“Very well Simon, when is the book due?”
“When the sun rises, tomorrow.”
And so I prepared to kill the Simon the archivist.
“I am, of course, only joking. I will expect the book back on the Twelfth Night, since I know how much you enjoy the darkness.”
“That shouldn’t be too difficult for you Scammander. All you have to do is stop time and prevent the New Year from coming in.”
“A fitting task for a twelfth night,” Scammander sighed.
“A philosopher once wrote about a city that cynics could never see and that careful wonderers could never find. A utopia that one could never get to the same way twice.”
Scammander grinned. “Yes Simon, I have been to your floating republic. But what would take you there?”
Simon grinned and nodded. “I am most interested in acquiring Proculus’s On the Migration of Pegasii Towards Certain Constellations At Dusk and Dawn and A Scientific Inquiry Concerning the Many Colors and Varieties of the Unicorn’s Mane, which I suspect are kept in the legendary library.” He paused. “I might be able to extend the due date on this overdue book if you would be willing to undertake such an exploit.”
Scammander frowned. “The Pegasus knows the way. Both of them do.” He frowned again, a little bothered that he even had to explain. “One knows the way when the sun is up, one knows the way when the sun is down.”
Simon returned the frown. “Ah yes, our Pegasus twins were stolen some time ago.”
Scammander winced and buried his face against his fist. “Now who would be mad enough to break into our learned sanctuary and steal them.”
I suspected Hythloth slaughtered them and left their frozen remains on the tundra.
“Well Scammander, I suppose it is time for you to leave once more,” Simon said gently.
“The same time whose power it is to overthrow law and in one self-born hour plant and overwhelm custom? I am his knight.”
“The same time whose whirligigs bring in his revenges,” the older scholar replied, unphased.
“Well then, let us pray this time is on my side,” Scammander said flippantly as he reached into his robes and pulled out a magical scroll. As he was studying the letters, the scholar moved closer to examine the scroll.
“Oh, traveling primitively are we?” he chuckled. “The last time I saw you, you said you would never travel by gate again, and then you faded away right in front of me.”
I could only hope the gate spell didn’t work, and that it might tear the world apart.
“Nostalgia is an unforgiving prince to the poet,” Scammander said with a smile. “Actually, I think I’ll take a walk,” he said turning to me. “Come on Evander, I’ll show you around the gardens myself.”
Simon smiled as we turned to leave. “Yes, I think I will go and make some tea and prepare Hythloth’s afternoon philosophy lesson.”
As the heavy oak door quietly closed behind me, I leaned into Scammander. “You look surprised about that book you checked out.”
“Yes,” he said, “I thought I had stolen it.”
A Scholarly Appendix of Dubious Lessons
“If, then, neither the false nor the true is being taught, and besides these there is nothing capable of being taught (for no one, to be sure, will say that, though these are unteachable, he teaches only dubious lessons), then nothing is taught.”
Sextus Empiricus
“If neither the matter taught exists, nor the teacher and the learner, nor the method of learning, then neither learning exists nor teaching.”
Sextus Empiricus
We crept through the snow-covered gardens with branches that hadn’t produced flowers in hundreds of years and quickly back out onto the frozen lake. The snow was falling faster and thicker now.
“What—”
“I don’t know, but he was clearly under some sort of enchantment.”
“The blue mist in his eyes.”
Scammander nodded.
Out of the blinding snow a giant with thick white fur flashed in front of us and scooped Scammander up in his arms, no doubt to crush and suffocate him.
“How fortuitous! How fortuitous! Scammander!” the snow yeti grinned as he buried the elf in his wintery pelt. “It’s so great to see you again!” he said lowering the wizard back down onto the snow-brushed ice of the lake.
“Brythfyrth?” Scammander exclaimed in disbelief.
“Indeed, and I have completed a dissertation!” he exclaimed. “But no one in our icy caves wants to read it,” he concluded, slightly crestfallen.
“The fate of most dissertations,” Scammander said. “What’s it about?”
The yeti began digging in his shaggy, icy pelt until he unstrapped two leather cords and swung a gargantuan tome around, handing it to Scammander. The book was nearly as large as the ‘zard, who stumbled a little as he strained to hold it while looking at me, quietly pleading for help. Cracks and tiny fissures shot out below his feet, and the asking turned to pleading in his eyes.
I took hold of the book, but only on the vain hope that I would fall through the ice and straightaway sink to the bottom of the lake. “On the Bottomlessness of Density” I read aloud.
“Truly profound,” Scammander said wryly.
“I’m very proud of the number of footnotes I was able to include,” the yeti said with a big grin.
I tucked the book close to my chest and squatted down on the ice, trying to break through.
“Give it a rest Evander,” Scammander said looking over to me. “Knowledge kills slowly.”
I sighed, for he was right. “How am I supposed to carry this across the wide-world?”
The yeti looked consternated, but all the scholars must have stopped talking in his head, for he was able to provide a solution to our problem. “Here, take these” he said, holding out the leather straps to Scammander.
“On your back, where the rest of us carry our problems,” Scammander chuckled, tossing me the straps.
“I still remember our first meeting. I was so bored and lonely I was suffering and miserable until one day I fortuitously happened upon this errant-wizard who taught me many things, including how to speak.”
“What about magic? Any magic lessons you might care to demonstrate in front of your old tutor?” With any luck, they might jar Scammander’s memory.
Brythfyrth grinned. “Oh no, I have no interest in magic. But Scammander did give me something quite magical.”
I leaned in eagerly. “And what was that?”
“Knowledge!” the yeti exclaimed, followed by a hearty laugh. “In all seriousness, he did give me a very magical item,” Brythfyrth continued, looking at Scammander. “You gave this ring to me long ago, and I used it to sneak into the library and read all the scholarship,” he said, holding it out in his palm. A series of letters carved into the ring spelled out the word “Gyges,” which must have been the name of some old wizard. “Though you never mentioned where you acquired an artifact of this nature; I was hoping you might tell me where exactly you got it,” the giant said, placing it in the wizard’s open hand.
“I believe I acquired it while on a book expedition,” he said. “Or shortly after one concluded.” Scammander slipped the ring over his finger, turned it once, and vanished.
“And since you did this for me, I will do the favor that you asked of me so long ago,” the monster said staring at me. “I will slay your companion.”
There was an uneasy silence as we both looked at one another.
“Before you kill me, you must first decide how to begin, for as the philosopher says, the beginning is the most important,” I began.
Scammander flashed back into view between me and the yeti. “Too late for that now, old friend. Hythloth has perished.”
The yeti was still debating how to begin killing me, and thus did not answer immediately.
“This is Evander, my brother. There is no need to kill him.”
Brythfyrth turned back to the elf. “I looke
d for Hythloth often when I was out here, though I confess after a while I forgot what he looked like.”
“You might have read a book on that sort of thing,” I chided.
“Oh I learned many theories on how to remember what someone looked like.”
“You never bothered to try a few?” I said.
“No because there were always a few more to learn by the time I finished memorizing the arguments of all the others.”
“And that is the problem with books. There is always another to read,” Scammander snorted. “Brythfyrth I didn’t give you a book titled An Algebra of a Sunset did I?”
“No, but I wouldn’t mind reading it if you have it handy.”
Scammander shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t. But you could help me if you would write a second book, perhaps on learning to recollect.”
“You will need this in order to conduct your research,” he said placing the ring back in the yeti’s hand.
“Thank you Scammander,” Brythfyrth said smiling. “I will dedicate this second book to you!”
“To his memory would be more apposite,” I muttered as Brythfyrth departed.
Scammander watched until he was certain that the yeti had disappeared into the snow.
“Step back, I’m going to try to get us out of here.”
“What, with some magic?”
He nodded.
“I thought you didn’t know any magic.”
“I don’t. That’s what these scrolls are for,” he said motioning me to move away. “Get back, I don’t like it when people crowd around me to cast.”
I rolled my eyes and took a few more steps back from the skinny wizard as he read over a scroll.
Gentle saffron curls of light interwoven with soft yellow ribbons sputtered out of Scammander’s fingertips as he flubbed the spell. I watched as each soft flame fell away from his fingers like radiant flower petals, then dissolved in the falling snow. Scammander sighed, then pulled out a scroll and gave it a second reading before rolling it up and burying it back in his robes.
“Tell me about Hythloth,” I said taking a few steps back. Maybe he just needed some more space.
“His is a sad story.”
“It’s still winter,” I said watching the snow drift down from the grey sky.
“Another time,” he said as the world shrieked and a shimmering blue gate appeared. “I think I remembered where I left that book.”
A Philippic Against Life
“Nature has ordained that the more man learns to live, the more reasons for living desert him.”
Leopardi
I stepped on—air. I tumbled out of the gate, hit my shin on something, hollered, and then hit the ground. I rolled over, saw Scammander step through and—hover in the air. The dim blue glow of the gate faded as Scammander slowly lowered to the ground. I sat up and rubbed my throbbing shin.
“Where are we?”
“Where everyone goes eventually.”
I looked around. A graveyard. I was sitting between two rows of small tombstones half way up a small knoll. The night sky was overfull of stars casting the hill in an unnaturally bright white light. “Except for you.”
“You didn’t scream did you?”
“Of course I did, I smashed my shin on one of these tombstones.”
Scammander slouched a little and rubbed his temples, then looked up at the sky. He was about to say something, but froze. A small floating ball of light descended from the sky and slowly wound its way between tombstones and across the grass leaving a small trail of fading, pallid light behind it. It stopped in front of us and unfolded into a floating young girl.
“Hello Scammander,” the banshee said, with a beaming grin.
Scammander grimaced.
“What are you doing here Evander?”
“Looking for inspiration,” I said not bothering to guess how it knew my name. “Do you know of any stone with a good motto etched on theirs?”
“Could I recommend one?” she said.
“Of course,” I said, standing up.
“A virtuous life is seldom a long one.”
I had to laugh at the pun before answering. “I’ll remember to keep it short.”
“Should we begin the questions then?” she said looking at me.
I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. “Usually people are trying to kill me for what Scammander has done, so answering a few questions is actually a relief. Maybe even a disappointment.”
She smirked.
“I tell you that I died recently. How young was I when I died?”
“That’s absurd. No one is born young anymore.”
“What is the greatest thing about life?”
“That it is over quickly.”
“Who knows more about love than the Poet?”
“The Philosopher.”
“And how many philosophers are there in the Academy?”
“None, only journalists.”
“Which is more valuable, what is said or what is written?”
“One is immediately worthless, and the other is eternally worthless.”
“Which is heavier, life or death?”
“Life, because it is so full of ills.”
“Very well Evander, you may continue on. Scammander will follow shortly.”
I shot a quick glance at Scammander before slowly winding my way through the tombstones; just as I was almost out of ear range, I heard the banshee say to Scammander, “Congratulations Scammander, you have found one more dead than all of the dead, and yet one who is still alive. Your ban is lifted.”
I waited outside of an ominous grey mausoleum when I reached the top of the hill. Scammander must have buried the book in one of the plots. From here we would be able to easily survey the cemetery.
“You were banned from this place? What for?” I asked as Scammander came up next to me.
“Let’s go insdie,” he said.
I pushed the thick, large stone door of the mausoleum in. It took both hands. We entered a room that was a simple stone box, with some frail brown leaves strewn around the marble floor and thin cobwebs sticking in the corners. Scammander walked past and pointed to the wall. I followed close behind as we—walked right through it.
“I have no idea. I didn’t even know I was banned.” We were standing at the top of a very dark wooden staircase. “I just wanted to avoid that banshee. I hate how cold it gets when they are around,” he said, disappearing down the staircase.
“I didn’t feel cold,” I said down into the darkness.
“Of course not, you’re more dead than all of the dead.”
Tombsongs in Riotous Hexameters
“Neither the sun nor death can be looked at steadily.”
La Rochefoucauld
At the bottom of the stairs was a bright, spacious room filled with rows and rows of huge bleached white sarcophagi with long black stains running down their edges like dried souls. We glided through the rows until we arrived at the back of the room. To the left there was a large door of ebony wood, perfectly flush with the grey stone wall of the crypt. Hanging out from the top of the door was a wrought iron sign post with a sign of sable wood; etched in elaborate gold cursive was one word: “Hexameter’s.” A skeleton with cobwebs for skin stood to the left of the door and sitting next to the skeleton on the other side was a leopard with smooth yellow eyes, slowly waving its tail and wryly grinning, never once moving its gaze from Scammander. The skeleton spoke first:
“Roses are dead, violet’s my hue…”
“But down here in this crypt, I’m ‘s alive as you,” Scammander sang.
Next, the leopard spoke: “What wish do you find most ridiculous among the living?”
“That they do not wish for death,” he replied.
“What is my name, and what is my favorite poem?” said the leopard, tilting its head.
“Hemlock is your name, and the poem you so love is like a whisper that makes even the evening envious: the Ode to a Nightingale.”
<
br /> Next, all three of them began to chant an old song in soft tones, and it was clear that they were going through a ritual, and that if Scammander misspoke it would have dire consequences.
Hythloth was starting to look like the easy way to get inside a library.
As the chant concluded, the lid from a sarcophagus behind us slid off. I peeked over the edge and saw a spiraling staircase stretching down below the ground.
“How long did it take you to figure all that out?” I asked as Hemlock softly sauntered toward the hidden entrance.
“A couple thousand years,” Scammander said as he walked by me.
“Who has that kind of time?”
“The dead,” he said looking at the sarcophagus.
Hemlock leapt up on top of the sarcophagus and slowly prowled along the edge. “Before you descend, I have to ask you a couple of questions. We ask all of our members these questions now before they are allowed to enter.”
Scammander nodded.
The skeleton’s stiff gate finally brought it over to the sly panther. It jammed its bony hand through the thick spider silk and into its ribcage and began rummaging around the cavity where its stomach used to be until it pulled out a tightly rolled parchment sealed with black wax. The skeleton shook some cobwebs from the scroll, then unrolled it and held it in front of Hemlock.
“Are you intent on killing, torturing, or dueling any old enemies once you recognize them?”
Scammander frowned. “That seems like a personal question.”
Hemlock sat down and curled his tail around his paws. “We have done away with anonymity.”
Now Scammander looked really shocked. “What? You mean members are actually going to be able to see me?” The wizard recoiled. “If even half of the sorcerers I’ve betrayed in this library alone are still alive I’ll be dueling everyone down there for the next dozen millennia.”
“That may be so, but it was the only way to ensure the rest of our members that you were no longer in their midst. Everyone felt much safer once you were banned,” he said flatly. “Books also disappeared at a much slower rate.”
Splatterism: The Disquieting Recollections of a Minotaur Assailant: An Upbuilding Edifying Discourse Page 8
