Transcript – Burn After Reading

[The Pensive Tower theme plays]

ANNOUNCER
Scroll & Dagger presents
The Pensive Tower
Episode Thirty Five: Burn After Reading

[A click, and the strange whirring of the venoscribe begins]

PAXTON
This is the memory of Sonora ViHastia. Drakarian, aged 247, identified as female. Memory regards the fire of Dinascar Library. It was donated in the form of a letter addressed to the then High Librarian, Kaedren idel Mallik on the twenty fourth of Chillintine, in the year 192. Inscribed by Paxton Ferox on the eighteenth of Riverfill, 730.

We Begin.

PAXTON (STATEMENT)
My Dear Kaedren,

I must first offer my deepest apologies that I am unable to come to you in person. I know I have for many years now made promises that I will visit the library that this new Federal government has set up. And I know that my continued absence is only more unforgiveable now that you have been given the position of High Librarian.

It’s still hard for me to believe that someone I once had to punish for stealing food from the kitchens is holding a position of such authority.

So, I shall attempt to redeem myself by making a donation for you to add to your tower’s collection. I know you will have heard by now about the fire. I doubt there is anywhere in Senteria that hasn’t heard the story. But while the fact of the fire is widely known, the exact circumstances of it have not been released to the presses.

This is because I was the only witness to these circumstances and I have made sure to keep the details to myself. I have done this because these details are… well, they are strange. I must confess that I do not fully understand what it is that I saw, nor what it means. And there was the very real concern that releasing the details of the fire would cast doubts on the subject of my sanity and I have no wish to be locked up at my age.

You may be asking, if I have these concerns, why am I now giving them freely to you?

Well, the honest answer is because I believe in the mission of the Tower. I have lived a long time, Kaedren. I remember the dark days before the Federation was established. And I remember my grandfather’s stories, the ones his own grandparents told him, the ones passed down to the from the days before the Great Collapse.

The preservation of knowledge is a truly worthy cause. And, though I do not know what it is that I saw, I have a feeling that it needs to be remembered. I only ask that you do me the favour of keeping this memory private until my death.

So, where to begin. I suppose, since this is for posterity, I should begin with what the Dinascar Library is… or perhaps I should say was.

Long ago, before the Great Collapse and the dark days that followed, there were many great libraries across the known world; Haringhad, Rixandia Palace, Siungyun, the Hall of the Scroll, all centres of learning, storing centuries of knowledge and collected wisdom. Some stories I’ve heard say that the Great Collapse began with the destruction of these libraries, others say that the Collapse caused their destruction. Either way, they were destroyed. And with them went that wisdom and knowledge, the light of reason snuffed out.

Dinascar was not one of those great libraries. It does date to before the Great Collapse but I am told by one of our archaeologists that, in those ancient days, it was used as an administration building.

But, times change and, some time after the Collapse, it started being used to store whatever texts had been saved before the Libraries had been destroyed. And that has been our mission ever since. To find and safeguard as many facts about the world before the Great Collapse as we could find. Official Histories, personal accounts, works of fiction like plays or stories. Anything we could find. And then we have modern research into Archaeology and Anthropology, as we try to fill in the blanks.

I dearly hope that we can keep that research going. It would be a great shame for all that good work to go to waste.

It was going well, for a long time. I will not pretend we had an encyclopaedic history of the world before the Collapse, far from it. There were century-long holes in our record and in some cases there was only the barest fragments of text which represented decades of history. But it was something. Enough of a starting point that, with the stability created over the last century, we could begin reconstructing what we had lost. We would not recover everything but it would be something.

But the gods, I suppose, love to disappoint us. Which is, of course, why, just when it looked like we were making progress, it all went wrong.

It happened on a day quite like any other.

I’ve been working on a new research paper focussing on the ruins discovered at Thakilton and needed help finding a source. I won’t bore you with all the details but essentially there’s one old text that references the place in connection with a pre-dark age play called “Daeva ma’Sha”.

I should probably say a little of that too since this may be the only record of it now. From what we’ve been able to determine, Daeva ma’Sha tells the story of thirteen heroes who are leading their people to a new land. We don’t know the context for this since, unfortunately, most of the play has been lost. We don’t even know the race of these people, that changes between which version you’re reading. We had fragments from three different versions of the play which was enough to piece together the basic story. It seemed to follow a standard “epic journey” formula, seeing the people and their thirteen champions travel a vast distance and face many tribulations and dangers along the way, though the exact nature of these challenges changes between the versions. The ending was the same in all three versions though. The thirteen heroes find a new land and lead their people into it. But there is a barrier that can not be crossed until one of the heroes, the quickest and most cunning of them, opens the way for them. But he and his followers are left behind, trapped on the other side of the barrier and unable to enter the new land.

This story has been the subject of intense study for years with scholars from almost every field in the humanities giving their theories on what it means, what it represents. Whether it’s a religious text, a folk story, both or neither? What real world factors might have influenced the narrative?

A part of the reason why there is so much fierce debate was the fact that the remains we had were so patchy. To my knowledge, a complete copy hasn’t existed in more than a thousand years.

But I knew that what I needed for my paper did still exist. One of the fragments we had stored down in the archive, a fragment from the most intact version of the story we have, the one we now call Daeva ma’Sha Hound, as in this version the wandering people are canrians.

So, I went down to the archive to look over the fragment and make some notes for my paper.

The archive was quite an imposing place. I didn’t ever really go down there any more than I had to. It was under the library, underground where we could keep the conditions cool and dry. This also made it dark, far darker than I was comfortable with. It had high, vaulted ceilings that, because of the dark, didn’t seem to be there some of the time. The shelves reached up into that darkness, creating the illusion of row after row of shelves stretching up into the infinite void.

There were no naked flames permitted down there, for obvious reasons, so there were only a few lightning lamps there to keep the place out of pitch blackness. There were also some green glass candles available for people wanting their own light, which I did.

After lighting a candle and being enveloped in the soft green light, I began making my way through the archive, looking for one of the archivists.

I was on good terms with the Head Archivist, a Mister Josiah Biarch, so I was hoping to run into him.

My steps echoed as I walked along the stone floor of the archive. The quiet seemed to press in on me from all sides. I began feeling distinctly uncomfortable. I thought at first it was the quiet. The archive was never a loud place, nobody in there ever spoke above a whisper. But this was something else. Something more. This silence wasn’t just an absence of noise, it was almost like a thing of itself.

I then realised the real reason why I was so uncomfortable. Normally there were at least a couple of people visible. Either archival assistants scurrying about their duties or a scholar or two sat at one of the desks beneath a lightning lamp, scribbling away or debating in hushed tones. But this time I could see nobody. There was no one, not a soul.

I risked the annoyance of my colleagues and called out, asking if anyone was there. I then winced as my voice filled the archive, echoing back at me in the hollow space.

I waited. I was, in that moment, hoping that someone would scurry up to me, hushing me for the noise. What I was dreading was what ended up happening. Nobody answered. No one called back, no scholar came to scold my rudeness. Nothing happened except the echoes of my voice fading to nothing.

Well, perhaps that’s not entirely true. You may think me foolish to say this, and perhaps you are right. Perhaps my mind is simply inventing things that were not there, or perhaps hindsight is creating phantoms to explain what I saw. I cannot say.

What I think… what I believe happened, was that the dark that surrounded me became more intense. It felt almost like I was in a crowd and everyone had just turned to look at me. Only, I could not see the crowd.

I quickened my step. I told myself that, perhaps Josiah was in his office. He just couldn’t hear me with his door closed, it would be so like him to get so immersed in his work that he stopped paying attention to the world around him.

What reassuring lies we tell ourselves when we’d rather not see what’s actually happening.

I knew where the Head Archivist’s office was, having visited it a fair few times in my time at the library.

I found it quickly and knocked on the door. There was no answer. But that meant nothing, I told myself, I had come to see Josiah many times and often he wouldn’t hear the knock on the door and be unaware of my presence before I tapped him on the shoulder.

I opened the door and walked into the office. It was completely empty. A lightning lamp, clearly about to run out of charge, flickered weakly on the desk. I looked around, more confused than ever.

Josiah never left the archive during the day, not even for food. He usually had one of his assistants run out to get food for him.

I then saw something on his desk. It was a small thing, no bigger than my finger. It looked like it was made out of paper. Curious, I reached down and picked it up, being careful not to damage it. It was indeed made of paper. It was a little doll, made with its arms raised as if waving.

This seemed to me a strange thing to find in the archive. I did not think paper folding was a hobby of Josiah’s. But I assumed it must be when I turned around and saw another of the little paper dolls standing on a filing cabinet beside the door. One of its arms was raised like the first one’s, as if waving, but the other arm was pointing towards the door.

I let out a small chuckle at that and then turned back around. I wondered if Josiah had left a note or something to explain where he had gone.

I then spotted yet another of the little dolls. This one was different. The first two had been made of plain white paper whereas this one was red. It was posed like the first one, with both arms raised. I then saw it stood on an unfolded piece of paper on which I could see writing.

This, I thought, must be a note from Josiah. He had had to go off somewhere and had left a note with his explanation and he had left his little red paper doll on top of it to catch the eye so it wouldn’t be missed.

Then I saw the words written on the paper. It was written in Ittilic. Now, I know that Josiah can read Ittilic but I’ve never known him to leave notes in that language. And certainly not like this.

The note read “Y’aunEiah.” Which means “Help us!”

This unnerved me somewhat. I thought, if this was some kind of joke Josiah was playing then it wasn’t funny.

It was then that I heard the rustling of paper. I thought that Josiah or one of the assistant archivists were outside, coming to the office.

I turned around and froze. There were now two paper dolls by the door and I was certain I had only seen one before. Both of them were pointing towards the door, their blank faces turned to me.

That was enough, I thought, I had to get out of there. Of course, I don’t believe in ghosts or anything so ridiculous but, in that moment, I think I can be forgiven for thinking less than rationally.

I didn’t run. I certainly did not run. But I may have walked at a faster pace than I normally would. I left the office and began walking back the way I came. All the way I could hear the sound of more paper rustling but I still saw no one.

Then I saw another of them. Those paper dolls. Though this one was bigger than the ones I had seen in the office. This one nearly came up to my waist. It was holding its hands up, as if it was trying to stop me. Or, maybe, warn me.

I had had enough. I didn’t know what was going on but if this was someone playing some kind of joke on me then I was taking no more part in it. I was half tempted to melt the stupid doll, I could feel the water bubbling at the back of my throat. But, I swallowed it back down and pushed the doll aside as I continued towards the door.

The doll fell with a soft thump.

It didn’t take me too long to reach the door. I might have imagined it… no, I’m sure I was imagining it. The lightning lamps were still shining. But, it did seem that the archive had gotten a little darker in the time I’d been in the office.

I reached the door. It was locked. After several fruitless seconds of trying the door handle, I began pounding on the door with my fists. There was no answer.

I heard another rustling of paper. I turned around.

There was a score of them. Standing all around me like paper statues. Their poses were neutral, not particularly threatening. But even so, I felt like they were boxing me in. Then I saw one was positioned as if it were beckoning to me, one of its arms raised to the side as if pointing.

I looked in that direction and saw it was pointing towards the room where the archive displayed certain relics. I knew one of those relics was the page from the Daeva ma’Sha that I had come down to examine.

I slowly walked towards the room. It was illuminated by a single lightning lamp that seemed to me to shine like the light at the end of a long tunnel. I kept an eye on the dolls. I was half expecting them to move. But no, they stayed where they were.

I entered the room and looked around. It looked the same as it had the last time I was in there. Glass cases of every size lined the walls displaying relics and artefacts from multiple cultures. Some of them were the only indication that a culture had ever existed. A stone bust from Lost Iratica. A tablet displaying writings in Ittilic and another more ancient language that no one today even recognises. And ceremonial weapons that were among the last things saved from Raakia.

And, on a table, preserved beneath a sheet of glass, was the page I had gone down there for. It was the first page of the Daeva ma’Sha Hound, which told how the thirteen heroes had met and then set off on their journey. It was beautifully illuminated, with swirls of black and gold between which exquisitely detailed animals had been picked out.

It was hard to say how old it was exactly since it was impossible to date the paper without potentially destroying it, but our scholars have estimated it to be well over a thousand years old, which made the fact that every detail could still be seen all the more impressive. We have had offers from collectors all across Senteria and the Sangish Kingdoms but we haven’t entertained letting it go for one minute.

I looked down at the page and froze.

I don’t know how it could have been possible. It shouldn’t have been possible. I thought at first someone must have swapped the pages out but those illuminations were all hand illustrated, the technology to precisely replicate them doesn’t exist, even blue glass candles wouldn’t be able to create an exact copy. And I’d looked at that page enough times that I would have noticed if they were different. But it was the same page, the same paper. Which meant that, impossible as it was, the words that were written on it had changed.

I am by no means fluent in Ittilic. My knowledge of the language is passable at best. But I know enough to recognise basic words and phrases. Phrases like “Y’aunEiah,” “help us,” which I saw on the note in Josiah’s office… and again here on the ancient page. Along with the phrase “Aaraga dennia,” which, as far as I can remember, meant “shadows around us.” There was also the phrase “Y’aun Sutia,” which means “Remember us.”

A rustling behind me made me glance up for a moment. I thought I’d see more paper dolls outside the door, or even more in the room with me. But now, the only ones I could see were the ones that had surrounded me by the archive door, and they were still standing where I had left them.

I looked back down at the page and gasped. The words had changed again.

I think until that moment a part of me had still been hoping this was some elaborate joke. Someone out of sight setting up the dolls, changing the pages, all just to scare me.

But I hadn’t moved from that spot. I had glanced away for less than a second. The glass was bolted in place. There was no way that anyone could have swapped them out.

But the page beneath the glass had changed. The words that had been there a second ago were gone. The illuminations were gone. Now there were only two words, written big across the page in a jagged hand. “Y’ati Saaden.” “It is Coming.”

I then heard a louder rustling coming from outside the door. I looked up again and saw the paper dolls who had gathered around me by the door to the archive were now outside the display room. Only this time they were facing away, into the main archive. And I couldn’t shake the feeling that it looked even darker out there than it had a moment ago.

I hurried to the doorway and looked out. I had been right. The lamps were going out, one by one, though I saw no one deactivating them, and the archive was slowly but surely plunged into darkness.

And I was alone, Kaedren. All alone in the dark. I heard nothing but the shuffling and rustling of paper. And then; screaming. In multiple voices, as if I was surrounded by an invisible crowd, all of whom were screaming an ear splitting, terrified scream.

It was overwhelming. I was vaguely aware that I was screaming too but it was lost in the cacophony that now surrounded me.

And then there was a new light.

But it was not the gentle blue light of the lightning lamps. This was an angry red light.

A fire, sudden and ferocious had erupted in the archive. In its centre I saw figures; a dozen, two dozen, it’s hard to say. I don’t know if they were more of those paper dolls, they seemed the right size and shape, but they took far longer to burn than paper should have. And the way they stood. They seemed frozen in positions of fear; arms raised protectively in front of them or else cowering on the floor.

All around the archive, I saw more fires start. And at the centre of each one, I saw more groups of those figures, all in similarly fearful poses.

The fire began spreading to the shelves, to the books and the furniture. The air began to fill with smoke. I ran back to the door and started pounding on it again with even more urgency than I had before. The air got thicker, and I began coughing, my lungs calling out for oxygen that just wasn’t there anymore. I began to feel light headed.

I glanced back over my shoulder. There was one more doll behind me. It stood of a height with me and I knew that, if it had had a face, I would have been looking right into its eyes. By the light of the fires, I could see it reaching towards me. Not as if it was trying to grab me, more as though it was asking me to help it. And then, before my eyes, it too was engulfed in flames.

That’s the last thing I remember. The next thing I knew, I was coming to outside.

By all logic I should be dead. I can only put it down to me being drakarian; I am, after all, much tougher than the average person. It took three fire officers to get me out of there, I’m told. They told me the fire had spread quickly, rising up from the basement level to overtake the rest of the Library. The whole building and everything it had contained was gone. And, along with it, the last remnants of the world before the Great Collapse.

And that’s more or less all of it. Thankfully I’m not being accused of anything, no one believes I would have had anything to do with the library or anything in it being destroyed. I put too much of my life into the place for that to be the case. The leading theory is that the containment of one of the lightning lamps failed and the unfettered electrical charge caused the fire in the archive. The old, dry paper down there acted like kindling which allowed the fire to spread too quickly to stop.

I haven’t told anyone the truth. How can I? I mean, I saw it and I hardly believe it. But I knew I had to tell you about it Kaedren. I don’t know if I will ever understand what happened, but I believe it was deliberately done. Someone, or something, wanted the knowledge held in that library gone. And I fear that someday, the same thing will come for your Tower.

I wish you luck,
Sonora.

PAXTON
Final Notes; the burning of the Dinascar Library is one of those events that has entered the popular consciousness as one of the pivotal moments of our history. People say that its loss was the devastating final blow of the Dark Age and is the reason society has not advanced further in this new era.

The truth is, while the destruction of the library was undeniably a tragedy, it burned down after a thousand years of ignorance and uncertainty. Whatever damage could have been caused by the Great Collapse had already been done and I don’t believe the library’s destruction did much beside push recovery back a century or so.

It is fascinating to see a letter from so early in our history, back before the Federation had been fully codified and the Pensive Tower was still new. I suppose that’s why the High Librarian wanted this memory inscribed. It’s a record of our beginnings as well as a first hand account of one of the most famous endings in the world.

Obviously, any follow up is impossible now. It’s been over five hundred years since this letter was written. The only thing I can really add is the fate of Ms ViHastia which is that she died twenty years after this donation of natural causes. We have been unable to find out what happened to Archivist Josiah Biarch but records from that time are notoriously spotty so I’d say we’re unlikely to find anything else.

There has been no sign of Alayne SinDreda, since Mr. duFaenis saw her last week. We ordered a search of the Tower but there was no sign of her. And that does nothing to put me at ease. I’ve… After reading the memory of Doctor SinTengar, I’ve started referring to her as “The Marionette,” in my notes. I’m not quite sure why…

Inscription complete.

[The venoscribe clicks, and the whirring stops.]

[The end theme plays and the Announcer recites the credits.]