storm of motes as we started into a clutter of randomly stacked volumes.
After several moments, a sheering sound came muted through the blackness. We shared a look, and started toward it. Slowly, another light in the dark appeared, growing brighter as we approached.
The sheering sound stopped.
I gave Scalinou another look. He hunched his shoulders. On we went. After navigating two more aisles of piled books, we saw it. There on the floor, a lamp. Beside it, a book. And next to the book, pages cleanly shorn from the binding.
I pushed past my friend and got down close, putting aside my cane. I read the preceding page to what had been torn out. “They’re removing anything that refers to the Bourne or the Quiet or the Veil.”
I picked up a shorn page. It was from a book entitled, The Science of Absences: A Physicist’s Model for Pain and Loss . I read a bit:
We should acknowledge that the pain resulting from a loved one’s death is quite possibly more than internal anguish. Mechanical systems may well be affected.
“Look at this.” I held the page up to Scalinou, feeling close to understanding why the College of Philosophy—and the League—was pushing this new philosophical position.
Hurried footfalls. A dark shape emerged from the shadows, a cudgel in hand. The figure struck Scalinou. My friend crumpled in a heap.
The figure lunged at me, cudgel raised. I threw my lamp at my attacker and scrambled up the aisle, clawing my way to my feet. I grabbed a book lying atop another pile and turned, holding it up like a shield.
The cudgel struck my finger. Hurt like every last hell. Broke, no doubt. Damn!
I threw the book at the man. He batted it away as I grabbed another.
I couldn’t tell who he was. His face below the eyes had been wrapped with a black scarf.
“You can’t just rewrite history by removing a few pages,” I yelled, trying to buy some time. “Or change physical law.”
“You really don’t understand, do you?” the man said.
I’d had enough of this, by all my dead gods. “And I don’t think you have any idea who’d like to see your new philosophical position fail, or you might take a different view.” I pictured the Velle and shook my head.
“There’s nothing you can do to win,” he said. “We’re just cleansing the annals of deviant thought.”
“I see,” I replied, still backing away. “And do you realize you’ve just assaulted the Savant of Cosmology? I dare say you’ve put your whole supposition at risk on that alone.”
The man chuckled, and rushed. I got a good hit on him with a voluminous book entitled, Governing Dynamics . But then he was on me. The cudgel came down again and again. I lost count before he got me good in the head, and I started to slide to oblivion.
Damn me but philosophy is getting dangerous.
* * * * *
I spent the next few days with Anna, sleeping on the floor in her room. Seemed a safe place to be while I tried to heal up a bit. And after all the shenanigans lately, the slow way of things with someone who does little more than stare . . . well, it suited me fine. Beyond all that, I believed I’d found the only way I could win my argument with Darius. So, I was waiting. Waiting for the Velle to come ’round.
On the evening of the third day, he stepped into the little room. I felt him before I saw him. Not frost or cold. Not heat. Not darkness. Not even anger. It was a subtle thing, because I was in Anna’s room. But I felt like I might never be happy again.
The Velle had closed the door, and stood looking at me for many long moments. “You’re running out of time.”
“I can’t win with rhetoric,” I said. “You must have known that before you asked me to do this thing. And it seems the League has removed any documented Grove thinking on the topics of the Bourne. So, I don’t have any precedents to cite.”
The Velle said nothing. Waiting.
“But I think I know how I can win.” I looked over at Anna.
The Velle followed my gaze.
After several moments, a sheering sound came muted through the blackness. We shared a look, and started toward it. Slowly, another light in the dark appeared, growing brighter as we approached.
The sheering sound stopped.
I gave Scalinou another look. He hunched his shoulders. On we went. After navigating two more aisles of piled books, we saw it. There on the floor, a lamp. Beside it, a book. And next to the book, pages cleanly shorn from the binding.
I pushed past my friend and got down close, putting aside my cane. I read the preceding page to what had been torn out. “They’re removing anything that refers to the Bourne or the Quiet or the Veil.”
I picked up a shorn page. It was from a book entitled, The Science of Absences: A Physicist’s Model for Pain and Loss . I read a bit:
We should acknowledge that the pain resulting from a loved one’s death is quite possibly more than internal anguish. Mechanical systems may well be affected.
“Look at this.” I held the page up to Scalinou, feeling close to understanding why the College of Philosophy—and the League—was pushing this new philosophical position.
Hurried footfalls. A dark shape emerged from the shadows, a cudgel in hand. The figure struck Scalinou. My friend crumpled in a heap.
The figure lunged at me, cudgel raised. I threw my lamp at my attacker and scrambled up the aisle, clawing my way to my feet. I grabbed a book lying atop another pile and turned, holding it up like a shield.
The cudgel struck my finger. Hurt like every last hell. Broke, no doubt. Damn!
I threw the book at the man. He batted it away as I grabbed another.
I couldn’t tell who he was. His face below the eyes had been wrapped with a black scarf.
“You can’t just rewrite history by removing a few pages,” I yelled, trying to buy some time. “Or change physical law.”
“You really don’t understand, do you?” the man said.
I’d had enough of this, by all my dead gods. “And I don’t think you have any idea who’d like to see your new philosophical position fail, or you might take a different view.” I pictured the Velle and shook my head.
“There’s nothing you can do to win,” he said. “We’re just cleansing the annals of deviant thought.”
“I see,” I replied, still backing away. “And do you realize you’ve just assaulted the Savant of Cosmology? I dare say you’ve put your whole supposition at risk on that alone.”
The man chuckled, and rushed. I got a good hit on him with a voluminous book entitled, Governing Dynamics . But then he was on me. The cudgel came down again and again. I lost count before he got me good in the head, and I started to slide to oblivion.
Damn me but philosophy is getting dangerous.
* * * * *
I spent the next few days with Anna, sleeping on the floor in her room. Seemed a safe place to be while I tried to heal up a bit. And after all the shenanigans lately, the slow way of things with someone who does little more than stare . . . well, it suited me fine. Beyond all that, I believed I’d found the only way I could win my argument with Darius. So, I was waiting. Waiting for the Velle to come ’round.
On the evening of the third day, he stepped into the little room. I felt him before I saw him. Not frost or cold. Not heat. Not darkness. Not even anger. It was a subtle thing, because I was in Anna’s room. But I felt like I might never be happy again.
The Velle had closed the door, and stood looking at me for many long moments. “You’re running out of time.”
“I can’t win with rhetoric,” I said. “You must have known that before you asked me to do this thing. And it seems the League has removed any documented Grove thinking on the topics of the Bourne. So, I don’t have any precedents to cite.”
The Velle said nothing. Waiting.
“But I think I know how I can win.” I looked over at Anna.
The Velle followed my gaze.
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