Three Acts of Penance [01] Attrition: The First Act of Penance

by S. G. Night

  She brushed her hair back behind her ear distractedly. “Oron and I talked last night, actually. He said we’re going to spend today teaching you about some of the Jedan doctrine, and how it pertains to the Demons. He’s also prepared a thorough summary of most of history’s highlights as a primer for your readings.”

  “Well, that’s good,” Racath grumbled. “Then would Gotkin be a good idea?”

  Nelle snorted ridiculously. “Oh, hell no. I didn’t mean he was a bad place to start because of lack of context. I meant that Gotkin was a pompous windbag who had and obnoxious tendency to overuse the word moreover. He makes assumptions the same way hens make eggs, most of which are prejudicial, unfounded, and flat out wrong. Not to mention his rather disturbing obsession with pixie sex.”

  Racath frowned down at the book in his hands. “That bad, huh?”

  “The only other book he ever wrote was entitled Discourses on Fae Erotica,” Nelle replied flatly.

  “Ahh.” He grimaced and replaced the book where he’d found it. “So what would you recommend?”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Nelle grinned. She turned to the wall of books and looked around for a moment. “Hmm…let’s see here…H…H…Harrik, Harrik, Harrik…come on, where is he…aha!”

  Standing on her toes, she reached up and pulled a green-bound volume down from a higher shelf. Her sleeve slid back a bit from her wrist as she extended her hand; it was only then that Racath noticed that Nelle was still wearing her black, elbow-length gloves beneath her nightshirt. Strange.

  Nelle showed him the book: its cover read Origins and Reiterations of Folklore.

  “Xavier Harrik,” she said. “A much better scholar. Not as much of a narcissist. It’ll be a good place to begin once you’re ready.” She cocked her head at him questioningly. “Have you read the Mythos Compilation?”

  “The one by Caiphus Eldrich?” Racath answered. “Yeah, that’s the one Mrak let me read about the Roten Angels.” He scowled. “The one he inked-out half of.”

  The augur snorted. “How very Mrak-like. Oron has a copy of it somewhere around here if you want to see the uncensored version. Exactly how much do you know about the Roten civilization, anyway?”

  “Next to nothing,” Racath shrugged. “All I know is that they existed a long, long time ago somewhere beyond the Wall, had a really fascinating — albeit bizarre — collection of mythology, and spoke a beautiful language that I’m quite fond of.”

  Nelle’s face grew even brighter. “You like to study language?”

  Racath nodded eagerly. “You too?”

  “I adore linguistics!” Nelle beamed. “How much did you learn?”

  Racath’s excitement soured slightly. “I only ever had one text on spoken Rotenic, sadly. Plus one very basic Elven dictionary. I know a fair amount of Rotenic grammar and vocabulary, and a smattering of Elven words. But I never really learned Rotenic in its entirety. Or anything about its formal written form. Never learned any part of Elven grammar, either.”

  “You’re in luck, then!” Nelle smiled. “Oron told me that he wants you to be as familiar with the Rotenic language as possible. So he’s gonna have me help you study it as part of your training. I’m pretty good with spoken Roten, but I’m piss with the written glyphs, so he wants us to learn them together!”

  The enthusiasm rekindled in Racath’s chest and he returned her smile. “Sounds fun,” he said sincerely.

  “You bet it does!” Nelle exclaimed, bouncing on her bare toes. “Oron’s got a whole section on world languages and dialects in here. Everything from Skuran to Elven. Speaking of which…” Her eyes gleamed at him, and she was suddenly bashful. “I’ve been meaning to learn Elven for a long time now. If you want, we could look over some of those together. You know, in our spare time…?” Her words curled up at the end, making it an invitation.

  Racath’s smile broadened. “I think I’d like that.”

  “Great!” Nelle bounced again. “God, this is exciting! I haven’t had anyone to talk to like this since Rachel left. And she was…” she made a face. “Well, there’s no polite way to say it. She was fauling crazy. Still is. A bit of a twit, too. She was never really into the whole reading thing.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Troglodytes, right? But this is great! I love having someone my own age around!”

  Racath frowned at her. “Your age? Hardly. When were you born, again? The 950th year of the Third Age?”

  She showed him her tongue. “938th. 8th day of Elur.”

  “Still,” Racath said. “That makes you more than twelve decades older than me.”

  “Not really,” Nelle said. “Look, like I told you that first night I met you, my age is…a little complicated. I’ve been alive for almost a hundred-and-thirty years, yeah. But I haven’t really…aged, so to speak. Not even in maturity, as bad as that sounds. I’m not really any older than I was when I became the augur. It’s like I’ve been twenty years old for a hundred years. Mentally and physically.”

  “That must be odd…” Racath muttered, still trying to wrap his head around the idea.

  She laughed at him. “Oh, you have no idea. But, hey! At least it means that you and I have some common ground.” She started walking back down the aisle, gesturing for him to follow. “Come on, walk with me. Tell me about what you have read. Any good fiction?”

  “Well, I’m partial to Isaachar Basti,” Racath said as he hurried to catch up with her. “Mrak had a few of his books. Have you heard of him?”

  Nelle laughed aloud, each chiming sound echoing between the shelves as she walked. “Heard of him? Of Isaachar Basti? Racath, Isaachar Basti was the poet of the Third Age! We have his complete collection here. All twelve works.”

  Racath ducked his head to hide his embarrassed flush. “Oh…”

  Nelle snickered and gave him a playful shove on the shoulder. “So, what stuff of his have you read?”

  He thought a moment. “Eldin of the Fae…Under Night’s Embrace…Faerie Dreams, and Passion’s Fall. Plus that duology he wrote. The Siege of Tarius and Seven Storms Away.”

  The girl with golden hair grimaced at him. “Ick…sorry. I mean, those are all great books, but I imagine you had that same problem with historical context when it came to Basti.”

  “No…” Racath answered, puzzled. “Why would I?”

  Nelle gave him a strange look. “How in God’s name did you understand the setting of the Passion’s Fall and the Tarius Duology if you can’t even read stuff by Martin Gotkin without choking?”

  “Wait, hold up,” Racath stopped her, raising a hand. “I’m confused. Those settings are both fictitious…right? Didn’t Basti create them himself?”

  Nelle blinked, stared at him a moment, then shook her head. “Um, no. Not at all.”

  Racath’s brow furrowed. “So all those places that Basti wrote about…?”

  “All real,” Nelle affirmed. “You know the place where the story of Passion’s Fall is set?”

  “You mean the city?” Racath asked.

  Nelle nodded. “Ardus. It’s a real city. City-state, actually: one of several in a land far to the north, across the sea. In fact, it’s not too far from that place Gotkin mentioned in the passage you read. The one called Tarsus.”

  “And the Tarius Duology?” Racath asked.

  “Historical fiction,” Nelle told him. She stopped to lean against one of the shelves, stretching out her gloved hands. “There was, in fact, a five-year siege of a city called Tarius.”

  “Huh…” Racath murmured.

  “Kind of changes your perspective on the story, doesn’t it?” Nelle smirked.

  Before he could answer, Nelle suddenly perked up, tilting her head as if listening to a distant sound. Racath heard it, too: soft footsteps from somewhere else in the house.

  “Oron’s up,” Nelle announced.

  As if in response, the older Majiski’s voice called from the adjacent room. “Nelle! Is he up yet?”

  “Yep!” Nelle called back, her voice reve
rberating in the high-ceilinged library.

  “You two behaving?”

  Nelle rolled her eyes at Racath, snickering. “Yes, mother! We’re just chatting! Talking books!”

  “Good!” Oron’s voice answered. “Send him in, please? And could you bring the old taj Libris Io with you?”

  “Anything else?”

  A pause. Then, “Bring my copy of Primus, too! The Summaries, fourth edition!”

  “Got it!” Nelle called, then looked again to Racath. “Go on in, I’ll be right behind you.” She skipped away towards the back of the library, vanishing behind one of the shelves.

  After a deep breath, Racath followed the sound of Oron’s voice. It led him through a doorway to the living room, where he found Oron sitting in one of the stuffed arm chairs near the fireplace.

  “Good morning, Racath,” Oron greeted him. “I trust you slept well. Please, have a seat. I’ve made breakfast.” He gestured to another armchair nearby. A plate of steaming eggs awaited Racath on the seat, a wooden fork resting on its rim.

  Racath suddenly found his mouth very dry. He still wasn’t completely comfortable here, which made it difficult for him to articulate anything other than a perfunctory “Thanks.” He took the seat, moving the dish of eggs into his lap.

  The older Majiski watched Racath with an appraising eye as he took his first bite, raising his eyebrows at in a silent question.

  Racath nodded as he chewed. “It’s good,” he managed.

  Oron smiled. “Thank you. Those eggs are fresh, laid just yesterday.”

  Racath grunted appreciatively and swallowed slowly. He didn’t speak again.

  “So…” the older Majiski said archly. “How are you doing?”

  He knew that Oron was asking about last night. About the whole Krilati Dragon-Amongst Wolves business. “I’m…holding up.” Racath answered, brushing it off with a nonchalant shrug.

  Oron raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure? You looked pretty wild-eyed when you went to bed last night. Are you better now? Have you come to terms with the idea?”

  Another shrug, this one more helpless than dismissive. “I don’t know yet,” he said honestly.

  The older Majiski nodded understandingly. “That’s alright for now. It wasn’t something I’d expect you to accept in a single night.”

  Racath grunted again. He didn’t want to think about it right now.

  “Go on, eat,” Oron instructed, gesturing at his plate of breakfast.

  Racath took another mouthful of egg, grateful to leave the topic behind.

  “I need you as well-rested and well-fed as possible — we’re going to start the more physical aspect of your training this afternoon.”

  He gave Oron a questioning look. “And in the meantime?”

  “In the meantime, I plan to fill in the gaps that Mrak left in your education,” Oron answered.

  “Right, Nelle told me,” Racath said. “She said you were going to go over some history with me. A summary.”

  Oron bobbed his head once. “Indeed. But first, we have something even more important to talk about. Tell me, have you read the Basis of War by High General Tarek I?”

  “Parts of it,” Racath answered.

  “In it, Tarek says that to know the enemy is to know victory,” Oron quoted. “I subscribe to that philosophy. So it’s crucial, I believe, for you to understand the Demons — their origins, their nature, their motives, everything. And to understand those things, you need to understand the Jedan religion in full.”

  Racath frowned. “How is Jedanism relevant to them?”

  Oron’s answer was interrupted as Nelle bounded into the living room carrying a pair of black-bound tomes under one arm, hair flying around the shoulders of her nightshirt. “Found them!” she said, laying them down in Oron’s lap.

  “Thank you, Nelle. Feel free to sit down.”

  “No problem!” Nelle crossed to the other side of the living room in three graceful strides of her bare legs, and then flopped down on the sofa. “Story time?” she asked.

  The older Majiski gave her a fatherly smile. He laid one of the books on the floor at his feet, and kept the other on his lap. Then he looked back at Racath. “You said that your mother taught you pieces of scripture. What did she have to say about the Neophany? The creation story?”

  “Not much that I can remember,” Racath shrugged. “Is it important?”

  Oron cracked open the tome. “It is critical. The Demons’ history traces back to before the birth of our world. And this,” he tapped the first page with a finger. “is taj Libris Io. The Book of God, which contains accounts of the Jedan religion dating all the way back to the creation. This one is probably the last surviving copy. Which means that it is the last surviving record that can tell you anything about the nature of our enemy.” He flipped a few pages deeper and read aloud.

  “Taj Libris o’Neophany — The Book of Neophany. An account compiled by I the Father, Gospodar — through the hands of Mine first augur, Damian — so that the Mortal might have knowledge pertaining to the beginning of all things created by Mine hands, and the hands of Mine Beloved, the Mother Talk’ra. “

  He lifted sober eyes onto Racath. “This is the beginning. The first of the records in taj Libris Io. God’s own account of the creation of our world.” He raised his eyebrows in question. “Are you ready for answers, Racath?”

  Racath hesitated. His heart was suddenly pounding in his chest. Swallowed. Nodded.

  Oron resumed. From the beginning, he read the words of God, and they were as follows:

  ***

  In the beginning, We entered into the cosmos from a place beyond the conscious scope. We were the Divine: I, the Father Gospodar; and Mine unending companion Talk’ra, whom I love. And We, having whole and complete forms of flesh and spirit, were perfected in each other: She in I, and I in Her. Talk’ra was cleaved unto Me, and I unto Her, and the joining of our entities was as perfection, and in Our perfection We knew the boundless power of galdury (the power that men call magic).

  And in the time of our arrival, there was nothing but nameless chaos. But amidst the nameless chaos, We found an endless sea of entities. And behold, the entities were in an incorporeal state of coma, being formless fragments of life and energy.

  Time passed and We observed these entities as they slumbered. We came to know them, one and all, even as they slumbered; and We saw that they, like Us, had intellect and power. (And they were unaware of Us as we observed them.) We knew them as the Animi. And gave to each of Animus a name, that We might call each of them by it.

  And I spoke unto Mine Beloved and said:

  “Lo, these Animi who have become our children are like unto Us in Our natural state: they have intelligence and life, but yet they slumber deep. They are hindered from ascension by their lack of spiritual form to draw them into consciousness. And also by their lack of flesh and bone by which We are allowed to touch, and see, and feel, and do, and make. And by their lack of knowledge which We together have, and by their lack of the power of galdury which We together wield.”

  And Mine Beloved agreed and said unto Me:

  “Indeed, so it is. They lack the gift of freedom, freedom to think, and judge, and choose; and also they lack the needed love and partnership We share. Without these things, they cannot wake, and shall remain forever dreaming.

  “But these Animi are children unto Us, and We love them as Our own. And I would not have Our children slumber stagnant for all of Time Eternal; thusly, We must act to save them from their sleep, and rouse them into life. Yea, they are like Us, as We once were, in a primal state — and so like Us they can become. So let Us lift them up, and give share with them the happiness that We together have, that one day they might be as We are now.”

  ——

  Thus we did endeavor to prepare a means for them to ascend and become like unto us. Together, We looked out upon the nameless chaos and saw that it was ripe; and with our galdury, We touched it and We did reshape the cosmos. Thus
was order born of chaos, and in the new order there were many planes.

  And We made the first of these planes as a place for Us to dwell together, and for Our children to one day rise to dwell with Us. Behold, it was a paradise of many gardens, and kingly halls, and was desirable above all others. We called this first plane Iyasheim, the House of the Ascended.

  Beneath Iyasheim, We made a plane that was but an empty void, which We would later fill.

  Beneath the empty plane, We made a plane of endless clouds and light; together, We brought the Animi to that plane as they slumbered that it might be their dwelling place as they awaited their progression into a higher state. We called this plane Fyrstheim, the First House of Our children.

  And there were many other planes that were formed at that time, although none of these was ordered for the sake of the Animi.

  But between it all, another plane appeared; and this plane was not of Our creation, but something naturally occurring. This was the remainder of the nameless chaos from before, and it filled the gaps between the planes of Our creation. Behold, it tethered all the other planes together, and it existed betwixt them, above them, beneath them, within them: We called it the Nether.

  And thereafter, Our ordering of the chaos was complete, and thus We returned Ourselves to Iyasheim to prepare the way for Our children.

  So it was that We planned that We would grant forms of spirit unto them to waken them from slumber, and thereafter We would create a place for them to dwell within the empty plane, where they could attain bodies of flesh and bone that they might learn to touch the cosmos.

  And in this state (which We named Mortality), they would learn and grow in intelligence. They would have the freedom to choose for themselves, that We might judge them according to their works. And they would have the opportunity to find a companion to cleave unto, as We their Father and Mother did before.

  We began Our work.

  ——

  We the Divine retired to Our hall in Iyasheim whilst Our children slumbered in the endless clouds of Fyrstheim. And in Our solitude, Mine Beloved joined with Me, and I with Her. Yea, I, the Father Gospodar, knew Mine Beloved companion; and verily She, the Mother Talk’ra, knew Me also. In this union did We achieve a fullness of harmony. And from Our harmony and Our love, the Mother Talk’ra did bear fruit, and that fruit came forth as spirit forms.