Compendium

by Alia Luria

  “I know that,” Mia said, snapping in anger.

  “I don’t think you do,” she said. Taryn usually wasn’t one to lecture Mia, so she found herself taken aback by the force of her friend’s disagreement. “Do you think the Dominus just keeps his door open for everyone to come on in and have a sit-down and a cup of bark tea?”

  “Well, no,” she said, “but he has no locks on his doors. Actually he has no doors.”

  “Yes, well, everything is as it seems of course,” Taryn replied sarcastically. “If there’s no door, there must be no way to know if someone’s sneaking into the room. I mean, the Dominus is only a million cycles old. He’s not old enough or wise enough to think someone might invade his personal space without his invitation.”

  “All right, I catch your drift,” Mia said sullenly. “No need to overstate it. You really think he has some hidden way of monitoring who enters his study?”

  “I don’t doubt it,” said Taryn, giving her a serious look. “And honestly what would happen if he found the book? If it were to get confiscated or someone else picked it up?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Mia said.

  “I know,” Taryn said emphatically. “You’re getting cocky. Compendium is a huge advantage only while you have it. If you lose it, what will you do then? We need that book to make our escape.”

  She’s right. Why would I jeopardize the chance to leave just to satisfy my curiosity? Maybe she had become too cocky and assumed that with Compendium, she was invincible. She pulled her braid over her shoulder and tugged at it, twisting the strands in her fingers. “I just need to get this whole thing over with. I think this entire enterprise is making me paranoid.”

  Taryn giggled. “You might be right, but then again, you may just need a break from it all, an idle distraction.”

  “Like what?” Mia asked, cocking her head.

  “Oh, well, there’s a certain someone I’m sure would be more than obliged to distract you.”

  “Well,” Mia said, studying her hands as if there were something incredibly important about the veins on the back of them showing through her pale skin, “that gourd may have extinguished.”

  “He doesn’t seem like the type to give up so easily,” Taryn replied.

  “Perhaps not, but he also has his dignity, and I’ve abused it one too many times already.” Mia frowned. “Besides, how can I in good conscience start something when I know I’ll be leaving, and I know he won’t be coming with me?” she added after a moment.

  “Perhaps if you had started something already, his mind could have been swayed in that regard.”

  “I couldn’t live with myself if I thought he might regret being with me and forsaking his calling,” Mia said. “I may not have the same feelings about this place that he does, but I’d never ask him to give up what he’s fully dedicated himself to.”

  Taryn stretched her arms over her head as she arched her back to get the kinks out. “Well,” she said languidly, striking a pose for Mia’s benefit, “I suppose I could distract you.” She puckered her lips and blew Mia a kiss in the air and followed it with a wink.

  “Aye, that you could,” Mia said, grinning, and threw her pillow right at Taryn’s pouting mouth. Her surprised face froze in a pucker, and they both laughed.

  “See, it’s working already!” she said.

  24 The Party

  Lumin Cycle 10152

  “Where are we going?” Mia asked in an insistent whisper.

  “Hush,” said Taryn in her ear. “’Tis a surprise, as we’ve already told you umpteen times.”

  She held one of Mia’s hands, and Cedar held the other as they walked along. Mia was already hopelessly lost within a few steps after having the strip of cloth tied over her eyes.

  “This is very impractical,” Mia retorted. “I could break a leg, and then where would we be?”

  “We could always make Cedar carry you,” Taryn replied, a hint of playful warning in her voice.

  Mia made a rather indelicate noise not unlike a snort, and a hand lightly slapped the back of her head. “Don’t think I couldn’t do it,” Cedar’s voice whispered in her ear. Her toes curled inside her shoes at the warm breath on her neck and ear.

  “All right, all right,” Mia whispered back. “Lead on.”

  It was the dead of night. They had started in Brother Cornelius’s laboratory, where Mia had, with some anxiety, attempted to decipher the perfect concoction with which to coat their false Shillelagh so the Crater Grove roots would accept it. She’d been working herself ragged trying to get everything ready. Tomorrow was the night, and attempting to account for every possible contingency was taking a toll on her body and sanity. Even now she was pulled into thoughts about the composite for the conduit root and where precisely she would need to connect Compendium to get the their recorded voices coded into the door, not to mention she was worried that the door wouldn’t recognize the voices for long enough or not at all or that somehow a log of their activity would be recorded. Her stomach and throat burned as these thoughts percolated in her head.

  Mia was drawn back to the moment by the realization that they must be headed downward now. The air around them had grown a little cooler, and the floor began to decline under her feet. When they finally leveled out again, the faint smell of greenery tickled her nose, and a very subtle hum of vines pulsed with life. Her shoulders relaxed a tiny amount, and she squeezed Taryn’s and Cedar’s hands when she realized what they intended. They came to an abrupt halt where the humming noise was the loudest, and Cedar’s hand dragged her body toward the floor. His hand let go and guided her head forward until the springy moss was against her face. She was pushed through an opening and emerged on the other side, her vision still obscured but the humming sound of trees even louder. Mia was shuffled along a very tight corridor, one that was very familiar to her, for a long while until they emerged into the cool air and fresh scent of the forest.

  They walked forward slowly, the roots popping up here and there under her slippers, forcing cautious steps. The ground was unsteady, and Cedar had to support Mia’s elbow as they trundled along. Finally they stopped her, and one of them fiddled with the cloth that covered her eyes. When it came away from her face, she inhaled sharply in wonder. Mia had guessed their destination, but she had remained ignorant of the actual surprise. Spread out before them was a thick blanket beneath the trees of the Crater Grove. Colored gourds of every shade sat among the roots, and some even hung from the sparse lower branches of the massive trees. Set out on the blanket were sweet cider, hunks of bread, berries, cakes (real ones), and some nice cheeses that never seemed to make their way into their nightly meals in the dining hall. Mia’s jaw must have been agape, because Taryn smiled mischievously.

  “We told the kitchen that it was your birthday and that we wanted to surprise you with a special treat. They were kind enough to pluck some choice morsels from the clerics’ private reserves.”

  Mia was still at a loss and stood mute and unresponsive.

  “You really needed a break,” Cedar chimed in. “You’re exhausted and cranky and incorrigible to be around. I remember how calm this place makes you, and Taryn had never been to see it, so we arranged this.” He gestured toward the spread.

  “It’s amazing,” she finally got out in a small strangled voice, trying not to get emotional. No one ever had planned a party for her before, even if it was just a party for three and even if it wasn’t her birthday. She gave each of them a tight hug in turn. The muscles in her neck and back already were relaxing from the fresh air and the comforting sounds of the trees. Taryn moved toward the blanket, and they sat.

  Mia poured a mug of the spicy, warm cider and took a sip. The fire of the alcohol and heat warmed her body from the inside. “Nothing better,” she said softly, sighing contentedly and plucking a bit of cheese off a platter. Cedar and Taryn sat on either side of her, all three of them facing the immense wall of trees in the center of the room. They sipped cider, ate cheese and be
rries, and admired the trees for a while, enjoying one another’s company in a way they hadn’t for what seemed like many weeks.

  “How could you have known this was just what I needed?” Mia said, breaking the silence. All her nervous jumbled thoughts from earlier had fled at the sight of the Crater Grove. The elder arboreals were truly a sight to behold, and she sighed again, this time with sadness. “Although this will be the one place here I’ll miss the most. Well, this place and Brother Cornelius’s laboratory,” she added hastily. “And perhaps the Archives.”

  Cedar grinned. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?” His voice sounded hopeful to her ears.

  Hating to disappoint him, Mia nevertheless shook her head. “No, I have to do this. I have to find out the truth about Father and get back where I belong. That doesn’t mean that I won’t miss some things about this place.” She looked at him through the corners of her eyes. He was sprawled on his back on the blanket, legs akimbo and chest propped up on his elbows, a picture of relaxation. But his casual posture and easy expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. The dark depths appeared troubled. A slight crease furrowed the spot between his elegant eyebrows, and his mouth was set just a fraction too tightly. He clearly was trying very hard not to let her know his feelings, so she pretended she didn’t notice the uneasiness underneath the calm visage. She had thought at one time or another, when lost in idle daydream, that perhaps she could return to the Order after everything with Father had been settled and she had regained her life to do with as she chose. Perhaps I could visit Cedar, she thought. But no, when I take that Shillelagh, in that moment I’ll never be able to return here. I’ll forever be an enemy of the Order. That thought saddened Mia in a way that it shouldn’t have.

  She certainly would miss Cedar and Brother Cornelius. She would miss their company and the laughter they shared and the memories. A shiver ran down her spine despite the warmth of the cider and the radiant heat of the trees.

  “Well, at least write me from wherever you end up,” he said, his voice sad. “You can use a pen name, like ‘Melia.’”

  “Melia?” she asked.

  “It was my mother’s name,” he said simply. “She’s dead, so she won’t be needing it anymore.” Mia patted his hand, which rested on the thick blanket.

  “That’s morbid, Cedar,” Taryn interjected. “Your melancholia is out of place at a party.” She sipped her cider and plucked a berry from the tray.

  “Yes, well, it is a going-away party,” he grumbled.

  “Speaking of ‘away,’” Taryn said, changing the subject. “Did Compendium tell you how to use the Shillelagh once you have it?”

  “I didn’t think to ask,” Mia said, worry suddenly creeping into her voice. “It never crossed my mind with all the planning. My head is filled with sawdust!” she exclaimed, exasperated.

  Taryn giggled. “Well, you’d better pull it out and ask it then.”

  Mia retrieved Compendium from her sash. “Compendium, how do I work the Shillelagh? Does it require a keyword or some sort of activation?”

  Compendium typed a response in its usual dry but helpful manner. The Shillelagh can be used by any person. It is activated simply by holding it aloft, speaking clearly the specific place you wish to visit, then tapping the stick assertively on the ground twice.

  “That seems pretty straightforward,” Taryn said, biting her lip in concentration.

  “Yes, it does. Compendium, how specific do I have to be in my description of the place?”

  You need not have traveled to the place before, but you must be able to picture it or picture a written description of the place. A proper name also may work, but such a method is less reliable, given the propensity for differing populations to rename certain landmarks. Additionally you may picture a person and his or her face, and the Shillelagh will take you to that person, if that person can be determined.

  “Really?” said Taryn in amazement. “How does it know where people are?”

  “Really?” Mia asked, sarcasm lacing her voice. “That’s the big mystery to you? It transports people to a completely different place; it knows where every spot in Lumin is just from a picture in the speaker’s head or a written description. Those properties are totally believable, but your brain stumbles on it being able to tell where people are located?” She rolled her eyes a bit, and Taryn giggled.

  “Well, when you put it that way,” Taryn said, somewhat dourly, “I suppose ’tis no more crazy than a know-it-all book that can change its text on a whim.”

  They all shared a small laugh at that remark. “It’s truly a remarkable object,” Mia said. “I can’t imagine having such power and capability at my fingertips and squandering it so that the whole of society falls and its greatness remains unknown to all but a few.”

  “Well, how do we really know what happened?” said Cedar. “Our forebears may have acted totally rationally under the circumstances. It may have been their only option. Who’s to know? There’s no one left to tell us.”

  “That’s true,” Taryn interjected, “and the Order spends a lot more time researching the technology itself than worrying about the political and social circumstances that brought us to our current place. ’Tis shortsighted, if you ask me.”

  “Yes, we know.” Cedar sighed. Mia assumed, like her, that he was growing agitated with Taryn’s repetitive claims that the Order didn’t care enough about history. “We can’t all be history aficionados like you.”

  “Ah, let’s not quibble,” Mia said. “’Tis our last night together and likely the last time I’ll set eyes on the Crater Grove, so let’s enjoy the scenery and the company.”

  Mia relaxed onto her back and closed her eyes, absorbing the sounds of the trees and the feeling of the roots against her spine and head. Taryn and Cedar lay back as well, and the three spent silent time basking in one another’s presence. Mia was almost lolled into a quiet sleep when Taryn said softly, “The trees here are rather beautiful.”

  The day that they had been planning for in infinite detail finally came. It had felt to Mia as if it would never arrive, yet the inexorable march of time had carried her here just as it had carried her ever forward since she had first drawn breath. Now, however, she was ready for it. She was no longer being carried forward by another’s will; her own will was driving her feet along the path. She had packed all her meager belongings and stowed her large, full pack under her bed. Mia wore her thin, gauzy clothes of the tropics under her heavy acolyte robes. She left behind some of the cakes Brother Cornelius had provided—as much as she would love to take them—as well as the bedsheets and additional robes allotted to her and the various books from the Archives cluttering her space. She did have Compendium. Even if she didn’t need it to get into the Catacombs, she didn’t have the resolve to leave it behind. It was too much a part of her now. She wore her slippers but would change into her soft leather boots before they departed, after the other acolytes were all asleep.

  Taryn had a harder time with packing. She had arrived with more baggage and had been there longer, accumulating quite a collection of historical texts and other knickknacks. Even if she could pack it all up and take it with her, Mia warned her that they couldn’t afford the weight or the sound or the suspicion that an empty cubby might arouse in the others. So Taryn was left to decide what she would take from among her many belongings. She had pulled out the trunk stored under her bunk, the one in which they’d been hiding the Shillelagh substitute, and rummaged through the other items contained within. She pulled out a green hooded cloak of thick yet softly spun wool. It had a delicate metallic thread worked along the edge of the hood and collar that formed small intricate vines. She laid it flat on the bed, fussing over it.

  “That’s gorgeous,” Mia said, fingering the fine wool in her hand.

  “Isn’t it?” She beamed. “Mother made it for me. See the clasp?”

  Mia looked for the clasp along the edge of the wool. It was a silvery rose, curled at the edges as if it had j
ust blown off a stem and landed on the cloak.

  “The work is exceptional,” Mia said. “Your family must have access to some special mills.”

  “Oh, yes, well, we mill all our own fabric.”

  “Gypsies mill their own fabric?” Mia said, not thinking that was possible.

  “Oh, aye,” Taryn said, a little flustered. “We borrow the equipment when we come across it, but we do the milling ourselves.”

  Mia shrugged. “However it came to be, it’s fantastic.”

  “It’s my prized possession,” Taryn said, smiling. “I’m not allowed to wear it here, but I’ll put it on tonight once we reach our destination.” She folded it carefully and laid it on the bed. Then she carefully compared the volumes of books stacked around her cubby, electing to choose just a couple of slim volumes, one being her notebook in which she was constantly scribbling and the other titled A Comprehensive History of the Order.

  “Why bring that one?” Mia asked. “There are so many useful histories about Lumin here.”

  “Memories,” Taryn said quickly, patting the book and smiling again.

  Mia left her to finish her packing and went to see Brother Cornelius one last time. She searched for him in the Archives, but he wasn’t there. It wasn’t that late past dinner, so she expected him to still be about. From there she proceeded down the corridors that led to his laboratory; they were more silent than usual. Perhaps there was a late seminar of interest. Mia had been rather preoccupied with her own ventures of late. She tapped on the stone wall of the alcove that led up to Brother Cornelius’s laboratory, and the lights came on as always. She proceeded up the staircase and paused on the landing. It was her habit to knock against the wall of the alcove first then call his name to alert him to her presence.

  “Brother Cornelius,” she called, “are you about?” There was no response. Mia proceeded in. The hearth was warm and cheery and the night sky clear and full of stars. The night lights streaked magnificent colors across the sky above the planters. Populating his desk was the usual disorderly shuffle of papers and beakers and tools of a person constantly in deep thought about some great idea, but she didn’t see Brother Cornelius. Mia stood and looked around the empty laboratory. The door leading off to his quarters was ajar, but she never entered there. She walked over to the door, rapped on the frame, and called out again, “Brother Cornelius, are you in?” The room’s silence was the only response.