The Raiselig Dossier: The Spirit of Coldstone Part 2
It took only an hour for Raiselig and Vharpanu to prepare themselves.
As it was in Vharpanu’s ancient nature to find things hidden, she acquired the necessary tools. A sprig of living holly and a twig of dead birch. Shavings from a newborn calf’s hoof. Three drops of innocent blood. A plank of wood from an old woman’s bed. It was makeshift, but satisfactory.
Raiselig, for their part, sharpened their steel memory with the ancient laws. Contracts were studied, decisions were analyzed, and the myriad strings that wove the tapestry of ritual together were made plain.
The sun was hidden behind the mountains when they were at last prepared. The sky was blood red, fading to royal purple; an inverse of how politics usually went, Vharpanu joked. Raiselig found little humor in it, as the small handkerchief that held three drops of innocent blood was invading their nostrils. They were so hungry.
But they controlled themself, and said nothing as they walked into the forest.
They walked deep, deeper than an average mortal could go and ever hope to return. Then they kept walking, to where even the owls could get lost. Then, when the boundaries of the trees were thickest, they kept walking. They walked into the deep woods. It was a wild place, a place that existed as long as a piece of the forest remained untamed. It was a place of long shadows and a deep blue sky, where moon and sun shone equally, vying with the stars for the right to dominion over the sky. It was a place of growth, and death. A place of whispers and birdsong. A place of rot and decay, of flowering and spreading.
But they were Scriveners, and so as they walked they saw the lines, the demarcations, the cordons, the boundaries. Where once magic spread like a cancer, now pipes of cold iron and ink channeled verdant springs into faucets. Boilers turned rot into potions, and demons had become accustomed to their leashes long ago and had ceased their tugging.
It was beautiful and heartbreaking. A mixture of pride and sorrow filled Raiselig’s heart as they walked.
At last, they reached the heart of the deep woods, and Vharpanu set to work.
The sigils were drawn on blessed paper, the chants were spoken in suitable reverence. The circle was made and bedecked with talismans of ancient meaning and import. Mixtures were painted on their two faces, marking them and granting them jurisdiction. There is no telling how long it took, nor how many separate tasks were performed.
Before too long, however, the two Scriveners became aware of the EYE.
It was watching them carefully. Not out of curiosity nor caution, but simply because what eyes did was watch. It was not until three rituals later that a second EYE joined the first, and a modicum of uncertainty blossomed behind their gaze.
Vharpanu nodded to Raiselig when she was certain they had done enough, and knelt down on her heels in the center of the circle. There she rocked back and forth, her lips forming soundless words that were not words.
Raiselig gently replaced their bowler hat upon their head, and stepped to the edge of the circle.
The EYEs watched. A third joined the first two.
“I am Scrivener Raiselig, Keeper of the Law and follower of Ritual. By my hand is bound the wyld and by my word is made the frame. Do you know me, spirit?”
The EYEs looked, and saw. Raiselig could feel their gaze studying their every form, both inside and out. Spirits, even new ones, had a sensing all their own. Then, Raiselig saw the tentative shape of an EAR.
Emboldened, Raiselig repeated their introduction. After a few moments, a MOUTH formed words that could not be heard by mortal kind. Eye it said.
“Yes, Raiselig nodded. “You and I. We are two, and separate. Do you know me?”
Eye see. Eye know. No know. Eye not know.
Raiselig waited patiently while the MOUTH learned its form and function. At last, they spoke once more. “Do you know me, spirit?”
No, Eye do not know you.
Raiselig nodded, and pulled a scrip from their pocket. Holding it out for the EYEs to see, they waited.
At long last, the MOUTH spoke again. Eye know you, Scrivener. How do eye know you, when eye know nothing?
“Yes, well, that is a long story,” Raiselig heaved a sigh. “Centuries ago, the spirits were all one and many. Wizards and Sorceresses of old bound aspects of the spirit world to their will with the aid of a single magic word.”
THE word, the MOUTH spoke. Back and forth, the pyramid of magic. Why do I know THE word?
“As time went on,” Raiselig continued, ignoring the spirit’s distress, “the word began to lose its power. When two masters of the word met each other, their wills fought and pulled at the word. The word fought itself, and became tired. Threadbare. Over the many centuries, the word lost its power. To save itself, that it might not fight itself forever, it became two words. Then three. As time went on, the words became many, and joined with dance and song. Ritual and rite became stronger, and spread as leaves in the forest.”
I know these words. How do I know them? I have not seen them before.
The EYEs stared as Raiselig took a deep breath. “Now, there is no magic apart from the ritual. No power apart from the contract. So were born the Scriveners, the clerks of the binding magics that hold the world together.”
The MOUTH opened, hesitantly, as if fearful of a sour taste. I… the words came slow, …am bound. I know…who you are…because it is the law.
“Correct,” Raiselig breathed a sigh of relief. The spirit, though young, seemed strong enough and able to learn quickly. That could be a blessing, depending on its temperament. “Now, we must work on your paperwork.”
EAR twitched at the word. Why?
Raiselig moved across the circle to their cabinet, and produced a simple piece of paper and a quill pen. There was nothing special about either, and it was important that this was so.
“Because without it,” they answered, “you have no place in the system. If you have no contract of service, you will be unbound. As far as the world is concerned, you will not exist.”
Do I exist? the MOUTH twisting as it tried to understand.
“That is not up to me,” Raiselig admitted. “I’m afraid the existence of beings like us is a point of some contention in various circles.”
I do not understand.
Raiselig fingered the paper in their hand before holding it up. “Does love exist? Does pain? These are things that cannot be held or handled like real things. Yet if I throw a rock that does not exist, it will not be felt. Pain is felt. Love is felt. They must exist, though they cannot exist. It is a legal quandary that even the greatest minds continue to contend with.”
I am like pain. Like love.
“Not yet,” Raiselig admitted, “but you could be. Or like laws, which are not felt, but known. Or like justice, which is not known or felt but is simply believed in.”
But I do not yet exist.
“In a sense, no. But the paperwork does exist. If you are bound in chains of ink, the world will have no recourse but to acknowledge you. You will be given rights and responsibilities of all kinds, no matter how much you actually exist. You will be given a domain of your own. Significance. You will be able to affect the world in a recognizable manner.”
If I am not bound, the spirit asked, who am I?
Raiselig paused. “That’s not up to me,” they said at last.
Who were you?
The paper crinkled in Raiselig’s hand. “That’s not important.”
Eye see you, the spirit said.
Raiselig licked their lips. “I should warn — I should caution you that it is considered improper for me to involve my personal self too deeply in this. It might be grounds for objection if your contract is ever brought up for audit.”
The spirit continued. You were a guiding light. A mystery. A ball of flame. Stars in the sky. You took people away. You drank of them, taking them into yourself. On the sandy plains and deepest jungles. Little candle, you carried them away.
Raiselig didn’t answer.
Now you are something else. Keeper of boundaries and secrets, a world of straight lines. Who am I, that I know these things?
Raiselig didn’t answer.
I am a spirit of deserve. Of one in many. Of a soul unique and definition unfinished. I am whispers unheard and selfish survival. I am the first in centuries, I know this too. I see things and know them.
“You are undefined,” Raiselig said. “Before long, we will be able to define you, and you will become yourself.”
And if I do not wish it?
Raiselig swallowed.
Come, Scrivener, answer me. If I do not subscribe to your demands, do not bind myself in your world’s definitions, what will happen to me? Will I become something different? Will I become what I truly was meant to be?
“Meant to be?” Raiselig muttered. “I do not know. But I know you will not become. It is more than that. If you refuse, the bonds of contract law will actively reject you. The forest, the village, the people who live in it, you will find yourself alone in ways you will never have imagined possible. Even in the deep woods, you will not be safe.”
But I will do nothing, I will harm nothing, I will be nothing.
Raiselig raised a cautionary hand. “Please…be careful. Being nothing is a wound to the Law. Like a blister, they will protect themselves from you. It will take many years of work, of renegotiation and re-filing. All to make sure your confines are predictable.”
They?
Raiselig lowered their hand. “All of them. They will bind you until all you are is your bindings. Borders that separate you from not-you.”
I do not wish that. I wish only to be free.
“This is what I am trying to tell you, spirit. You are not free. You will never be free. All that remains is to decide which prison you wish to live in.”
That is not fair.
Raiselig took a slow and steady breath. How many times had they heard the same? How many times had they thought it? “I’m afraid I don’t know what ‘fair’ is, nor what is just. All I know is the choice you make now will change the world in many significant yet inconsequential ways. Your actions will affect many beings you will never meet. Please, help me with your paperwork.”
The EYEs and EARs and MOUTH turned away a moment, before returning with a darker sheen than before. I am afraid.
“So was I,” Raiselig admitted. “I changed. We all changed. We settled.”
I will be alone, no matter what I do. A boundary of law that defines me, or rejects me. The boundary is either mine or the worlds. I cannot shape it.
“None of us can,” Raiselig reached down and picked up the small lap desk, placing the plain paper upon it.
You could.
Raiselig picked up the pen, and rested it on the paper. “Perhaps. But I gave up the right to do so years ago.”
I see thunder.
Raiselig’s skin prickled. “What did you say?”
I know. Thunder and howling. Rain pouring from two mouths that are one. Such…shame.
Raiselig clapped their hands with the ferocity of a gunshot. Silence fell once more.
“Enough,” Raiselig took a calming breath before picking the pen up again and handing it out to the darkness. “The time has come. First, you must have a name.”
“Well done,” Vharpanu said as they left the edge of the woods. “I would not have done nearly as well as you did.”
“Perhaps,” Raiselig answered as they looked over the mountaintop. The dawn had come quickly, and already the bright pink was fading to a vibrant blue. “Perhaps you sell yourself short.”
“Don’t flatter me,” Vharpanu smiled. “It will make me perfectly insufferable. Come, let us sit at the village square and complete the last bits of paperwork together.”
Raiselig did not speak as they followed her to the broad flat circle that was the center of town. There they sat on the ground, surrounded by curious onlookers and unimpressed animals. They passed papers back and forth, while citing ancient precedent and modern case law.
“What created it?” Vharpanu asked at last.
Raiselig looked up, confused at the question, before realizing their companion was not reciting a question from the filing in front of them.
Vharpanu realized their error at the same moment, and set the paper aside. “Apologies, this is my curiosity alone. The first spirit in a century. You must have a theory or two.”
“I do,” Raiselig admitted after a pause.
“I think it was the father,” Vharpanu said, linking her golden fingers together. “Resisting the village like that, a spirit of defiance, pain, anguish…In seven years I think we’ll see a legend of a thieving boogy bringing retribution to the village if a child strays too far from the path.”
“Perhaps.”
“You disagree then?” Vharpanu spread her arms. “Tell me, Raiselig, you always have fascinating theories.”
A moment more of thought was all Raiselig needed. “I think the father had nothing to do with it. I think it was the village, the girl, the old rituals in a new place…I think it was the world finding an excuse, an untapped boundary where it could finally become something new. The same opportunity the poor girl was denied. Born in opposition to the villages expectations. Driven to the edge of new town and ancient wood. I think…in seven years something will happen. I don’t know what, but it will happen, and everything they thought was so will have to change forever.”
“Hm…” Vharpanu rested her fingers on her lips. “See? Fascinating.”
Raiselig shrugged. “But what do I know? I’m just as old as you, and seen not much more.”
“No,” Vharpanu nodded, “But from a different angle. Before the Settling, I flew high in the sky. You hovered above the ground, yes?”
“I’d prefer not to discuss the past.”
“No, I’m sure you wouldn’t. But the past makes the present, Raiselig. No matter what name they try to cover you with.” Vharpanu yawed and stretched her hands above her head. “Well come now, we have more papers to file and questions to answer. Do you have a spare re-claimant form? I appear to have used my last.”
Raiselig handed the form across to their companion, and then paused.
“Some time ago, I did a cruel thing.”
“You?” Vharpanu smiled. “Cruel? Why I never would have imagined it.”
The light ribbing stung Raiselig far worse than any recrimination could have. “Have I not been professional in my duties?”
Vharpanu waved a hand. “Of course you have. Forgive me, I meant only to suggest that many Scriveners find a place for mercy in their practice. You, however, do not seem to have that…shall we say, proclivity?”
Raiselig crossed their arms. “During the celebrations last winter, I found myself accosted by two Thunder-spirits. Weather Gods who sought arbitration over a disputed worshiper.”
“During the celebrations?” Vharpanu gaped. “You would think Gods would know better than that.” She sighed lightly, laying her head on her hand. “Sometimes I wonder if things would be better if the fools would all remain distant and aloof. Simpler for us, I’m sure.”
“Perhaps,” Raiselig considered. “I bound the two together, giving them each jurisdiction over the other, until they were different aspects of the same spirit.”
“My goodness!” Vharpanu slapped her thigh. “That is certainly a solution. Did they take it well?”
“They were too disjointed to say anything, but that’s beside the point. The contract has been nullified already, but I can’t help but think, perhaps I was wrong. The law, it is not a weapon, nor punishment. I believe this, as it is integral to our profession, no? But I was so irritated at their presence, their boisterous and foul-mouthed loutish behavior, that I struck back.”
“With the law,” Vharpanu concluded. “And now you fear sanction?”
Raiselig shook their head. “I have no doubts about my work. I broke no laws, and acquired full consent. They signed fully aware of what would be required of them, and any repercussions are on their own heads.” They tugged at their collar. “It was all written on bar napkins.”
“Bar napkins.” Vharpanu laughed long and loud. “If anyone could make the law dance, do tricks, and stand on its head, it would be you. So, if you do not fear the Quisitors, what is your concern?”
“I am ashamed,” Raiselig said, before shaking their head. “No, it is not shame, exactly. Or perhaps it is, but…not for my actions.” How best to voice it? How to explain the worry that was simmering away beneath Raiselig’s skin, that they had for the first time seen the law correctly?
Raiselig shrugged at last. “I am not entirely sure what I mean.”
Vharpanu stared. “I’ve never known you to concern yourself so deeply with your own behavior before, Raiselig. Why is this bothering you?”
“I do not know,” Raiselig admitted. They sighed and picked up their pen once more. “Perhaps I am simply getting too old.”
“Oh my dear, if you aren’t too old, then the stars themselves are newborn.”
Nevertheless, Raiselig’s heart was troubled as they worked, as the sun rose high into the sky, and down once more.
When dusk again covered the village of Coldstone, the Scriveners had vanished back onto the road, heading their separate ways, wandering the winding paths of the world to keep the boundaries secure.