Chapter 15
My dearest Niea,
I hate to write to you. How odd that you will not hear my voice. Over the past hour, I have written many versions of this letter, and I hope I may now strike the appropriate tone at last. I know that our connection – whatever it is and may be – is yet nascent, and there is something so solemn and final about addressing you with such intimate terms when it has been but a few days since first we – well, confessed. But as I sit alone in my old quarters in the Boundless Campus Docked Dormitories (can you believe that they kept them unoccupied for my sake while I was away on the expedition? I thought it a certainty that Schr Amble would leap at the chance to upgrade to my sea-facing window!) I find that there is nothing I can do but send words your way in the hopes that they will bring us closer together.
Do you remember when we saw the Nautilus for the first time, and you marvelled at how I did not seem to fear it? (Of course, this is a rhetorical question, as I know you remember it well.) Now, I can say with great conviction that there is nothing under the sea (or above it) that terrifies me in such a way as the thought of any harm befalling my sister. I spent much of my decompression period in great agony as I imagined what I might find when I arrived at the Infirmary. (Knowing you, dear Niea, I am sure you now wonder exactly how successful the decompression process was for me, and whether I suffered any ill effects of note, but I suspect you do not wish to ask me since there are far more pressing issues at hand. I will spare you this internal struggle and tell you plainly. I found it entirely endurable, and I have experienced no significant issues while adjusting to the surface. It is the light that vexes me the most – even now, I have extinguished the ceiling light in my room and write by the glow of a small luminescent algae lamp that I purloined from my old office.)
What an extensive parenthetical. It forced me to glance back up the page to see where I left off. As though I could forget!
I intended to say next that E. appears well, for the most part, though she still has not recovered from her shock. While it lifted my spirits to see my sister in person, she looks so delicate and inscrutable in the infirmary cot. I have not seen her asleep for many years – we did not share a room – yet the peacefulness of her expression brings me some comfort. Her attending Physician suspects that E. may soon feel comfortable enough to speak. (I resisted the urge to respond, in jest, that such a thing would be a medical miracle, as E. is uncomfortable speaking with strangers (to say the least of Scholars) under most circumstances.)
Ought I to explain in more detail what happened before this letter proceeds further? I will tell you all I know in hopes that your brilliant mind may be able to make sense of it. Arvist convinced our mother’s friend Jeime to accompany him on some inane survey of the undergarden, so they were outside in a depth-craft when it happened. When “what” happened, you might fairly ask? Well – nobody is quite sure. It has been termed “an anomaly”, “a seismic event”, and “an unexplained seafloor rupture”. In essence, the house began to shake such that the garden-facing windows on the first floor shattered, leaving Seliara and E. watching as the seawater exploded into the parlour. This is the sort of unexpected calamity that gave my mother sleepless nights, I wager. I wonder what she would have made of this. Fortunately, Mother was clever enough to design the Deep House so that the door to each room is equipped with a small emergency airlock that shuts automatically if water breaches the building. Thanks to her ingenious design, everything except the parlour was preserved during this calamity.
In the meantime, there is one person for whom I have no thanks whatsoever. Perhaps it is not fair of me to be infuriated with Arvist – it seems hardly likely that he caused this anomaly, much as I’m sure it would dazzle the artistic world if he could somehow take credit for causing a seismic event – but I cannot help but imagine what might have happened if he had not chosen this particular day to embark upon some ridiculous lark in a depth-craft. Had Arvist stayed indoors, perhaps E. would have remained sequestered and not come down to the parlour to speak with Seliara (how ironic it is for me to say that E. was, for once, justified in her desire to live primarily in her room!), and she would not have suffered the fate she did. The farther reaches of the house at the greatest distance from the undergarden, you see, were spared, and E.’s chambers escaped fully intact.
But then it occurs to me that if for whatever reason E. had been utterly alone – or if Seliara had not popped into the next room just before it happened, which saved her from the brunt of the impact and allowed her to activate the Deep House alarm system – what would have happened then? With that in mind, I have now decided not to dwell upon hypotheticals – but I still may hold my brother at a distance for some time. (Unlike Arvist, Jeime has been wonderfully supportive throughout this entire affair – Mother would not have been surprised in the least.)
O, Niea, it is all so strange and unsettling, especially when I sit by myself in the quarters I once called home that now seem so unfamiliar. I am not the only one put up in the dormitories – Arvist and Seliara are here in an adjoining chamber, which Arvist finds unacceptable. He complains of how “one does not truly live a life unless one is entrenched in the experience of being ensconced in the embrace of a house”, and if he ever finds another house in which to live, I hope you will indulge me by supporting my scheme to move in immediately and claim his and Seliara’s bedroom as our own!
I feel inappropriate complaining about this when my sister just barely escaped the tidal wave of ill fate, but I miss you, too. How accustomed I grew to our life at the Spheres – to the melodies of the machinery, the glimmer of our automata circling the base, the rippling shadows through the windows. Adapting to this lamplit dormitory, the clatter of Apprentices’ boots as they pass in the corridors, and the inescapable sound of my brother’s voice – why, it is all most terrifyingly unnatural. Upon writing it all out, I wonder – is this feeling of wrongness, of unsettledness and anxiety – is it how E. will feel when she wakes and realises she is not at home?
Perhaps she and I will have more in common than ever before.
I remain yours (and eager to see what your writing is like!),
Sophy
Dear Sophy,
Please thank your wife for her willingness to share the personal correspondence between the two of you! It is most enlightening. For my part, enclosed is one more fine example of your past self’s communications with Henerey.
And – something else, too.
I recently discovered that Henerey’s daybook takes a rather different turn at this point. You see, following the departure of the Sagacity for the open ocean, it would appear that my brother decided to transform his habit of scribbling notes in his planner to proper journaling.
V.
Dear Scholar Clel,
Let the following news reassure you: E. “awakened” today and seems on the mend. (Well, in a manner of speaking – though she now talks, she remains dazed. I do not know the specifics of what troubles her, but I would do nearly anything to spare her from it.)
In any case, if you wish to write to my sister again, please do! When she wishes to listen, I will happily read your letters out loud to her (and would, as a result, encourage you to avoid including anything that you would not want me to read at present – not that I would mind anything sentimental myself, but it might mortify dear E.!)
Take care,
Sophy
Dear future readers,
Hello! My name is Schr Henerey Clel, and apparently I have an ego sizeable enough to address my personal diary to Scholarly audiences in the centuries to come. Now, before I begin, let me apologise for the cramped format in which you will read these entries (if you decide to continue, of course). This daybook was designed to hold notes of one’s appointments, memories, and brief thoughts about particular dates. I certainly never intended to use it as a journal.
Under usual circumstances, I am quite paranoid about writing in my daybook – as I know all too well, as a Scholar, the lives that ephemera can lead after a creator’s death – but I shall censor myself no more. I need someplace to explore my own thoughts, and if you, future readers, wish to spend your entire careers footnoting my ramblings – well, don’t you think you ought to find a more interesting branch of research?
It has been five days since the Sagacity abandoned the familiar waters of the Boundless Campus for the Second Ocean in pursuit of that “Point of Interest” that our colleagues in the Ridge Expedition currently survey. (Well, minus one particularly important colleague at present, but I will discuss that at a later point.) Being a part of the Sagacity’s efforts fulfils my life’s greatest desire of late – it is a research expedition with a truly important mission, one that might even dictate the direction of the School of Observation in the future. (I did warn you about that ego, did I not?)
As I write, I have made myself reasonably comfortable in what is termed my “berth” – a small cabin equipped with an even smaller porthole that offers the smallest views of the enormous ocean outside. O, it has been over a year since I last spent substantial time on an unanchored vessel, and I am overjoyed to feel the varying rhythm of waves beneath my feet again! Outside of this tiny retreat, I share eating and bathing facilities with two of my colleagues. We have not spoken much – I was surprised to find that many of the other Scholars aboard already knew each other quite well. They seem to be of a slightly older generation than I and have run in the same Scholarly circles for years. When I do feel the rare need for social stimulation, I much prefer the company of our solitary Illustrator, Scholar Lerin Zuan Vellen.
Alas that I may not spend time with the one person whose company I have come to treasure above all.
(O yes, future readers – especially if you happen to be a relative of mine, as yet unborn – I am sure this is the sort of confessions you were hoping to find! “Don’t you dare talk about your washroom or who eats luncheon with you, Ancestor Henerey!” you might say. “Please tell us more about your Romantical Inclinations!” Well, descendants, I am happy to oblige.)
Some manner of accident has befallen my dear correspondent E. Though her sister writes that E.’s condition stabilised at last, I could not have predicted how much this ordeal would – well, devastate me. In my estimation, I am wholly and inescapably in love with a woman whom I have met only once. What a charming surprise!
But it seems that the process of writing this has taken much longer than I originally anticipated. Efficiency beckons! And I suppose I mustn’t spill all my secrets in one entry – I ought to give you descendants an impetus for further research!
Signing off,
Schr Henerey Clel
Dear Vyerin,
Let us pause for a moment and pretend I did not swoon internally over Henerey’s cheerful confession of love for my sister.
Moving on—
Am I to understand that you possessed journal entries from Henerey this entire time and never mentioned it? Have you not read them? What other archival treasures do you keep from me?
With (jesting) outrage,
Sophy
Dear Sophy,
I know you jest, but you are right – it is frankly unbelievable that I have not read Henerey’s daybook in its entirety. Every time I supplied you with an excerpt thus far, it has been solely because I gave myself permission to open it to that particular date to see what he might have written down.
Why? Old habit, really. Once as a foolish youth I snuck into my brother’s desk in the hopes of pawing through his diary and learning his secrets. One entry included fifteen pages waxing rhapsodic about his profound love for Classification as a discipline, and one page doing the same about a girl we knew, which was what I had hoped to discover. When I mocked him with my newfound knowledge of his passions, he went silent and looked at me as though he did not recognise me. Ever since that day, I do not read Henerey’s journals unless absolutely necessary.
But somehow reading his letters has felt entirely different. I suppose all rules are off at this point. Brother: forgive me.
Now let us simply enjoy what Henerey has to say (since I presume you possess the letters he ultimately sent to E. after the accident).
Bashfully,
Vyerin
To my luminescent Sophy,
I chose this moniker because the unexpected pleasure of receiving a letter from you made me glow, truly! You know I did not expect anything of the sort, you lovely one. It takes mail so awfully long to reach us down here – I hope fervently that by the time you read this, E. will have recovered from her shock and that her presence will be a comfort to you. I am ever so reassured to hear that she is otherwise unharmed, of course, and I do wish I could help you shed some light on the mystery of what happened! I know precious little about Seaquakes, but merely say the word and I would be happy to conduct any research that you desire.
Speaking of colleagues, the crew sends their fondest and most sympathetic regards. Ylaret asks for updates every other second and says that if you and your family find yourselves desperate for sustenance beyond that which the Refectory can provide, you must go directly to an anchorage-inn by the name of the “Solvent Seagrass” – apparently the owners owe Ylaret a favour. (She will not give further details.) Without speaking a word, Irye gravely delivered unto me the finest set of Columns pieces I’ve ever seen (which I have, by grace of the automata, managed to include in this parcel). And Vincenebras keeps threatening to write Imposing and Intimidating Letters of Complaint on your behalf – though he has not specified to whom these complaints might be addressed (the very forces of nature themselves?).
I, of course, wish desperately that I might have gone with you, even if that is an impossibility. I keep thinking of Alie and how I would feel were she involved in such a catastrophe. Under those circumstances, I would need the company of someone whom I could trust above all. And you may certainly trust me, dear Sophy.
Now comes the part of this letter that I dread! I am sure it comes as no surprise that Chancellor Rawsel has been in constant communication with me since your departure and remains most eager to know when you will return. I convinced him that we simply must delay our second field study until such a point at which we are no longer missing an essential member of our crew. The rest of our Spheres colleagues are all in accord. I will do my best to keep the Chancellors satisfied, because it is critical to me that you take as much time with your sister as you need.
With ever so much fondness,
Niea
My dear E.,
To my knowledge, there are few species that can survive underwater without oxygen (or gills) for extensive periods of time. The Intrepid Micro-Gull (which happens to frequent any number of obscure islets in the Second Ocean) requires air to live – yet a significant adaptation allows it to spend colder months in extended hibernation beneath the water’s surface. Around its entire body it projects a kind of bubble in which it could conceivably be suspended indefinitely, with its organs shutting down so that its need for sustenance or breath is reduced immensely.
And apparently you too are capable of miraculous survival.
I don’t suppose that most people ever write a letter to someone expressing their gratitude that said person is not deceased. (I do not mind being a pioneer in that regard!) While it is true that you have only been part of my life for a short while, the thought of any harm befalling you has rather affected me. (I would say more, but I know your sister has kindly offered to read my letters to you, and I certainly do not wish to embarrass you unnecessarily!) I also do not want to overwhelm you in your fragile state (nor to tax Sophy’s readerly generosity overmuch).
Please know that if I had the opportunity and you thought it appropriate (and the Sagacity allowed it – I’m quite sure they would not!), I would come to you immediately. My fondness for reading out loud makes me quite a useful companion to someone who is bedridden, or so I suspect, anyway!
Yours with the most amazed gratitude (about you being well, that is!),
Henerey
Dear Sophy,
I do not know what you will make of the contents of this envelope. While hunting down what E. sent to Henerey in response to his first post-accident note, I discovered that she wrote him not one but two letters. You might remember the first, but I imagine the second will take you by surprise (to put it lightly).
I will reserve any further commentary until you have had a chance to read.
V.