by Marc Mulero
“I would be a fool not to. The Judicator sent me here after all, didn’t he?”
“He did.”
“Tell me,” Eres slammed the tome shut with one hand and raised it up, “was Princess Dorescle a Skrol?”
“She came to be, yes, of course. Where there are some blips in the Skrol timeline that, if corrected, surely would have made the chain links stronger over the generations, this princess was not one of the blips. The opposite actually - reinforced steel. Crule. Fire. Like I imagine you will be.”
Eres shook his head.
“What?” Ram looked into his face pensively, arms rolling within his voluminous sleeves.
“Just so many questions, never enough answers.”
“Ah! Well of course. That is the sign of greatness. A good sign, yes.”
“Wait a second… why are you here, Ramillion? This doesn’t feel like a drop in.”
“Mmm.” His rainbow irises reflected the shine of crystalized ice. The silence was for a moment of thinking, maybe to give Eres a chance to figure it out himself. But when the Dawn said nothing, Ram only unfurled one of his arms and gently guided him down one of the consortium rows. “Did you sleep well? A full night? I dare not have bothered you on the day after the play.” He smirked.
Eres laughed. “That was an incredible event. Not sure I ever had that much fun.”
Ramillion beamed at the words. “The life of the party, you were.”
“And a great play it was, too,” Eres added.
“A successful night, then. I would cheer you again had we had two alcohol drinks in our hands.”
Eres continued to smile, but then reverted back to his question. “Yes, I got a full night’s sleep.”
“Good, good.” Ram nodded, eyes to the floor. “Would you say you were… hm… comfortable, here, now?”
“I would. Yes.”
“Perfect.”
“Ramillion?”
“Yes?”
“It’s time, isn’t it?”
“It is, yes.”
“You’re not very direct, are you?” Eres kept eyes on him as their hair began to blow around from the consortium’s enchanted gales.
“I suppose one could say that. One could say I aspire to be a theater actor. How was my debut, by the way? Wait. Don’t tell me, I prefer the suspense of not knowing. But yes, as an aspiring performer, what fun would it be if I just gave one-word answers, or answers at all in some cases?”
“I suppose if we were in theater, that would be right.” Eres egged him on, reminding the old Kujin that this was his life and not some play.
“But aren’t we, Eres, in some way?”
“This is too abstract for a morning discussion.” Eres fought not to roll his eyes.
“Says the aspiring Skrol reading Princess Dorescle’s Learnings of my Foremothers.”
“Hmm.”
Ramillion peered up one of the rows to a stack of books clattering like teeth in the winds. “I want you to choose three tomes that you believe will be of most interest to you. You will take them and they will be your guiding light in the months to come. Direct enough for you?”
“What the… there are a thousand books here?”
“Perhaps you can read my facial expressions as you make your choices. That might help. Hm? I think it will.”
Eres clicked his tongue, staring at the tiny being, scrutinizing him. It was a standoff for a moment, in true theatrical fashion, but eventually Ram’s eyebrows raised. Was he giving a hint? His gaze lifted. One of the silent librarians even nudged a tracked ladder heading in Eres’ direction.
Eres grabbed onto the bars and began to climb, eyes still on Ram, who kept discretely signaling to rise higher.
After about ten steps up, the wind was blowing against Eres’ loose shirt, making it ripple. If he shut his eyes it would’ve felt like scaling a mountain, but he didn’t.
Keep going, he told himself.
There, at the top, just above the last step, the spine of one book shined ruby in its center. A precious stone. That must have been the one.
When Eres stretched to his tiptoes and slid the book from its place, his hand became hot as if the tome had a life of its own. It’s all in your head, he told himself and flipped the wordless cover open. One blank page. Two. Then on the third, a title: The Third Scar by Clas Modon.
Again his hand felt prickly, but in his mind he felt betrayed. This wasn’t right, was it?
Is this how my fata’s journey began? So rigid and prescribed. Shouldn’t I be picking my own books?
Down he went with his prize.
“The princess would have been a good envoy in your journey inward, but Clas was a dark man. I know your favorite Heart was Shetana. I know you yearn to speak again with Wukaldred. I know that the Dark esper fascinates you, Eres.” Ram stepped closer to him and placed a hand on the tome. “Well… here is your insight, so you know what Wukaldred carries with him, at all times.”
Nah, he’s just trying to help me. A guide. This is what I’ve been asking for, right? Concentrated answers to questions. Wouldn’t I be a hypocrite if I complained otherwise?
They perused the aisles deep into the consortium, and whenever Eres paused or slowed down at the wrong times, Ram would clear his throat, nudge him lightly, make a disapproving grunt. Until finally, a tome with a pale green light on a bottom-most row stuck out. The entire section was covered with vines. It screamed Reach, making Eres hesitant to bend down and grasp it, but then Kyta’s voice reminded him that the enchantments were just decorative. As he went for it, the vines unclasped like long spiny fingers and out came the second prize: Efanie Boudai by Arguar the Third.
“Hmph,” Eres grunted to himself, “it’s in Umboro.” He racked his mind for the translation. “D-deepest. Hmm. The Deepest Cove.”
“Indeed,” Ram nodded, “Arguar was prideful, sure, but had an affinity for stumbling into the most interesting of places, both in and out of Rudo. I think you’ll find some astounding answers in there.”
Eres’s interest was piqued… but again, something felt hollow. Wrong. He wanted to make the decision. Although if he did, would he then be ill-equipped for the road ahead?
“You look conflicted, Eres. Could it be that you, too, are prideful?” Ram hooted. “Don’t sweat it, lad, no one, and I mean no one ever got anywhere alone.”
For some reason those words triggered a warmness within him, bringing him back to a different time, a better time - when his father would come to visit Ooma’s shack. When the three of them were all sitting together, examining what goodies Agden would bring back from his travels. But that was all dust now, and so he cast the memory away like a child’s toy.
Eres gulped, straightened, and found this weird defiance deep down within him.
“And that’s why I will take these two tomes with me.”
“Excell-” Ram was interrupted.
“And I will choose the third.”
“Oh ho!”
“That’s right! The princess will come with me.”
Ram rubbed his chin. “I suppose that she will. But you will at least lay eyes on my choice, won’t you?”
Eres stared on blankly, watching Ram lead the way. In truth, he’d expected a different reaction, that the Kujin would be more taken aback perhaps. But no, he wanted to show the downfall of a student challenging a master. Was it just guilt? Was it all in his own head?
Down they went, further, deeper into the consortium into a narrowed section devoid of light but for the outline of a single row of books. Before they’d entered the space it looked entirely pitch black, but as soon as the threshold was crossed, bam, light. Holographic, resplendent light beaming only from in between the tomes.
“A trick,” Eres told himself, trying to shield his eyes.
“An enchantment,” Ram replied back. “Kyta’s actually. She’s quite creative, that little one.”
“Did you just call someone litt-”
“Ah, here we are!” Ram pointed high to a secti
on he couldn’t reach. “Do me a favor and reach up there… no, higher. Higher, lad! Yes. That’s it. That’s the one. Pull… give it here.
The tome was black with golden clasps on the cover’s edges. It looked more like a holy weapon than a book. Wow, he thought, am I making a mistake?
“This,” Ramillion clapped the book shut, “contains the journey of a Skrol within the Ostara esper. Seren’s esper, Eres. What is the old saying?” Ram pretended not to know. “Know thy enemy, I think.”
Eres gulped. Turns out he was shocked. He made the mistake. What to do now? What to do. Swallow his pride and admit fault, or…
“There is another saying, I think. ‘Know thyself,’” he hit back. “The princess will come with me,” he repeated, “because she held the Amrite esper before it was split, because she is my ancestry of esper. I know what I hold now, Ramillion. So, tell me this: How would I ever beat Seren Night if I can’t even navigate clearly myself?”
Ramillion inhaled a long breath in. Eres couldn’t really make out his expression with all of the light and dark contrasts in this room, but he imagined he struck him good. “You,” his tone changed dramatically - there was less play and more sincerity in it, “have been paying very close attention, lad. The whispers about you are true.”
“And what whispers are those?”
Ramillion laughed sarcastically and handed the tome back to Eres to reinsert into its home. “Well, they wouldn’t be whispers if I spoke them loudly now, would they?”
“Hmph.” Eres started his way out of the dark chamber. “What now, great sorcerer?”
“Now, lad, we gather your things from your quarters. Yes, impeller, Crule blade and all. We will give you food and drink sufficient for the first few weeks. I’m sure you will be fine… you survived Dundo-Ba after all.” He winked. “Then I will escort you through the Northern Grottos of the UnderSpire, and you will be free to begin your quest. Come, come.”
Ramillion waved at the head librarian as he exited, who was furiously scribbling down the names of the three books that were just taken.
Down the crystal walkways, past all of the stores, and on the way back to his quarters, Eres wanted nothing more than to continue burying his face in these tomes, but the road ahead was so unclear that he was somewhat nervous. He didn’t have Ohndee this time to stop him from swallowing poisonous berries, or Windel to help him with Seren.
Mustae… Seren. What if he was waiting for me past the Northern Grottos? What if he infiltrated my training path and is just waiting to slay me there?
“Ramillion…”
“Yes?”
“What if… Seren-”
“He won’t, lad. Enchantments are not just for decoration. He wouldn’t risk it. Look at me. He wouldn’t.”
Eres breathed in the cool air to find courage, finding it increasingly difficult to hold the sorcerer’s gaze… to trust him. It didn’t matter though, because he was going through with this training one way or the other. He’d come too far to back down now. So regardless of whether or not he was convinced that this place was actually protected from the likes of Seren, he eventually placated and nodded along.
They kept on in brooding silence for the last couple of minutes until Ramillion stopped at the ice-picket door to Eres’ place, tilted his head and motioned for him to go inside.
There stood Mudry and Kyta waiting. His friends.
“You guys!” Eres’ face lit up. “I thought you were working?”
“We needed to come see you off, silly.” Kyta walked up to him and gave a heartfelt hug, and then said quietly, “Remember. Everyone has a choice.”
“What do you-”
She pulled away and grabbed his arms tightly before he could finish. “There’s greatness in you. And fire. Use them both for me, okay?”
“Okay.” He said before turning. “Mudry!”
“Is Coldness, to you.”
They both laughed while embracing one another.
“Glad I never had to cook in those fire chambers of yours.”
“Me too.” He smiled and patted his head.
“I’ll miss you guys. Thanks for treating me like one of your own from the beginning. Well, not the beginning, considering I thought I was going to be hanging from the ceiling inside of an icicle, but you know, after that.”
Kyta clasped her hands in front of her with a coy smile. “Glad you enjoyed our theatrics. The pleasure was ours. And we’ll see you again soon. Remember, Mudry owes us his story the next time we visit the springs again.”
Mudry hid his face in shame. “No want to-” a slap made him yelp, “fine. Promise is promise.”
“Oh and Mudry. Thanks for the sculptures. You blew me away with those.”
His face was nearly beet red now.
“Okay… we’ll let you pack.” Kyta clutched Mudry by the arm to leave. “Don’t forget us when you’re a big badass Skrol.”
“Deal.”
A few minutes later, Eres emerged with his bag packed and ready to go.
“Good?” Ramillion eyed him to test his confidence.
“Good.”
The truth was, he had butterflies in his stomach. It was as if a past version of himself was living inside of him, the one that was stuck in Ombes in a shack. The one who was scared of being a sexless barren, worried about the outside world. Kor, Reach, people, it all made him want to curl up with Illiad’s Octor and just live through his journeys instead. But that wasn’t him anymore.
He’d lived enough to know better. He was Eres Dawn, and he had his own journey to forge.
“You know Ram, with all of your shows, bright lights, sorcery, sculptures, with all of your radiance… I nearly forgot. I’m still in the presence of a Kujin, the last one maybe. One that has withstood the tests of time unlike the rest of his race.”
“What are you getting at? Now I’m even more convinced of these whispers about you.” A bit of playful concern was in his voice.
“I think you know.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“You claim, just by way of your relaxed existence, that there are others like you out here in Verglas. That you didn’t succumb to the fate that the Osa Sphere thinks you did. But I have a different theory. I think you tell yourself that, regardless of whether or not it’s true. Am I overstepping? No? Good.
“I think that you take God’s Grasp – the potion that keeps you from ‘fizzing.’ I think, if I’m right, that you’re the most selfish being in Ingora. You want to keep on living rather than give other Kujins a chance to experience life. The opportunity to resurrect an entire race from extinction hinges upon your choice. What if you perished at the hand of Seren, or some other enemy of the Skrols? That would be it, poof. Once you’re gone, you would give the west credence in saying you, the Kujins, only live in the history books.”
“Oy. Are we at the Northern Grottos yet? Get me away from this pooper.”
“Entertain me, Ram, please.”
“I thought that’s what I’d been doing!”
Eres shot him a sideways look.
“Hmph. Fine. Suppose you were right about some of it. Do you know anything about our race? What happens when a Kujin fizzes? It was ritualized in my early years, when there were many of us. It was so deeply etched in stone that ‘this is the way.’ Now look around,” he spread his arms, “not many left… not many at all.”
“Why don’t you help me understand?”
“An allegory should put it into perspective for you.”
“Oh, here we go.”
“Silence!” Ram cleared his throat. “A Kujin is born – one with a third eye. It does not see like the others, no. A Curative checks it. ‘Blind,’ she says. But is it? Surely, not. It sees what the other two eyes cannot. Yes, an eye into Gushda… a one in a billion gift. But there is another problem: This Kujin cannot speak. The community – bound by its traditional views – thinks this one a burden. Why bother teaching it? It cannot communicate. Clearly there is something wrong, it would never be abl
e to learn. Why even bother feeding it?
“Don’t give me that look, Eres. The Kujin was fed. My people weren’t savages. But well mannered… heh, that is a different story. ‘The townspeople have spoken. Yes! Let it be declared that this bub will be named Eveie,’ the town chief shouted for all to hear, ‘and that she will be placed under your care, as requested.’
“But who would be crazy enough to volunteer for this burden, you ask? Well, the fission sibling of course. Still, he was dense not to realize that there are circumstances that outweigh tradition. Eveie was clearly intelligent. Could be taught. But never was.
“She may have grown to be the most profound writer of Ingora’s history, with her third eye into Gushda.”
“Um,” Eres interrupted, not able to help himself, “does Mudry have a physical third eye?”
“No! It’s an allegory! A fable! Shush! Eevie grows. Never complains, constantly explores the world of her third eye. Returns daily with a galaxy of data that she weaves into information, compounds into wisdom, for no one to see. No one to hear. No one to understand. A silent Kujin with godlike information. Do you know what happened to Eveie, Eres?”
He shook his head.
“She fizzed. Fission. Broke into two new Kujins. Lost everything. Her gifts did not carry, her memories did not transfer. No statues were erected in her name for her greatness. She was simply… gone.”
“So Kor teachings did have truth in them.” Eres said.
“Quiet! Do you know who cited this allegory? No? Didn’t think so. I’ll tell you. The creator of God’s Grasp. The one who stopped us from reproducing, if we so chose.
“I’ll level with you, Eres. You were right in what you said earlier. We existed for eons with no qualms. It wasn’t until we saw the parenting nature of uemons, of Dagos, the idea that information could be handed down through lineage, with the love and care of an elder. To truly see your kin perform with your own eyes. Oof, you could imagine what a blow it was to the Kujins.
“That was the beginning of the end for our race. We started to believe that we didn’t descend from Mustae, but from some devil whom shall not be named. Kujins were cursed. How could one think otherwise? We fizz and lose everything we ever worked for. No warnings, no choice. We just break apart, and that’s the end of us. Talk about an existential crisis. The only form of immortality that we can achieve is through books, or octors, or espers. Not through our offspring, for we aren’t in existence to teach them anything of what we were. Can you imagine-” Ram caught himself. Eres was a Dawn… of course he could imagine. “You can relate, can understand this… allegory, can’t you?”
