Notice for P. I. Inkwell’s Trial Proceedings

Unknown

Metadata

Reference Number: BICI/SSP/CRJ0703/004

Title: Notice for P. I. Inkwell’s Trial Proceedings

Author: Unknown, but presumed to be Scritta

Date: Written approximately in the third month of year 5607 A. o. W.

Extent: One notice, one page long

ATTENTION: ALL DEPARTMENTS ARE REQUIRED TO REPORT TO THE CENTRAL LECTURE HALL TO WITNESS THE TRIAL OF P. I. INKWELL ON THE FOLLOWING DATES:

08.03 BETWEEN 10:00 AND 17:00

09.03 BETWEEN 10:00 AND 17:00

10.03 BETWEEN 10:00 AND 13:00 

THERE WILL BE THREE RECESSES EACH DAY: ONE AT 11:30 FOR 15 MINUTES, ONE AT 13:00 FOR ONE HOUR, AND ONE AT 15:00 FOR FIFTEEN MINUTES. PLEASE DO NOT ENTER OR EXIT THE LECTURE HALL OUTSIDE OF THOSE SCHEDULED RECESSES.

DURING THE TRIAL, ALL CHARGES REGARDING P. I. INKWELL’S  EXPULSION FROM THE HALL OF KINDLING AND CHARCOAL WILL BE DISCUSSED IN DETAIL. THE DECISION WILL BE DECIDED UPON AS A JOINT EFFORT BETWEEN THE HEAD OF THE HALL AND  A JURY SELECTED RANDOMLY FROM THE HALL. THE JURY MEMBERS HAVE ALREADY BEEN SELECTED.

WORK IS PERMITTED, BUT NOT REQUIRED, OUTSIDE OF THOSE HOURS. PLEASE CONSULT YOUR DIRECT LEAD IF YOU HAVE ANY CONCERNS ABOUT THE STATE OF YOUR WORK. 

WE WILL SEE YOU THERE.

Unsent Letter to Jasmine, Written Approximately 07/03, Recreated Here

Spica

Metadata

Reference Number: BICI/SSP/CRJ0703/005

Title: Unsent Letter to Jasmine, Written Approximately 07/03, Recreated Here

Author: Spica

Date: Written approximately 07/03 5607 A. o. W.

Extent: One letter, four pages long

To Jasmine, the keeper of my secrets,

We journey towards the Hall of Kindling and Charcoal now. We’ve traveled by cart most of the way, but the craggy pathways leading up to the Hall make further travel upon wheels incredibly perilous. The remainder of our journey will occur on foot. 

By Fir’s estimates, we should reach our destination by tomorrow night. That leaves me a day to dwell in my thoughts. And dwell I have. The reality of the world is so different from what I had ever imagined. I know that I was born here, somewhere deep within the depths of the Hall, and yet everything I see and everything I hear are worlds away from the home that lives in my heart. 

I know Seabreeze Shoal intimately; its tides, its cool air, its gentle rhythms. I know the roar of the waves shaping seaglass into something smooth and lovely and the smell of salted fish at the market. I do not know this oppressive heat and this stale air.

We passed through two villages while making our way north: Zeolite and Wolfjaw. Zeolite was small, roughly the population size of Seabreeze Shoal. And yet, it was leagues different. 

The people there are hidden away in a small enclave, built brick by brick. The cattle that define their livelihoods graze behind low wooden fences. The community works together to care for the cattle. Undying Embers stand sentinel at the edges of the fields, and yet aberrations hunger for nothing but human flesh. The villagers that don’t look after the cattle directly create other things from them: some tan their hides for leather, some make cheeses and butter from their milk, and others prepare their meat to be shipped out across the land. They welcomed us with their finest cheeses and freshest cuts of beef. Fir took them all gladly.

Seeing her celebrated by the people made me realize just how far away we were from the rest of the world. Even I, with all the knowledge I thought I held, could not recognize the Flame-Feeder when she came to take me away. And take me away she did. I am celebrated here as her beloved protege, although I deserve none of it. My boots now are a fine black leather, gifted in their deference to those blessed by His Eternal Warmth. They tried to give Fir fine black gloves and a new leather breastplate, and although she accepted the gifts, she told me they weren’t stylish enough for her. She gave them to one of her retinue the moment we left the village.

Wolfjaw was larger, though locked away behind a similar wall as Zeolite. They sit at the edge of a large lake. They fish, but not like we fish. We wrest our catch from the grasp of Nothingness. They carefully cultivate a population of carp, trout, and bottom-feeding catfish. The village was more varied in their activities. Fir told me that it was like Strinarre, but modeled into something smaller and calmer. “Better, too,” she added with a huff. She said she prefers Wolfjaw to Strinarre. Thinks the jewelry and glassware they forge are more beautiful, and the Embers are far less awful. When they presented her with gifts, she accepted them gladly.

Did I pass through these lands as a child, do you think? I must have. Even with a Wandering Ember at my father’s side, to traverse the forest with a small child was a death wish. We must have stopped here on our journey to Seabreeze Shoal, and yet my memory of these villages is nonexistent. What would my life be like, had he settled here instead?

I can’t imagine a life where I never met you, but I can imagine a life where you never met me, and I think you would have found far more peace in that other world. 

In this world, I force myself to stay close to Fir. I study every movement of hers I can. She sees it as a thirst for knowledge, and in some ways, I suppose she’s correct. But the knowledge I desperately desire has nothing to do with village politics and religious lore. What I wish to unravel is the truth behind what happened, back in Seabreeze Shoal. 

I’ve learned that Fir’s heart and mouth both loosen with alcohol. My anxiety grips me less under its gentle haze. I’m unsure if you’ve drank before, Jasmine, but I never have before this journey.

I neglected to mention this earlier. Wolfjaw also makes alcohol. Fir is incredibly fond of their wine. 

She’s called away for dinners most nights, ones that she insists I join her for. The people of Wolfjaw delighted in her so much more than the people of Zeolite did, and I could not understand why until Fir leaned over to me and whispered that she’s visited Wolfjaw for years. But she is no stranger to Zeolite either, and it made me realize that she has never once visited Seabreeze Shoal before I received my Spark. 

I voiced as much to Fir. She rolled her eyes, through her hand found mine and squeezed. “You’re far too hard on yourself, Spica. I never told you my identity, either. How are you supposed to recognize someone you’ve never met?”

I try to remind myself of that fact. I think Fir would call this kindness; I call it an unfamiliar sight. Still… How could I ever recognize greatness when I have never known its shape? 

At dinner, the people hung on Fir’s every word. They asked her if His Eternal Warmth has brought them tidings of how He will forge their community in the future. 

“Oh, have more faith in yourselves,” she chided them gently, like a mother convincing her babe to attempt walking on unsteady legs once more. “His Eternal Warmth has forged a glorious future for you, but you’re better off looking for the outline yourselves.”

They praised her for her wisdom, and she preened at their every word. It wasn’t until after, when Fir invited me to her room for a glass of wine before bed, that she told me the truth.

“Spica, my darling pupil, did you pay attention to what I told the villagers tonight?” she cooed at me. Her eyes glow more vividly when we’re alone. I don’t understand why.

Words still stick in my throat around her, but I found the strength to force something out. “You told them to wait to see what their future holds,” I replied shakily. I drank from the wine in my glass, hoping it would fortify me.

She beamed at me. “Exactly! His Eternal Warmth has better things to do than predict the course of every life. And I have better things to do than to dole out prophecies to every little village in the world.” She sipped her wine. “Even ones I like as much as this one.”

“I see,” I said softly, knowing I needed to respond but being at a loss as to how I could contribute.

“One day, you’ll have to do the same. The people will turn to you for answers. For guidance. They’ll pin all their hopes and dreams on you, Spica. And you need to learn when to shape those dreams, and when to let them dream on their own.”

But Jasmine, I could never understand. Who would ever pin their hopes and dreams on me? I could never be a Flame-Feeder. I would crumple under the weight. 

“But it’s not all about hopes and dreams. Sometimes it’s just politics. Like this entire trip.” She looked off into the distance with a sigh. “You were born at the Hall. What do you know about Scritta?”

I searched my memory. Father told me a few stories of her. “She’s the Head of the Hall. She has been for several decades. She was a prominent researcher whose remarkable works led her to overseeing the entire Hall. My mother and father deeply respected her, but my father thought that her work ethic was…. a little intense.”

Fir hummed approvingly. She leaned towards me, red lips split into a grin. “Very good! You’re… what, twenty-one? Tell me, did your parents ever mention me?”

“Um… they mentioned the Flame-Feeder often visited, but that was before I was born. I don’t understand.”

Her grin grew impossibly wider. It was terrifying, Jasmine. When I looked in her eyes, I saw a glint of something ancient. Something far more rooted in this earth than you or I.

“That was me, silly!” She reached out and cupped my cheek gently. Something she saw in my eyes made her gaze grow soft. “Oh… you don’t know, do you.”

“Know what?” I asked. I stammered every syllable. 

“Care to guess how old I am?”

I knew it was a trap, and yet… I answered. Thirty-five.

She is over eight-hundred years old. 

Jasmine, you and I both know that any mortal may have the flame of their life extended by decades, should His Eternal Warmth gaze upon them. I did not realize that He could also extend a life out for centuries. 

“That’s the greatest gift His Eternal Warmth gives his Flame-Feeders. Think about it this way: what good is a Flame-Feeder with the lifespan of a fly, compared to someone who created the concept of time itself?” She took a sip of her wine. “All things considered, I’m still incredibly young for a Flame-Feeder.”

At my shock, she paused. “Hm. You really had no idea, did you? I guess that isn’t common knowledge outside of the Undying Embers. Don’t worry, Spica. He’ll extend your life, too. And in time, you’ll understand. Eventually the years begin to feel like days.”

Jasmine, I have always been scared of death. I am too pitiful of a coward to embrace my reforging the way a real Undying Ember should. 

And yet, in the face of a life that long, death looks so easy.

From,
Spica

Report From Just Outside of The Hall of Kindling and Charcoal

Fir

Metadata

Reference Number: BICI/SSP/CRJ0703/006

Title: Report From Just Outside of The Hall of Kindling and Charcoal

Author: Fir

Date: Written approximately in the third month of year 5607 A. o. W.

Extent: One report, two pages long

To His Eternal Warmth,

We’re almost at Scritta’s Hall. We’re staying at the base of the mountain tonight. I’ll leave a couple of the more promising Undying Embers at the base of the mountain to watch our things. I only need one, but that person should have company. Two days spent completely alone is a bit much for most people. There are two young ones who have been flirting with each other the entire trip. I do hope they take advantage of their relative privacy to get that flush of first love out of their systems by the time we return.

The trip here was lovely, actually. Zeolite was fine. Wolfjaw was great as always. All these years later, and they still give me such a warm welcome… oh, and the wine they offered me? Fantastic. I asked for four bottles. Spica even split two with me!

It was a good experience for Spica. She hasn’t gotten much of a chance to see what exactly I do amongst the people. What I’ll need her to do amongst the people. It’s one thing to feed the flames of an undying fire, but another entirely to tend to flames that burn out within heartbeats. She sat by my side for every meeting and listened to every silly little request I heard. And after I had asked her her thoughts, she responded with the same spark of intelligence I saw in her at the very beginning. Oh, I was so delighted! 

I think the messiness of our first few days together really wore on her. I understand. It was a big transition. But she needs to move past it! We’re destined to sacrifice so much. But for everything we sacrifice — a relationship, an opportunity, a future we extinguish — You give us that and so much more in return. An idea I think she’s finally coming to understand.

We’re also having some excellent conversations. Our last night in Wolfjaw was delightful. I looked at her, and for once, she actually looked back at me. It was like my heart skipped a beat. I can’t remember the last time someone was willing to meet my gaze. Maybe before everything with Scritta fell apart…

Anyways, I do worry for Spica. Her combat is still poor. It isn’t a major issue. She has other Undying Embers to kill aberrations for her. And she’ll never be alone. Now that her training is as complete as it needs to be, why WOULDN’T I keep her at my side?

What worries me is how little she cares for her weapon. I swear, it’s like she’s afraid of her sword. And it was such a precious gift from You, too! I thought she’d treat it like a little piece of her old home, but I was wrong. She refuses to draw it. And while we don’t share a tent, she pitches hers next to mine. When I look over, I can see its silhouette perched against the opposite side of where she puts her bedroll. 

I’m not stupid. I know she wanted to use a spear. But if You wanted her to use a spear, then You would have given her a spear. If that means she’s going to be a mediocre fighter for the next few decades, then so be it. 

Honestly, it isn’t that bad. If she improves her people skills — and I’m certain she will — then she’ll never have a lack of people wanting to fight for her. To prove themselves to her.

She’ll need to improve her confidence first. I’ve seen how little she thinks of herself. I want her to realize just how much value she brings. To You. To me. To the world itself!

Hopefully Scritta’s little sham trial will be good for her. She’ll see that in this world, there are those of us who are blessed, and then there are those of us who become stuck in the stupid ruts we make for ourselves. And if you ask me, Spica’s not one for ruts.

Your faithful disciple,

Fir