Chapter 11
Dear Sophy,
I hardly knew how to put words to page again after we enjoyed our face-to-face conversation. I considered dialling your house Echolator instead. It was kind of you to provide me with the call-number. In the end, I determined the “old-fashioned” format of writing letters (with the convenience of A.P.) still seems best.
I shall not harp on for too long about our meeting, since we both had the good fortune of experiencing it. Reiv did ask me to send his fondest wishes to you and Eliniea. He said you were “both absolutely charming”, and “made [him] miss having a social life!” I, for one, was astounded by Niea’s admirable extroversion, the remarkable range of the topics we discussed in a few short hours, and most of all, your impressive height!
I expected that we would spend most of our time talking about E. and Henerey, but part of me is happy we did not. Forming this history of our siblings together is a wonderful undertaking, but it can be painful at times, too. I am relieved that we primarily process these emotions through the written word.
On that note – I look forward to continuing to do so.
Your friend,
Vyerin
P.S. I hope the journal you purchased will serve your needs. I thought it fitting to use my new stationery for this letter.
Dear Vyerin,
Yes, it is strange indeed! In the past, I never “pictured” you while reading your letters – if someone asked me to imagine the physical appearance of Vyerin Clel, I would imagine a collection of words arranged on a page. But now I know Vyerin the Man as well as Vyerin the Letters, and that makes this all the more enjoyable.
(I can understand why you were so popular back in the day, by the way! You are quite loquacious. I will admit that I mischaracterised you as rather terse to Niea before our meeting, so she was astounded by how you led the conversation. She thought you and Reiv were “perfectly lovely”.)
And yes, the journal suits me very well. I intend to carry it with me wherever I go and write down any questions or ideas that may arise relating to our project. (That happens more often than you might think!)
Your friend (and fellow collection of words),
Sophy
Dear E.,
In this new environment, the sight of an envelope adorned with your familiar handwriting made me feel instantly at home! I am so grateful that you received my new address and had the opportunity to write back so quickly – thank you. I regret that I must continue to write to you with subpar materials. The pages upon which these words are inscribed, I hate to say, have been torn from my field journal because I lack anything else. My apologies!
Befitting the ephemeral nature of my stationery, I am sorry to say that I must be brief yet again – as I have few moments to myself these days. The upside of my new expedition is that I no longer have time to sit morosely in my room at the Anchorage while staring at the wall and thinking of nothing; the downside is that my free time to write to you has decreased, and I regret that very much. Two apologies – is that any way to begin a letter?
After writing such a short and suspenseful note last time, however, I feel I owe you further explanation of my new circumstances. When I first received the summons, I wondered if Chancellor Rawsel sought to punish me for general incorrigibility with exile – which I think was his intention – but the joke is on that awful man. This expedition offers what I’ve been dreaming of doing for months while I frittered away my time with hypotheticals! My task is to focus upon a single issue: anomalies in the patterns of Imposing Ray migrations. Every morning I wake and scan the horizon for the rays. So far, we’ve seen only two squadrons, but hundreds more should travel through this area over the course of the next few tides. My new Intertidal colleague Scholar Lerin Zuan Vellen (who has spent more than six months aboard the Sagacity already!) informed me that the path of the ray migration shifted suddenly over the past two years – as though after centuries of charting the same course, they changed their minds. I hope to track their movements and draw some manner of conclusion about these migrational shifts – perhaps they have found a more pleasant place to spend their winters?
But before I wax too poetic about rays, I wanted to express my extreme displeasure towards your brother and his disregard for your feelings. Am I correct in understanding that it is less his presence that disturbs you, and more the fact that he showed up unannounced, giving you no say in the matter whatsoever? If that is the case, then I understand your reaction very well, since I too deal very poorly with sudden changes, visits, or social duties. (As any colleague who has ever invited me to share a meal immediately after a lecture without giving me the opportunity to prepare myself emotionally has discovered!)
How I wish you could join me in watching these rays flapping towards the horizon! Have you ever seen one before? I would imagine not, as the Imposing Ray rarely drops far below the surface. But surely you have All-Embracing Rays at your depth level?
Finally – though I can literally hear Lerin rapping on my door to request my presence on deck – I hope they will grant me but one moment more – your sketch of the “Structure” haunts me. It does indeed resemble a Tunicate! What impressive visual intelligence you possess. What did Arvist say when you asked him about it? I am at the edge of my seat! Please, tell me more and do not take the length of this letter as any indication that I am not interested in continuing our conversation!
I must away, but remain yours,
Henerey
P.S. Now it is time for me to expose myself as a hypocrite. After hearing the new questions that arose in your “Structure Inquiry”, I wanted to raise the question of an unexpected social visit of my own. You see, my brother generously sent along the little book I hoped to procure for you during my stay at his home (of course I left it behind by accident) and I considered the possibility of delivering it to you in person – since, as you said yourself, we are now in closer geographical proximity than we have ever been before! I have one blessed day off to use sometime soon, and by that point our trajectory puts the Sagacity close enough to the Deep House that I could easily catch a ride from a passenger-boat. I understand, however, that given your current situation at home, you may not be in the frame of mind to meet a stranger, especially when the Deep House is already overrun with people. If that is the case, please let me know, and I will mail you the book and never mention this again!
I only mention the possibility because even I, someone who abjures all human company under most circumstances, find the notion of meeting you incredibly inviting. But I promise I will not be disappointed, upset, or in any way alarmed if you decline. On my honour as a Scholar!
To my most cherished Future Sister,
O dearest E.! I wish you would give me a chance to speak with you more, as I so wholeheartedly miss our friendship. I never expected that living in the same house would lead to such isolation between us, though truly I will admit that the Deep House in its totality has far surpassed the tiny boundaries of what I remember from when I was a child. I imagine that fifteen souls could live here and never pass each other unless they wanted to. I told Arvist that it was cruel of him to move here without talking to you first and making sure you had time to prepare after living with no one but yourself for so long. There is one other thing he wishes to do and I would like to ask you about that, but time is of the essence because it relates to happenings in the next three days so I pray you will be able to break your seclusion for my sake if not for Arvist’s! Will you not come downstairs this morning?
P.S. I have decided to write you a Letter rather than knock. I fear it would feel as though I gave you no chance to say no if I were to come and speak with you in person. And I do want you to feel most comfortable!
Cherished fellows-in-Inspiration,
I find the continued delay of our Gala most disheartening, so I come to deliver you from further misery and propose an alternative gathering. Please join me in the Historical and Singular Deep House (my personal residence) for a performance – and celebration – unlike anything you have ever seen before.
I request your presence at any hour of the evening you so desire in two days’ time on the fourth day of the Second Perishing Tide in the Second Quarter of High Waters. Kindly arrange your own transportation, and I invite you to bring your own spirits and sustenance.
Until our paths cross!
Scholar Artistry “Arvist” Cidnosin
Dear Henerey,
Perhaps you did not expect to hear from me so soon. Do your new colleagues suit you? Your mood seems elevated since you last wrote to me from campus, and I delight to think that you found a more suitable “habitat” in which you may prosper!
My own luck with “colleagues” continues to diminish. Today has been a ceaseless onslaught of misfortune, to frame it positively. This morning, I entered my library for the first time since their arrival, hoping to find my well-worn copy of The Star Sailors – because our conversation reminded me of how long it’s been since I read it last! (I find the second Intertidal translation best of all – perhaps you agree?) Yet I soon faced a sight even more inexplicable than the Orb that Lady Ei glimpsed circling the planet during the crew’s first voyage. My chair, by which I mean, my mother’s chair that I inherited – a lovely sand-scrubbed armchair the colour of the evening tide – lay dead upon the floor with one of its legs split in two. Now, I can identify exactly what causes such injuries to Cidnosin family armchairs – it is the infernal act of leaning backwards in them, such that the frontmost legs rise off the floor and all weight is redistributed to the other two. I know this because a fifteen-year-old Arvist once inflicted the very same cruelty upon Father’s armchair.
At any rate, I will not bore you with the details of the confrontation that ensued – but I will say that it culminated in something even more frustrating than broken furniture. As if damaging family keepsakes were not enough, Arvist announced that he will host the rescheduled School of Inspiration Gala – in my house! In two days! Recall, if you will, dear Henerey, that climactic moment in which the Star Sailors pass before a dying sun, and Lord Uv calls it “the most wrathful sea [he’s] ever seen” – for that is how my heart felt in this moment.
Now I find myself alternately overcome with rage and despair.
Perhaps you will think me ridiculous – after all, Arvist, Sophy, and I are technically co-owners of the Deep House, as my parents wished us always to have the family home as our place of refuge. Arvist himself argues that I am overdramatic and greedy, and that I have no right to be the sole arbiter of what can and cannot happen within these walls. But part of me cannot help feeling as though I should possess such veto powers. Sophy left, Arvist left, and I stayed – does that not make me the closest thing this house has to an “owner”?
Yet I do “love” my brother, as it were, and the gala will happen (solely because the invitations have already been distributed to one hundred recipients without my consent), so I must figure out how to endure it.
On that note, let me proceed to the point, though it terrifies me. Your offer to personally deliver your book (which I cannot wait to read!) struck me so speechless that I folded up your letter, rose from my chair, and paced the length of my chamber half a dozen times before returning to the desk and reading those words again. Upon further consideration, I must admit that I would very much enjoy the opportunity to converse with you at length.
And, in two days’ time, I predict I will be especially grateful for a distraction.
But to be fair to you, I must include a disclaimer first. It has been well over a year since I last spoke to a stranger (one of Arvist’s visiting friends, back when he was finishing his Apprenticeship – I said “good day”, attempted to flee, knocked over a vase containing what appeared to be one hundred paintbrushes, and then spent the next three days in my room weeping over my great humiliation), and I have not felt comfortable in crowds since before I came of age.
O Henerey, I can tell from your letters and from your academic writing that you have a wonderful imagination, so perhaps you understand how a lively mind can be as much of a burden as it is a gift. Mine tends to fixate on scenarios – memories – difficulties – and then embellish them with such detail that I feel as though calamities have actually happened, and I the cause of them. Even stopping in briefly for a mandatory appearance at the dinner parties our parents used to host when I was a young woman in my early twenties made me sick to my stomach, and I would spend days afterwards replaying and rewriting each word in my head until I was certain that I behaved abominably to everyone I encountered and that they would soon shame my name throughout all of Society. (This ailment is not solely related to social interactions – there are other aspects that I may disclose to you later, if you wish – but that is the most relevant part at this moment.)
Since then, I have worked with a Physician of the Brain to help me, and I can manage it with relative ease these days. My Physician always suggests that one form of treatment for my fixations is to put myself into safe scenarios related to what alarms me, “exposing” myself until I become able to better control the feelings I experience in response. I am cowardly, in some ways, and fear what intensity such an experience might bring.
But I can safely say that there has never been a “stranger” more understanding, trustworthy, and sympathetic than yourself, my friend, and if you are willing – I think I would like to chance this encounter.
I anticipate that you may, after reading all this, decide that a visit to see me might be more challenging than you anticipated. I will hold no grudge if that is the case! Or perhaps you wish to put off this meeting until a future date, when all of the School of Inspiration is not arrayed in my parlour. I understand this, too.
So in order to keep up my courage, I will merely say that I hope to see you soon – whenever that may be.
E.
Dear E.,
I can hardly believe the words I will soon write – I would love nothing more than to attend the gala tomorrow.
I would say “See you in two days!,” except, after reading your letter, I certainly do not wish to risk your discomfort in any way, and wanted to give you one last chance to change your mind if you feel this is not the appropriate time for us to meet. Do know that up until the very last hour you can always write me to decline – or paste a sign on a window that simply reads “HENEREY, NO” – and I will happily desist.
Thank you for sharing your experiences with me. I do not share your exact ailment, but I am no stranger to struggles with one’s mind. Mine simply take a slightly different form. Perhaps we might discuss this in more detail at a future point. Please do not worry that I will be negatively surprised (perish the thought!) by what I find when we meet. On the contrary, your very existence in my life has been the most wondrous surprise imaginable.
So may I call upon you, and, in doing so, surpass that level of wonder?
Yours,
Henerey
Dear Henerey,
Your card arrived this evening, and I will follow your lead by replying with great haste.
If you are willing to brave a gathering of my brother’s questionable compatriots for the sake of one evening in my company, then I suppose I admire your courage.
I say yes.
Until tomorrow,
E.
P.S. But please do not expect to stay too long – I do not mean to offend, but I simply do not want to overestimate my ability to entertain you! This is uncharted territory for me.
P.P.S. You should note that most transport boat captains are often annoyed by the prospect of dropping off passengers at the Deep House – I encourage you to bring a small gift to improve your captain’s mood.
P.P.P.S. After we meet, if you would like to stay longer and explore the Deep House on your own, you are certainly welcome to. Of course, I imagine that it would be a much more pleasant experience with a guide, but I do not know if I will be able to accompany you when the house is crowded with strangers. In fact, the more I think about exactly what is to happen tomorrow night, the more I feel as though I should have fibbed to Arvist long ago that the house causes depth-sickness in anyone who has not grown up acclimated to its water pressure and therefore no guests should ever visit!
P.P.P.P.S. I do truly look forward to seeing you tomorrow.
Dear Sophy,
I apologise for troubling you with a second letter – I know that you have much to do after returning from your expedition. Consider this a long-distance diary entry.
Yesterday marked the apex of my tribulations with Arvist. I went into the library only to find that he had broken Mother’s chair, Sophy! Incensed beyond belief, I steamed into the kitchen, where I found Arvist and Seliara conspiring over cake.
“Dear E.!” cried Seliara, standing as soon as I entered. “Did you receive my note? I am so pleased you came to speak with us!”
I ignored this inexplicable plea. (To my regret, I later found her note lost under the rug outside my door. She did try to warn me, I suppose.)
“Arvist,” I said, clenching my jaw as soon as the name was out of my mouth, “have you been in the library recently?”
“O, indeed!” He clasped my shoulder. “I forgot to mention this earlier, but your chair has broken.”
“Broken? Of its own volition, truly?” I exclaimed. “Has no one been involved in the breaking of it?”
“It can be replaced, of course,” Arvist laughed. “There is something far more important I wish to tell you, dear sister.”
“There is nothing more important to me at present. Enjoy your cake, dear brother,” I said, with an air of petulance that I regret now.
“But there is no time!” he shouted. “I am delighted to announce that I will be hosting the School of Inspiration’s Gala in two days’ time—”
“Its cancellation has been cancelled, then?” I replied. “Wonderful. I look forward to the peace and quiet.”
“E.,” began Seliara.
“I will host it here,” said Arvist. “I know that may be inconvenient for you, but it is essential for me to demonstrate my creative engagement with the Structure to my most beloved colleagues!”
I began breathing shallowly. I felt as though I needed to take the deepest yawn in the world to clear my chest, but I could not. Words failed me.
“E.,” Arvist continued, in a voice suddenly so calm and reasonable that it only infuriated me further, “this is my house just as much as it is yours, and I very much hope we may coexist together. Why, it has only been a year since I moved out, and barely a month since Sophy left! Have you already forgotten what it is like to share the company of others? Here, let me phrase it in a way that will appeal to your Natural-History-loving nature – shall we not find a way to reach symbiosis together?”
I wanted to reply “Never, you parasite,” but nothing left my lips. I thought I could hear Seliara asking Arvist if she and I might have a moment alone, though the words felt heavy and unrecognisable. I retreated to my room, sat down at my desk, and wrote to Henerey.
That was a mistake. I should not have communicated with him in such a state of mind, for somehow amid all this, I invited him to visit me during Arvist’s accursed party – and Henerey agreed to come.
To keep ahold of my senses, I have convinced myself that he will not appear. Then, if he does, I shall react in the moment; if he does not, I will not be disappointed.
More than ever, I wish you were here.
Your sister,
E.
Dear Sophy,
I thought it would amuse you to know that, once again, Henerey wrote to me at the very moment when E. reached out to you.
V.
Dear Vy, my anchor:
A thousand thanks for sending me that book!
Be forewarned – I will now break the greatest vow I ever made to myself (namely, never talk to Vyerin about matters of the heart!) and confess that I intend to spend the evening after next at a School of Inspiration party to meet my “correspondent”, E., for the very first time. My ship’s path will intersect with the midpoint stop of a transport vessel that makes daily rounds through the entire Boundless Campus, and if I catch it and ask very nicely (and offer a small bribe of fine tea, which is always welcomed by navigators, or so a certain Captain told me!), I assume its operator might make an on-demand journey to the Deep House.
What troubles me the most is that my swift departure from campus means that I am utterly bereft of anything suitable to wear! We are clad in waterwear most days on the Sagacity; I have but a single frock coat and none of my more dignified robes. Yet I suppose because it is a School of Inspiration event, I might wear suspenders of seaweed and fit in quite well!
I wish you were here so I might ask your opinion as to what hairstyle would suit me best (and accept your choice willingly, though I know that you would have simply picked one option at random, as you always do).
Please send all my best and many apologies to Reiv and Avanne for not staying longer! Perhaps it will amuse them to imagine me attempting to attend a social gathering.
Fondly,
Henerey
Dear Vyerin,
O how it charms me to picture Henerey parading in front of you in various get-ups! (For someone who claims disinterest towards fashion, you looked especially elegant when we met – those tan robes were timeless.)
Dare I ask why Henerey feared to ask you for romantic advice?
S.
Dear S.,
Thank you for the compliment. Both my husband and I share a distaste for trends and style, as it were, but somehow both our children are exceptionally fashionable. (Orey picked out those robes for me, in fact – by which I mean he thoroughly spilled his breakfast on the ones I wore previously, forcing me to choose an alternative.)
To your question – Henerey has always been a bit of a fool for love. Not in the sense that he was a philanderer – the exact opposite, in fact, because the physical “benefits” of human intimacy that some of us enjoy held very limited appeal to him – but as a young lad, he was prone to indulging in saccharine, dreamy fancies about the nature of romance.
And I, as a young lad, was equally inclined to mock them. We shall leave it at that.
Now, as someone who is not especially sentimental, I find Henerey’s and E.’s relationship quite special – certainly living up to Henerey’s romantic fantasies. Today, Avanne and I took our luncheon together, and after some resilient prying on her behalf, I deigned to summarise these letters to her, describing the eagerness I felt about experiencing our siblings’ first meeting. Then my daughter, ever the pragmatist, stared down at her bowl and observed gently:
“But, Father, that first encounter took place in person, did it not? You will never be able to know what happened when they met!”
And I must admit, Sophy, that after such a grand prelude I find myself rather disappointed that we have no record of what transpired between my brother and E. during this special occasion.
Even though I know that is incredibly invasive of me.
V.
V.,
Avanne is absolutely right – it is true that a record of such a moment would be impossible to procure.
Impossible, that is, for anyone but me.
I found this annotated programme (created by Arvist for the night’s revels) – creased many times, as though she enjoyed rereading it as much as any other Henerey letter.
I simply cannot wait until you see what has been written on the back of it. (Feel free to share it with your family, since they are so invested!)
With excitement,
Sophy