Turning Darkness into Light

by Marie Brennan

  The opening invocation said something about a male Draconean who was “the first to record speech in clay.” If this is a mythic narrative, it may describe how writing and other things were created. I wonder how much the stories will be like the ones remembered today?

  Tablet II: “The Creation Tablet”

  translated by Audrey Camherst

  Before cities, before fields, before iron, before time, the three came together, the three called Ever-Moving, Ever-Standing, and Light of the World, the three called Source of Wind, Foundation of All, and Maker of Above and Below.

  Together they crafted the world; together they made the sky and the earth, the rains and the rivers, and all that flies or crawls or digs in the ground. They made these things, but they were still lonely. They said to each other, “Who is there that is capable of knowing us? Who shall sing our names and give us praise? Who looks upon what we have made and recognizes its beauty?”

  So they came together at the highest point, at the place where Ever-Standing meets Ever-Moving and the Light of the World smiles down, at the place where the mountain breathes smoke to the sky,1 the place named the Censer of Heaven. The Source of Wind spoke first, saying, “I will make a creature that knows the glories of the sky. From on high it will see everything; it will look upon what we have made and recognize its beauty.”

  It took the wind and braided it, many strands of breeze and gale, with rain to give it substance, and set its creation free. The first issur2 soared through the sky, and the Ever-Moving was glad. From on high its creation saw everything, looking upon what the three had made.

  But the creation of the Ever-Moving was flawed. It looked, but did not recognize. It did not know the three. It did not sing their names and give them praise. Though it was a thing of beauty, it lacked the capacity to recognize beauty. It lacked a mind.

  And so the Foundation of All said, “I will make something better. I will sculpt a creature that knows the bounty of the earth. From the ground it will experience everything; it will explore what we have made and appreciate its beauty.”

  It took the soil and shaped it, dirt and stone, with the roots of growing things binding it together, and set its creation free. The first āmu3 walked the earth, and the Ever-Standing was glad. From the ground it experienced everything, exploring what the three had made.

  But the creation of the Ever-Standing was flawed. It experienced, but it did not appreciate. It knew the three, but in its arrogance it did not sing their names, it did not give them praise. Though it was a thing of understanding, it lacked the humility to acknowledge the three.

  And so the Light of the World said, “We must make something better. It must have the beauty of the issur, the understanding of the āmu. It must combine what is good in both, and it must have what each of them lacks. I know the shape it will have, but to make it as it should be, all three of us must join in the work.”

  They took the wind; they took the soil. They made a creature with the wings of the issur, the eyes of the āmu. Of breezes and stone was it made, of rain and the roots of growing things. The issur came and breathed upon it as a blessing. The āmu came and shed its blood upon it as a gift. And last of all the Maker of Above and Below placed its light within their creation, the divine spark, so that it would know the three and do them honour.

  It came to life. It looked around. It walked the earth and flew through the air; it saw the world from above and below. It sang the names of the three and gave them praise.

  All this came to pass in the time before the world was changed.

  1 I wonder if this is a specific mountain? A volcano, one presumes. One we might be able to identify?—AC

  2 The context makes me think this must refer to dragons, but normally they’d use umharra for that. So maybe not? Maybe something mythical? Or this is just an older term.—AC

  3 If the first word is indeed “dragon,” then this would presumably indicate humans. But again, it isn’t the usual word (that would be lansin), so I’m not sure.—AC

  LOOTED TEMPLE FOUND

  Seghayan Site Stripped to the Stone

  Rouhani Mourns Destruction

  “So much history has been lost”

  Archaeologists exploring near the city of Djedad in Seghaye have found another ancient Draconean temple, hewn out of the living rock of the Ghurib hills—but alas, they were not the first to discover it. Hormizd Rouhani, leader of the expedition, says that looters had already ransacked the site, carrying away unknown riches.

  “We will never know what used to be here,” Rouhani wrote in a letter to the Seghayan Antiquities Commission. “Undoubtedly many of the artifacts have already made their way to the black market, but without their context, they lose much of their power to tell us about the past.”

  The temple is of a type seen elsewhere, with an inner chamber whose ceiling contains an oculus, an opening to the sky that scholars believe would have been covered in ancient times. During ceremonies, the priests would have removed the covering at the key moment, allowing the light of the sun to enter the chamber. An earthquake in the area caused the blockage over the oculus to collapse, which Rouhani believes is how looters found the site.

  When asked whether the temple could have been picked over in past centuries, he replied, “I cannot say what condition it was in when the looters entered it. But we have found cigarette butts, candy wrappers, and the rubble where they attempted to chisel a mural off the wall, destroying it in the process. There is no question that they were here recently—I would say within the last five years.”

  What remains hints at the temple’s previous glory. There are painted murals, their colours still vis i ble, depicting an as-yet unidentified Draconean queen engaging in rituals for the preservation of her empire. In the back of the chamber stands an empty tablet chest of the “foundation” type, left free-standing when the surrounding stone was quarried away. Shards found next to the chest show its sides were once decorated with winged sun discs of painted ceramic, one of which was badly broken during removal and abandoned by the looters.

  Discoveries of ransacked sites are increasingly common in recent years, as excitement over the upcoming Falchester Congress drives public interest in Draconean artifacts to levels not seen since Lady Trent’s heyday. According to Joseph Dorak, one of Scirland’s most prominent antiquities dealers, “Even ordinary artifacts are being sold for two or three times the price they would have fetched five years ago.” The fervor is only expected to mount as the congress draws nearer.

  From: Alan Preston

  To: Simeon Cavall

  14 Pluvis

  #17 Rue des joncs

  Ecraie, Thiessin

  Dear Simeon,

  Here’s a peculiarity for you to chew on.

  I received a letter the other day from Rafaat ibn Hazir in Sarmizi. The usual sort of thing, difficulties of funding and his endless personality conflicts with ibn Fulaih—and by the way, he’s hoping I can interest you in financing a joint expedition, the Tomphries and the al-Bahatulaam, to go do some proper excavations on the breeding pens at Ribaysah, not (and I quote) “that hack job Viadro did at Shahtri”—but you and I can discuss that when I’m back in Scirland next week.

  Anyway, of course he brought up this whole business with Gleinleigh’s tablets. You know how things are in Akhia these days—constant push and pull between those who want to learn more about the Draconean past, and those who worry that digging up even one more cylinder seal means that the modern Draconean population will come swooping in and reclaim the entirety of southern Anthiope for their new empire. Right now the latter are on top, which means there’s been essentially no patrolling of the Qajr to keep out looters.

  When I read that, I had to put down the letter and pace outside for a while until my head cooled off. Every time the anti-Draconean nationalists get the upper hand, we lose countless historical treasures to the underground antiquities market—not that it’s possible to stop that anyway; there are just too many sites, and t
he only way to protect them all would be to put the entire able-bodied male population of Akhia to work as watchmen. But it’s one thing to fall short, and another to not try at all, the way the nationalists do. I presume you saw the news about that temple near Djedad? At least the Seghayan government is doing what they can, even if things still slip through.

  My one solace is that the western Qajr is so barren and remote—not to mention lacking in obviously attractive targets like the Labyrinth of Drakes has—that the looters may find it as daunting to raid as the army does to patrol.

  Back I went to Rafaat’s letter. Only to find him lamenting that the Akhians cannot even mount their own expedition to the region! They would like to search around and see whether that cache was the only thing there . . . but it turns out the permit sold to Lord Gleinleigh was for the exclusive right of excavation and collection in that part of the Qajr. For the next three years.

  Before you can crack a tooth with grinding, though, let me tell you the rest of it.

  Naturally I was incensed. The nationalists got one of their own appointed to handle permits last year; I think he must have been banking on Gleinleigh’s dilettante nature to give up before his people found anything, or perhaps he just assumed there was nothing to find. At any rate, until that time is up, the only other people who can explore that area are looters.

  Yes, the thought crossed my mind. But before I convinced myself to break the law and hire people to conduct clandestine excavations on our behalf, I thought I might at least try the straightforward approach. So this morning, hearing that he was in town, I went to talk to Gleinleigh.

  I didn’t expect anything to come of it. The meeting was just a way of persuading myself not to add fuel to the fire that is the illegal market. (For starters, you would disown me as a friend, after how I bludgeoned the Tomphries into making that pledge not to buy from Dorak and the rest of the black market.) I can hardly fault Lady Trent for discovering a living population of Draconeans and announcing their presence to the world . . . but the appetite for antiquities has been ferocious ever since, and there are all too many poverty-stricken locals willing to smash their way through sites in search of items they can sell for a few dinars. The last thing I should be doing is encouraging that sort of thing.

  As it turns out, I won’t have to.

  Lord Gleinleigh’s permit is exclusive, yes—but that means he can grant permission to anybody he likes. The Akhians asked right after he found the cache, and he turned them down . . . but when I spoke to him this morning, I pointed out that if anything else significant is found there later on, everyone will think he’s a fool for not having searched further. Whereas if he let me go have a look around, he’d be the rich patron getting credit for further discoveries.

  I honestly didn’t expect it to work. I’ve spent years trying to shut Dorak down, and I’m sure at least half of Gleinleigh’s collection came through that bastard’s warehouses. But his ego is as big as his collection, and I think the prospect of other people mocking him was too much to bear.

  He didn’t agree right away, mind you. At first he said vague things about future plans, only right now he’s wholly occupied with the tablets and not really able to devote as much attention as he would like to hunting for more finds—as if he’s doing any work at all, entertaining himself in Ecraie while Audrey chips away at the translation one glyph at a time. I’m not surprised he isn’t eager to decamp to Akhia again. In fact, I think this Qajr expedition was the first time he’s gone into the field himself (unless you count Continental resorts as “the field”).

  But then he got down to business and gouged me for a hefty license—making back some of what he paid for his own permit, I’m sure—and, well, I was so surprised to find him willing at all, I agreed.

  I don’t think he expects me to find anything. In fact, I wonder if he’s already searched the area so thoroughly, he knows there’s nothing left to find, and therefore doesn’t care if I poke my nose around. But his people can’t possibly have been there long enough to be certain of that, not when that part of the Qajr is pocked with so many little caves. And if nothing else, I can at least tell myself I did my best to get to anything useful before the looters did.

  So apparently I’m going to Akhia, and soon. Buying that license means I can’t finance more than a brief trip out of my own pocket, but I have a hunch Lord Trent might be persuaded to assist with funding, what with his granddaughter working on the original cache and all. (Your own budget is safe, never fear. At least until I come around next week and talk to you about Rafaat’s proposal.)

  How is Audrey getting on, anyway? I know it’s only been a week or so, but I would have expected to get six letters already with updates on her progress. Lord Gleinleigh isn’t censoring her mail, is he?

  Your friend,

  Alan

  FROM THE NOTEBOOK OF CORA FITZARTHUR

  Audrey wrote a letter to her father today. I’m not sure if I should tell Uncle or not. It says that the work is surprisingly difficult; that she’s excited to do it anyway; that it will probably take her a long time, though she doesn’t say how long; and that she’s read enough so far that she doesn’t think it’s right for her to work on something this important by herself. Then she asks her father if he thinks someone named Kudshayn would be available, assuming she can make the arrangements with Uncle for another person to assist her.

  She’s right that I’m not enough of an assistant, though she doesn’t say it outright. The language is much more complicated than I realized, and besides which, it annoys me. It doesn’t make any sense, even more than Scirling doesn’t make sense.

  None of that says anything about the tablets, not really, nor about Uncle, which is what he wanted me to look for. But she wants to work with this Kudshayn, and that would mean telling him all about what she’s doing. Even if she decides not to talk to Uncle about the idea, I think he should know she was considering it, because he wants this all to be kept secret until it’s ready.

  I will write to him tomorrow.

  FROM THE DIARY OF AUDREY CAMHERST

  19 Pluvis

  I am writing it down here, so that I can’t funk out and pretend I didn’t make this decision: today I’m going to talk to Lord Gleinleigh about Kudshayn.

  He’s finally back at Stokesley. He was in Thiessin on a matter of business, and came back with crates of new acquisitions—sun knows where he’ll put them, as this place is already stuffed to the ceilings. Mostly Erigan, if you can believe it; he says that’s because of me. I think he means it to be flattering? He wanted my opinion on them, and it was all I could do not to say “I hope they aren’t looted.” They aren’t antiquities for the most part, but I cannot look around Stokesley without hearing Alan, Simeon, and Grandpapa in my mind, all gnashing their teeth in chorus. Not just the Draconean materials, though of course those are the most galling; I’m sure Gleinleigh got half these things on the black market.

  Maybe if this translation makes him piles of money, he’ll be happy enough with me that I can persuade him to stop doing that.

  Honestly, it’s been a bit of a relief to have him gone. I’m glad he wants to assist me in any way he can, but it’s rapidly become clear that Lord Gleinleigh is the kind of man who cannot see an idea without needing to put his own “improvements” on it. (He installed mirrors in the greenhouse, after I realized I could use it to work on transcription during rainy spells. They don’t do much good when it’s gloomy out, and on sunny days I feel like an ant being fried by a sadistic schoolboy.)

  And every time I see him, he asks how things are going. Which is understandable enough—except I can see the gears in his mind turning like a calculating machine, checking my current progress against the timeline I gave him. I’m doing reasonably well, but having him peering over my shoulder with a pocket watch in his hand (metaphorically speaking) doesn’t make the work any easier.

  Though I have to admit that in some ways, his requirement of secrecy is making this easier. If I were wr
iting to all my friends and family as usual, I’d have them peering over my shoulder (meta phorically speaking), and I care much more for their opinions than I do for Lord Gleinleigh’s. Secrecy at least means Grandpapa never has to know that I’ve been doing this all out of order, translating as I go rather than copying and transcribing the whole thing first.

  He’s probably right that I’ll wind up regretting it eventually. Later on I’ll realize the scribe had a certain quirk I’ve been overlooking by doing things piecemeal or something else foolish like that. But I certainly don’t regret it so far! With most texts, copying and transcribing is enough to give you a good sense of what they say, with only bits here and there that feel like running headfirst into a brick wall. This one is long stretches of brick wall punctuated by just enough easy reading to lure you into a false sense of optimism. If I didn’t translate as I went, I’d have to wait ages to find out what it says! I’m not made of stone. (Though I suppose the Anevrai would say I am, being human and all. Assuming āmu really does mean “human.”)

  Now I’ve lost the thread of my thought. Lord Gleinleigh—that’s right. We’re having luncheon together today (Cora still doesn’t eat with me); I intend to ask then. I’m a little worried he’ll think I’m breaking my promise of secrecy, but I won’t breathe a word, even to Kudshayn, unless Gleinleigh gives me permission.

  I am very determined to make sure he gives me permission, though. Because from what I’ve seen of the text so far, this isn’t just a history; it’s a sacred story. And it simply isn’t right for a human like me to be the first one to read it.

  later

  I’ve spent days imagining ways that conversation might go, and none of them looked anything like what actually happened.

  It started off like I expected, because of course he asked how the translation was progressing. I am shameless: I pretended my scattered approach was actually for his sake. “I know you must be very keen to learn what it says,” I told him, “and so I have been translating as I go along, rather than doing all the copying and transcription first. Just yesterday I completed the first tablet—though it’s hardly as polished as the finished draft will be.”