Scammander began running his finger along the wall with his eyes closed. He lapped the square room so many times I became dizzy just from watching, then he finally stopped and smiled.
“The brisure,” he said opening his eyes. He leaned over into a tiny fissure, right in the middle of the wall, and whispered a rare and ancient phrase, “sapere aude.”
The wall parted, revealing a commodious white chamber. The room was made of the same white stone as all the other towers, but at the center was a white fountain with thin blue splashing water. A giant white statue sat perched on the edge, gazing into it with its chin resting on its knuckles. Across from it was a dark skinned man with cutting blue eyes and close cut white hair, standing between a large desk and a bookshelf.
“Immanuel knew you would be back!” he said chuckling. I looked at the statue, who must be Eidos, and looked for someone else in the room who might go by the name Immanuel. Then I realized the cloudy potentate was either so objective or so egomaniacal that he was referring to himself in the third person. “The Dialecticles called after you just moments ago as you went down the hall but it seems like you didn’t hear him.”
Only, we had just got here. Was Johannes here? Was the other pegasus still alive? I turned to leave the room and check the hall, but Scammander gave a slight turn of his head in dissent.
When Scammander didn’t say anything, but stared at the man’s eyes, the sage spoke again. “Yes, you can see Immanuel’s eyes now. Immanuel told you it only lasted a short while, right after we are sublated to the Dialecticles.” The plantagenet of thought then turned to me. “Evander, you look like you have never seen the Dialecticles before in your entire life!”
“I’ve been hit in the head too many times to have a good memory,” I said, lowering my hood and strolling over to the window.
Scammander smacked me on the back of my head. “That’s a reminder to look out,” he said whirling by me and heading towards the desk. “So whose journal are you going to read first?” he said, staring up at the leather bound volumes.
“None of them. The Dialecticles will write a new speculative text.”
“Ambitious,” Scammander said skeptically.
“Immanuel is known here for his four famous critiques, and your statue friend has suggested to me, in his short time here, and through many worthy discourses, that I should embark on a new work of philosophy. The Dialecticles will embark on his 5th Critique: Attempt at a Critique of All Revelation.”
Scammander eyed the statue.
“It will be like a third sun in the philosophical system,” the sublimated suzerain said, his voice burning into the silence.
The motionless statue sitting on the fountain’s edge, slowly turned its head and looked at Immanuel. Scammander tilted his head down slightly and looked at the statue. Immanuel rested his hands behind his back and looked up at the books. I looked at the statue, who looked exactly like Skepsis with the exception that he appeared to be made of pure white marble.
Sensing that Scammander could handle the intellectual standoff, I took a moment to peer out the window. Even though it wasn’t night, there was a chance I could see a star—or get hit by one. Though we had started along the margins of the metaphysical metropolis, it seemed we were now atop the tallest tower in the center of the city.
I felt instantly solicitus as I looked down, and thought I felt a large tremor ripple across the white stones. I threw my hands onto the walls to keep from falling out of the window, and when I had steadied myself, I casually looked back over my shoulder.
No one seemed to notice a tremble at all.
The Dialecticles broke the silence. “Your book has been most helpful in assisting my ascension Scammander,” he said as he pulled a slender tome off his desk. “Reading An Algebra of a Sunset has brought me deep insight into the nature of things.”
Scammander nodded, but he was studying the cover so intently I expected the book to burst into flames at any second.
“And just now you returned with another gift, the marble-man Eidos! I will be able to progress much quicker in thought,” Immanuel continued. “And I will solve all the riddles of this codex!” He fell silent for a moment. “Perhaps even more.”
“Perhaps all riddles?” Scammander said, cutting his eyes over to the statue and producing The World as Will and Representation from the folds of his robe.
“How long have you been reading An Algebra of a Sunset?” Scammander asked the great sage.
“Ceaselessly,” Immanuel replied. “Its calculations are complex, and the philosophy and sorcery used to bind this book are the work of an exceptional mind, even if it is confused at some points.”
“Is the book hot to hold?” Scammander probed further.
“No, like many of the paradoxes within, it is cool to the touch. It seems our author was not without a sense of humor, which is only a minor objection.”
“What is it like to read a book like that?” I asked.
“One does not read a book like An Algebra of a Sunset; it speaks. It speaks in deep and solemn tones, like most of the first books written in this world. All of its sentences are massy, ancient truths composed by a troubadour of the transcendental.”
“That’s twice I’ve had to endure bad poetry in your Cloud-cookoo-land Immanuel,” Scammander scoffed. “I’m likely to stop returning. This city was one of the few places not corrupted by the overwrought verses of maniacs and neglected lovers. Next you will inform me you are going to start teaching the subject in a new university up here.”
The Dialecticles seemed slightly alarmed at Scammander’s insult, so I asked him another question I had been meaning to ask Scammander, but knew he would simply lie to me. “What is the most important thing you have learned after all your reading?”
“That knowledge without power is meaningless, and that power without knowledge does not last long.”
Scammander couldn’t resist. “The proper answer is that you no longer know what is true and what is false, which makes the whole endeavor worthless in the first place.”
When Scammander finished his second insult, Immanuel sighed and turned around and gazed up at his bookshelf. The elf walked over to the desk and put The World as Will and Representation down on the table.
I knew what was going to happen next.
It would be easy for him to flip it open, murder Immanuel, and steal the book but for the first time in his life Scammander didn’t stab an old acquaintance in the back the moment the opportunity arrived.
The Dialecticles turned and knelt down and grabbed something under his desk. When he stood up, he was holding a giant shield in front of his body, ruining any chance Scammander had for a quick assassination. Immanuel laid the artifact across the desk, right over the book.
Painted on the shield was the picture of an honest day’s work. A farmer under a bright sun was tilling his field next to a simple house, a merchant was giving a fair deal, a law clerk was refusing a bribe while composing a speech, a sparse meal of bread, meat, and cheese was a lunch, and a man was going to bed just as the stars were coming out. From the look on Scammander’s face, I couldn’t tell which was more upsetting: the fact that he was gazing upon such a virtuous life or that his best chance at taking a life had been ruined.
“The Dialecticles can’t believe you almost left without this shield,” Immanuel said, tapping his finger on the large pristine aegis.
“Did you have any use for it while I was gone?” Scammander replied to the Dialecticles.
“There was a time when Immanuel needed its magic, and admits he has grown fond of it over the years, but he no longer needs it,” he said with a grin. “How is it that it never scratches, no matter what it is hit with?”
“Well, if you figure that out, you might be able to ascend again,” Scammander said detachedly. “But philosophy won’t help you answer that question.”
“Philosophy…magic…” the pensive potentate answered idly, letting his voice fade away. “Immanuel’s studie
s have begun to suggest that perhaps the two are not so different.”
“Careful,” snickered Scammander. “I remember someone else who suggested that. I think they rusticated him.” His eyes returned to the slender book. “I must ask, just like my minotaur friend. What, after all, did you learn reading that book?”
Immanuel’s eyes dissolved into an intense white light. His voice grew deep and booming. “It worked Scammander. I can see the sun. I can behold the blazing orb in its unfiltered splendor. With my vision I will be able to uplift our cloudy city to the purest epoch it has ever known, ever seen.”
Just then Eidos, who had been gazing motionlessly into the splashing fountain, slid off the edge and turned to face all of us.
“Throw me a silk sandal! Throw it to me and put the other one on!” Scammander screamed.
As I heaved the white laced sandal across the room the pensive marble-man began to speak. I heard the beginning of a poisonous phrase with the tremble-inducing word “why,” but as my lace sandal touched down, I felt soft grass, not marble, and the warm lazy breeze of late afternoon, which the poets say is the whisper of the gods, brushed across my face. I felt serenity all around; such an inviting climate naturally set me on high alert, for I had learned to fear tranquility and happiness more than death itself.
Bertram’s Marbles
“Which, do you think, deserve the greater admiration: the creators of phantoms without sense and motion, or the creators of living, intelligent, and active beings?”
Xenophon
I looked over at Scammander, who had just finished fastening the leather arm strap across his chest, so that the huge shield hung idly over his back. He saw me looking at him questioningly.
“It makes it more difficult for someone to stab me in the back,” he grinned. “Like Johannes has just done.”
“By leaving Eidos on the cloudy archepelagio?” I asked, slightly confused. “Why were you so frightened about what that statue was about to say?”
“Because that wasn’t Eidos, it was Skepsis. Some of Skepsis’s riddles aren’t just playfully esoteric. They induce madness—you go insane the moment you hear it. Others nestle themselves deep in your mind and slowly drive you insane. Johannes painted Skepsis to look like Eidos and smuggled him into the floating city.”
And so he had. “Skepsis gave me a puzzle back at Hexameter’s,” I said, staring out into the windy meadow.
Scammander snapped his head around. “What did he say?”
I shrugged. “I don’t remember. Something about me being a killer,” I said, swatting at the tall grass as it blew about my kneecaps. “No riddle there.”
“No, I suppose not,” Scammander said, taking a step forward then halting.
“What is this place?” I said looking out across the breezy vale once more.
“Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave a paradise for a sect,” he said cryptically. “A zone tucked away in a world tucked away in a dimension tucked away in a universe,” he smiled. “I studied here once, a very long time ago. Bertram, the cleric Johannes has tried to kill multiple times, lives here. Or was banished here it seems. And that means that Eidos is here as well.”
“And An Algebra of a Sunset? You’re just going to leave it in the clouds?”
Scammander shook his head. “It was a forgery.”
Though it seemed like Immanuel had certainly learned something from it. I wondered what kind of knowledge one obtained from a copy of a book, was it truly any different than from an original?
Then I looked at Scammander.
I guess it all depended on who was doing the copying.
My gaze returned to the field which seemed to stretch onwards forever.
It is odd what time leaves undevoured; for here Time’s maw had gorged and gorged again, and yet marble monuments remained. A row of tall white columns from some ancient porch stood amidst the green field, capped with short tufts of yellow grass. There were also solitary ivory columns and statues that dotted the field of plush grass along with chunks of splendid white walls and enchanting arches, overgrown with ivy and wildflowers.
“Put this on,” Scammander said, holding the other white sandal out to me. “You need some new ones anyways, and white seems to be your new color.”
“Very funny,” I muttered, tossing my old sandals away and lacing up the white ribbons across my calves. My nausea had subsided ever since we entered this enchanted meadow, but it had been replaced by a feeling of contentment which made me sicker than ever.
Up ahead I saw the most life-like statue sitting with its back to me in the tall waving grass. He had a garland of wildflowers on his head and marble birds sitting around his shoulders. I knew it had to be Eidos.
Scammander went sprinting past me and flung his staff in the grass as his robe whipped and wrinkled behind him. He drew out his shotgun, planted his sandal on the statue’s back and shoved the barrels into the base of Eidos’s neck. The pithy blast of De Brevitate Vitae resonated across the field as the statue’s head exploded into a cloud of white dust, which was immediately carried away by the wind.
I caught up with Scammander and congratulated him on the kill, but he pointed to his ears and shook his head. His face was coated in white dust.
“Ears are ringing, give me a second.” He began brushing some of the white dust off his robe, then wiped his hand down his face.
“Don’t we need to collect the pieces for Johannes’s new spell?”
Part of Eidos’s shoulder slid off and crashed into the grass, sending up a new cloud of white dust.
“The only thing I’m collecting for Johannes is coffin nails.”
So much for ransoming.
Scammander looked down at his robe for a moment. “I really need a new robe. Maybe I’ll shake his corpse out of that jacket he likes so much after I kill him.”
“Before you do that, you better summon your staff first.”
“I do need a staff,” he said. “I wonder if Bertram has one I can steal.”
Already forgotton. “Hold on a second,” I said, then trotted a few yards back through the grass and grabbed his staff. Or tried to. I strained and pulled until I was out of breath, but still couldn’t lift it. I wiped my brow then waved my hand in the air, and called out to Scammander, who looked over his shoulder for a moment, then up at the sky, before walking over to me.
“Your staff,” I said, pointing down into the grass.
“Well it’s not mine,” he said sliding his sandal under it and kicking it up into his hand.
I put my hand on his shoulder. “Did you really forget that just moments ago you were carrying this? That you got it from that dead wizard?”
Scammander tilted his head to the side. “Of course not. I got this staff from the bottom of an enchanted lake…” he frowned. “No, no, it was from a game of cards with some dwarf sellswords. Or were we drinking,” he said, slowly turning the staff and admiring it. “I think we were drinking their summer ale,” he scowled. “Horrible, horrible stuff. Dwarves hate summer. So they make it bitter. They also hate minotaurs.”
I knew nothing about dwarves. “Is there anything they enjoy?”
“Plays, which is why I hate them,” he said.
“And why we will burn their mountain kingom,” I nodded. “Do you remember where Bertram is?”
He leaned on the staff and squinted his eyes like he was peering far off into the distance. “Nope, and I don’t see him either. But if we start walking I’m sure it will come to me.”
“That’s because we are going after him,” I replied.
“It comes and it goes,” he grinned, tapping his temple.
“You might try to find a spell for making it stick around a little longer,” I said as we walked past Eido’s fractured body.
We must have been walking for hours through the infinite vale, but the light never changed; it was a perpetual afternoon. It also felt like we weren’t going anywhere.
The wind rushed around again, blowing the
thick, tall grass back and forth, like locks on a hectic maenad’s head. The aery surge rushed through my fur and pressed it back against my skin. In the distance I could see a giant white disk jutting out of the ground and as we got closer I could see that it was actually a face. The huge white disk of smooth ivory was all that remained of a young Titan’s head, whose large footsteps must have tread our earth while she was still asleep in starry dreams.
We climbed the giant’s face. The wind again swept across my brow as I stared across the wide green champion, washed in clam white sunlight. At the horizon, where the field met the sky, was a giant throbbing star of silver light.
“The fastest way to there?” I said gently.
Scammander unfolded his fingers in a slow roll of the wrist as he spoke: “If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear; if I were a swift cloud to fly with thee,” he said, chaunting to the wind: “Oh! Lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!” The wind didn’t seem to blow any harder. “You’re too heavy Evander,” he said as the breeze tossed his flaxen bangs about his face, and swept his golden hair off his shoulders. “We’ll have to move ourselves.” We scampered down the fractured titan face and continued our way through the windy grass.
Innumerable and variegated statues of all sizes were scattered across the peaceful plain. We walked past an orator, with his one hand pointing towards the gods, no doubt in the heat of delivery while the other arm, which might have once held a scroll, was missing. Right next to him was a somber statue of a woman standing on a pedestal missing both arms. Further into the deep green grass I nearly stepped on the miniature of a small field mouse, who was sitting upright with a marble acorn between his paws. Only a short distance from the mouse was a pair of frolicking hares and a little further away from them I encountered a solitary marble stag.
After a while, the statues all began to look very similar.
They all looked like Scammander.
There were Scamannders sitting with an open book in their laps, brooding Scammanders leaning on a staff and gazing at the ground, and smiling Scammanders staring up into the sky like some prince of philosophy. The Scammander walking next to me was looking straight ahead, took a breath, and began speaking.
Splatterism: The Disquieting Recollections of a Minotaur Assailant: An Upbuilding Edifying Discourse Page 21
