Novels

The Hall of Record was like a honeycomb.

Kasta never called it a honeycomb, unlike many of his fellow Quill-servants, though he could certainly understand the parallels. The hundreds of ladders were sometimes occupied by four Quill-servants at a time, reaching out to remove or replace thick folders of paper or stacks of scrolls in their proper cubby-holes. The swish and hiss of robes brushing the smooth stone was like the soft hiss of a waterfall, while thin leather sandals eroded winding paths between the stairs and cabinets.

Everything was in the Hall of Record. Letters from centuries ago were hidden somewhere in the stacks, detailing the rise and fall of Houses long since lost. Collated data on harvest yeilds from across the Empire sat in thick drawers. Which holy relics had been passed to whom, during which wars, and their current precise location were collected in massive books that piled higher than than the tallest Knight.

All along the walls and in carefully positioned loci throughout the massive Hall, desks squatted like frogs while Quill-servants wrote reports, filled out forms, and collated information into thick-bound folders. Their lives were paper and ink, placed on their desks with reverence and marked with the same zeal. Letters and scrolls were passed back and forth, along a current that only the Librarian of Record truly understood.

The first thing Sir Kasta Illibran did when he woke up was wash his face and put on his makeup.

The second thing Sir Kasta Illibran did when he woke up was to kneel in front of the Iron Sigil of the Lord of Ever and Always, and say his prayers for morning service.

The third thing Sir Kasta Illibran did when he woke up was get dressed in the long red robe of the Quill-Servants, and slip his small emergency bag under his belt.

The fourth thing he did when he woke was eat a quick breakfast of roasted root and thin butter, and drink a quick glass of mull-mead. It was the same breakfast he had eaten for over a decade, and he barely tasted the bitter spices anymore.

The fifth thing he did was to pick up the travel-desk that rested on the broad silken cloth covered platform along the wall. Opening the top, he made sure the desk was prepared with five vials of ink, ten quills, and a small cloth-bound wrap of various Quill-servant tools. Once he was satisfied, he carefully adjusted the strap as he pulled it over his head, and settled the broad wooden plank against his stomach before tying off the rope around his back.

The sixth and final thing he did was open his door and unlock the tiny missive-box that hung on its center. Inside, the thick coil of paper that had been placed there during the night sat wrapped in ribbon and wax. Every morning, he pulled out the scroll and unrolled it to read the long list of names, addresses, times, and designations; his instructions for the day. He would then slip the scroll into his pocket, before walking through the Hall of Record and out into the Palace of Ever and Always.

Now, Kasta was ready to begin his daily duties.

In the Hall of Record, the lights burned low.

The Librarian’s many eyes darted around the shadows, searching for signs of movement. There were none. The Quill-servants had all returned to their cells, the doors shut tightly. It was only the Librarian now, with their pile of scrolls, books, papers, letters, documents, rolls of pens, and stacks of ink vials.

Completing their circuit, the eyes of the Librarian landed once more on the single letter that had occupied their thoughts for the whole evening. A single letter, written and sealed with a special mark; the one mark the Librarian held in any kind of esteem.

In the distance, the Darklin’ Hour rang. The Fiveworlders called it Eve’nbell. Such a silly name for the coming of darkness.

For the first time in…was it years? Certainly not. Months at least, but years? Well, it was possible, but still…when was the last time the Librarian had crawled out from behind their desk? What had they done? That’s right, they had been looking for a lost Quill-servant, to administer punishment for his — or was it hers? — laxity in their duties. They had found the poor thing huddled in a ditch on the outskirts of the inner Palace, pressed against the Palace Walls and begging for mercy. Poor thing.

For the thousands of citizens of the Empire of Ever and Always, the day ended the same way it had for over ten centuries.

In the tallest tower of the Palace of Ever and Always, there hung six bells. The pedigree and history of each was enough to fill whole volumes in the palaces archives, and they had a language all their own; ringing out not only the time, but important events throughout the long days of the Ever Empire. There was a ring for morning prayers, for midday mass, for the departure and arrival of the Ever Lord, and many more besides.

Now, the bells ring a warning, a caution to all that night had officially fallen on the First and greatest of the Five Worlds. The sound reached outwards, searching for every crack and corner, filling the ancient stone with its vibrations. It was said that the tolling of the Six Bells could reach across the Velvet. When the Six Bells rang, the whole Empire took notice.

At the bells’ reverberations, shadows which had for the better part of the evening crept across the stonework in a steady pace now filled the corners of the countless pathways and crosswalks that wound across the ground like eager snakes.

It was the first of two rings. The first was to alert the Empire that the second ring was soon to come. To many, it was the Empire’s way of stretching and yawning before blowing out the candle.

A Foreword by Lady Euphonia Winscort

This is the Eleventh volume of my dramatic retelling of the rise and fall of the Empire of Ever and Always, covering the first generation of the Era of Heiritance: the discovery of the Five Heirs and the events that resulted from their investiture.

I was enamored of the Empire of Ever and Always from a young age, specifically when first viewing “The Great Exodus” by the famous Uumphoun painter Koothoonu. Whether zey used three canvases because, as it is argued, zey were commanded by zer patron, or because zey could not capture the grandeur of the spectacle in one canvas alone, I do not care to speculate. What I can say is, as a young child, I was enraptured by both the size of the Imperial vessels depicted, and the remarkable scale of the enterprise.

I remember being fascinated by the prow of the lead ship. (Any who have seen the original painting in its place at the Garm Museum of Ancient Art will know which vessel I mean; Koothoonu’s masterful handling of color and shade make it perfectly clear which of the three largest ships is in the foreground) Whether Koothoonu painted a specific vessel or from memory is open to debate, but as a child I could not escape the horribly sad face of the foremost figurehead. Its gaze was steady, but offset, giving it the air of one who has seen everything they have ever cared about collapse into nothing, a face of unbearable sadness.

As I sit here, putting the finishing touches on this extensive book of marvelous places I have been, I find myself at a bit of a curious loss.

I have never been very good at languages. For all my traveling, I have constantly relied on locals, guides, and books to communicate with people who don’t speak my language. Translation is a difficult thing for me, and in writing this book I have been made painfully aware that the very act of writing is a kind of translation itself.

Set on the Rushblow cliffs overlooking the Sea of Crystal, the small town of Evenfarther is reachable only two ways. The first is to make your way to the Loplishy Prefecture, either by train, beetle-bus, or long-barge. Once in Loplishy, look for a small ramshackle storefront by the name of Tad’s Transit. Do not be put off by its awkward appearance, Tad is a professional and reliable pilot. You can then purchase a hot-air balloon ticket to Evenfather for only two canters. This is the safer method, if longer, and has the added benefit of being easy to access.

The Lane is one of the several wandering locations of Windawill. You will rarely find it in the same place twice, and you will likely only fall upon it by random chance.

If you want to seek out the Lane, you should wander the backstreets and alleyways of Yopshim, Dimasi, or Almeda. If this is your first time visiting, be sure to close your eyes tightly every few minutes, just to be sure you haven’t stumbled across it by accident; many tourists reach the Lane only to wander out again without noticing.

To get to the Grayglass Domes, one must first reach the Saltwater Plains. There are multiple ways of doing this, but the most reliable and comfortable way for most tourists is to reach either the town of Mémré or the city of Damasi.

Tours to the Grayglass Domes operate out of Damasi on a weekly basis, run by courteous and knowledgeable guides with years of experience. The Brushwik Tour Group is my preferred company, but I am also quite experienced as a tourist and don’t require much in the way of amenities or structure. Newcomers to the Grayglass Domes could instead opt for Anwyn Tours, a reasonably priced company that provides well curated tours that cover each of the Domes in full. Anwyn Tours is a good choice if you don’t want to miss anything.

If you don’t have much money, you can charter a flow-stone bus to the Alep Dome for the fairly cheap price of 4 dales, and wander the Domes yourself. This is a relatively safe option if you take reasonable precautions.

I found myself considering whether or not to include the great land of Windawill in this book. While there are certainly less hospitable places for travelers to wander, there are few full of more mystery or strange ways. A small land, few travelers are allowed entry into the Conference’s territory. Fewer still return eager to tell tales of what they experienced. As such, the majority of what I will convey is a combination of rumor, hearsay, and subtle suggestion.

I myself have found travel to Windawill becoming more and more difficult. For any number of reasons, many points of access are becoming harder to access. Ports are closing, doors are locking, and the once friendly land has become colder to visitors these days. It has become more and more common for travelers to require native friends or known travelers to be accepted to Windawill.

Currently, there are five well known and reliable methods for reaching Windawill: (Editor’s Note: One week before the printing of this edition, the Administrators of Windawillian Travel (AWT) withdrew all envoys, embassies, and travel agencies. The remainder of this section is therefore likely inaccurate. Please check for recent events and laws surrounding Windawill before making any travel arrangements.)