Chapter 74: 74. Indexing

Excerpts from Magister Friyah’s ‘Compiled Notes on the Forgotten Lectures.’

“While deep in prayer, I beheld a vision. I believe it to have been some demon-sent thing, dredged up from some foul space deep underground. In that vision I beheld myself, and I held a book. For every page that other me turned, something about me changed. Old injuries vanished, my clothes grew finer, my appearance more confident. Yet, every time I saw a change come over me, I knew that something had been lost. What has one truly gained, in riches and health, when one has lost a piece of themself? I could look upon myself, identical in every way, and know it was not me—a phantom, a pale reflection in someone else’s eyes.”

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An overwhelming tension flooded Yenna’s body. The weight of gravity threatened to force her down, her knees rattling and unsteady. Before her, the armoured figure stood in silent contemplation, awaiting an answer. Yenna could barely breathe, let alone deliver a witty retort. The mage gulped, wringing her shaking hands together.

“Who… what are you?”

Yenna’s voice quivered, unable to even remotely conceal her fear.

“I am many things.” The figure walked forward with oiled grace, the plates of their mail sliding across each other with barely a sound. “Yet, I am no one.”

“Wh… what?”

The figure walked over to Yenna and took one of the mage’s hands. The metal of their gauntlet was shockingly cold even in the humid chamber, the surface completely dry and smooth. Their grip was gentle, their movements lacking in urgency or malice—still, Yenna shuddered in fear as her hand was clasped in metal fingers.

“I am Fate,” they whispered in a deep, rich tone, right into Yenna’s ear. “The guiding hand of history, ensuring all tales end just as they should.”

Turning, they led Yenna by the hand towards the central pillar. Standing side by side, they both looked towards the pillar. They looked towards it as though it were a masterful painting hanging on the wall of an art gallery. Yenna stared at it with open dismay.

“I am a nexus,” they slid forward, gently releasing Yenna’s hand to stand directly next to the pillar. “A crossroads of past, present and future, a collective pool for the prayers of countless beings.”

Fate, or whatever they were, reached up to the pillar. It wasn’t what Yenna had seen from afar at all—there were no recesses in the odd, grey stone, but rectangles of black metal that had seemed from afar to be pits for the sheer weight of darkness in them. When the figure’s armoured hand pulled one free, Yenna’s worst fears were confirmed—in their hand they held a black book, identical to the one they found in the cursed valley, or the one in the water elemental’s vision.

“I am the Ledger,” they continued, holding the book up for Yenna to see. “I was created for the singular purpose of reading the totality of the Word, for divining the answer to the question of existence. I record every proposition, every exchange of ideas. Very soon, I shall answer the question.”

The Ledger. Yenna recalled Nadhan and Mulvari mentioning them. The warrior had held a sort of macabre reverence for them, while the alchemist seemed content to treat them as a dangerous but lucrative opportunity.

“Where did you get these…?” Yenna’s eyes wandered, from the sealed book in the Ledger’s hands to the multitude of copies upon the pillar.

“To retell their individual tales would exceed the scope of your own, Yenna Bookbinder.”

They walked back to Yenna’s side, and handed her the black book. The mage’s shaking hands could barely hold it up, and the Ledger steadied her arm with a gentle yet sturdy grip. 

The kindness the Ledger showed, the softness of their manner, the way they explained everything, it all clashed with the image Yenna had in her head. She had imagined the cult led by some villainous warlock, a wizened and sickly old sorcerer mutated by dark energies, cackling at the chaos he had caused. Yenna could not have predicted that something like the Ledger was in charge here.

“That is because I am not.”

Yenna’s body went stiff with a new kind of fear—the existential dread of knowing that even that final, private sanctum of thought was no longer safe.

“C-Can you…” Read my mind? Yenna couldn’t finish the question aloud—if it was true, then she didn’t need to.

“In a tale yet to be recorded, you will reminisce upon this moment. In those reminiscences, you will relay your thoughts. Those thoughts are part of totality, a fragment of a speck upon the Word. To know the Word, to answer its question, is my duty. Thus, I shall know your thoughts then, do know your thoughts now, and have always known your thoughts, Yenna Bookbinder.”

Yenna’s knuckles turned white as she clutched at the book in her hands. Her foe, this Ledger, could see the future, could know her thoughts before she even thought them. How was she meant to escape?

“I am not your foe.” The Ledger lifted a hand and put it on Yenna’s shoulder—the mage flinched with shock, dancing backwards slightly.

“If you’re not, then let me go. And my friends, too.”

They shook their head solemnly. “I cannot. Not until you perform your duties.”

The absurdity of it all ignited just the hint of defiance in Yenna’s heart. She glared up at that featureless helmet.

“What, then, would you have me do?”

“Open the book.”

That spark of anger blossomed into an ember, burning away her cold terror. Did they truly believe she could do it? Did they truly have no idea that Yenna had never once opened the thing? Yenna attempted to bluff.

“If I don’t, then what? What if I refuse?”

“You will be able to open it this time.”

The Ledger skipped right over her gambit. Of course, Yenna sighed internally, I can’t lie to them.

However, Nadhan interjected.

“This time?” The warrior stepped forward, speaking for the first time since they arrived. “We made precautions for her having read her part of the Word already, and you say she hasn’t even opened the book?”

“Now, Nadhan…” Mulvari reached over to stop the warrior, but she pushed him back with contemptuous ease. “Nadhan! There’s no use getting mad at it, you know!”

“Ledger, I command you.” Nadhan jabbed a finger towards them, entirely unconcerned by Mulvari’s warning. “What is the meaning of this? You lied to us!”

“I have not,” the Ledger stated.

“You told us that she had a place in Fate, that we would need to write around her!”

“Yes,” the Ledger nodded.

Nadhan grunted, growing irate. “How can that be? How can that be, if she has never opened the book?!”

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The Ledger remained silent. The warrior fumed at them, towering over the Ledger with a glare that would have caused Yenna to turn to ash were it directed at her. After a few moments of an entirely one-sided staring match, Nadhan grunted and took a step back.

“You will inform us more clearly in the future of the details. We cannot do the work if we are lacking.”

“Your will be done.” The Ledger gave a small bow with their head. Then, as though that outburst never happened, they turned to Yenna and waited.

Yenna turned her attention to the book. The black book was exactly how she remembered it, as terrifying and mystifying an object as the first time she held it. Glossy black metal, subtly patterned and bound shut with both mundane lock and magical seal. Not one thing Yenna had done had managed to penetrate either of those barriers, and the metal itself was disturbingly resistant to magic. The mage inspected it, to see if some change had come over it—there wasn’t a bit out of place, and the lock refused to budge.

Yenna tugged at the lock some more, but ultimately gave up. It was a curious feeling, giving up—every other time, the book itself had spurned her on to ever more drastic action. Now? It was no more alluring than any other locked mystery. Yenna debated with herself on drawing her knife, to try the quicksilver dagger against the book’s lock, but she didn’t want Nadhan or Mulvari getting the wrong idea. Yenna knew the Ledger couldn’t misunderstand, but the risk was still there.

“How… how do I open it?”

The Ledger answered, “You require a key.”

Yenna started to understand Nadhan’s frustration. If they had said that first, Yenna would not have needed to ask.

“I shall grant you a key, and the solution to a different riddle. You will not be satisfied with the answer, even if we discuss and debate. We will speak about it all the same, for the alternative is a world deprived of insight and explanation. Come, sit down.”

The Ledger gestured to one side with an open hand, and Yenna followed their gesture with her eyes. Beside them, where the pillar was standing but a moment ago, was a small table with a set of kesh seating pillows either side. Yenna blinked, and realised that the sound of the ghoulish worshippers had vanished—that they were in a different space entirely.

Yenna could see nothing but an endless expanse in every direction. The ground was soft, resembling a cloud of fog made thick enough to walk upon—through the vapour, Yenna could see the blue of sky concerningly below her. There was no sound in this place, nothing but her, the table and its seats… and another Yenna Bookbinder.

In the other seat at the table, Yenna saw her exact duplicate. She looked awful, her braid half-severed at the base of her hair, sweat and grime on her face, heavy bags under those now-dull green eyes. The other Yenna’s robes and caparison were dirty, and red marks at her wrists showed where she had been tightly bound.

Yenna sat down and studied her doppelganger. She could not detect the telltale signs of illusory magic, nor the subtle imperfections that plagued would-be body doubles. The freckles across her cheeks and nose were the same as she remembered, even the tiny little one just along her chin on one side. The point and angle of her ears, the wrinkled crook of her mage’s hat, the exact pattern of her clothes, all were identical. Despite it all, Yenna knew that this was the Ledger, and she knew at that moment that mimicry of this order was a trifle to their abilities.

“The riddle which I mean to solve is that of Mulvari, and your third option.” The Other Yenna’s speech was a perfect match to her own, the tone she used to explain and lecture.

“You mean to take the choice out of my hands?” It was the obvious, easy third option—rather than having to decide whether Mulvari lives or dies, someone else could simply make the decision for her.

“Oh, no, of course not! No, absolutely not. That would completely invalidate the decision to even have a third option. It wouldn’t be an option at all.”

That made sense, at least to Yenna. I can’t pick it, so it’s not an option—merely happenstance. Irrelevant to the argument. “Then, what is your solution?”

“Do you remember, back when I explored the memories of the water elemental, how it explained that the person it saw had attempted to take something from it? How it took something from the beasts, and made them its thralls.”

Yenna felt uneasy about the Ledger referring to her own actions in the first person—as though it was the Ledger who had done it, not Yenna. However, she did recall. The elemental had met someone deep within a leyline, a beast-man with a book of their own, who attempted to take from the elemental what it described as a piece of its core, no greater than a tiny reed within the dam of its power. Yenna had felt that feeling other times too, something tugging at a place deep within. She assumed it was a piece of her soul, or something similarly vital.

“You don’t mean to make a thrall of Mulvari, do you? To steal his soul and enslave him?”

“I do, though your definition is lacking,” the other Yenna nodded solemnly, “Because it’s the only way.”

Yenna felt sick. “That can’t possibly be true. His body would be alive, but he would be gone—just a sick puppet of his corpse left behind.”

“No, his mind would remain too. His mind, his body, even his soul—though the latter would be left unguarded. It would be so easy, then, for me to change the contents of his soul. To make him good instead of evil. To force him to repent for what he has done, to prevent him from doing what he will do.”

There was a kind of logic there, as abhorrent as some of it felt. “I need to know more. What does this solution of yours entail, exactly? And why are we discussing this, now of all times?”

“We will never have another chance, Yenna Bookbinder.” Yenna smiled back at herself, sad and soft, full of regret. “I will tell you everything you wish to know, and you will disagree with my methods, but you will agree that it is the only way.”

A prickle of anger tore at Yenna’s chest, irritating the tightly bound knot of emotions within her. The Ledger, whatever it was, was so disgustingly sure of itself—Yenna could almost picture a smug smile under the glamour of her own face, under the featureless helmet.

“Talk, then.”

“Very well.”

The other Yenna placed a sheet of paper in the centre of the table, and with a stick of charcoal she drew a line diverging into three.

“Here are the options you have ahead of you, the realities within which you can dwell—the stories you can be a part of.”

The Ledger pointed to the left-most line, and wrote a single word along its side—DEATH.

“In this path, you slay Mulvari. Never again does he harm another being, except for you. You live with the weight of your decision, the weight of a moral failure… for three years. After a conversation with a loved one, you come to the conclusion that you need to move on, and you convince yourself that you did the right thing. From time to time, in your lowest moments, Mulvari’s phantom returns to haunt you—amidst all your other regrets. In this story, you harm only yourself.”

Yenna thought about it, and pictured the line of reasoning. The Ledger’s specificity aside, Yenna could see herself doing just that—beating herself up over the failure to come to a more ‘correct’ conclusion, until someone else pulls her out of her funk. Mulvari really would have his legacy reduced to nothing but a stain on Yenna’s conscience.

“Now, this path.” Other Yenna’s hand shifted, pointing the path on the right. Next to it, another word—MERCY.

“This path, you let Mulvari live. You sternly warn him—should he ever give you reason to regret his actions, you will not be so merciful again. He promises, thankful for your forgiveness, and you both walk away happy. You never hear from Mulvari again, though the thought of him out there bothers you from time to time. However, Mulvari does what he does best—he finds another dark hole to climb into, and continues performing acts of evil. In the remaining course of his life, he kills a further one thousand, six hundred and ten people personally, and many thousands more indirectly with his discoveries. Your moment of mercy is not the sole decider, and doesn’t place the guilt of his actions upon you, but nevertheless your decision led to this outcome.”

Yenna felt herself go pale, and saw her doppelganger do the same. “In this story, you harm so, so many others—yet let yourself feel clean.”

“And the third path? You turn him into a puppet, and, what? Force him to fix things? Rewire his mind for good?” 

The mage stared down at that third line. She wanted to know what it was, what possible words the Ledger could say in her own voice to convince her to take such a harrowing path. Yenna wanted to know why she was already convincing herself to take it.

“In this path, nothing ever happens. Mulvari never once performs a singular act of evil, never comes into your life as anything other than a kind old man to help solve a problem. I would not make him a slave—I would make him anew.”

Next to the third line, right down the centre, the other Yenna Bookbinder wrote one word—REWRITE.