The Thousandfold Notes of Alejandro Benjazar

[Don Nadie]

Prayer

I spoke to the Acolyte, in the morning. I needed to speak. To hear of what happened while I didn't slep. What the rumors said of threats and fights. Only the Acolytes seemed trustworthy, or willing to hear me, after yesterday night. I spoke to her, and eventually, I cried.

"I feel like I must hold my ideals", I admitted.
"And push them into the murky waters of fact"
"And drown them slowly, with my own hands"

I do not know what came upon me. I think I had spent too long crying in my office, and having her there couldn't stop me. I was not strong. I feel, every day, less strong. I want justice done, so desperately it pains me. And I feel, even in my College, few want that. Aubrey wants power. Narwen doesn't know. And the rest... The rest do not seem to care about the common good. Not like the Acolytes.

"An ideal is not a creature you can drown", she said.
Her hand was on my shoulder.
I needed that, touch, warmth.
"It will always be there, under the waters"
"Waiting for you to reach out".

I eventually took the reins of myself, I regained my composture. I thanked her, and let her go to her sleep. And then I took my shield, my blade. I set off to Errantry, for there is, I know it, peace in being a lonely errant knight. One can almost pretend, for a moment, he hasn't hurt anybody.

I wandered as far as the Ramparts of Nusrum, alone. Seeking fragmets of the past, signs of the Tonsure, of the blood-star. I tricked orcan armies into following mirages, flew above the ancient parapets transformed into a bird. I feared for my life. It is easier, fearing for my life, than anything else. Or usually it is, but I felt no respite. Whenever I paused to catch my breath atop some cliff. Whenever I glanced upon ancient bones. Whenever I looked upon the bright moon, and heard the horns of the orcans in the distance.

I thought of Marcellus. Devoured by lions.

I went to the altars of Warad, left offerings of water and food for travellers to come. I deposited words, and prayer. I told a tale for none to hear, but myself and the desert. I tried to close my eyes for a moment, warded by the Wheel.

I thought of Portia. Angry and betrayed.

I returned to the Well, feeling as though my heart was weary, and no prayer would lighten it. Warad has Tales, but no answer to unknowns. Izdu has Revelation, but no counsel when one must keep secrets.

And I am
                          scared
                                                of
                                                                      the
                                                                                                Dark

[Don Nadie]

One Vote

I ambushed him. I am not proud, but I ambushed him, right at the Bellows. I was so desperate, my heart was so burdened. I needed to look into the eyes of someone I knew was idealistic, someone who, like me, was trying to  do the right thing.

"I have never lied to you", I said.
"I never will", I insisted.
I was looking into his eyes.
(They are nice eyes to look into, even now)
"Can you promise me the same?"

I was trying to gauge his opinion. I was trying to measure what was best for the Well. I had heard so many rumors, from so many places, I did not knew who to trust. Who was even reliable? Was I even reliable? I knew that Aubrey had asked for every government position under the sun and I was angry that she chose that. Why did she chose that? Did the Lyrists tell her to negociate as though she owned the world? And what is the College, if we ask in the same terms as the Banda, as the Astronomers? What are we, if we fail to be better?

(It took him a second to respond)
(But it felt endless)
"I promise", he said.
(Only then I realized I had been holding my breath)

So I said goodbye. I chose to believe him, Warad have mercy upon my soul. I chose to believe him because that's what I had to do, because at some point you have to choose to give people a chance. I chose to believe him like I had believed Mae when she promised that /thing/, that /horror/ I played a part in assembling /would/ merely drag a piece of dead earth, harmless save for its force. I chose to believe him because there has been no punishment and /we/ deserve to serve Justice.

I went in. I did it.

I was trembling, but I did it. And Ibn Ghalish was waiting at the exit. To ask. To insist. To regale me with his tales of punishments, and vengeances, and blood drousing the streets. He was whispering to me, far too close, and I was trembling.

"Ignore him", he had said.
Back at the bar.
When ibn Ghalish's Bellows had rung.
"I promise you I want no one dead".
"No one", he insisted, "trust me"

"How funny", whispered Ibn Ghalish.
I could smell the chai in his breath.
Far too close for comfort.
"He promised me something else entirely"

[A prayer has been added to the margin. Unlike other prayers written in this diary, the trace of the letters seems to struggle. Not a meditative, peaceful exercise, but something has been slightly forced. Even the letters of the prayer seems relatively uninspired.]

Oh Warad, have mercy.
Give this Tale an ending that is worthy.
Let us find peace, and justice,
at the end of Your path.
Let us return wiser,
from this Task of Errantry.
Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please

[Don Nadie]

Revelation

I was burdened.
Did I find purchase? The day was so long I'm not sure.
Certainty remains a mirage, but still.
Both owe the Rose, both will try their best.
Will both be broken, while trying?
And when I was troubled, we spoke.

"It's no sin to survive", she said.
"Then", I asked, "why does it feel like it?"
"Many, are hopeless", she explained.
"They feel all they can do is choose their deaths"
"So they throw their lives with ease".
She paused. She whispered:
"But I need you, Alejandro"
"And so does the Well".

She was kind with her words.
Except when she wasn't.
When we spoke of Marcellus.

"Whose fault is that Alejandro?"
She said that far too loudly.
Her word raised, like a burst of thunder.
"You abandoned him".
She claims her voice was not her own.
But her words, still, rang true.

Still, she gave, if not trust, at least something like caring. I suppose you can love even when you're angry.

(With her, I drank again: such respite.
      Not an erasure of burdens,             
but a lightening of them.                   
      I cannot, of course, indulge.
I shan't Drink again for a while,       
            I musn't. It was respite but,
should I seek it again,       
      I know I'll drown
and drown             
                  and drown.)     

And then, afterwards. After him, she came. She came and she brought, with her, Revelation. Was it less significant than I thought? Was the Drink playing tricks on my mind? Whatever the case, she spoke, she shared.

And, for a while, I couldn't speak.
                              I just received it in extasis
                                                      in awed silence.
                                                                  As the locust sang,
                                                                                    she gave me
                                                                                                luminous

R     E     V     E     L     A     T     I     O     N

[Don Nadie]

Leap of Faith

[The entry starts with a little prayer. Written in some strange ink, it is almost invisible except when looked at near a flame.]

Into the Darkness,
let me leap.
And be safe, and be content.
And find purchase.
I beg you this,

Σ  Ε  U  Κ  Σ  Ι  Π  Π  Υ Σ

"How do you bear it?"
My question was rather sudden
"It?". She was puzzled.
"The uncertainty, the secrets"

The fires crackled, softly.
Her silence, like a pillow.
(Under my head?
Over my mouth?)

"You find yourself grappling with shadow?", she asked.
"With conspiracy?"
"With lies and deception?"
I took a moment to answer.
My smile was tired.
"All of the above."

(How many turns did our chat take?)
(Did I bare my soul?)
(Or just enough, because I couldn't bear it?)
(Because the secrets within secrets were tearing me appart?)

"The pain is yours", she argued.
"Use it".

"I have tried...", I admitted "I still do..."
"To be worthy of the cup"
"But I am no knight"
"It is pretty to think of golden knights."
"But you and I know", she said.

(She smiled. Wide.)
(She has all the certainty I lack.)
(From her lips, perhaps, prophecy)

"The Cup will not be found by a knight."

[Don Nadie]

The Shame

[The entirety of the page has been covered in writing, with two different inks.]

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MESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMEWe lookedSHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMESHAMES
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[Don Nadie]

On Love

[A little tale.]

Once, there was a woman, sick.
Sick with regret, sick with guilt.
          For she had brought upon herself and others much burden.
And she had not been able to heal it.
                                  Others had.

         Once, her sickness grew.
And the woman refused to take other's Cure.
Missgivings, perhaps.
Or perhaps the deep, horrid knowledge
          that others had fixed the mistake she made.

Or maybe she began to think of death as respite.

Once, a Fool was ready to cry.
Was ready to throw himself at her feet, at his sword.
Ready to offer anything, so that she would live.
For when many have been lost,
             you don't get used to it.
Rather, each loss weights heavier.

Once, thankfully, blessedly, the stubborn woman gave up.
Perhaps, because Love conquers.
And she drank, and was healed.
And all was well in the Well.

"We have a deep and boundless love for you"
(Their voices echoed in the stone)
(Their smiles kindly)
"And we forgive you."

[Don Nadie]

A Sore Loser

I'd love to say I'm becoming used to losing, but the opposite seems to be the case. With every election, I grow wearier. In every election, I throw more of my heart, only to see it shatter again and again. This one was exceptionally burdensome, I feel, though having managed not to rely on the Drink to endure probably spared me a few embarrassing moments.

"You should care less", she said.
"That's the root of your problem"
"And Elections are pantomimes"
(She was right)
(But if I accepted that cynicism
       I might as well give up)
"I have never managed not to care about something"
I sighed. Deeply.
"Or someone"

As we waited for the results I took Marcellus aside. I let him know, both where my sympathies had fallen, and of my commitment to see him safe. I would square the circle, I would stand by his side. I would walk the line, and both try to get proper inquiry into the matter, and protect his life. Even if Domhnall failed me. I would.

"Careful making promises"
"Specially those you may not be able to uphold"
He paused. He breathed in.
"As I'm finding out myself"

He won, however. I felt sad at the amount of votes my beloved League gathered, such an embarrassment that the leader I thought would bring us victory garnered as many votes as poor, foolish Echemmon. But there was relief in it, too. I wouldn't have to see whether my faith was put on the wrong man.

"We shall work harder", he said.
His eyes were serene.
(Pretty eyes, they are)
"And I'll learn, from this, humility"
(I wonder if, like me,
he is a great performer)

I witnessed the oath of Marcellus, heard Estellise perform what I can only describe as her Gellemende duty to discord and misinformation, then marched with him, the College and the Astronomers to his office. I negociated in earnest, for the Rose. I got, I suppose, a good deal. Better for us, in fact, than the Tower: a Prelate close to many of us, and a Magistrate from our midsts.

     I felt dirty, doing such haggling.
I felt dirty, knowing Marcellus won his seat
          by selling positions to the Accord.
I felt dirty, knowing what Aubrey had been doing.
                  And keeping a good man, that Zain, from the Prelateship,
                             just because it was my duty.

How often does duty stain one's hands?

[Don Nadie]

Revelations of the Sparrows

Once, there was a little bird.
And that little bird grew wise.
So wise that the very stars above knew.
And Fate bestowed, upon her,
bright
   and shimmering 
   and new and luminous

                Revelation.

"Is this your way of trusting Fate?", she asked
(It was on her hand, but she wasn't quite holding it)
"No", I answered.
I closed her fist arround it.
"It's my way of trusting you".

And the ground beneath us trembled.

[Don Nadie]

Knights

The College is once more full of them, stomping arround in their shining armours. Few to none of them practice the Arts, perform research, scout the paths. They just go forth, content in the certainty that Fate shall show them the way. Worst of all is that, often, it does.

I need to be honest: envy and admiration intertwine everytime I look at them. How beautiful their are, in their conviction, how righteous. How easy it comes to them, the knowledge of what's right and who to trust. They do not stumble nor hesitate, they do not carry with them burdensome knowledge. They do not agonize over what to do best, about what the right duty is. Either that, or they do not seem to.

"Secrets?", she said
We were in the College,
Her induction, my work.
"Secrets are ugly things"
She stated this as fact.
(As they all do)
And I smiled, softly.
(And within, I shriveled)

I remember Lynneth, her perfection. The way she'd shimmer the moment she entered the room, the way everyone turned to her. The adoration that rained upon her, even from foes. My beloved Lynneth, my dear friend, by whose side I was but a pale shadow, a pantomime. How I miss her. How miss her. How I envie

"I play the FooL", I said.
"But some roles are more thankless than others"
She smiled, so consoling.
(She was always so consoling)
"You care too much of what others think."
(I don't know how long ago this was)
(Her memories, like Leiah's, slowly blurring)

Two of our shining knights have risen like Stars. But a week it has taken them to become Balladeers. Where I toiled for months upon moths, the eternal Student even as I was Lynneth's right hand, they have already graduated, wear the uniform with certainty. Visions lead them, they say, and I believe them.

Their hearts are beacon, where mine has been broken into pieces.

She froze, she was digging and something had been found.
"We finish the digs efficiently and fast", she ordered.
She never gives orders.
"And we rush to the College".
"What did you find?", I asked.
"I'm holding it".

There was consolation. Revelation, burning, luminous, the kind that scars itself into the soul, found us in the sands. The knights may stomp arround, but Fate, too, swirls above us. Sparrow's vision shows it, and now the Stars, too, have bestowed a sign upon me.

It is an echo. It is thunder. It is not It.

But from the thunder, as it booms, we shall come to find the lightning.

And when I looked upon the Knight that eve, as he dared /judge/ our secrecy, as he dared /complain/ that he knew not all our research, when he had barely spent weeks in the College where we had toiled for months. As I felt his judgement, so kindly and so tender in its severity, so perfect that I shrivelled with the dignity of his posture...

I gripped my find.

For it was mine. An echo. Empty where It would be full... But real, and solid, and in my hands.

Her words, I remembered. Prophecy:

"The Cup will not be found by a knight"

[Don Nadie]

Dancing Words

Lately, every time I wake the world has burnt yet again. And every day I struggle to catch up with the events. A beast, released. Most of the day I was asked to meet with ones or anothers. Osman IV, the Sealbreaker, the Tormented, the Dakhwar. The advantage of being a known scholar, I suppose, is that I can bend information to my agenda. Bootpolisher, for instance, abandoning his designs upon the Spring's Gifts as I dismantle his arguments in favor and withhold those in support.

It is a dance, information. I try to be graceful... But my feet grow sore.

Meeting with the two Legates, both cramped in my office, both attending upon my word as I try to weave a Tale. To offer the Truth, yes, but also what is good for the Well. To offer honesty, yes, but also protect everyone - Mae, Narwen, Hypatia, Torchbearers - even when I cannot protect them.

And then, a betrayal.

"We can offer something", she said
"Something more valuable than gold"
I remained quiet and stern.
I said nothing.
(I brimmed with anger)

How many times have I told them not to trust the Rossa? Every contract with them is dependency, every contract with them makes you more and more entwined. They grow rich on fear and betrayal and fear of betrayal. They are leeches. They grow fat on blood, greed and villany. And they would trust them with this? They would use this as /payment/?

"Honor compells me to say"
I spoke, stiffly.
(Stiffness was better than anger)
"That if I am given this"
"I may not be at liberty to return it"

I didn't lie. I try not to. And I will try to forgive them. For they feared for their lives, and they are old friends. If the Acolytes can forgive Mae, I can forgive Naelin and Sephidra. I must. But I won't lie: my heart cracked yet again.

I barely had time to think, as the Forum approached. Revelations were laid, restless, for all to hear. Discontent was seeded. Ibn Ghalish made a ruckus of accusations and foul claims. But there was more than what was public. All whispered, in small groups. Brief words, shared with the Acolyte, with doña Nasreen, with the Janissaries and others. Information, dancing between us.

"Why don't you take a stroll, my dear Armis?"
I suggested softly, a smile on my lips.
(Fear. You could smell the fear in the air)
"I'd love to know who... Stinks of villany".

And he, so proper, so kindly.
He obliged, as he would.

I learnt little that didn't align with my own observation, though his descriptions of degrees was, perhaps, interesting. I felt, regardless, dirty. I knew that his revelations wouldn't stop me from dealing with them because, unlike my shining knights, I have neither qualms nor certainty.

                                  How valuable they are, his gifts.
                 How unworthy I am, of them.
                                  At least I know.
                                  When I fall.                                 
                    They will judge me and, in their perfection,
             give me either redemption or death.                   

[Don Nadie]

On the Hedge

We spoke, at last, when time allowed.

"If I place my soul upon your hands", I said.
"I may as well place this".

Her statue gazing upon me.
Her statue, kindly.
Like the Mother, and yet without tears.
Only wisdom in Oracle Selene's eyes.
(Luminous and eternal)

"I may not be a knight in shining armor", I added.
(Perhaps, as ever, I needed to bare my soul)
"But I know the biddings of my heart"
"And its duty".

Their smiles were kind, satisfied.
They reminded me of mamá.
When I had tended the goats well,
and she kissed my brow.
(What comfort did they bring)
(They, lightening all burdens)

"From the point of view of prophecy, Alejandro", she said.
"you're better than a knight in shining armor..."

Plumes of aromatic smoke curled in the air,
drawing eerie alphabets of nonexistant lore.
In the distance, the noise the Krak.

"You're a hedge knight"             

And I wondered, for a moment.
If someone had gone into the Depths.
For I felt, I swear, the tremor of the ground.
But no, the ground hadn't shaken.

Just me.

[Don Nadie]

Rooftops

[An extremely short entry, just a few lines scribbled in a mostly empty page.]

Below us, the bustling Souk.
Above us, the cloud-ladden sky.

"It is rare", I said
"that my duty and my heart align"

I bit the falafel.
The taste bursting, spicy.

"I intend to relish it"

[Don Nadie]

Σ  Ε  U  Κ  Σ  Ι  Π  Π  Υ  Σ

[This entry is headed with a strange name, written in Formorian alphabet.]

I showed her my cup, my finding.
In her temple.
The idols gazing at it from their shelves.
The air thick with incense.
My cup, itself, hypnotic.

"I've said it's an echo", I said.
"Thunder to the lightning, to DQWR"
"It feels like a Sign".
She said nothing for a very, very long while
Then, she finally spoke: "Yes."

To continue talking, we went elsewhere.
For there are things which are too secret to reveal.
But there is a place where speaking aloud
                    does not break a secret.

"I have their lashes on my back"

What did I give her?
Confession? My life-story?
A Tale?
(Not even I am certain)
(But I said things none has heard before)

"History and story are but one word, in my tongue"
"Truth and Lies", I said. "Mystery and Revelation"
"Enwtined"

A faint smile in her lips, as she finished my quote:

"Like lovers".

The smile on Their statue is ever playful.
A finger upon Their lips.
And arround Them, confessions.
Love and hatred. Murder and charity.
Entwined.

"I envied her so much", I admitted.

(I had made this same confession before)
(Here, alone)
(But then, I used the present tense)

"I gazed upon her surrounded, loved by all, loved by the Grandmaster"
"The brightest star"
"And I felt so forgotten"
"It was almost like drowning"

She had much to say on loss and mourning.
On absence, as Their dwelling.
On how to fill what was empty.

Her voice, a caress.
Her eyes, so black.

      When I wished to drink, I took the knee, I gave her the cup to hold.
                            The cup parched, dry for aeons.
                                          Waiting for us to dig it in the sands.
                                    Happenstance conspiring through endless eras.

                                                                                      I gave her the Drink to pour.
                                                                                                      (I felt such thirst).
                                                                And the cup was filled.
                                                                                                      And I drank,
                                                                                              from Mystery...     

  Deeply                   

[Don Nadie]

Open

I was just talking. About how lucky we were. About how maybe the worst had passed. About the smart choices we had made to avoid the worse, to keep us from repeating Aubrey's crisis. I was just talking that maybe things were calming down and we could find a way to solve the issue, when I heard it. Not words but concepts. Not phrases but sense. Meaning, into my heart, direct and without pause. So clear it was as though it spoke the One Tongue of my Tale.

O  P  E  N      T  H  E       D  O  O  R

I was thankfully with others. With the Acolytes, whose wisdom can be entrusted. For I knew not what to do, but they, as ever, did.

"Give it to Narwen, Alejandro"
"Your mind is too valuable to risk"

In hindsight, I feel bad that she said that. Or rather, I feel bad that Narwen heard it. It is true, I fear. Even Lynneth's death can be dealt with, another knight can step into her role. But my notes, and its understanding, are certainly the deepest in the Well. Sparrow comes close, but she her theories turn always into hermeneutical excesses. She will step up if she has to. Right as I did. But as I know well, there's a wide gap of loss, while someone steps up.

"You have a weakness within you"
(I remember Nebtu said that. Long ago)
"You must fight it"

I think it is perhaps this weakness, my concern for Narwen, my desire to spare her feelings. It spoke to her in friendly tone, in fact. It spoke of how all left it behind, and asked if she sympathized. It was tender to her tenderness, just as it had been imperious to me. As though it chose to adapt to what would seduce us best.

(What does it say about her?
What does it say about me?)
(That she is best cajoled by tenderness?)
(And I, by Mystery?)

Regardless, the Acolytes, in their wisdom, took charge. The Blessed Mysteries of the Priory will keep it safe. They'll keep all of us safe.

I just feel bad about Narwen.

[Don Nadie]

A night

Time, for a night.
To chat and chat.
Arround a table, as friends come and go:

"Art is not for artists, my friend!"
"Art is for the heart to reach out"
"So do not hold back, and try it!"

I loved such a pause. I loved having a moment.
To just talk and drink, to be inspiring.
To make friends and listen and tell Tales.

Such rare occurrence.
To feel, for a moment, like before.