by Samuel Fort
Chapter 40 - Flashback
Ben had fled Lady Del and returned to the refuge of the cave earlier in the afternoon. He had no clue what the coming reception entailed but Lilian had told him that his only function was to stand with her and Fiela for a few minutes on the newly constructed stage. It was a task that required no preparation and he was anxious to escape the constant attention of the guests.
He walked across the cave’s elevated floor to the tablet repository as the lights overhead flickered to life and slapped his hand on the porcelain panel next to the door. The familiar whirring and clicking followed as the metal bars that held the door in place retracted back into the wall. Pulling open the door, he saw, to his surprise, Ridley. The scribe was sitting at the oak table in a yellow robe, one elbow propped up on a large leather book that Ben had not seen before.
“Nice robe,” Ben said. “If you took that from one of the rooms, we’ll have to charge you for it when you check out.”
Ridley laughed. “I brought it with me. Interesting that you’d raise the topic of me checking out, however.”
Walking in, the researcher said with less levity, “You can’t be serious.”
“I am. I’ve already told Lilian and asked her to tell Fiela, since I am not man enough to do so.”
Ben leaned backwards against one of the cabinets and crossed his arms. “You’re going to leave Steepleguard a day before the earth devolves into anarchy? Why?”
“Because it is scripted.”
Ben huffed and shook his head. “No, Ridley. I’m Ardoon, remember? Or ‘recovering Ardoon.’ Take your pick. ‘It is scripted’ doesn’t fly with me. What’s up?”
Ridley smiled crookedly. “Perhaps I have become too reliant on my reputation with the Nisirtu. ‘It is scripted’ usually feels them with awe and sends them packing. Alright, Ben, let’s talk. That’s what I’m here for, anyway.”
The other man nodded, signaling the scribe to continue.
“Let me pose a question to you, nephew. What is more dangerous to a man? A devil who entices him to be evil while being completely truthful about what evil is, or a devil who poses as an angel and entices a man to be good but then manipulates him into thinking that fifty-percent good is one hundred-percent good?”
Ben thought for a moment. “I don’t see how one-hundred percent evil can be less dangerous to man than fifty-percent good.”
“Really? In the first case the devil is honest and offers the man an honest choice. In the second he lies and guarantees that the man will forever march toward the wrong objective, assuming the man’s objective is to be as good as possible. You are saying the truth is more dangerous than the lie?”
“I’m saying that fifty-percent good beats zero-percent good.”
“It is the lie that allows fifty-percent,” the scribe reminded him.
“Then I’d guess the lie is better. The truth is more dangerous than the lie. Is there a point to any of this?”
The scribe patted the book beneath his elbow and appeared to be lost in thought. At length he said, “You have been understandably upset with Lilian and me for bringing you to Steepleguard without fully disclosing our motives. You think that we have taken advantage of you to further our own agendas.”
Ben distended a cheek with the tip of his tongue. “That’s a fair assessment. I am slightly less pissed with you two as of late because I’ve accepted that civilization is about to fall apart and I’m short the martyr gene, but yes, you have misrepresented your purpose for bringing me here. You also tricked me into signing a document that I thought meant nothing but which apparently makes me responsible for Lilian’s very life. You - or Lilian - plan for me to be a king, though as best I can tell, I’ll be king over ‘not much’ and ripe for an assassin’s bullet about six hours after I sit my Ardoon ass down on the throne.
“About the only thing you’ve been honest about is the existence of the tablets,” he said, motioning at the cases behind him, “though your stories of mystical tongues and monsters taint even those.”
“Only if they are stories,” challenged the scribe.
“That’s right,” conceded Ben, “but since there is no possibility of me translating them before your departure, I won’t belabor that point.”
Ridley said, “Actually, I can tell you almost anything you want to know about what’s written on the tablets. What they say, that is. I am still confounded by what they mean.”
Ben reared back and eyed the scribe suspiciously. “Are you saying that you already know how to read them?”
“I never said I couldn’t.”
Ben’s jaw hit the floor. “You brought me here to decipher them! You paid me ten million dollars to do it. More, actually.”
The man in the yellow robe said, “A small bit of subterfuge. In fact, I completed my translation soon after the tablets were found. It was what you might call an ‘epiphany event.’ My brain is apparently wired in a way that allows the Empyrean Glossa to escape its neural cage when my mind is properly stimulated. My exposure to the tablets provided that stimulation, breathing life into what had been lifeless - the language of the gods.”
Ben looked at the other man skeptically. “If you understand what’s contained in the tablets, why am I here?”
“Do you not have a suspicion? Is not some thought forming in the back of your mind?”
In fact, there was, but Ben knew it would be a long time before the nebulous form became anything identifiable. “Enlighten me.”
“Very well. You asked me once whether I brought you to Steepleguard for your research skills or because Lilian needed a husband. I said both. In truth, the answer is neither. Nor did I bring you here to marry my niece, though I am grateful for that commitment. Understandably, you think that you have been sucked into an ongoing script as a supporting player. You think that the script is beyond your comprehension.”
“That’s right.”
Ridley’s eyes sparkled. There seemed to be a yellow light behind them. “What if I told you that you were not brought here because of the script? What if I told you that the script exists because of you?”
“I can’t even guess what that means.”
“It means, among other things, that I did not choose you as Lilian’s husband. I chose her as your wife.”
“What?”
The old man continued, counting off items on his fingers. “You will not be king because you bear the signet of Sargon; you bear the signet of Sargon because you are destined to be king. I did not choose you to study the tablets because you are an ancient language expert; you are an ancient language expert because of the tablets.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” interrupted Ben, annoyed. “What was that last one? I’m an expert on ancient languages because of the tablets? Ridley, I had never seen the tablets before I came to Steepleguard and I certainly can’t read them.” He studied the man. “You’re beginning to worry me.”
In fact, the former Ardoon was beginning to think that senility had finally begun to afflict the Great Sage. Was that why he was going away? Did he recognize the symptoms of dementia and decide to go quietly into the night while he still had his wits about him instead of lingering at Steepleguard until he had to be reminded who he was?
Ridley seemed to read his mind. “Don’t worry, nephew. I’m not senile - not yet. I am giving you an accurate account of why you are really here. I am the only one who knows the truth, you see. Lilian does not, nor Fiela, nor anyone else in the Nisirtu.”
He caressed the leather book on the table and said, “You are mistaken about not having seen the tablets before. In fact, you studied them long ago and you mastered them. It was stunning to behold. By my estimation, fewer than one in a billion people on the planet have brain configurations that make it possible to do what you and I can do.”
Ben shook his head disgustedly and turned and opened the cabinet behind him. He withdrew a tablet, stared at it, and looked at Ridley triumphantly. “You know what I see, Scriptus? A bunch o
f colored lines that look like they were made by a tattoo artist revved up on speed. No language. No Empyrean Glossa.”
“That’s because I made you forget, Ben. I used the Empyrean against you. You could have easily prevented me from doing so, of course. A scorpion cannot be killed by its own sting. But you agreed it was necessary and found a way to lower your mental shields and to let me do what had to be done.”
“Ridley, that’s more hocus-pocus. More metaphysics. This has got to end.”
The scribe continued as if Ben had not spoken. “I blocked not only your memory of the tablets and the language, but of me, your mentor. It had to be done. You agreed that it is unwise to unleash upon the world a boy with the power to make everyone around him do and believe whatever he wishes. The power terrified you. Of course, I did not and could not delete the language. It remained in your mind, primal and restive, which is why you have always been drawn to the study of languages and have always excelled at them.” Grinning, the scribe said, “You had a built-in cheat-sheet.”
Ben was about to object when Ridley spoke a word. It hit the researcher like a sledgehammer to the chest and he slid instantly to the floor, moaning. A wave of nausea swept over him as his vision blurred.
“I’m removing the block,” said the old man above him. “I’m afraid it will be an unsettling experience but there’s no way around it. It’s rather like detox and will take a few hours. I am speaking to you, even now, in Empyrean, compelling the dormant neurons to re-ignite.”
The researcher, already one the floor, fell to one side. The room was spinning and he grabbed a display cabinet’s legs in a vain attempt to stop it. Fragments of memories sparked to life inside his head. Spirals unwound themselves like dragons uncoiling their tails.
“Why?” he moaned.
“Because I have been told to do so,” said Ridley. “We all have masters, Ben. This is my role in a script not of my making. It is a far larger, more complex script than anything I have ever attempted. It is one of a seemingly infinite number of scripts tied together into a single scenario that commenced with the birth of this reality. I do not know how it ends. I cannot see the convergence point, though I have been told it is almost upon us.”
Ben retched as the world picked him up and slammed him back to the ground. He looked at the scribe and said accusingly, “The Seven…”
Ridley looked amused. “The Seven? Me? No, no. Unlike you, nephew, they are truly pawns. As was Lilian’s father. I was the one who spoke the words that drove King Sargon mad, convincing him that a foreign god was threatening his kingdom. I fed his nightmares and spoke the words that convinced him to rebel against the other kingdoms. I was the one who, at my trial, spoke the words that planted the seeds of destruction in the minds of seven monarchs – seeds that would grow into a conviction that the world must be brought to an end.
“I spoke the words that ensured three kings would rebel. The war between the Maqtu and Seven was necessary to thin out the ranks of both, you see. The script that still runs will make them weaker still. The planet will be ripe for the plucking tomorrow, Ben. It will be ready for you.”
“Ready for me?” mumbled the man on the floor. “What am I supposed to do with it?”
Ridley put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. “Whatever you like, Ben. Save lives or take them. Feed the hungry or raid the homes of the poor. Build churches or kill priests. The script only calls for you to rule. How you rule is up to you.
“Know this, however: A great power will soon spread from the opposite side of the world towards Steepleguard and it will take everything that you do not. It is a power waking from a long sleep, even now. It is readying itself. It will take what you discard and will fight for what you call your own. The choice to do nothing is a choice unto itself, and there will be consequences, so do not think that you can write yourself out of the script. Without you the Fifth Kingdom falls and humanity will suffer whatever the other wishes it to suffer.”
Ben moaned in agony as the lines unraveled in his brain like a giant, industrial spring. His head felt like his head was being cracked open from the inside. The last broken and unfocused words he mustered before the blackness were, “Who is your master?”
Ridley smiled sadly. “The truth, Ben? I don’t know. Do you?”