Chapter 201: Day 200

Day 200,

Morning thought: I wonder how they reckon the turn of the new year in this place?  As I recall, in my past world we counted it in early winter.  Sometime around now actually, given that the solstice was a couple of weeks ago.  Come to think of it, I’m not sure they even do distinctly mark the passage of years here.  They’re strangely averse to calendars here.  Part of the reason reorganizing the archive took so long.

Wait, but they still celebrate birthdays and refer to their ages by year.  Is this another “outsider auto translation” paradox?  This is going to bug me now until I ask someone about it, isn't it?

 

No mists today, so no funeral.  In retrospect I probably should have gone outside to check on that before making my morning entry.

Anyway, back to yesterday’s exploration.

Once we’d confirmed that we could all hear the chanting I passed out the notebooks I’d taken from the archive.  The plan was for us all to try transcribing what we heard.  While the chanting did seem to be composed of multiple voices, as far as any of us could tell they all seemed to be speaking the same words in unison.  Thankfully the language of the Village uses a phonetic script, otherwise I’m not sure how we would have gone about writing down a bunch of unknown words.

First though, we took our time walking about the cathedral to see if we could identify a source for the chanting.  A task made confoundingly difficult by the apparent lack of direction to the sound, if indeed it truly even was a sound.  At any rate, covering our ears did nothing to make it quieter, yet talking loudly enough seemed to drown it out.  Almost like the ringing from a mild case of tinnitus; maddeningly loud when all else is quiet yet add in a little ambient noise and you practically forget it was ever there.

That all said the chanting did seem to get marginally louder the closer one got to the Reader statue.  Not that the statue was making the noise per say, for we could feel no vibration when pressing our hands to it and walking around it did nothing to the apparent directionality - or lack thereof - of the sound.  The best analogy I can think to give is one that I’m not sure if the Village’s language even has words for and I’m liable to give myself a headache if I try to think about or examine any of the individual words.  Said analogy being to compare the Reader statue to a wireless transmission antenna and our ears/brains/minds to receivers for the chanting.  The closer you get, the better the signal strength.

 

Got curious and tried to really go back and examine those last two sentences I wrote a letter at a time then a word at a time.  It was… unpleasant.  Even more than I expected.  Headache, dizziness, nausea, the works.  Probably the worst reaction I’ve had to trying to bypass the auto translation.  Even worse than the first time I tried doing it before spending the weeks leading up to the rainy season practicing.  I wound up needing to take a break and lie down for a bit.

On the bright side, it makes for a decent topic transition as the only other time that came close to that was when I tried doing the phonetic transcriptions yesterday.  That made for an unexpected complication in our plans.  Not to mention that Maiko wasn’t yet quite proficient enough in writing to be able to keep up with the transcription as the words of the chant were being said.

Amending the plan, we decided that Cass, Lin, and Vernon would sit around the Reader while Maiko and I would keep walking around to see if there were any other loud spots or places where the chant seemed to change.

Maiko initially suggested that we split up to make the searching go faster, but I wasn’t about to go anywhere by myself on (probably) haunted ground.  

As we’d already noted in our initial sweep that the volume of the chanting swiftly dropped off as soon as we started to go down the stairs to the catacombs, we started by heading back out the door to case the surrounding area with its ruined foundations of side buildings.  That proved to be a less than fruitful endeavor.  The chanting - already quiet at that distance from the reader - cut off abruptly along with the chill as soon as we crossed the threshold, and nowhere amongst the wider ruins did it return.  We were just discussing the prospect of Maiko climbing to the lower terrace of the roof and checking to see if the voices could be heard from any of the broken windows when the rain that had been going all morning finally ceased.

Rejoining the others back inside the now quiet cathedral we compared notes over a lunch of what food we’d brought with us while we waited to see if the rain would return.  We confirmed that we were all hearing the same words, whatever they were, although there were - as expected - discrepancies in interpretations of pronunciations and how to best transliterate them.  And while there were gaps where someone’s focus would waver or their hand would cramp up resulting in missed words, having three sets of notes mostly patched those up.  Some words or phrases did seem to come up more than others, but during their time of transcription nothing ever seemed to loop.  Additionally, everyone that was in the cathedral at the time agreed that when the rain stopped, the voices cut off mid-sentence.

After an hour or so, the rain came back, harder this time.  The chanting seemed louder as well.

This time around Cass, Lin, and Vernon split up to different spots in the cathedral just in case there might be any variance in position beyond volume.  Meanwhile, Maiko and I returned to the catacomb.

We weren’t quite halfway down that spiraling staircase when I had another episode, flashing for a second - if even that long - to the other, capital-C Catacombs.  Thank goodness Maiko was there to catch me, or else I might have broken my neck tumbling down the stairs when my vision and awareness shifted.  What I saw in that moment  (or rather, heard) was the second most exciting thing of the day.

As ever in those nightmares, I was alone but I could still hear the chanting.  What’s more, I could understand it.  Unfortunately, it was too brief to make out more than a few words, taken mid-sentence, useless without context.

“-and then we will a-”

And then we will what?  Ascend?  Ask?  Answer? Aspirate?  As much as I’d like to think it’s that first one, there’s really no way of knowing for now.  I’ve never known it to rain on a mist night, and even if it did, it would hardly be safe to sleep down there with shades about.

Then again, for reasons I’ll get to shortly, perhaps not so unsafe as one might expect at first glance.

Once we finished our descent tumble-free it was obvious that the chanting was utterly absent here.  Maybe the rain had stopped already, but if that were the case, one of the others likely would have come down to let us know.  And so we began walking that pillared space once more, stopping and listening at intervals to see if the chanting returned as our location shifted.

Nothing.  Not even when standing directly under the Reader.

And then Maiko put a hand on one of the sarcophagi.  Gasped.  Told me to come over and do the same.

When I did so I could hear the chanting once more.  After a fashion.  Where the chanting heard above was comprised of many voices in unison, this was a singular speaker.  As I took my hand on and off the carved stone lid the voice started and stopped.  Or at least my ability to hear it did.  A quick test of Maiko keeping her hand on the sarcophagus and repeating the words as she heard them confirmed that the chant kept going without me listening and when I returned my hand I’d be hearing the same as Maiko.  Testing a few others, we confirmed that with each we heard a voice unique to that particular sarcophagus.

Maiko suggested that we check other sarcophagi to see if any of them were saying anything different from one another before we went back up to retrieve the others and have them record what they could hear down here.  It seemed a reasonable enough plan and I went along with it, thinking no more of it.  Nor did I object beyond a request to stay in eye and ear contact when Maiko said we ought to split up to check more at once.

I made the connection some time later when I heard a shout from the other end of the catacombs and realized I’d let Maiko out of my sight.  It wasn’t a loud shout.  The sort of noise you make when you want to scream in anger or frustration but are trying to stay quiet at the same time so it comes out more like a grunt.  Not loud enough to be heard by anyone upstairs.

You are reading story The Archivist’s Journal at novel35.com

I ran toward the noise, catching up just in time to see Maiko straining to dislodge the lid from a sarcophagus.  She ignored my cry as she lifted and pushed.  It was a strain even for her, but with a grinding of stone on stone she managed enough to peak in through a corner.  At times like that, I wonder if there’s something supernatural to her strength on top of her size and musculature.

Not that there was much time for such musings.  The deed was done, and by then I was close enough to peer around Maiko and take a look myself, curious despite all my protestations mere moments before.

Inside was a shade.

It was hard to get a good look at it through that aperture and their forms are indistinct by nature, so there was no way to tell if it had horns like Maiko or other features like Iole’s Ascended illustrations, but there was no mistaking what it was.  And just like a shade at morning’s first light, it melted and disappeared before our eyes.

A shade.

Lying in a box.

During the daytime.

And it dissipated when we opened the box.

Lining the interior of the sarcophagus on every surface I could see were carvings.  Inset into these carvings, filling them, were pieces of metal that brought to mind Priscilla’s map box and the machines in Melaina’s workshop, each perfectly shaped to fill their slot and flush with the surface.  Whether they were more examples of that ancient script or abstract geometric shapes I was too busy fighting down the warring reactions of panic and adrenaline to say with any certainty.

Maiko returned the lid to its original place without another word.

We stared at each other for a time.

Back to the stairs, still not a word.

No chanting from the box when I put my hand on it just before leaving.

Upstairs the others greeted us and asked if we found anything interesting down there given how long we’d been gone.

I told them that it was quiet down there, but if you put your hand on a sarcophagus you could hear chanting.  Just one voice, and a different voice per sarcophagus.

Neither of us mentioned opening one.

Cass of course literally jumped at the chance to head right down and try it out for herself.  Lin volunteered to stay up top and keep transcribing while Cass and Vernon went down and recorded what they heard there.  Maiko volunteered to escort them down and show them while I stayed to keep Lin company.

No one ever mentioned any kind of change or disruption that might have been connected to the release(?) of that shade.

We stayed in those grouping assignments until the rain stopped.  A second round of note comparisons indicated that, as best we could tell, the downstairs chanting was in sync with the upstairs.

Afterwards, we called it a day and headed back out, Maiko to the house and the rest of us to the Village in case the mists came the next morning and we were required for the funeral.  I’ve got hold of all three notebooks now.  Or rather, I did, but I’ve hidden them until I’m ready to go through them with Cass.  I worry this is the sort of answer-seeking that Theo wouldn’t take well to if he caught wind of it.

Speaking of Cass, I suppose I should mention that I’ve had her doing various bits of busywork around the archive today while I come up with excuses not to start going through the notes in detail yet.  Mostly I’m still trying to decide whether to tell her about Maiko opening that sarcophagus (“umbraphagus”?).  I’d hoped that writing down what happened would help get my thoughts in order for making a decision, but I’m not much further on that than when I started.

I’m still not sure why I didn’t tell the others about that, and it makes me sick keeping them in the dark like that.  And yet every time I start to I find myself either stopping or changing the subject.  The best words I can think to put to it is it feels like that Maiko and I crossed a line with our transgression, breaking too strong a taboo to even speak of the deed afterward.

First chance I get I should talk it over with Maiko.

Putting off thinking about a little while longer though, two hundred days.  That feels like another milestone.  I ought to say something retrospective here but I’m not sure what.  Some poetic comparison about the happenstance bookending of anticipating tomorrow’s funerary mist night compared to one hundred’s looking forward to a sunny day at the beach (and weird, revelatory conversation with Pat)?  Maybe a comparison of my experience of the island’s seasons?  How about this: a disclaimer to readers, whether future archivists, the future outsiders, or even my future self taking a stroll down memory lane.

If you haven’t figured out by now, I’m not a reliable narrator.  No one truly is, but I worry I may be worse than most in these journals of mine.  I simplify.  I streamline.  I’m far from objective in my descriptions.  I guess at people’s emotions because I’m bad at reading them and I probably make their personalities come across as flatter than they are because I record only my limited perspective and their relations to me.  I fill in blanks in my memory for the sake of narrative.  

The purpose of these journals from the beginning has been to help me make sense of myself and my circumstances, and this is how I do that.  Does that make me a bad archivist?  Perhaps, but I like to think it makes me human, and this was never for the official record anyway.

All of this, what has come before and what is yet to come, is not a record of events as they happened but as I experienced them.  We would all do well to remember the difference.

 

You can find story with these keywords: The Archivist’s Journal, Read The Archivist’s Journal, The Archivist’s Journal novel, The Archivist’s Journal book, The Archivist’s Journal story, The Archivist’s Journal full, The Archivist’s Journal Latest Chapter