The time
to sow came, and with the other Blues, Samuel Haine ventured out into the city
under cover of the night. Led by Gwendolyn, the group of Blues went forth and
eventually dispersed, moving out along the streets to spread their sorrow. As
he had done time and again, Sam moved down along his designated paths, alone,
save for a comrade working the opposite side of the street. As he had done time
and again, Sam pulled forth a tome from his Library, countering the empty night
with just the smallest fractures of azure. And, as he had done time and again,
Sam struck out pages from the tome he carried, energizing the sheaves and
sealing them to the buildings he walked along.
The scraps of paper and the inked words upon them burned with the same
azure light for fleeting moments; then, they bled into the surroundings, flooding
the air with sentiments of despair. Each block… every street… for everywhere a
Blue walked, the buildings were so briefly decorated with accounts of their
grief. And thus, the Sowing was performed.
As the Blues finished their
work and began the return journey, Sam found his gaze and mind not on the path
ahead, but elsewhere. Part of his consciousness wandered his halls. The faint
blue light still filled them, though more subdued- such was commonplace after a
good spread. In the diminished power, Sam found comfort; he felt more secure,
further from whatever fate his mentor had neglected to describe.
Still, he knew it was a matter
of time; soon he would need stronger methods for managing his emotions. Even
disregarding his responsibilities to the Blue, the burden of sorrow had long
lingered in his daily life. Thus far he had maintained composure. In the silent march back toward the Library,
he resolved it would stay that way. He swore that even if he fell to despair,
he would not do so in any manner that might bring worry to his friends. Just considering how they might feel filled
Sam with a sense of nausea, a sickness he could not easily shake off.
He shifted his gaze. He could
not see it from the road, given the mostly darkened buildings of the city, but
the forest lay beyond. Somewhere in those woods, he knew the Yellows performed
their own rites. He considered his own previous participation in such affairs,
but did not allow himself the small smile that came with such thoughts. Inside,
he could feel the grief that remained, that had remained even after he had
attempted to destroy it in the Yellows’ fires. Inside, it refused to be
forgotten, and even when Sam halfheartedly tried to block it from his memory, a
greater part of him etched it even deeper into his walls.
***
The sorrow returned again. It seeped
into him, unavoidable, inescapable, a cold rain that turned flood, filling the
gutters of his soul. Forced under frigid waters, he found it difficult to move,
impossible to breathe. Every effort became a struggle. Truth be told, he had
grown accustomed to such suffering by now. Times beyond counting, he had been
flushed from the happiest moments of his life, from the things he thought real,
swept away by the icy floods that spilled into reality. Times beyond counting,
he had drowned; he found that if he did not struggle, if he became lazy and
lethargic, he would have the energy to crawl again when he washed ashore
somewhere- by giving in, he could preserve just enough strength to put his life
in some semblance of order.
He knew the morning would
come; he knew that with it, he would be joined by his friends, smiling and
happy, blissfully unaware of the trials he’d faced. Unable, or perhaps
unwilling to remember what horrors he may have endured. They would choose to
forget, to disregard such unpleasant things, they would not speak of them. But
he did not have the luxury to forget, to move on. No, he would remember every
injury, every insult, each fragment of pain that filled his breath, each stream
of misery coursing through his beleaguered veins.
He carried within him a burden
that could never reach comprehension. Over time, he learned to shoulder this
burden alone- or rather, he did his best. After all, it did not rain all the
time… but when it did… when the storms rolled in, he would give himself over
and arise on some unsteady existence in the aftermath- and life would proceed,
almost as if the rain had never come, despite the still damp roads and the
clouds dotting the sky.
He tucked his hands into his
pockets and began to walk. He didn’t plan, he didn’t think, he merely walked.
He focused only on putting one step in front of the next. Otherwise the sorrow
would ensnare him and render him completely limp, lifeless. No, now, it was
important only to keep moving. And so he walked- over damp sidewalks, among
pedestrians who paid him no mind. He crossed busy streets in the briefest
moments of respite. He kept his head down under the murky clouds that reigned
overhead.
The shackles dragged, but they
did not catch; he could manage that burden, at least for the short term; he
knew that as long as he could do that much, he could leave room for something
else, anything… It was a war he fought on his own, outnumbered by an enemy that
could not, that would not die. But he had resigned himself to it, for the only
alternative lay in his own end… and no matter how pitiful it was, he had
decided to cling… to cling to it for all it was worth, even if it meant
suffering. For how could one know life, true life, without knowing suffering?
Sam was no philosopher. He had
no magic answer, no Wiseman’s words. In reality, all he had was a little bit of
knowledge- but then, perhaps that was all any Librarian had. Just enough
knowledge to get by, to live, even at odds with oneself at the end of the day…
at least as a Blue. He would not speak for his counterparts, but with the
passing of each day… when he and those companions parted ways, it set in, and
he wondered how he was to endure… how his fellow Blues endured…
The Library. Perhaps thoughts
of his brethren had led him here. Perhaps the bleakness of his reality had
shown him the way, even before he had discovered- or rather, admitted- the
existence his own; the existence of a mind within his mind, a heartbeat, a
force buried inside that he could not entirely understand… Whatever the
reality, he had come to them; now, at the height of his sorrow, he returned.
She was waiting for him. Tall,
as always. And proud, in her customarily forlorn way. She greeted him with
little more than a cold gaze, but beneath the stern appraisal, he knew her own
burdens weighed heavily upon her. This brought him some comfort, if only
because he could relate. If she drew some similar placation from him, it did
not show. It never did, and Sam suspected, it never would.
“Samuel,” she said, dipping
her head and pulling her hands together in the customary greeting.
“Gwendolyn,” he replied, doing
the same. A part of him felt honored that she, his mentor, would address him
with such respect, recognition; a part of him did not, suspecting her actions
were motivated not by noble intentions, but the duty they shared.
For moments, they stood and
studied one another. As with every previous attempt, Sam could tell little of
the woman before him, the Blue that had taken him under her wing and shown him
much of their now shared culture; he knew, however, that her eyes always found
something within him, and rarely did such discoveries prove satisfactory.
“There is no need for you to
be here today,” she said.
“Among our kind, the presence
of Sorrow does not abide by necessity.”
“You are learning, Samuel.”
He nodded. Such praise from
Gwendolyn did not come often, and never so pronounced.
“You bring with you great
sorrow then,” she said. It was not a question, but rather an expectation.
He gave another nod. “I always
bear a burden.”
“We are Blues, Samuel. What is
it that troubles you?”
Sam looked away. “Well, it
seems as of late that my burdens have only grown heavier.” When he looked back
to his Guide, she did not regard him with the disbelief he’d half expected.
“The time to sow has come and
passed. You were with us in the night, were you not? You, just as all the
others, spread your sorrows. And yet this morning you tell me your heart feels
only heavier.”
He nodded.
“You are beginning to
understand,” Gwendolyn said. “Sorrow is not something to simply be thrown away.
It cannot be so easily parted with, especially not for our kind.”
“I knew that much already.”
“Did you?” She said, and
nothing more.
“I’ve already learned that
sorrow, especially that of a Blue, can never be completely destroyed.”
Recalling this particular truth caused a darkness to flash through his mind,
backed for a moment by intense firelight. Even now, that same darkness lay
bound within him. He suppressed a shudder. “Even if it were possible, it is not
our place to turn our backs upon sorrow. Sadness is a part of being human. As
Blues, it is our duty to endure sorrow so that we may be more aware. And in
being aware, we spread sorrow so the world may also gain understanding of the
same lessons.”
“You speak of being aware and
learning lessons, of enduring and teaching others,” she replied. “But do you
truly comprehend the meaning in what you have told me? Do you truly understand
the purpose for our sorrow?”
“I do.”
These words did not convince
his guide, and so Sam continued.
“I know firsthand that sorrow
is born of circumstance, of reason. If we find the reasons behind our sorrow,
we can greatly minimize the things that cause it and live better lives. We
teach the world to be better, based upon the suffering we all have endured.”
“Samuel. You understand much,
but you fail to grasp much as well. Tell me, if you come before me with burdens
of sorrow, yet you and I both know that you have sown the previous evening, how
is it that your suffering remains unbearable?”
“That is something I do not
entirely understand.”
“There are lessons within the
sorrow, something you have only just begun to grasp. Yes, as Blues, we must be
aware, but not merely of our own suffering. As Blues, we must not become so
enthralled with our own sorrow as to become unaware of our own needs, or those
of others. It is sorrow that keeps us humble. The endurance of suffering allows us
to appreciate the good in our lives, teaches us to avoid becoming blind to the
world around us. It is easy when one is joyous and all is well to forget the
needs and concerns of others. Thus, we of the Blue have chosen grief so that we
may never forget.”
“So knowing sadness is not
enough, then…”
“Just as it is possible to
become lost in joy, it is possible to become overburdened by grief. You carry
much sorrow, but you do not understand how to wield it properly. You know only to
part with it, either through wanton destruction as the Yellows do, or the
guided methods upon our nights of sowing.”
He could not deny her words.
Even now, the chains of his despair snaked ever tighter about him, threatening
to crush him completely. If she saw such, it did not show upon her face.
“What else do I need to know?”
Sam asked.
“You have said that you always
carry a burden. You believe, and we among the Blue acknowledge, that your
burdens only grow. Tell me, Samuel, what are you doing as that burden grows?”
He thought about
it. All that came to mind were the rituals of sowing, which she already knew
of, and the Yellows’ practices from which he had abstained. He stared back at
his Guide at a loss for words.
“I thought not. You go on with
your life, day after day, and wrestle with your despair, but as it continues to
grow you do nothing with it.”
“I don’t understand,” Sam
said. “I spread it just as the others do. I meditate upon it. Is that not
enough?”
She stared at him, bleakly.
“Is that enough Samuel?”
She was right, as she often
was. He could not meet her eyes for long.
“Do you know what happens to
one among us who does not manage despair properly?”
Sam shook his head.
She watched him then, and as
usual, Sam could not fathom what thoughts passed through her head. “Let us pray
for your sake, that you do not bear witness-Or worse, discover that
particular truth for yourself.”
The thought chilled him.
Relief seemed impossible. The ways of the Yellow- a path spiraling upward into
laughter and light- were ways that he could not follow; and the ways of the
Blue were only the beginning, the temporary diversion of a tumultuous force
that returned again and again, each visit threatening to overwhelm him.
“Do not allow yourself to
become troubled. If you are to succeed, you need to take control of your
sadness.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“You will.”
***
Gwendolyn brought him to a high
place in the city. In silence, she had led him up by means of a stairwell, one
with far more flights than he cared to count. Eventually, they emerged upon the
roof, and Sam made his way towards the edge. From the building on which they
stood, the pedestrians moving below did not seem so much as individuals, but a
collective pulsing that rippled in either direction along the streets. In spite
of their vantage, many other buildings towered over them as well. Sam found
himself looking around, down at the people on the ground, and then up again. A
crisp wind cut a path between the skyscrapers and caused him to shiver. The
voice of Sam’s Guide drew his attention.
“Have you heard the tale of
Liit tasuta?” She asked him. She did not move from the door which they had
emerged.
“Liit tasuta?”
“A tragic tale,” she said. “A
crucial tale.”
She stared into his eyes, and
he stared into hers, and even though the sun had long risen, casting the world
in its warmth, Sam could not help but feel cold.
“There existed, at one time,
an era where mankind believed themselves masters of fate, masters of all
domains,” Gwendolyn told him. As she spoke, her eyes became the slightest bit
hazy, and before her, a large volume bled into existence. The smooth azure
ridges upon the surface captured and reflected the iridescence of the daylight.
“Persons of power believed that they held complete knowledge of all things;
they cited their successes in this life as proof of such mastery. However, such
a lavish existence did not come without cost; for every distinguished
individual, there existed ten families in wanting. For every family that came
upon greatness, a thousand clans knew only suffering.”
Gwendolyn moved to joined him,
carrying her tome not without some reverence. She ran her fingers along the
arcs and ridges carved into it, along the stiff and sharp edges. She did not
read to him. She did not even open the vast book, but Sam new her words carried
the message within it.
“It came to pass that even the
world itself began to wither away. Mankind, in greed and arrogance, had begun
to poison the world itself. By seeking satisfaction only to their own needs,
each of these ‘Masters’ began to systematically extinguish the lives, eradicate
the potential for all existence around them. Left unchecked, the hubris of
these ‘Lords’ and ‘Ladies’ would devour the world, leaving not even ashes form
which to begin anew.”
“However, among those who suffered
came other individuals. These people realized, perhaps because of their
standings, that they were in fact, not the masters, but merely stewards at
best. These people realized that regardless of the knowledge they attained,
they would never be more than such, and therefore had a responsibility to
themselves, each other, and the world. These people saw not only their own
suffering, but that of their fellow clans and tribes, and that of the declining
world that bore their ills.”
“The people came to understand
the world, and they sought to make others understand. In time, those who could
read the signs of the earth began to gather. Calling themselves Liit Tasuta,
this wandering tribe embarked upon numerous journeys around the world, seeking
solutions to its plight and calling others to the cause.”
“At first they began only with
whispers. Tales told to children in the dark, rumors spread only to pass the
hours between dusk and dawn. However, as Liit Tasuta found no easy solutions,
and the world continued to sicken, these stories could no longer be entirely
discounted. Even with the evidence to back their omens, the tribe still met
with obstacles not easily overcome. Very few listened to their teachings. Most
were content with the way of the world. Others might have believed, and may
have been distressed, but still could not muster the resolve to fight for
change.”
“The world’s resources began
to wane. The rivers dried, the fields turned brown and withered, the bountiful
forests receded and the mountains crumbled. All over, people cried out in
agony, and beneath them, the earth itself lamented, but only the Liit Tasuta
could understand. Lords and Ladies continued to disregard the truth, and as the
world came to ruin, those among Liit Tasuta foresaw a more disturbing truth-
one that they could not allow to pass. Without the power to dethrone the
self-proclaimed masters, and without methods to directly replenish the health
of the world, the Liit Tasuta took upon themselves one final effort, a stopgap
in the face of hopelessness.”
“On the first morning of the
new year, the Liit Tasuta rose even before the dawn, carrying candles. In the
dark mists of the unlit morning, the thousands upon thousands of tiny flames
held the darkness away as they began a final journey. They drew themselves
to the high places, to the cliffs and canyons, to the rocky bluffs alongside
the cold and unforgiving seas.”
“A furious earth met them with
storms of wind, of rain, of sand, but they did not falter. Buffeted by the
elements but bolstered by their convictions, they proceeded to narrow ledges.
By now, the sun had found its way to the rim of the world, and the light of
dawn caught the Liit Tasuta at their most tragic moment- the seconds before
they hurled themselves from the ledges to certain death.”
“They… They killed
themselves?” The abrupt end reinforced the cold bleeding into Sam’s bones.
Gwendolyn, in silence, held his gaze with
hers.
Sam looked away. “I don’t
understand.” He looked out over the city, over the streets and sidewalks so far
below.
Gwendolyn shut her eyes, slow.
“You are wondering why a people committed to a cause would take their own
lives, and therefore eliminate their ability to fight for it.”
“That doesn’t solve anything.
They simply left a problem for someone else to solve.”
“Did they?” Gwendolyn asked.
Sam glanced back to his Guide,
but she remained motionless, eyes still shut, as if in reflection.
“Why would you tell me of such
things?”
“The truth is, Samuel, there
exist some problems without simple solutions. It is during these times when
answers seem intangible that we must remain calm and clearheaded. This is
something we cannot do if we are consumed by our own feelings. Even if our
choice as humans merely amounts to slowing our demise, it is a choice to be
made in clarity, with resolve.”
“But what sort of choice is
that?” Sam asked. “If what you say is true, they merely abandoned the world to
those who caused it to suffer.”
“You are missing the larger
picture, both for in regards to the Liit Tasuta’s final decision, and what the
tale as a whole means for you.”
“I get it,” Sam said. “But
it’s- It’s…”
“If you are not satisfied with
my answer, I expect you to find your own.”
***
“Have
you heard the tale of ‘Liit Tasuta’, Samuel?”
In the darkness, he could hear them,
their steps falling over and over. Beyond that, the creak and thud, creak and thud, the latter
sound accompanied by a sickening splatter. It was enough to make his stomach
turn. He already knew what awaited at the end of the hall; Each slow, drawn out
creaking that came appeared clear in his mind- each fall, each thud, each
splat, he saw these as well, though he saw nothing.
Buried between such horrific
sounds, the constant shuffle of dusty bodies . They moved inexorably along
the corridor, tightly packed, scuffing the soles of their feet, likely to
bleeding. They did not cry out at such pain, their only course another step,
and another, moving closer to the end of the hall. Closer to the creak, the
thud, the splat.
He hurried into the hall, but
they pushed past him.
“Stop!” he cried. Only the
shuffling answered.
He pushed on them, tried to
block them, but they marched on, deaf to his words, apathetic to his protests.
They pushed past him without any words, nearly trampled them as they converged
upon their goal. He grasped one of their arms in the darkness, digging his
heels in and pulling with all the strength he had. The stones beneath them were
slick, and he slid helpless across the bloodied floor, dragged effortless by
his captive.
His every effort carried no
weight against their march, his actions meaningless. He struggled to halt, yanking upon his charge
to no avail. Closer and closer he came to it, caught in the stream of bodies,
lifeless, and to become moreso…
Creak…thud- splat!
Creak…thud- splat!
He knew, he knew! Worse, he
suspected they did as well, and yet they continued, and their bodies fell again
and again. The slick floors now smelt of the blood upon them, the scent
invading his nostrils with every desperate breath he took. The harsh sounds
grew louder. Somehow, he found his way to a wall- cold and rough. He could
still feel the bodies pushing past him, still heard their marching through the
bloodied halls. His efforts to slow the onslaught had drawn him dangerously
close the end of the hall, mere steps the sounds that echoed throughout the
corridor. Now he could nearly see it.
It towered over the shambling
figures, stiff and still except for the slightest vibrations that came in tune
with the stream of footfalls and the swift flash of weight which fell between
them. The drop punctuated the pauses in the rhythm, bringing with it the
sickening splatter. One such repetition sprayed Sam with a fine warm mist, and
he knew immediately of its origins.
Creak…Again it lifted, but now the marching had stopped. In the darkness, he saw it
glimmering as it rose, only to fall still in the near lightlessness. It waited,
as if for his decision. For a moment, he saw beyond the corridor. His senses
perceived a world outside, but he could not discern it. Everything hinged on
his thought process; he could see it in the shadows, the subtle vibrations
betraying an impatience. He knew it would not hesitate if he continued to do
so. He recalled the layers of blood upon the floor, layers that had only grown
deeper with the rhythm of the hall…
And it was too late. The
tension broke, and it came screaming back down. Sam found himself carried away,
submerged in a relentless tide. Immediately his lungs began to burn. He
thrashed about, but his frail limbs offered no purchase. The warmth, the
darkness closed upon him, crushing his will, his every thought…
***
On the surface, the tale of
the Liit Tasuta seemed to him a metaphor of his own end; a person failing to
keep his world in check, just as they had failed to do the same- imminent
self-destruction. Sam knew better, or at least he hoped he did. Whatever the
reality, he did not intend to leap to his death. That did not rule out the
possibility of being crushed by grief, however.
The more he thought about it,
the more it made sense. His woe had grown and grown in spite of his sowing, and
now seemed as if it might manifest on its own.
Gwendolyn had told him to manage it, lest he meet some horrific fate.
The Liit Tasuta had been attempting to control, or at least change the world; A
similar aim of the Blues, despite a lack of affiliation. Managing a single sentiment however, would
prove far easier than the guidance of humanity.
Feelings themselves were no
creation of any Library. If anything, Librarians only served as vessels to
bring sentiments to bear, tools to influence the world around them. His
thoughts turned to the Yellows. In times like this, they would gather about
their fires and cast their cares away. Gwendolyn had, intentionally or not, acknowledged
a sort of wisdom of their methods.
As he had learned, as he had
spoken, it was not a Blue’s place to destroy sorrow, but to maintain it. Within
his Library lay volumes and volumes of the stuff, sealed away by ink and paper.
Still more roamed free, the ‘burden’ he carried. Sam knew himself to be sad. He
knew of his pain, of his desires, of the emptiness that lay in the background,
ever lurking, only to take center stage when he found himself alone with his
thoughts. He considered Gwendolyn’s tale. A great sadness, sealed within a
tome, a story. Now he could not help but to acknowledge one of his own. Sealed
within him, a memory… the recounting of his life, a life far removed- perhaps
the heard of his burden. All that remained was to seal it properly.
Sam recalled a life where he did not worry
about being lonely, one where his friends were close, honest, open. He allowed
his thoughts to drift over their adventures, the good and the bad times, he
savored it all. He caught himself reaching, longing for a time now past,
yearning for the days when the most complex worries amounted to little in the
grand scheme of his world.
And then Sam recalled the days
where the walls began to fall between his friends; subtle, only a bit at a
time, but these miniature divisions only grew. As time passed, he found all
those he cared for pulled away by some means or another. At first, they kept in
contact- but with time, and with the rigors and responsibilities of life, this
faded as well. As far as he could tell, they had all moved on to fulfill their
own lives worlds apart from one another. As he considered this fact, he
realized that he too, despite his misgivings, had surrendered to moving on,
even if it meant a solitary existence. He, like the others, had been caught up
in the river, swept along helplessly.
“You carry much sorrow Samuel, but you do not know how to wield it
properly.”
It was true. Each day, no matter how
joyous, always stung in the brief silent moments. Whenever he found himself
with but his thoughts, the loneliness would overcome him. How could he have
been so blind? Surely, surrounded by sorrow, tangible sorrow, he could make
something of it all. Here, within his daydreams of a life now passed, lay the
spine of his tale. Sam began to shape the woe he felt- he became the author of
his own tragedy. There, buried in the annals of his mundane existence,
sentiments glimmered; gems among roughhewn rock. Material… it needed only to be
pulled together.
Sam focused on everything that
had built around him, every desperate moment in the dark, every vacancy, each
abandoning, real or imagined. Every insult and injury, every injustice. He
reached out and tore through the veils of silent wailing. As inexorable as the
Liit Tasuta and their march down forsaken stone halls, the pieces came
together. He sealed them within the stone fragments that defined his library,
held together by the cerulean networks. By his own hand, with his own
suffering, he bound between covers a great work, fit for his shelves as any other
the others. Slowly he breathed- a frozen, shivering breath that bled into those
networks, spreading life. Unfiltered, and sworn to sorrow. Life,
uncompromising, with no promise beyond difficulty. Yes, a life of despair, but
one of truth- methods to ease the madness, to ward off the pain, and at the
very worst, push through it. Knowing that, he could breathe
again.
***
“Is this it?” Gwendolyn asked.
Though her words sounded no kinder, the way she turned the tome over and over
again in her hands suggested some level of approval.
Sam gave a slow nod. “I made
it just last night. I’ve been watching it carefully in my Library.”
“And how did you manage this
one, Samuel?”
“Well, it is as you say. I’ve
been surrounded by sadness all this time. Both my own, and that of others that
I came into contact with.”
“And?”
“Well, I took my experiences,
pieces of my life, and from them, I created a new text.”
“And now do you feel?”
“Well, I’m still sad. But I
feel like I can bear it a little better now.”
Gwendolyn nodded. “You
begin to understand.” She set the book upon her desk. “Keep that one close.
Let it serve as a reminder to you.”
He picked up the volume and
with a bow, left his mentor to her own devices. He made his way through the
halls of the Blue without saying anything to anyone. Eventually, he returned to
the surface and set off toward his apartment, accompanied by the throngs of
people who paid him no mind. Even though the sky had been filled with dark gray
clouds, and even though a light rain had begun to decorate the world, dampening
the streets and sidewalks, and even though the wind had picked up an almost
eerie howl, Sam found everything almost…. Peaceful.
He took a breath of the crisp winter
air and forgot about the surrounding people, the soaked pathways and flickering
traffic lights. He moved to one side and closed his eyes, trading the brick
walls and alleyways for halls of hewn, scarred rock. The graylit sky overhead
gave way to the caverns of his castle, his Sanctuary. The sounds on the street
died, replaced by the near silent whispers of the works of his Library.
Sam listened for a moment,
then set off down the drafty halls. Each tome he passed reminded him of its
content, reciting the words he had long memorized, voicing the lessons he
already knew. Finally he came to a place where the volumes upon the shelves
thinned, where the stories were less familiar.
For a moment, the dim light of
the hall was countered by an intense, azure glow. Sam lifted a new tome, the
very same volume he had presented to his Guide only moments ago. He ran his
hand over the cover, and as he beheld the book, the remainder of his Library
fell silent and the details of that single story filled his mind; He nodded.
The whispering within his
Library resumed, and Sam, with a rueful smile, placed the book in its place on
the shelf.
