Tenebroum

Chapter 139: A Convoluted Convocation

Jordan rubbed his eyes as the words swam in front of him. Right now, that was merely a figure of speech, given his fatigue, but sometimes, he was certain it was literally true. This was not the first time he studied Sister Annise’s strange book, and each time he did, he had trouble finding a passage or an illustration that he’d studied intently previously.

It was a ridiculous notion, of course. The first time it had happened, he’d told himself he’d simply gotten the pages confused or that it had gotten lost in the clutter. It was an easy thing to believe, given just how odd the whole thing was, but he no longer believed it.

The book itself was a four-inch tome that had obviously been pieced together from two or more other books. Sister Annise claimed to have made it by hand and done many of the gildings and illuminations herself before the book had taken her sight, but Jordan could see at least two other hands at work besides the spindly script of the woman.

The whole thing was a study of contrasts, inside and out. The binding of the Book of Ways was a rich chestnut leather that was practically marred by its scribbled title and its ugly, dull, leaden corner protectors. Those clashing aesthetic choices looked almost well-designed in comparison to the pages of the book, though.

It was obvious to Jordan that this had started out as a Book of Days, which was one of the many holy books that the Siddrimites venerated. It was sort of their religious history book, and though the Collegium disputed many of the points it made about the last few hundred years since Siddrim had supposedly lifted the world out of the dark ages, they agreed on the main points: darkness had once ruled, and many wicked creatures had terrorized civilization before mankind had brought them to heel one at a time.

It was a far cry from that now. Though most of the most prominent embellishments and illustrations were still in place, much of the wording had been pasted over by fragments of madness, and what little remained of the original text had been scribbled over in a different hand, and new notes had been added in, in the margins.

Lines like, ‘Siddrim commanded the dark waters, and verily they slank into the depths or fled the world entirely to escape his wroth’ were replaced with notes that read, ‘Siddrim didn’t do that! That was Posiphina. Liar! LIAR!’

The pasted-in fragments didn’t seem to concern themselves with either version of the original text. Instead, they were long, rambling observations done in a sloppy hand on seemingly mundane things that were usually accompanied by clumsy illustrations of their own. The way that people walked through a market square and were obviously in cahoots even if they never spoke to each other, the way that turbulent currents flowed through a stream, and numerology significant days that some count chose to spend with his mistresses were all topics that were discussed at some length on this page.

It didn’t seem to be about any of those patterns in particular, of course, it was more like the nature of the patterns as a whole. Sometimes, if he read for too long, Jordan almost got what the man was after. Those moments of clarity happened just often enough for him to think that the person who wrote this tome might have been a mad genius instead of simply a madman, but on the whole, he was still undecided.

He honestly had no idea what it was she claimed was offering her guidance in this book. Hell, she could no longer even read it, and if it was truly changing, as he suspected, then there was no way she could memorize it either.

That didn’t stop her from claiming that he was the shepherd and that he had to escape with his flock while ‘the fires were still burning.’

“Escape?” he’d laughed. “To where? Death lies in every direction! To the north is a city under siege, to the west lies the ruins of Abenend, the south has been abandoned, and to the east lies the sea!”

“Abenend has not fallen,” she answered, shaking her head, “But it will. Our destiny… your flock’s destiny doesn’t lie in that direction, though.”

They’d argued about that for some time. If the Magica Collegium still stood, then it was about the only place he would consider fleeing to, but there was no need to flee anywhere.

This spring, they’d already started to build a palisade to reinforce the manor, and the herds were finally starting to grow again. Though the men and women under his stewardship did not yet have an easy life, they had enough food every night, which was more than most could say in these trying times. Thanks to Brother Faerbar’s hard work the previous year, the goblins and the bandits had largely been dealt with, but every little bit would help.

Despite all of those very reasonable positions, though, she insisted, they flee while there is still time. “The fire will not burn forever!” she declared. “You and everything you would preserve must be gone from here when the darkness returns!”

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She could never answer his real question, though. Why would he flee from the comfort and safety they’d carved out so diligently over the last year and a half to seek out this hermit if the woman didn’t even know who he was?

It had given him much to think about, but in the end, he could hardly put much stock into what it was she said. The Sister had insisted that he read this book like it might convince him where her ravings hadn’t, but if anything, it just made her less credible.

At least, that was until he found the children among the tome’s pages. That was a frightening moment. It was something that he would have sworn she’d scrawled when he wasn't looking if he hadn’t had the book since before she’d been allowed a room in the manse to recuperate from the ordeals of travel.

She’d never had the chance to make such an addition, though, nor could she have known about the children before she’d gotten here, especially not the glowing eyes. Markez had found the phenomena deeply unnerving, but he’d been spreading that fact around since his departure; surely more than a lone crazy woman would have come to investigate, wouldn’t they? He wondered as he stared at the illustration.

Its strikes were clumsy, but the details were still clear. It showed 18 children smiling in the garden next to the sparing yard. Some of them were so clear he could have named them. Jenna was there, complete with her recent growth spurt, towering over some of the other boys like Toman and Reggie. Even little Leo was there at the front with the serious look he so often wore on his face.

It was undeniable that his charges were in this strange book, but it had no detectable magic that could explain it. Not that he had many tools to go on there. Neither scrying nor identification was something he’d had much of a chance to learn at the Collegium. That was one of the reasons he’d locked the River Dragon’s manacle away for so long. That piece of work was dripping in foul magic, but once he’d finished making a rubbing of it for further study, he’d buried it in the once hallowed ground of the town cemetery so as not to be tainted by it, or worse, to draw more evil to them.

He’d spent the last year hoping a more knowledgeable mage might have turned up so he could hand such a burden off to them, but that had never materialized. Now, he had no idea what to do with it.

That’s the problem with all of this, though, Jordan thought with a sigh, closing the book after carefully noting the page number so that he could talk to Sister Annise about it later. For the time being, he wanted nothing to do with any more insanity, though, so he spent the afternoon doing what he did so often: watching the children spar.

In the mornings, they were forced to do their lessons so that they could learn their letters and their numbers, but in the afternoons, when learning and chores were both complete, they would engage in tiny mock battles that were the main source of entertainment these days at Sedgim Manor now that Brother Faerbar was no longer around to beat the other men.

Sometimes, Jordan would launch little pyrotechnic fireworks for the holidays, but that was not a common thing. Even after all this time, his magic unnerved some more than all the glowing eyes combined.

He wasn’t the only one who wasn’t doing much with his natural gifts, though. Given how peaceful things had been, most of the combat drills had fallen by the wayside since their paladin had left in favor of other, more enjoyable activities.

Only the children still practiced every day, and they treated it like a war because that was what their master had drilled into them from the earliest ages. They went at each other like professional knights and worked together in tiny formations of three and four as they warred for control of the tiny hill that had been worn down to almost nothing by all the scuffles.

Each day, the teams changed. They were decided randomly, and they drew lots of black or white stones from a little bag. Mostly, it came down to which side Braedon and, more recently, Jenna were on, though Jordan didn’t expect that gap would last too much longer. Once all of the other children started to hit their growth spurts, things would even out, and skill would matter more than size.

In the evening, after the white team had pronounced their victory and dinner had been eaten, Jordan returned to the Sister’s room with the Book of Ways under one arm. He found her already waiting for him. Before he could even ask her about the children, she said, “So, you’ve seen them then? You believe me now?”

“I… wait… How could you possibly know such a thing?” Jordan asked in confusion. “What sort of trick is this?”

“Even as you read the book, it reads you, Shepherd,” she smiled cryptically. “That is the way of these things.”

“It… read me?” he asked, certain he’d misheard her.

“Indeed,” she smiled. “You are apparently quite the page-turner.”

“That… makes only slightly less sense than the idea that the book is changing each time I read it,” he sighed. “I need answers, Sister Annise, not more questions.”

“Of course, it changes,” she smiled wider like he’d finally gotten some important point, even though he hadn’t. “No river stays the same from day to day, and the river itself is always changing.”

“But… if that’s so, then how can you know what comes next?” Jordan asked.

“The river changes but rarely leaves the bounds that were decreed by the Gods,” she nodded. “So things are as they have always been. The bonfire has been lit, but when the flames fail to burn away the night, then the shepherd must leave his flock to the hermit. It is the only way forward.”

Jordan was glad that she was blind because, for a moment, he could only stare at her in disbelief. The way she spoke to him with such certainty was almost as confusing as the tome that guided her. He took a deep breath and vowed to start the conversation again, but this time, he would keep a tighter grip on its reins.