A fragment recovered from the ruins of Speur Dún:
‘The Rise of Fyoldar’ from the Book of Terra, translation by Sodar Weir
Chapter Twenty-Three
As soon as Sodar had concluded his benediction, the villagers rose and began filing out, returning to their farms and homes. Meanwhile, the assorted ancients turned to gauge Tosan’s reaction. Annev also turned to hear what the Eldest of Ancients might say.
Tosan had his arms crossed, and was serenely stroking his grey goatee. As the last trickle of villagers left the chapel, he whispered something to Myjun, who nodded her head in reply and followed the rest of the villagers out into the night. When she was gone, Tosan turned back to Sodar, eyes sharp.
‘Thank you for your sermon, Brother Sodar,’ Tosan said, his voice neutral. ‘That was quite a remarkable story. Those lost Terran records, not to mention your felicitous translation … quite remarkable.’
Sodar bowed. ‘You are too kind, Elder Tosan.’
‘Then you will reward my kindness with graciousness.’ Tosan stood. ‘Come to my study. Bring the manuscript and the translation.’
‘I … as you say, Elder Tosan.’ Sodar bowed a second time, much lower. ‘If you will permit me to change clothes and gather my things.’
Tosan nodded then turned to the ancients and masters who had remained. He pointed to Ancients Jerik and Dorstal. ‘Stay and make sure Brother Sodar and Acolyte Ainnevog are not delayed.’
A short while later, the group knocked at Tosan’s study. When the door opened, the Master of Operations greeted them.
‘Elder Tosan will see you in the banned reading room. Ancient Dorstal, you are dismissed.’
Banned reading room? Annev thought, watching Dorstal march back down the hall. Wonder what that’s about. He followed Carbad, Jerik and Sodar in the opposite direction.
While Sodar had packed up his manuscript and closed the chapel there had been no time for Annev to talk to him, especially with Ancients Jerik and Dorstal waiting to escort them to the Academy. But now Dorstal was gone and they were on the move again. Annev lagged behind then tugged on Sodar’s robes, and the priest slowed so he was no longer nipping at Jerik’s heels. He cocked his head slightly to one side, listening.
‘Why did he ask to see us?’ Annev whispered.
‘Manuscript,’ Sodar whispered back. ‘Not happy.’
‘But why me?’
Sodar shrugged.
‘You don’t seem worried,’ Annev said after a long pause.
Sodar turned enough that Annev could see the smile on the old man’s face. ‘I’m terrified, boy, but I’m also prepared. I’ve been expecting this meeting – hoping for it, actually.’
Hoping for it? Annev wanted to ask more, but then Ancient Jerik slowed his pace till he was within earshot of their conversation and he lost his chance.
After some twists and turns, the group passed into a dark hallway and wound down a narrow flight of stairs cut into the back wall of the keep. In all his time wandering the Academy’s halls, Annev had never noticed this passage. He studied the space, wondering why he hadn’t seen it before, and supposed it was because the shadows and its narrowness hid it from view. They went in single file with Carbad carrying the lamp and eventually reached an iron door at the foot of the steps. The Master of Operations passed the lamp to Jerik then took out a ring of keys and unlocked it.
‘Enter.’
Ancient Jerik passed into the room with the bold step of a man who had been there before, yet Sodar paused at the threshold of the reading room. Annev watched him, his face framed in the grim light of Jerik’s flickering oil lamp. It was only a few heartbeats, yet the priest’s hesitation spoke volumes about his uneasiness. A moment later, he entered. Annev followed and Carbad took the lamp back and closed the door, remaining outside.
Annev looked around the dimly lit chamber. An oil lamp flickered on a small table at the back of the room, but the rest of the chamber was filled with bookcases.
A library, Annev realised. Small, but clean and dry – and there was something else. Annev inhaled the scents of crumbling parchment and worn leather and was surprised to find them sweet and musky.
‘Intoxicating, isn’t it?’
Tosan stepped from behind a tall bookshelf with a smaller lamp in one hand and a clutch of thin books in the other. He raised the leather-bound parchments to his nose and sniffed. ‘What is it about old books that makes them smell so delicious – like almonds … or chocolate. Have you ever tasted chocolate, Ancient Jerik?’
‘No.’
‘Sodar?’
The priest hesitated. ‘Decades ago.’
Tosan nodded. ‘I should have Duvarek or one of the other masters pick some up next time they have a mission in Quiri.’ Jerik nodded, Sodar politely bowed his head, and Tosan led them all to the table at the back of the room.
‘I didn’t have the records I wanted in my office, so I thought it best to meet here,’ Tosan continued, setting down both the books and the lamp. ‘The pleasant aroma is a fortunate side benefit.’ He smiled genially, and Annev found himself returning the smile with only a hint of his underlying trepidation. To his left, Ancient Jerik remained stone-faced. To his right, Sodar quietly stroked his beard.
So far as Annev could see, there were no chairs in the room, which seemed odd, even for a banned reading room.
Tosan took a thin cloth from the table, draped it over his open palm, then extended his hand to Sodar. ‘May I see the record – the original?’
‘Of course.’ Sodar pulled the sheaf of papers from under his arm, shuffled them and handed a stack of thick parchment to the headmaster. Tosan studied the pages, carefully turning them with the grace of a practised preservationist.
‘You’ve had this record for thirty-five … forty years, now? … and you’ve never mentioned it,’ he said at last. ‘Why present it this evening, in a public sermon during Regaleus? Why not share your revelations privately, when you discovered them?’
Sodar’s anxiety seemed to vanish – and Annev understood why: there were few things that got him more excited than talking about the Speur Dún manuscript, whatever the circumstances.
‘My apologies, Elder Tosan. I only discovered the key to the translation a decade ago – and even then I was only able to decipher a few words and phrases. None of it made sense. A clause might not reveal its subject until much later in the manuscript. It was impossible to know the value of what I was translating. I only realised this was the Terran translation of the Fall of Keos, as contained in the Book of Odar, a few years ago – though in their record, the event is described in two parts: the first half is the Rise of Fyoldar, and the second half is the Breaking of the Hand of Keos.’
‘And the timing?’ Tosan snapped.
‘The translation is essentially an extension of the first Regaleus narrative, so what better time to share it than during Regaleus?’