options. He looked at his mattress: a sack of grass on the ground. The looseness of the grass would flow over the books if he put them underneath it. No one would be able to notice, though he suspected he would feel them at night.
He wandered to the bath and cranked the lever. The flame under the water basin grew. He wanted an especially hot one after that close call. He thought he might even catch up on some sleep while soaking.
He touched his toe to the water and wondered, as usual, how he would ever get his body in such a scalding temperature. But little by little, he slithered his way in, and the warmth no longer felt too hot. It was perfect. The little things, he thought to himself. He closed his eyes and cleared his mind.
When he opened his eyes, he realized he had no idea how long he’d been asleep. The water was still hot, so it couldn’t have been too long. With his newly cleared mind, the anxiety started to build inside him once more. He longed to get back to work and find out if there was more to discover. Maedc hopped out of the bath and quickly pulled on the fresh orange scholar’s robe he brought with him.
Something nagged at him, and he knew he was being paranoid about taking the books. He jogged back to the room, desperate to make sure the books hadn’t been found by someone else. It was a stupid thought. No one could possibly know he had them, but the feeling persisted as the doors to other resident linguists whizzed by.
He stopped dead in front of his room, then entered and pulled the door shut behind him in one quick motion. Maedc stood panting, trying to see through the mattress, before going to his bed. His hands shook, rustling the dried grass in the bed as he stared at the empty floor. He dropped it and collapsed onto it near tears. The books had only been there for a few minutes. Had Tumr suspected and notified the authorities to come check? That didn’t seem like him at all.
Maedc’s p
rimary concern wasn’t even that he had been caught breaking the rules. The punishment would be harsh, but it paled in comparison to losing his breakthrough. He needed those books to continue to work. He might have located the origins of the First Age, which might help scholars figure out what had happened to them. This was the most important unsolved problem in all of recorded history.
Maedc had never been sold on the prevailing view that overpopulation had spread the spior so thin among humans that they couldn’t live long enough to reproduce. That theory was interesting, and it beautifully accounted for why a thriving metropolis would suddenly disappear. Unfortunately, it didn’t explain the most important part: why were there no bones or bodies left if there was some mass extinction? It made more sense that they must have left of their own free will, and Maedc suspected the bairsgn had something to do with it.
Now he would never know, because the most important clue had gone missing. Someone had stolen it, and he feared it was someone who knew the truth and was worried he was getting too close. But why would someone want to suppress the knowledge of what happened to the First Age?
He lay there and awaited his fate. There was nothing he could do about it now, and he often overthought these things. No one knew what happened to the First Age, and it was crazy to think there was some conspiracy to prevent people from learning about it.
V
On Eidr’s tenth birthday, a man showed up at his house. He looked young but had a graying, trimmed beard. Eidr eyed the green robe of a trained herbalist and wondered why one had come to his house. Was someone sick in town? He lifted himself from the loose dirt where he had been planting a few seeds for their family garden.
He yelled into the small grass dwelling, “Mom! Someone’s here.”
A stout woman scurried around the corner and stopped at the sight. “Honey. That’s the Tester. He’s here for you.”