by Luke Donegan
The Curator of History bowed deeply.
“I give thanks for your work.”
For the first time Jay felt a sense of community amongst the employees of the Museum. They felt like a family and he felt good to be amongst them.
“Please rise for the Director,” said the Curator of History.
The Director entered the auditorium and joined the Triumvirate. One hundred people bowed deeply, paying respect for this person whose face most had never seen.
The Director took a seat behind and above the Triumvirate. The employees of the Museum sat and the meeting began.
“I have an important announcement,” said Paris Aristotle. “The Director has chosen a scion.”
A murmur ran through the audience. People whispered predictions to their colleagues. The general hope was for Paris Aristotle.
The Teacher leaned close to Jay. “He must believe his Passage is approaching,” she whispered.
The Director stood and walked to the front of the stage. The audience hushed. The Director’s golden mask scanned the crowd.
Jay also hoped Paris Aristotle would become Scion-Director. The Curator of History was a gentle man. He deserves it, thought Jay.
The Director spoke. His feminine, ageless voice lifted above the people and dashed their hopes.
“The Curator of Science will be my Scion-Director.”
Silence ensued, punctuated only by the uncomfortable sound of people shifting in their seats. Then two people began to clap – the Doctor and Masodi. They stood and applauded their colleague.
“Yes, forgive us,” said Paris Aristotle. “Well done, Scion-Director,” he said to Jack Gaunt.
All the Museum employees quickly joined in the applause.
The Curator of Science stood and bowed deeply. “Thank you, Director.” He turned and bowed to the audience. Their applause increased, for though they preferred one curator to the other, few had genuine dislike for the Curator of Science.
“He will make a good Director, one day” said the Teacher. “He works hard and is determined in his struggle against evil.”
Jay did not feel so hopeful.
After the excitement of this announcement, the rest of the meeting was uneventful. Each curator gave brief departmental reports. The Doctor announced health checks for all Museum employees. “A list of times and dates is on the table by the door. Take one and don’t keep me waiting.”
The Builder spoke about maintenance on the existing exhibitions and ideas he had for future additions to each dome. “We should form a committee to discuss these ideas,” suggested Paris Aristotle. “Anyone who would like to be in this group, please approach myself or the Builder after the meeting.”
“Good idea, Curator,” said the Builder.
The Teacher swallowed a laugh, knowing how the Builder felt about committees and meetings.
Then came the Taxidermist. “I will be upgrading the animals in the Nature Dome over the coming year,” said the shy, thin man. “I apologise for any inconvenience,” he said, bowing to the Curator of Nature.
Whistles came from the Builder’s children as the Teacher descended to the stage. Jay watched the Builder’s reaction. A smile of love was fixed on the man’s scarred face. The Teacher turned to face the audience, her white robes and red hair billowing with the motion.
“Friends and colleagues. This has been a difficult year. We suffered the loss of our Scion-Teacher, Erys, eight months ago. His death was a tragedy for the Museum and for me. The death of a scion is a heartbreaking experience, as it goes against the natural order of life. I will never forget my scion. He was a good man. His stories brought joy to us all.”
The room shared a last moment of communal memory for this man all had loved and mourned.
“I have found a new Scion,” she said finally. “Jay is as different to Erys as he could be. While Erys had a commanding presence, Jay is unassuming. While Erys was charming and quick to laughter, Jay is serious. But hear this,” and her voice lifted. “Make no mistake. Jay is the most talented Teacher I have ever known. His stories are precise. They cut to the marrow of our existence. I have expectations of a great future, for him and for us all.”
Each face turned to Jay. They applauded and his welcome to the Museum was official. He felt that he had finally arrived, and this feeling of belonging tethered him like the roots of an old, old tree, threading through the auditorium floor and the levels beneath, through the foyer and the workshops, and lower into the tunnels and the great caverns with their secrets hidden within, all the way to the bedrock of the ancient earth.
“Restoration Day celebrations are in three weeks time,” continued the Teacher. “I will tell the story of the Quark Wars in the Central Square. Following that is the annual Hearth-Gathering in the ...”
The Teacher’s voice fell away. All eyes were on the door. Two men had entered the auditorium. The men surveyed the room. Both were tall and dark. They wore robes of natural, faded linen. Their similarities ended there. One was confident and eager while the other was watchful and patient.
Leaving his companion by the door the confident man strode to the edge of the stage. He had long black hair, thick to his shoulders. His eyes were icy blue, like crystals. Scar tissue covered one side of his face. His face and arms were deeply tanned after months under the sun. He had obvious charisma and he arrested the room.
This man was just shy of twenty years. Although the museum employees had not seen him for many months, they all knew him. There were gasps of disbelief throughout the auditorium. A few people stood.
The man stepped onto the stage and bowed deeply. “Director,” he said. “Triumvirate.” He bowed to each in turn. As he turned to face the Teacher, she said: “Erys. I thought you were lost.”
“Teacher,” he greeted warmly.
He tried to bow but she took him in her arms and held him tightly.
“Erys. Erys,” cried voices from the audience. People descended to the stage, surrounding the returned Scion-Teacher. A tight group enveloped the man celebrating his return beyond hope. Only three people were not part of this celebration.
The Director sat in his chair, surveying the meeting.
The strange companion of Erys stood by the door, watching the reunion.
Jay, for the moment forgotten, his roots to this place severed, sat alone at the back of the auditorium.
Chapter 7 DECISION
Jay retired to his room and sat for a long time, looking at the ocean. Eventually he climbed into bed and lay awake. He heard the Teacher enter the office. There came a soft knocking at his door, which he ignored, then the sounds of her retreating to her room.
Evening stretched into deep night.
He woke from a vivid dream. In the dream he had been suspended in a glass container filled with pink, warm fluid. A tube punctured his belly button and fluids pumped through the tube into his body. He was being experimented on.
A vast room lay beyond the glass. His container hung on a wall. Similar containers lined the walls of the room. Hundreds of vats filled with pink liquid. Each held fetuses - the small, embryonic forms of animals curled up into themselves.
Two men approached along the line of containers, examining each. One Jay recognised – the Taxidermist. The other was an animist – he had the body of a man and the head of an emu. The emu man’s black eyes darted from one container to the next as the Taxidermist made notes with a pad and pen.
They stood before Jay’s container.
“He is almost ready,” said the Taxidermist. “Soon he can be born into the world.”
“Gob, gob, gob,” rejected the emu man.
“But if not him, then who?” asked the Taxidermist.
“Gob, gob, gob. Erys.”
The emu man stabbed at the container with his black beak, smashing the glass. Fluid spilled from the container and Jay washed onto the floor. He tried to stand but his arms and legs were unformed. They slipped in the liquid. He looked up as the black beak stabbed down at his
pink, naked flesh.
The midnight corridors lead to the Nature Dome. Jay walked down the hillside in the darkness. A silver pall of moonlight glistened on the landscape and the animals were ghostly figures drifting past. As he entered the desert zone he saw three men gathered on the rocky soil. He could not tell who they were.
Being careful not to tread on the snakes and lizards that populated the area, Jay approached the group.
“These have all been seeded,” said one of the figures.
“Hello,” called Jay. “You are not alone.”
The three men turned with surprise. Jay faced his newly arrived predecessor, Erys, and the Taxidermist. The third figure was the man seen arriving with Erys the previous day.
“Scion-Teacher,” greeted the Taxidermist. “What are you doing here at this hour?”
“I could not sleep, Taxidermist.”
He looked from one man to the next. Why are you here? he thought.
Presently the Taxidermist said: “I am showing my companions the desert zone. They have come from the desert.”
“It is late for a tour,” said Jay. They had been caught in a dubious act, and they all knew it. “You would see more by day.”
“Like you, I could not sleep,” replied Erys.
The man stepped forward and bowed. He was like an athlete before a race, wound up, ready to spring. His body was tall, slight but muscled.
“You are Jay,” he said. “The Teacher told me all about you.”
Erys’ eyes were vibrant and blue. Their focus unnerved Jay as he realised that this man was superior to him in every way. Erys was older, stronger. His eyes betrayed an obvious intellect. He knew the Museum with greater intimacy, as well as the people who worked there. He was closer to the Teacher.
“Allow me to introduce my companion,” said Erys. The third man stepped beside him. “This is Saskareth of the Emu People. Saskareth found me in the desert where I lay dying. He saved my life.”
The companion bowed. Like Erys he was tall and thin. A life in the desert had turned his skin dark. His face shone with silky darkness. Feather-like pleats of braided, black hair ran down the back of his head.
“This is the Museum’s Scion-Teacher,” introduced Erys.
Saskareth bobbed his head. The whites of his eyes shone in the moonlight. “You tell stories, like Erys,” he said.
“Yes,” said Jay. “Although we do not know the measure of each other in that.”
“Gob, gob, gob,” said the man. “Erys has a great story to tell. He fell from the sky like a dragon in flames. And he discovered that ...”
The Taxidermist stepped up to interrupt. “There are things better left unsaid.”
“Yes,” agreed Erys. “We will take our leave, Scion-Teacher, until tomorrow.”
Jay bowed and turned to leave. As he walked away he felt the man’s eyes boring into his back. He stumbled on an unseen rock, caught his balance and continued.
“Scion-Teacher.” Erys ran up beside him. “I talked with the Teacher yesterday. She said that you were a good man and a talented scion. I trust the Teacher in everything. So, I want you to know, that this is not personal.”
The two faced each other. Erys’ eyes flexed with excitement.
“Yes?”
“I intend to resume my role as Scion-Teacher. Of course, there can only be one Scion-Teacher,” he said almost kindly. “Do you have an old life you can return to, now I have returned?”
Jay slept late. He woke to a knock at the door. “We have been called to a meeting with the Scion-Director,” the Teacher told him on opening the door. “Twenty minutes. I have prepared breakfast.”
He dressed and emerged into the office. The Teacher sat with Erys on the tatami.
“Good morning Scion-Teacher,” said Erys as Jay joined them. “How do you enjoy my ocean room?”
“Erys,” said the Teacher sternly. “Keep your dignity. This is a difficult situation for both of you.”
“I apologise,” said Erys, dipping his head.
Jay did not share his colleagues’ enthusiasm for the ex-scion. “I like it well enough, Erys,” he replied. “Though I do not like your tone.”
“Enough!” said the Teacher, looking from one to the other. “Jay, eat something. We are short of time.”
“I am not hungry, Teacher, thank you.”
The Teacher rose and began to clear away the dishes. Jay looked directly at Erys.
“How did you survive?” he asked.
Erys opened his mouth but did not get to speak.
“Not now,” said the Teacher. “Jack Gaunt wants to hear your story. We will all learn then.”
She carried the dishes to the kitchen. Brushing down her robes with a brisk, distracted motion, she faced her two scions. “Now,” she said. “It is time to go.”
As they walked to the elevator, Jay asked the Teacher a question.
“No,” she replied. “There can only be one Scion-Teacher.”
The Curators and their scions gathered in the office of the newly appointed Scion-Director. Masodi strode forward to greet Erys, as did Jaime, the young scion of Paris Aristotle. “Well met, Erys. Well met indeed,” said Masodi, grasping Erys by the shoulders. “How did you do it? How did you come back?” asked Jaime.
“Give him space boy,” said Paris Aristotle. “He needs to breathe.” Then the curator shouldered through to embrace Erys. “Oh it is good to have you back,” he said, voice trembling with emotion.
Sian stood quietly behind the men. Erys stepped past the others to greet her. Neither said a word, but their eyes lingered. Sian lightly touched the scar tissue on Erys’ cheek.
Jay realised that they were in love. He stepped quietly back into an empty corner of the room and observed the proceedings.
“Who are we waiting on?” asked Jack Gaunt.
Four more employees arrived – the Builder, the Taxidermist, his scion Clara, and Saskareth. The Taxidermist and Saskareth hovered beside each other. How have they come to be so close, in less than a day? wondered Jay. He studied their eyes. There was something they shared. A similarity he could not put his finger on.
“That is everyone,” said Jack Gaunt. “Please be seated. I would like to begin by formally welcoming Saskareth. Be at peace in our Museum.”
He bowed to the desert man. Saskareth stood and bowed in return. The desert man lifted a small bundle he had brought with him.
“I have a gift from the desert” He untied the bundle to reveal a small collection of seeds of varying shapes, sizes and colours. “These are the seeds of desert plants. They are sacred objects to be planted in the desert zone, if you would have them.”
“We are honored by this gift,” said Jack Gaunt graciously, accepting the gift. “We will plant them and rejoice as they grow.” He turned to Xia Tsang. “Curator, perhaps you should take these.”
“Thank you,” said the Curator of Nature to Saskareth, bowing deeply. “They will add diversity to the dome.”
“There are questions to be answered,” continued the Scion-Director. “Erys, how did you survive? Where have you been this last year? Saskareth, do you come from the desert and are there others like you? There is much to learn.” He turned to Erys. “Scion-Teacher, I will ask you to begin. How did you come to survive the zeppelin disaster? And where have you been these past months?”
Erys claimed the centre of the floor. He was comfortable with these people, for he had known them all his life. And he was a confident teller of stories. He knew how to tell a tale and make his audience gasp with anticipation. He was the Scion-Teacher of the Museum and he had returned home.
He dreamed of falling. It would never end, this terror, this freedom. He loosed a roar of fear, his jaws open wide. Heat and flames rolled over his tongue and seared the air.
The wind stung his eyes. He braved the pain and gazed into a silver, featureless world. Perhaps he was in cloud. He could not gauge distance. Perhaps when one rode the great wind, when one was Spirit, distance no longer existe
d.
Far away he saw something. A wisp of cloud approached. No, not a cloud. It was many things, individual specks, thousands upon thousands of them in the air. The specks grew and became creatures. They were dragons. Wings extended, thousands flew towards him through the silver sky. It was a sight so beautiful he thought he would die.
A rough hand shook him.
“Awake now,” said a voice. “It is enough. It is time to wake.”
He opened his eyes. A man with a dark face stood above him. The man had fierce, braided hair.
“Falling man,” said the obscure figure. “I will ask you questions.”
“Yes,” whispered Erys.
“What is your name?”
“I am Erys.”
“Good, Erys. Where do you come from?”
“From Pars. In the west. I was on the zeppelin.”
The figure nodded. “Yes. But the zeppelin exploded and you fell to earth. Now, listen carefully.”
“Yes?”
The figure leaned close.
“Gob, gob, gob,” said the man, bobbing his head with the sound. “Are you a dragon?”
“What?”
“Are you a dragon? Gob, gob, gob. Is this your spirit form?”
Erys half-fainted. “I don’t understand. I dreamed I had fire in my belly.”
The man nodded and stood. “Sleep now, falling man. You need to rest.”
As the man turned to leave Erys saw glorious wings unfurl behind him.
Riding the great wind he twisted amongst the clouds, searching, searching for that beautiful sight, a thousand dragons flying towards the ocean of souls.
He woke as someone entered the room. Although he knew they had spoken before, he had no recollection of this man.
“You are improving.” The visitor sat beside the cot that held Erys.
The man wore clothes of an unrecognised style. Erys ascertained he was far from home.
Erys recovered in a small, underground cave. Walls and floor sculptured from old, calcified stone, water dripped from stalactites in the ceiling and drizzled along grooves in the floor. Moisture softened the air. But for the ocean, Erys had never seen water in such abundance.
