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The origin of the name ‘Greater Continent’ is not shrouded in myth; its just been called that for so long no one ever really thought to ask why. Some theorists posit that before the impact at the Sea of Shocked Quartz, the region known as Modia was then called ‘The Lesser Continent’, being geographically smaller. Many passages in the Book of Lore point to the idea of a now-lost Lesser Continent. Submerged cities in the Blue Sea region certainly attest to some forgotten upheaval.
- History of the Greater Continent
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Chapter 22:
Itinerary
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#22.1 – Thursday, the 10th day of the 10th month…
Family dinner went shockingly normal. Roy had a few more questions about Scarlet’s itinerary, but Ann showed more concern with her schooling.
“At this rate, you’re barely going to complete middle school,” Ann said. “How is it you thinking skipping…” she paused and did some math. “The entire rest of it is going to help?”
“I’ve thought of that,” Scarlet lied. “I’m not asking to go on some grand adventure, mom. Just to stay with extended family for a couple months. Naomi’s citadel is a complete city. There will be schools there. I just have to enroll and bring home my transcripts.”
“What if you have trouble?” Ann furrowed her brow and glared at Scarlet.
“I’ll work really, really hard?”
The meal finished in relative peace and her parents ordered Scarlet straight to bed.
“I’m concerned about how little you’ve been sleeping lately,” Ann said.
“Yeah, ok, mom,” even Scarlet had to admit she’d probably work for days on end without the intervention. Only one thing could possibly take her mind off her desperate bid to be an Antiquarian.
And that, of course, was the quest for the sword.
Scarlet tidied up her craft supplies and then retrieved a large, illustrated book about necromancy from a lower shelf. It looked different from the rest of her collection, which tended mostly towards scholarly texts. The pre-school Scarlet went to had a tradition where every child got a book when they graduated, making it the first book Scarlet ever owned. The other kids all received their favorite picture books, but since Scarlet learned to read on her own before even starting school, the teacher found her something special.
Scarlet looked at her cat. “Heh, look here, says ‘for ages thirteen and up’, guess I’m finally old enough for it, huh?” Scarlet found a full-color, two-page spread in the middle of the book, showing an exploded view of a necromancer temple.
Scarlet had gone to a necromancer pre-school.
Jayce leapt up on the desk and settled in for his evening chin scratch.
“This the real heart of the temple,” Scarlet said. “You’d like it there. Necromancers consider cats to be sacred, like everyone should. The temple itself is only four parts, everything else, even the tunnels connecting the components, are not temple and therefore not sacred. Except the cats. And some shrines.”
Jayce moved over to examine the book, scraping his paw over the page as if trying to turn it. Scarlet gently pushed him away.
“The four parts are: the courtyard, seen here, and the three Sanctums: Ignatum, Veltarum, and Satorum,” Scarlet said. “The Sanctums together form an inverted pyramid, which itself conforms to the Golden Ratio. The uppermost Sanctum, Veltarum, has the same dimensions as the courtyard on the surface.”
Jayce rolled onto his back and played with Scarlet hair. She giggled at him and dangled a few loose strands while she continued to speak. “Which means, Mr. Spearlock, that we can tell from the air both the size and depth of the Sanctum Satorum, as long as we have a sense of scale for the courtyard.”
Jayce laid down over the picture and purred, prompting Scarlet to feed him a kitty treat from the secret compartment in her desk. “The closest thing there is to a surviving copy of the photograph is a reproduction of a copy of a painting done based on a second hand description from an out of print art book,” Scarlet said to the cat. “Its two thousand years old, and I’d be lucky to find even that much.”
But, then, Scarlet reminded herself: she had found the Blood Stele. It was no use to her, written in a language no mortal being could read, but she did find it. “So, maybe there is hope,” she said to her cat. “All right. How did the original become lost? The site had been well-known for over two millennia before the Long Night; surely there had been hundreds, if not thousands of publications containing the picture!”
Yawning, Scarlet stepped into her bathroom and closed the door so her boy cat couldn’t watch her change. “Emmerich spent thirty years searching for just the painting, and longer for any trace of the originals. He hit a wall I’m not likely to get over.”
After an especially fast Lancer shower, Scarlet brushed her teeth while still shivering. The shock of cold water late at night did wonders for her alertness, but didn’t prompt any brilliant insights.
Scarlet tightened her robe around her neck and went to retriever her pajamas. “The problem, little tom-cat, is the Library. Yes, its magic preserves books for, as far as we can tell, ever, but it’s also huge and disorganized. Every refresh saw all the books they didn’t need just dragged to the back and sort of dumped. No organization, no notes. So there are certainly detailed analyses of the Feast pictures somewhere in the building, but I’m not ever gonna find them. Apparently I can go scrambling around the inside of High Mountain all I want, but even as an Assistant Member of the Antiquarian Society I still can’t go rummaging about the stacks.”
It was true, in point of fact. Despite the absolute certainty that the answers to all the great questions of the past lay entombed within the dusty back part of the Great Library, no one could go back there.
“Yeah,” Scarlet mumbled through a yawn. “For all its clout, the Antiquarian Society doesn’t own the Library. Ostensibly it belongs to the city, but really its under the jurisdiction of the Atayan Heritage Group.”
Long before the Death of Hope, before the Ages of the Alliance, before there was ever a city called Arindell in the valley of the Storm Reaver, there were the Atayans. Eieber was Atayan by birth, and though little of their culture survived the many eons, they still had the heritage group.
Returning to the bathroom, Scarlet dressed for bed, then settled in at her desk. “It’s an innocuous enough name,” she said. “The ‘Atayan Heritage Group’, heh. The real decision-makers are the head librarians, and they’re about as reclusive as the Necrosages. And only the top one can grant access to The Stacks. That’s right, I have to find ‘The Librarian’; who’s name isn’t even known to the public, if I want to go digging.”
Scarlet put together some notes to make a few researched questions, then cuddled Jayce and brought him in to bed with her. Immediately, the cat squirmed free, only to make himself comfortable on Scarlet’s legs.
“Typical cat,” Scarlet stared at the ceiling.
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* #22.2 (Thursday 10/10) *
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Despite her mother’s orders, Scarlet did not go straight to sleep.
Eyeing the light under her closed door, Scarlet watched it go out. She counted off a good two minutes, then extricated herself from the cat and dropped out from beneath her covers. Eavesdropping involved its own dangers. But Scarlet knew her folks liked to have their serious conversations while lying in the dark in their shared bed.
Scarlet crept across her floor and opened her door as silently as possible(she kept the hinges well-oiled). She duck-walked and crawled down the carpeted hallway. Just outside her parents room she stretched out and lay flat to listen under the door.
Spying on her folks was always a gamble; just as likely to be traumatizing as helpful. The things she’d heard were best forgotten, but every so often did glean a useful bit of information.
Scarlet listened carefully and heard her father talking.
“Maybe it would be good for her?” Roy said softly.
“Remember how much trouble she gave us when we merely asked if she’d like to go to sleep-away camp?”
“The girl has some sort of complex about summer camps, who knows where it comes from?” Roy said. “I’d guess watching too many movies except she doesn’t.”
“The point,” Ann’s voice came in a series of sour notes. “I meant it to be a kind gesture and she went nuts.”
Scarlet felt her stomach turn as she remembered the conversation. Three years back, the summer she would have turned ten. Instead of her usual two weeks at Dragoon Lancer Fantasy Day Camp, her mother instead came in insisting she should go elsewhere. Not to a different kind of day camp, no; she wanted Scarlet to go to a sleep-away camp. One where children were forced to ride horses. Today, Scarlet was over her fear of the equine species, and only deeply hated the beasts. Back then, she’d been terrified. Her mother still maintained she only “suggested” Scarlet go. Fortunately, her father remembered Scarlet’s side of it better.
“In fairness, the camp you wanted to send her to is the one that shut down after all those kids got eaten,” Roy said.
“I wanted to send her to horse camp,” Ann said. “The other one was just a suggestion because Bethany goes there.”
“Still, with all the trouble she’s been in lately, stealing, cutting school, the way she’s been acting out. Maybe a good long break from all of… this, is what she needs?” Roy’s voice came through the door soft, measured.
Scarlet could hear her mom stir on the bed. “I’m just not sure. Maybe when she’s going through all this, whatever it is she’s going through, sending her away from the people who love her is not the right answer.”
“How much we love her has never been an issue. I think we’re holding her back. I think, that, perhaps it’s time she spread her own wings and learn to fly.”
“Humans can’t fly, love.”
“And middle-school girls aren’t supposed to hold veto-privileges in five-hundred-year-old fraternal societies. We need to stop doubting what Scarlet is capable of.”
Scarlet waited, breath frozen in her throat, for what felt like an eternity.
“I guess… It’s not like she’s going off-world,” Ann admitted. “For some reason, that makes me feel a little better.”
“And you saw the route she planned,” Roy agreed. “It will need some fine-tuning, but I could never have worked out something like that in an afternoon!”
“Honey, you can’t even make sense of a bus schedule,” Ann scoffed. “Scarlet’s been navigating around the city since she was young.”
“I’d have bet you fifty wingbeats an eight-year-old couldn’t take a bus clear across town, attend a lecture and exhibition at a museum, and come back all on her own,” Roy recalled.
“Honey, most children can figure out Arindell’s mass transit system. It’s color-coded.”
Another long silence, and Scarlet shifted her weight slightly.
“Anyway,” Roy said, speaking a bit louder. “It would sure be nice not to have her listening in on us under the door for a while.”
Mortified, Scarlet beat the hastiest, most silent retreat she could manage.
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* #22.3 (Thursday 10/10) *
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“Why do you always say things like that?” Ann asked, propping herself up on her elbow. “Scarlet’s been asleep for hours.”
“Oh, you know,” Roy yawned, unbuttoning his pajama shirt. “If I say it and she’s in bed sound asleep, I’ve lost nothing. But on the off chance she is listening, the rewards are hilarious.”
Ann slapped him lightly on the shoulder. “You’re so mean!”
As Ann leaned over to kiss her husband, Roy knocked one of the straps of her nightgown down.
“Besides,” he said coyly, kissing her again. “It’s always good to clear the halls and make sure we’ve got a little… privacy.”
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* * *
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#22.4 – Saturday, the 12th day of the 10th Month…
The Antiquarians* had a sizable presence in the Great Library of Arindell. Mostly their own annex, assembled to take full advantage of the Library’s magic†. Their own research catalogue, special collections, and archives; all arranged in neat, space-efficient galleries. Prior to receiving her Assistant Membership, Scarlet would never remotely have been allowed inside, not that that stopped her before.
It was Scarlet Heaven, really.
With Emmerich’s medallion prominently displayed, she freely roamed the halls. Technically, she should not have been wearing the medallion openly with cargo pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt, but Scarlet didn’t want to get kicked out again.
Carrying a list of books she didn’t expect to find, Scarlet was accosted by Druet Young yet again. He had a heavy stack of books under one arm, a very different crutch under the other, and no right leg to speak of. “Who was the last Slayer Dragon of the Old Count?”
The sudden challenge startled Scarlet such that she slammed into a wall. “Scared the crap out of me! It was Ruthia+, first year of the Age of the DragonP, seven-one. Or six-nine-hundred-eleven, for you non-draconics.”
Dr. Young began to speak the instant Scarlet closed her mouth. “And what were her Regalia colors?”
Scarlet rubbed her shoulder. “Saffron and brown. What is your deal?”
“You’re going to see the sorceress,” Young said. “I’ve been asked to oversee the mission.”
Scarlet narrowed her eyes and looked up at him from under her mop of hair. “Yeah? Who asked you?”
“Actually,” Young smiled. “I volunteered.” He leaned his weight over the crutch and used that arm to draw a file-folder from his stack of books. “The Antiquarians are interested, after all.”
“Y-you mean I can go?!” Scarlet gaped.
“Being a minor, I would assume that the sort of thing is up to your parents,” Young said. “But the Antiquarians certainly weren’t going to stop you. I will be your point of contact, anything you need, myself or my staff will provide.”
He held out the file folder to Scarlet. She reached for it, fingers trembling, and wasn’t too surprised when he jerked it away. “What is the origin of Naomi Jusenkyou’s immortality?”
“There is no clear academic consensus but the standard account is correct,” Scarlet said. “Naomi wears one of the eight mantles of immortality said to have been gifted by the One King# during the Age of Myth. Since only seven dragons took up the mantles and became Dracosages**, one mantle was left unaccounted. Hunter found it, Naomi used it. End of discussion.”
“That’s all you have to say, just hiding behind the standard account like a child?” Dr. Young’s eye’s narrowed and his peculiarly bushy eyebrows began to draw closer together as he waited for a response.
Scarlet wanted to back away from him, to run away and to cry. But Young wasn’t like the bullies at school. This was a fight about history.
A fight Scarlet could win.
She’d been practicing for weeks, and finally perfected her own raptor-gaze. Stepping right up close to meet his glare, she trained it on Dr. Young. “Naomi was too young, maybe in her mid-thirties at best. She had massive power but nothing approaching the skill or experience to slow the aging process herself. She was still as sharp as Echbaldam’s†† edge when Conri knew her three thousand years later. She showed none of the mental fatigue known to plague other long-lived mages. And her father was known to be in possession of a great many eldritch things—he was one of Hygelic’s heirs, after all.”
Scarlet waited, standing much closer to Dr. Young than she would have liked. His threadbare jacket smelled musty, and dust from the stacks covered him. She waited for his reaction.
She did not get at all what she expected.
Dr. Young’s sharp, cunning face twisted into a sneer, then relaxed briefly, and for a moment his forehead flexed contemplatively. “…I suppose a pseudo-sage like Hrethrel would have some insight as to the location of the lost mantle,” he seemed to speak the words for his own thoughts more so than Scarlet’s. “You are remarkably self-assured for a scrawny child who’s never gotten more than a B-minus in history—and that was in third grade.” Young’s sneer had a life all its own, and Scarlet fantasized briefly about being tall enough to punch him. “Let’s hope you interview a lot better than that.”
He handed Scarlet the folder and walked off. Breathing hard, Scarlet opened it, half expecting to find the pages blank or full of cruel insults. Instead, the first page contained a formal letter from Alabus Norman, stating in poetic, but very clear terms, the Society’s intention to support Scarlet in her endeavor.
Dropping to her knees right there in the corridor, Scarlet began to leaf through the pages. There were letters of introduction, forms for submitting questions, guidelines… everything she’d need.
Except, of course, traveling expenses. On that front, Scarlet caught a lucky break. Certainly the per annum cost of a high-level Antiquarian membership was well outside her parent’s means. But the couple of thousand wingbeats to get her to and from the Citadel? Quite a bit more reasonable. Sweat beaded on Scarlet’s brow and the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end at the realness of it all. In a sudden moment the terror gripped her, the notion that she might actually be able to go on this journey.
But Scarlet would not cry, she declared to herself. She would not cry and no matter what, she was not going to abandon her mission.
Assuming her mom and dad gave her permission to go in the first place, that is.
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End:
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