On Cosmic Tides

Waking up before dawn had not ever been Adam’s idea of a good time. The freedom to sleep in safety had been one of the major selling points when he entered university, in fact, and was something he cherished. He groaned as he opened his eyes, legs aching from the previous day’s exercise, but he forced himself to kick off his blanket and sit up when the alarm stone Laurel had given him started chiming. Reaching out blindly to the side table until he grasped the small crystal, he tapped it three times in a row with his thumb. He'd learned the hard way, when Laurel conveniently forgot to mention it, that it would get louder and more obnoxious until he turned it off. After his morning ablutions were seen to, he found himself on the way to the site of their eventual sect house and, more importantly, his fledgling library. A couple of hired cabs had taken to lingering on this street in the early mornings, knowing he often hopped a ride to avoid the long walk out to the edge of the city.

Cultivation practice went about as well as usual. The lad with the head for mechanics was the only one of them that had seen any notable progress. Adam was sure he felt the twinges when Laurel came around and tapped his shoulder, but he was never able to hold on to it or find it without help. Laurel seemed unconcerned, telling them stories of cultivators who had taken years to reach an active mana sense, and then gone on to become masters or grandmasters. That reassurance was thinning the longer he saw no progress. This was what he was supposed to be good at! Stars above, Adam had even been considered a talent when he was younger, earning himself a scholarship for study at the city’s biggest university, and a solid position in the Scribe’s Guild after graduation. Even after his fall from grace, he prided himself on being able to learn anything. Getting kicked out of the guild like so much trash, it was never his scholarly ability in question, rather it was his ability to keep his mouth shut and eyes down that had been lacking.

He tried not to complain out loud. Laurel was trying her best and the outlandish woman had become his friend. He had precious few of those and may as well try to keep this one. This time they were doing some sort of slow martial art dance. The scholar in him was fascinated by the practice, and the variety of cultivation methods Laurel was pulling out for them. The woman was almost manic at times during her research sessions, the loss of her last student obvious in the determination not to fail with any of them. The rest of him felt absolutely no resonance with the exercise. The art days and quiet meditation had been closer for him. But he thanked Laurel for the instruction at the end and walked slowly back into the city and the shopfront they were still using as a clinic, office, apartment, and official address.

Laurel had told them many stories of her old sect. The Eternal Archive had been known as a hub of knowledge, with the most extensive library in the world at the time. The stories of past Loremasters – and wasn’t that a title to stick to everyone in the Scribe’s Guild – were of men and women that had been able to recall the placement of one book amid thousands, knew the minute details of the sect’s history, and who could ferociously guard against any intruders. Adam was under no misapprehensions; he was woefully underprepared for this very real threat. If anything, Laurel was downplaying it. Some of the old academics around the country would absolutely be willing to hire someone from the Skeleton Keyroom, or whatever the unofficial thieves guild was going by these days. When it became known what lost texts and ancient primary sources Laurel was carting around, the intellectual elites of Merista would riot. Some of them might even resort to more violent measures. And all Adam would be able to do, if he even saw them, would be to call for help.

Shaking his head, Adam carefully closed the sect administration manual he had been translating, that was failing to hold his attention, and exchanged it for the journal of a high level cultivator visiting Carillion, which had been a ruin even in Laurel’s original time. The book was in remarkably good condition, Laurel had mentioned something about mana preserving the library, but he had gotten lost in the magical details. He took out gloves and turned each page as delicately as he could. The journal was an absolute treasure trove, and he’d already found enough new information to present a paper at the Historical Society, were he welcomed to do so. Unfortunately, those guild applications were not available for an organization, and his personal application had fallen victim to Annette’s budgeting. He got lost in the manuscript, thanking his younger self for being stupid enough to take a specialized ancient languages course at school.

*******

The bell they had installed on the front door, which Laurel was unreasonably thrilled with for some reason, chimed out. He leaned back in his chair, feeling more tired than he could account for. A boy walked in, bringing along with the unfortunate smell of unwashed teenager. Adam guessed his age in the early teens, though it was harder to tell with the kids that lived in the Flats since they tended to be skinnier. He knew Laurel had some vague notions of admitting some of the street kids to the sect, but he’d lived in this city all his life and he knew exactly how mean some of the little bastards could be.

“Can I help you?” Adam bit out as the boy stood there without saying anything. The boy shrugged and Adam was at a loss of how to proceed. Did the boy need help or not? “Why are you here?” he tried. The boy pointed to Adam. “You’re here for me?” The boy frowned and shook his head. He took a few hesitant steps forward and pointed again.

“You’re here for the book? You can’t have it.” Adam clutched the book close to his chest, forgetting to be careful for a moment when confronted with the prospect of losing the priceless tome. “Look I’m not sure what the Thieves Guild is teaching these days, but you sure as shit aren’t leaving here with this, and I’m of half a mind to call the guard for the insolence!”

The boy stepped back with both hands out in front as if to ward Adam off, frantically shaking his head. He stretched his chin up in a weird move and pointed to his neck. Adam was again put on the back foot, but he leaned over the desk to peer closer. There were ugly scars on the boy's neck. Old and faded now, but the marks told a story of violence he must have been lucky to survive. Adam swallowed thickly at the thought of what could cause scars like that. He took another guess.

“You can’t talk?” The boy let out a sigh of relief and nodded in confirmation. “What do you want then?” Once more the lad pointed at the book with a look of longing on his dirt-covered face. Adam looked between the book and the boy several times before it clicked. “You want to read it?” Frantic nods. “Can you read?” Head shakes. “You want me to teach you to read!” Smiles.

Adam paused for a moment to consider. He wasn’t Laurel, he didn’t have the kind of eternal optimism born of a lifetime of privilege. He knew they wouldn’t be saving the huddled masses. But the boy was from the Flats and couldn’t talk. If he couldn’t read then he couldn’t write. How had he been communicating up to this point? How had he survived at all? Swearing under his breath Adam knew he wouldn’t be able to poke fun at Laurel for getting taken in by any sad story she came across anymore.

“Alright, I can teach you, but you need to clean up before you touch any of these books. There’s a bathing chamber and soap in the back, last door on the right. Make use of them and then come back out. And don’t go poking your nose in anywhere else, you won’t like who comes after you if I catch you stealing!”

While the boy wandered further into their small building, Adam started sketching out the alphabet on some sheets of paper he had stashed in the desk. Thinking about what he could show the lad. Ancient Alrasian was probably not the place to start. They had a couple of old newspapers lying around that might serve better and when he went to fetch them from the dining room he saw the boy staring ferally at the remains of a loaf Adam had forgotten to put away that morning. No one learns on an empty stomach, Adam reminded himself. He tossed the bread to the boy and ushered him back to the front.

“Do you have a name?” More nodding from the lad. “Er, do you have any way of telling me the name?” This time Adam was surprised by the nods. The boy picked up the pen Adam kept on the desk and very carefully proceeded to write ‘Leander’ in large blocky letters.

“Good lad, Leander.” He gave the boy an awkward pat on the shoulder, internally panicking. Since he had little in the way of responsibilities until the sect building was further along, he might as well give it a try. They spent the afternoon working. Leander painstakingly copied the letters Adam wrote out for him, while Adam came up with some basic word lists to go over. After a simple dinner that Adam felt compelled to share with the obviously underfed boy it was time to finish for the day. “Alright, I’m busy in the mornings but I should be here in the afternoons if you want to come back.”

Adam was smiling as he got ready for bed. Laying down he thought less of his struggles with cultivating, and instead how he could teach Leander the wonders of the written word. He fell asleep with a slight smile, feeling optimistic about the next day for the first time in a while.