Chapter 3
Dear Sophy,
My initial letter detailed the ways in which my personal health and wellbeing floundered following your departure. I am happy to report that my mood has since improved, and I’ve made the library my sanctuary of choice rather than my bedroom. Arvist still has not written, by the way. When he did not show up to see you off, I assumed that he simply decided to deny the social construct of the calendrical system for a while, as he often does, and would appear later with no awareness of his tardiness. But no sign of our wayward brother so far.
Yet you may be proud to hear that in your absence I attempted to solicit the companionship of another human being by inviting Seliara for a meal.
(I hope you are not recovering in a pressure chamber after a difficult diving mission while reading this, as I imagine this news will take your breath away. I suspect that when I write to Dr Lyelle about it, she may arrange a festival in my honour.)
Not only did I pretend at possessing the basic interpersonal skills required for an evening of social activity with an old friend, but I also attempted to create the very food that would sustain us throughout our idle chatter. I set my sights on a recipe for spirulina pie I found in one of Father’s cookbooks and took perhaps too much joy in shaping the pastry to resemble a Scrolling Sea Fan. (Only thrice did my Brain worry that I might make a culinary mistake that could lead to our deaths.) We devoured the thing in an instant, which rather boosted my opinion of my limited domestic abilities, though I did spy scepticism on Seliara’s face when she first laid eyes upon my rudimentary interpretation of baking sculpture!
Do you happen to recall the last time Seliara visited us? I cannot – though I reckon it must have been at least two years ago, since I believe her family’s vessel last passed through our waters before you became the Boundless School of Observation’s youngest Associate Scholar. Well, at any rate, she is still loud, still gregarious, and still utterly taken in with that “Linguistic Alchemy” nonsense. She asked after you today, of course, and inquired as to whether she might send you a small handmade scroll inscribed with an original Alchemification (?) of her own making – one, she claims, that contains a soothing combination of letters moulded into warm words intended to assist travellers far from home. I let her know that the sensitivity of your mission makes sending parcels difficult, but I did encourage her to write you a short note (contents unknown, but presumably without any Linguistical Alchemical properties).
(On a related note: does the sensitivity of your mission truly make sending parcels difficult? I rather fancied the idea of wrapping up something small for you as a reminder of home. An abalone, perhaps?)
Our feast at an end, we sat in the Crystal Room to talk as we watched the water glisten around us from all sides. I say “we” and “us”, but you know that I occupied myself with the glistening water while Seliara took care of the talking.
Were you aware that she recently made Assistant Scholar at Boundless – in the School of Inspiration? I thought she had her heart set on the School of Intuition so she might study to become a Scholar of Society, but apparently she has moved on to Music. She could always carry a tune, I suppose.
Even more shocking was the revelation that she frequently shares meals in the Refectory with none other than our beloved brother. You can picture my shock when I realised that Inspiration’s darling Arvist Cidnosin not only discovered the world outside of his lair-away-from-lair but apparently makes a habit of breaking bread with S., with whom you would think he might have little to discuss. According to Seliara, Arvist developed a passion for Composition, an interest he must have nurtured in secret throughout our childhood as he mocked the two of us for enjoying our music lessons so thoroughly! Seliara seems quite pleased to have captured this one-man audience.
As we concluded a thrilling conversation about Arvist’s artistic process, Seliara suddenly implored me to show her his studio. She alleged that Arvist gave her full permission – just two days ago, before she left campus to visit her family’s ship – to rummage through his things in search of an old sketch gone astray. As she begged and babbled on, I felt twin jolts of dread and delight. You know how much the idea of anyone else visiting Arvist’s studio always sent him into a fury – yet I possess an eternal curiosity about what he keeps down there. And she did say he allowed it! How could I lose?
So down we fell into that dark heart of the house, where Seliara gasped – genuinely and audibly, which was a surprise given her typical decorum – at every wrinkled scrap and mysterious prop tucked away in Arvist’s workshop. I will not bore you with a detailed description of our brother’s domestic chaos, but believe me when I say that I now know what happened to your favourite lamp that mysteriously “disappeared” years ago. Alas, not even your own kidnapped light fixture was functional, so I tugged open the curtains – encased in a thick slime of algae, as though they had never been touched – to see the ocean according to Arvist.
And what a world it is! I think our brother rather cleverly tricked us all: martyring himself by accepting this “sunken closet” as his studio while secretly enjoying one of the best views of the undergarden! His little room juts off the library wall and provides an expansive panorama of the entire reef. More importantly, however, the windows line up with a kind of natural tunnel in the coral that I had never seen from higher up in the house.
It was from this vantage point that we made the discovery.
Sophy, have you ever noticed the moderately sized, beautifully formed, and altogether incomprehensible bowl that guards the perimeter of the undergarden?
Forgive my rhetorical flourish. I assume that if you had noticed it, you would have told me immediately. I also do not know if “bowl” is a decent descriptor. It is wide and cylindrical, made of what appears to be barnacle-encrusted crystal or glass or resin. There’s a remarkable transparency to it, you see, which reflects and refracts the sea as it churns about. I could not stop looking at the thing. I should have mentioned that the clear “bowl” part is simply the first “layer”, pressed flush against the sand, and on top (like a strange sunken cake!) is a – railing? Some ornament? – of thin metal strings stretched tight across a final ring of the same clear material that holds it all together. It is like a giant pipe (or pipe-shaped coral) has been cut into an enormous bead – o, I cannot describe it. Perhaps I ought to try sketching the thing instead, though I suspect that any skills I may possess when it comes to drawing more natural subjects may not apply to capturing mysterious structures with accuracy.
I will attempt to relay the conversation below for your enjoyment (though please be forewarned that I may have forgotten or misrepresented Seliara’s dialogue in particular):
“At last! It is even more impressive than he described!” Seliara gasped.
“Arvist?” I asked. “He knows of this?”
“Knows, dear E.? Why, he made the thing! It is stunning!” She gestured to the window with a dramatic flair that I know she must have picked up from our brother. “I thought that glass was too base a material for Arvist’s skilled hands, but I suppose that makes his use of it all the more admirable.”
“If you think my brother has the patience to manage glassblowing,” I said, “then you do not know him as well as you profess.”
(That is a fabrication – I did not say that exactly, though I wish I had.)
Seliara then pressed herself against the window, so close that the tips of her shoes crinkled into the wall, and stared into the sea for what felt like an eternity.
“He called it his Great Project,” she said in a solemn voice, enunciating the capitals with obvious reverence. “He told me that once I saw it, I would understand everything about him in an instant. I regret that I do not quite understand, but it does make me ever so much more impressed by his skill.”
“That is all very well and good, but how was this project completed? And – more importantly – it is complete, isn’t it?” The thought of Arvist continuing to sneak about the house without my knowledge disturbed me even more than the fact that he’d done it in the first place.
“O, I can’t say for certain. Is any project truly complete?” asked Seliara with dreamy fervour. “Is not everything we accomplish but one small step in the Greatest Project of our lives – that which we do not complete until we pass from this world?”
“Indeed,” I replied distantly, letting her progress into a philosophical monologue while my Brain struggled with this new discovery. To be fair, since Mother died, no one has really spent much time in that part of the undergarden. It is tucked away behind us, and I could not see it from any other part of the house, yet still, Sophy, it frustrates me to no end that Arvist carried out a project here – in secret – and I knew nothing of it. You two always think it unhealthy that I take my role as the unofficial “Steward” of the Deep House so seriously, but here is what bothers me most – if Arvist could create an entire underwater sculpture unbeknownst to all, who knows what more sinister things might take place at the house without my knowledge?
I shall have to check all the airlocks and doors even more thoroughly than usual tonight.
O, but really, Sophy, I do not wish to worry you in any way, and for the most part, I managed to conquer my previous bleakness. In your absence, I have many possible pastimes to which I can affix my attention – natural history, baking, and even my sketching. I have taken a break from reading, however, as it sent me into an existential crisis as usual – there are so many books and so many ideas in the world, and how can I hope to understand, learn, or discover even a fraction of these wonders in my short life?
With all the things I must learn in such a brief time, it seems distasteful for the universe to send me a fresh enigma!
Stay safe and write to me soon,
Your sister
P.S. A few days ago, I received a reply (on official Boundless Campus stationery that initially convinced me the letter could be from Arvist – but again, I should not indulge in such empty fancies!) from none other than the esteemed Schr Henerey Clel himself. Can you believe it? He must receive thousands of letters a day from Scholars far more accomplished than I could ever hope to be. I tremble to have gained his notice at all.
Thrillingly, he seems absolutely befuddled by my Fish (Fathom Eels, he suggests?), and, even more impossibly, expressed interest in hearing more about them (and our home) from me – which is the point at which my excitement turned to nausea.
I do not suppose I will give him an adequate reply at any point, but I shall certainly treasure this letter until the very end of my days. (In personal correspondence, he sounds just as he does in his academic writing – perhaps even slightly kinder, if such a thing is possible? It turns out that he is from Atoll Campus originally, so perhaps his kindness is no surprise!)
P.P.S. What should I do about his letter? Dare I reply? Dare I really ignore it? I so desperately desire your guidance, though given our present circumstances, it is possible that your next letter will arrive long after Scholar Clel has forgotten about me completely (or, even more disturbingly, after I decide in a fit of unprecedented extroversion and scientific curiosity to go ahead and reply to him after all).
Arvist,
It is I, your sister – you do remember that you have one, and that I am currently at the bottom of the sea, correct?
(While you’re recalling my existence, I hope you will also remember to eat, swap your robes every other day at minimum, and bear in mind that most people find it tiresome when someone soliloquises about his own accomplishments apropos of nothing. Enjoy this sisterly wisdom.)
I know that you can barely emerge from your studio long enough to draw a breath, but I hope you will take a moment to heed my words. It may come as a shock, but besides myself, there remains one additional sister in our family whom you should visit once every Abundant Tide at minimum now that I’m not around!
I received a rather frantic letter from her today – something about a surprise sculpture of yours? It has inspired E. to do more of that Compulsive Checking behaviour, so I am troubled. I do wish you had told her about it in advance. You know how these things shake her. I would not wish her to return to those cursed routines that her brain has set for her in the past.
As ever, I do begrudgingly love you. Now, if you don’t mind, I shall return to the task of writing E. a letter.
Sophy
Dear Sophy,
I now have the pleasure of getting to know you in the past and the present simultaneously. An odd experience, but an enjoyable one. Might I trouble you with some clarifying questions?
When exactly did you and Arvist move out of the Deep House and join Boundless Campus? I’m sure it must have been difficult to leave such an interesting place.
I imagine it was also challenging for you to adapt to life away from the reef, even if you are technically Boundless by birth. Henerey certainly struggled to fit in, as the customs and dress and academic protocol are so different from our home on the Atoll. For example, Henerey used to marvel at how people living at Boundless Campus wear whatever clothes they fancy, on any occasion. Here in the Atoll, everyone, regardless of their personal fashion habits or gender, sports full robes with skirts and petticoats for formal occasions, and trousers and shirts the rest of the time. Without fail!
(More seriously, he struggled with the Boundless Campus’ infamous “work ethic”, hierarchical structure, and general philosophy that Scholars are only as valuable as their accomplishments. I am sorry if this offends you.)
Finally, I must confess that I enjoy the novelty of these references to Seliara’s interest in Linguistic Alchemy. Though I heard of the practice from my brother, I never met a professed acolyte. How very bizarre that such odd superstition could be found among Boundless Scholars, but I suppose they needed some playful respite from the brutality of their Chancellors! (All right, I shall stop lambasting your campus culture now.)
V.
P.S. If I might pry further – who is the Dr Lyelle that E. mentioned?
Dear Vyerin,
It touches me, truly, that you have taken the time to read these letters and ask questions, too. I do feel a bit odd sending you so much material – I thought that we might trade documents equally – and I hope what I have sent you will inspire you to share more about Henerey, if you feel comfortable doing so!
Though Arvist is the oldest, I pioneered a life outside of the Deep House years before he learned how to fend for himself. I started studying precociously – I was barely fifteen when I joined the School of Observation – and made Apprentice at sixteen. Rather conversely, Arvist enrolled rather late, at twenty-six – driving us wild for years beforehand as he attempted to use the entire house as his studio. His Presentation took place three years before these letters, but he only moved to the Docked Dormitories full-time about a year before I left on my mission. O, and E. is the middle child, if you can believe that – I am the youngest! And, as you might guess, she made no plans to leave the Deep House.
I’m astounded to hear that it was the fashion and academic culture of Boundless that seemed most surprising to Henerey upon his transition to a new campus! Did he not find it difficult to adjust from the reliable island life of the Atoll to living upon interconnected research stations that drift like ships at the whims of the tide? That proved most difficult for me. The Deep House might be underwater, but the foundations that Mother built ensured that our home is – was – as strong as the healthiest coral colony. While we certainly witnessed the water moving about us, the House never stooped to the indignity of bobbing, you know. Like all young Apprentices, I spent my first night on campus in the Docked Dormitories, which float in the shallower waters off the Boundless lagoon behind the protective embrace of a great wavebreak-wall. Yet even the gentle rocking of those anchored residences made me unbearably ill. As Atoll folk, you and Henerey are fortunate enough to live upon the only known landmass in the world – so he may have felt even more jostled by life at sea, yes?
Answering your queries out of order… ever since she came of age (around twenty or twenty-one – she was twenty-seven when writing these letters), my sister lived with a Malady of the Mind that made certain things – like leaving the house, interacting with strangers, or not obsessing over the fragility of her own mortality – very difficult. She struggled very much in those early years, but Dr Lyelle, a Physician of the Brain with whom E. began corresponding during her most challenging times, taught my sister ways to get to know her thoughts better. I hope this doesn’t sound condescending, or as though I pity E. When she was first diagnosed, I was still a young girl, really, and assumed my sister might be cured in no time. That work was always in process, though, and in the meantime, she adapted her lifestyle so that she would not have to endure a constant onslaught of those things that caused her the most distress. (Before you ask – yes, records of Dr Lyelle’s correspondence with my sister exist, but I will not transgress by reading them. Not that Dr Lyelle would share them with me, at any rate. Not that I’ve tried, of course.)
In anticipation,
Sophy
P.S. I lost myself in discussion of E. and forgot to comment about Linguistic Alchemy! What is truly bizarre – and perhaps Henerey shared this with you? – is that this trend originated as a game played by young Boundless children who made up all manner of complex rules that assigned each letter of the alphabet to a particular feeling. Linear letters like A and V signify aggression, while O and U are soothing, and so forth. Yet as our generation grew up, some decided to pursue this childish pastime with a full-fledged Scholarly devotion. Most people understood it as a bit of an ironic joke, but not Seliara, who at one point briefly refused to use the letter “E” (and stopped when my sister refused to speak with her as a result).
P.P.S. Trust me, nobody finds Boundless Campus more wretched than I, a former Boundless Scholar. Following is a bleak joke my wife shared with me the other day:
A Scholar from the School of Intuition at Boundless runs into their Chancellor’s office, tears in their eyes, and announces with a grim face that they cannot teach for the day – due to the sudden and tragic deaths of their entire family in a boating accident just an hour earlier. The Chancellor sighs, rolls their eyes, and answers: “All right, but next time, I would appreciate advance notice.”
Dear S.,
Understood completely (E.’s story, that is). I briefly saw such a Physician of the Brain several years ago. For a temporary, situational need. But, for what it’s worth, if I were to perish or disappear mysteriously, I would prefer that my records remained sealed as well.
Despite our Atoll origins, both Henerey and I took to life on the ocean like – well, I won’t embarrass myself by employing the obvious simile. Because he transferred to Boundless after his apprenticeship, Henerey spent no time in your Docked Dormitories, but immediately found both lab and living quarters in an anchored research residence for Scholars of Classification. Then, when his department sought to elevate his position, he moved to an even more elaborate Anchorage, which—
You know, it occurs to me that Henerey can describe this much better than I can.
I will send you a relevant letter shortly.
V.
P.S. Many thanks for the clarification about Linguistic Alchemy. Here on the Atoll Campus, our Scholars only hold one superstitious belief: that after midnight on a full moon, all Boundless Scholars devour books of all kinds. Swallowing down the driest papers with endless jugs of purified water. Helps them absorb the knowledge without wasting time with that peskily human business of reading.
V.,
However did you get the impression that was only a superstition?
Dear Vy,
My new spaces at the Windward Anchorage are absolutely spacious (thank you for asking!). In fact, I would even say they are objectionably oversized. (I welcome extra room in my laboratories, of course, but I find my personal quarters far too cavernous and desolate for a lonely fellow like myself. Yet such vast rooms would be perfect for hosting a visit from, say, a gruff-yet-charming brother, his gregarious husband, and a precocious niece and infant nephew growing up at an unusually accelerated rate…)
I know you dare not get away until the research vessel season ends, but I continue to count down the days until you can! And please tell Avanne that I still work tirelessly to name a species after her as she requested during my last visit. (I remain firm, however, in my conviction that it is not appropriate to name said species “The Usurping Babeling” in “honour” of her new little brother… if only because we usually do not use definite articles in taxonomy.)
Naturally, I fear that my “promotion” into this upscale Anchorage must be some kind of consolation prize. You see, I learned recently that the Department condemned my proposal for the Second Ocean habitat assessment project to that cursed state of “administrative hold” (in other words, “placed in some dreaded cabinet to slowly pass from this world”). Chancellor Rawsel continues to push me to join the Ridge study, which I would be happy to try if I didn’t consider it an utter waste of time. It’s all hypothetical analysis anyway. How can we truly draw any conclusions about the Ridge until we have access to Schr Eliniea Hayve Forghe’s field research? Preposterous, I say! Since the Ridge expedition began, Rawsel seems even more committed to keeping us busy with nonsense. I swear he gets stranger and more irascible every day. (But please don’t tell Chancellor Rawsel that. (Not that he would survive a conversation with you, I’m sure – you would shame him into silence, or silence him into shame, or something of the sort.))
I strive to focus on the positive aspects of my current existence. These new quarters (regardless of the reason behind my ownership of them) offer absolutely splendid views past the reef – on a clear day, I spy hundreds of (blissfully unanchored) Boundless Campus ships speeding to and from the horizon as though members of a pod of predatory Whales. And when I dare to catch a transport and make the quick journey to the Boundless Campus Library Anchorage, I can even glimpse the great artificial islands of the Intertidal Campus floating like distant, shimmering Turtles. (Though I envy all my Boundless colleagues who serve upon travelling vessels that are not tied to an Anchorage, I am grateful that my transfer was not to Intertidal. While I enjoy their local dress and remarkable theatrical productions, I would feel even more tied down were I fixed like a Limpet to those stationary shores.)
I know not why I spent so many sentences discussing Intertidal, though, because I find myself looking towards the open ocean more often these days. I recently received a most curious letter with a return address of nothing other than the Deep House itself! The sender (one of Scholar Cidnosin’s children – did you know she had three? “No, Henerey,” I’m sure you’d say, “I was not in fact aware of the precise familial situation of that one particular Architect with whom you have been fascinated since childhood, please forgive me…”) wanted to share a spellbinding encounter with an exceptionally remarkable pair of Fathom Eels.
Did I spend far too much time drafting out a reply to the aforementioned letter to avoid my other responsibilities? Certainly! Should I regret this ill-advised decision? Probably! Do I? Alas, no, because a wonderful reply just arrived to reward me!
But writing a letter about writing and receiving letters has become too metatextual even for me, so I will close here.
Until soon, brother!
Henerey
Dear Vyerin,
How is your brother so effortlessly ebullient in his every word? He is like the sun to E.’s moon.
I’m sure it’s no surprise that Henerey’s gushing about my sister’s correspondence makes me giddy. How privileged we are to see their friendship develop before our very eyes! (Though there is also something a little voyeuristic about it, of course. Alas that the dead may have no privacy in the name of posterity.)
Additional giddiness also erupted when Henerey described your family so succinctly – I cannot imagine a better set of descriptors for you than “gruff-yet-charming”. And I suppose your daughter and “usurping babeling” alike must have adored their Uncle Henerey.
With best wishes,
Sophy
Dear Sophy,
If your sister is a moon, and my brother is the sun, then which celestial body am I? (Which is the gruffest of the distant Planets?) And which are you?
Yes, Avanne, age twelve, and Orey, now two, loved Henerey and miss him terribly. Both of my children are vivacious, charismatic, and energetic – all traits they share with only one of their fathers, I’m afraid.
Vyerin
V.,
Clearly I am the Gravity holding this entire system together. (I jest.)