Chapter 10 - Part X

Onion shivered in spite of the warm day this late summer season was becoming. She had a hard time shaking off the filthy sensation of a thousand cockroaches crawling up her skin.  It was a gradual thing, being exposed to madness.  Onion's web remained blissfully unshaken since the moment she arrived at Pho-Boteth, on that deathly humid day.  The air had been thick and dense and naturally, her movements sluggish and forced, but that day her mind had been clear.  No inane ramblings poked at the silk threads of her mind; she was privy to no conversations between empire shills.

But from the time that scaly being entered her vision, she could not stop but feel the pulse of it as a spider feels the tugs of an unwary insect.  It was as if the creature amplified her senses, whether she liked it or not, and now that the connection had been made between the two of them, she could not dismiss it.  Though it grew weaker as she had made her way to class, even now she could feel exactly where on campus the Silent Scholar was.

The student to her left suddenly stood up, shaking Onion back into reality with the jolt of a semi-panic surprise.  The boy who had asserted himself so suddenly had waxy dark brown hair, cropped closely to his skull.  His taut almond colored skin suggested he might be from Sandor, or the Independent Duchy of Vem, though there was very little reason for the Vemmish to visit the halls of her Wisdom.

He was, for all purposes a youth, though the days when he could no longer be called a boy were fast approaching, and Onion found it strange that even at that age, he had so much confidence and surety in himself.  Children of the Nü were taught to listen and learn from those who had gone before.  Wisdom could not possibly spring from the innocent.

"No sir," the youth responded to a long hanging question the professor had proposed.  "The Three-Pronged War technically began in the 37th year of Coth Di, but the Vemmish and the tribes of the Outer Crest had been aggressive and antagonistic years prior.  Sandor entered the war independent of the Empire when trading vessels had been sunk by both Vemmish and Outer Crestan raiding parties, leaving an intractable situation for business.  The intervention was frowned on by the Empire, who hadn't gone to war in the past 6 epochs.    Her wisdom did not chastise the Sandorans, but nor were we, I mean, they, offered aid.  Fen-Kulch Dar'rduap speculated in his latest book, Lies and Lessons of the Coast, that this is why Sandor was never able to achieve a complete victory. (Linguistic Note, the prefix "Fen" indicates the person is deceased and not a high enough rank to warrant a postmortem name.)"

"Good Saugel.  And who can relate to us some of those prior altercations between the Vemmish and the Outer Crest barbarians?  Make sure to cite your sources." the professor prodded the introductory level history course.  He absently tugged on his closely cropped goatee of chestnut and stood relaxed, resplendent in loose fitting robes of butter-cream yellow and ornate tiger lily stitching. 

While young Saugel had sunk back into his seat, another youth across the classroom, a girl of no more than 25 or so tides, rose to take the question.  She was stunningly elegant with long, wavy raven hair and a bronzed body covered with a pure white silk robe and a sheer blue shawl of embroidered hawks and raptors.  "The Independent Duchy of Vem have always placed their highest faith in Dagleth and its host according to Fen-Pobh Lu'rduap's 'Memoirs of the East'.  This, combined with their dearth of resources means that they are always looking to expand.  They have to, or their civilizatoin will fall. 

"This should be compared with the Empire.  The Vemmish model is hardly altruistic and has been for the economic and social benefit of only themselves.  Since the might of the Empire has historically blocked their access to the west, they've often gone east, causing aggression with both a pre-imperial Sandor and the Outer Crest.

"But the various tribes of the Outer Crest, savage though they may be, have sheer numbers, and they have repelled several colonization attempts.  And their skill on the sea is renowned.  According to the published records of Rohath'rduap, the Three-Pronged War technically began as a two party conflict when Nü pirates made landfall on Vemmish shores."

She knew it was a terrible idea.  She knew up until this point he had managed to elicit no more than formal greetings from students likely 8 or 9 tides younger than herself.  Her dark skin and golden-eyes were hardly noticed by her classmates, though she never knew if the ignorance was willful or natural.  Nonetheless, though she knew it was not a good idea, though she was only partially confident that she translated the words of her classmate with any sort of accuracy, her legs would not let her sit idle.

"This is absurd!  Lies, all of it!" she stood and slammed the desk in front of her.  All the eyes of jade, obsidian, sapphire and onyx fell upon the mahogany girl with golden eyes instantaneously.

"Vren," the professor began, equal parts annoyance and interest tempering his authoritative voice, "State your case properly."

Onion took a sweeping view of her classmates around herself and suddenly found herself wishing she could attain the articulation she had with the Silent Scholar through the tongue of the mind.  "The Nü are not pirates.  We hunted at one time.  We fish.  We have even begun building cities and towns like your people seem to enjoy so well.  We barely even know how to travel from island to island, much less mount an assault on a fortress city."

The boy known as Saugel snickered cruelly and muttered something under his breath that Onion could not catch.  He was not alone.  Many students in the room were second siblings, nieces or nephews of the nobility of Eirdren, Lithen, Sandor, Falloth and even a very select few from Benge.  The rest all exhibited the tell-tale midnight colored hair and warm, light skin of the Yibouhese.  There were no friends to the Nü here.

"Sessha, sit down.  Your time is up." remarked the professor and the girl from Falloth slid back into the confines of her banana shaped chair.  "You did explain the assigned reading well enough.  Vren?" he tried the name on his lips for the second time, "Vren is likely referring to a few of the intricacies of island life.  Technically, it was the Sve tribes, not the Nü, who launched the initial attack, though the Nü jumped in soon after and ended up being responsible for the sinking of several Sandoran ships.  As the most numerous ethnicity on the Outer Crest, the Nü had the numbers the Sve needed and they quickly allied with their historical enemies.  This is likely the reason why the war ended in a stalemate."

"But," Onion continued, unsatisfied with the accusation of malicious intent thrust upon her entire ethnicity.  Whether he consciously lumped all of the Nü of the Outer Crest into one, or was merely ignorant of the lack of communication between the northern and southern isles, Onion didn't know, but she was beginning to feel that she was on trial for the entire archipelago. 

"Don't argue with me, and do not interrupt me Nü!" roared the professor decisively.  "Our people have been recording history for longer than your people have existed.  Two generations ago, your people were illiterate!  Don't presume to teach this class any of your oral stories."

Onion glared at the man and spit loudly in his direction.  She refused to take a seat and instead stalked towards the door.

"Leave this class now and you will never return." the professor Boaz barked; a hint of apathy returned to his voice.  Onion kept walking.

On the other side of a now closed door, Onion felt a wave of exhilaration rush over her.  When did I evolve such a temper?  she thought to herself in surprise.  She could not recall ever becoming this angry at her brothers, certainly never Rejnev.  Does the spider lash out because I am cornered and have nowhere to go?

She collected herself along the cool marble walls of the Second Hall and slid her bottom down to the granite cobblestones in a seat.  She buried her head into her open palms and tried to reach out to that spider for calm.

Her meditation was soon interrupted by a bounding Shar Wu, still in her robes of lilac blue.  "Vren!"

"Shar Wu!  I thought you were leaving the university for the day?"

"Yes, but I stopped by posts first, and I didn't want to delay.  You've got a letter!  I think it is from your friend." she placed the rolled up parchment into Onion's now empty hands, poorly concealing her excitement.  "Go on, read it.  I can help you translate if you have questions."

Happy to be preoccupied with something other than her ouster at class or the slimy remains of the Silent Scholar's mental presence, Onion smiled and nodded before carefully removing the wax seal and unrolling the message.

"It is written in Nüish." the girl laughed.  "In the script of the continental coast.  I can read it though."

"Alright then.  I guess you don't need me.  You should tell that friend of yours to write in Eirdred though.  You need the practice."  she smiled before touching her forehead in farewell and leaving."

Dear Vren,

I hope you are enjoying the City of the Crags, and the University on High.  There are many stories of my days there that I cherish.  I'm sure you are making memories of your own.

I was hoping to return soon myself and show you around to some of the wonders of Pho-Boteth.  Sadly, there is still a great deal of work to be finished here.  

You should know, Zaexyl Archne, your brothers' murderess, committed suicide less than a major moon ago.  I hope this gives you comfort, but there is cause for concern.  We have reason to believe she was not acting alone, and her co-conspirators may know you are still alive.  They may make attempts on your life.  Don't leave Pho-Boteth.  Better still, don't leave the University on High.  

I will try to get back as soon as possible.  Please be safe.

May our webs connect again,
Gregor

Chapter 10 -Part IX

Roh'ath appraised the Nü a second time, and scanned her from head to toe.  Onion could feel his eyes crawling over her bronze skin, her dark hair, the Yibouhese style collared tunic of yellow and peach cream.

I advise neither, Pnum Rduap.  I have two minds of this one; either she is too ignorant of mind to be taught, or too weak of heart to be loyal.  Kill her and be done with the Nü.  Walk her out the door and stab her in the back in the garden.  Blood is the best nutrient for the flowers.  Maybe in three hundred tides we will speak with them as cousins, but for now, they are insects. 

"No!" Vren screamed and all three figures turned to her immediately in surprise.  She stared right at the Silent Scholar and verbally implored,  "I am not stupid; I can learn.  I am learning!  I am not weak.  I fight for my brothers.  If not brothers of the flesh, I will fight for my brothers of the spirit.  And I am no insect.  I am a spider."

The three of them looked at the Nü dumbstruck, but the Silent Scholar cracked a sinister smile with its thin lips well before the two men had time to register what had just occurred.

Good!  Very good!  You are interesting then aren't you.  You've been listening the whole time haven't you?  You nasty little weasel.  You cautious little squirrel.  How did you do it?  Did you have to try or are you like I?  Do you hear every thought, every feeling of those you walk by?  Did you have to give away your soul too?

Onion eyed the shriveled being next to her and wondered if it hadn't been planning this the whole time.  Had it known she could hear their every word as they communicated to each other through their minds?  Had they realized that every thought shook the strands of her spider's web, as if being plucked by a guitarist?  Was this talk of lethal ultimatums nothing more than a game to lure her out of the safety of her mental walls?

She glanced at Cedric, wondering his role in this as well.  He had hardly proven himself to her, and now what little trust he managed to earn was quickly dissolving into a fog of suspicion.  All three of them stared at her silently waiting for her to say something, or think something, but there was naught but silence on both the audio and mental planes.

The Silent Scholar was the first to realize that Onion had managed to halt its intrusive mind.  Her thoughts were hers alone. You will lose that ability, girl, if you become bei'thal. The mind of the Silent Scholar took on a serious focus in sharp contrast to the normal ramblings of its mind as.  Your mind will be open to mine, and you will not be able to hide away those little tidbits of your thoughts.  I will tear your walls down in order to build them up bigger and better than before, but you will open to me when I demand it.  But with its very next thought it returned to its academic mirth and its cloudy hazel eyes beamed.  This will be so very enjoyable, and I don't think I am alone in saying that.  Let's learn how you work.

"No.  I won't let you."

"Pnum'beithal, as I told you.   There will be nothing but trouble with this one." Roh'ath roared.

"But I will serve you, as I once served my brothers.  You will have my talents, my web.  You need me." Onion was not sure if she was convincing enough.  However, now that she had been found out, now that she felt the futile buzzing of the Silent Scholar's probing mind uselessly struggle against the power of her web, she felt more confident than she had since her arrival two tides ago.  "You know you are curious."

Onion felt a chill down her spine as under the cloth of its cloak and hood she could feel its leathery face smile.  Spider protect against the day she'd have to see that face in person.  You will loose that ability.  Even the bei'thal must make sacrifices, and your mind will be open.  But you are right.  I am curious.  It turned to the Empress's son, By your mother's leave, I will see to her basic training myself.  And then back to the uncomfortable man on the other side of Onion, Cedric will assist me.  We shall have a fun time with this, the three of us.  Shalln't we?

Chapter 10 - Part VIII

No more words were exchanged as the three ascended the obsidian stairs.  Above them, on the overhang before the door hung a dark oak board with blackened letters of flowing script burned ages ago into the tight grains.  Tuk rden jor tuK phet. "Heaven Cannot Birth Civilization Alone".  Simple enough for Onion to understand their meaning, and accordingly, she understood what building she was entering.

Heaven, it was said, is the mother of knowledge.  Heaven, it was said, is the midwife to society.  And heaven is guarded by the those who guide the the Yibouhese.  But while the Nativity Palace, home to her Wisdom, was forbidden to all save her family, staff and closest advisers, heaven needed a way to walk in the world.

The Rok House, so named for the Emperor who built it, was unique to the university, as the place where the Empress and the universe could meet.  It was where she could receive visitors, foreign dignitaries and emissaries.  Yet for all of its worldly aspirations, the house had little more than a cozy simplistic beauty to its exterior.

The floor was comprised of long planks of a reddish dark wood perfectly laid and gorgeously polished, although it was clear that it had not been replaced in centuries, perhaps even longer.  The mountain madrone, a timber Onion had not ever seen before, also framed each of the three open doorways of the tiny building.  The hall was spartan, with not a painting nor lantern hanging from the walls.  Instead, natural light flooded in from the large double paned window at the end of the hall.

"To your left." Cedric muttered and the three of them filed into a small but comfortable looking room of a beige-brown plaster and smooth brick flooring.

"Sit." commanded the thick muscled man sitting relaxed upon a plush, double seated chair of velvet and wood, and Onion and her two companions complied readily.  She found herself sandwiched between Cedric and the Silent Scholar on the firm, backless red couch sitting against the wall.  Being so close to the voiceless being made Onion's skin crawl and she violently suppressed a desire to recoil from the physical touch of its silk robes brushing her bare arms.  In the corner a small fireplace beamed with a calming glow of coals and flame.

The man was clearly Yibouhese, with closely cropped jet-black hair and a full mustache and beard that was peppered with white and grey hairs.  His eyes were dark and intense, owing to his dark lashes and equality dark circles under his eyes.  He was starting to show the signs of advanced age with spiderweb wrinkles drawn from the corner of his eyes, but his body suggested a robust stature of a man not at all ready to give into the crumbling force of time.

"Who is this?" said the man in a deep, rich but throaty voice.  He spoke in full breaths, each word beginning strong and ending before his voice had a chance to wane with glottal punctuation. 

Onion bowed her head as she had seen the Silent Scholar do for the Empress.  "Prince Roh'ath, I am Onion of Deezhul..."

Roh'ath gave a loud, guffaw to his young guest before scratching his beard and collecting his drink from the small table at the side of his chair.  The ceramic cup held what appeared to be a dark amber liquid, which he eagerly took a swig of, then set it down and stood up to add a log to the fire.  Without making eye contact he spoke,

"Keil'Lah wo nya! 
Kal'Lah wo nya! 
Teph Boh sil waH he,
Bhu jor Teph wo! 

Linguistic Notes: Yibouhese is a tonal language.  First capital letter on a word signifies a down tone while a lower case letter signifies a straight tone.  Last capital letter signifies an up tone.

[Lit: Sun glorious above, oh!] (Oh, I see the awesome sun above me!)
[Lit: Stars glorious above, oh!] (Oh, I see the brilliant stars above me!)
[Lit: Great show itself to me although,]  (Though greatness be in my view,) 
[Lit: Reach not great above!] (Never will I touch it!) 

I am no prince.  And I am not likely to ever become one.  An Emperor has not come from the soft arts for a millennia, and then, only by a Learned of Theology.  You may refer to me as merely as Roh'ath Rduap, Learned of the Classics."

Onion paused a second before she spoke, "Then if you are not prince, why do we meet in the Rok House?"

His sharp eyes narrows.  Impudent.  "I am here for my mother, Empress Coth Di, who has limited time and limited breath for backwater natives.  My words are hers made law."

"From Tales of Kebh." Cedric spoke up, referring to the quote the Empress's son had uttered moments before, trying to return the conversation to something more civil. "And he did forever swear off the vestiges of power to become a hermit and an ascetic."

"And more was the pity for the Kingdom of Wan." Roh'ath quickly chimed back, enthusiastic for his art and its intricacies.  "His advice was was rejected, of course, and it fell; a victim of its own success in an era that tolerated neither pride nor hubris.  But you didn't come to discuss Marble Age literature with me.  This is the Nü you mentioned before?"  His large invading eyes, elegantly angled and darkly framed, scanned over Vren with appraisal.

Cedric turned to Onion and "Roh'ath Rduap is more than merely family to the Nativity Palace, he is bei'thal.  And even more, one of the very few bei'thal not a student of alchemy.  As one of the best controllers of bei, he oversees the final examinations on candidates and as one of the longest serving bei'thal, his is the first advice sought on a student's quality upon entering the program."

That was not necessary Cedric'opb.  Words are not worth spent on aimless flattery.  Certainly they are not needed for this one.  Cedric felt the Empress's son touch is mind in reproach.  Still, it was not the criticism of a superior, but the admonishment of a colleague and a friend, and Cedric took no offense.  Roh'ath turned to the Silent Scholar, face contorted between respect and annoyance, his thoughts unable to be concealed from the pnum'bei'thal.  The inanity of the thoughts of the Silent Scholar were a headache he did not rejoice in being exposed to.

I submit this one to your review then, Roh'ath.  The Silent Scholar took a pause from pondering the shelf life of a drowned god when worn as a theatrical mask and held off mental explorations into the philosophical underpinnings of the flow of a river.  Shall she take up the leash?  Shall she bring the dogs to our enemies and set them loose?  Or shall I make her the dog?  So many possibilities either way, but I am so interested in hearing your words.

Chapter 10 - Part VII

The three of them followed cobblestone paths that snaked in between perfectly angular buildings of stone and mortar.  While Cedric and the Silent Scholar clacked along the red splotched grey stone, Onion tiptoed on her soft slippered feet, observing her surroundings.  Cedric and the Silent Scholar mentally discussed the finer details of campus upgrades ahead of her while Onion trailed the two by a few paces.  To any passersby, however, the three of them traveled in an eerie silence. 

Even though she had arrived to the University on High over two tides ago, Onion still didn't know where she was going half of the time.  Novice students had few trips to make, save between the first 3 study halls, a mess hall and the lower dormitory block, but that was one mere petal on the rose that was the University.

Eighteen study halls, a training ground, three mess halls, two amphitheaters, one for public performances, one for her wisdom only, and 22 residences lay behind the neat, smooth cobble stone paths.  Each building stood as a solid, strong sentinels in a confusing maze of pathways that Onion was sure was placed there to test the persistence and courage of any new student.


Their destination was a small house that spent its nights lonely and vacant, though loving attention had been paid to every detail in its construction; from the tepid red stain of the alabaster to the intricate wood work of mountain cherry that reached from over the multi-tiered roof to explode into the carved patterns of vine and flowers on each corner of the edifice.  It was secluded, ignored by the rest of the enormous campus with a grove of chestnut and sycamore trees that offered shade against the strong Yibouhese sun.

A small mahogany wood walkway meandered through the grove and approached the structure from the side.  Before the main door, however, three perfectly rectangle obsidian steps descended from the house and lay before a wide cobblestone path that led directly to the inner sanctum of the Nativity Palace.

"Get down!" Cedric commanded forcefully as he prodded Onion onto her hands and knees and did the same himself.  "Respect.  Her Wisdom is just leaving." He reached a hand out to cover Vren's, lest she think about getting up before propriety dictated she could.

As soon as her knees touched the wooden walkway they stood upon, six men and two women, all shirtless and clad in breezy knee-high kilts of saffron colored silk assumed their place around a large polished mahogany litter.  Ornate carvings of lily flowers gilded in gold adorned each wall of the litter while a solid gold roof tiered out in shingled leaves.  The 8 bearers waited patiently as their frail charge was walked out to the litter.

Vren lifted her head slightly, curiosity winning out over formality and saw the most powerful person on the continent, if not the world.  The geriatric woman was held up by two strong men on each side of her and Onion was not convinced that she held even a single stone of her own body weight up.  Empress Coth Di's skin was light, but not like that of a Lithenese.  Hers was the paleness of weather and weary and her eyes were milky and grey.  Her grey hair, likely once jet black, as most Yibouhese, was tied up tightly in several buns that spanned from ear to ear along the top of her cranium.

She also noticed that the Silent Scholar did not bend a knee, and simply bowed its head deeply at her Wisdom.

Once the empress, with her layers of flowing robes and high ket shoes had been safely loaded into the litter, the 8 bearers headed straight for the only entrance to the Nativity Palace.  Onion ventured up and stood when she saw Cedric nod gently to her.

"That is Empress Coth Di?" she asked, already knowing the answer, but not quite able to rectify the image of the woman who has just been before her, with the imposing image of the woman she had created in her mind.

"Yes." Cedric responded, "Highest Scholar in the Land, Learned of Alchemy, Guide of Civilization.  You have her to thank for your liberation from the Archne Estate; it is her foresight that directs the Silent Scholar, and all of the Learned."

"It doesn't look like she has the capacity to open a scroll, much less study and direct matters of state." Onion blanched.

Cedric could not help but smile, though he tried to remain stern, "Yes, but don't ever say that again."

Chapter 10 - Part VI

"Welcome to my world little Nü.  How are you enjoying your time in the City of the Crags?  Pho-Boteth has many people from all over the world, but not so many Nü, or Ela or Juttes or any others from your lovely little islands."  Cedric's voice seemed ill suited for the words coming out of his mouth.  Though he rambled on as the words were reaching his mind, he recited them rather than communicated them.

"My pets tell me you are unique, and maybe that is all they meant by that, and maybe in that case, they were right.  Dear pets though they are they are apt to get a little over excited at the smallest little thing.  Are you important?  Who knows, who knows but I tell you I don't think so, I am unimpressed.  But my queen, my queen she wants you known to us so I will do as is required.  For science of course.  We will see, we will see.

"So how about it then?  Are you ready to begin your training?"

"My training?" Vren asked.

"Why yes, of course.  If you fail of course you will die, or maybe you will become one of my pets.  No we can't let any disgruntled students walk around freely. No that wouldn't do at all."

But she might be a good pet if bei Anita was right, so that is very possible that could work.  Don't tell her that Cedric.  Not now. 

"What would you have me do that is worth my life to me?  I don't think anything you could offer me would be worthy of the risk.  I don't want to be your pet, whatever that means, and I don't want to die for this country." Onion asserted.


"Oh feisty little one that is sweet of you to say but you don't have much choice in the matter.  You know of us, you already know my pets, the bei, and my star students, the bei'thal.  You have but to choose your sentence.  The Empress is interested in using your talents for something worthwhile though and gives you the option to prove yourself.  And so I offer you the option to train to become bei'thal.  Or I offer you to become bei.  Or I offer you to die.  It is your choice but that is what you are limited to.  It would be a shame to have to choose death, but that is an adventure all its own and I am sure Cedric would be honored to see you on your way."  The Silent Scholar held back a smile as Cedric stuttered on his words.  He did not relish bringing up the topic of assassination to a woman he once tried to kill.

"That is all I have too choose from?  You offer me probably death, worse than death, and definitely death, is this how you inspire loyalty?  You cannot believe this is motivational."

Bah.  Anita told me this girl was beaten to the ground.  They really get too emotional and sentimental, it is true, those passionate bei.  They overestimate.  Give me bad information.  Ask for stupid things.  How they ask to return to their burned out villages when they have nothing for them there, oh tisk tisk, I must put more of that energy into good use.  How they cannot stop talking about one little victim here or one aboriginal girl there.  Oh they are such needy children.

Cedric's head started throbbing as the Silent Scholar started along one of its capricious lines of thought, dragging Cedric through its jumble of feelings without thought to the poor man.  The pnum'bei'thal skipped freely between the here and now to disgruntled complaints long past.  Cedric thought it queer too, to call a bei, emotional.

Cedric, use your own words.  I'd rather she take on the training.  Gives me time to think.  How to use a tool to the best advantage, that is important.  Even if she fails, we can see what she can do, yes, that is what I want.  Convince her then.  One chance.  You get one chance.  If you fail, take her to the lab.  I'll have Vren and Anita working side by side yet.  That would be amusing, and maybe useful too!

Not wanting to clue Onion into their conversation, Cedric responded mentally, What would you have me say?  She doesn't seem like bei'thal material.  She's not a leader.  Gregor told me she was a follower in her mercenary band, and now?  She seems little more than a lost sheep, except angry at everything.

Oh absurdity.  It doesn't matter if she'd be good at it.  That is the point of science!  Observation!  As if you don't know how to sweet talk a woman to get what you want.  Use that.  Whatever that is.  That CHARM thing.  

"Vren," Cedric turned back to Onion, "Life of a bei'thal is hard, but it is worth it." he put both his hands on the table, an ingrained gesture showing he was unarmed and demonstrating good will.  "We are sent to the ends of the Empire and beyond.  Maybe you will meet other Nü in your travels.  I know you enjoy the thrill of battle, you'd not have lasted with your brothers if you did not.  To be a bei'thal one must have the heart of a warrior and the mind of a strategist.  I know, as only one on the other side of a fight can know, you have both those things."

"Why did you become bei'thal Cedric?" she replied.

"Well," he chuckled, "I was fairly young, well into my studies here, and a good friend of mine had signed up.  He got me interested.  Gregor got me interested.  I can't say I regret it.  It has been fun."

"Very well, I will undertake the training." Onion agreed.

That was easy.  Too easy. Cedric thought to himself, forgetting for a moment that the Silent Scholar was there and listening.

Maybe you don't have a chance with that girl, Cedric.  So sad for you!

Yeah, maybe that's it. Cedric agreed.


Then let's go.  Roh'ath is waiting for us.  I'm glad I can bring him some good news.

"Vren, it will be worth it.  Now, we need to get you to the Palace.  The Empress's son wishes to meet you."

Chapter 10 - Part V

He offered his hand but Onion rejected it, using her own power to rise.  The two descended down the half-circle of stairs.  While Cedric clacked with each step, Onion was silent in her movements.

"Why did you call me here?" she asked, impatient for some answers.

"I didn't.  My master did.  You will be meeting my master soon.  No more questions until we get to the conference room."

He pulled open the thick metal door and Onion found herself in a hallway of 5 mahogany doors spaced widely.  He led her to the second, on the right and held it open for her.  A small round table made of several cross sections of mountain oak, a skinnier, more twisted version of its coastal cousin.  Five chairs, also made of mountain oak, lay waiting for occupants.  On the walls of the small room were shelves of uncountable books and ledgers. 

"Go on, take a seat.  He is with the Empress at the moment, and she will hold him as long as it is her pleasure." he explained.  Before sitting down himself he offered, "You might recall me, but my memories of you are few and fleeting, so let's do this again.  I am Cedric Lumet..."

Vren didn't give him a chance to continue before she lunged to him and punched him in the gut.  Cedric wheezed, trying to catch his breath, but failing for several moments.  "Why did you attack me?  Who are you?  Is this part of some Archne plan?  You didn't get enough killing my brothers, you had to go some round about way of finishing the job?"

"Archne?" he wheezed, "No, no.  I am a servant of the Empress, council to her wisdom and the University on High."

"That makes no sense.  If you are not on the side of my enemy, then why try to kill me?" she shoved him to the wall.


"Sorry.  I didn't know who you were.  The Cedric you first met wasn't me.  Well, he was, but only a part of me, a twisted form of my personality.  I was jolted back too quickly, I was very confused.  Please stop hitting me." he coughed and straightened himself out.

Onion relented and eased herself into an open seat.  "Another personality? How is that possible?  Why?"

"You were a mercenary.  What would have happened if while planning strategy, you somehow ended up in the hands of the enemy?  What do you think could happen to that knowledge?"

"I would end my life.  We all understood that possibility, and my life was never worth all the lives of my brothers."

"Well yes, there is that option, but that's not very useful for an infiltrator."

"A what?" asked Onion, still not familiar some of the more complex vocabulary of the Yibouhese language"

"A spy.  For a spy, the whole point is to come back with information, right?"

"I understand."

"What if there were a way to find out the secret plans of others, without exposing your own people to the risk of being found out?  What if any secrets that person had could be locked away safely?

"That is what we did here." continued Cedric, "We had a man on the inside who could make observations, even when he didn't realize he was, while I was kept safe.  Even if somehow they did suspect Cedric of Archne was not who he said he was, he'd never be able to give them the information they were looking for.  And Cedric of Archne could be the best actor because he truly believed he was who he said he was."

"How does this happen?  Are you warped?  Are you bei?  Are you like that soulless woodswalker?"

"No.  Well, yes, sort of.," he looked troubled.  "Me, the man you see before you, I am actually bei'thal.  You've met Gregor, so I'm told.  He and I have serve the same mission.  I've been through the training, I've brought bei out to complete missions.

"But I have been compromised too.  Or at least Cedric of Archne has.  The other part of me, perhaps he is bei?  I don't really know.  I am the first to try this, and the experiment continues.  I may very well be the last."

The two stopped their conversation and Cedric dipped his head in reverence as the mahogany
opened.  The Silent Scholar, wearing its noisy ket clacked into the room.  It appraised its pupil and his find and smiled in its eerie way as it sat across from Onion.

Cedric, I see you've met my new present.  Be my voice for dear Vren, and translate directly.  It commanded. 

"Ah.  Vren.  This is the Silent Scholar, the first of the Order of Compromised of the Spirit.  I will be speaking for the pnum'bei'thal.  Take all my words as coming directly from my master.

Chapter 10 - Part IV

Like every other building within campus, the Fourth Hall was build entirely of white marble blocks and crushed limestone mortar.  Unlike the other buildings though, the Unseen, that is, the quiet and unassuming cleaning staff of the University on High, avoided the Fourth Hall in their duties and in some dark corners, greenish moss colonized the unassuming walls. 

Onion reached for the simple brass ring that hung listlessly upon the mahogany door and pulled it with a slight tug of her arm.  The door was well oiled and made not a sound as it closed behind her.  the room before her looked like nothing more than an amphitheater in reverse with stairs descending on all sides.  The ceiling was quite high and adorned with several windows allowing a flood of natural light to make its way to the floor. 

Onion stood on a smooth, half circle marble platform that was bare save for a couple of long desks and accompanying chairs, and several dormant torchlamps, undoubtedly reserved for use on overcast days and moonless nights.  A sole student sat at one of the desks with a small fort of books and scrolls guarding the secrets of whatever he was scribbling down furiously. 

"This is the Fourth Hall, correct?  I am looking for someone..." Onion felt her words stop in her throat at the student threw her a venomous glare and returned to his studies.  No sooner had she sat down at the second desk in defeat when she heard the a rumble as one of the thick metallic doors standing sentinel at the bottom of the stairs eased open.  A man in a purple cassock and a gold striped navy blue shoulder cape and hood emerged, his face shadowed by the billowy hood.  The single gold stripe ran from the tip of the hood to the back of the cape where it met the cassock.

Like most of the professors, high ranking instructors and Imperial Officials, the man wore curious shoes of silk and wood.  While the top part of the shoe was similar to the outer footwear of the Eirdren nobles, a soft and embroidered slipper of shiny silk, the sole was a black lacquered trapezoidal wood block covering only the forefoot of the slipper.  When worn correctly, a person's heal would never touch the ground, instead relying on the strength of form of the foot to keep it parallel to the ground.

Footwear was a much more important part of Yibouhese etiquette than that of the coast, as Vren had observed since her arrival, which made sense, given the coastal reluctance to wear shoes inside.  Yibouhese architecture favored sturdy flooring of stone rather than the extremely difficult to clean flax mats or easily marred wood floors of the inner sanctums of Eirdren buildings.  Footwear also helped to mark the person in those shoes.  Most students wore either flat slippers of silk and leather, or the shoes of their home countries.  For the instructor, it was a mark of dedication and elegance to opt for these reverse platform, or ket shoes.  The familiar clacking of the wood block brought talkative students before class to attention as quickly as swine to a dinner bell.

As the man clacked up the stairs, Onion too had a similar feeling of needing to be prepared, though she had only been attending classes for about a tide.  She straightened her back against her seat and put her hands on the desk in front of her.  He approached her and pulled back his hood with two pale but sinewy hands and liberated his long straight blonde hair from the vestment.

Onion seized up a little, eying the student lost in study, wondering if his presence was enough of a deterrent.  After all, the last time she saw the hooded man, he had tried to kill her.

"It has been awhile." Vren said stiffly.  After arriving at Eora Swou the following day, the bei, Anita had rushed him away on horseback.  So close to the border of the Yibouh province, perhaps they thought there was little danger in openly transporting him.  Or perhaps they had no choice.  He had not regained consciousness from the time he had been subdued until their departure.  Onion had thought that perhaps he had gone insane, and was a danger to himself and others.  Clearly, if he had, he got better.  The man before her now was calm, composed, and smiling at her.

"We haven't met properly, but this isn't the place for introductions," he eyed the student, "Come with me."

Chapter 10 - Part III

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"You've made incredible progress, Vren.  A couple more tides and you'll be speaking the middle tongue fluently." 

"Te bhur."Onion replied, trying not to let the quick beam of pride impact her accent on one of the first words she learned upon entering the classroom, Thanks.  Yibouhese was anything but difficult to pronounce for her, but basking in a rare moment of self confidence in the language was the exact moment she seemed to always slip up.  "It is a little strange, but the middle tongue is not so different from my home language.  All the words are different, but the music of it feels the same."

"The music?  Perhaps you mean rhythm.  I don't know much Nüish," the slight teacher admitted, "but there is some debate that maybe long ago we gave you our language and you warped it to fit your needs."

Onion twisted her mouth at the reflexive derision the Yibouhese often bestowed on other tongues, but said nothing.  It was becoming far too commonplace for her to fret over much anymore. 

"Vocabularies," she continued, "are completely different, but both languages are monosyllabic, loose word order surrounding a general subject, verb, object rule and..."

Onion stared at the woman in her pale blue and lilac flower robe as she went on, completely ignorant to what her teacher was saying.

Shar-Wu caught herself eventually, realizing she was getting lost in terms the Nü girl likely didn't know in her native tongue, much less the words of Pho-Boteth.  She offered a nervous smile and fidgeted with her hair scarf as an offer of recompense.  "You know these things, by how quickly you've picked up the language.  Dagleth-dor, it has only been a tide and a half!  You understand this in your heart, just maybe not your mind."

"Perhaps.  Is this what you study at the University Shar-Rduap?" Onion asked.

"Foreign languages?  No.  Not technically.  The University on High prides itself on being a center of learning and openness, but we are the center of the world.  What use have we to learn the tongues of the outer provinces or our other neighbors?  When students come to Pho-Boteth, they learn Yibouhese.

"But," Shar-Wu smiled mischievously, "I think even the empire understands that we have to communicate with others from time to time.  That is why we do have the study of linguistics.  One of the Learned, Waar-Rduap, the Empress's top advisers, is the head of our wing.  I hear he is rarely called on for private meetings, but that is all gossip anyway."

Shar-Wu and Onion were probably about the same age, although she had been in university for the past 7 tides, and before that a well-to-do daughter of pottery artisans.  Though she was the teacher and Onion was the student in language and easily her senior in the ways of the university, she was still young and green to the world.  She spoke too much.  She knew she spoke too much.  But knowledge had yet to foment behavioral change and probably wouldn't until one day she spoke too much about the wrong person.

Her black, wavy hair was long, but kept tidy under a transparent purple scarf before dangling down her back.  She did not have the look of a teacher, but the university did not take it upon themselves to educate their newest students in the middle tongue - they were expected to come with a full knowledge of it, so she was the best hope for the job.  Her appointment to Vren had been by direct request by the head of linguistics.  Who requested her tutelage from Waar-Zhe was a mystery not soon to be solved.

Their one-on-one lessons consisted mostly of the middle tongue, but every Rel'ir, perhaps in symbolic deference to the Keeper of the Eirdren, Onion had asked to study the tongue of the Red.

"However good you may be getting at the middle tongue though, Vren, you need a lot more work on your Eirdren." she confided to her student.  "Your writing is passable, but your sentence structure is barely understandable.  Try a little harder."

"It is difficult when I never have the chance to practice.  I go to the dining halls, and I am asked if I want thuoz and fruat, not nohl and paek.  My peas and carrots are Yibouhese, not Eirdren."

"Do you still write to your friend?" Shar-Wu asked.

"He has not responded in some time.  I think he has forgotten me."

Vren had more anger than hurt in her golden eyes.  Shar-Wu couldn't blame her, this friend of Vren's, so she told her, had brought the girl to this world of the unfamiliar and just left her here.  Luckily the University on High was willing to accept this girl in cultural exchange, but it was cruel abandonment by that man nonetheless.

"Ah," exclaimed Onion when she looked up as the mechanical clock chimed to the tune of the half hour.  "I'm late.  I need to get to Fourth Hall."

"The Fourth Hall?  What classes do they have there?  I thought that was just a laboratory for the Alchemy and Chemistry Scholars."

"I don't think it is a class.  I don't know.  This was slipped under my cell door this morning." Onion passed a folded piece of manilla paper to her teacher and budding friend.  On it were scribbled only:

Fourth Hall

Noon and Half

Alone

But the seal was an official Message Relay mark.  It was one of the few characters she could read in Yibouhese.

"Strange." Shar-Wu commented.  "Perhaps a professor is interested in taking you on as an apprentice?  How have your alchemy studies gone?"

"Not well," Onion replied sheepishly. 

"Maybe better than you thought." Shar-Wu smiled.  "You better get going.  Chatting with me, while improving your fluency, is just going to make you more late!"

Onion returned the smile.  "Thanks Shar-Rduap.  I will see you tomorrow then."

"I look forward to it."

Chapter 10 - Part II

How do they keep the ceiling so clean? he contemplated while he laid across a lightly padded stone slab.  They are so high up and so full of haphazard cracks.  It must take the Unseen ages to get this work done.  He took in a deep breath and though the air was stale, it was peppered with the smell of unfamiliar and sterile chemicals; a fragrance reminiscent of a combination of vinegar and formaldehyde.  This wasn't the room he had last closed his eyes in.

Ah, I'm naked. he realized as he felt the thin silk sheet that lay limp across his breast.  The fluid sheet of light red rested perfectly to reveal the outlines of his arms and legs, and perhaps other things that he'd have rather kept private.  He considered falling back asleep, but there was a smorgasbord of words and images in his mind that wouldn't leave him alone, and it was rising in crescendo. 

Good.  You are up.  The greeting flooded his head quite unwelcome and he turned his head over to its source.  A decrepit figure loomed over the prone man, head, arms and legs well concealed under a cover of tight olive green wrappings and a face mask of mesh black.  About its body the Silent Scholar wore an ornate emerald green robe that hosted a myriad of native birds etched in gold, reds and blacks.  Wide sleeves too long for its arms by double had been rolled up and tied back while it worked and the short robe was tied tightly about its hip bones.  A plain emerald green, twice pleated skirt stopped mid calf over black leggings and plain black shoes on its feet.  All that was exposed were a pair of intelligent, black almond eyes, two thin strips of hair that arched fluidly along the Silent Scholar's brow and the tips of wavy black tattoos, escaping in random patterns from the confines of the wrappings.   The figure was skinny and slightly hunched.

At its head it wore a black hat that followed the curvature of a skull from forehead to the back of the head, but flipped up at the back like the head of a bassinet.  This indicated that it was one of the Empress Coth Di's top level advisers, one of the Learned, only the second bei'thal to be considered such.  Of course, the Silent Scholar was not a mere bei'thal, trotting their bei from city to city at the behest of her wisdom.  It was not even merely the first of its order, although as the pnum'beithal, the one advancing the art of compromising of the spirit, it certainly held those responsibilities as well.  But a compromise of spirit was always required in the art of the bei, whether the target be of senses, matter, or even time.  This put the pnum'beithal at a particular level of knowledge that its peers could not compete with.  the rha'beithal and the fwoh'beithal might made advances in compromising for eye sight or weightlessness respectively, but none of it would be possible without the continued work of the pnum'beithal.  Consequently, it was the pnum'beithal, lone among all beithal, who had the ear, or rather, the mind, of the empress.

Nobody knew how old the Silent Scholar was, nor if it was male or female, though surely it was mortal human.  This only added to the trepidation people, even the bei, felt at its presence.  Being pnum'beithal was all the identity the Silent Scholar needed, any other qualifier was irrelevant.  Long before it stopped speaking, the bei had named it the Silent Scholar as a sort of dry humor, referring to the constant mental chatter from it that they were subjected to if they were merely in the neighboring room.  It was mostly unintelligible, but the man lying on the padded slab couldn't block it out.

...orange extracted from a carrot mimics... ...stars painted with toads...

 The only offer of relief to a bei came when the Silent Scholar mentally spoke to them, or anyone, directly. 

Cedric.  Welcome home.  I've missed you, my special pet project.

Cedric felt queerly proud, yet objectified by the Silent Scholar's description of himself, but if the Silent Scholar took any interest in his conflicting heart, he made no indication of it.

It is you, right?  Really you that is.  I don't have to pump you with anymore heartsong extract, do I?

Cedric could feel the Silent Scholar's laughter reverberate through his soul and shuddered at the thought of strange concoctions still flowing through his veins.  Still, it had to be done, even he understood that.  His shadow self, while not a strong personality, was proving to be quite a fighter concerning his own consciousness. 

So tell me, what was the last memory you have before waking up here. asked the Silent Scholar.

Cedric knew it could hear, and already wearied of speaking mentally.  "A firelight.  Thoughts of Gregor.  It gets fuzzy again there.  Coming and going in and out of consciousness.  Then, a bandaged woman was there.  She was in a defensive position.  I asked if she kidnapped me from the Eirdred City, and she responded "yes".  She was a threat.  I attacked her. But..." he stopped, a little bit embarrassed.

But what?

"This body is severely out of training.  How many tides has it been? 3? 4?  I lost.  Miserably." Cedric chuckled at his own powerlessness.


There will be time enough to get that back.  What memory do you have before then?

"That one is even more of a haze.  And more abrupt.  Suddenly I was aware of a large group fighting.  There were a great deal of Eirdred men, lightly armored but fit and able and a group of darker skinned men and boys.  They were wearing some crude leather jerkins and the like of mercenaries, but they too were pretty capable.  The mercenaries outnumbered the Eirdren, and looking more like the Eirdren, I assumed that nothing good could come from this.  I let my instincts guide me and ran before anyone could engage me and hid up a tree before I blacked out there.  I suspect the shadow took over at that point."

And before that?

"Well, here, at the University on High, in your office.  Just after you drew my blood and injected whatever it was, that purple goo."

Three tides and only two times you surfaced.  Both times while under duress.  This has been one of my better experiments.  

"You have all you need from the shadow?"


Yes, data which I am still going through.  When I speak with him about my findings, I want you to be there.  It laughed.  You were a cook you know.  For the Archne household.

"A cook?" Cedric shared the laugh with the Silent Scholar mentally.  As too many of his friends, and not a few of his past lovers could attest, his cooking was the surest way to an extended trip to the privy.

Chapter 10 - Part I

Today you have escaped the imposing walls of alabaster limestone and ivory marble for the only the third time since your arrival.  Your training has kept you busy but you have been afforded some freedom before the next task.  You knew how you wanted to spend that time and so for the day, you left the place you call home to face the masses in the streets.

                Your search is not difficult.  There are thousands who play this part, but you have a higher mind today.  You want only the best. 

                Among the beggars, the handless thieves and the castrated rapists, an old man, hair white as the walls of the university, exposed to the late morning sun, is wrapped in a velvet cloak of tired black.  He huddles, murmuring softly to himself.  His hands beat lightly against the tools of his trade in a rhythmic motion, ignoring your presence entirely as you kneel before the man and place a single cube of silver in the palm of his hand and another of copper in his waiting bowl.

                You know what happens next.  The method is the same for all fortune tellers.  He simply understands it better.  From a pile of black glass rocks, he will take one.  With his shaky might, he will break it upon the hard, straight edge of his iron anvil, steel if he is as good as his reputation.  The stone will fracture, producing a shiny edge on both of the resulting pieces. 

He will tell you that nothing is absolute, he will tell you that the gifts of the keepers can be both a blessing and a curse.  He will tell you that one piece of obsidian will reveal all the successes and gains to be had from your next actions.  He will tell you the other contains the secrets to all the failures to be had.  If you are lucky, the larger piece will be your good fortunes, and the smaller, will be forgettable.  If you are lucky, the half of your happy future will cleanly cut and each facet of the imperfect stone will tell the old soothsayer of glory and triumph.  If you are lucky, the other piece, the stone of disgrace, will be nothing more than a chip; irrelevant and meaningless. 

You have always been lucky, you tell yourself, you have nothing to fear.

But what, then, are you doing here?

His spotted hand runs over his holdings of black glass rocks, each individual, each unique to their fortune seeker.  His dull eyes then fix on you, and you feel yourself tremble.  The man’s once black irises are blanketed with a milk white fog and you know he cannot see.  Yet somehow his pupils focus on yours and bore into your soul.

Then, he selects the stone.  Your stone, your obsidian.  It had been waiting for you to come this day, and now it will reveal its secrets.

He raises his fist, fingers firmly holding it in place as his hand descends upon the anvil.  You hear the obsidian crack and you feel trepidation rush over you and you struggle to see the result.

The pieces have fallen upon the dirt road.  The old man’s right hand combs the dust and debris, searching for that smooth, cold stone.  He picks up one, and deposits it into his free hand.  He picks up the second soon after.  Then he picks up a third piece.

Even the fortune teller seems taken aback, unsure what so many pieces will reveal.  You know this when he mutters, “You walk east, and arrive west, young man.  Your roads are more than can be travelled by two feet”  His accent is hard to understand, he speaks an ancient dialect of the middle tongue, whether natively or by practice, you cannot say.  It is not your language but you understand enough.

He produces the largest of the three pieces, rubbing it in between his fingers several times before laying it gently upon the anvil.  It is long, and the thickness of you little finger.

“This is your good fortune.” Says he, and you let out an involuntary sigh of relief, “It is a nearly flawless cut; there is little to stand in your way.  If you do what is in your mind to do, you will become a great name in your field and respect will come from friends, enemies and superiors, all.

He then produces a medium piece of obsidian, once joined to the largest piece, it is no larger than the silver cube you paid.  He fits the two pieces together again, but they do not fit perfectly.  A sliver of black appears to have chipped away in the violence of the breaking.

“Your misfortunes will be few.  Your prestige, your alliances and promotions will remain intact without fail. But you will have other miseries; the piece of misfortune is clean and without abrasion.  Your failings will be unrelated to your success, too far removed from your gains.  You may recover easily.”

“And the last piece?” you speak up for the first time, knowing it is not done this way, but fearing to be left without the knowledge.

The old man ignores your thoughtlessness, and answers with his hand.  He produces the last, and smallest piece.  What the piece lacks in size, it makes up for in thickness, appearing more as an uncut stone than broken obsidian.  He places it on top of the other two pieces, and then pauses to consider the three.

He glares at the constructed tower, his blind eyes darting over each facet of each piece.  Finally he grunts, satisfied, but haughty.  “This is neither fortune nor misfortune,” he repeats slowly, first to himself, and then to you.

“This is neither fortune nor misfortune… This is a die cast by GOD!” he cackles suddenly and with strength not expected in a man as brittle as he, the old man pushes the anvil over and all three pieces succumb to the violence and fall.  “This is another, you who are not you, and it will as easily break your fortunes as redeem your failures, but you will have no control over it.

You are frantic.  You know you should not believe in this nonsense.  The world had rational explanations for phenomenon; you learned that in the walls of the university.  But terror fills your heart.  The three pieces of obsidian had slid to the dirt before the anvil had finally crashed.  The weight of the steel easily crushed the large and medium pieces, breaking them into a million new futures.  But on top of the black rubble, the smallest, thickest piece remained intact, cushioned by the two pieces beneath it even as it dealt their shattering force.

“What does this mean?”  You say, but the man will not answer you again.  His sightless gaze does not return to you, for he is in his own world of magic and mystery.  He does not stop laughing and it is all you can do to run away before it infects your mind.

When you return to your dorm, you try to forget about it.  You try to rationalize that the ranting of an old and crazy man means nothing.  You do not speak of this to even your dear friend and bunkmate.

But you never forget, Cedric.  You are the fortunes of GOD, you are proof of the existences outside of the spectrums of man.