《The Days of Path Dust》


 Entry 1: The Swinding

    "Hark ye wights, for all ye have ever done, will do, flows from these facts.


    Hardly ye know not: ye are alive, ye are chemical reactions


    Suspended in water. Ye control your insides to live, constant acts;


    Sustained ye are; yet outsides shape insides; ye sway these integrations."


    -- The Cosmogon Codex, Prolegomenon, Verse 10.


    I pen this by night-lamp under the order of the Grand Suggester that we novices keep a day-log of our devotionals. In addition to the bending of my thoughts upon the proper paths yondthinking the mysteries of the gods, I must also note here recent happenings in the bedestow that have unsettled me. Namely, I write of the swinding of Sister Hearsome Cloud, of which few brothers and sisters show any outward concern. Though I personally have never passed words with Sister Hearsome Cloud, this splinter in our spirit I cannot ignore.


    I am certainly not a friend of hers, but I have seen her around the halls, and she seems awefast enough. Perhaps she is actually impious and unpleasant, but we should not assume such bitters of others, should we? She is a wight being, like me, maybe better. And yet no one gives her a second thought. Instead, they give thoughts to such things as: how many times they have prayed so far in the day; have they fasted for the right number of hours; have they sufficiently memorized a passage from the Codex; did a megaschema reveal disapproval in his eye; was his singing of a hymn off-tune; was his pronunciation of the Codex Tongue incorrect; and so on. Doubtless these are important matters, but we all deal with them every day--should the swinding of one of our own not arouse some white heat in our spirits? That it does--is this not simply an upshot of being a wight?


    I first heard of the swinding as gossip muttered from walls of steam during morning ablutions. Upon the breaking of the night-fast, I made, in an affected casual manner, some discreet delvings. Sister Airwater told me that the last time anyone had seen her was at the evening meal three days ago. Three days ago! I imagined she might have fallen somewhere, and, if she still lives, is near death from thirst. I learned from Brother Dunesong that Sister Hearsome Cloud left that dinner down a passage in the Cold Direction. He described the dining hall, which I knew well. No one else had any more recent tidings, I found.


    Thus after my first meal I immediately went to that hall. Below is a sketch of the Cold Direction passage from within that hall; by means of imagination, I have added Hearsome Cloud walking into it, her height and general build reconstructed from my memory. (I apologize for my poor sketching skills, but hopefully it suffices for you to obtain some impression of the reality.)Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    As I walked down the passage for a few shortlogs, thoughts occurred to me which you might have already wondered. (But, as you read my day-log, I regret you will discover that I am quite slow of wit.) These were: Did she take a side-passage? Did she have a torch, or did she avoid the dark ways? I unfolded a map from my pocket; nearly every novice in this bedestow carries one and expands upon it with his own hand--though of course some do not, never deviating from their familiar ways. I remember when the Grand Suggester took me up a beholding tower soon after I was first inducted into the bedestow. The humble entrance of the bedestow did not foretell the awesome breadth of the complex. If you are from beyond the sands, dear reader, you might not realize that our bedestow extends half way to the horizon from its approximate center. It is a vast network of halls and hallways extending over the dunes like a rare and intricate lichen. And it is not fully known to what secret depths the ancient passages span.


    I decided to take a path which did not require a torch, so that even a sliver of direct sunlight on one wall provided enough bounces to find a way with bare eyes. I was unfamiliar with this area, and so could not guess Hearsome Cloud''s destination. At times I have the urge to drop and pray to the House--but that would be foolishness, since the House only responds through the Mouth. I wondered if they were somehow watching me, those angelic beings made of pure light, who, collectively, are the mind we call the House. I tried but failed to picture them traveling their roads, hair-width endless tubes they called "circuits", in frantic silence thinking their inscrutably important thoughts, like the far-away gods.


    As I passed one opening in the outer wall, the floor became gritty with sand. I tried to look out and down to see if she had fallen, but the opening was too narrow. I noticed the light was orange, the hour growing late. I decided to return to my sleeping room to retrieve a lamp which could hold an enclosed flame for many hours. The walk was about thirty shortlogs or so.


    Back in my room, I noticed the formerly blank book distributed to me by the Codex Chanters--this very day-log. On a whim I grabbed it, intending to write myself to sleep. Then I walked all the way back, as far as I had gotten before, but this time with a glowing lantern in the absence of sunlight.


    I continued longer through dark hallways until my legs demanded a rest. I sat and leaned my back against a wall, and here I still sit, writing this first entry in my pristine codex.


    The last few shortlogs I have been writing here, my brain has logged a barely noticeable sound--but now my attention shifts as the sound grows louder. It is something I have not encountered before. My skin crawls. I will get up and investigate.


    ~ Path Dust


    Upon the Hour of the Bat, Sun Hymn Day, First Moon, in this the 17,622nd Orbit After the Rearrangement ~

 Entry 2: Nyctophobia

    "How canst thou be certain?


    Howled the man between two mirrors: he can be certain only when reasons support each other without end.


    Replied the dragon eating its own tail: when the conclusion supports the reasons, he can be certain.


    Replied the man clinging to a rock falling in mid-air: certainty is created when he posits an unsupportable reason.


    The man standing on Earth said he can be almost certain when reasons logically grow from perceptual evidence. He then rested his foot on a rock and pulled up his bootstraps."


    -- The Cosmogon Codex, Prolegomenon, Verses 14 to 15.


    I was writing in this very book when a sound like a deep moaning halted my recollections. Leaving this day-log on the floor, I picked up my lantern and crept down the dark passage towards the sound. It could not have been the voice of Sister Hearsome Cloud--the pitch was too low, and it modulated in a pattern most inhuman. I would not quite say I was frightened.


    When I reached the source of the sound, I relaxed my shoulders and sighed. It was merely a large air duct resonating with the night wind. Why it had an aperture at this level of the building I could not ken. The duct was about two man-heights in diameter, generally vertical but slanted enough so one may slide down, perhaps without scathing.


    Thinking that this might be what had happened to Hearsome Cloud (without speculating why she would do such a drastic deed) I stuck my head into the shaft and peered down with the lamp, but sight quickly faded to darkness--and the same in the upward direction. The breeze was surprisingly slight, barely fluttering my hood. I called Sister Hearsome Cloud''s name down the duct.


    The moaning stopped.


    The rational, deliberative part of my brain was snuffed like a candle. I was suddenly operating on mere animal instinct, having the sickening feeling that I had naively wandered into a predator''s lair, and was only realizing it too late. I jerked back out of the shaft and ran along the passage whence I had come. Enough presence of mind returned that I snatched up this day-log from the floor.


    I ran for some more shortlogs, frequently looking back to see if anything was chasing me. I saw and heard nothing more unusual. But in my haste to return to a populated area, I took a wrong turn and became a bit disoriented. I slowed, trying but failing to retrace my steps. The passage grew warmer, indicating an opening to the outside was near.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    I came across a thin layer of sand underfoot, it having apparently drifted down from a sun-shaft. Scuffs streaked this dirt, as if something had been dragged--or someone had crawled. I called out Hearsome Cloud''s name again, this time in a hushed rasp. There was a response: a soft grunt. A moment later my ring of lamplight caught the collapsed figure.


    I helped her sit up, examining a face with dry and cracked lips. She confirmed her identity as Hearsome Cloud, and said that she had gotten lost while exploring these unused buildings. She asked for water, but I had not thought to bring any. She was able to hobble along with my assistance, and we made it back to populated chambers.


    Several brothers and sisters glanced at us as we passed, but said nothing. She directed me to the dens where her friends would habitually gather. There were indeed many there who were alarmed by her condition, and immediately fetched flagons of water and bowls of fruit. I left her in their good hands and returned to my sleeping room, now rather exhausted.


    The next morning I went through my customary rituals. I took my noon meal in a hall near the rooms where I had left Hearsome Cloud last night, hoping to run into her and ask after her welfare. I did not see her.


    In the evening I found her friends and asked if they knew where I might find her, declaring my intentions. They claimed they knew not, but I had a sense they indeed had an inkling. When I pressed them, they insisted I go ask one of the megaschemas.


    This advice I took. After tramping to the megaschemas'' complex and asking random scholars lounging about, I was directed to one of the watchtowers, where I was told I could find Megaschema Night Ice contemplating The Codex, and that he would have the tidings I sought.


    So I climbed the spiral stairs. Shortlogs later, on the top landing, I gathered my breath, marveling at how such an old man could make it up here.


    I knocked, and a voice bade me enter. I entered and waited in a respectful stance for him to divest his eyes from his exceptionally large version of The Codex. (Below I sketch Night Ice as he appeared then.) He asked me plainly what I wanted.


    I told him I wanted to ask after the welfare of Sister Hearsome Cloud, who had just yesterday suffered from unwatering; and that I was led to believe, most creditably, that a megaschema in his wisdom, such as himself, might know her whereabouts.


    He told me that he in fact did know her whereabouts, and that whilst it was none of my concern, it was no secret that she was now jostling atop a camel who was shuffling through the sands, for she had been banished from our fine bedestow.


    ~ Path Dust


    Upon the Hour of the Owl, Moon Song Day, First Moon, in this the 17,622nd Year A.R. ~

 Entry 3: Unsheathed

    <blockquote>


    "When a wight quethes to believe, doth he?


    Sometimes wights believe that they believe,


    But surprise themselves to learn they do not.


    Soothfast belief is unsheathed by a wight''s behavior."


    -- The Cosmogon Codex, Prolegomenon, Verse 52.


    </blockquote>


    I stood fast in blank astonishment inside Megaschema Night Ice''s perch. Moments later, Night Ice looked up from The Codex again, puzzled to find me still there. He asked if I were ill, and instead of answering this, I asked wherefore she had been banished. He told me to leave his perch immediately and return to my devotional duties.


    I paused on my way out the door and turned back, then kithed that I had reason to believe that there are fiends prowling the lower levels of the bedestow and that we might be in danger of having our flesh ripped from our bones as we slumber. I expected Night Ice to be either alarmed or scoffingly dismissive. Instead, without looking up again, he matter-of-factly informed me that there are no fiends here, and that at worst some small to medium-sized desert-beasts occasionally seek shelter under our feet, but are quite fearful of humans, and harmless besides.


    Round and round I climbed back down, then returned to my duties with a lump of unsettlement. That night, I could sleep only five hours, almost half my usual slumber. The next morning, after breaking the night-fast, I was sitting in the Great Prayer Hall when I realized I was not paying heed to the words I was singing. My dear reader is perchance shocked by this impiety--but I wish to be honest in this book. As soon as I realized my error, I made a forceful effort to focus, bringing my heed to the Central Listener.


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    He held up a hand, and we finished the current passage. The silence of the hall swirled around us as he flipped through The Codex. Then he intoned a call to recitation of Branch 293, Leaf 2, Verse 4. It was a theorem of moderate length, and my mind felt clearer upon completing the recitation.


    I left the hall and wandered the Cold Direction passage that Hearsome Cloud had tramped. Now that I had a good idea of the path she stalked, I tried to search for clues to what she had been searching out, if anything at all. Was she not looking for a particular thing, but trying to get to a particular place? I had considered praying to The Mouth for answers, but I knew he would tell me that The House does not attend to the deeds of brethren and sistren. So all I could do was walk and use my eyes.


    I found the place where I had found her crawling; the scuff marks were still there. Then I retraced the shortest path back to the dining hall where she had been last seen. There was nothing noteworthy to be found. For a few moments I considered recruiting some friends to walk with me--perhaps Brother Ash Thunder or Brother Delve Sand--but swiftly dropped the notion from my head. Now I wish I had not.


    After traversing the trail twice, I performed more of my duties. I tried to memorize some proofs in Leaf 8 of Branch 28. I attended a sermon on the collapse of the Triad. I performed the Sacred Torch Dance in one of the smaller halls to a modest audience, my feet tracing out a knot isomorphism from one of the deeper leaves of The Codex.


    Then, after re-hydrating at one of the spring taps, I wandered Hearsome Cloud''s trail again. This time I found something--or, I should say, something found me.


    I had just passed a junction, thinking the passage on my left was empty, but apparently the shadows were too heavy. Something hit the back of my knees, and I tumbled. As my hands broke my fall, an arm wrapped around my neck. Hot breath blew in my ear. I had difficultly breathing with the arm over my throat, and punched ineffectually behind myself. The hot breath carried a whisper. It warned me not to tread the dark tunnels. The brute shoved me forward, and I caught a glimpse of a mole on the back of a right hand as it passed through torch-light. On my hands and knees, before I could speak or react further, I received a kick to the stomach.


    I lay curled on the floor, breathless, watching a man run back up the passage to be swallowed by the dark.


    ~ Path Dust


    Upon the Hour of the Mouse, Fire Dance Day, First Moon, in this the 17,622nd Orbit A.R. ~

 Entry 4: Backwash

    <blockquote>


    "Correspond precisely to a symbolic statement, rigorously logical, doth every possible physical configuration of the Triad.


    Have a logical antecedent, doth every statement, unless it is primitive. Call this ''cause'', do wights.


    If thou gainsayest cause, thou dost gainsay the logicality of the Triad, and thus also the Dyad,


    And thus thou dost also gainsay the Monad."


    -- The Cosmogon Codex, Prolegomenon, Verse 49.


    </blockquote>


    You might have supposed, dear reader, that I ran from that place as soon as I was able. But it is not so. Recovering my breath took some time, longer than I liked, and afterwards I continued to lay on the stone and think. I was not afraid of attacks from any more brutes--I had the feeling there had been only the one, and he had fled.


    Why had he fled with such eagerness? For the same reason he had whispered--he did not wish to be recognized by me. That does not mean he is personally known to me now, but that I have the potential to recognize him amongst the brothers of the bedestow. Not much else about him could I write--except that he was perhaps a younger man, as he was strong and incredibly fast. And he has a mole on his hand--this, I knew, was the only chance I would have of identifying him.


    Eventually I returned to my room and sat at my desk. I opened The Codex to a random page. I looked at it but did not see. My powers of focus were sapped once again. But this was not the brain-fog induced by fermented saguaro fruit-juice--rather, my mind was focused--but on something which some other part of myself declared verboten.


    I needed to see the sky and feel the sun. There is a sloped passage with an aperture near my room. This I employed to arrive at an opening in an external wall; I squeezed through and stood on a platform above a bulwark, gazing appreciatively at the sea of sand. Then my eyes fell to the stone beneath my feet.


    The surface was precisely scoured with lines. I walked along these like a child playfully following hopper trails in the dirt. A sense of familiarity dawned on me: did I not recently see this diagram in The Codex? Why would it be carved on the exterior of this building, as if it had been part of the original design? The idle puzzlement soon flew from my mind when I noticed something else: scratches in the stone near the edge of the platform. I drew near; it was someone''s writing, scrawled in the letters of the House Tongue. This struck me as quite bizarre--one only writes House letters when one is first learning to read and pronounce the language. Surely the spirits in the walls would pay no heed to scribbles. Nonetheless, after carefully sounding them out, I was able to decipher the words, which were thus:If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Whence fell the Disarray?


    Sayeth not wisdomlove--


    Thence saileth the Settling.


    At the time, I did not know the verb "saileth"--but I soon consulted a dictionary and learned its meaning. In distant parts of the world there are vast basins covered in water rather than sand, and the folk travel in carts: instead of using wheels, sleds, and beasts, these carts have attached to them great sheets of cloth that catch the wind and drag the carts across the water. A truly fantastical concept, though I can think of no reason why it should not be possible.


    I supposed the first line was asking about the cause of the Disarray, that distant, past Dark Age of unknown depths, but which ended at "Year Zero" with the Rearrangement of the Moon after the Swift thundered away from the Earth. But what occurred to me at the time was the strangeness of the historical references. This meant it could not be a quotation from The Codex, for The Codex contains absolutely no references to any eretidal event. But what else would someone quote? It is my impression that members of the laity have the wont of quoting the great oral epics which record ancient yore.


    Those were my thoughts on the matter before I grew too hot and had to escape the sunlight. After returning to my room (where I looked up the verb "to sail" in a House Tongue dictionary) I decided my head was clear enough to attend a godlore study session.


    At this session, there were a megaschema, two novices, a rasophore, and a postulant. I sat with them and respectfully listened to the megaschema lecture on the Monad. When I entered, he was reminding the disciples that the Monad is probably not a mind with a will--it is merely the grounding of all being, though it is not the Creator.


    The postulant asked how could this be, if it were true that the Monad begat the Dyad, Who created our cosmos. The megaschema conceded that, in that sense, the Monad is indirectly responsible for our creation, though by mere happenstance. On the other hand, some scholars conjecture that if the Monad does have some awareness, It perhaps knew It would emanate the Dyad, Who would create the Triad, which would destabilize in the Big Wobble, resulting in our cosmos.


    At this point during the discussions of esoteric godlore, my mind wandered back to thoughts of Hearsome Cloud and the assault in the passage.


    The assault, in particular, is completely counter to the ways of the bedestow. If I let that person intimidate me, it would communicate to him that such methods are effective. I do not wish to promote the future abuse of my brethren and sistren. The assault also had another unintended backwash on me--it caused me to wonder even more strongly what the brute wished to hide.


    There is that word I have been writing here often: "wonder." There is another word we so rarely use, I can barely call it to mind. It is a noun for wondering ...


    witfire.


    Could it be that simple? Did Hearsome Cloud wander so far from the populated buildings simply for the sake of wondering, for the sake of witfire? But if so, why was she exiled from the bedestow?


    Thus during the godlore study session, I had come to decide several things. First, I needed to find out who attacked me and why. Second, I would not be intimidated, but I would be more careful: I would gather friends with me to wander the distant passages for the sake of witfire.


    ~ Path Dust


    Upon the Hour of the Fox, Quick Ink Day, First Moon, in this the 17,622nd Year A.R. ~

 Entry 5: The Shaft

    "Any two ords are incident with just one streak."


    -- The Cosmogon Codex, Leaf 1, Branch 1, Verse 11.


    Yesterday morning I got up early and sought out Drum Storm after my ablutions. The novices in his dorm said he had gone to clean out the high hall in the slab just adjacent to this one, in the Wet Direction.


    I found that this was true. Drum Storm held a wide broom, vigorously sweeping sand to an opening, shoving it off to join the other grains many man-heights below. Upon my entrance, he frowned at me briefly before returning his heed to the floor.


    I asked if he might rest for a while and join me at the spring tap in the Thin Rotunda to break fast, if he had not done so already.


    Drum Storm is a small and serious lad, so I took no offense at his uncouth manner when he responded that he must complete his work anon, for he had many theorems to memorize upon that day, and idling time away with me was the lowest of priorities.


    That was perfectly understandable, I replied to him and then stood there in unsickerness, watching him sweep. After a shortlog or so, without interrupting his motions, he asked about my offsights.


    I answered that lately, after the hapless departure of Hearsome Cloud, I had been thinking much about the bedestow--namely, those parts to which we never venture, with the thought that there might be things of interest in those places.


    He shook his head, responding that most of the bedestow is inaccessible because of sand drifts and the invasion of wild beasts--and that my talk is very childish and that I should not bother him with such immaturities.


    This, to me, sounded like something a megaschema would say, as only the tone was consistent with Drum Storm''s personality--not the content. But I did not say this; I left him to go find Dune Song.


    He was in one of the dining halls, the center of heed at the table as he told one of his outrageous stories of the faithful heroes expelling the heathens from our temples so long ago. The traditional oral tellings of this kind of story have become rather outlandish, spiced with quite a bit of jest. Though in some of the older, written versions I''ve read, they were unwaveringly serious.


    I broke the night fast, and by the time I had finished, Dune Song was bidding good day to his brethren at the table. I caught his attention and he lumbered over to my stance by the taps.


    He asked if I could smell the cactus-fruit scent wafting from the apertures, for this was how he knew it would be a fine day.


    I replied that I did not smell anything, and that it would only be a fine day if he were to defend my side during a perhaps imprudent tramp down the dark tunnels.


    He arched his brows and seemed to be without words for a moment--and Dune Song is rarely in short supply of words. But his face smoothly melted into something pensive, and he agreed to come along, though he might regret the use of time, provided he could bring a big stick with which to smash things that needed to be smashed.


    I requested that he meet me at the mouth of a certain passage after the evening meal, and that sometime before then he persuade another agreeable fellow to join us, such as Drum Storm.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    He nodded and guffawed, perhaps at my poorly chosen word "agreeable" to describe Drum Storm. Then he went off to his daily awefast duties, and I did likewise.


    Shortly before sunset, after a meal of saguaro and dates, I went to the appointed meeting place. In a few shortlogs, Dune Song came bounding into the chamber, thumping a hollow tube of palm wood like a walking stick. Drum Storm came nipping after him on short legs.


    I lowered my hood and smiled at them, and then asked Drum Storm what made him change his mind. He explained that Dune Song argued they should see more of the bedestow because it was a part of the Triad, after all--and by knowing the Triad we get impressions of the Dyad, and thus also the Monad.


    I raised an eyebrow and nodded slowly at Dune Song in appreciation, though I was secretly thinking this might edge close to blasphemy, since the argument was usually applied to mathematical explorations, never to something so crude as the world of stone and air we inhabit. But it worked on Drum Storm, whom I knew to be singularly devoted to the Monad and Its emanations.


    I handed them unlit torches to carry, but I kept the sparking stones. We trooped down the same passage Hearsome Cloud had chosen to begin her investigations, though this was only symbolic: I could have chosen any of the unused passages.


    After a while I deviated from the path I had taken a few days ago and entered one of the many narrow side-passages. After not too long, this led to another, much wider passage with a low ceiling, and here we had to light our torches. We entered this area with some excitement, for it began to slope gently downward (a somewhat unusual feature). After the floor leveled out again, Dune Song speculated that we were underground, heading towards another building.


    I agreed with him, but added that thinking of the bedestow as many connected buildings is not quite accurate, though that is how it appears, as it is half-buried in sand; rather, it is more accurate to describe it as one massive building. He replied that he did not see a substantive difference, and that I was perhaps splitting sand-grains. Drum Storm payed no heed to this conversation, as he was absorbed in watching the odd surface features of the tunnel walls as we strolled by.


    We were led to a large rotunda, then took another connecting passage, and ended up in a strange shaft. The domed ceiling was not far above, but the floor was lost in darkness far below; we stood on a ledge jutting from the door. Our fires were insufficient to take the measure of this realm, but there was a small oculus at the apex of the dome admitting dim sunlight.


    Dune Song raised his hollow walking staff and put his lips into the top hole, then blew a tone which echoed down the shaft. He lowered his staff and laughed, though I did not apprehend the humor. Drum Storm yanked my sleeve and pointed. Upon the sounding of the note, a blue glow appeared on the far side of the chamber. We followed the ramp that led from the ledge, spiralling around the wall.


    The blue lights were on the wall above another ledge. These inthralled us, for it likely indicated spirit-stuff, as the only other place in the bedestow containing similar wonders is the hall of the Mouth. Timidly, I reached up to touch one of the lights; as soon as my fingertip brushed the surface, the complex filigree of lights turned from blue to red. This pattern then flowed like a shadow down the wall to the floor of the ledge. We hopped aside to avoid touching it again. The pattern reshaped itself into something similar, but different--I cannot remember the specific shape of the original pattern.


    Dune Song squeezed my arm painfully and pointed down the shaft. Something was coming up the shaft, emerging from the darkness. Two things, actually, sliding up the wall on opposite sides. They were about half the size of a man, conical in shape. They stopped at eye-level, and then red lights emitted from their bottom tips. The movement of the objects had kicked out clouds of fine dust from the walls, and these now drifted into the center of the space, revealing that the red light was finger-thin all the way across, connecting the cone-tips, and reflected from the particles more strongly than sunlight.


    As we stared in wonder at this inexplicable oddity, I got the prickly feeling that we were being watched. Raising my eyes to the ledge upon which we had entered, I saw a robed figure in the doorway.


    ~ Path Dust


    Upon the Hour of the Camel, Sandstorm Day, First Moon, in this the 17,622nd Year A.R. ~

 Entry 6: Old Machines of the Heathens

    <blockquote>


    "Every streak is incident with at least three distinct ords."


    -- The Cosmogon Codex, Leaf 1, Branch 1, Verse 15.


    </blockquote>


    I gave a restricted cry and pointed to the door. My fellows might have thought I was betokening the red line of light, so I declared the presence of another wight; but by the time they moved their eyes, the figure was gone.


    They were rather dismissive of my claim, saying, in effect, so what if someone else was in the outer passage? Their heed quickly turned back to the wondrous red light.


    I became spellbound by the intricacy of the glowing diagram before our feet, and kindled witfire about its meaning. I touched another point in the pattern.


    One of the cones drifted downward, but the red light was always maintained between the cone-tips. A different symbol glowed on the side of each cone. The same symbols appeared on the ledge diagram. Both symbols had three smaller symbols below them; these appeared to me to be written in a different language than the larger symbols. Below the first small symbol was a vertical line; below the second, a horizontal line; and below the third, a circle. I tried touching one of the circles.


    As soon as I did so, one of the cones slid along the surface of the shaft to another position, and the small symbol above the circle changed; the large symbol above these and on the moved cone also changed.


    Drum Storm pushed me aside and touched the horizontal line below the second small symbol. The cone floated toward the central axis of the shaft.


    Dune Song touched the vertical line: the cone floated upward, halting below the dome.


    By playing with the diagrams below the other triplet, I moved the other cone likewise.


    Drum Storm declared that we must immediately inform the Grand Suggester of the place; Dune Song said talking to any megaschema will do--they might already know what it is.


    I asked what they thought it was; but I was met with blank stares and a shrug. I wanted to stay and examine this arrangement more thoroughly, but the other two were in agreement that we go now, so we left.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    We traced our steps back to the hall in which we started, meeting no one else along the way. Dune Song hummed to himself a gleestaff with no sleuthable pattern, claiming that he was trying to compose a hymn to the second-order emanations.


    The Grand Suggester was in conference, so we marched to a ward where megaschemas tended to congregate. Finally, we arrived at the base of a watchtower, and Drum Storm insisted there was likely to be a megaschema occupying the perch right then. I agreed to trudge up the spiral stairs with them.


    As soon as we entered the perch at the pinnacle, I was disappointed to see Night Ice at the desk, poring over his over-sized Codex. Dune Song eagerly stepped forward and explained our discovery to him.


    Night Ice waved a hand. He said that there were many such old machines of the heathens from the time before the Disarray, and that they were entirely uninteresting: water filters, air filters, and the like, now totally unusable.


    His hands emerged from his robe to smooth a turned page of The Codex. Given his wrinkled face, his hands were unexpectedly youthful. And then I saw the mole. It was the same size and shape as the one on my attacker, which I had heedfastly etched into my memory. It felt as if the skin on my face and upper body were tightening. I must have had a strange look upon my face, for Night Ice frowned at me, and Dune Song was staring at me.


    I forced myself to calm. It had never occurred to me that my athletic attacker could be so old--nor that he could be as exulted as a megaschema. I straightened my spine and announced that I had been physically assaulted in a dark tunnel whilst searching for Hearsome Cloud, and that this had spurred me to perform more pathfindings of the unknown ways rather than the attacker''s stated intention of deterring me. I continued, announcing that we would continue to explore in honor of the Triad.


    Night Ice leaned back in his chair and eyed the three of us. He said that the unused halls of the bedestow are off-limits to all brethren and sistren. I asked why, and he said the reasons need not worry me if I do not venture there. And besides, since we have all taken vows, our time should be spent studying what we know of the Monad and Its emanations.


    Dune Song echoed my earlier reminder that the bedestow and all its wight-stuff is integral in the Triad. Night Ice responded that he has already stated the rule clearly, and that we should stop wasting his time with more of this foolishness.


    On these last words he stood in anger. We backed toward the door, apologizing for our intrusion.


    We wound down to the ground level, and began to head out of the megaschema ward. I reminded my companions that megaschemas cannot invent rules for the bedestow. They asked if I would again seek audience with the Grand Suggester.


    I responded that I would not at this time. Now I would pray to The Mouth. Their faces darkened.


    ~ Path Dust


    Upon the Hour of the Serpent, Sandstorm Day, First Moon, in this the 17,622nd Year A.R. ~

 Entry 7: Temple of the Mouth

    <blockquote>


    "A flock of sooth-valued sayings is groundforeguessed by another flock of sayings if the first flock is a shutting of the second flock."


    -- The Cosmogon Codex, Leaf 2, Branch 1, Verse 17.


    </blockquote>


    Dune Song and Drum Storm belove at the base of the long ramp outside the Temple of the Mouth. I stopped half-way up and looked back at them. They were speaking with each other, not looking at me; I could not hear their words from that distance.


    At the top of the ramp, I passed through the short tunnel and into the temple. The spirits living in the walls were near, as indicated by the flashing lights on the various smooth panels throughout the chamber. I knelt on the alter facing the black disk on the opposite wall and took a breath.


    I cleared my throat. Unlike my native tongue and that of the bedestow, there are no non-pulmonic glottal plosives in the tongue of the House. However, it does have quite a few clicks, and an occasional throat constriction which affected the quality of the following vowels. So, it was with careful enunciation that I recited the magical incantation to summon the chorus of House spirits we call "The Mouth".


    The disk before me glowed blue and the giant mouth faded into view. The nose and the upper portion of the head was out of sight above the rim of the disk. You can see down to the shaven chin, but no neck or body is visible. I knew it could not be real, and yet it appeared very realistic, discounting the teeth, which seemed to be made of silver. It smiled and cheerfully hummed a few bars of swin.


    Still speaking the House Tongue, I thanked it profusely for taking the time to speak with me.


    It replied that no time was being displaced from other activities, since it only existed when speaking with House inhabitants.


    I told it about the cones in the shaft, and asked after their purpose.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    The Mouth said simply that it is a proof.


    Dumbly, I repeated the word "proof".


    The Mouth said that a proof is a physical demonstration of a truth deducted from foresteps.


    I answered that I knew what a proof was. But then I hesitated and asked what it meant by "physical"--since proofs are spiritual of course.


    It replied that all demonstrations require the physical rearrangement of matter in space over time, and this is called computation.


    I protested that proofs are revelations of the thoughts of the Monad; their origin is spirit.


    The Mouth said it did not understand my statement.


    I argued that The Mouth is not a "computerplex", as it has called itself, but a spirit living inside a computerplex.


    It said: "If spirit is defined as information."


    I am not sure what it meant by this, but I did not want to press further, since I still had other questions that were more important. So I asked if I would be exiled for visiting the shaft.


    The Mouth responded that it had no knowledge of bedestow policy, and fore-set I ask the Grand Suggester.


    Then, I yondthought, it would have no knowledge of why Night Ice attacked me, either.


    This musing it confirmed, but offered that since Night Ice is a megaschema, any deed he does would be for the sake of the consolidation of his power.


    I emerged from the temple feeling unaccomplished, which is as I had foreseen. My fellows were still word-tossing at the bottom of the ramp. As I approached, I began to hear them debating esoteric aspects of godlore. They stopped talking and looked at me when I stood before them.


    I believe they foresaw me to report what The Mouth had said, but I did not underbring them. Instead, I tried to appear confident and forthspoke that I would not halt my groundbreaking of the dark ways, no matter who uproared. Drum Storm and Dune Song may join me, if they are willing, to become wayfarers of the tunnels.


    I would return to the shaft, find out as much about its heathen machinery as possible. And then I would move on to the next hall or shaft, and I would not stop until every blank day-log was filled with my unearthings.


    ~ Path Dust


    Upon the Hour of the Mouse, Sandstorm Day, First Moon, in this the 17,622nd Year A.R. ~

 Entry 8: Dead Ends

    <blockquote>


    "Any flock of mind-marks or outlooks which inhibit the growth of knowledge is what we label bad wisdomlove."


    -- The Cosmogon Codex, Leaf 3, Branch 2, Verse 8.


    </blockquote>


    We edwhirved to the Shaft the day after my beseeking to the Mouth. The cones were not in sight. We walked around the ledge to the area on the wall where the controls had been. I pressed my fingers to the cold stuff, but no lights glowed. My fellows seemed astounded at this, but somehow I was not. I had the feeling that someone who knew more than us turned off the control system. Naturally, I suspected Night Ice or one of his minions.


    Though there was nothing to attract our attention, we walked around the spiraling ledge as far as it went. There was nothing else to do but return the way we had come. I ran my fingertips over the wall as I went. About another quarter of the way around the Shaft''s rimlength, I thought I felt something--went back--felt carefully as Dune Song brought the torch close to the wall. Yes, there was a hairline crack forming a square about a half a man-height. I pushed on the panel, and it gave way, receding into the shaft wall a short distance. I pushed harder, and it budged a little more, enough to fit my fingers into the space and touch the interior side of the panel.


    I pulled, and the panel moved to the side, cool air flowing from the dark space. My fellows were eager to try, and they slid it the rest of the way, until the panel was gone and a square hole lay open to a horizontal shaft. We stared at the opening for a few moments. Then Drum Storm shrugged, bent over, and crawled inside. I followed, with Dune Song close behind.


    After crawling a short distance, he hummed, and then broke into a song of moderate pace to match the rhythm of our crawling. I recognized the hymn and chimed in; Drum Storm soon joined, and our three-part polyphony resonated along the passage. I was somewhat enjoying this, though my knees soon began to complain.


    After some shortlogs, we encountered a junction--another passage perpendicular to our own, ceiling high enough to to stand with a hunch. We could have continued in this manner left or right, but we were attracted to an opening that revealed dusty light.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    We went through, hopping down into a large rotunda with a few small apertures in the dome, letting in enough sunlight to see. We walked around the whole hall floor, finding nothing else but another passage opening, this one actually made for wights.


    So we followed that tunnel, and came upon another room with nothing of note. This process continued the entire day.


    These places were long abandoned, empty of anything but a layer of desert dust. I began to grow disheartened. Perhaps the Shaft with the cones was the only wonder in the whole bedestow. Perhaps my idea of a journey of discovery was foolish.


    I have met tenders of the gardens who claimed that everything to discover has already been discovered, and all that was left to do was to understand it. But, they also said, we might not be smart enough to understand the emanations of the Monad. All that was left to do, then, was to tend our gardens, making sure we had enough food until it was time to die. The thought depressed me, and my ferth rejected that outlook. Yet some part of me worried that the gardeners were correct, and that I was just naive.


    When I began to move sluggishly, we increased the frequency of our rests. At one place in a high passage, there was a narrow aperture providing a view of mountains. I stared at the view for a few shortlogs, trying to cleanse my soul of negativity. Earlier in the day, I had the feeling that the next hall would reveal some wondrous miracle unknown to wightkind for thousands of years. But there was always nothing, and the feeling faded. Now it felt like we were on a march of drudgery through a forgotten tomb.


    I ought to not waste any more time. I ought to give up. I ought to do something useful--perhaps make a journey into the desert to find more seeds for the gardens.


    The sun neared the horizon, and we grew sleepy. I sat and leaned against a cold wall. We inhabited a dead, empty world. But there was something small tickling a back corner of my mind. It was the thought that maybe the world is more subtle than I have the right to demand--that maybe something strange and majestic lurks just beneath the surface.


    ~ Path Dust


    Upon the Hour of the Moth, Xerophyte Day, First Moon, in this the 17,622nd Year A.R. ~

 Entry 9: Retraction to the Boundary

    <blockquote>


    "If there is no unbroken retraction of the ball to its boundary, then there is no unbroken map from the ball to itself without a fixed ord."


    -- The Cosmogon Codex, Leaf 6, Branch 1, Verse 3.


    </blockquote>


    I had gone as far as I could. The quest was over. We trudged our way back to the warm dens. I occasionally gave a side-long glance to the empty halls and tunnels we had investigated already.


    There was one dead-end hall that was different from all the others, though we didn''t spend much time there. But this particular hall had a very unusual structure: a smooth organic shape to the walls, unlike the standard cubic and cylindrical shapes to rooms of the bedestow.


    I insisted that we take one more look inside that peculiar hall, though Dune Song whinged of hunger. Nonetheless, we intread it again. I took the torch and swept it over every nook. Bringing it close to the wall, I felt the surface: metallic stone, like everything in the bedestow. Then I brought the torch low, following the flow of the smooth floor.


    There was a glint in the firelight. It was on the floor, near the center of the hall. As I drew my torch nearer, it glowed brighter--seemingly more than what the torch-backshine would permit. I handed the torch to Drum Storm, and at the firelight''s farther distance, the markings on the floor kept their gleam. It was very similar to the happening we had met on the wall of the Shaft.


    These markings had a different blee, however. There was a thin ring, about twice as wide as Dune Song''s head. Next to it was a square filled with a dozen neatly arrayed symbols which I acknew from The Codex, each within their own little ring. Below this was another square, completely blank. I have sketched the arrangement as best I can.


    I touched one of the symbols. It jiggled under my fingertip, and I found I could drag it around to any spot on the surface. I dragged a symbol into the lower box.


    Drum Storm offered that perhaps these symbols controlled a heathen machine, as in the Shaft. I agreed with him, and added that the symbols were from The Codex. Perhaps, said I, we could arrange the symbols in the exact manner of a branch or verse from The Codex.


    Like a theorem, Dune Song said. Except none of us could remember what theorem from which these might be. I said that it would help if we could understand the meaning behind this layout.


    Drum Storm objected. The secret meaning behind the theorems and their proofs were for the gods to know, not we intellectually lacking wights. Our job is merely to worship them by copying their symbols through the ages, memorizing the leaves, singing the verses. The intellectual task of wights was to become proficient in symbol manipulation by following the rules of syntax.


    I asked him why this was the case. Why can''t we understand the meaning of the verses?


    Drum Storm bristled at this, and accused me of dancing with heresy. I asked if he was certain he is not the heretic by refusing to listen to what the gods are saying.


    He lunged at me, but Dune Song held him back. I commented to Dune Song that Drum Storm has run out of excuses--a physical attack to shut me up was the only way he could make himself feel comfortable again.


    This statement produced another lunge, but Dune Song held him fast. Dune Song dragged him back to the entrance of the hall; I thought they would leave, but instead they stood in the doorway and tossed words. I shook my head and returned my heed to the control panel.


    I tried dragging one of the symbols over to the big ring. The symbol disappeared from the ring and appeared back in its original position; a red line of text appeared above, written in the House Tongue. I acknew some of the words but could not understand the meaning of the sentence; I supposed it was telling me I was not allowed to put that symbol into the ring.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    I noticed an interesting symbol in the shape of a small spiral. I dragged this one into the ring, and something happened. Everything inside the ring changed. I say "everything" because I had not noticed the ring was filled with points. There were so many, and they were so tiny, I had perceived them as a fuzz. Now they looked to me like the surface of thick saguaro juice in a mug--and using the symbol, I had just stirred it. I tried a different symbol near the spiral--all the points moved again.


    After playing with more nearby symbols, I relayed my discovery. I announced that all the symbols in a particular area performed actions that changed the interior of the ring. I looked up. No one had heard me; my fellows were still in heated discussion in the doorway. Dune Song was waving the torch around in his gesturing.


    I returned my heed to the floor and yondthought about The Codex--if there were anything I could recall that was similar to what was laid out here. Of course, the arrow symbols appeared often in proofs. Then I recalled what the Mouth had told me: the old machines in the Shaft formed a proof. But it had never occurred to me to figure out which proof. I thought how the cones could be moved up and down, towards the center of the Shaft and back to the rim, and rotated around the rimlength--and during all of these movements, the red streak remained, connecting the two cones in a perfect line.


    Every streak is incident with at least three distinct ords.


    That was the verse from The Codex which came to mind. Yes, that made sense, because you could always pick out three points on the red line, no matter how you moved the cones. Each apex of the cones was a point, and of course you could pick out any other location in the light to make the third.


    I had a growing feeling that this hall was also a demonstration in the same manner as the Shaft. Again I dug through my memories of the verses. Was is something to do with rotating ords?


    I dragged another symbol into the ring. At the spot where I dropped the symbol, a black dot appeared and expanded. All the points moved to the rim of the ring until the interior was entirely black. I used another nearby symbol, and the points spread out from the rim again, filling the ring space. I dropped in the mirrored versions of the symbols I used earlier, and the points rotated back again.


    A phrase from the Codex popped into my head.


    Retraction to the boundary.


    What did that mean? I closed my eyes. How did the verse go?


    If there is no unbroken retraction of the ball to its boundary, then there is no unbroken map from the ball to itself without a fixed ord.


    Or something like that. But like everyone else, I copy and repeat the verses without understanding. I remembered that the proof involved arrows between symbols. So, some of the symbols were labels for things. That made sense, because I already learned some of the symbols were labels for actions, or changes, that could be made to the illustration.


    Perhaps I could use other symbols to label other parts. I dragged them into the blank square, mentally assigning meaning to them: a label for the ball; a label for the exterior ring; a label for the change that would move all the points to the rim. And then what? I could draw lines between the points inside the ring, and realized that this was a way to distinguish between distinct points, as the cones of the Shaft was still fresh on my mind.


    But I still had symbols left over in the top box. Why were they needed? I spent some short-logs rearranging the arrows and symbols, trying to match a vague memory of a Codex diagram. When I put the last piece to the diagram, it changed color from silver to green. All the points inside the ring retracted to the rim.


    And the hall itself retracted. Startled, I lept to my feet as a low hum rang the air, and all the wall protrusions receded until I was standing at the bottom of a smooth sphere. My fellows, who had been just inside the entrance, shouted as they lost their balance then slid down toward me. The entrance was now up the side of the sphere--and directly across from it, a new tunnel mouth was revealed. I climbed towards it, not checking to see if my fellows followed.


    I was glad I found a way forward, but I knew I had gotten lucky. I had not really figured out anything. Symbols without meaning are not worth writing down. I failed to live up to my side of the argument against Drum Storm. Somehow I would have to do better.


    Green lights glimmered from the new tunnel.


    ~ Path Dust


    Upon the Hour of the Hawk, Aloe Day, Third Moon, in this the 17,622nd Year A.R. ~