The Thousandfold Notes of Alejandro Benjazar

[Don Nadie]

As in the Times of Bloom and Silver

Once, there was an ancient city.
And in that ancient city, myriad Silverworks.
Where many things were made.
Many things that were beautiful, and delicate, and soft.

"Of this victory there shall be feast, and quaffing of much sweet wine."
An invitation, it seemed. Brought in embroidered heraldry.
"And also shall there be contest, in Har'pas", it added,
"as there was in the days of Silver"
An invitation. Many strange and uncommon joys promised. Perhaps nightmares.
"Games!", it exclaimed, in ritualistic elation, "Bread and Games!"
An invitation. Why did it sound like a threat?

High came the axe, before descending.
In two, it cleft the head of a brother.
In clefting the head, the axe broke.
In breaking the axe, the clans dispersed.
In dispersing the clans, violence ensued.
And in the violence, red blood and redder fires.
Murderer, upon their lips.

"Please tell me you're not going to that trap", she said, later.
At her new home. Two beds. I suppose such is life, sometimes.
"I don't think so", I sighed. I am not thrilled at anything that honors the Murderer.
(And I find myself less eager to die heroically, these days)
"Then again", I admitted, "I am curious".
Curiosity, of course, being the thing that killed the cat.

And so it was, for an Age and many.
That the times of Bloom and Silver were gone.
And their arrows darkened the skies.
For a sire of War walked amongst them.

[Don Nadie]

I'd Call You a Friend

We were in her office when it happened.
Discussing politics, as one does.
The corruptions, horrors and tribulations of the Assembly.
My fears, how she could help me, her kindly offer.
Then, the latest development. Her choice, her burden.

"Do you think", she concluded, "I made a mistake with Qadira?"

Why we were on this topic escaped me. She was certainly burdened.
And perhaps I was there, willing to listen. So I gave my response, my own thoughts.
Her frown, deep. Meandering hypotheses running through her mind.

"I am sorry, Alejandro", she interjected, concern in her voice.
"You do not deserve such laid upon you".

I did not knew what to answer. She seemed, for a moment, so small.
A tiny old woman, on a huge chair, sighing. On her shoulders, so much weight.
And trying to spare me, what? Concern?

"Señora mia...", I sighed, "at the risk of taking undue liberty..."
"It is no... Issue, to hear your burdens"
"Because I respect you greatly", I said. I paused.

Weary, the both of us. Each with our concerns, and ideas, and beliefs.
Each with causes for disagreement, I'm sure... But, in kindness, reaching out.

"And I would call you a friend", I added."

At that, she smiled. As did I.

[Don Nadie]

Let It Go

"Every Balladeer has sought to speak of the same to me"
"Why I left", I explained, "and why not return"

Apparently, they don't call it "the Dungeon" anymore.
Not sure why that hurt me so much, but it did.
Maybe being there just brought it all back, an onrush.
(The last time I was there. The first, too.)
(Lynneth's smile and encouragement, first. Her lips, when they burnt, last.)
It took me a moment to refocus from the roses, to return to the present.
What a strange echo, she was, before me.

"Every Recluta has come with the matter of you, at one point or another", she explained.
"Of course, there's an easy solution: your return"

I don't think she knew quite what she was asking.
As she laid her reasons: lack of personel, my own resourcefulness, my expertise.
To save the world, was I not needed? Was sacrifice not deserving?
She didn't knew the half of it, I suppose.
My work there, my leaving. Many things I told her. Some, I kept for myself.
(What transpired before those very roses, I kept for myself)
(Though I do not know why I feel this shame, when I remember.)

"I kept telling every Student that the real College was not the cloaks, the fortress, the roses"
"That all that was attrezo, and the College was in our hearts"
A sigh, a sip of the cup. She had served something sweet, not the Drink.
(Thankfully. I don't know whether I'd have had the strength to reject It)
"Then Aubrey called my ideas 'nonsense' and 'a sure path to irrelevance'"
"And Lyrists and Grandmaster, more politely, agreed"

I will never know what hurt most:
The rejection of my ambitions, after months of toil and effort...
Or seeing my ideals rebuffed, rejected in such a way.
Obviously, by now, it doesn't matter.

"Balladeers either die in battle", I explained.
"Or sink deep into his cups, unable to endure the Real"
I did not have the heart to bring up Aurelio. His sad state.
I would be like him by now, however: I know it.
Just waiting for a chance to die a hero.
"I tried the first", I added, softly, "I survived".
"And I don't want to drown, again"

I would admit there was something echoing within me, at her words, as the conversation went on and we touched on Fate, and Sacrifice, and Hope, and DQWR. But was I not, for all their burdens, at peace with my choices? I think I was. I think I am where I am meant to. Or, at least, where I want to be. Bannerless hedgeknight, trickster-scholar. I do not know that I believe in Fate as I once did, but this feels as it should... Fate and Choice and Chance and Effort. Echoing, within me, their prophecies: 

The Cup will not be found by a knight in shining armor
From the viewpoint of prophecy, you're better: a hedgeknight.
Red is the Rose, white is the Lily
Entwinned, like lovers, the Ages

Wrapped in prophecy and certain, I felt it once once more.
The desire to be, again, a Roseknight.
I felt it and, tenderly, I let it go.




[A little note has been added at the bottom - part of a last conversation.]

"Poor Lynneth", she said as we left the College, "Would that I could've met her"
I smiled, remembering her gallantry towards Hypatia.
"In some ways, you're very similar", I said, softly.
Then, I found myself pausing. Sighing.

"She was much more human than the statues make her seem, though"
"That's what was best about her"

[Don Nadie]

Hapax Legomenon

In my room we gathered once more, like in old times. It had grown dustier, fuller. Bookshelves had been added, new books climbing on top of others. The notes of new, stranger translations littered the floor. The notes for the People's History were everywhere at once. It was a mess but, for once, I forgot to apologize for it.

"Of course, every translator comes to face their worst foe"
"The hapax legomenon", she said.
"The word that occurs in no other source"

I hesitated, considering. Had I, really?
I am likely the best translator in the Well. At least the most dedicated.
(Yes, Naelin, if you're reading it after my death: eat dirt!)
(Also, in case you're reading it after my death: I love you, you idiot!)
Was there truly such a perfect cypher? Had I seen it?

"No word is isolated", I responded, at last.
"There are always clues in its morphology. Prefixes, suffixes, roots"
"But also, in its position within the sentence. In its use"
"Every word is bound to the rules of its language. Entwined with every word elsewhere in the sentence."
"Every word, sometimes despite itself, contains information"

I was thinking about "DQWR", of course, though it is perhaps the opposite of what she meant. A word that has been repeated endlessly, over the aeons, worn out by use with all of our hopes, all of our dreams... And yet, its true meaning hides in a jungle of legend and elaboration. So many words written "about" it that almost everyone, when finding the letters, are too awed to realize how they are used. The leters have a meaning, hidden. Yet the position, writing, use, deliverance. Like a teasing lover, they show enough to awaken Desire, to call us ever closer.

That day, Caddick was awed because she thought the legends were True.
I was awed because I was closer to Truth itself.

"True", she said. A smile on her lips.
"Just like we mortals, ourselves"
"Each, a piece of a grand puzzle"

I was, perhaps, too tense. This discussion, and the one before. A nameless hesitation ran through my thoughts, as though part of me was too busy measuring that we kept our distance, and another part of me was too shamed that I was measuring the distance, and another, too shamed of the shame in the first place. A tangle: such are, often, our conversations.

"It us good you took the opportunity to come with us", she had said.

There had been a slight smile on her lips.
Satisfaction, maybe. I couldn't tell.

"I cannot say no to Truth", I had admitted.
"It calls"

She did not seem to truly react. Not a change in her expression.
In the dusty air, not a movement came from her.
Just steadiness. Certainty. Her smile, too, of the Ages.

"And that is why you remain our friend", she had responded, at last.
"And why you always will", she had added.

It wasn't clear from her tone whether she meant
                                                                                hope,
                                                                                            or suggestion,
                                                                                                                     or statement,
                                                                                                                                              or command.
 

"Hapax Legomenon"

[Don Nadie]

I Was Dreaming the Path

I was dreaming the path. Downwards and downwards, a spiral.
I was dreaming the path and I was holding His hand.
Truth led me downwards, our fingers entwinned.
So tightly that our flesh was one. Our flesh was one and our flesh was burning.
He turned his head slightly, tightened His grasp. He smiled.
In the darkness, His smile was a promise.
I was dreaming the path. I was burning with desire. I was promised.
I was dreaming the path and I went downwards and downwards.
The Depth was reached. Before us, the Threshold.
Truth pushed me against the Threshold and our flesh was one and our flesh was Truth.
On my mouth, His mouth. On my breath, His breath.
Burning, His fingers on my skin. His touch sizzled on my flesh and I exhaled, ecstasic.
I was promised. I was marked. In my want, I was wanted.
And His lips were on mine and His lips were hers.

I woke up sweating, bleeding from my nose, stained, feverish.
I woke unsated, on my chest there were tiny, reddish burns.
Like the footprints of birds on sand, the mark of His fingertips.

[Don Nadie]

Ancient, the Games

I barely got glimpses of the fights with all their staging and boisterous grandeur. I was, I think, dazed. Awed, perhaps. The stories woven, the chants from the thousand throats of a thousand clans. What strange beauty they craft, these murderers. What a culture they have, so refined in all its cruelty.

I cared not for the violence, and much for history. I slipped through the passageways taking note of impressions, of ancient glyphs, of rare structures. Like a shadow, I moved, hearing the distant sounds of battle, the chants. History, held within the very stones. History, in that Throne. A story, too, retold in blood.

Once, there was a city.
And within that city, many wonders were made.
Silverworks for refined jewels, for bangles and beads.
Delicate wonders from worshipful hands.

Then came the breach, the war. Failed, the embassies of Peace.
Then came the burning of the Trees and the palaces.
Then came the Bronze. High the axe, clefting the helm.
Then came the brother to shed his kin's blood.
Then came Aeb, of the a word here, redacted

They were Bellicose.
Their Way, borne by the Disc.

Only much later, after I was left looking at the Celestial Disc, alone in the ruins, did I realize that people had died. And I, too obsessed over exploring, over writing, over listening; too crouched upon an ancient corner of this ancient place, forgot to care.

I dislike what that says about me.

[Don Nadie]

The Difference

The difference between a lie and silence is a thin one. When a friend is telling you something you already know, how do you react? When you're bound, in oath most solemn, to silence, what can you tell?

I longed to share but I couldn't. I longed to at least share that I couldn't share, but it felt unfair and against the spirit of my promise. "I hope to explore it with you", I said instead. Which had the advantage of being true.

Such a tiny difference. Such a painful thing.

Horrid, to hold onto so thin a ledge, lest you fall.

Below, who knows. Maybe betrayal. Maybe dissapointment.

Maybe, worst of all, his sorrow.

[Don Nadie]

Elyse

Yes, I was there. No, I did not notice.

Enamoured of history. Enticed by the Ages. Her death flew high above my head.

I find myself now, here, alone. Amist my own collection of ancient things. I remember the stories of giants slowly turning to mountains, slowly becoming one with their loneliness. Is that what's happening to me? Am I beginning to care so much about these ancient things that I lose track of someone dear?

I taught her to dig. I guided her first steps. I showed her the Ramparts. It felt like a small betrayal, her joning the College. (And I hate that it felt like a betrayal). It felt saddening, her slow but steady distancing herself. Her following Aurelio, his little archaeologist. She reminded me so much of Portia (and how I failed Portia) that, when I saw her appear with her Rose cloak, her cheeks flushed with reverie, I sometimes felt my stomach clench.

And now she's dead.

"How do you do it?", she asked.
"Do what?", I wondered.
"Live without it. Without the Drink"

And I smiled, tiredly.
Said that we could discuss it later.
And later never came, and those were our last words to each other.

So it goes, so it goes.

[Don Nadie]

It Came to Pass

I was chatting with a friend when it came to pass. Discussing my fears. "I'm one bribed Legate away from losing my ability to work, or worse", I think I said. He  was offering wisdom (as ever), commenting on my pride. He was not wrong, of course, that I am prideful, that I could just accept some restrictions and navigate them more easily, if I just feigned acquiescence.

And I can't. I guess I just don't have that many things I am proud of. But my research? That's the one aspect of my life where I've never done anything I'm ashamed of. Where I can say I've been wholeheartedly honorable. Where I can look at everything, from beginning to end, with pride.

"I am the best archaeologist in the Well", I declared.
Because it's true. There's nobody in the Tower half as good as I.
"Nobody think Mae Stern a better archaeologist than you", he said.
"This one will of course deny this, in public".

A part of me winced, at that. Not falseehood, perhaps, but insincerity. From him of all people. I understood, of course, his reasons. Still, there was something horrid about this city getting even to him. As the discussion went over the past, as I mentioned how the Tower diverted blame by casting aside the Torchbearers...

"Faction work for faction", he said.
"Alejandro know this", he added.
Resignation. The world as is, not as it should be.

And I was going to respond, when it came to pass. Their arrival, in seriousness. To search me. All that had to be hidden was hidden, but I still felt exposed. To investigate me. To request information as though I had done something wrong. And the moment I realized it was happening I felt the world contract, I felt myself tightening with fear. They wanted to see my papers. I was prepared, of course. I have been prepared since Vergal first threatened us and Jamileh began to fall into paranoiaThey wanted to see my authorizations. I have known this was bound to happen, I have known it for so long and I still had to make an effort not to tremble. I took them to my room, took Zol Nur along. A witness. The one thing I'm proud of, the one thing - stories. The one thing and in danger And he said he'd get that report, maybe come back.

"It fine", he said.
"Alejandro had papers"
And he patted my back.

And I hated everything about it.

[Don Nadie]

I Needed a Smoke

I was spiraling, when he appeared, wincing with concern. I was feeling as though the walls were in closing on me, as I explained the search, the issue. Every muscle in my body wanted to run away, to bolt, to jump into the clouds and never leave and get lost and just escape escape escape -- and he caught my wrist right as I began scratching.

"I need a smoke", I addmited, softly. 
Perhaps not the best thing to say to my stern doctor.
But I really did. And I'm trying honesty.
"What you need is a bath and a hot meal", he grumbled.
So I cleared my throat, I paused, I put the cigarette away.
(It was not easy)
"Take me for some falafel, then", I said.

A hot meal didn't do me ill, but I was still a bit lost, a bit distant. Through my mind were running the practicalities of death. The realization that my Will still named Domhnall, and few else, for example. The thought kept growing within me, cancerous: if I was gone, what would need to be done? How could I ensure my research continued? What could allow me to survive? Could I dodge the lions? How? What would I miss? What

"Want to go on a trip?", I proposed, softly.

I was spiraling and needed mizzar, but the practicalities? The practicalities held some meaning. Giving him a key before we left was one of them, so that someone could get my books. Going on a trip, too, was part of it - if something happened and I hadn't, I would regret it.

His reaction to the Tower was unsurprising, but that didn't make it any less pleasant to witness. There's something that fills the heart, about seeing someone else brimming with joy, immersed in what makes them happiest, what they were almost made for. And this was, perhaps, as good as the Terrace. I watched him watch the flowers and, for a moment, I forgot the dread, and the fear, and the expectation and I forgot even the desire of...

"This is better than mizzar", I murmured, smiling softly.
Atop the stairs, for once more or less my size as he examined some ivy, he turned.
His eyes as verdant as the leaves, and just as lush.
"Being arround all these plants?"

And my smile widened as breathed in, deeply, the scent.
And I answered the Truth, and it tasted sweet in my mouth.
And it felt brave: to seek Truth, here, above.
With as much passion as I sought Him elsewhere
And if something happened there'd still be regrets.
But there'd be one less, to count.

[Don Nadie]

Better than Me

He didn't understand my melancholia. My anger, my hurt pride, the... Pain of seeing him, in that position - not so much for what he was, but because of what it meant about him. What he was becoming.   

"You said you wouldn't admit it in public"
"And that saddens me - because you never lied, before"

He gave me one of those long stares.
In the darkness, his onyx eyes seemed so shiny.
It was the sparks of torches, reflecting and flickering within.

"This one does not lie", he said. "Witholds truth"
"But, why sorrowful?", he asked. "Alejandro loves lie"

And I felt my mood sink as others dug into the past, and bit my tongue.
I bit my tongue because all I wanted to do was cry, softly:

"But you're supposed to be better than me"

[Don Nadie]

An Understudy

Once, a lifetime ago, in the Rampart Nusrum, warhorns rang.
"We must scape", said the Professor, who had been leading the expedition.
"But the people!", cried the Singer, concerned for those who remained at the camp.
"We cannot leave them", said the Dwarven Hero, Shield of Ephia.
So they readied themselves, for battle.

He sighed, gently. "I'm not angry", he said.
"You just have fantastically bad judgement, sometimes"
I pressed my lips, trying to hold in the tears.

We were covered in blood, the both of us. The orcan's, and each other's. First we had won, but twenty corpses became forty became sixty... And in rode the cavalry, their spears shimmering in the raging fires. By the time we could retreat, it was too late. Overrun. Defeated. By telling Elias we couldn't leave the innocents behind, and had to fight, did I save anyone? And, even if I had saved them all, was it worth almost losing him?

"I failed", I whispered, "and I'm sorry"
I clenched my own wrist, to not scratch. I wanted to draw blood so badly.
"Dont be", he said. So very, very tired. "You did what you thought was right"
"You would've saved them, if you could".
He hesitated, dodging my eyes. "I can't blame you for that".

I held myself best I could, I said my goodbyes, but it was the door that was what did it. When I tried to open it, and it was locked, I just bursted into tears. A blood-soaked wimp, sniffling on the stairs, his heart spilling all over with guilt and love and sorrow and inadequacies, none more horrid than failing to protect someone he --

He interrupted the spiral of my tearful self-pity, his hand on my cheek.
"I don't want to lose you, either", he whispered.

And on they faced the Bellicose's assault.
Shields ringing, swords shining. A song high upon their lips.
On they faced it, and they lived.
And so lived the innocent caravaneers.
And all was joy and peace and happiness forever

Never had I felt like such a terrible understudy for Snorri.

[Don Nadie]

Alternate Timelines

For some reason, there's a part of me that can't avoid seeing lives as stories and viceversa. Sometimes (more often, since I've tasted the taste of Truth) our lives seem, but for a moment, strange and distant things. To be judged for artistic merit, rather than as something messy and solid. It's a momentary impression. I blink and the feeling is gone, but the way it lingers gives some interactions a strange, distant air...

I suppose I reflect on this, particularly, because a discussion on the Second Coming of Estellise Azimi had become a discussion on the merits of different literary tropes.

"Look", I said, "all I'm saying is alternate universes are lazy storytelling"
"An excuse to be derivative, instead of trying something new"

Clarissant smiled, softly.
She has patience - and she likes the trope.
(And I like her patience, much more peaceful)

"Well, I'm sure there's an alternative you somewhere"
She chuckled, amusement glittering in her eyes, as she added:
"An Alejandro who thinks alternative timelines are "neat""

Naelin, in turn, frowned a bit.
Perhaps, due to her own experience.
Visions of alternatives, visions of otherwhens, otherifs.

"Well, don't say that in front of her!", she said.
Then, in a lower tone, almost of conspiracy, she added:
"It might make her sad"

And I suppose therein lays the trouble. Imagining people as stories is useful for the storyteller (and doubly so for the historian) but it flattens them. Their lives get lost in the plot. I wonder, what of the people who'll be remembered mostly in my History? I am trying to bring both their virtues and flaws but, ultimately, they have more to do with statues than with beating hearts...

Is Colmes the man trying to establish law and find Zarat, or is he a detective story? Was Lynneth the messy woman who couldn't resist wooing and also did grand heroics, or a knight's tale? Was Domhnall himself, a complicated and messy man with beautiful, shining eyes, whose tenderness became more and more rare, or was he a classical story about politics rotting idealists?

And I? What story am I?

And what story could I be, if only?

[A few dropplets of blood stain the end of this entry.]

And I find myself reflecting, too, on that heinous tower of LIES where the stained glass LIED about the past and the books LIED about the future and the voice echoed with LIES - for such was Their work, Their name as familiar to me as the shadow of Their daggers. They weave their LIES in history, right in the white space between one word and another...Alternative times are but distractions and LIES, and I fear them not and I care not for them - I walk faster and faster, because so long as I move forward, I can't be caught.

And I carry on my lips, everburning, the sweet taste of Truth.

[Don Nadie]

Haunted

Another chapter, now finished. Act III. It is strange, reflecting upon it. No other Act feels as distant to me as this one. Many of the aspects that I lived through the last two are still here, within me. Scarred and weary, but present... Yet I have realized the Alejandro that lived through those events is entirely gone.

He haunts me, in a way. I remember the passion with which I thought the Accorded ought to be allowed Legateship, my anger and sense of betrayal when Zaniah agreed to that. I remember my anger at Kythaella and Velan, my faith in the League of White and democracy. The hopes I had on Mae, the way I trusted her. To think about it is to feel a thin knife sliding into my stomach.

I feel as though I have been changed so throughly, I scarcely recognize that man anymore. And what remains is a weight that I cannot quite lose. The memory of Pirouette which still echoes every time I pass the Pilgrim, I wonder what she would think, if she saw me right now and--

[The notes suddenly stop. A pause in the writing which, upon return, shows a much more deliberate and steady hand]

I really shouldn't think on it. I shouldn't ponder on it. To think of it makes me want to smoke. Makes me want the Drink. Makes me long for the bottom of the sea or the cliffside or the well.

So here's something else: I finished something hard - a chapter of History. I did a good job, which will hopefully be rewarded. I must be proud, and look forward, and move forward. I must remind myself that I am aiding my city, that I have many friends, that my work is respected, that people care about me.

This is the present moment, and the moment is forever.

Euoi, Seucsippus, euoi!
May memory empty itself into the present.
May the heart fill to the brim, and spill.
May euphoria find me as I move.
Forward forward forward forward.
Euoi, Seucsippus, euoi!

[Don Nadie]

Irrelevant

It is amusing to be called "Irrelevant", by a Nadiri of all people. Though evidently, she is much more. She knew things she had not right to know, hidden things, secret things. She said she had visions... Visions, sure. It feels as though she was cheating, with her knowledge. Earned elsewhere, elsewhen, elsehow. I suppose such is the way with diviners? It sucks, in a way. I'd love to know things without being in places, personally... Would save me so much effort!

Regardless, what's interesting is not that she had visions. Nor that she called me "Irrelevant". The first is normal in a diviner, I suppose; the second, so obviously stupid as to be ignored. After all, it is not as though they had all come to discuss the writings of Mae Stern. 

I think the saddest thing is that, having somehow knowledge of all my life, of things well beyond her reach, having so much divination and so much information... She thinks that the reason I left the College was that I didn't want to be in Aubrey and Aurelio's shadow.

How can one know so much... And still be so ignorant?