A Letter to the Luminous Deep

Chapter 16

Dear Henerey,

It seems like another lifetime when I last wrote to you – and longer still since we met. Far from being some kind of impressively resilient Micro-Gull, I feel completely annihilated, though I suppose I should be grateful that is not literally the case (as it very well could have been).

Today I do feel more like myself. Yet Sophy nevertheless insisted upon writing this letter per my dictation. (Hello, Henerey! –S.) I shall stay in the Infirmary only a few days more before I return “home” with Sophy – though the use of that particular word seems especially cruel at present, since I will join her in the dormitories instead of the Deep House.

Even after I leave this place, I imagine I must remain confined to my bed for a long period of time while I recover, so I would be very grateful for whatever you have the time to send me. I hope you will make some wondrous discoveries in your new waters.

You certainly should not come here under any circumstances – you have far more important things to do than worry about me! (Let the record show that while I disagree with the self-deprecation in this statement, I wrote it anyway to please my sister. –S.)

Yours,

E.

My dear Henerey,

I apologise for the subdued tone of my first letter. Sophy insisted that I was not yet well enough to write on my own, and while I appreciate her care and concern for me, I have found it just a little stifling at present.

Have you ever been in an Infirmary for an extended period, Henerey? It is a most challenging experience for me. Worst of all is the ceaseless attention – from my siblings, from visitors, from the Scholars of the Body and their Apprentices – constantly, people ask me questions and deliver unto me fast and complex bursts of information, and I feel completely fatigued. There is also a general sense that I am a fragile, delicate creature who will break if she takes up such a strenuous task as writing a letter herself. If I somehow shatter before completing this message to you, I urge you to let Sophy know that she was right all along.

But I hope she will not be.

Henerey, since we last spoke, I have undergone the strangest experience of my entire life. Surely you are curious about what happened to me during the Seismic Event; Sophy and Jeime certainly are. For once in his life, Arvist has become my unlikely ally, because, for whatever reason, he seems to have no desire to learn about anything at the moment (an unusual quality for an artist, and certainly unprecedented for this specific artist).

When I first regained consciousness, I tried to tell them. Sophy, in particular, since she was closest to my bedside. (In the background, Arvist painted, Jeime paced, and Seliara played out some Linguistic Alchemy ritual to help me heal more quickly.) I even whispered a few key words under my breath, trying out how they felt on my tongue.

But then I could imagine with such clarity the conversation that would inevitably follow, were I to confess all.

“It is worse than I feared,” Sophy would say, stroking my hair in the most tragic fashion.

And then, turning away from me so I could not hear, Sophy would whisper to the Physician:

“My sister suffers from a Malady of the Mind, and surely this situation makes it even harder for her to determine what is real and what is not.”

And if Sophy were to say all that in reality – who could blame her? She is correct about my Brain, which I often feel is out to destroy me!

So I dare not say a word.

At the moment, I furnish any number of excuses to those who interrogate me (however gently) – that I do not remember, that I am too tired to think of such things, that I would prefer not to dwell upon the difficulties and traumas of the past – but I am ashamed to admit that they are all lies.

I remember exactly what occurred. I have replayed this memory of mine hundreds of times (now that is something at which my Brain excels), and it is not like the Ruminations that sometimes torment me. I experienced something new, and if it were not for the fact that I am weighed down by my Malady, anyone might reasonably believe me.

Because unlike the false scenarios and terrifying images that my Brain has crafted for me all through these past ten years, I possess physical proof that this experience happened.

Yet I feel that if there is any living soul with whom I may share this secret, it is you. It is not only because you are so distant geographically and simply cannot trouble me with questions every other second (though I suspect that even if you were here, you would not quite stoop to such levels!) – but because I find myself very close to you in spirit (which is true).

Would you like me to tell you? The choice is yours.

Your E.

P.S. If this will help sway your decision in any way, let it be known that I have a suspicion that this mysterious experience of mine has to do with the Structure. Make of that what you will.

P.P.S. Do you have any recommendations as to where I might find a compilation of Darbeni’s poetry? Anywhere but the Reading Room?

Dear Vyerin,

Thank you for sending these letters to me, my friend. I apologise for taking so many days to respond to them.

In the early days of our marriage, Niea became the first academic to study the arcane concept of Sophy Temporality – a phenomenon that occurs whenever I become vexed with a particularly unsolvable problem (intellectual or emotional). Under these circumstances, the passage of time seems to come to a standstill as I occupy myself day and night with working out an answer.

On the one hand, I am happy to find myself truly engaging with something again. For the past year, I have felt so numb to curiosity. The grief made me more prone to suppression than solutions.

Here is the puzzle I am now so eager to sort out. If E. had told me this “confession”, would I have believed her? Sophy of the Present would, certainly. But then?

When E. got into her states, back when she struggled the most with her Malady, she would spend hours convinced that she had some deathly illness, or that she had somehow injured or killed someone without even knowing it. If she had shared something unusual with me on that day in the infirmary, would I not have perceived it as another one of those pernicious Thoughts that tormented her?

I will be the first to admit that I sometimes thought of E.’s Malady as her defining characteristic. Something that made her vulnerable. Something that made me, whether I liked it or not, into the elder sister instead of the younger, and required me to protect her at all costs. She worked so hard to live with it – she reached the point where her “states” would often only last an hour or two (or even a few moments) before she was able to ground herself – and surely if anyone could tell the difference between reality and a fabricated vision from her mind, it was my sister.

All this matters little, of course, because in the end, E. never told me anything more about this. So I remain uncomfortable and intrigued in equal measure. And to think that cursed Structure is at the core of it! (I am lambasting myself for not looking into it more back then, by the way. I kept forgetting about it – dismissing it as a silly Arvist thing – I should have been more observant!) Though it wounds me to think that she preferred to trust Henerey with this over me, I so desperately want to know what came to pass.

As I’m sure you do, too.

S.

Dear S.,

Both of you were operating under challenging circumstances. I suspect, also, that she did not want to worry you – knowing how much you care for her – and might have assumed that Henerey, slightly more removed from the situation, could offer a kind of detachment necessary to help unravel the mystery.

And, as I have said before, I never felt the urge to read through Henerey’s correspondence in its entirety, so I will not skip ahead and find out these secrets without you. Perhaps the fact that we will both discover “what happened” together, for the first time, may serve as a comfort. Still, when we read private thoughts that our siblings did not intend to share with us personally, there is always the danger that we might discover something that hurts us.

Kindly,

V.

Dear V.,

I see why Henerey called you his “anchor”.

S.

To my dear sisters two,

Over the past few days, I have been practically ill with grief and guilt – so much so that I nearly asked the Infirmary to book me a bed alongside E.!

After spending many a fraught hour mulling over this matter, I reached the conclusion that it is only due to me that E. experienced what she did and that our home has been taken from us. Had I not been so inspired by the Structure to complete my great works – had I been in the parlour, ready to save E. and my beautiful almost-bride at a moment’s notice – who knows what might have come to pass when the Seismic Event occurred?

I must repent for what I have done. I allowed my foolishness to put those about whom I care in danger. I set off now on a quest of Penance and will return to you when I have given up all I have – my possessions, my pride, my finest ideas for art-making (which I will write down upon the tiniest of scrolls and bestow upon random passersby as gifts!) – and may bow before you a changed and humble man.

Your brother,

Scholar Artistry “Arvist” Cidnosin

P.S. Please tell Seliara that I do hope she will wait for me.

The following record signifies the release of Erudition (E.) Cidnosin from Infirmary care and into the custody of her sister Schr Philosophy Cidnosin for continued rehabilitation from unknown shock symptoms. The patient is instructed to continue resting as much as is reasonably possible, consume a diet rich in sea-minerals, and avoid taking part in situations that might cause excessive anxiety.

Schr Lilé Radnon

Dear Niea,

I have waited all my life for a lady to call me “luminescent”.

Truly, your letter sent me into bittersweet tears. And now that E. and I live together once more, I have no way of hiding them! I forgot how keen her hearing is. (Though, incidentally, Arvist always had the sharpest ears of the three of us – my brother used to allege that he could hear me breathing three rooms over!)

That is all to say that yes, my sister has recovered at last! The Infirmary released her two days ago, and while our House remains indisposed, we have made quite a comfortable home out of some vacant dormitory quarters. (Larger even than mine!) During my time below, I missed nothing so much as simply talking with my sister, and you can be sure that I have told her much of you. And all our colleagues! (But particularly you.)

In the meantime, I hope I may have inadvertently solved a problem of yours – that is, of course, the Chancellor’s continued persistence in requesting my return. I do want to come back, as soon as I can, but first I must ensure that E. progresses with her recovery – and I must also attend to the question of the Deep House and our lodgings. I fear if I were to leave, E. would do very poorly on her own in the dormitories.

Right – let us return to my solution! Really, it is unfair of me to claim it as my own, since it was thrust upon me. Today, while trying to coax my recalcitrant sister into a few rounds of Columns (do convey my thanks to Irye for this fine gift), I heard the door-chimes sound – quite unexpectedly, as I gave Seliara and Arvist (against my better judgement) a key, and I did not think any of my other colleagues from campus knew about my new quarters. This surprise made me uncharacteristically cautious.

From the door panel in the hallway, I flipped a switch to activate the “card-claw” – have you ever seen such a wonder, Niea? Perhaps you have always enjoyed more modern dormitories back home at Intertidal, but not I. I am used to the old-fashioned practice of callers slipping their cards under the door to identify themselves prior to a visit. At any rate, this wondrous automatic arm clicks open to catch the visitor’s card, somehow flattens and retracts itself through a small hole in the door, and then solemnly presents its catch to the resident. The card deposited onto my palm just moments afterwards was quite refined, all things considered – none of that excessive tracery so in style at present. It read in simple, elegant calligraphy: Tevn Winiver Mawr. Scholar of Wayfinding, School of Observation (Intertidal Campus).

O, dear Niea, are you not intrigued now? Of course I remembered the name of your former colleague, about whom I had so pathetically and jealously questioned you on our first field expedition – yet I could not fathom why he had chosen to visit our quarters. I unlocked the door with great haste, though not before shouting to E. that she should keep to her chamber if she did not wish to encounter a stranger in the doorway.

I need not describe Tevn to you, given your acquaintance, but I shall say that standing there in my entryway he appeared both informal and insecure. In a surprising choice for an Intertidal Scholar, he wore plain grey trousers and a loose white blouse – nothing more, nothing less – and spoke slowly and softly. I strained to hear him at times.

“Forgive my intrusion, Scholar Cidnosin,” he muttered. “As you might have gleaned, I am Tevn Winiver Mawr. Scholar of Wayfinding, School of Observation, Intertidal Campus. And so forth.”

He did not ask if he might come in, and I did not offer (because of E., you understand). It was not a standard meeting by any social standards, but the arrangement seemed to suit us both.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Scholar Mawr.”

“Call me Tev, please,” your friend replied. “I am no stickler for Scholarly titles. And I will soon make you a friendly offer, so it would seem fitting for us to be on familiar terms.”

“Tev, then. Tell me more about this offer, if you would.”

Tevn extended one finger to press against the doorframe. I expected that this clumsy attempt at relaxed sophistication would cause him to fall down, but to my surprise, he appears to be in possession of an excellent sense of balance.

“I wanted to share my regrets about your sister’s accident,” he said, looking me right in the eyes for the very first time. “I know all about worrying after one’s younger sisters. I have seven of them, as a matter of fact.”

People do always assume E. is the youngest. But I was too surprised by the size of his family to correct his misinterpretation of the Cidnosin siblings’ birth order!

“Yes, seven,” Tevn continued, “and a good thing it was that my parents owned their own research vessel. Else I imagine we would be quite cramped in your average Intertidal family apartment.” He straightened up, extended his other pointer finger, and leaned onto the doorframe from the opposite direction. “Which is all to say that I am particularly sympathetic to your present situation. And I wish to help.”

“I appreciate your sympathy,” I said, “and your offer, though I still do not know how you wish to assist us.”

Tevn smiled and coughed simultaneously, which I take to be his rendition of a laugh.

“By serving as your substitute. I have already submitted a formal request to the Chancellors. But I wanted your consent before I dared submit myself to the depths.”

Now, dear Niea, if it were not for the fact that I recognised Tevn’s name from our conversations – and knew that you seemed to hold him in favourable regard – I might have been alarmed by this sudden proclamation from a stranger. But it really all seems quite suitable, does it not?

I told him as much, and he seemed startled – perhaps he did not think I would acquiesce so easily.

“You will not know this, because it was never public knowledge, but I took part in the initial expedition with Niea – Eliniea – Scholar Forghe, you see,” he babbled on, as though he had a speech prepared. “But no one knew about it because I grew ill as a result and needed to rehabilitate after we returned to the surface and I was too ashamed for anyone to know. But I have recovered now. So I am equipped to take your place like no other Scholar could. Plus, I am a Scholar of Wayfinding! Though you already know that. I told you, did I not? I think I did. I would join the expedition as soon as the Chancellors deem appropriate and continue your research. Then, as soon as you desire to return – days? Tides? Months? – you need only say the word.”

I assured him that these terms satisfied me completely. And indeed, they do! As much as it hurts me to be apart from our mission (and from you, of course), I do not feel that E. is ready for me to leave just yet.

At last, he leaned upwards again, standing tall and proud.

“Thank you, Scholar Cidnosin, for this warm and generous conversation,” Tevn said. “When I heard about your sister – well, I told myself that it would be utterly selfish not to return to the field for both of your sakes.”

And before I could even thank him, Scholar Tevn Winiver Mawr disappeared down the corridor, leaving his calling card as the only evidence of his visit.

So, Niea, would you not agree that I have found the ideal fix? Chancellor Rawsel will no longer trouble you to trouble me about my return, you and our colleagues can continue work, and you can rely on the trustworthy assistance of an old friend in your hour of research-related need.

Though I must admit that I am intrigued and amazed by his remarkable claim that he accompanied you in secret on that first mission! I mean, stranger things have happened in the world of Boundless Campus experimental missions – did you hear about that one time when three Scholars floated into the atmosphere for three full hours in a flying machine until it collapsed, but the Chancellors thought it unwise to tell the General Campus about the project, so it was not until a captain glimpsed the thing crashing into the Third Ocean that anyone knew humanity had attempted to rediscover Antepelagic Flight?

Returning to my point…

It is not at all surprising to me that there were aspects of the first Ridge Expedition that even we did not know, but I am worried about what effect Tevn’s “illness” had upon you. We needn’t talk about it now or ever. But it occurs to me that if your former expedition partner had been injured to the extent that his very involvement in the expedition was never made public knowledge at his own request, that fully explains why you were extremely anxious about Ylaret and all of us, really. I am always here to speak with you if it would help, you know.

I read back the earlier parts of this letter and now feel foolish. Of course you must already know about this “solution” – for if “Tev” spoke with me and the Chancellors, surely he wrote to you as well?

Above all, please do not think that this means I have no desire to return to you with great haste – o, I wish I could!

Yours always,

Sophy

My dear E.,

I apologise because I will only have time for a quick note this morning – as ten hours of ship repair await me! Would you believe that the Sagacity was unfortunate enough to encounter a riotous squall yesterday evening? I dare anyone to describe waves as “raging” until they have experienced a tempest like this one. We are all well, if shaken (quite literally), but the deck suffered immensely, and our investigations of the marine life here in the open ocean must be put on hold as we work together to restore our craft. Thank goodness I happen to be equipped with a not-insignificant smidgen of historical shipbuilding know-how as well as remarkably strong arms (if that sounds as though I am posturing to impress you, please know that only one of those items was written with such an objective in mind – I will leave it to you to guess at which!).

I will respond to your questions efficiently and out of order:

Firstly – yes, in fact I was briefly confined to an Infirmary bed about a year ago. I did not want to mention it earlier, as I feared it might add further stress to an already fraught situation, but I myself once resided in that very Boundless Campus ward where you are, and do not hold altogether fond memories of the place. You see, I injured myself falling off a coastal incline while in pursuit of a particularly winsome hermit crab (I have attempted to become less clumsy in my research expeditions since then, with limited success!). In the days directly following the accident, I revelled in a brief break from the ceaseless demands of my profession: but when it was determined that I would not recover for some time, the novelty wore off and I simply wished to be able to frolic about the seaside once more. Here’s hoping that you will be able to do so soon (metaphorically speaking)!

Secondly – I hope that your new quarters, wherever they may be, will at least give you access to a porthole! I never lived in the Boundless Docked Dormitories, but I know they are quite near to a previous Anchorage of mine. I encourage you to consider continuing your foray into Natural History during your convalescence – I am sure you will see many wondrous creatures (though you might need a very good spyglass if you are on the upper level of the dormitories!). This may well be the furthest thing from your mind at present, but did you ever happen to receive the journal that I sent you? If it is at the Deep House and now lost, do let me know, and I would be happy to write to the Boundless stationery shop to order you a new one.

Thirdly – since I do not yet know if you are reading this letter privately or if Sophy still reads them to you, I will not say overmuch, but I do want to emphasise, above all, that I am always happy to hear anything you would like to share with me.

Anything whatsoever, no matter how unusual.

I will end here by saying that I think of you constantly.

Continually yours,

Henerey

P.S. O, how could I forget! Darbeni! Your questions before the accident that had gone unanswered! Let me see how much I can scribble out before I am torn away. At one point, I intended to cite some of Darbeni’s writings in a treatise on the Elevated Diatom and noticed another Scholar’s footnote about the poems. Not wishing to step inside the Reading Room if I did not have to, I asked Elaxand if there were any publicly accessible copies of Darbeni’s manuscripts, and he directed me to “A Luminous Circumference”. It is the perfect poem for me, really. I too value the power of dreams. (And if the “circumference” seems directly taken from your life, then I might say that “A—Predator—Awaits” perfectly describes how I used to feel when I noticed Chancellor Rawsel hovering about me in the Department Office.)

More seriously, though, I do agree that there’s a possibility Darbeni might have been inspired by a similar Artefact. If you are interested, ask Sophy to request A Poetic Hospice: Darbeni’s Last Three Years from the Boundless library – it does not include all the poems in their entirety, but certainly provides some useful contextual information and a few excerpts. That might be a good place to start. I knew there was something untoward about that Structure! But I must flee! Shipbuilding awaits! Fondly, H.

Dear S.,

O how this letter sparks my memories. After his cliff accident, Henerey sent me a sheepish postcard from the Infirmary the very next day, reading something along the lines of “injured by crab, please send your best regards,” and I was appalled to find that he had unfairly blamed that poor creature for his troubles. (If anything was to blame, it was the cliff.) He hurt himself severely, to be sure, but in doing so gained the excuse to spend a few tides in utter luxury – reading over fifty books – without worrying about his Scholarly obligations. (And also gained the excuse to match highly sculptural walking sticks to his outfits from that point forward.)

Are you ready for another letter from your sister?

V.

P.S. Forgive me if I misremember, but was it not painfully obvious from your earlier letters to E. that you suspected Tevn as a potential romantic rival? Even if Niea had since convinced you otherwise, it seems surprising that you would accept this – slightly suspicious, if I’m frank – offer with such open enthusiasm. (Or am I simply taking advantage of hindsight?)

Dear Vyerin,

You have not misremembered in the least. In fact, it was because of my initial – and rather shameful – misinterpretation of Niea and Tevn’s history that I felt the need to overcompensate so ridiculously in this letter to my future wife. Of course it was odd beyond belief that this stranger, who clearly left the initial expedition under questionable circumstances, offered so boldly to take my place!

To answer your final question – honestly, no, I am not ready! I dread what E. might write next (even though I am also so intrigued). May I send you some other materials first? They are related to the Ridge expedition, so at least you might find them intriguing. I hope to procrastinate as long as I possibly can! Surely you understand.

S.

S.

I will allow such procrastination. Not only because these unknown bits of Ridge history interest me, but because I understand why you seek to avoid these letters from E.

(Remember that we are in this together.)

V.