“Come, courier, come,” the kindly farmer said, beckoning me into his modest cottage. “Your job is done, and it is cold out.”
I had no choice but to accept his assessment of the weather, for I could see my air manifesting itself as dragon’s breath before me. But, searching my body for any discomfort, I could find none. My heart beat hot with purpose.
“Tempting, friend,” I replied, “but I must be off. For who knows what messages, like the one you hold in your hand, even now remain unsent.”
With a tip of the hat, I was away. In truth, I very much would have liked to have spent some time indoors, enjoying the fire, engaging in friendly conversation. But the job of a royal courier is never truly done. Information is the life-blood of any kingdom.
Words have power. Everyone seems to be in agreement there. It is, however, in the connotation of this sentiment where men can be led astray. The runic gospels assert that the words themselves hold the power, and that this power remains, despite any lack of meaning or application to reality. This is false. I know this because I myself have fiddled with runes, and for my considerable trouble, I received no power, save the knowledge gained from failure. No, without a reader to supply meaning, words are nothing but lines on paper or etchings in stone. Words are power in potential, incapable of anything if not through the conduit of human understanding. Once that understanding is attained, words can build or demolish civilizations.
It may seem ironic, then, that the words for which I have such respect, remain forever unknown to me. I take my job very seriously, and I have never breached the sacred trust held between correspondents. Never, that is, save for this one time….
I returned to the castle around midnight, yet it was still as alive with activity as during the day. Messages never stop, and we never stop in our duty to deliver them. Even a single night without couriers would mean weeks, even months of communicative congestion. Still, some tend to be more diligent than others, especially in the small hours. Take my supervisor, Hamlish, to be an example.
Hamlish was once a good courier. One of the greats, in fact. But age and authority had softened him, diminished his view. A courier must understand his own place in the entirety of the kingdom, must recognize the greater importance we hold as a group, beyond the considerations of the individual. But men who lack purpose tend to find solace in safety, tend to shirk responsibility in favor of comfort. Hamlish hadn’t personally delivered a message in years, and he had lost the willingness to sacrifice necessary to be a courier. He was asleep at his desk when I approached him to see if there were any messages needing my services. His crankiness I attributed to his being awakened, and not merely to my presence.
“MacInnes, what in the realm are you doing here? Didn’t I just send you off?”
“That was hours ago, Hamlish,” I replied. “I’ve come to see what else need be sent.”
“By you? Nothing. You didn’t have to come back tonight. Go home, find some rest.”
“I do not wish to rest, Hamlish. Not while I am still able to perform my duties.”
Hamlish rolled his eyes. Such a gesture implied a self-importance which he did not possess when we first met. “You work too hard, you know that, MacInnes?”
“No, Hamlish, I don’t know that. I am weary, true, but I can still deliver one more message before I retire for the evening. I see you have an envelope on your desk. Might I take it off your hands for you?”
“Oh, that?” Hamlish said. “That’s not important. Very light, a mere sentence, from the weight of it. And the destination map leads to what I know to be an empty copse of trees outside the city walls. There is nothing there. This is probably some practical joke perpetrated by a member of the king’s guard. Perfect task for an apprentice.”
“Or for one of your best veteran couriers, standing at your desk, asking for one more mission to conclude a night in which anyone in our line would take pride.”
“You’re not one of my best couriers, MacInnes. You are the best. But you don’t respect yourself enough to know when to stop.”
“What we do is too important to think of myself. You believed that once as well.”
“That is exactly my point, boy! What we do is important, and we are very good at it. We are vital to the health of the kingdom. But we can only do our duty if we ourselves are healthy. You are trying your best to expire of exhaustion before you spout your first snow-colored hair. I was like you once, what you say is true enough. But I learned that our organization is only as effective as our people. I care about our people, so I care about you. You will care about yourself one day as well, MacInnes, that is certain. The question is whether you will take it upon yourself to understand your personal importance, or if the world will thrust that understanding upon you. Go home. Drink some hot cider and relax.”
I extended my hand. Hamlish sighed and handed me the envelope from his desk. “It’s a waste of time, but you won’t listen. Don’t come back tonight. After this proves to be folly, I order you to go home. I don’t want to see you again until your watch begins tomorrow.”
The destination was indeed obscure. It was, as Hamlish had said, a tiny copse, a lifeless patch of forest which had survived the kingdom’s need for lumber. Barely half the size of a small village, it had been abandoned and left to the gods years ago. But the map led directly into the thicket, so directly into the thicket I ventured.
My first observation was of the silence which permeated this place. It is known that trees tend to absorb sound, but these trees were cold and dying, barely more alive than stone, and there should have been more noise. The area had the atmosphere of anticipation, as when a predator patiently awaits its prey to diminish its attention by even the slightest degree. I did not know for whom I was looking, but I suddenly wished for them to appear. I am not afraid to admit that I was unsettled, and I almost began to wish I had taken Hamlish’s advice and retired for the evening, allowing another courier to take my place.
After what felt like ages of blind hiking, the trees became less dense and I came to a clearing. I saw a man, lying on his back, his arms pressed against his chest. I thought the fellow dead, but he moved slightly, indicating that he was still clinging to life. This must be my correspondent, I thought, taking a nap while he awaits his message. But as I approached, I saw that he was indeed injured. His arms were not resting on his chest but applying pressure to a wound. In fact, he was bleeding rather profusely. I knelt over him, and his glazed eyes looked up at me, suddenly filled with recognition and hope.
“I prayed they would send you, MacInnes,” this stranger said. “I prayed, and I was answered.”
I am no doctor. I surely have encountered peril in my work, but I had never before been asked to save a life. I hadn’t the first inkling of what to do. “What happened, friend?” I asked. I fought the urge to ask him how he knew my name and my face.
“They are coming,” the dying man said. “But I made it. I did my part.”
“I…I have a message for you,” I said, feeling rather useless.
“Not for me. It’s yours, now. Maybe it was always yours. Keep it safe. Find—” he coughed blood onto his chest. “Find out what it means.” He died looking at the sky, as if deep in thought. I folded his eyelids shut and removed two coins from my satchel. As I was placing the coins on his eyes, I heard a branch snap. I turned to see a small garrison of bandits, swords unsheathed, bows at the ready, slowly approaching me from beyond the clearing.
Pivotal to any courier’s skill set is quickness. Not necessarily speed on open land, as that can be evened out with stamina, but the ability to go from static to on the move in a flash. I have often been compared to a rabbit, due to my seemingly super-human quickness, but the display I put on for these bandits was something even I could not have previously imagined. I was out of the clearing and back in the thick congregation of trees before the bandits knew it. Still, their arrows were faster than I, and they flew true. Had I not stumbled on an exposed tree root, I would have met the same fate as my mysterious correspondent. I quickly changed direction and began a perpendicular serpentine, so as to confuse the heathens on my trail. While they eventually recognized this maneuver, by the time they had enacted a change in battle formation, I was clear of the dreaded copse. Using whatever energy I had reserved, I sprinted for whatever shelter I could encounter. I was injured, but my body’s natural pain-numbing potions had put me in a berserker-like state, and I felt no physical sensation whatsoever.
I ran for several minutes, until I happened upon a cottage. Surely, even at this time of night, the resident would give quarter to a royal courier in need of safe haven. Only as I began my series of frantic knockings did I recognize the cottage as the one I had visited, only hours before. The kindly farmer opened the door after only a matter of seconds. He had a smile on his face, and his fire was still burning, as if he had expected my return.
“I knew you would come back,” he said. “Come in and stay a while this time.”
As I waited for him to bring me a tankard of cider, I attempted to calm my body and focus my mind. My conversation with Hamlish, despite having occurred a mere hour before, seemed like an event from a previous life. Who was that mysterious man in the clearing? Why had he summoned me to those woods? How did he know who I was, and that I would convince Hamlish to give me the message? He seemed to have set a plan in motion, one for which he was willing to give his life, and in which I was the unwitting hero. What was the content of the message, that men were willing to kill to get their hands on it?
The farmer returned and gave me my cider, along with some sweet breads he claimed to have made for visitors. He did not appear surprised to see me, nor did he ask about my sorry state. Could it be that this man was also part of the plan?
“You got yourself in trouble,” he said. “Should have accepted my invitation earlier, I think.”
“Truer words have never been spoken, friend. What is your name, good sir? Your letter before was addressed to this cottage, and no one man in particular.”
“Wallace is my name, but I ask that friends refer to me as Wally.”
“Well, Wally, I do appreciate you answering my call at this time of night, and I pray to the gods that I did not lead those horrible men to your door.”
“No, they won’t be coming here, I don’t think,” Wally said, with alarming confidence. “This place is protected. It would take a lot more than a piddly band of thugs to cause me any trouble.”
“I do not wish to make offense, Wally,” I said, “but it appears to me that your home is remarkably vulnerable to attack, from all sides.”
“Ah, yes, it would look so. But there are methods of protection far more effective than mortar and stone. Have you read it yet?”
“Read what?” I asked.
“You know,” Wally responded. “The message which has caused you so much trouble.”
“I have never read a single piece of correspondence entrusted to me, and this evening has given me no cause to alter that trend.”
“And why is it that you have never read any of the messages placed in your care?”
“Because they are not mine to read. I am merely the messenger. The recipient of the message is the sole owner of its content.”
“Would you like to read the message you delivered to me earlier tonight?” Wally asked.
“If you desire for me to read it, that would be your right, and I would gladly oblige you.”
“Let me see if I can find what I did with it, then.” He rose from his chair and began rummaging through his effects. After a moment, he returned, producing the envelope I had previously given him. It was still sealed shut.
“But you have not yet read it,” I protested. “It would not be right for me to read it before you.”
“You just said that the recipient of the message is the sole owner of its content. Therefore, if I want you to read it first, I may ask that of you.” He handed me the envelope. With a sigh, I accepted it and broke the royal seal. Inside, there was a message which read as follows:
“Read it, MacInnes, and begin your mission.”
Needless to say, I was taken aback by these words. I thought it a devilishly well-executed prank, one which I did not appreciate. There was no way Wally could have foreseen my return to his cottage. It was simply not possible. Yet it was the same envelope I had delivered to him earlier in the night. No citizen of the realm had access to a royal seal, and I recognized the crease in the paper from where I had gripped it. Everything about this night was against the reality I knew. It was as if I was now subject to a new set of rules, rules which existed just outside the reach of my understanding. I was suddenly very exhausted. I desired nothing more than to sleep. Wally seemed to intuit this, as he smothered his fire and began tidying for bed.
“I have a military cot for you to sleep on. I understand it is very similar to what you couriers sleep on at the castle. You may rest here tonight. I will put your message on the hearth. Should you choose to read it, you may. If not, have a good night’s sleep, and go about your business in the morning, no hard feelings. We will find someone else.”
“Wally, how are you doing this?” I asked, almost afraid of his answer.
“Oh, it’s not me doing it, my friend,” he replied. “It’s not me doing it at all.”
I wish I could tell you I slept well that night, that my slumber was speckled with dreams of royal commendations, legends, songs, monuments to my courier’s integrity, but, alas, such was not the case. In truth, my sleep was flimsy at best, and what dreams I did encounter were ballads of temptation. Never before had I wanted so desperately to read a piece of correspondence. My desire to tear through the royal seal, to discard of the envelope, and examine the words written within was so palpable that it felt nearly like a physical illness. It was wrong to want this. Wrong and unprofessional. Although…. Was it not my name written in the previous message? Did not my correspondent, that poor fellow in the clearing, say that his letter was, in fact, meant for me? Could one really consider it a breach of ethics to read a letter meant for one’s self? Surely Hamlish would see no trouble in it, but I had spent a career trying to operate according to standards higher than those of Hamlish.
No. I would not read it. Surely this was not the most peculiar affair ever to befall one of the king’s couriers. Perhaps this was a test from the gods, one which I would fail if I gave in to my temptation. The underworld is populated with fools who talked themselves into doing a thing they knew to be wrong. Ultimately, there was no moral justification for breaking my sacred oath, no matter how strongly my imperfect soul wished otherwise. I would return the message to the castle in the morning, and I would go through the protocol set up for specifically this event. More correspondents die before receiving their messages than I would like to admit. In this case, we always return to the castle and place the letter, unopened, in the flame of a candle, under the supervision of two officially sanctioned witnesses. Yes, I would do just that, and I would go on with my life, safe in the knowledge that I had passed the most tempting of trials available in this world. But why wait? Wally had a candle, ready to be lit, right here in this very cottage. He could count as one of the witnesses, and surely, with my years of loyal service, I could be trusted to act as my own supervisor in the simple task of destroying a piece of correspondence. Yes. That would be acceptable. Then, with the task accomplished, I could put my mind to rest, and hopefully, my body would follow.
I exited the cot and removed the message from the hearth. I lit the candle Wally had on his meek dining table. I held the corner of the envelope to the flame, feeling better already. The paper began to shrink and curl around the fire, and with it, my worries began to die as well. I had done it. I had passed the challenge laid before me. But, a mere instant after I began the act of burning, the temptation returned. I suddenly felt a great sense of longing to know what was in this envelope. I tried to shake these thoughts away, but they remained, intensified, grew inescapable. In a motion which I have scrutinized countless times since, I blew out the burning paper and broke the seal. I ripped open the envelope and pulled out a tiny note, scrawled on very cheap paper. My eyes were drawn to the message as if by magic. It said:
“/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ”
I was still trying to decipher the meaning of these characters when I heard Wally awaken.
“I knew you were the one,” he said. “There just might be some hope after all.”
“What does this mean?” I asked.
“That is what we are trying to understand. Rest easy, courier, for you have passed your test. Tomorrow, we begin in earnest.”
I am ashamed to tell you how deeply I slept for the remainder of that night.
The next morning, as I arose from my cot, Wally was packing a travel bag with food and water sufficient for a long day’s walk. He hummed lightly to himself. When he saw that I was awake, he smiled and welcomed me to the daylight.
“Good morning, MacInnes! Are you ready to go? I have prepared us a meal to be eaten here, before our departure. Never begin a mission on an empty stomach, I always say. After that, we have quite a trek ahead of us. But, you being a royal courier, you should have no problem. Do you wish to supplicate before any deities prior to our journey?”
“No, no,” I said. “I’m afraid I do not put too much trust in the gods, when it comes right down to it.”
“I knew you were the one for this job,” Wally said. “What I can see with my eyes, hear with my ears, and know with my mind, that is what rules me.”
We broke the night’s fast with sausage links and meat pies, Wally staying true to his philosophy of filling one’s belly before leaving home. The food satisfied in a way no meal had done in quite some time. In truth, my meals are generally eaten on the run, between routes. I know that food is what fuels my body, and that taste is not a necessary part of that transaction. But Wally’s food, especially the meat pies, could not be eaten quickly. They required of you patience, that you sit, lest the innards fall through your hands and to the floor. There was something nice in the act of eating a meal. It was reminiscent of my childhood, before I ever dreamed of becoming a courier. But these thoughts only made me more steadfast in my devotion to my calling, knowing that the recipients of my delivered messages relied on me to maintain exactly this kind of lifestyle. How can one enjoy a meal with a friend, if one cannot contact that friend to invite them to their home? How can a family afford food such as this, if the bread winner’s supervisor cannot communicate with them? I allow for beautiful moments such as this, and my missing out on them is a price I am willing to pay. By the time the meal was consumed, I was even more eager to begin the task at hand, whatever that may be.
We were heading East, Wally said, through the marshlands. We had a day of wading through thigh-high sludge ahead of us. I was admittedly out of my element, as my duties never take me East of the river which borders the kingdom, but I had no doubt I could make it. In actuality, it was even easier than I had anticipated.
We walked all day, encountering no danger, unless you consider boredom to be a threat to the mind. The sun was just setting when we came upon our destination: a massive wooden lodge, sitting alone on a rare patch of dry land. I knew the solid ground to be only facial. No building could stand there, as no foundation could be set. Yet there it stood, all the more imposing for its impossibility. We walked inside.
The building was one large room, dimly lit, with a recessed meeting circle in the center. Sitting in this circle were twelve hooded men, somber and meditative. Wally no longer seemed at ease. He motioned for me to enter the circle, centered among these figures.
“We hear that you do not pray to the gods,” one of the men said. “Is this because you do not believe them to exist?”
I gulped. If I failed to give a satisfactory answer, what would happen to me? I decided I should just tell them the truth, as I saw it. “I’m no atheist,” I said. “I know the gods to be real, I am just not so sure they take a personal interest in my life. That’s all. I respect the gods, but I do not ask more of them than I do of myself.”
This brought about a series of solemn nods around the circle. Another test passed. I awaited my next question.
“You have read the message?” another of the hooded figures asked.
“Yes, I have. Though I must say I was rather confused by it.”
“No doubt you were. Even we can gather no understanding from it. What great things do you think these symbols might accomplish?”
Truth had worked before, so I elected to try it again. “I must warn you fellows: I hold no faith in runes.”
“Nor do we, courier,” a voice said. I could not tell which man was speaking, but they seemed to be communicating in concert, the individual merely a representative of the entire group. “Were we runics, we would not have enlisted your services, as we already possess the mysterious markings. In fact, the men you so nimbly out-maneuvered in the forest were runics, sent to steal the message from you. No, we want to understand the message, and you have proven yourself worthy of the task.”
“I shall do my best,” I said.
“No doubt you will. No doubt your best will be good enough. But, just in case it isn’t,” -- a person emerged from the shadows, stopping at the fringes of the recessed circle-- “we have employed another. Her name is Danu, and she has lived with runics for several years, as our spy. Her brain has become poisoned by the runic way, but her loyalty to our order has been proven a thousand times over.”
I looked to Danu, who appeared to take no offense to the hooded man’s remark. She wore a half-smile, and she exuded incredible confidence. “You can call me Danni,” she said.
“Hello, Danni,” I replied. “My name is MacInnes, but, in the interest of shared familiarity, you may call me Mac.”
“Do you always talk like that?” Danni asked.
“To what are you referring?”
“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
The hooded congregation continued. “Danni is very adept, you will find. She has been pivotal in many of our skirmishes with the runics. She will make for a formidable ally in your task.”
“I am honored to accept her,” I said.
“Oh, brother,” Danni said.
“Danni,” the hooded man warned, “be nice. Now, tell me, courier. What is your opinion of alchemy?”
“Alchemy? I think very little of it. While runics search for meaning in nonsensical scribbles, alchemists search for fortune in noxious, incompatible chemicals.”
“This may be true,” a hooded man said, with the first subtle betrayal of humor since my entrance, “but we allow for the possibility for alchemical success. We are admittedly men of words, not science, and there are many proven aspects of our civilization which may appear to be magic, if seen through our eyes.”
“Well put, sir,” I said.
“Rumor speaks of an alchemist, living a life of relative solitude in the mountains, who has devised a way to wrench meaning from the seemingly meaningless. His desired fortune is understanding, not anything as crass as gold. You and Danni are to find this man and see what he can make of the message.”
“You would trust a mission of such importance to a rumor?” I asked.
“Do not be so quick to discredit rumor, courier, simply because it lacks authority. Would you rather reference a legend? Legends only tell. There is no conversing with them. But rumors speak. You may learn from rumors, and rumors may learn from you. And, due to their lack of status, rumors are subjected to levels of scrutiny which legends never allow. No war has ever been waged because of a disproved rumor, but disproved legends have killed thousands.”
“This is a fair point.”
“You will begin on the morrow. Your quarters are downstairs.”
“Downstairs? But we are in the marshes! I will grant you this building, for I am standing in it, but this land is not fit for basements.”
“If you are to succeed in this task, courier, you must begin to accept that which seems impossible.”
And with that, the recessed circle began to transform, with me upon it, into a curving staircase, descending into an underground lair even more cavernous than the great hall. The briefing being over, the hooded men removed themselves from their seats and cascaded into the abyss. Only Danni and I remained.
“Well, Mac,” she said. “This should be fun.”
“Quite,” I said, ever the conversationalist.
“Okay, well, your room is at the bottom of the stairs, to the right, at the end of the corridor. My room is next door. I’m going to meditate on some sigils before bed. Don’t bug me.”
A number of quips entered my mind, about the futility of such meditation, but I could not bring myself to say them. Instead, I simply nodded and made my way down the stairs which were carved into nothingness.
My room was decorated in rather ornate fashion, considering the seemingly scientific manner of my new employers. The walls were adorned with symbols and characters more befitting a runic establishment. At first, I believed I had entered Danni’s room by mistake, but I soon heard her through the walls, preparing whatever ridiculous alter she needed for her pointless runic meditation next door. Perhaps this was another test, to confirm my philosophical fortitude. I considered examining the room for hidden compartments or peep-holes which may contain a spy, but I opted against it. These men were rather confident in their attitude towards me, and they even allowed Danni her runic proclivities. I was forced to assume that the ostentatious décor was indeed intentional. A bizarre choice for such literal-minded men, but one which I had to respect.
As I began to drift to sleep, a particularly striking symbol, etched upon the ceiling, caught my eye. Out of what even today I cannot classify as totally innocent curiosity, I began to focus intently on the image. I did not search for meaning, nor did I hope to attain any power. I merely studied the calligraphy of the thing. The curves, the corners. I cannot lie: I found it soothing. Whether this is attributable to my already encompassing exhaustion, or something yet unknown, I cannot say. But the fact remains that I was comforted by the image. I fell asleep looking at it, and it was not until the following morning that I realized I had encountered my first truly runic experience. All my past attempts, the failings which led me ultimately to my harsh skepticism, had never brought me near to what I had felt the night before. I did not know the reason for this, but I must say, I was rather unsettled. A man’s view of the world should not be so paper-thin as to be altered by a few minutes of silent reflection. I see my life as a series of tests which only help to re-enforce my opinions, but I might have been led astray to a degree that I managed to fail a test which I did not even know I was taking. As I prepared for the day’s journey, I made a mental note to be more protective of my views. After all, if I didn’t look out for demons who hoped to poison my mind, who would?
By the time I had made it back upstairs, Danni had outfitted two horses with all the materials we would need for our journey. This amounted to a poorly drawn map of the region, three skins of water and a paltry two loaves of bread, each no bigger than a silver ingot. Though I doubted the efficacy of such a light load, I stayed my tongue from any protest. Danni seemed to know what she was doing, and, despite our very apparent differences, I found myself willing to trust her judgment. She clearly was a woman who knew how to survive. My fear was that I, even with my rough constitution, was not up to the task. Surely the mission before us would require more than one loaf of bread apiece. Danni recognized my silently questioning gaze, saying that we would have a chance to rest and re-supply before the sun passed directly above our heads.
She was correct. Only a few hours of riding upon the ascending, hardening lands had passed when we came upon a way station on the other side of the marshes. The proprietor was a chubby man with a gravelly disposition which left much to be desired, but his prices were fair, and we were able to refill our saddlebags for less coin than anticipated. He had even heard the rumors of the alchemist, offering his own theory as to the figure’s whereabouts. Just north of here, he said, there was a village, situated at the foot of an active volcano. He had heard that the alchemist had made his home upon the side of the volcano, a mere one hundred meters from the summit. For a price which proved to be much more formidable than what he charged for food, he offered to have his son drive us up to the village in his carriage. Having no other reliable information upon which to operate, Danni and I graciously accepted.
The carriage would never transport anyone of high status, but compared to trudging along on our own, it was a royal sedan. It allowed us time to rest, to consider, and, eventually, to talk.
“So, you really believe in those foolish runes?” I asked.
“Yes. I do,” Danni replied.
“Forgive me, but I briefly studied runes, and all I was ever convinced of was how pointless they were.”
“Yeah, I used to think that too. I guess you figured that part out. But, living with the runics all those years, I was convinced.”
“It has been noted that captives often adopt the philosophies of their captors. This is indoctrination, and it does not make the topic any more viable.”
“And you think you’re not indoctrinated? You think you’re so clean, so objective? You’re even more set in your ways than I am. You’ve been brainwashed, just like everybody else.”
“If everybody believes something, does that not make it more likely to be true?” I asked.
“Of course, it doesn’t. All anybody has to do is convince one person of their beliefs. Stretch that out across an entire kingdom, and all you have is a population of like-minded fools. You take solace in the fact that most people think like you do. Your way of thinking takes no courage, because you can allow others to fight for it. I am not so arrogant.”
“You wish to discuss arrogance?” I demanded, suddenly rather angry. “What is more arrogant than thinking that you can derive meaning from gibberish? That you alone may attain something which has for centuries eluded those much more capable than you? You runics believe that you are better than society at large, that everyone but yourselves is nothing but a mindless dullard, unable to do what you see as simple. Except you are no more able to learn from your scribbles than the population. You are dogs chasing a tail which was amputated at birth.”
She chuckled. “You make a fair argument, but you overlook certain key aspects of our beliefs. What if I told you that runics in fact do not search for meaning? That understanding is irrelevant to us? What if I told you that we find the idea of magic markings just as preposterous as you do?”
“I would say that ran counter to every tenet of the runic way I had ever known.”
“You wouldn’t know it. You studied the runes, sure, you went through the motions, but you were never a runic. Your goals were selfish. You were unable to benefit in any tangible way from your practices. Then, in your failure, you switched sides, because consensus thought puts you on a winning team. You don’t want to admit you failed. Now, you can justify your failure by believing that the thing at which you failed was stupid to begin with.”
“It is stupid! It is not real!”
“You mean it is not quantifiable. You need proof of your own excellence. It is clearly not currency you covet, but the opinions of others. I study runes not in hopes of being proven right, or of learning how to become invisible with the utterance of a single word. I study runes because they calm me, give me something to focus on. They open a state of mind to me which helps me to see and accept the world more clearly.”
“I can appreciate that,” I said, “but when I see runics, all I see are people who have lost their way, who will never be counted among the enlightened.”
“Exactly. You have just made my point for me.”
“Excuse me?”
“The study of runes helps people to understand that they are not the center of the world. When you study runes, you have nothing to prove to anyone, even yourself. But for you, nothing is real until you can justify it by understanding it. You believe that your knowledge literally allows for the universe to exist. That is the definition of arrogance.”
Before I could retort, our carriage came to an abrupt stop, and the driver opened the window between our seat and his. “We’re here,” he said. “I guess I should let you know, I heard every word of what you two were saying.”
“What did you think?” I asked.
“It didn’t make a lick of sense to me.”
We disembarked from the carriage and began walking down the wood-paved road to the town, silently agreeing to put our debate on hold until some later time. Truthfully, I had enjoyed the discussion. Though I was still set in my beliefs, I was impressed by the quality of Danni’s arguments. I may not have converted her to my philosophy, but I did gain a lot of respect for her. She was correct in her assumption that I never had much cause to question my beliefs. I welcomed the challenge. I tried my best to forget my own runic meditation of the previous night, which in fact had done more to dismantle my philosophy than any length of debate could accomplish.
The town was surrounded by walls. The road led to a gate, seemingly the only point of access. Standing at the gate was a large man, dressed in severe-looking armor. As we approached, he held up his hand in the universal gesture of defense.
“State your business in town,” he boomed.
“We have none. We wish to climb the mountain,” I said.
“The only road to the volcano’s pass is through this gate, so that is answer enough. What is your age?”
“I’m sorry, but why is that relevant?”
“You see, the town behind this gate can be a dangerous place. Once a haven of ideas, a den of brotherhood, it has since devolved into a swamp of pessimism and apathy. I am a Centurion of Time, stationed here to ensure that all visitors are up to the task.”
With startling quickness, Danni rushed to within a few inches of the guard. “You fool!” she cried. “Do you not recognize MacInnes, hero of the Battle of the Broken Anvil, and Danu, scholar and recipient of the Lion’s Mane commendation for bravery? You must be straight out of the academy. Let us pass, child, or you will know true pain.”
“Oh, my, forgive me, my lady. My lord. Of course, you may pass.” I could sense in Danni great humor, and she was clearly trying her hardest not to laugh as the gate opened. Once inside the city, I leaned surreptitiously towards her and whispered, “I had aged but five celestial cycles when the Battle of the Broken Anvil took place.”
“I know,” she replied. “And I’ve never gotten any commendations for bravery. I lied.”
“Oh.”
The sun was receding by the time we set foot in the town square, but the streets were empty, even considering the late hour. We saw only two or three individuals, each separate from the other, each reticent to even acknowledge our presence. All the better, I thought, as these seemed dis-reputable chaps, each likely burdened with tasks of an uncouth nature. I doubted they would know of the alchemist allegedly living above them. Yet the town had not been left to these rascals. There were obvious signs of commerce having taken place earlier in the day: chickens cooped behind the market, stacks of newly-cut firewood beside what appeared to be a blacksmith’s. But the people had all retired for the evening. Why? I wondered. Surely life in this city was not so dull that no one wished to visit with friends after the day’s work was done. There must be some camaraderie shared amongst the citizens. But I could see none. It was possible that members of individual households welcomed the setting of the sun, so as to spend time with their loved ones within the confines of their homes, but the utterly closed-off feeling Danni and I were receiving led us to believe the contrary. This was a city of hermits, each man a stranger, even to his closest relations. Walking the streets, I felt a great sorrow, as if the quotidian loss these people must feel was somehow infecting my spirit with distrust and anger.
“There has to be an inn,” I said to Danni, unsure of its likelihood even as the words were formed.
“If not,” she replied, “there are plenty of empty stables. One night of roughing it won’t kill us. Tomorrow, we can climb the mountain and find this alchemist.”
Just as I was steeling myself for such arrangements, a fellow emerged from a patch of shadow and approached us.
“New in town, eh?” he asked.
“Yep. Just got in,” Danni said.
“Well, new visitors gorra go see the mayor, they do.”
“This wretched place has a mayor?” I inquired.
“Sure does, and I’m ‘is secretary. Come with me, now. He’s itchin’ to meet ya.”
“He wishes to speak with us now? I was under the impression the town was closed for the evening.”
“We never close. We just don’t go out if we don’t have to.”
“Why not?” Danni asked.
“What would be the point?”
We followed this ruffian to a decrepit mansion unworthy of its use as a house of governance. Once majestic trees bordered the tiny path to the door, but they had long since died, leaving only their skeletons to convey some ominous portent. The building itself was decaying, and I noticed more than a few colonies of insatiable bugs making a feast of the supporting beams. I had the feeling that a light rain, or particularly emphatic sneeze, would complete the demolition seemingly begun generations prior. This was a place where happiness eluded even the most cheerful of souls.
The mayor’s office was on the second floor, amongst abandoned rooms filled floor to ceiling with unwanted furniture and trash. Sitting at the desk was a small man with a round face which sported the permanent red tint of combustible frustration. He rolled his eyes as we entered. For the first time in almost three days, I thought of Hamlish. I wondered if I was being missed at the castle, or if my absence had even been noticed.
“Hello, Sir,” I said. “My name is MacInnes. And this is Danni. We are here to—”
He cut me off. “I know why you’re here. You wish to speak with that stupid alchemist.”
“Why do you say he’s stupid?” Danni asked.
“He just is,” the mayor replied. “He’s no good at what he does. If I wanted, I could be a much better alchemist than him.”
I asked, “Is that something to which you aspire?”
“No, no. Of course not. Why would I want to waste my time mixing liquids together when I have a city to run? But that idiot doesn’t know the first thing about alchemy. I do.”
I was confused. “Forgive me if I am belaboring the point,” I said, “but why do his abilities weigh so heavily on your heart if you yourself admit to having no ambition in his field?”
“I can’t help it if I’m smarter than everybody else, can I?” the mayor replied. “I know about most things better than most people, even those considered experts. Since I began this city, I have honored my civic duty to enlighten the people at every opportunity. Some, like yourselves, may find my intelligence intimidating, but that is just the way of the world, I’m afraid.”
I felt the sudden urge to strike this man. His arrogance had been allowed to run wild for far too long. It was immediately obvious that sycophantic subservience from his underlings had made him blind to his own considerable shortcomings. One would think that such a cogent understanding of his pathology would make one less apt to take offense to his words, but, standing face to face with him, no diagnosis could remove the disdain from my mind. I held my tongue, knowing that if I opened my mouth to speak, I would unleash many insulting statements which, while accurate, would likely be a hindrance to our mission.
Danni, however, seemed unperturbed. She continued questioning this man in my stead. “You began the city? You mean you are the founder?”
“No, no, don’t be stupid. People your age are always stupid. And lazy. Don’t want to work for anything, nowadays. When I was your age, I… what was I saying? Oh, yes. The city. No, I did not found this city. I do not know who did. But I discovered it abandoned, and I let it be known there was a town ripe for the taking, with an infrastructure already in place. As the first, I naturally was deemed the most qualified to lead. I have been in office ever since.”
“And how long is that?” Danni asked.
“About a month and a half,” the mayor replied.
At this, I let loose with a single, dynamic laugh. The mayor looked at me with hate in his eyes.
“And what do you know of leadership?” he blared. “I know more when I am drunk and half asleep than you ever could after weeks of study. But you don’t understand that. No respect for your elders, that’s the problem. People of your generation have no respect for your elders. You should respect me. I had to earn everything I have, no thanks to my father or any other man who came before me. They ruined the world, then asked us to foot the bill. Now you come along, hoping to reap the benefits of our hard work. Well, good luck with that, pal. Only people my age know anything.”
Could I transcribe this man’s cognitive dissonance into music, it would create a symphony so unholy as to offend demons and men alike. His problem was not an over-abundance of intelligence or an unfair disadvantage because of his age, but an insecurity which went so deep as to coat his bones with doubt. I knew (and I inferred Danni had come to a similar conclusion) that there was no use in talking to him. He was clearly unfit for leadership, and for that, I felt truly sorry for the citizens of the town. But we had a mission to worry about, and this “mayor” was simply keeping us from it.
“Well,” I said, finally able to control my temper, “it has been an honor, sir, but Danni and I are weary, and we wish for rest. We plan on meeting this alchemist on the morrow.”
“No one meets the alchemist without my say-so,” the mayor said.
I sighed, sensing this fellow was simply being difficult out of spite. My blood rose up once again, and I had to jam my clenched fists into the pockets of my trousers. Once again, Danni stepped in to act as ambassador.
“Of course, we understand that. In fact, that is why we came here. To ask your permission.”
“You didn’t come here of you own accord. I sent for you. Or...was that yesterday? The days run together. To be honest, I liked my old job better. Being mayor is a lot harder than I thought it would be.”
For a brief moment, I felt a window opening to this man, allowing me to pity him. Perhaps he was simply an idiot who was in over his head. Maybe he legitimately did not understand the implications of the insane things he said. Maybe he was holding on for dear life. I decided to give him one final chance.
“Sir, you obviously know so much more about the world than I, and I am sure you are correct in your judgment of this alchemist, but we have been given a job to do. I beg you, humbly, allow us an audience with him.”
“Sure, go talk to him. What do I care? He’s a loser anyway. And I am much more physically fit than him, too. I’m fairly certain that my hands are four times the size of his.”
“Ohhh-kayyy,” Danni said. “Um, well thank you. We’ll be off now to sleep for the evening.”
“Why don’t you stay here?” the mayor asked, more to Danni than to me. “We’ve got plenty of room, and I can show you where we’ve got some nice furniture.”
“Thanks for the offer,” Danni replied, “but I’d rather sleep in the horse stables.”
And sleep in the horse stables we did, though fortunately without the pleasure of any equine company. We compiled makeshift beds out of gatherings of hay. I had difficulty capturing the proper mindset for sleep, but Danni seemed not to have any issue. She was asleep before I had even completed my sleeping arrangements. I however, could not ignore the intense homesickness which had recently developed. I wished dearly to be back at home, content after a long day’s work of running routes, or even back at the castle, catching a few moments rest on a cot in the central chamber. It was two days’ walk back home, and I could count on our meeting with the alchemist to take at least one more. When would this end? I should have listened to Hamlish, when he warned me about taking that final message. I was tired, and he knew it. He was merely trying to help me, but I, in my youthful foolishness, had thought him lazy and unprofessional. I resolved to thank him when I next returned to work.
Eventually, my body overcame my mind, taking me into the deep, dreamless slumber of the exhausted.
For once on this journey, I was the first to rise. I prepared a modest meal from the provisions we had purchased at the way station, setting some aside for Danni. My belly full, and Danni still asleep, I decided to step out and perform some preliminary reconnaissance. The streets were now full of people, but their demeanor was not that of regular townsfolk. They all kept to themselves, each in his or her own world. They went through the motions of trade, but motions they were. As I walked around the town, not one person spoke to me. In fact, the only proof that anyone could even see me were the pointed fingers and scowling eyes I witnessed as I passed. No matter, I thought. I was not here to gain popularity, only passage up the volcano. At the back end of the town, I found the mountain road. It appeared to be cobbled with stones for the first one hundred meters or so. That should make our ascent much more pleasurable, I thought. There were even markers along the side, to let the traveler know their altitude and relation to the sun. But what really struck me was not what the road contained, but what it lacked: a guard. The mayor had implied that there would be someone watching the pass, like the Centurion at the gate, and that we would only be allowed passage with the express permission of the mayor himself. But there was no one posted on the road. Had I not been without Danni, I would have been able to begin my climb immediately. Does the mayor know of this? I wondered. Is the guard truant, or did the mayor overestimate his authority? He did seem like a man who believed something should exist simply because he willed it. Well, it appeared his will was not enough. We would have no trouble finding this alchemist, if he did indeed live upon the mountain. I hurried back to the stables to inform Danni.
Upon my return, I found that Danni had already woken and finished off the provisions I had set aside for her. I told her of the mountain road, and she displayed no surprise.
“Yeah, I figured that would be the case,” she said. “That bozo didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.”
“Yes,” I replied, “but he was first.”
Danni smiled. “Is that facetiousness I hear?”
I smiled in return. “Of course not. That man was obviously very talented, and worthy of our respect.”
“Obviously. Let’s go. We’re losing daylight.”
The ascent up the mountain was uneventful. Where the cobblestone road ended, a flattened path of earth took its place. It snaked through mountainside woods populated with small, non-threatening cats of the breeds you often see taken as pets. They seemed to have free reign of the place, and they were not worried about us in the slightest. As we approached a specimen, it took a disinterested look at us and turned its tail in our direction. The road was not particularly steep, and in all it was a rather pleasant morning stroll.
Approximately two thirds of the way towards the volcano’s active mouth, the road stopped, and we were greeted by a large, iron door. Danni and I were relieved. This was clearly the door to the alchemist’s laboratory. We had made several leaps in judgment on our journey, and it was not until this moment that we knew that they had not been made in vain. I rapped vigorously on the door, unable to allay my excitement. After a few seconds, the door opened, and standing there was a short, skinny man in a dark purple robe, long white beard hanging to his navel, face and apparel dusted with gray soot. My first judgment was that this was a man of many years, but I was mistaken. His beard made him look rather old, but in his eyes, one could see the spark of youth. Upon further inspection, I decided that he was no more than five years my senior.
“Come in, MacInnes. Danu. I’ve been expecting you.”
Astonished at his recognition of us, being complete strangers, I inquired, “Did you receive advance notice from some representative of the town that we were coming to confer with you?”
“Something like that. Come in, please. My name is Burnsley, and I built this city.”
The alchemist’s laboratory matched my expectations perfectly. It was dark, lit only by a few candles and whatever luminescence emanated from his beakers and graduated cylinders. I saw multiple human skulls, at least one of which was acting as a paperweight. The air was alive with wisps of smoke, coalescing into cumulous groupings above our heads.
In the center of the room sat a large pool of water, which Burnsley apparently used as a mirror. He walked to the pool’s edge and looked in, sighing at his own reflection.
“So, you got one of those letters too, huh?” he asked.
No longer shocked by peoples’ seemingly impossible knowledge of my mission, I responded, “Yes, we did. We have come to ask your assistance in deciphering its meaning.”
“Well, I’m sorry to tell you that you have wasted your trip. I am at as great a loss as you.”
I felt utterly defeated. Upon the discovery of this man’s lair, I had assumed our mission accomplished. The hard part being over, I fully expected to learn the meaning of the message and be on my way. But now, this man, this almighty alchemist with all the answers, proclaimed to be just as ignorant as me. The fluctuation from zenith to nadir had taken all the fight from my soul. Danni, however, true to her disposition, was not so easily deterred.
“That’s okay. We’re here now, and we’re not going anywhere until we figure it out, so let’s work on it together.”
Burnsley shook his head. “I appreciate your attitude. I truly do. But I have been working tirelessly on this problem for almost two months, and I have come up with nothing. I even enlisted the help of the townspeople, but they seem incapable of maintaining focus for more than a few moments.”
“We met the mayor,” Danni said. “If the entire town is anything like him, then I don’t think they’ll be figuring your problem out any time soon.”
“That blithering buffoon,” Burnsley moaned. “I founded this city. I and a few of my colleagues, who have since moved on. Their departure left the town abandoned, and I elected to move my laboratory to the mountain, so as to use the energy in the volcano as a sort of alchemical amplifier. But that idiot, who now refers to himself as ‘the mayor,’ wandered in one day and took ownership of my hard work. Since then, others have arrived, and they look to him for guidance, relegating me to an object of criticism and speculation. Not that I am too worried about their opinion of me, but even I am not immune to base vanity. Just a little recognition would be nice, especially after I was generous enough to gift the entire population with my most recent invention.”
“An invention?” I asked. “May we see it?”
“Of course. I am quite proud of it, actually. It allows one to see the results of my experiments, even from far away.” He walked to his work bench and retrieved, from between a skull and a fizzing, smoking mortar and pestle, a cube of cloudy glass, approximately the size of a giant’s fist.
“How does it work?” Danni asked.
“To be honest, I am not sure. My best guess is that it resonates at the same frequency as the volcano, and that information from my laboratory rides along that frequency until it hits the cube. The point is, with this I am able to transmit my experiments long distances. The cube even replicates the physical results of my experiments, allowing me to affect changes in the world from the comfort of home. I gave one of these to each and every citizen of the town, but even still they treat me with either caution or outright disrespect.”
“What type of experiments do you conduct?” I asked.
“I collate information and attempt to discern patterns. I attempt to make sense of the world.”
“How does one accomplish that through alchemy?”
“I mix concoctions, like any other alchemist. I have discovered a method of imbuing basic liquids with the essence of intangible thought, like emotion, memory, or knowledge. I combine these liquids until sense emerges. The results of my experiments display upon my reflecting pool, and, from there, into the cube of every citizen in town.”
“So, these letters,” Danni asked. “What’s the story with them?”
“I do not know. They simply started arriving shortly after I established my laboratory. I have no idea who is sending them. They are delivered to me, upon the volcano, yet I have never once seen a messenger. I experiment upon them, but I am never successful in learning what they mean. The characters are transmitted from the pool to the cubes. The content of the letters has therefore spread amongst the citizens like a disease, and I fear that therein lies the cause of the town’s malaise.”
“I must say, Burnsley,” I said, “had you told me that tale a mere two days ago, I would have thought you deranged.”
“Ah, yes. But I told you just now, and I can tell that you believe me.”
“That I do.”
A somber silence fell between us. The peace which usually accompanies shared beliefs was nowhere to be found. Our consensus was built upon ignorance, which is never a sturdy foundation. I had accepted that our mission was a failure, and, to be honest, I was glad of that. To be done with this goose chase was a welcome development. But I was deeply troubled by thoughts of the future. How could I go back to mindlessly delivering messages, knowing that there was a fundamental part of the world which would remain forever lost to me? How would I ever be able to focus on anything but the mystery this alchemist brought forth? I wouldn’t. It would always be on my mind, like a song, mostly forgotten, constantly escaping memory, yet without the decency to vanish completely. Down that road lay obsession. Down that road lay madness.
“How about doing it backwards?” Danni asked. Burnsley and I had both retreated into our thoughts, so we were a little slow in response.
“Huh?” Burnsley said.
“Well,” Danni continued, “you do something in the laboratory, it shows up on the cube, right?”
“Yes.”
“So, maybe, you can reverse it. Try to do the experiment with the cube, and—”
“And the result will appear in the laboratory! And the reverse might show us the hidden message! By the gods, it’s so obvious! You are a genius!”
“Ah, shucks,” Danni said. She was blushing.
The alchemist Burnsley placed his cube upon a table and fetched a copy of the mysterious letter. As far as I could tell, the cube had no mechanism by which to input information, but Bursnley seemed confident this course of action would work. He placed the letter on top of the cube, and, within seconds, the machine had absorbed the paper, like a bed of quicksand swallowing a wild boar whole. The cube began flashing alternating colors, giving us the understanding that it was “thinking” about the message. After several minutes of this, a moving image appeared in the waters of the reflecting pool.
How can I describe what we saw? Though words are my trade, I am no wordsmith, at least not one capable of explaining the results of the experiment. Suffice it to say, it was a man indeterminate age, singing a song of indecipherable meaning. It appeared to be of a different world, one ruled by absurdity. This was it? This was what I had toiled over? What I had risked my life for? What I…dear gods! What I had softened my stance on runes for? Meaninglessness. Foolishness. Farce. I was furious.
“Huh,” Burnsley said, clearly as confused as I was, yet not so disturbed.
But Danni…reacted differently. Upon seeing even a few seconds of the ridiculous images, a smile danced across her face. Then, when the bizarre man began singing, in his surprisingly deep voice, she broke out in uproarious laughter. When the show was over, she demanded we watch it again. We did, but I assure you it was out scientific curiosity, and not base enjoyment. I, for one, found nothing enjoyable in this preposterousness.
I said, “Of all the things I have had to accept over the course of the last few days, I find this to be the most difficult.”
Danni, still laughing, said, “I know! Isn’t it great?”
“Great?” I demanded. “What, pray tell, is so great about it? You understand we risked our lives to see that.”
This statement only caused Danni to laugh harder and louder than before. “Right?” she managed between bursts. “It’s so stupid! We thought it was going to be some vastly important omen, and it was just some guy singing a song about infatuation! Perfect!”
Burnsley, I am ashamed to admit, allowed a slight chuckle to escape his lips. He attempted to conceal it, but I could tell: he had enjoyed the experiment, as well.
Too angry for words, I headed for the laboratory door. My plan was to return to the castle at once. Perhaps a healthy route would bring the purpose back to my life. But we were days away from home, and Burnsley convinced me to stay the night. I retired to his sleeping quarters, situated precipitously close to an open lava pit, and fumed myself to sleep. As I drifted off, I heard Danni ask to watch the images again. Burnsley obliged.
As I write this, I am a man in transformation. I awoke the morning after our mission’s success more level-headed than the night before. I was still upset at the absurdity of the message’s meaning, but I had also attained some understanding of its purpose. The images and sounds elicited from the letter had brought real joy to Danni and Burnsley, joy being something I suddenly realized was in short supply in my life. I had assumed that the military-like diligence I applied to my job was a form of joy, but I was beginning to question whether it was simply a substitute for it. I thought back, oddly enough, to the meal Wally and I had shared before heading out to the marshes. That was the first meal I had savored since childhood. I had deprived myself of such simple luxuries for years. Decades, even. Why? Because I wanted to be the best courier in the kingdom? Maybe. But was that the only reason? Surely one could both succeed in his work while also being content in his life. That idea had honestly never entered my mind until now. Hamlish was right: in my devotion to my profession, I was doing myself a dis-service. Thinking back upon my life so far, I feel a great loss. I mourn the past, which I have killed through seriousness and inaction. Yes, inaction. My inability to do what, for years, I had truly desired. I want what any man wants: happiness, a family, a life I can say I truly lived. These things scare me, so, for years, I hid them behind my work. But, I think, I am becoming ready to face them. And if the images in the reflecting pool are what allowed me my newfound courage, then I say they are the most important, the most meaningful things I have ever encountered.
Danni opted to stay in the town beneath the volcano. As I said my goodbyes, I heard her discussing the possibility of calling a special election for the office of mayor. I would say that I hope she wins, but that would be irrelevant. I know, in my heart, that she will.
Burnsley will stay in his laboratory, yet I feel his quest for meaning will, like mine, be painted with a different brush from now on.
As for me, I am off on another adventure, one with no objective. There is an entire world out there, and I intend to see it all, absurd and austere alike.