Circle of Reign (48 page)

“Because our ancestors weren’t called Sentharians before they came here.”

“Oh, Burning Heavens, are you serious?” Holden whispered. His brow was furrowed tightly.

“We really have to work on your swearing,” Ryall said. “And of course I’m serious. I think you should stop asking questions and start reading. You have some catching up to do.”

“What happened to this ‘Luminary’ of yours?”

“Wouldn’t you rather just read for yourself?”

“I’d rather be in bed, safely asleep, and not lurking through dark, forgotten underground little evil libraries!”

“This is little?”

“I’m going to stone your head in,” Holden threatened.

“All right, all right! Sensitive, huh?”

“Sleep deprived.”

“Fine, here’s your last freebee. It’s true that Brant Kearon lead House Kearon and her allies against House Wellyn, like we’ve always been told. But knowing that Oliver Wellyn wasn’t actually the leader of the Senthary at the time, or, that is, of the Faylen people, makes you wonder a little, right?”

“No, not really.”

Ryall looked at his friend, surprised. “Holden, you crow turd, we’re taught that Oliver Wellyn was the High Duke and Brant Kearon made a play for rule. These Archiver tablets,” he continued, emphasizing “Archiver”, “say that the Luminary, the Bastard of Kearon, led the people and that House Wellyn convinced others to rebel against him. Archivers only record what they see without bias.”

“Bastard of Kearon? You come up with that yourself, did you?”

“Yup, took me all night,” Ryall announced with mock pride.

“I thought so. Impressive.”

“Obviously House Wellyn won, otherwise we would not be here now.”

“Very astute of you. Why the rebellion against your Bastard of Kearon?”

“He had a book of some kind with powerful words. The description is more akin to a bunch of parchment strung together but the tablets say he was never seen without it. They say when he spoke the words people were empowered and could achieve great things beyond their normal strength or intelligence.”

Holden closed his eyes and sighed. “And Oliver wanted the book that contained magic for himself so he tried to take it by force, right?”

“How did you know?”

“It’s so predictable, Ryall. It’s the same story over and over. Someone has power, someone else covets it.”

“There’s probably a reason it’s a common theme, genius. It’s our nature as people.”

“Maybe yours, I just want to go about my learning and keep my head down.”

Ryall continued, undeterred: “After the Kearon were defeated they were stripped of power and all citizenship, like we’ve always been taught, and the Kearon mostly emigrated south to the desert.”

“You’ve used two four-syllable words in the last sentence. Very well done. Was the Luminary killed?”

“It doesn’t say.”

“If the book was so powerful, or its words, how were the Kearon defeated?” Holden asked.

“For the first year or so, House Kearon and her allies seemed impenetrable. They actually never did any offensive campaigns. Just defended where attacked and won every battle. But after that year, something happened in the war that turned the tide.”

“Yes?”

“Oh a little more interested now, I see. Well, it doesn’t actually say that either. There were rumors of many assassinations, though, that plagued the Kearon people and her allies. Almost every lord who sided with the Luminary and Brant Kearon was found dead. Soon after, the alliance of houses in support of House Kearon fractured and fell apart. They were forced to sue for peace.”

“And the Luminary’s book? Did Oliver get it?”

“Apparently not, but it says he went mad near the end of his reign searching for it, seeing ghosts and things not there. Or something like that.”

Holden shrugged. “Wonderful. That seems to somehow have been omitted from our history scrolls. No wonder these tablets are hidden deep away from the light of day.”

“Which is also why we must see what all these other scrolls say.”

“I was right. We
are
going to be burned at the stake.”

The excitement came after a couple hours of cataloguing and matching scrolls with individual Archiver tablets. While Holden had been doing most of that work, Ryall had sat patiently working through the first scroll that matched the first tablet, the story of the Luminary and Oliver Wellyn, painstakingly going back and forth in the torchlight and trying to make a connection between
the Hardacheon symbols on the scroll and the Sentharian words on the Archiver tablets. He was convinced the tablets were actually translations of the scrolls now, the opposite of what he had first supposed. But, taking a language that appeared to be based on symbols with meanings and comparing it to a language that used letters to represent sounds was proving a bit much for the fifteen-year-old adherent. Introduction to Linguistics was not even a class until third year, and Ryall doubted they were going to be studying the Hardacheon language anyway.

“Ancients Come, I’m never going to get this.”

“Why not?” Holden asked as he continued his own efforts.

“It’s not a related language. It’s just too far apart. We use letters and sounds, they used symbols to describe things. Stuff. Whatever. Who knows how many words each symbol might stand for? I can’t even establish a baseline to start from.”

“Okay, look,” Holden said as he squatted down next to Ryall. “How many words are there on the tablet?”

“What? I don’t know—”

“Count,” Holden said. Ryall shrugged and complied.

“Three hundred and eighty-one,” he reported.

“Okay now, how many symbols are there on the scroll?”

Ryall had caught on and was already counting. “One hundred and twenty-one.”

“All right. This isn’t perfect, but basically there are three Sentharian words for every one Hardacheon symbol. Start trying to group the words with the symbols and you might start to notice the same symbols showing up for similar words. Or even similar descriptions on the tablets characterized by the same Hardacheon symbol on the scroll.”

“Ya know, for an idiot, you’re not that dumb,” Ryall said.

“And for a jackass, you don’t smell all that terrible,” Holden countered.

Ryall didn’t answer but took to his task. He started by identifying repeating symbols, of which there were several. But somehow, they didn’t line up at all with where he thought they should
according to the words on the tablet. Frustration was about to force him to give up when he saw it.

“Fallen Ancients!” Ryall exclaimed. The echo of his curse reverberated through the cavern. Ryall brought his hand over his mouth with wide eyes after he realized how loud he had yelled.

“I hate you,” Holden said.

“I found it! I mean, I got it! Holden, I got it!”

“Right, and now we’re both dead. The whole monastery heard you. Really great work.”

“Whatever, we put the stones back in place. But look! I was assuming the symbols go from left to right, like how we read our language. But they don’t. They descend, top to bottom, starting on the right. It has to be. I see symbols from the scrolls lining up with repeated words and ideas from the tablets if I read it that way. See?”

Holden gave a weak grunt in acknowledgement.

“That’s it?” Ryall asked.

“I knew you’d figure it out. I’m about done lining up scrolls and tablets. But still, Ryall, realize there are hundreds more of these little alcoves with thousands more scrolls.”

“And soon, we’ll be able to read them. Or at least some of them to learn where they came from or their time period.”

“I know, but—”

Ryall gave Holden a look that seemed to ask,
Really
?

“All I’m saying,” Holden pressed on, “is that these are Hardacheon scrolls. They had Dark Influences and knowledge. I’m not so sure we should be anxious to delve into their history.”

“Holden, when have I ever led you astray?”

“I don’t have time to make a list so lengthy,” Holden shot back.

“And why do the lands die?” Vicar Johann asked his class.

Holden looked over at his friend and rolled his eyes. He mouthed the question, “Seriously?” before putting his head back down on his desk. Holden’s flat forehead lay perfectly flush with the wood desktop. Ryall stifled a chuckle. He was weary like Holden, but knew if he dared close his eyes he would slip away
from wakefulness into a deep slumber. He’d likely end up with Vicar Johann slamming a rod down on his desk causing him to jump awake, cursing. Then he’d really be in trouble. Holden and Ryall had not slept at all last night.

“Anyone?” the Vicar repeated.

“Because they must renew themselves from time to time and purge themselves,” answered Tama, a lowborn second-year student from the East. The girl had volunteered to enter the Changrual Monastery. Such an act was not all that uncommon, but certainly something that only the most annoyingly devout would do. “The Ancient Heavens set it up this way.”

“Ah,” Johann intoned. “So, it is necessary?”

“Why else would the lands die and renew if not?”

Ryall saw the glint in Vicar Johann’s eyes that shone whenever he was about to start a philosophical rant and prove that he was all-wise when compared to his ignorant students. The fact that he was four decades older than most of his students didn’t seem to be an adequate reason as to why he was so much smarter.

“I wonder what, as you say, the lands purge themselves of?” the Vicar challenged.

Tama was caught short and without an answer.

“The soil loses its vitality and nutrients over time,” interjected a plump first-year boy from Talen, a farming village in the South near the Eastern Province border. “My father always said so anyway. His harvest has been a little more meager the past couple of years.”

“So, the Ancient Heavens created a world that cannot properly provide for its inhabitants? Doesn’t that seem to imply that the plan was flawed from the beginning? Or perhaps it was a test for us here, but the cycling of lands causes so much death and hardship, bloodshed and strife. Surely this is not what the Ancient Heavens had in mind unless they are cruel and subjective, the opposite of what the scrolls teach. Anyone else?”

The classroom was silent. Roughly thirty students all looked away, refusing to make contact with the invigorated Vicar.

Vicar Johann turned away and started walking back toward the front of the classroom with his finger held up in an admonishing gesture. “Well, I think you’ll better understand as you continue—”

“Whose scrolls?” Ryall interrupted.

Vicar Johann stopped short and turned around. “Pardon me?”

Holden’s head started to come up but he stopped himself from fully raising it. He turned and looked over at Ryall, concerned.

Ryall clarified. “You mentioned the scrolls, how they teach that the Ancient Heavens aren’t cruel. Whose scrolls say that?”

“Why, the Changrual Scrolls, of course. Surely you understand this basic doctrine of the order?”

Holden cleared his throat, trying not to be obvious but also trying to convey a message of “Shut the Blasted Heavens up” to his friend. It didn’t work.

“Right, I’m just curious if those were the scrolls from before or after we invaded Senthara and destroyed the Hardacheons.” Ryall spoke with falsely innocent wonder.

“My boy, the scrolls are the same as they always have been, handed down from the Ancients after the Heavens placed them on the world.”

“Placed them?” Ryall asked. “From where were they
displaced
in order to be
placed
on our world?”

Vicar Johann didn’t answer. Ryall pushed on.

“Are you sure there wouldn’t be any variation in the scrolls throughout time?”

Johann was starting to get a little agitated. “What is your question, exactly, Ryall?”

Holden, wide-eyed and turning as red as his hair, stared holes in his friend. He was still hunkered down on his desk behind the boy in front of him. No matter how much he internally willed his friend not to say anything more, he knew Ryall could not resist.
We’re done for! Might as well bring out the stakes and torches now!

“I guess I’m just wondering what was taught on Feylan before we came here to Senthara,” Ryall smugly asked. “I wish we had some writings from the Luminary on the subject.” Ryall knew full
well the answer to his questions from the tablets and scrolls in the caverns.

A solid thump was heard that echoed through the classroom. Holden had let his head free-fall to the surface of his desk, no doubt believing they were destined for the fires, the first heretics to be burned alive in over a century. Ryall himself expected flames to come spitting forth from Vicar Johann in rage, screaming heresy and blasphemy and calling for the High Vicars. Instead, a very confused mask swathed itself across the Vicar’s face. He blinked more rapidly and furrowed his eyebrows.

Ryall had to catch the shock that erupted inside him before it showed.
He has no idea what I’m talking about!
He looked around and saw the other students in the class staring at him blankly. Looking back to Johann, Ryall noted genuine concern on the instructor’s face.

“My boy, are you well? You seem not yourself,” Vicar Johann said.

Holden took the cue and roused himself from the cauldron of self-despair in which he wallowed.

“He’s been like this all span, Vicar Johann. He spurts out bits of gibberish and seems to think that he’s making total sense. I don’t think he’s slept much. It might be well to put him on bed rest for a couple days with bland foods and water. I’d be happy to watch over him.”

Ryall glanced at his friend to find him looking up at the Vicar intently, feigning concern over his poor, suffering friend.

“Yes, perhaps so,” Vicar Johann said, placing his hands together in front of his stomach in a resigned gesture. “I’ll see to it.” The Vicar turned and started to move on to the next subject.

Ryall was too dumbstruck to say anything in protest.
How could he not know?
The boy had believed that there was some conspiracy at work, some ploy to conceal the truth.
Perhaps Johann is lying or just acting ignorant
. But no, Johann’s confusion seemed so genuine. And what’s worse, Holden stepped in perfectly to take advantage of his friend’s embarrassment and score a serious victory in
their prank war. Ryall looked over at Holden. His friend did not acknowledge his stare but continued to look straight ahead with an air of smugness.